Authors note: This story is in the middle of a rewrite so it's gonna be a little disjointed for a second. (Just in case someone reads this right as I'm uploading the changed bits)

Also, would they have had a printing press in 600AD? No. However, I like the idea of ye old Sunday times, don't come for me. :)

"Stay with me, Will," Halt yelled, holding his apprentice upright in the saddle as Abelard pounded through the cobblestone streets. "We're almost there."

He spared a glance down, and his heart faltered at what he saw. In the full moon, he could see how pale Will had become, how gaunt his cheeks looked. The tinge of blue on his lips. Sensing his anxiety, Abelard galloped impossibly faster. They came to a skidding halt at the infirmary, sending snow in their wake. Immediately, Halt was off the horse with Will in his arms, pounding at the door, which opened, revealing a barely awake, barely dressed elderly man.

"Wassamatter." He mumbled, already eyeing off the boy and opening the door to let Halt in.

"It's my apprentice."

"Bring him in, and put him down!" The man gestured to a soft bed in the back of the entry room, suddenly very awake. Halt carried Will over and gently laid him down.

"Right," said the healer. "Tell me what happened."

*** One hour earlier ***

"You are standing on a steep hill with a fruit cart at a fork in the road and a boulder is hurtling down the hill. Down one fork stands five individuals, at whom the boulder is currently heading for, down the other path stands a single person. They are too far away to hear you yell. If you push your fruit cart into the path, it will most certainly redirect the boulder, but it will then hit the individual.

So do you push the cart out or not?"

"What a question," Gilan laughed, "Of course, that's what they choose for the front page of the newsletter over our great victory!"

He held his ale up in a toast, and everyone around him cheered, clinking glasses to his, and then the tavern bard burst into song, written in their honour. Gilan quickly joined in, singing enthusiastically off-key.

Halt smiled at his former apprentice, he deserved a little relaxation. They all did. For the previous month, Halt, Gilan and Will had spent many gruelling hours tracking a group of smugglers attempting to enter Araluen from Toscana with shipments of Cats-bane, or as it was locally known, Sleeping flower, which they suspected was being passed along to Morgarath's forces.

Already they had seen evidence of its use in war. It may have been called a sleeping flower, but it took just three drops of nectar to kill a grown man. Had they not received an anonymous tip, they may have missed the boats altogether, and the results could have been catastrophic. There was enough Cats-bane in those boats to kill all of Araluen twice over. It was such a win that even Baron Arald had come out from worrying over war plans to celebrate with them, but Halt suspected it had more to do with keeping ease in the fief than an actual desire to celebrate.

His smile faded as he reflected on how things had been the kingdom over the last year.

With Morgarath becoming more and more active, there was a certain tension that couldn't be denied.

"Jeez Halt, someone poison your coffee or what?" Gilan gave him a good natured nudge, and Halt scowled at him. Gilan laughed

"We're here to celebrate. Relax a little."

But it felt impossible to relax, knowing just how close the smugglers had come to making it into Araluen. And this latest move from Morgarath was unexpected. Unexpected moves were dangerous ones.

There was a huge bout of laughter and both men looked up. Will had gathered a crowd, unintentionally, as he tried to play the tavern bards lute.

"You have to treat it like a woman, be delicate," The Bard was saying while the crowd roared with laughter. Will looked like he was trying to be delicate, but was doing a very poor job at it.

"Lad's far too young to know how to treat a woman!" Someone yelled, and Halt finally smiled.

Maybe it was time to relax, just a little. After all, this might be the last chance he had.

At that moment, the door flew open with such a force that a gust of wind swept through the tavern, extinguishing several lanterns and knocking over a stack of newspapers . Every person froze where they were, and turned to look at the panting, black clad figure that had caused the disruption. Suddenly, the figure rushed forward, eyes fixed, seemingly on the Baron. It was then Halt noticed the knife in his hand. He reached for his longbow, and in one fluid motion had an arrow loose. But the man had faltered, one step, and that falter had saved his life. The arrow slammed into the wood, right where the man was supposed to be.

