Chapter V - Welcome Back, Kansas

Author's Comment

This chapter was written while listening to: Evanescene/Sarah McLachlan.



Fun fact: After not appearing in Chapter 4, Shandor has an entire chapter to hiself. Egomanic? Or plot needed it? Meh.

Fun fact II: Incidently, Shandor only got the plot 'cause his was the only backstory that we've seen that didn't involve parent/family/friend/beloved pet death coupled with no home/exiled/fleeing/chasing the cheese.



That's a bit of Hmm: What in the hells happened to Faindil?



Comment: This is my favourite chapter, at least until we begin the Devil's New Suit Saga (beginning with Chapter VII).



Chapter V – Welcome Back, Kansas.



“I know well what lies beyond my sleeping refuse,

The nightmare I built my own world to escape.”

~ Evanescence, ‘Imaginary’



Shandor groaned uneasily. It seemed the logical thing to do. For the second time, emerging from a portal had sent him careening into a tree; at least he assumed it was a tree. He didn’t careen into anything else normally. This time, it knocked him out.

He was going to kill Rilnae.

He felt rather warmer than he really should be, and so he decided to open his eyes to see what was going on.

He wasn’t at the foot of a tree. Nor was he outside.

He was inside a small, dark, but rather nice room constructed from stone, ceiling supported by timber. There was a fireplace on the back wall, a large window on the wall to his left and a painting hanging over his head. He, himself, was lying in a bed. To his right were two unusual people. Unusual in the sense that he knew who they were, and why they shouldn’t be.

Despite her brunette hair, the face was instantly recognisable – Ariea. She went wide-eyed when Shandor moved. Jumping to her feet, she dashed out of the room.

The other person still looked like who he should be – Faelnon. He beamed, ‘You’re awake!’

Shandor put on his patented, ‘Duhm?’ face. Faelnon said nothing, just smiled.

The silence lasted about a minute before Ariea came back in with Foilae.

Great, Shandor thought, I hit the tree, snapped my neck and died. Perfect.

Silence set in again.

‘It’s a miracle.’ Faelnon finally said.

‘Truly marvellous, I didn’t think he’d wake up.’ Foilae agreed.

‘We’re so glad to have you back in the world of the living.’ Ariea said.

Considering the three people he was talking to were dead, he found this a rather old statement to make.

He expressed this in a very eloquent manner, ‘Ehm…’

‘Try to relax,’ Foilae said reassuringly, ‘We just want to perform some minor tests to make sure you haven’t suffered any brain damage. Is that okay?’

Shandor nodded dumbly.

‘Excellent, if you could just identify the two people beside you and the relationships-‘

Shandor turned to the two, ‘Faelnon and Ariea.’

‘Good, and the relationship?’

‘Ariea-‘ Shandor stopped suddenly, flinching and clutching his shoulder, it felt as if a hundred pins had stabbed at once, he shook the feeling off and said, ‘Wife.’

Foilae nodded. Faelnon grinned, ‘I hope you remember your best man’s speech, it always goes down well.’

Shandor looked at him, then noticed Ariea and Faelnon holding hands, they were wearing two identical wedding rings. Faelnon and Ariea. Man and Wife. He shut his eyes in confusion then opened them. I’ll wake up soon, Shandor reassured himself, Just enjoy the ride.

Ariea looked sorrowfully at Foilae, who nodded solemnly. Ariea turned to Shandor, and put her hand over his, ‘Shandor, I’m not sure how to tell you this…’

Shandor’s attention was completely consumed by her, ‘Go on,’

‘But your wife… the accident that put you here. She… she didn’t make it.’

Shandor frowned, ‘Excuse me?’

‘I’m so sorry, Shandor, but Sarah didn’t make it.’

Sarah!? Shandor’s eyes grew to the size of melons, but before he had a moment to express his incredulity, a young male rushed into the room.

‘Silvan.’ Shandor said aloud.

The male stopped in his tracks and looked concernedly at Foilae. That’s when Shandor noticed the elven ears Silvan was sporting.

Foilae smiled to the elf-Silvan reassuringly, ‘Don’t worry, name confusion is completely okay at this moment, it’ll come back to him.’ He turned to Shandor and said, ‘I am Dr. Silvan Foilae, this is your brother, Martherian.’

‘I think I need to be let into the secret.’ Shandor frowned again.

“Dr. Silvan Foilae” - who Shandor realised on closer inspection wasn’t elven, but human – explained, ‘For the last two years, you have been in a coma. There was an accident, your wife and yourself were in a wagon which crashed.’

‘Okay.’ Shandor said quite calmly.

‘Mrs. Trovo’kren was quite adamant that you receive the finest of care.’

