Dawn broke slowly through the trees. The rays of sunlight were too weak to penetrate the early morning chill, but just bright enough to waken Prince Arslan as they fell across his face.

He sat up, trying to blink the heaviness from his eyes. Though he knew he had gotten a fair amount of rest, his body felt reluctant to move. His headache was gone, but along with the dull pain in his limbs and throat, a general feeling of malaise had gripped him.

Looking around, Arslan noticed and quietly greeted Narsus, who was preparing the traveling packs. Daryun, Gieve, and Elam seemed to be absent, most likely readying the horses. He also saw with relief that Farangis had returned, and was tending something at the small fire that still burned at the center of the clearing. Arslan wondered at that. They didn't usually linger for breakfast, nor did Farangis usually cook.

He smiled when he saw that Daryun's cloak still lay over him, though it quickly faded with the memory of his unhappy thoughts the night before. The feeling of being hopeless against his many faults...it threatened to swell up once more, but he shut his eyes tightly and gave his head a vigorous shake. He was determined not to dwell on such things today.

"Is everything alright, Prince Arslan?"

The prince opened his eyes to find that Elam had returned and was approaching, carrying a small basin of water.

"Y-yes! Good morning, Elam," Arslan replied, wondering why it was that he so often made himself look foolish around the other capable boy.

Elam nodded. "Good morning." He indicated the basin. "Fresh water from a stream nearby. Please refresh yourself if you like."

"Ah, I must look a complete mess!" With an embarrassed laugh, Arslan's hands flew to his silvery hair and attempted to tame it. He had forgotten to untie his ponytail before falling asleep, and he was sure that it was in quite a disarray by now.

He was heartened when Elam spared him a good-natured smile, likely amused at the sight of the disheveled prince. "Not at all, Your Highness."

Arslan drank as much water as his sore throat would comfortably allow, then used the rest to wash his face. Though a little bit of a shock at first, the cool water felt heavenly against his flushed skin. He removed his hair binding and combed his fingers through, smoothing the strands as best he could before tying them up again.

Just as he finished, Farangis approached with an earthenware cup in her hand. It steamed slightly in the cool air.

"Good morning, Your Highness," she said, inclining her head slightly. "I've prepared a medicinal drink from my temple, in the hopes that it brings you strength for the journey."

"That was very kind. Thank you." Arslan took the offered cup and saw that it was filled with a dark, reddish-purple liquid that looked almost like wine but was thick as a syrup. He was happy to find that while the taste was a bit tart, it was not unpleasant, and the warmth soothed his throat.

Daryun and Gieve returned then, leading the horses. After fastening his own upon his shoulders, Arslan gathered up Daryun's cloak and returned it to the man with his thanks.

"Of course, Your Highness," replied Daryun. "My apologies, but -" He surprised Arslan by suddenly reaching forward and touching the backs of his fingers to the prince's forehead. "Still warm," he determined, frowning. "If your condition worsens, my prince -"

Arslan interrupted with his best attempt at a bright smile. "I'm sure it will pass soon enough, and I'm feeling better already. Please don't worry about me, Daryun."

"I'm afraid His Highness asks for the impossible," said Daryun wryly, though he eventually nodded his assent.

The group quickly broke camp and set out. The towering hardwood trees sped by quickly as they set a brisk pace, taking full advantage of their well-rested mounts.

The forest was so relatively peaceful that Arslan found himself, not for the first time, wishing his travels were under less dire circumstances. As the Crown Prince, he spent an inordinate amount of time within the palace walls. Being led about the capital city by a Lusitanian boy years ago (by his ear no less - sometimes it still twinged from the remembered abuse it suffered that day) also made his father less-inclined to let him move about freely. In fact, his first hunt not two summers ago was the last time he had been near any sort of woodland. Daryun had been there as well, and Vaphreze...

Arslan tightened his grip on the reins at the thought of his old teacher. Though remembering the Eran Vaphreze's horrible fate brought sorrow to his heart, it also strengthened his resolve. He could no longer afford to be useless and burdensome, and so he needed to press onward no matter the hardship. He would not allow himself to trouble his companions any longer.

Now aware that he was ill, they seemed to keep an even closer watch on him than ususal. Perhaps he might not have noticed had it only been Daryun, but with five pairs of eyes continuously glancing his way in concern, it was impossible not to. Even Gieve seemed to look his way more than Arslan thought was probably necessary. Daryun also developed the habit of repeatedly asking Arslan whether he needed to stop for a rest. The prince knew of course that everyone meant him well, but with the added discomforts caused by the fever, he felt his patience waning considerably.

