If asked months later what Vangelis remembered of the night of the storm after his men came down the tunnel and lifted him, his Commander the young Euphemia free, he would have been hard pressed to reiterate the details.

Firstly, the journey from the cave to the capital was a blank to him. He recalled the feeling of rain on his face and over his body as he was carried but, as he was already soaked through and shivering from hypothermia at the time, it hadn't left a significant impact on his mind. It had just been a continuation of the drowning sensation he had become familiar with in the mines.

It was only when he and his men - or rather his men, carrying he - arrived at the Kotas Mansion that he recalled small reminiscences.

The sound his mother made when his prone body was carried into the Kotas Hall was a sound he never wanted to hear again, it twisted his heart within his chest so profoundly. He had tried to move, to speak to her and insist he was okay, to open his eyes even, but nothing had obeyed his command and he had been forced to listen to his mother's panicked instructions and wild breathing without being able to comfort her. She had stood so close to him and refused to leave her duty at his head that he had been able to smell the perfume she favoured. It had been comforting.

Then he had heard his brother's voice. Zanon had started to shout, demanding what had happened, fearing that Vangelis had been attacked rather than caught in the storm. It was a logical assumption given that that shattered limbs were hardly normal symptoms of heavy rainfall.

His brother Yiannis's voice joined the din shortly after, his tone sharper and with more command. He was the one to instruct the men to carry him to his bedchamber while his mother organised the servants into drawing a hot bath.

The movement through the manor had jostled him so badly that Vangelis had blacked out again and only awoke once he was carefully lowered into a hot tub.

The shock to his system from frozen cold to blistering hot had his skin feeling like it had been set alight... or as if a thousand ants had been set crawling over his skin. His body, beyond his control and in full instinctive mode had thrashed in panic, which only served to know his broken body against the side of the tub. He had yelled and groaned in pain and only managed to calm when he had felt his mother's touch on his face.

While he couldn't see or even think about what was happening around him, Vangelis sensed that his mother was at his head, at the edge of the tub her hands stroking the side of his face and running through his hair. He more sensed than heard her "shushing" of comfort and his body naturally still. No matter how old one got, the sound of one's mother was a comfort in more ways than were known.

The heat had slowly started to seep into his skin and muscles and soothed him into another bout of fitful unconsciously.

The next thing he was aware of was his parents on either side of him - when had his father arrived? - and he was lying in a familiar bed - his own, he realised. He was slightly more conscious this time and was able to open his eyes, looking at those around him with little recognition but at least a clear vision.

There were several of his guards in the room for some reason and - more bizarrely - they appeared to be holding onto his good limbs, pressing him firmly into the bed. His head spun around to see the house physician holding onto his arm at a particular angle. He could feel his shoulder entirely out of joint and his eyes suddenly flew open wide as he realised what was about to happen.

"It's okay sweetheart..." His mother's voice spoke on his ear, her hands in his hair again. Vangelis felt his father's familiar grip pressing into his left shoulder, the strongest force holding him down.

"It's not going to hurt son." The king said, but Vangelis knew exactly how wrong that statement was. He had been on the opposite side of this procedure several times with his men and he knew that it was going to hurt like a-

The physician jerked his grip. His arm popped, his shoulder cracked. Vangelis was helpless to his reaction as he screamed in pain, his body jack-knifing up off the bed and his face twisting in agony. He heard his father's voice - possibly asking for help - another answered in assent - was that Nike?

"That's one." He heard an unfamiliar voice state grimly - the physician? And what did he mean one? How many bones had he-

The second jerk, sent him bowing up off the bed, the chords in his neck popping and his breath coming out in a screech. What in the hell was the man doing-?

The jerks and the resetting of his bones went on three times more before the physician was done.

Vangelis might have screamed through each reset - he wasn't sure - but he was confident that he hadn't shamed himself by blacking out again or soiling himself in the process. Instead, by the end of it, he was simply exhausted, feeling severely ill and coated in sweat from head to toe. The bed sheets seemed to have been soaked through but at least the physician was moving his arm joints in a natural manner - no matter how much it hurt for him to do so...

