Given a few minutes, the madness or paranoia could set back in and any progress could well be lost. As it stands, Aleron's been heavily sedated to force him to rest. So it's from that fog he replies, though how how much longer is anyone's guess.

The question doesn't receive a direct reply immediately. It takes no small amount of effort to parse it. He must weigh it word for word, for tone, to suss out intent, test it for manipulation or coercion. It registers as genuine enough, though that right there should be the proof it is not. He cannot tell any longer and it frustrates him no end. He was never an exceptional swordsman but he had a sharp mind and a gift for converting knowledge into practice. On more lucid days, he realizes he's going quite mad and the loss of his mind hurts keenly.

"I don't know," he answers honestly. That in itself is an improvement over stubborn refusal to answer any question put to him and to instead turn to the Chant to drown out others. Aleron cannot say one way or another what his state is because it could change direction at any moment. He despises it. "The song is quieter today. Further away."