After an hour or so of enduring in such a fashion, Arslan felt he couldn't bear it another moment. He closed his eyes, raised his chin and said loudly, "I don't intend to fall off my horse a second time, I'll have you all know."

Caught, each member of the company wore similar looks of embarrassment. The only one who seemed without shame was Gieve. Eyebrows raised and lips pursed, he appeared wholly amused by the outburst.

Narsus was the first to attempt to placate the prince. "Our apologies, Your Highness. Though we may be a little zealous in our concern"- here the strategist gave a pointed glance at Daryun - "We only want to make sure that you not over-tire yourself in your condition."

Arslan's expression softened. "I understand, and I'm very grateful. But please do not waste your attentions on me. Instead, look to our path to the Eastern Citadel, where we place our hope."

There were curt nods all around, and Narsus offered, "Of course, Your Highness."

Not long after that exchange, though the day had long since grown warmer, Arslan felt a shiver of cold. He was dismayed to find that it was the first of many that seemed to overtake his body; where he had once felt overly-warm and flushed, he now felt chilled to his very bones, and his cloak brought no comfort.

Midday was fast approaching, and again Arslan reassured his companions that he felt well enough to keep going. The truth was that he now felt thoroughly and completely unwell. His thoughts seemed as though they were wrapped in a fog, and every bit of him wanted nothing more than to lie down somewhere, anywhere, and close his eyes for even the briefest of moments. Only by sheer will did he manage to keep himself upright.

It wasn't until Narsus declared the horses in immediate need of rest that Arslan finally gave in.

As the others tended to the horses and themselves, Arslan was free of scrutiny for a few wondrous moments. He allowed himself a weary sigh, and sank to the floor beside as comfortable a tree he could find. Leaning back gratefully against its wide trunk, he was lost to sleep almost the moment he shut his eyes.

Daryun fed Shabrang an apple while he patted the strong neck with great affection. He knew that the jet-black warhorse had traveled far longer and harder without rest before, but Daryun was glad to give him reprieve when it was possible.

Beside him, minding his own mare, Gieve said, "It seems not only the horses were tired."

Daryun's eyes sought out the prince and found Arslan sat against a tree, fast asleep. He sighed. "Deeply asleep even at this early hour...I hate to have to wake him."

"You won't have to," said Narsus. "We camp here for tonight."

At his words, the rest of the company looked surprised.

Daryun frowned. "You said two nights' journey would bring us out of this forest. Should we risk three? Sundown isn't for hours yet, and we can push on until then."

"I accounted for a half day of travel in my original estimation," said Narsus. "We should reach the outskirts by early morning tomorrow."

Elam still looked confused. "But Master Narsus, what do you -?"

"Ah," Narsus interrupted, adopting his habit of flicking his ponytail forward over his shoulder, and slipping each forearm into the sleeve of the other. "Our sweet-tempered prince can actually be quite stubborn when he sets his mind to it. Correctly assuming he would push himself to an early exhaustion, I simply added another night to our travel."

Daryun shook his head, with a smile that was half exasperated and half fond. "As expected of our Master Strategist."

Dinner and the night watch rotation were still hours away. With no other pressing duties besides rest, they each found various ways to pass the time.

Like a cat, Gieve sought out a spot of sun to lie in, leaning back on the bare forest floor with crossed arms behind his head. With his uncanny way of seeming at ease in any surroundings, the red-haired minstrel quickly dozed off. After rebuffing an offer from Gieve to share her bed (as rustic as it was), Farangis took her rest as well.

Elam busied himself with cleaning the weapons he and Narsus used. As he worked, Elam helped his Master pore over the single unfinished map they had in their possession.

Daryun settled near Arslan and took up his weapons, making sure the steel was clean and serviceable. It was a methodical task, and one so familiar that Daryun was almost certain he could do it with his eyes closed. It wasn't long before his eyes did just that.

He wasn't sure whether he had drowsed for minutes or hours, when a small sound reached his ears. Instantly alert, he held still and listened. Not until Arslan shifted slightly did he hear the sound again, and he realized where it had come from - the prince was muttering in his sleep.

"No," the boy was saying, over and over. "No, it can't..."

Daryun went swiftly to his side. "Your Highness?"

Arslan's movements were restless, head tossing from side to side. He was shaking as though he were dressed in thin nightclothes and not layers of clothing and a cloak besides. The loose hair that framed his face was damp with sweat. No longer were his cheeks flushed red; instead all color seemed to have been blanched from his skin and lips. His breath came in rapid huffs.

