Wolfram departed, leaving Morr with his thoughts and the unconscious man again, again bringing his thoughts back to his words to Mary. He had made a promise whose fulfillment was almost outside his reach and would further cage him in this room. Purpose demanded. He would follow.<br/><br/>He had never supressed his memories, he had never denied himself any sort of truth that he could have viewed as unsettling. He had only ever accepted, accepted, accepted and fulfilled, desperately atoned if not. But talking with Mary about the highly possible death of her mister rattles had tugged some memories more pronounced than others.<br/><br/>He remembered, while he was laying back down on his bed again, how many he had helped. Stood for those who cannot stand for themselves. Always trying to fight the oppression of the weak by the means of the strong. He was strong himself, it was his duty, his purpose to be strong, for those who cannot be so, this he accepted.<br/><br/>His purpose demanded he stand, stand even when everything around him fell apart, even when nothing was left for him to stand for. He could only accept. After all, who needed Morr the person when there was Morr the knight? No one, that was who. No one alive, at least. He accepted.<br/><br/>After having eaten the hearty meal, Morr soon had to give in to the weakness his body was beginning to exhibit at his age, soon accepting the sleep that overwhelmed him.