Breathing slightly easier now, Vangelis' eyelids drooped as he barely heard the man reporting the different breaks that would now need to heal (his collarbone, top and bottom halves of his arm, three ribs, his shin and his ankle) or the instructions he gave to keep the limbs rested and slightly elevated. He did however feel the cushions that were secured beneath his right side and he managed to only wince at the movement.

There was then a shuffling noise as people left the room, the physician promising to come back and bandage the prince as soon as he had had time to recover a little and be back with a pain relief that Vangelis was determined not to take. He knew what that would be, and he had seen good soldiers go... very strange... when under its influence. He would rather deal with the sickening heat running up and down his limbs than ever lose control.

Soon the room was empty of just himself and his mother who was sitting by his bedside and wouldn't stop stroking his hair. He was unable to see beyond her to see if anyone else was in the room.

"See..." Vangelis muttered, his words garbled and his eyes drooping as he turned to look at his mother, his skim shimmering with sweat. "That wasn't so bad..."

When Vangelis had gone out to deal with the storm Zanon had anticipated several things. First, that his brother would return damp and exhausted and likely in need of sitting before a fire for a long while to fight the chill. Second, that once again in some way he would prove himself a hero to the citizens of their country. But this third development that saw him gazing down on a man that looked so broken and barely clinging to life was new, and he did not like surprises in the least.

He had wrapped a warm cloak about his shoulders and approached the commotion in the entry with Dion trailing at his side, but once he saw the cause of the stir he'd turned the boy right back around. There was no reason for him to see his uncle in such a state, and Zan knew full well he didn't need to be in the thick of this. His expression was set in a frown as he loudly demanded answers from those who carried Vang, expecting to fetch his bow and ride out to fight whatever had done this without a second thought until he was calmed, just barely. A storm of this magnitude would destroy many throughout Colchis, their people would need help and without his brother to organize things, it would fall to him. Not until he saw that his brother would live.

Zanon had never wanted to be king. He knew he wasn't cut out for it, he had the mind of a chancellor, not a ruler. Vang had to live. He had to. Wincing against his brother's cries, Zan stood beside their mother and gripped her shoulder in as comforting a manner he could manage. He had accepted that until Vangelis wed and had children, that his son was the heir to their line, but he had prayed to every god that he would never see the throne himself. Vangelis had to survive this.

"Fond or not, if the physician says it will help he'll take it."

Zanon found his first words since his initial outburst in response to the commander's offering, waving to one of the attending servants to have it administered. Vang could yell at him when he was back on his feet.

He waited as the crowd filed out, convincing his mother to take her rest and promising instead to keep watch. Glaring down at his brother as everyone but the faithful commander parted, Zan crossed his arms over his chest and all but snarled at the older man.

"Gods bless it Vangelis. Don't you dare do this to me. Live you idiot."

It wasn't until Vangelis felt something trickling into his mouth that he realised he had passed out again for a moment. The liquid was anaseed and horrendous, meaning that he knew exactly what it was and he managed to keep most of it out of his mouth, despite it then running down his chin. It was only a painkiller and he was determined to do without if that meant keeping his wits about him. For a General in the Colchian army with a perfectionist and control freak tendency, it was unsurprising that loss of ration or control was not a feeling Vangelis enjoyed nor subscribed to.

He coughed as the little medicine that had worked its way passed his lips hit the back of his throat. It was then that he heard his brother's words.

"Shut up, Zan..." He grumbled, his voice sort of garbled and slurry but his eyes sharp. "I can't die..." He eyed his brother leerily as he finally came into proper focus. "You'd be a terrible king."

There was no smile to accompany his words but everyone in the room took a relieved exhale. Vangelis had told Zanon on more than one occasion that he would be a wonderful king of Colchis and that, were their positions of birth reversed he would have stood with his brother to the very ended, defending that statement until his dying breath. His words now were therefore an obvious joke. And if his mind was well enough to be joking then there was hope for his health yet.

With a sudden frown, however, Vangelis's humour disappeared as he looked to have realised something... "Where's the physician?" He asked, his words still muddled but clear enough for those who knew him to understand through his gravel tone. "Bring him back..."

Vangelis noted Nike's sharp tone with the servant girl - whoever it was - standing in the far corner of the room. With his brother and his commander standing right by the bedside, he couldn't see beyond them to look at anyone else in the room. But, judging from her tone, and its coldness - Nike rarely sounded like that with anyone, even servants - he wondered if it might be Euphemia.