Ariea blushed slightly. Mrs. Trovo’kren? A human service? Shandor couldn’t help but be curious. He frowned a third time trying to piece everything together.

Suddenly, something clicked.

‘Let me guess, we are in a mountain castle about fifty miles north east from Tildruin.’ Shandor said. That was where “Foilae’s castle” was. Or used to be. Or never was. That confusion thing set in again.

‘That’s… exactly right.’ Foilae said, slightly flabbergasted.

Over the next few hours, more tests were ran and more and more things made sense.

In the, well, ‘coma-world’ for lack of a better term, he had always treated Silvan, sorry, Martherian as a brother, albeit, a very annoying one.

Faelnon and Ariea, man and wife, that had happened, according to Rilnae.

Shandor dying twice – he had come close to death on two occasions in real life.

Shandor ceasing to exist – his subconscious trying to show him this world wasn’t real. And so many of the group dying – his subconscious again working to awake him.

He had been informed that one fact wasn’t an illusion – he did have a shop in Tildruin.



After nearly a week, Shandor was released. Akin to a family, Faelnon, Ariea, Martherian and Shandor returned to Tildruin. The dying days of summer lit the trees in a golden haze on the road to Tildruin. The city hadn’t changed from what Shandor had imagined. Except for the person Shandor had stored the wagon train with didn’t exist – created by his mind for convenience, he guessed.

His store looked exactly like he had pictured, which was actually a surprise, because it had been built after a dragon had torn through the city.

Speaking of, there was an explanation for the dragons; in the marketplace where his stop rested, there was a large statue of seven dragons circling a mother and a child dragon. It was a tribute to nature.

Shandor entered his shop with a mild sense of disbelief. Was it really possible? In a coma for two years? Then why couldn’t he remember the real world? Dr. Foilae was confident that Shandor would remember, but he wasn’t so sure.

Slowly, Shandor moved through the shop into the back area. There was a sword resting on the back wall. Above, there was a plaque in memoriam of Sarah. That was another thing he couldn’t understand – he had married someone he had no romantic feelings for. She was Ariea’s best friend and a friend, but nothing more.

Shandor decided that there had to be a non-coma explanation.

Faelnon and Ariea hovered at the door, so as not to be intrusive.

Shandor turned around and saw the explanation – the trapdoor. It led down to the dragon’s lair. It explains everything that what he imagined was really real.

Unfortunately, there was a big pot on top of it.

A very big pot.

It looked like the one Ariea had been stuffed into when the Tildruin Guard raided the store a lifetime ago.

Shandor dashed to it and shoved it over, causing it to shatter on the rough floor. Faelnon and Ariea spurred to stop this from happening and failed. Miserably.

Shandor yanked open the trapdoor and dashed down. In pitch black conditions, doing such caused him to roll down the stairs. He hit the bottom and was surprised to find no door there. Ariea followed down a moment later and lit a torch from the wall while Faelnon collected up pieces of pot. Ceramic pot, the Narrator wishes to add.

The light from the torch illuminated a largish room, a few rugs, a bed, fireplace and also several trunks full of magical oddities.

‘Sarah said one day she would make this into a proper room and lock you in it.’ Ariea half-smiled, remembering fond times, that also created a pang of sorrow.

‘What the hell is going on!?’ A voice shouted.

Shandor stared at the room in shock until Ariea grabbed him gently by the shoulder and led him upstairs. Shandor’s sight turned to the owner of the voice, who was bounding down the stairs. The Seventh, Richard.

Shandor, in one swift motion, whipped the sword from the wall and pressed the tip at Richard’s Adam’s apple.

‘Shandor! Whoa!’ came Richard’s reactions.

Faelnon abandoned the pot and leapt to his feet, ‘Shandor?’

Ariea, too, looked at the elf with concern.

It’s not real. Shandor, or part of Shandor, reminded the rest of Shandor. Richard wasn’t a killer.

‘I’m sorry.’ Shandor muttered, dropping the sword callously and looking around the store in a bedazzled, deer-caught-in-headlights manner.

‘Don’t worry about it, just try not to aim for me next time.’ Richard smiled.



People had been coming in, saying how great it was to have Shandor back, what a shame Sarah’s death was, and over the next few days, Shandor had hardly been left alone in the shop until Richard was dragged away to attend a cousin’s wedding. Shandor didn’t see the fuss about him. Sure, within five minutes of being in the store he destroyed a very valuable pot and nearly killed a co-worker – but who hasn’t?

The shop was quiet. Shandor was sitting on the counter when a wagon pulled up next door. From it emerged two elves, both were instantly recognisable as Rue and Varadrion.

