A/N: I do not own the Deryni. I just take pleasure in torturing them.

Summary: Rhydon is sick. The Gwyneddan Deryni kidnap him. Wencit is not happy and Alaric has a moral struggle. Shamelessly self-indulgent; reviews not expected. Based on the conversation from I think it was High Deryni or Deryni Checkmate where Thorne said "Instead, you and Wencit—well, you know." and Rhydon replied with "Yes, we do make a likely pair, don't we?" It's impossible to dismiss the slight gay undertones of that and I suddenly shipped Wencit x Rhydon. This story is slightly AU because Bran Coris never joins up with Wencit and Rhydon is Wencit's mistress.

"Suppose, then, that I were to tell you that you are, in fact, Deryni—at least in part. And that I could prove it."

A door on the opposite side of the room was pushed open to admit a man dressed in a too-big silk robe. Bran couldn't help but think he looked familiar. The man crossed to Wencit's chair and leaned down to speak to the king in flawless, if sleep-slurred, Torenthi.

Wencit's reply was quick and quiet, but Bran thought he heard a name: Rhydon. What did any of this have to do with Rhydon of Eastmarch?

The thought was pushed from his mind as the man climbed into the Deryni king's lap and seemed to fall back to sleep. Wencit wrapped one arm around the man's waist and ran the other through his hair.

Bran Coris waved over the squire called Garon.

"Is this normal?"

"Oh, completely." He must have seen Bran's disbelieving expression, as he quickly continued. "Wencit'll fuck him into oblivion, then he'll let Rhydon sleep 'til he comes out the next day acting all sweet like this."

Bran looked from Garon to the man on Wencit's lap and back to Garon again.

"Rhydon of Eastmarch?"

Garon gave him a quiet nod, retreating back to his place by the door.

Bran lowered his voice. "In any case, sir, I do not accept your offer. I should like to leave now."

"Very well. Garon, escort our Earl of Marley out and back to his camp. And bring back my brother-in-law and his men as well."

"Sire."

Kelson was in a meeting with generals from all of the four Gwyneddan armies when a messenger came barrelling through the camp border at Dol Shaia.

He heard a scuffle with the guards outside and then a voice assuring them that whatever he had to say was very urgent.

Kelson sighed and gestured for Morgan to deal with the situation. The Corwyn duke nodded and left the tent.

Morgan's voice could be heard, then the guards', and finally, the messenger's.

Alaric's eyes widened as Bran Coris related to him, in hushed and hesitant Torenthi, what he had learned. It was a general rule that border lords tended to pick up a little of the language, though they were hardly ever completely fluent. Alaric was an exception.

"That Rhydon? The Eastmarch Rhydon?"

"I didn't believe it at first either. But it's true!"

"Really? I mean, Rhydon and Wencit?" Morgan laughed, not quite believing it. Not quite believing the implications of what he'd just heard.

Morgan reentered the tent with an odd expression on his face.

"What is it?" Kelson snapped impatiently.

"Bran Coris is here. I really think you need to hear what he has to say. If we do it right, this information could win the war for us."

The boy's eyes widened. "Bring him in then!"

Morgan hesitated.

"What? Why aren't you following my orders?"

"Well… This really shouldn't become common knowledge…"

Kelson was getting annoyed. "Fine. Everyone except… Nigel, Morgan, and Duncan can leave. Morgan, bring. Him. In. Right now."

"Yes, sire."

Bran was settled in a chair, Kelson and Morgan both encouraging him to tell them what he had learned.

"Rhydon and Wencit—Well, they—"

"Spit it out, man!" Nigel exclaimed.

"They're courting."

There was an uproar.

"Rhydon—"

"The king of Torenth?!"

"What!"

"The Eastmarch Rhydon?"

"Quiet!" Kelson's fourteen-year-old voice managed to cut through all the clamor—as soon as he'd wrapped his head around the idea, of course.

"Bran, are they really courting, or has Wencit just taken another bedmate?"

"By the way Wencit was acting with him, Rhydon is much more than 'just another bedmate.'"

"Very good." Kelson was already formulating a plan with the new information.

"Duncan, will you please fetch Bishop Arilan?"

"Certainly."

"My lord, what exactly are you planning?"