He wanted to tell his bodyguard not to be so harsh and to adjust her tone. He had been his decision to run into the caves after Euphemia which meant that any injury he had sustained rested squarely on his shoulders. If he had thought about it, he should have known that Euphie might not obey his commands - she had not shown a great propensity for it until now - and he should have warned her not to try and help others beyond his instructions. Particularly not to go in the caves. The girl was a natural protector and eager to help. She was something just more eager than she was rational and Vangelis knew this. He should have catered for it.

In his experience, it was always poor planning that led to poor results. He had been misguided in the information he had given Euphemia and the result was his now incredibly painful injuries that he was beginning to realise would take weeks, if not months to heal. This was definitely not something he was fond of the idea of. Vangelis was not a stay-at-home kind of person, and stay-in-bed was even worse. He was a mover, a man of action and adventure. Someone who severely disliked being laid up or held in one place. He grew bored far too quickly if he wasn't being productive...

When his commander turned to him, asking why he sought the physician and what hurts he always laughed, but the inhale that would have fuelled such a thing hurt his ribs enough to put a halt on that reaction.

"Everything..." He answered her with a sardonic half smile - there one heartbeat and gone the next. "But s'not me..." Vangelis was uncertain why his voice was still coming out garbled but decided it must be the fact that his entire face was numb with cold. Damn he felt like a cube of ice...

Suddenly he lost his train of thought. What had he been saying again...?

Frowning, Vangelis looked about him and focused on Nike. Yes, he had been talking to Nike. He licked his lips and tried again.

"S'not for me..." He managed again. "Your hands..."

And that was when the shivering started up again.

Unable to control it - just like the last time - it seemed like the rush of blood and adrenaline that the resetting of his bones had caused had worn off and the hypothermia was creeping back in. Suddenly incredibly cold under his very skin, Vangelis felt his teeth beginning to chatter and clamped his jaws shut against biting his own tongue. He was unable to breathe properly and he felt his eyes begin to roll.

He wanted to tell them that he was cold. That he wanted the shaking to stop... that he couldn't really hear them properly anymore...

Vangelis's body had gone into shut down mode, falling into unconsciousness faster than he could scramble for control of his wits. The cold was seeping in through his blood and muscles, as if it were slowly turning him to ice, his fingers shaking and sending waves of pain up and down his broken limbs. He felt weak, and had no idea his pulse was dropping... At least he couldn't breathe very well. That was one saving grace... shallow and infrequent breaths finally gave his broken ribs a bit of a rest...

Maybe if he just shut his eyes, he could sleep... and give the rest of him that pause to heal... It was all sort of going dark anyway...

She would've recognized the joke, maybe even threw a quip or two about it had situations not be this dire, and she had her general reacting in ways Nike simply did not feel good with. With all her senses zeroing in on Vangelis and how he was like, reacted and what he said, she picked up immediately on his garbled voice, and frowned.

Something wasn't right, that she knew for a fact.

Taking a step or two closer to his bed, as another servant walked in with the bandages the physician had said he was going to wrap around the prince's injured and broken bones, her brows furrowed further. Her hands? It wasn't until Vangelis brought it up, did her attention briefly shoot to her palms, the sloppily wrapped up bandages now mildly damp from blood when she had been holding Vangelis down, a dull throbbing of the wounds.

In a split second, her attention was taken when his words trailed off, and her eyes shot straight to Vangelis, before she saw him almost turning blue right under his eyes. Zanon's words were dull in her ears; she didn't need him to tell her to know that someting had to be done, and something was wrong with her general.

Cold? The water! He had almost passed out in the cavern, and he had complained about being cold there too. Her mind racing as it went to immediate alert mode, Nike shot to Vangelis side, letting Zanon hold Vangelis as still as possible, as she placed her hand by his cheeks. Shaking his head a little with her hands, she held his face to look him right in the eye, her gaze sharp and almost scolding. "Vangelis you do not go to sleep. No. Open your eyes, look at me." she snapped, in a tone she's never ever used to him before. Nike was teasing, she occasionally berated the man for not thinking before he dived into his hero complex mode, but she's never been this sharp with him before.

