#i say as i draw a sorey that is so far removed from anything we have ever seen from actual sorey in official material that he may as well be

[igneouswyvern]

yeah he's still my favorite sorry. not sorry

[randomactuallywrites-57]

Paint the World (The Way it Should Be)

Title: Paint the World (The Way it Should Be) Author: randomwriter57 Rating: G Word Count: 2,291 Event + Prompt: @sormikweek day four - Pendrago: Loss/Protection Summary: Everything is in place. Well, except for one thing. Notes: I decided to write a kind of role-reversal fic wherein Mikleo is a human and Sorey is a seraph. Society in this fic is a little bit different here - the main important thing is that all people can see seraphim. I’ve put together a doc of notes if you want to see some of the other background/worldbuilding I did when writing this. I’ve pasted the link at the end too, in case you’d rather read it after the fic itself. Anyways, I hope you enjoy this one!

Also on: AO3

Everything is in place.

Mikleo gives the items on the table a final glance-over, but it isn’t necessary. He’s checked a thousand times; he could draw this table and its contents from memory at this point. After so long, he has everything he needs.

(Well, except for one thing.

Or rather, one person.)

To any other human, the array of items on the table might seem strange, and maybe a little bit shocking. But to Mikleo, every piece makes sense. Everything has its place, and its purpose.

Satisfied, he heads through to the kitchen, where the plate and cutlery he used an hour ago still needs to be washed. With a sigh, he pulls out a pack of matches and gets to work lighting the stove. He’s gotten pretty good at it, now - he doesn’t even catch his fingers with the flame this time. Once the stove is alight, he sets a kettle filled with water on top of it, and sits down to wait.

There’s not much else he can do, after all.

All his books lie with his clothes and some other knick-knacks in the biggest bag he could find in his tiny shared home, too deep in storage for him to dig out. His conscience reminds him of the small pile of paperwork on his desk which he could be preparing to submit, but he stops himself. There’s no need for him to complete it now, after all.

Mikleo’s never really been good at being idle. He always prefers having a purpose.

(Starting tomorrow, hopefully that won’t be a problem.)

He’s debating doing a thousand-and-first mental inventory of the table in the living room when the front door creaks open, quietly thudding in the frame.

“I’m home!”

Not a moment passes before Mikleo is out of his chair, already in the hallway before the newcomer can move from the door, let alone remove his thick travelling cloak and bags. Still, the newcomer’s face splits into a smile filled with love.

“Welcome home, Sorey,” says Mikleo, his own lips curving into a matching smile.

Sorey steps forward, connecting their smiles in a gentle kiss which Mikleo easily reciprocates, tilting his chin upward for better access. When they part, Mikleo takes a step back, allowing Sorey room to remove his cloak and bags.

“Sorry I took so long,” Sorey says, leaving his bags on the floor by the door. It’s not a sure sign that he isn’t staying long, but Mikleo wouldn’t be surprised if that is the case. “They were harder to track down than I expected.”

“Well, they are travelling merchants.” Mikleo watches as he removes his cloak, hanging it on the peg beside Mikleo’s own, a matching pair. His long ponytail tumbles from where it had been held inside the hood, falling into its natural end at the small of his back. In the dim light of the hallway, the golden-white hue shines with its own luminescence.

It’s a shame, that he has to hide it in public.

“That they are.” Sorey moves on to shucking off his boots, using Mikleo’s shoulder to prop himself up as he does. “I found them eventually, so it’s all good.”

A hint of jealousy pings within Mikleo’s heart, but he ignores it. If he lets it grow, it will only bring chaos. “Are you hungry?”

Had Sorey been human, his stomach may have growled in response. Instead, he meets Mikleo’s eyes and nods fervently. “What’s for dinner?”

“Leftovers from the past week. Take your pick.”

Sorey recognises the jab and lets go of Mikleo’s shoulder in favour of giving him a teasing push. “C’mon, I apologised already, didn’t I?”

“I know. I just haven’t figured out how not to cook for two, yet.” In his mind he adds, ‘And I’m hoping I’ll never have to.’

“I’m not complaining, if it means I get to eat your cooking when I come home!”

Mikleo rolls his eyes, turning to lead the way to the kitchen. The kettle is still heating up, the water slowly reaching higher temperatures. He ignores it in favour of opening the pantry, letting Sorey see the leftovers piled up from the previous week.