"If we could capture Rhydon, Bran, what do you think Wencit would give to get him back?" Kelson ignored Morgan's inquiry.

"How much do you know about Wencit of Torenth?"

"He's descended from the Furstáns and the Festils, Charissa was his cousin, and he's the rightful King of Torenth."

"Good, but what about about him as a person?"

"The times I've met him, he seemed kind enough, if a little odd."

Bran nodded. "Also, when he devotes himself to something, that devotion is nigh impossible to break."

Kelson thought for a moment. "So how much do you think he would give to get Rhydon back?"

Kelson's plan hinged entirely on the assumption that Wencit would even want his lover back. If the Torenthi king wasn't willing to give a lot to get Rhydon back, they would have more important things to worry about.

At that moment, Duncan returned with the now-known Deryni Bishop Arilan.

"You needed something, sire?"

"Yes. You are Deryni. And you seem to know more about magical transportation than Morgan or Duncan do. So do you know of any way to enter Cardosa?"

Denis was very obviously confused. "I know of a few, sire. But if you don't mind my asking, why?"

"I plan to kidnap Rhydon of Eastmarch."

Four voices spoke out at once, incredulous, disbelieving, uncertain, and worried.

"What?! You can't be serious!

Rhydon was tossing fitfully in Wencit's bed. He felt too hot to fall asleep, but the fever had sapped all of his remaining energy. He was almost certain that if he had been in Torenth instead of this harsh Gwyneddan weather, he wouldn't have felt so sick.

Sighing softly, Rhydon pulled on one of Wencit's lighter summer robes and opened the door to Wencit's antechamber. His lover was negotiating something with the commander of the army camped at the base of the hill.

He leaned down and spoke to Wencit in the now familiar Torenthi.

"You and your damned invasion. Why can't you just let the boy have his kingdom? It has terrible weather anyway."

"You're only upset because you don't feel well."

"I feel like shit. And I'm fairly sure I wouldn't feel so awful if we were in Torenth."

"Rhydon, don't be dramatic. Besides, I know you don't really want me to give him Gwynedd."

"Right now, I just want to be able to sleep," Rhydon muttered as he crawled into Wencit's lap. "I haven't felt quite right since winter started."

"You'll be alright."

The human lord, Bran Coris was his name, cut in.

"In any case, I do not accept your offer. I should like to leave now."

Wencit gave some standard response and once the man had left, he shook Rhydon a little.

"'M awake. Couldn't sleep if I tried."

"Do you really feel that unwell?" Wencit was actually starting to worry now. He knew Rhydon was ill, but he hadn't known it had gotten to the point where he couldn't sleep because of it.

The other man nodded quietly against his chest.

"Would you like me to help?"

"Are you actually proposing sex when even sitting still I feel like I'm going to vomit?"

"I meant magic."

"Oh. You can try it, I suppose."

Wencit scooped his lover into his arms and carried him back to the bedroom. When Rhydon had curled up under all the blankets he could stand, Wencit slipped into bed beside him and rested his fingers lightly on the smaller man's temples.

The spell worked, but it didn't last long. Rhydon's fever was running high enough to make him uncomfortable even in Deryni-induced sleep.

A few hours later, Duke Lionel burst into the room, shattering Rhydon's fragile sleep and sending him into a fit of harsh coughs.

"Damn it, Lionel, do you know how hard it's been to keep him asleep and breathing properly?"

Wencit ignored his brother-in-law's apology in favor of helping Rhydon to sit up.

The Gwyneddan Deryni swung his legs over the side of the bed as Wencit ran a hand up and down his back. When the coughing didn't stop and Rhydon's lips began to go blue, Lionel approached cautiously and gave him a few sharp thumps between the shoulder blades. The sick man's breathing seemed to ease a little and Rhydon groaned softly, collapsing back against Wencit's chest.

"Are you alright for a moment while I speak with Lionel?"

Rhydon nodded, trying to fall back to sleep, even for just a few minutes.

"What was that for? I actually had him asleep."

"I'm sorry, I didn't realize—"

"Nevermind. What did you need?"

"Something strange is going on in their camp."

"Strange how?"

"I'm not sure. I've put someone on surveillance."

"Good." Wencit turned back toward the bedroom. "If you'll excuse me."

