He sits in silence for what will likely seem an eternity to Bethany. Aleron's watching her, sees her, focuses intently on her face because it's something to keep him grounded. But it's not her. It never is. He's seen her, talked to her, but in the end, when he's reached out to touch her, the illusion fades and he's left quite alone in his madness. That is, perhaps, the worst part. He can feel his mind slipping away and it's abhorrent to a man who was once lauded as one of the most brilliant strategists among his brethren.

But that touch. It felt real. It's felt real before too. She cannot be here. She must not. He will not be the bait who finds her taken. The song of the red and the pain it causes are screaming, fighting for dominance over the wishful dreaming he's facing again. Again. Even knowing this cannot be real, there is a deep and abiding yearning that this time it is. Despite the warning of his mind that it is too dangerous to be so.

"Bethany?" Briefly, he raises his hand, daring to reach out and touch her soft cheek. But he forces it down, unwilling to let the facade be unmasked and fade away. Maker, how he aches for her to be real just this once. But it is wrong and he knows it. "I've said nothing. I've kept you safe."

Because all of this torment he's suffered is sourced in an attempt to flush out the last Hawke.