This is a terrible spectacle for the Fool to witness, even knowing that his friend is in no real danger from the spectre in front of him. The damage that this sickness has done to his mind is clear enough; the Fool won't turn his back on that.

"You have always belonged to Mordremoth!"

One last straggler fleeing the scene jostles him as he strides forward and goes to his knees at Trahearne's side. "We belong to no one, in this place," he insists determinedly and touches his friend's shoulder, his grip firm. "Whatever our lives were before we were drawn here, those binds can only shackle us if we let them."

An overly simplistic way of looking at things, the Fool knows, and more than a little hypocritical, but if he can at least convince Trahearne to focus on the sound of his voice, rather than the dream of this moment, then he will count his gambit a success.