Letting out a low whistle, Sorey kneels down to look at the bottom shelves, pulling out various boxes until he finally comes across something he wants to eat. As he does this, Mikleo lights another ring on the stove, readying a pan so he can heat up the leftovers.

“It’s times like these when I wish I was a fire seraph,” Sorey says, watching him pour leftover curry into the pan. “Cooking would be so much quicker.”

“Being able to produce your own fire doesn’t make cooking times any faster.” Mikleo glances at him through the corner of his eyes. “Besides, lightning suits you far better.”

As Mikleo picks up a spoon to stir Sorey’s food, he feels arms curl around his waist, and a head rest on his shoulder. Warm lips find his jawline, pressing a few lingering kisses to it. He leans into the contact. It’s at times like these when he remembers just how much Sorey has a penchant for physical contact.

“How was your trip?” he asks eventually, determined not to fall asleep in this comfortable position.

Sorey pauses in his kisses to answer. “It was good! The seraph with the merchants was completely different from what I expected, though.”

“Really?”

“Mhm. His teeth were all pointy, and he scowled a lot.”

“Sounds friendly.”

“He agreed, though.” Sorey smiles into Mikleo’s shoulder. “He said he’d join the cause.”

Mikleo turns his head and nudges Sorey until their lips meet, a little clumsy from this angle. “Good job.”

“Thanks.” Sorey chases his lips, but Mikleo turns back to face the stove.

“If you don’t want your food burnt, you should probably stop distracting me.”

“You know you love it.” Still, with only one more chaste kiss to his cheek, Sorey backs off, taking a seat at the kitchen table. “But yeah, he and the merchants all want to help out. Isn’t that awesome?”

It really is. It’s revolutionary, in fact - humans and seraphim working together towards freedom. The whole Glenwood continent, uniting no matter their race or nationality.

This has been their dream for as long as Mikleo can remember. And now, it is becoming a reality.

But it’s not enough, to watch it happen from the sidelines.

“How have things been for you?” Sorey asks, unaware of Mikleo’s change in thoughts. “No one has been harassing you, have they?”

“No one suspects anything, if that’s what you’re asking.” Mikleo stirs the curry, watching bubbles begin to appear when he leaves the spoon still. “Everything is the same as ever. Nothing ever changes in that place.”

“I suppose it is the palace,” Sorey says, shrugging. “They have rules for how things work, right?”

“It’s not just the rules, though. The people never change. Their talk never changes.” Mikleo feels his annoyance bubbling up and tries to quell it. It would do no good for him to become angry about this.

Sorey senses the change in atmosphere. In a gentler tone, he says, “They’ll understand eventually.”

“Maybe so, but their opinions won’t change.”

The water in the kettle simmers, bubbles popping against the metal.

“Mikleo, what are you trying to say?”

“The same thing as I’m always trying to say.” Mikleo removes the pan of curry from the stove, extinguishing the flame before he forgets. Once that’s done, he pours the curry into a bowl and puts it on the table in front of Sorey, taking the other seat at the table, across from him. “Working there isn’t doing a thing.”

“You’re working to change things from the inside. Just being in that position gives us an advantage if we need to do anything drastic,” Sorey says. “I know you haven’t forgotten that.”

“Perhaps, but there’s no way I can bring up the subject of human and seraphim coexisting without revealing myself as a traitor. You and I both know that working in the palace can either be a safety blanket or a death sentence.”

Sorey sighs, looking down at the untouched bowl of curry. They’ve had this argument plenty of times before, and Mikleo knows he’s tired of it. They both are. But it’s necessary, especially now.

“I vowed to protect you,” Sorey says. “If you travel with me, you’ll only be in danger. Even being here with me now is dangerous-”

“And you think I care about that?” Mikleo hears his words growing in volume. Still, he cannot stop the threads of anger lacing his words. “Did I not vow to protect you, too? The promise we made that night was not one-sided.”

“Even by letting me live here you’re protecting me,” Sorey says.

“It’s natural for you to stay here, though! I’m not able to do a damn thing, when I’m stuck in Pendrago and you’re travelling all over Rolance. You haven’t even been able to travel as far as you like because you don’t want to go too far away.” On the table, his hands clench into fists. “I didn’t come all this way just to be a liability for you.”

