Having finally formed a rough outline of what his future plans will be, Thorsten's mind had settled enough that he could feel the much-wanted lull of sleep trying to pull him back under.
The after-effects of his memory transfer were still there in the form of a constant throbbing in his head, so he let himself drift in hopes that sleep would dull the pain.
But just as sleep was about to claim him, he was awakened by the sound of his door opening, followed by a single set of orderly footsteps and a gentle greeting.
"Good morning, young master."
Thorsten turned away from the sound, not bothering to acknowledge her presence, instead, choosing to prioritize sleep. Then it dawned on him—he lived alone.
The thought reached the forefront of his mind, and his drowsiness gave way to alarm. His eyes shot open as he sat up to face the intruder: a middle-aged woman with a soft expression, which was complemented by her wrinkles to give the impression of a caring, maternal figure.
She paused on her way to the room's curtains, her brows knitting in concern as she noticed Thorsten's pained expression.
He had sat up too suddenly, causing his receding headache to rear its head with a painful spike.
"You've gone pale." She asked, approaching his bedside and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.
"It's nothing." Thorsten responded, with immediate dismissal as he began searching his merged memories for her identity.
She was his—Thorsten's—personal maid, Rowena, and other than his mother, she was probably the person who had spent the most time with the original owner of his new body.
Which also meant that she would also be one of the first to realise that something was wrong with him.
Unknowingly, and more on his body's lingering memories, he had leaned into her touch. A sign of how much Thorsten had been comforted by her presence.
In a way, Rowena was like a second mother for him. She was always there to comfort and look after him, and even now, the concern etched into her soft features looked far too genuine to have simply been from being tasked with looking after him.
From what he could recall, it seemed like she doted on him a little more than she necessary. And if Thorsten's memory served him correctly, she had been his caretaker from the day he stopped nursing from his mother's teat.
"Shall I send for the doctor, just in case?"
"I'm fine. It's just that I..." Thorsten's voice gave way as his eyes began to fill with tears.
Rowena was a bit taken aback by him suddenly crying but when she put the pieces together, she realised that he might have had a nightmare. From his reaction, she surmised that it was to the point it that he couldn't fall asleep after being awoken by it.
The only question now was of what could have caused this: had his brothers scared with stories of made-up monsters or was it because he had mistaken some shadows for a hidden monster, again?
Finding the source of his fear would aid in soothing his worries, but at the same time, she was worried that asking too soon would only cause his fear to intensify.
She soon settled on having him calm down, first, and after opening the curtains, she approached him with a gentle, calming smile as she placed a soothing head on his head.
"Easy now," Rowena murmured, drawing him into a gentle embrace. One arm wrapped around his shoulders while the other cradled the back of his head, holding him close.
"You're safe, young master. This is your home—nothing will harm you here."
Thorsten stiffened for half a heartbeat before his body eased, the tension in his chest loosening as he let himself lean into her. "I know… I just needed a moment."
"And you are allowed that," she said at once, her hold tightening just slightly. "Even so—" she pulled back enough to look at him, her expression soft but resolute, "—you are of House Baylith. Strength runs in your blood, as well as the courage of the warriors who have stood unmoved for decades."
He gave a small nod, resting his forehead briefly against her shoulder.
"Rest now," Rowena added gently, one hand smoothing his hair. "When you rise again, you will do so as you always have—steadfast, and fearless."
She gently tucked him into bed and gave his small hand a firm, encouraging squeeze and left his room. The door closing silently behind her.
He heard her say something to another maid about rescheduling his bath for after he had rested, but he still held his breath until all the footsteps had faded into the distance.
When he could no longer make out any signs of anyone nearby, he finally let himself relax on the comfortable mattress.
"That went surprisingly well..." Those words carried a frail certainty as they left his mouth.
Thorsten threw the covers off himself and after shifting into a more comfortable position, he began reflecting on his brief interaction he had with Rowena.
Ignoring the fact that he had forgotten about his new life and starting form when she had first spoken to him, the interaction only went as well as it did due to sheer luck.
He didn't know how, but it was as if something had overtaken him and acted like the child that he was supposed to be; crying tears and enjoying the comfort that came from Rowenas presence.
Thorsten couldn't explain how exactly. It might have been a remnant of the original's ego or consciousness, or perhaps something deeper tied to his transmigration—but instead of fully taking over the body, the boy who should have woken up today still existed somewhere within him, experiencing everything as a nightmare.
He couldn't really find the words to describe in, but it was like he had mentally checked out, and instead of simply moving on autopilot that version of Thorsten had taken over and reacted in his place.
In a way, it was like the originals childlike innocence had taken a form of his own and acted in his place when he was mentally checked out—at least that was how he chose to see it.
Though, whatever it is, is still there. Silently treading the turbulent waves in his mind fighting to stay afloat.
'At least I can use this... I think.' That thought brought him a small comfort, and he gave himself up to the much-needed lull of sleep.