It was the sound of a clearing throat which forced wakefulness upon him. There was no sharpness to it, nor was it overly loud, but still there was a pulse of awareness. Given that his ears felt as if they were full of cotton and wax most of the time, that alone was a miracle. Even despite that, things took time. Terrible, terrible time. Both eyes opened, but slowly, blearily. His vision was, as it had been for a long time now, cloudy and dark. The right eye was all but blind and would have been so regardless of the time or place. A threadbare amount of energy managed to wriggle through his heart, causing the aching organ to pulse and pump just that faint bit faster. Slowly, so painfully slowly, he writhed his way free of the crushing weight of the blankets, a gnarled and spotted hand waggling aimlessly outwards into the darkness. Every breath was harder now, as if having to push through the ragged sail of a ship, just to reach the lungs. Each finger trembled, shook, and did not stop doing so until they all latched – finally – upon the hilt of his blade where it rested within what was meant to be a comfortable reach.
Only then did some semblance of vigor return to him, and with one hand he threw the offending blankets aside, gaze sharpened and eyes clear as he glanced about his bedchamber. The beat of his heart strengthened, then strengthened again, transforming past both painful off-tempo tapping and panicked thundering into a steady quiet beat. He could hear the whispering of the wind through the opened window, rustling the thrice-layered curtains and the papers on his desk. Calloused, wrinkled feet stamped onto the heavy carpet which extended from wall to wall throughout the bedchamber, the better that no chance of chill could seep into him after a few steps. The shine of both Mannslieb and Morrslieb cut through the opening in the curtains, a slice of light in the otherwise mostly dark room.