In the background, the kettle begins to whistle, its pitch sailing through the roof.

“You’re not a liability,” Sorey says. “I just want you to be safe-”

“And I’m saying I want the same thing for you!” He presses his fists onto the table, leaning over them as he stands. “But I can’t be sure of that when you’re halfway across the continent and I’m stuck here, unable to do a thing.”

Sorey’s face crumbles. He’s always disliked conflict, but this argument is one of the worst, despite its frequency. “I…”

“I’ve already lost everything,” Mikleo says, letting each word ring in the air. “My parents, my hometown, even years of my childhood. I wouldn’t be able to bear it if I lost you, too.”

“It’s the same for me,” Sorey says, voice quiet and sad.

“Then let me come with you. That way we can both protect each other, just like we promised.” Mikleo sits back down, his anger fizzling out. “This dream is ours together, is it not?”

A moment passes before Sorey nods. “It is.”

Mikleo doesn’t reply, instead getting up from his seat. He removes the kettle from the heat, letting its whistle die down. The sound rings in their ears even after it has ended.

“Okay.”

He turns around. At the table, Sorey faces him, wearing a genuine smile.

“Wait, really?”

Of all the things they’re ever argued about, this has always been the subject Sorey is most stubborn about. For him to finally concede is more than surprising to Mikleo.

Sorey’s smile gains a hint of wryness, like he saw this outcome coming. “You think I didn’t notice the stuff on the living room table? I doubt there’s any persuading you not to come with me.”

“Oh.”

“Besides,” Sorey says, standing from his seat at the table. “I’m kind of glad you pushed the subject. Even though I want you to be safe, I want you with me more than that.”

“Sorey…”

Mikleo leans against the kitchen counter as Sorey moves over to him, a hand coming to rest on his waist. He leans their foreheads together, their noses pressing against each other.

“So, when are we doing it?”

He restrains the grin which wants to come to his lips in favour of pressing them against Sorey’s. Naturally he finds his hands around Sorey’s shoulders, pulling him even closer. Just as Sorey opens his mouth to deepen the kiss, however, he pulls back.

“Whenever you’re ready,” Mikleo breathes.

“I’m ready anytime.” Sorey leans forward again, trying to capture Mikleo’s lips once more.

“Then eat your curry first. You can help me dye my hair after that, then we can go.”

Sorey’s free hand curls through Mikleo’s brown locks, pulling him into a deeper kiss. When they part, Sorey’s breath isn’t at all laboured. “I’m kind of going to miss this colour, but you’re really going to suit white.”

“I won’t miss it,” says Mikleo, pressing a closing kiss onto Sorey’s lips. “My boss might, though. He’ll wonder what on earth happened to the brown-haired Mikleo who always obeyed his word.”

“I think he’ll be worrying about the state of his office first and foremost.” Sorey glances to the side where Mikleo can see the table of oddities, looming in the next room.

Smirking, Mikleo says, “It’s only paint. Not like it’ll last forever.”

“That’s a lot of paint, though. And rope.”

“How else are we going to get to the fourth floor of the palace?”

Sorey laughs and pulls away, finally sitting back down at the table to get his half-cold curry. Between mouthfuls he says, “So tonight’s the rebellion. What next?”

“What else? We travel the world in pursuit of our dream.” Mikleo sits down across from Sorey, this time feeling much lighter than before. “Though there is the question of where to start.”

“I have an idea,” Sorey says. “How would you feel about going back to our roots?”

“To Elysia?”

He doesn’t need to ask the question, of course. His roots are burned into his brain - almost literally. The fact that their gentle village came into contact with such a calamity is a difficult thing to forget. It’s been years since that time, though. Maybe they’ll even be able to find survivors.

(A wizened face smiles at him from his memory, and his heart aches. Hopefully he’ll have survived, if anyone.)

“How about it?”

Mikleo blinks out of his thoughts and smiles at Sorey.

“Sounds perfect.”

At last, everything is set.

Notes

[eachainn]

I’ve been thinking about something like this since I finished watching Berseria. Then I somehow managed to convince @defragmentise to draw Exorcist Sorey and Malak Mikleo. And then @neodiji nudged me about crossover/fusion ideas and I couldn’t stop myself. Minor spoilers for action sequences in Berseria but I’m avoiding larger story line based spoilers as a whole.

