Ceri stood beside the bed, looking down at Saber with the sad, heart- broken expression of mothers whose children are ill – and who can't do anything about it. Her son looked very small and very pale as he lay there, swallowed up as he was in the dark-blue feather ticks of his parents' huge four-poster bed. His white pajamas – his favorite because they were so well worn, the cloth rubbed by wear into an incredible softness – clung to his tremor-wracked frame due to the light sheen of sweat covering him.

All around the pair was the quiet, muted hum and beeping of various medical equipment at work. Stephen had arranged for enough hospital electronics to be brought into their bedchamber to put any of the galaxy's finest hospitals to shame. Dr. Renn, who in his youth had pioneered several medical advances and was acknowledged as one of the finest minds in medicine, practically lived at the castle now. If Stephen thought that anyone would have been better suited to care for his son, he would have had him brought here – even if he were on the other side of the galaxy, and damn the expenses! As it was, though, there was no one better, and there was nothing more to be done.

Adian spent his days going through Caer Rheidyr with a fine-tooth comb, augmenting its current security system to such a degree that he was practically rebuilding it from the ground up. He did not neglect the human aspects of the castle's security, and the guardsmen endured much haranguing and harsher training sessions than ever before. Stephen finally had to take him aside and remind his brother-in-law that, considering how professional the raiders seemed to be, the guardsmen were not to be blamed and certain of them – the ones outside Saber's room and the one who had set off the alarm – should even be commended. Adian, who blamed himself far more than he blamed the guardsmen anyway, eased up – using his extra time to oversee the questioning of the raiders at the local police station. Although technically the police were under the direct command of the High King from Breton, Duke Rider was popular at the station. He was good friends with the commander, and many of the men had grown up in that area, grown up under the rule of the Riders. They were a good family to be under. Yes, the police force was particularly anxious to get the raiders to talk.

Ceri, for her part, had spent the last week at her son's bedside. Despite all their hopes, Saber's fever did not break after that first night. It lowered slightly, but his temperature still remained alarmingly high. His periods of wakefulness were few and far between; and he was never completely awake even then. At first, he had drifted in a sort of stasis – fever not breaking but not rising, his lungs congested but not worsening. And then, abruptly, a few days ago, things had taken a definite turn for the worse. The pneumonia developed into complications so severe that they had to put Saber on an oxygen mask, to ease the strain on his lungs. His fever had begun to rise; and, already half-starved from his captivity, they had to inject the boy with an IV drip because he had this distressing tendency to vomit whatever food got into his stomach. And, to top it all off, he had descended further into unconsciousness, hovering just above being completely comatose. He hadn't woken for thirty-six hours now.

His eyelids fluttered rapidly. Ceri's heart clenched, an ice-cold fist squeezed around it, and she grabbed her son's hand. It was limp in her grasp, and clammy – the ice-cold sweat a disturbing contrast to the burning heat of his skin.

Despite the hope that now Saber would finally wake up, nothing happened, and the boy continued in his deep, wheezing-breathed slumber. Ceri sighed, reaching out her free hand to cup Saber's cheek. It felt much like his hand did – fever-hot skin underneath an icy layer of sweat. She squeezed his hand tighter. This was wrong. Parents should not linger by their child's sickbed – they should be out chasing after rambunctious youngsters who would not stay in bed. It was the parents who should be in the sickbed, and their children sitting vigil by their side – many many years from now.

'Or now. I'd trade places with Saber in a heartbeat.'

She turned her head at the sound of the door sliding open. Still tense from the kidnapping incident a week ago, she found herself reaching for the blaster on the table beside her before recognizing the man in the doorway.

"Hey, sis," Adian greeted her, his voice assuming that hushed quality that most people adopt when in a sickroom. "Any change?"

The hope in his dark blue eyes – so like hers, so like Saber's – made her blink back a burning in her own as she replied, "No, none at all." Adian's face fell – he tried to hide it, but there was no mistaking the disappointment in his expression. He always hoped for the best whenever he checked in on Saber. Ceri didn't know whether to give thanks for his optimism that bolstered her own – or to curse its misplacedness as it proved, again and again, to be unfounded.

"Oh." He walked nearer, to stand at his sister's side as he looked down on his pale, still nephew. He looked away after a moment. To him, Saber was the lively, laughing child who turned up in the oddest places throughout the castle, hiding in nooks and crannies he found in his roaming, the little boy who so earnestly practiced the swordsmanship he taught as well as the tricks of stealing sweets from the kitchen or whistling like any number of birds so as to fool the castle servants that there was a swallow in the linen closet and such. His little lantriath – and he did not want to equate that boy with the one in the bed in front of him. The old stories, about sickly-looking changelings and the children they replaced, were for a moment in his thoughts.