Shandor dropped from the counter and shuffled outside.

‘Shandor!’ Rue shouted, grinning, ‘We heard you were in the land of the non-comatose again.’

‘Welcome back.’ Varadrion said warmly.

‘Thanks, what are you doing here?’

‘Well, it was our anniversary-‘ Varadrion began.

‘So we decided to go on holiday, but… my store called me so we return a day earlier.’

‘She never stops worrying about the shop when we’re away.’ Varadrion smirked.

So, thought Shandor, Rue and Varadrion are married. I suppose stranger things have happened, although, that ten headed boy was a hoax... Oh well, I’m too shocked out. Just nod and smile… nod and smile.

Shandor nodded and smiled. It was just easier.

‘You’ll have to come over tonight.’ Rue insisted.

Shandor nodded and smiled. After a few seconds, he jerked his thumb at the store and said, ‘I’d better get back to the grind.’

There was, however, no-one in the shop, it was just his face was going to crack if he kept smiling. He scooted into the dark store.

One hour, and only one customer came, a regular. Folk must think I’m mad… The sword probably doesn’t help. The regular was a sight, too. Shandor watched Robert West wander around the store, examining the new items. Finally, he decided on a jug of lizard scales and strode over to the counter.

Shandor rather hoped Richard, who had returned, would deal with his friend because Shandor wasn’t sure that he wouldn’t smack Robert with his purchase.

Shandor took a small moment to think about the coma-world; evil things all began with ‘r’: Richard, Robert, ravioli…

‘That’ll be…’ Shandor said, snapping back to the real world to find the price. However, when he looked down at the counter, he saw grass. The entire store had disappeared.

Shandor looked up to see Robert, but he was gone. Two metres away, stood an unusual woman. Unusual in the sense that she was on fire.

She was writhing in the flames which were licking at her tender flesh and consumed her completely, but her skin wasn’t burning. She noticed Shandor for the first time and extended a desperate, pitiful arm towards him.

Shandor blinked and the store reappeared. In theory. In actuality, the store transformed to a ruined building, the ceiling was gone and the walls were half-way there. Robert was here this time. Or, rather, a morbid, worn, archaic skeleton with cavernous eye sockets and a shiver-inducing grin from teeth left in its ancient jaw. It was slightly hunched over, leaning towards Shandor. A frail hand lifted towards him.

Shandor blinked repeatedly.

Robert and the store reappeared. He looked concernedly at Shandor.

Shandor, now-hyperventilating, ran from the store, letting the jar of lizard scales fall and shatter.



‘Perhaps it was a little early to send him back to work.’ Ariea said, pouring herself a cup of tea.

‘He was adamant that he was fine.’ Faelnon replied.

‘You know Shandor, if there was a knife poking out of his head, he’d go to work.’

‘Where is he now?’

‘At home.’ Richard answered, ‘Should we suggest a holiday?’



Shandor was in the upstairs of the magic shop, which, it turns out, is a book section in the real-world. He didn’t want to go home, too many things didn’t feel right. For starters, it was clearly Sarah’s house from the décor and he felt rather uncomfortable.

He still had no idea what the flaming woman was about. She seemed familiar, but her face was concealed by the fire. He wouldn’t mention it to anyone; there were already enough people who doubted his mental health.



A month passed. The flaming woman visited about once a week, Shandor still had no idea what she wanted, and didn’t really press the matter. He was getting better at not reacting to it.

Autumn had set in. The dry summer had created an extravagant, wondrous cornucopia of foliage. Waves of rusty, golden or deep red leaves blew across the marketplace in a dangerously care-free manner which was quite disrespectful to gravity; it was really quite rude.

Shandor sat on a hill over looking Tildruin He watched the clouds which were imitating the leaves and the same time forming interesting shapes. He watched a large, fluffy walrus watch a funny little elf on the ground.

The silence broke after a few minutes, ‘Hey Shandor,’ Ariea said, sitting down next time him, ‘how are you?’

‘Not bad. Not crazy.’ That was Shandor’s normal, casual reply, ‘You?’

‘I’m good.’ Ariea replied, looking up at the clouds, seeing a nondescript bubble of cloud which Shandor saw as a walrus. She doubted his mental health.

‘Oh,’ Shandor said, ‘I was told to invite you and Faelnon to Christmas dinner.’

The walrus began to circle overhead. The wind hand changed direction.

‘That’d be nice. Your folks organising it?’

‘Yeah, they wanted to invite some humans around and do their festivals. They are also inviting the two people demented enough to watch over a comatose nut-case to dinner as thanks. Although, I wouldn’t consider being poisoned thanks.’ Shandor smirked.