Baron Arald was clambering to his feet, reaching for his sword, swearing and snarling as he did so. Halt knocked another arrow. But the man, like a cornered rat, unexpectedly launched straight at him, and he was forced to dodge. The man struck again, this time throwing a well aimed knife right at him. It sailed past Halt, and headed straight for Will who, thankfully, had the good sense and quick reflexes to duck out of the way. The knife missed him by a fraction of an inch. The knife missed him by a fraction of an inch. Then the man turned and fled, stumbling, shoving people to barge out through the door from where he came. A few of the Baron's men recovered quickly and raced from the tavern, hot on the man's tail.

"I'll get the horses, you keep an eye on the assassin!" Yelled Gilan as he ran out after them. Halt moved to follow when Will suddenly half fainted. Halt's quick instincts saved him from landing face-down on the tavern floor.

"Careful." Halt said, holding his apprentice upright. He never took his eyes off the assassin, watching him head out, toward the forest.

"Sorry," Will whispered, suddenly sounding exhausted.

Something in the way he said it made Halt nervous.

"You okay?" He asked,

"Yeah," Will said, but his eyes were unfocused, and sweat had begun to trickle down his forehead. Suddenly, he leaned forward and threw up, holding on to the bar for support.

Halt reached out to steady him as well. The force of Halt's hand, even though it was light, was enough to make Will stumble. He crouched down head in his hands, breathing hard. Halts, heart tightened.

"Will, what's wrong." He said, crouching down beside the boy.

Will didn't speak. He was panting.

It was then he noticed the blood dripping down Will's shirt. Halt's heart tightened. "Will, you've been hit. Where are you hit?"

He took the boy by the shoulders, trying to see clearly where the blood was coming from. There was a cut along his cheek. Not very deep, but it was enough to be a worry. The knife must have hit him after all.

Will looked dazed, frowning up at Halt with feverish eyes, "Hit?" he mumbled he'd already paled considerably in the few minutes.

Halt looked out the door at the rapidly disappearing figure of their would be assassin and cursed. Bastard was getting away. He was moving far too quickly to catch up to, now they had stopped. They had to get after him, or risk losing him.

"Gilan!" Halt yelled, trying to push back the frustration that bloomed in his chest.

Gilan flew back into the tavern a second later, hand on his sword, looking around for the danger. Finding none, he looked to Halt and his eyes went wide.

"Shit, Halt. Where's he hit?"

"It's just a small cut. It doesn't look fatal though, I think he's in shock."

Gilan flinched, frowning,"Where'd our assassin go?"

Halt jabbed his finger along the path through the dark, pointing toward the forest.

Gilan nodded, launched onto Blaze and took off like a shadow through the night. With regret, Halt watched him go. This was supposed to be a night of celebration, and now it felt like the inch towards war had become great leaps. Was this a move by Morgarath? And where had that damned assassin come from? Halt cursed his own carelessness. A sudden whimper from Will brought his attention back to the present.

Will need help now.

"Come on, Will, I need you to stand up for me. We need to get you to a healer." He said.

Will nodded, panting and trembling, his eyes still shut. But the moment he stood, he fell. Halt caught him again, of course. But the boy was out cold.

"Talk to me, Will." Nothing, barely even a breath.

Halt cursed, then cursed again. He grabbed the boy and heaved him up on Abelard.

"The knife was poisoned." The healer said without looking at Halt.

With the fire lit, the room had become stiflingly hit, but Halt couldn't bring himself to leave. Looking at the prone figure on the healer's bed, he didn't dare take his eyes away in case the boy disappeared.

"Will he-" Halt swallowed thickly, "Will he recover?"

"I can't be certain," said the healer, looking at him over a pair of oval glasses. "The poison has entered deep into his body. It's in his bones, his blood. Frankly, I've never seen anyone survive this."

There was silence as Halt digested this.

"He's a strong boy," he said quietly at last.

The healer nodded. "I see that. He's done well to survive this long."

"Do you think he'll survive the night?"

"Again, I'm sorry, there's no guarantee. It's a dangerous poison."

Suddenly, Halt swayed on his feet, and the healer stood up in alarm.

"None of that, he said, "You should rest." He gestured to the couch by the fireplace. "You won't be doing that boy any good by exhausting yourself."

Reluctantly, Halt moved to the couch and lay down, watching the fire dance. For the longest time, he lay still, listening to the healer hum and work until, at last, in the early hours, Halt fell into a restless sleep.