[the guy who be short]

After seeing, or rather, carefully not seeing the Death of A Slan, Fléin and Sai mourned a little before parting - Sai was to go to the registrar, Fléin needed to see Freud again to finish his psych. Hopefully, he was better by now.

Fléin entered Freud's office to find, to his surprise, a semi-congealed Freud along with a newcomer. An inquiring glance at the man promped him to present himself as Mr Jung. "I shall be assisting Mr Freud, as he is currently a little, ah, inconvenienced."

Fléin sat back down.

"So, Mr Freud tells me you're a homosexual. I shall help you overcome it, do not worry."

Fléin said "But Mr Freud told me it was perfectly normal!"

The two psychoanalysts started arguing like little children, giving Fléin a little time to himself. He made the most of it by thinking about A Slan, but before he knew it, he was weeping again.

At the noise of a particularly loud sob, the two psychiatrists turned around to face him once more. "He is dead," he sobbed to himself. "And I didn't even get to know him."

"Who's dead?" the lips of Freud asked from a corner of the room.

"Oh, he doesn't actually exist," Fléin replied bitterly. "Just a delusion, don't worry yourself."

"Ah!" Jung exclaimed, "Freud told me of these delusions of yours! You say your imaginary friend is dead? What was he like?"

"He was."

"I see, I see," Jung scribbled frantically. In a far corner, Freud's mostly congealed body picked up its lips and stuck them in a pocket for safekeeping. "But what did he look like? What was his name?"

"He was A Slan." Fléin responded. The scratching of the pen stopped. Fléin looked up; Jung had stopped writing, and his face had gone deathly pale.

When he next talked, he whispered hushedly, "A Slan is dead? You are sure?"

"He was sacrificed on a Stone Stretcher," Fléin responded in kind.

Jung collapsed his head into his hands, distraught. "A Slan! Gone!" Fléin caught snatches of words, little phrases that made no sense to him. After several minutes of this, Jung addressed him again, always in a whisper. "How did you know A Slan? Did you say he talked to you?"

"Yes."

Jung's eyes widened in shock. One of them revealed itself to be made of glass by falling out, but Jung ignored it. "A friend of the Llamasson. Do not worry, Fléin. I shall declare you to be in sound mental health. Now tell me, what was He like?"

The next half an hour was spent recounting Fléin's brief relationship with A Slan in whispers, but too soon Freud had reformed himself, and it was time to go. Nonetheless, Fléin had found yet another follower of A Slan - Jung had hoped to overthrow Freud, whom he condemned as a "commiter of incest" - in this crazy world. Though he was advised to keep his knowledge of A Slan quiet, he couldn't help but feel that not only was he special, he was potent. There were millions of Mordorians, especially Nurnians, who apparently followed A Slan. Perhaps there could be some sort of revolution.

Fléin allowed himself a fell laugh. How could there be revolt against the Dweomer without A Slan to lead them?