Ariea grinned, then sat in silence for a minute before saying, ‘There’s someone you’ve been avoiding.’

‘Oh? Who’s that?’

‘Come on!’ Ariea said, dragging him to his feet.

The two moved into the city as the walrus waved goodbye to the funny elf. The two stopped outside a tavern, the Golden Dragon. Faelnon was waiting outside.

‘I haven’t been avoiding Faelnon.’ Shandor stated.

‘No, not him. Get in that pub, now.’

Shandor complied.

‘Ah! Wellity, well! Look wot cat’s dragged in. You’re some cod, hai. Thinkin’ you could avoid ye oul pal Thor!’ A burly human called cheerfully at Shandor from behind the bar.

Thor? And his accent is… worse. I guess my mind couldn’t replicate it.

‘Sits yeself down and I’ll get’cha a drink, ye skitter.’

This should be fun.



Christmas came as it always did and it didn’t really seem to care that Shandor was alive and well, which depressed him a bit. Maybe New Year’s would notice.

The meal took place at the family home and everyone was in attendance. Shandor was sitting between his older brother and younger sister, who was next to Martherian. Dr. Foilae had the seat next to Martherian. Ariea, Faelnon, an aunt and uncle had taken seats on the other side of the ebony table. At the end was Shandor’s mother, and the head of the table sat Shandor’s father. The walls were covered with a light wood panelling, which in turn were covered with several paintings of Shandor’s grandparents, great-grandparents and so on.

Before the frantic siege of the food began, Shandor’s father rose to his feet, ‘We’ve been through a lot over the past few years, so to keep this brief-‘ Shandor’s older brother delivered a theatrical sigh of relief, ‘-it’s good, great, to be altogether again as a family. And all of you are family.’ He added towards the doctor, Ariea and Faelnon. ‘Well,’ he continued, indicating Shandor, ‘Except this one, we just found him outside.’

Everyone around the table smirked as he sat down allowing the food frenzy to commence.

The meal stretched on ‘til the dwindling sunlight. ‘Ah, how meals were meant to be enjoyed.’ Shandor’s father had commented. Old jokes and stories were told amongst the general conversations, yet the food didn’t seem to run out. Maybe the real world wasn’t so bad.

About, what could only be guessed as half-way through, Shandor heard a familiar, but at the same time strange, voice. It sounded like Mihndrid’s and Shandor couldn’t wait to see who she was in reality. That’s when he noticed a picture moved. Only, it was no longer a picture of his grandfather. It was a moving picture of a battle. He recognised it.

The End of the World.

The picture next to it changed to him fighting ‘Death-as-Ariea’ the night he brought her back.

All of the pictures were changing to moments of his ‘life’, all of him fighting.

Shandor looked away from them, at the plate. The plate had changed – the stuffing to gravel, the turkey to a slab of rock and the gravy – blood.

Shandor looked, panicked, at his family. They were all skeletons, akin to Robert. They were looking at him. He backed off so fast that he nearly tipped the chair and himself. He quickly regained balance.

‘Stop dreaming.’ Shandor shouted at himself.

Shandor paused. He hadn’t said anything to Shandor. Another Shandor was leaning against the wall next to Shandor.

Shandor was rather disturbed by this. So disturbed that he dashed out of the house and sprinted down the hill to the small enclave a few miles out from Tildruin. Snow was falling quickly, the temperature was well below freezing. People wrapped up in scarves and warm woollen mittens were singing carols door-to-door. Shandor continued to run down the cobbled, icy street, nearly slipping a multitude of times. Only one singer took notice. He stepped towards Shandor and removed his hood – Shandor was underneath it. ‘Stop pretending.’ He hollered after the first Shandor.

Shandor, the first one, dashed down a gap between two houses and ran down the bank of a frozen-over river – beyond it was the main road to Tildruin.

Why did he do it? Momentum? Panic?

Shandor couldn’t explain why he continued onto the ice. He just did. He got halfway before the ice broke, plunging Shandor into the unbearably freezing, dark, murky water.

He watched his final bubbles float slowly up as his frantic, waving arms slowly stopped.

Shandor closed his eyes.

Shandor opened his eyes.

His face stung. Ached too. Pretty much everything ached. The sky was dark and red. He was lying on cold stone. He was in some sort of ruined building. Something was pinning his arm down – a chunk of stone.

He managed to shirk the stone off. He rolled over onto his stomach.

He crawled over to a wall that was still upright and hauled himself up to a hole to get a safe look out.

All he could see was ruins. As far as he could see, just completely destroyed. He was about four storeys up.

He could see one other thing. A dragon. Tearing its way through the ruins.

He had stopped dreaming.