The explosion rocked the dock despite its sturdy rock and concrete base. More damaging was the smoke that it threw up.

Sorey pressed an arm against his mouth and nose, stumbling forward through the smoke. He was sure that he would run into Maltran while he was stumbling around blind but he managed to avoid the Exorcist Praetor by some sort of miracle.

He coughed, stepping out of the billowing cloud and into the open air. Sorey blinked rapidly looking around the dock in a panic. There had been the two humans and the daemon just a moment ago, and Sorey was sure that he would have run into the two malakim that Maltran used, but the dock was empty save for the man running towards the end of it and the ship that was pulling away.

Sorey pivoted to stare at the ship his heart pounding. He scanned over the deck, spotting a woman with brown hair frantically tying down loose lines before she lunged for the wheel. The other woman, the daemon, was leaning out from one of the shrouds at the back of the ship. 

She leaned out, the wind blowing her hair back and allowing her circlet to glint in the sunlight. Her free hand hung in the air, the daemon reaching out for the man stumbling along the dock. “Michael! Hurry!”

Michael must have shouted something, but it was lost to the wind and the explosions still coming from the warehouses. The daemon must have heard it because she twisted to look back at someone on the ship. “Lailah! Again, please!”

Sorey jerked his gaze up, staring at the woman in red standing on the main top. His eyes widened as he watched her call up a ball of fire, taking a step back as it started to grow.

The woman held the ball for a moment before directing it into the ocean, making steam spray up to join the smoke. 

Sorey cursed and stumbled away, watching the steam rise before looking back at the ship.

The woman in red was a malak, he could feel that, but he couldn’t feel a tether. Because of that, it was hard to believe what his senses were telling him. Sorey couldn’t remember what a malak that wasn’t tethered felt like, and it made his heart race. 

There was no tether and there had been no order, which could only mean one thing. 

The malak was free and acting on her own. She had her own thoughts and feelings. She was more than a pair of blank eyes that stared back and haunted him.

She was everything, and she was getting away.

Sorey broke into a run, chasing after Michael even as his gaze was fixed on the ship. He saw the woman at the wheel look back at him, not able to hear what she was shouting out to the others, but that didn’t matter. He had to get them on that ship. He had to get them away.

He fumbled his sword back into his scabbard, taking a deep breath. “Amenoch, Eumacia!”

Sorey felt the familiar tug as his two tethered malakim were drawn out. The names didn’t matter, they never had, but Sorey wouldn’t have been able to live with himself if he had just numbered them. He’d heard too many stories about the malakim in the past, of the wonders that they had created with humans. He had gone into the Abby searching for that and stumbled into a nightmare. But he had found something that felt like a way out, and he was going to take it.

He glanced to the side as the two malakhim materialized, making sure that they were keeping up with them before sprinting ahead.

It was laughably easy to catch up to where Michael was running, Sorey reaching out to grab his shoulder. He expected the man to stop, not for him to turn and draw his sword.

Sorey had to jump back to avoid the swing, stumbling back further as Michael lunged at him. He held his hands up in the air, his stomach twisting as Michael looked at the two malakim, his expression morphing into fury.

“How dare-”

“Help them!” His plea stopped Michael in his tracks. Sorey watched the man for a moment before reaching back to push Eumacia and then Amenoch forward. “Please. You have a malak, one who isn’t tethered and she looks alive. I don’t know how to break a tether and I don’t know how to make this right other than doing this. So please, help them!”

Michael stared at him for a moment more before sheathing his sword. The fury on his face didn’t go away, but it was slowly being replaced by consideration. 

Sorey curled his fingers into Amenoch’s shoulders, feeling the malak start a bit under the pressure. He muttered and apology and loosened his hold, the motion almost making him miss the short nod. 

Sorey practically sobbed in relief, any thanks getting tangled on his tongue. He leaned forward in an awkward bow around the malak, only looking up when he saw Michael turn away.

He watched as Michael rushed towards the ship, waving at it.

The daemon had clambered off the shroud and had kicked the gangplank down, the wooden boards dragging along the dock.

Sorey took a few deep breaths before letting go of Amenoch. He looked at the two malakhim, taking in their blank stares. Hopefully they wouldn’t be like that much longer. If not, then he didn’t know what else to do. All he knew was that it was wrong to keep them the way that they were.

