After having his shackles removed, Ahelair slumps to the floor in defeat from having his sweet release denied him...

Having no recollection of it, he was somehow ushered into a guestroom...
In a bewildered state and mostly through force of habit, he thoroughly washed himself before going to bed...
After a good nights rest (especially after 2 weeks in the dungeon), after another, even more thorough washing, and maintenance of his beard and hair to a semi-decent state, Ahelair sat down on the side of his temporary bed, head down, face in the palms of his hands to try to come to terms with his current situation, and trying his best to ignore his wife Flyssia sitting next to him.

[color=a2d39c]"Ahelair...  Ahelair Ander.  You... you have a job to do.  It... might, not be the craft of healing you have dedicated more than a century to, but... if you... if we succeed, will you not have saved lives?  Possibly the lives of everyone in all the known nations?  And on this dangerous venture, will they not need a healer to make sure they have a better chance of success?...
...
..
.
If I can help to fight back against those monstrosities... will I not have avenged my poor family...?"[/color]
Without looking, Ahelair knew that his family was standing behind him, staring, waiting.  The weight of their empty-eyed glares bore into the back of his head...

Later that day, Ahelair went to barracks to retrieve his whitewood staff and medicinal leather satchel that were confiscated from him a fortnight ago.  While there he also procured a knife, which should be handy when traveling.
Afterwards, he went back to his clinic and home to get dressed in his most well-kept robe (which isn't saying much) and cloak, refill his satchel with fresh herbs and a variety of completed potions and ointments, and to give some final, detailed instructions to his nurses, to hug them and wish them the best.

Then, going upstairs, Ahelair took down various paintings of his family that he had commissioned back when life was perfect...
He stared at them until nightfall.  He then removed them from their frames, and even knowing they would crack, break... he folded them to be stored in his satchel, before returning to the Administration to see what the next step was.