He didn’t know why the bed in the room that had belonged to him a year ago felt so uncomfortable now that he was finally home. He had lost count of how much time he had spent lying awake in those white sheets, staring up at the white painted ceilings of his bedroom with the moonlight shining through the windows on his face. The bed cushions felt soft enough beneath his weight that he could almost sink in, still it felt like they were tearing at his skin, cutting at his flesh somehow.

And why did it have to be so cold? Even with three layers of blankets above him, the breeze felt like icicles on his skin. Part of the reason he just couldn’t close his eyes was because some part of him told him that he’d freeze to death in his sleep. It was a stupid and irrational thought, he realized that. But for some reason he couldn’t chase it out of his head, and so it lingered there, its claws held tightly around his mind, infusing him with fears that he could not shake off.

He was finally home.

Home.

Sitting upright, he studied the room around him in the darkness. Everything in the room now was exactly as it was when he had left a year ago. There wasn’t much in his room, really, and it wasn’t really a big space either, but this had been his space, his bubble of protection for the years he had served the King, though his job rarely gave him the opportunity to appreciate the room for long periods of time. In fact, it was his job, after all, that had kept him away for a year.

And now he was back. Surprisingly, the happiness, or at least contentedness he had expected to find upon returning here just wasn’t here.

The room was relatively small compared to the others on the floor above that belonged to the royal family. Yet still it was larger than the others on this floor, belonging to the knights and generals in the army. He remembered them complaining about that little detail. Not to the King of course. But still they did talk, uncomfortable with the fact that the King had seemed to enjoy his company. The only ones who didn’t hate him were his friends, and the only ones who were friends with him were the servants from the floor below.

They had looked happy to see him return. And he felt happy to see them again. One year away from home was too long a period of time. At least, it had been the longest that he had been away.

Still it had left its mark.

Here he was, lying awake in bed, feeling like a complete stranger when he shouldn’t.

He felt torn, somehow. He couldn’t explain it, but there was just this feeling of perpetual unease inside of him that he just couldn’t erase. Was it because he hadn’t gotten the chance to talk to his friends, perhaps? They had been prohibited from talking to him until he had recovered from the long journey, and so they had settled for smiling at him as he had walked past earlier today.

He hadn’t felt compelled to return those smiles.

Because he couldn’t even remember their names.

Maybe that was why he felt so uncomfortable now- because of his guilt that he had allowed one year away from home to change him so much. He wondered how they would respond when he would have to ask their names again. He wondered how she would respond when he had to ask her name. Vaguely, he could remember lying in this room with her awake at night, talking about-

What had they talked about?

Even that, too, was gone.

Either way, it didn’t matter anymore. Even if he could remember her name, even if he could remember what she had once meant to him, it didn’t matter anymore. She would not come to him anymore when she had found out that, apart from the whipping, the torture racks and the flaming brands they had pressed into his skin, they had also castrated him, laughing at him as he screamed in agony in those dark, humid dungeons.

In more ways than one, he had returned from the enemy dungeons a fragmented man.

One whole year away had changed so much. And what good did he have to show for it now? He hadn’t even succeeded on his mission to begin with- the target was still alive. He had failed to take out the man he had been assigned to kill.

And yet here he was, in his room, staring at the ceiling.

Despite the fact that he had been welcomed home, despite the fact that the King had forgiven him for his failure, and assured him that he would not be replaced because of his steadfast loyalty, he still didn’t feel like he belonged here. He had persevered through the torture without spilling any secrets, and yet he still felt like a traitor.

He shifted uneasily in bed again, before realizing that the soft cushions would offer no comfort. He couldn’t understand why, but he felt compelled somehow to sleep on the floor. It had been good enough for him for a year, after all.

He got up, taking his blankets with him, and slept in the corner furthest away from the window, where the moonlight wouldn’t reach him.

-

He slept, and his mind took him back.

Images formed in his mind of the past year, and yet they weren’t just images. They were almost real, bringing sight, scent, taste, touch and sound to him. The dreams whisked him back into the humid, dark room he had been trapped in upon capture. Again he could smell his own sweat. Again he could feel the rough sandstone floor scrape at his skin. Again he could taste the hard texture of the bread they had fed him. Again he could remember the despair, the loneliness, and the darkness that had threatened to swallow him whole.

And then the dream took him back to the point where he had been released, rescued by the very man he had been sent to kill. He remembered the kindness that he had been shown, and the things he had been taught there about the real God- not the fake one that they worshipped back home. He remembered swearing himself into the service of his savior, and the God for whom his savior spoke for as a priest. He had had to be made a eunuch for it, but he remembered it now as a sacrifice that he had willingly made.

He remembered being loved by his savior, that God of a man. He remembered having meaning to his existence. He remembered belonging.

And as he remembered the reason why he had left, why his savior had sent him back here, he woke up, and realized that he wasn’t home after all.

-

He had set to work at first daylight, entering the kitchens where breakfast was being prepared. He took out the vial that his master had given him before the journey, and, when the cook wasn’t looking, he poured half of its contents into the pot and the other half into the plate of food set on a silver tray beside it. It had been a simple task, really. He’d done it too many times before, only back then he had killed for a cause he didn’t believe in, for a man he hardly knew. This time he was doing it because it was his purpose, and in the grand scheme of things- it was the right thing to do. His Lord would be pleased. His master would be pleased.

Despite being kept away from the castle for one year, he still remembered the routine all too well. The food on the tray would be taken up to the King’s bedroom, and there would be a person to taste it first to check for poison before it would be given to the King.

The vial he had been given had contained a foreign, tasteless poison that the taster couldn’t hope to identify- and its effects wouldn’t be instant enough for anyone to notice until it was too late. The rest of the food, with any luck, would poison the rest of the castle. By the end of the day, there would have been numerous deaths amongst the castle’s inhabitants.

And he, he would be long gone, riding east on a horse he had taken from the stables. His job performed, he could finally return to the temple where his master was waiting. There, he would be at ease again. The humid environment, the hard stone floor he slept on at the foot of his master’s bed, the white linen loincloth and the bronze anklets he wore as a sign of servitude- he looked forward to all of it.

For the first time in days, he found himself smiling. He was going home, after all.

Author’s note: I’m still not honestly sure how well this story stands alone. If you don’t understand it, read my other story, ‘The Black Room’. This one is a follow-up of sorts to that one.