Return of the General's Daughter
Chapter 171: His Sickness And The Cure

Chapter 171: His Sickness And The Cure

After breakfast, Lara went in search of Agilus.

She needed answers—specifically about Alaric. A gnawing suspicion had begun to take shape in her mind, rooted in the prince’s strange, erratic behavior. She feared his trauma ran deeper than anyone knew. Something told her that what she’d witnessed was more than grief or stress—it was something fractured. Something broken. She suspected he might be suffering from dissociative identity disorder, or a "split personality."

Alaric was still sleeping in the side room beside the living room. When Lara served him water, she added sleeping powder so he could calm down and rest. The relentless punching had caused his body a lot of stress.

She found Agilus outside, seated beneath the old oak that stood like a sentinel on the left side of the Mendel house. The property was expansive—open fields flanked either side of the house, and the backyard stretched nearly the size of a football field. A few scattered trees offered shade, but the oak tree dominated them all.

Beneath its wide canopy, Jethru had crafted a small haven for the children: a pair of wooden benches with backrests, a sturdy monkey bar, a rope swing, and a table fashioned from a tree stump.

Agilus sat on the bench carelessly, his feet clad in black leather boots resting on the circular table made from a tree stump. Sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting playful shadows that danced around him, a relaxed smirk gracing his lips.

Lara stood before him, arms crossed, the weight of her concern anchoring her expression. "What’s going on with Alaric?" she asked, her voice steady but tight with unease. "Does he hurt himself often?

The man on the bench sat up straight, the casual ease he had momentarily held vanishing like mist in the morning sun. Lara’s words, piercing and unguarded, caught him off guard. The warm, relaxed smile that had graced his face tightened into a mask of tension, his eyes narrowing slightly as they focused intently on her.

"I only see him did it once. He saw a family of three, a father and a son on his shoulder and the wife walking along with them." Agilus shuddered when he remembered the beating he received after trying to stop Alaric from inflicting self-harm.

Lara’s brows furrowed, but she said nothing, letting the silence stretch while she absorbed his words.

"Did something happen to him as a child?" she asked softly, already piecing the puzzle together in her mind. "Something traumatic?"

Agilus exhaled and turned his gaze toward the distant capital, eyes lost in memory. "Ari was beloved once—by his mother, Queen Astrid. She adored him. The whole court knew. But everything changed the day they returned from a picnic in the meadows."

He paused, jaw tightening.

"One of the guards—bought by Heimdal’s enemies—tried to assassinate the prince. Queen Astrid saw the blade and didn’t hesitate. She threw herself in front of it." He swallowed. "She died hugging the young boy who was shocked."

Lara drew in a sharp breath.

"The king never recovered," Agilus continued. "He loved her more than anything. And from that moment on, he blamed Ari for her death. He said the queen would still be alive if she hadn’t protected the child. His grief turned to hatred."

Lara stared at the ground, brow deeply furrowed. "But he was just a child. How could he blame an innocent boy for something like that?"

Agilus gave a sad, bitter laugh. "Grief makes men cruel. And cowards. The king couldn’t face his failure to protect her. So, he transferred the blame to an easier target—the son who his beloved woman died for."

Lara’s brow creased in a deep frown, her expression a mixture of confusion and disbelief. "Tsk. Why shift the blame?" she mused aloud, her voice laced with a sharp edge of indignation. "Isn’t it his failure that he couldn’t shield his wife from harm?"

He rose from the bench, walked over to the swing, and sat down, letting the chains creak under his weight.

"Perhaps... perhaps he convinced himself it was Ari’s fault so he wouldn’t have to live with the guilt."

Lara let out a heavy sigh. She never imagined Prince Alaric harboring such a tumultuous past beneath his calm exterior. His tragic childhood must have something to do with his unusual behaviour earlier. But what triggered him? Was it Sandoz? Did he see himself in the little boy?

Her gaze turned to Agilus. For the first time, he found his words profound, and for the first time, she did not find him annoying.

"I think," she said carefully, "the prince is suffering from dissociative identity disorder."

Agilus blinked. "From what?"

"It’s a condition," Lara explained. "Caused by severe trauma—often in childhood. It fragments the mind. People develop alternate versions of themselves to escape the pain. They feel disconnected from who they are, from reality itself."

Agilus stared blankly.

He was a top scholar in his batch, second only to Alaric. But he did not understand a word she said.

Lara raised an eyebrow. "It’s like the mind builds walls inside itself. Different identities, each holding a part of the trauma. It’s... survival. But it comes at a price."

Understanding flickered in his eyes. "So... that’s what’s happening to him?"

She nodded. "That would explain the shift in his behavior. The disconnection. The rage. The confusion."

Agilus’s eyes lit with understanding. "Is there a cure?"

"There’s help," she said after a long pause. "With love. Support. Therapy. But it’s not easy. The wounds aren’t just in the mind—they’re in the soul."

Agilus looked at her, searching her face. "Can you help him? Could you be his therapist?"

Lara turned away, her face unreadable. She stared toward the distance, unseeing. Her fingers tightened around her arms.

How could she help him when she had barely survived her own darkness? The ghosts of her childhood still haunted her dreams. Her first kill. The second. The third. Faces she couldn’t forget. Blood that never seemed to wash off, no matter how many times she bathed.

They were a haunting reminder of what her father had made her. But then he hired a psychiatrist for her, and somehow the nightmares and the haunting memories were gone. She’d healed—partially. But she came out of it colder, harder. Less human.

Lara exhaled heavily. "I am not qualified." She turned around to enter the house.

But Agilus’s voice stopped her.

"But you did something, and he calmed down. Your presence alone has a therapeutic effect on him."

Lara didn’t turn around. But her shoulders softened. How could she forget? She was no longer Lara Starr, the assassin, but she was Lara Norse, the general’s daughter.