Turning over her shoulder, she snapped at anyone who was listening. "Extra blankets. Get me a glass of hot honeyed mead or mulled wine, and bring the physician here now." her instructions curt and to the point, in a tone that obviously meant that whatever she needed she needed fast. With that done, Nike turned back to Vangelis quickly, her voice louder then usual when she saw his eyes fluttering to a close.

"Look at me. Look. I need you to remind me what was the new drill you wanted to run by the men again. You're obviously in no shape to do it, and I'll get it done but I completely forgot what you told me the last time. C'mon, run it by me, now." In the rush of the moment, Nike cooked up the only thing she coudl think of to get Vangelis talking, and she knew that as a man of action, he could never sit or lie down for months thinking nothing was being done with the Red Knights. She didn't care what he said, she just needed to get him talking until she got more blankets on him and some warm liquids down his body to warm up his insides. As long as he kept talking, they could do something about it. Nevermind if Vangelis thought she actually forgot one of his instructions, which Nike had never done in her years with him. "And I forgot which formation was it you wanted changed. Remind me Vangelis, c'mon."

His first thought was to question why Nike was taking this time now to talk about tactics and formations. Vangelis was clearly fighting for his life, and it wasn't until he let the panic seep away from the cogs in his mind that he realized what the commander was doing. Zanon nodded along, shaking his brother slightly and then slapping his cheek with the back of his hand to try to bring him back to consciousness, anything to keep him from slipping away from them.

"Stay alert soldier, answer your commander. You don't get to rest until the fight is done."

Zan's tone was gruff, thick with fear at the thought of losing his brother. He'd said it before and he would say it again a thousand times over. He didn't want the crown, had never wanted it. He couldn't take it with a witch for a wife and a son who may be as cursed as the woman who'd borne him. Granted, he hadn't spoken with Vangelis at length on the subject, perhaps that was something he should do if his brother survived the night.

The arrival of the physician was a relief, and he allowed the older man to take over, moving to his brother's other side and taking hold of one of his hands, chafing the cold extremity with his own to try to get the blood flowing and his brother responsive once more.

She tried, she really did. Nike would stop at nothing when it came to helping her general, yet like it as she may, Nike was no physician. So when her efforts at keeping vangelis awake proved futile, the relief that she felt as the physician bustled in with his help was obvious in her face, and she gladly allowed the older man to shove her aside, allowing him to perform his duty. The whole time, her eyes remained trained on the prone figure of Vangelis on the bed, anxious as she was regarding his well-being, turning only when the sheets were lifted for the physician who needed to access other areas.

'The cold will kill him before his injuries do.'

The words of the physician brought a chill to her bone - she'd die before she let Hades take Vangelis away, if it was the last thing she did. More to it then just the fact that she was fond of the prince, she knew of his importance, how necessary was it for him to continue in the land of the living. Over the years, his sense of responsibility had somehow been instilled in Nike, and she knew he was loathe to leave behind all he had to settle. And Nike was not about to let him leave behind any regrets.

Her jaw tightening, the commander listening intently to the instructions. Not intending to leave him at all until his condition was stabled, Nike was prepared to stay up all night, replacing the hot water in the skins, and reapplying the oils (or getting servants to do so), until he gets his insides just as warm as they should be. There was no 'if not' about it, if Nike of Acaris had anything to do with it.

"We will see you on the morrow, Physician Dimas." Nike insisted, her tone firm and brokering no argument. No if about it. her mind rattled, moving back to the bedside to peer at Vangelis's face, resisting the urge to brush her finger against his forehead, to check again and again that his chest rose and fell as they should, to see if warmth had returned to his skin. Flickering her eyes to Euphemia, the commander's brow furrowed. "Euphemia, ensure that there is a constant supply of hot water in the kitchen, to be brought up at moment's notice. Close all windows and doors that could bring in the draft once night settles. And have some extra blankets ready by the side." Always alert, her military training had kicked in, and Nike was rattling out orders as she would to her subordinates, never mind that the second prince was right there.

As if suddenly remembering Zanon's existence, the woman turned, and her facial features softened when she saw how worried the younger Kotas looked. She knew the young man, and knew that he would be worried for his brother. But he had his own son and wife to attend to. "If you have to, you can leave, Prince Zanon. I promise you no harm will come to your brother. I'll be here until he is awake and out of death's door."