He turned his head, his gaze falling onto the small table beside Saber's bed. On it was his favorite stuffed toy, Toddy; the blaster Stephen insisted Ceri arm herself with; and the thin silver chain on which hung the Lesser Ring. Saber had taken it off when the raiders had come, hiding it under his mattress. That had shown more foresight than was expected from a five-year-old.

He remembered a younger Stephen showing the ring to his curious best friend, and how he had run his eyes over and over again the small but exquisitely carved unicorn in the onyx-stone. Thinking of the ring made him think of unicorns; and thinking of unicorns made him think of a song, a song that Saber loved to listen to and was connected to one of the boy's favorite stories.

He began to hum the tune, absently, under his breath. To his surprise, Ceri heard it and immediately began to sing the words. Adian looked at her, a bit surprised. Ceri shrugged and explained, "Dr. Renn said it's good if we keep talking to him, just on the off-chance he can still hear us. I'm certain Saber, if he can hear, would like this song." She looked fondly from her son to her brother. "After all, he keeps asking it from you."

Adian shrugged and smiled. It was a wan smile, but it was the best he could do.

"Right then. When the last eagle flies/over the last…."

***

When the last eagle flies
Over the last crumbling mountain

He stood in the middle of a sun-blasted wasteland, all parched cracked earth and hot winds. The nightmare landscape stretched out in every direction, towards the horizon with no end in sight. It was a bit like the desert-scenes he'd looked at in his books and holos and vids, but worse – because it was real, because it was there, because he was there.

There was an absolute lack of life in the scene that frightened the young boy. The air, despite the winds howling through it, seemed to exude a feeling of…mustiness, non-movement… lifelessness.

He turned in a slow circle, looking around him. The sun – hotter and more vicious than anything the boy had ever felt – beat down on him, burning him. He was unaccustomed to this type of sun-glare; Highland climate was cool, wet, and with mild sun. Not this desert intensity.

To the north was a break in the monotony of parched earth. A single rocky mountain stood there, a huge fang of stone against the flat unbroken blueness of the sky. As Saber fastened his eyes upon it, a large landslide suddenly began – as if his blue gaze had somehow triggered it. An entire section of the mountainside suddenly collapsed, rumbling down the slope, leaving one side of the face completely sheared off.

Something soared up from behind the mountain. Saber was still too far away to see anything more than a small dot hovering above the newly remodeled peak. But then the dot began to move.

It soared even higher into the cloudless sky, diminishing even further in size, until it began to dive. Forward, away from the mountain, and down…

run away, run away, it'll hurt

…down, abandoning the heights for the land…

no no no, catch it, run for it, catch it, it's yours

…away from the mountain, that broken-sided, sharp-peaked fang of rock…

it'll hurt to hold it, it'll cut, it'll burn, it'll rip

…falling from the sky like a javelin hurled straight down…

i'm born to hold it. it's mine!

Saber held his right arm over his head, crooking it at the elbow to offer the eagle diving towards him a perch for his talons. The eagle pulled up and out of his dive, flaring his wings. Wicked claws that could cleave a prey in half closed around the boy's slender forearm with a delicacy that seemed almost impossible. Saber lowered his arm, slowly, trying not to jostle the raptor perched on it. The eagle bated his great silver wings as Saber lowered his arm, to keep his balance, but did not tighten his hold on the boy's arm one jot. His forearm was parallel to his chest now, and the eagle balanced easily upon his arm was at exactly the right place so that their eyes were on a level.

Saber could see himself reflected in the golden raptor-eyes; he wondered if the eagle could see himself in Saber's blue ones. The eagle was like no other Saber had ever seen – its feathers were none of the brown or tan or white shades he'd expected. Instead they were shining silver, nearly metallic, glare-bright in the heat of the sun. It almost didn't look like a flesh-and-blood animal, more like a…sculpture, a piece of art – steel brought to life. It was a uniform silvery shade everywhere, except for the eyes; those were a gleaming gold.

Saber jerked his arm, in the sudden movement the falconers at the castle had taught him. And just like a trained merlin, the eagle launched from his arm into the air, the winds of his great beating wings sending a welcome breeze through Saber's hair. But instead of soaring into the sky, to find and kill prey, the silver eagle floated a mere few meters directly above Saber's head.