"Your Highness," Daryun tried again. "Please wake up. You're only dreaming."

Arslan's mumurings only grew louder, and Daryun thought it best that he awaken the prince immediately, before he brought further strain to himself. He laid a hand firmly against the boy's shoulder. "Prince Arslan!"

Arslan woke suddenly and sat forward with a gasp.

"Your Highness?" Daryun asked slowly. "Are you alright?"

Arslan did not answer. His blue eyes were wide but strangely glassy, his gaze frighteningly blank.

Daryun felt his dread growing. "Narsus!" he called sharply.

At his shout, the others quickly gathered around in concern. Narsus knelt down in front of the prince, looking closely at his unresponsive eyes and pale face. He took Arslan's wrist between his graceful fingers.

At this Arslan seemed to finally gain some awareness, though his gaze had the strange quality of seeming locked on something far away. "The capital," he said anxiously, "Burnt to ashes...so cold..." Another chill made him shut his eyes and tremble.

"Your Highness, can you hear me?" Narsus asked intently.

Eyes still closed, the prince leaned back and his head lolled to the side. As if returning to the subject of an entirely different conversation, he said, "Sometimes Azrael flies with death on his wings."

Instead of looking unsettled, Narsus wore a grim expression. "Delusions," he said decisively. "The fever has risen, and he's caught in dreams."

"Will he be alright?" Daryun asked worriedly.

Narsus pressed his lips together tightly in determination. "He will be, as long as we can prevent it from rising further." He turned to each companion in turn, issuing his orders. "Gieve, a fire, if you will. Elam, fetch some water and cloth; Lady Farangis, the spare blanket please."

Once Farangis had laid the blanket upon the ground, Daryun removed Arslan's cloak to once again use as a pillow. As he eased Arslan into a lying position, he was alarmed to feel the boy shudder in his arms. It was bewildering to see him so visibly chilled when Daryun had felt the unnatural heat of his skin.

At his master's instruction, Elam wet the cloth and tried to dab at Arslan's face in an effort to cool him, but Arslan cried aloud at the first touch of it and tried to shrink away. Despite the prince's obvious discomfort (and his own), Elam pressed on until finally Arslan struggled hard, and the cloth fell out of Elam's hands and uselessly onto the ground, dirtied.

Arslan turned onto his side and wrapped his arms around himself. "C-cold," he moaned.

Without hesitation, Daryun once again removed his dark cloak and laid it over the prince. Knowing it might easily be displaced, he made sure to tuck it securely around his young charge.

Arslan lay quietly for a short time, though he still shivered, and his breathing was still labored. His distressed movements had undone his hair from its binding, and now the white strands lay loose and long around his face.

Farangis folded her arms, and would have looked serene and composed if it weren't for the worried set of her brow. "His Highness grows weaker by the moment. What can we do should the fever not subside?"

Narsus shook his head tersely. "Not much, I'm afraid. There is an herb...the people of Shindra call it dhania, but I do not think we will find it here."

Elam said, "If we could only find a healer. But the nearest village must be five, six farsang away at the least."

"We could double back to Kashan," Daryun said, though his doubt showed clearly on his face. "Whoever might have replaced that Hodir...perhaps he could be reasoned with. The prince's life may very well be in danger."

Arslan moaned suddenly, growing agitated once more. When his eyes opened they were wide, horrified at something only he could see. "All dead. I didn't know. How I would have begged Father to spare them, if only I had known!"

There was plain anguish in the prince's voice, and Daryun felt helpless with the urge to ease it. Aware that he would most likely receive a nonsensical answer, he asked anyway: "Who, Your Highness?"

The prince's eyes fell half closed, as if remembering. "Golden eyes like the sun," he murmured.

From the corner of his sight, Daryun noticed Elam look up sharply in recognition, but he decided this wasn't the time to question the dark-haired boy.

For a few moments, Arslan did nothing but stare blankly at Daryun with fever-bright eyes. He slowly seemed to focus on Daryun's bare arms, and his features rearranged into a frown. "But Daryun...your cloak. Where is it? You must be cold."

Daryun blinked, and the tense breath he had been holding came out in a chuckle. The prince, inquiring after the cloak when he was practically wrapped up in it like a newborn - the situation was a little comical. "Misplaced," he said, bowing his head to hide the upward quirk of his lips. "You must forgive me."