"Is Rhydon really that ill?"

Wencit stopped walking but didn't turn around. "This Gwyneddan weather doesn't seem to agree with him at all."

"Ready?" Denis asked. He and the two Corwyn half-Deryni had been preparing for this 'mission' since Kelson had assigned it to them two days ago.

"Ready," Duncan responded.

Denis nodded and there was a swirling sensation before the three Deryni were standing in a hallway in the taken city of Cardosa.

Alaric spoke in a hushed whisper. "Where should we look first?"

"We could always just use our Senses," Denis suggested.

Duncan seemed to have the same idea. "Found them," he said, cutting through the other two's hushed argument. He led the way along a winding corridor that ended at a large, imposing door. Alaric pushed lightly to see if it was locked. It wasn't, and the door swung open silently.

"That was almost too easy," he whispered. Duncan nodded in agreement. They crossed the antechamber slowly, making every effort not to be noticed. There were no guards outside the bedroom door and Alaric wondered if it was a trap or just Torenthi custom. He probed into the other room with his mind and was reassured by the fact that there were only two Presences on the other side of the door, and both were sleeping.

They slipped into the room quietly and moved to the side of the bed. Rhydon was curled up against Wencit's side, a look of distress on his face. Denis reached a hand to the man's temple to deepen his sleep but jerked away in surprise.

"What?" the other two hissed urgently.

"He's burning up."

Duncan pressed a hand to Rhydon's forehead to see for himself and Rhydon leaned into the cool touch. The priest bit his lip when he found Arilan's observation to be true.

Even Morgan hesitated. "This isn't right."

Denis sighed. "We can't go back without him. Kelson would ring our necks."

"...Alright," Duncan acquiesced, "but this still feels wrong."

"I know," Morgan said as Arilan deepened Rhydon's sleep. They pulled him out of the bed, careful not to wake Wencit, and left the room. They crept through the halls back to the site of the portal and a moment later they were reappearing in the camp at Dol Shaia.

Kelson and Nigel hurried forward to lead them to the tent where Rhydon was to be held until Wencit came to negotiate the terms of his release. All three Deryni were visibly uneasy, but the royals chalked it up to being nerves.

Wencit was frantic. It had been two days since Rhydon had disappeared, and he couldn't think of anywhere in the city they hadn't looked. Finally, he was forced to consider the alternatives: that he had been kidnapped or… killed.

"But who would have taken him, sire?" one of his advisors tried to rationalize.

Wencit snapped. "For the last time I don't—" The Torenthi king froze. "Bran Coris."

"What was that, my lord?"

"Bran Coris. The Earl of Marley. Rhydon was being very affectionate when he was here last week. Coris is the only one who's seen me with Rhydon who isn't on our side. Get Lionel in here immediately."

The advisor nodded and bowed out of the room as Wencit continued pacing. He prayed he was correct in his guess, because if he wasn't… The king allowed himself to fall apart for a moment. Tears streaked his face at the thought of Rhydon's possible death. He pulled himself together before anyone else could see his weakness. A moment later, his brother-in-law strode through the door, the advisor and several soldiers on his heels.

"Has there been a new development, sire?"

"Yes. I want you to find Bran Coris and bring him to me as quickly as possible."

One of the soldiers cut in. "With all due respect, sire, that isn't doable. He left for Dol Shaia shortly after his meeting with you."

"Dol Shaia? There's nothing there but barren desert."

"We believe that that is where the boy has camped his armies."

Wencit nodded slowly. "That would make sense. Very well. Ready a horse. I will ride out with Lionel within the hour."

"Sire."

Rhydon hadn't caused any trouble. Granted, he hadn't tried. He mostly slept or sat on the floor far from the tent's entrance and his captors. He ate rarely and spoke even less. He had talked with Morgan for an hour on the first day, making less and less sense as his fever worsened. After that, he didn't say a thing, either too out of it or too stubborn to respond to questioning. Morgan had his metaphorical money on the former.

"Do you think Wencit's going to come?" Duncan asked the question that had been on all their minds.

Kelson hesitated for a second before nodding. "It's two days ride from here to Cardosa. Even if Wencit had left the moment you took Rhydon, he wouldn't be arriving for another few hours. Give it three more days. If Wencit hasn't shown up by then… Well, we'll cross that bridge if we get to it."