It uttered a single piercing shriek and flew forward – not fast, and not gaining one inch of altitude. Saber stood still for a moment; then, without another word or thought, the young scion of the ancient Rheidyr clann followed the bird of prey.

And the last lion roars
At the last dusty fountain

The eagle flew towards the broken-fang mountain to the north; and Saber followed. He walked, only, not running or trotting or going very fast – still, somehow, the background changed with his every step, and he was able to keep up with an eagle in full wing. It was like something quite aside from his own feet was moving him towards the mountain.

They were at the foot of the mountain in no time at all. The huge mountain cast a shadow that was very large and very dark; and in this shadow was relief from the desert sun. Saber found it very much like stepping into a totally different world; one second was hot desert with dry sand underfoot; the next the intensity of the sun had faded away, and he was walking on a lush verdant carpet of grass.

As soon as he had set foot upon the grass, the eagle stopped its flight and circled back to him; it landed on his shoulder, talons as gentle to him as ever, and stayed there. Saber went forward.

There was a fountain in the middle of that expanse of grass - only the jets of water it was supposed to produce were not there; and the white marble had turned into the ivory-cream of old stone. Saber came nearer – and was startled when from behind the fountain slunk the long lean form of a full-grown lion. Unlike the eagle, the animal's colors were natural: tawny fur, a sleek mane of darker russet, and yellow cat's eyes. For a moment, it regarded the small boy a mere ten paces away. Then it opened its mouth and very deliberately roared.

The sound was thunder, it was avalanche-rumbling, it was the breaking of earth and the crash of storm-waves upon the shore. Saber involuntarily flinched. The eagle on his shoulder spread its wings wide, one wing in front of his face so that the fountain and the lion were blocked from sight and all he could see were many little reflections of his own face in the silver, mirror-bright feathers; like gazing into a faceted mirror.

The eagle screamed in reply to the lion's roar, a shrill sharp cry that pierced through the thunder and made it seem less scary. It went on and on, raptor's cry and lion's roar twining about each other, for several long moments. And then abruptly it stopped. Saber, who had been frozen during the whole thing, took a deep breath, catching the scent of feathers and burnished steel for one instant before the eagle folded its wings again.

He looked at the fountain again; but the lion was gone. And then the fountain burst into joyous life, crystalline streams arcing into the air and splashing into the basin with a sound like rain on stone.

In the shadow of the forest

Old and ancient the fountain may have been, but the water held within its bowl was as fresh and clear as if it had just been drawn from one of the mountain springs of Saber's own beloved Highlands. Saber lowered his cupped hands into the glimmering pool. He was startled and pleased when the water he raised to his lips was not only sweet, but ice-cold as well. He drank his fill of the fountain's water.

He lowered his cupped hands again, splashing the water onto his face. The cool wetness was as a balm to his hot skin. He closed his eyes, reveling in the feel of cold droplets sliding over his face.

When he opened them again, he was in a place totally different from before. He still stood next to the marble fountain – but he stood now on a carpet of fallen pine needles and damp earth, not lush grass; and the floor was shadowed by the towering forest giants all around him.

Though she may be old and worn
You will stare unbelieving

Saber turned his head at the now-familiar shriek of the eagle; he saw its silvery form, duller now in the shadowed forest but still distinguishable, perched on a branch. It shrieked again, and then flew off.

As in the desert, Saber followed. They hadn't gone very far, though, when a flash of white at the corner of his vision distracted him. He turned, instinctively seeking it out. The eagle wheeled, practically on a wing tip, and flew off in the direction of the flash of white. It was surprisingly agile for a bird of its size, darting in between the tall straight trees as easily as a much smaller falcon.

Saber ran after it, moving quickly over the uneven forest floor. He moved clumsily in that he crashed around like a buffalo and shoved branches out of the way roughly, not searching for the subtle forest tracks that make for easier, quieter going – but he did not lose his footing. Suddenly the eagle braked in the air, flaring its wings before dropping to Saber's shoulder. Similarly, Saber skidded to a stop, unmindful of the way his chest heaved and how he gasped for breath. All of his attention was fastened upon the unicorn.

At the last unicorn

It stood, very calmly and serenely, among the trees, meeting Saber's astonished eyes as though they were old friends who had arranged to meet up there. It seemed removed from the dim shadows of the forest, glowing with a soft white nimbus. Its fur was very white, and its long horn was as gold as sunrise.

It stamped one diamond-like hoof, and vanished.