He took a step back, holding out a hand when the malakhim went to follow him. “No. I want you to go with Michael. I...I order you to go with Michael.”

Sorey watched at the two of them snapped to attention at the order, relief seeping through them. They wouldn’t disobey a direct order, but he hoped that it would be the last one that they would ever have to act on.

The malakhim turned and walked to where Michael was waiting by the gangplank, the man rushing them along with a shove. The malakhim stumbled up onto deck, the daemon quick to gather them up and herd them towards the center of the ship. Sorey watched her carefully, but she showed no sign of trying to do anything to them.

He turned his gaze back towards Michael in time to see the man pause at the top of the gangplank, Michael turning back to look at him.

The man met his gaze, Sorey surprised by the way Michael narrowed his eyes, the man startling a moment later.

He took a step back, like he was intending to rush down the gangplank again, but the whole structure wobbled. Michael stumbled backwards, jumping onto the deck just as the gangplank ran off of the dock before dropping and smacking against the side of the ship.

Sorey rushed to the end of the dock, holding onto one of the pylons there as the ship caught the wind and picked up speed. His gaze darted between the malak still up on the mast and the two on deck, feeling some of the tension that he had always carried unwind.

It wasn’t the solution that he had been looking for, but it was far better than any of his other attempts. The two of them had another malak to protect them. They were free.

He leaned heavily against the pylon, sure that he saw Amenoch turn back to look at him, but the ship was too far away for Sorey to see the expression in the malak’s purple eyes.

Sorey closed his eyes, taking a few deep breaths to calm his racing heart. Sending the malakhim away left the problem only half solved, he still had to figure out what to tell Maltran and his superiors at the Abby.

As if the thought had summoned her, Sorey felt a brisk wind blow past him. He tore his gaze away from the ship, staring back at where Maltran was running towards the end of the dock.

The Praetor glanced out at the ship, cursing before looking back at him. Sorey flinched as she tapped the butt of her spear against the ground. “Why didn’t you stop them?”

“I...I couldn’t.”

She narrowed her eyes, Sorey trying not to shift too much as she studied him. He opened his mouth to say something else, but he was quick to snap it shut as Maltran took a step closer to him. “Where are your malakhim?”

“They took them.” Sorey gestured back at the ship. “Through an arte...or something.”

“Or something...” Maltran hummed to herself before abruptly grabbing onto his arm.

Sorey jumped at the contact, wincing as her fingers closed tightly around his arm. He looked up at her, his heart sinking at the carefully blank expression on her face.

“Then we should report this to the General.”

“S-should we?”

“Of course, if that creature and her companions have an arte that can tear malakhim away from their rightful owners, then we must be careful. And, since you experienced it, only you can tell him exactly what it was.”

She tugged him away from the end of the dock before he could say something else. Sorey stared at the back of her head, trying to ignore the nervous twisting of his stomach. If he kept talking then Sorey was sure that he was going to get into more trouble. It was better to keep silent and hope for the best. If not, then it would give Michael and the others time to get away and maybe come up with a way to permanently remove Amenoch and Eumacia’s tether.

It took everything that he had not to look back at the ship, because Sorey was sure that it would reveal too much. Instead, he kept his gaze fixed on Maltran’s shoulders and prayed to the Empyreans for luck.

Sorey squinted as he was brought into the room. With his hands bound behind his back he couldn’t shield his eyes, and he wasn’t used to such bright light after being locked in the cells under the royal villa for so long. The silence was strange too, he was used to the screaming from the prisoners waiting to be sent away. 

He didn’t know where they would be sent to, especially since Titania was out of the Abby’s control. But that didn’t explain the fluctuating numbers, unless the Abby had found another prison to send them to. Then again, that wasn’t an explanation for why he was still there. Certainly if he was under enough suspicion to be stripped of his title and kept under the villa then he would be one of the first to be sent away.

He looked up from the floor as the door opened, his eyes widening as he saw Heldalf walk into the room.

The general looked at him and shook his head, Sorey used to the look of disappointment that he was shot. Heldalf had always looked at him that way.

Heldalf shook his head and sighed, holding his arms behind his back. “What am I going to so with you?”