Rhydon's condition was deteriorating. He had been unconscious for the better part of the day and Duncan had had to force feed him a cup of water to get him to drink anything at all. They hoped Wencit would arrive soon.

Their wishes were answered. Wencit and his brother-in-law arrived early that evening, Wencit very clearly in a bad mood.

"Where is he?"

Kelson wasn't forthcoming with any answers. "Will you give up on this invasion of my kingdom?"

The Deryni king growled, low and dangerous. "If you don't tell me what you've done with Rhydon, you won't have a kingdom left to rule."

"You aren't getting him back until I have your oath that you and your descendants will leave my kingdom alone."

"Very well," Wencit spat. "Now tell me where he is."

"Morgan, take him to Rhydon."

The Duke of Corwyn gestured for Wencit to follow him through the rows of tents. They stopped at a small tent near the back of the camp, clearly added as an afterthought and radiating a slight magical Presence. Wencit shoved the flap aside, making a noise of horror when he saw the state Rhydon was in.

He was sitting against the tent post, nearly in tears. His face was dark with a fever flush and sweat dampened his hair. His clothes were dusty and there was no furniture in sight, only a pile of unused blankets near the far wall. The Gwyneddan looked up at him with glassy eyes that brightened in recognition when he saw Wencit's face.

A man kneeled beside him with a bowl of water and a cloth. He looked up sharply when Wencit came through the door but didn't cease his ministrations. He soaked the cloth in water and ran it over Rhydon's face, causing him to shiver. Wencit strode forward and pulled the man up by his wrist, taking the cloth. The man smiled sadly. "I couldn't do anything, and I'm a physician. I doubt you can." Wencit hated the implications of those words, hated that he was helpless to help the one he loved.

Rhydon smiled slightly as he let the tears fall. "You came to get me."

"Of course I did, love." Wencit dropped to his knees and pulled Rhydon into a careful hug. He was radiating heat. Wencit almost cried himself as he realized the very low likelihood of Rhydon surviving a fever so high. The king grabbed a blanket from the pile and wrapped it around Rhydon, cradling the smaller in his arms as he fell into unconsciousness again.

The Torenthi stood with his lover in his arms and strode purposefully through the camp. He was stopped by three guards when he had nearly reached the spot where Lionel was waiting.

"What is the meaning of this?"

"I have your word that you'll withdraw your troops from Cardosa?" Kelson asked.

Wencit hesitated. He would do anything for Rhydon's safety, but to just give up on the invasion like that?

"You aren't leaving until you accept my terms. And Rhydon could really use some kind of medical care right now."

"Fine. I'll call off the invasion. Let us go."

Kelson nodded and gestured to the guards to back away.

Duncan approached to hold Rhydon while Wencit mounted and the Deryni king nodded his grudging thanks.

Cardosa was back under Gwyneddan control within a week and the last of Wencit's troops were gone in two. Wencit himself stayed, along with Rhydon and a small group of waitstaff. The city's lord reported all of their activities to Kelson, though there wasn't much to report. Wencit stayed at Rhydon's side constantly and they hardly ever left their assigned room. They finally left in mid-spring, when the passes were confirmed to be safe travel.

Kelson ceased correspondence with Cardosa's lord and allowed himself a breath of relief at the assurance that Wencit had left Gwynedd.

"They've gone," he told Morgan and Duncan, whom he'd been talking with when the letter arrived.

"That's good."

Morgan frowned. "But will they stay gone? We have nothing to go on but Wencit's verbal promise."

Kelson spoke slowly and carefully. "I think… that Wencit is," the boy paused, searching for the right words. "I think that Wencit is going to hold true to his promise, for Rhydon's sake. We've already taken him away once, who's to say we wouldn't do it again if he tries anything?"

"Would we really? It was almost out of necessity last time. Doing it again would put us in the wrong far more than Wencit."

"I know. That's why we won't do it again. But Wencit doesn't know that, and that gives us a bargaining chip if he ever does think to attempt another takeover."

Morgan and Duncan nodded in understanding. As much as they hated to admit it, they really did need a little bit of power over Wencit.