"You can have mine," said Arslan. "It wouldn't do to have you fall ill..." He moved weakly, trying to sit up, and Daryun realized Arslan really meant to remove his own cloak and give it to him.

"Ah, that won't be necessary, I assure you," he told the prince, stopping him gently.

Arslan looked vaguely confused, but eventually seemed to accept Daryun's words. His eyes drifted closed.

Narsus sat back and closed his eyes as well. "We can do no more for him at the moment. The fever must run its course."

A brief quiet fell upon the group. "I should have -" Daryun began.

Narsus' imperious tone cut him short. "We'll have none of that, Daryun."

"But to see him suffer so - !"

"There was nothing more you, or any of us could have done," said Narsus. More gently, he added, "You know as well as I that the prince is not as frail as he may look. Once the fever breaks, he should recover quickly."

Daryun sighed, well-defeated by the tactician's sound words, though he still felt badly. "If I'd only noticed earlier. If he hadn't tried to hide it..."

"But I had to," came Arslan's small voice.

Daryun gave a start. So far Arslan's feverish mind seemed too dazed, too splintered to fully understand what was spoken around him, but for the moment his eyes held an almost pensive awareness. The only indication that he was still not quite himself was the strange lilting tone.

"I have been a burden so far," Arslan continued. "Always. To Everyone."

Daryun was about to deny the prince's words once again but stopped at the sight of Narsus, eyes closed and shaking his head. It was a gesture that conveyed the futility of trying to reason with someone in such a state.

Arslan's gaze grew distant, and sadness colored his voice. "As useless a prince as they say. Else why would Father and Mother look at me so? But if there's a chance to help my people...or anyone suffering, then I would do it. I am only ashamed I cannot do it by myself."

That's why I have to become...a ruler worthy of such support..." He shook his head restlessly, as if he felt the need to jump from his sickbed and prove himself in that very instant. But his eyes were already closing, his strength ebbing away.

"Become a worthy...not useless. I must...become..." His hand clenched weakly, then fell lax as he finally drifted into a deeper, more contented sleep.

Only the crackling fire filled the silence then, as each companion couldn't help but reflect upon Arslan's words.

It was Gieve that finally broke the quiet, standing suddenly and drawing nearer to the prince. He reached into the folds of his red-violet tunic.

Daryun tensed, his protective senses heightened, but the bard only drew forth a long cloth; a spare headscarf, by the looks of it. To the surprise of all present, Gieve dipped the cloth into the bowl of water, wrung it out and folded it, then placed it gently on Arslan's forehead.

As he did this, Gieve recited a verse from memory; his voice was rich and melodic, befitting his musical profession.

"Not gold, nor any jewel under heaven wrought

could bring;

a peace to soothe the troubled brow

alike of beggar and king."

Arslan shifted a little at the touch of the damp cloth, but surprisingly did not wake.

Gieve looked up, and his keen eyes unerringly found Daryun's. The minstrel gave a slight nod. A sort of apology, perhaps, for his biting comment the day previous.

Daryun nodded back in acknowledgement. A boy who can change the hearts of those he meets, he marveled inwardly. Our prince is a rare one.

Though Arslan shuddered and caught a stuttering breath occasionally, he slept relatively peacefully for a time. The others gave him some space but stayed alert, ready to help if needed. Elam prepared and doled out the night's supper, though worry over the prince stole much of their appetite.

Later, when Arslan's breathing came faster and the dreams returned, Daryun sat down beside him, stiff-backed and watchful. He would stay at the prince's side until the fever broke.

Perhaps moved by such a display of loyalty, Farangis knelt at the prince's other side. She lifted the whistle she wore around her neck, blew a long, delicate note, and then paused to listen. Whatever the mysterious Djinn relayed to her, she responded by starting to sing softly. Not an elegy for the dead, this time, but a gentle melody to soothe the distressed prince.

And so the early hours of the evening passed.

It wasn't until darkness had settled around them and most of the others slept, that Daryun felt the first prickle of unease at the back of his neck. It was a sensation any warrior quickly learned to heed, else it might be their last: it meant they were being watched.

Preparing his bed nearby, Elam paused suddenly in his task; he had felt it too. The boy swiftly moved into a crouch and produced a short dagger in his hand.

For a few terse moments they waited, listening for any sound that would indicate a threat.

There! It was an almost imperceptible shift that set Daryun's instincts alight, and he went for his sword. His fingertips had barely brushed the grip when the nearly silent flex of a bowstring seemed to resound throughout the clearing, and an arrow split the air.