“Sir, I-”

“I told you that going into the Abby was the wrong thing for you, did I not?” Sorey snapped his mouth shut at the question. Heldalf nodded at him before walking over to stand in front of him. “I told you that you didn’t have the strength to be an exorcist because it was like become a soldier, and you were ill suited for that as well. But you wouldn’t listen, your mind was too focused on those foolish stories from books and what your mother told you. You are not a Shepherd, Sorey. That is a foolish dream invented by weak people.”

“But I’ve heard-”

“Ah yes, Shepherd Georg.” Heldalf gave him a mocking smile. “It’s what the royals wanted and what the people needed to hear. And the people, they are weak.”

Sorey frowned but kept his mouth shut. They had had this argument too many times, and he was too tired to continue it. Besides, he always lost. And his father had always said that fighting on the right battlefield was the only smart way to fight a war.

Heldalf considered him for a moment before shaking his head. “We’re wasting time. I’ve heard concerning reports about you, about how you lost your malakhim when Hellawes was attacked by monsters.”

“It’s true.”

“If it is, then we have a problem that we need to solve, and quickly. If not...” Heldalf shrugged, making an idle motion with his hand.

Sorey sucked in a quick breath as a young malak appeared, her gaze fixed on the floor. He looked back at Heldalf as the man sat down in a chair. Heldalf smirked at him before motioning for him to speak, Sorey ducking his head out of habit.

He took a few deep breaths, trying to set his story in order. He’d had plenty of time to work it out after all, with the trip back to Loegres and his time in the cells. Sorey just hadn’t had the time to practice it much, aside from muttering it to himself in the dark.

He bit his lip, considering looking up to meet Heldalf’s gaze, but the habit of always speaking to him with his head down was too much.

“It...it was on the docks. It was hard to tell what was going on because of the smoke, but then the daemon was there. She reached out with her arm and touched the tether between me and Am- my malak and it just...disappeared. I didn’t have the time to think on it before-”

“That’s...a lie.”

Sorey stumbled to a stop as Heldalf’s malak spoke. She picked at the divide between purple and black on her sleeve before she looked back at Heldalf.

The general drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair before nodding. “You heard her, Sorey. Try again.”

“I was-”

“That’s a lie too.”

“Again.”

Sorey gritted his teeth. “The daemon that-”

“Lie.”

He looked up at Heldalf, anything that he was about to say dying on his tongue.

The general was glaring at him, the man shaking his head slowly. “I gave you three chances, which is far more generous than I give the others. Consider it in memory of your mother that I allowed you to get this far, but I will not tolerate anything more.”

Heldalf stood up, glaring down at him. “I hereby formally strip you of your title and condemn you as a traitor to the empire. The Abby will no longer support you and I...I wash my hands of you.”

Sorey stared at him, trying to speak around the yawning pit of fear that opened up in his stomach.

He had never needed Heldalf’s protection before, but the man had never been against him. And Heldalf had never been in the position that he had been now. He swallowed, and shifted on the floor, about to call Heldalf back and attempt another explanation. As long as he could keep coming up with excuses then maybe he could come up with one that would get him back into his old position. Even if he was never trusted with malakhim again he could at least try to free others.

Sorey started what could have been a word, but he stopped when Heldalf made an impatient motion. “I’ve heard enough. You’ve left me no choice anyway. Malak!”

The last was addressed to the malak girl. She wavered before disappearing, Sorey leaning after her. He shifted on his knees to regain his balance, freezing when two more exorcists entered the room.

Heldalf paused by them, looking back over his shoulder. “Don’t make him unrecognizable. We need to make an example of what happens to those who try to go against the empire. And the people need to work off their anger too. It’ll be no fun if he dies the first day.”

Sorey heard one of the men laugh as they walked towards him, but he didn’t dare look at them, he was too busy staring at Heldalf’s back as the man walked off. There was nothing he could think of that would bring Heldalf back, but he didn’t want to. If anything, Heldalf would be too excited to watch what he had just been ordered.

He gritted his teeth and looked at the men. He’d failed his attempt, which just left Michael, the daemon and the malak that he traveled with. They had seemed to be prepared to take on Heldalf and everything he had done so far. They were the only hope as far as he could see.

Sorey grunted as he was lifted up but the arms, not bothering to struggle. It wouldn’t do him any good. He might not be in a great position to do anything about Heldalf and his use of the malakhim, but at least he could hold on hope for a bit longer. And, if he wanted to do that, then he would need his strength to hold out through whatever Heldalf planned to do to him.