Two -

People were always up so early when there were guests coming. Servants fetching and carrying scurried back and forth, nobility rushed to get whatever they did done before it was time. Balinor wandered along close to the wall, fingers groping along its cool stone surface as he endeavoured to stay out of the way. His stomach rebelled violently with every step. Not for the first time he questioned his wisdom in going to the tavern with Uther. Also what on Earth possessed him to try and keep up with the ale consumption? He told Uther to sod off in all but that. Why? Was he just a masochist when it came to alcohol? Or was it his male pride? Here he hadn't thought that all the jibes about fluffy bunnies and petting baby dragons had had any effect.

Bugger.

He had just made it to the griffin staircase when somebody turned the corner sharply and walked straight into his chest. Hardly steady on his feet, the jolt sent him careening against the wall. So used to falling about like a rag doll was he that he recovered well and glanced round quickly to ensure that the other party had fared as well.

His face fell as he recognised her, and he quickly straightened and inclined his head respectfully.

"My Lady! I am sorry."

Nimueh stared back at him with wide, very blue eyes, one hand raised to her chest in surprise at their collision. Finding this strange apparition of teenage boyhood offering her a clumsy bow, she smiled and shook her head lightly. "There is no need for that."

Balinor hesitated, unsure what exactly to do, but straightened to find himself blinking down at her.

Until then, he had not seen Nimueh up close. He had caught sight of the young priestess from afar during court gatherings, but naturally he had been distracted by ensuring Uther's good behaviour. She had paid little attention to him, he imagined. She was normally preoccupied laughing with the nobility, or shadowing her mistress to care about who may be watching her from across the hall.

He had thought her lovely, and found himself very much enamoured with her curvaceous figure as young men were wont to be, but up close he could see just how beautiful she truly was. With those red lips, porcelain skin and eyes so blue as he had never seen, her lovely face framed by a fall of rich dark hair interwoven with red and blue ribbons, she was an ethereal beauty unlike any he had seen before.

He cursed himself, feeling flushed. The tips of his ears were turning red where they poked out of his hair. They must be. Oh... sod it.

"..." He shocked himself into action, and bobbed his head subserviently. "Forgive my clumsiness, my Lady." He said, knowing even as he spoke that the words were turning his skin even more red. "I didn't mean to walk into you. I'm an oaf."

Nimueh's smile grew at his phraseology, lips parting to reveal bright white teeth. "Not at all, young Dragonlord. It was I who walked into you."

"Yet it is normally the other way around when these things happen."

"Do they happen often?" She inquired, amused.

Balinor tilted his head. "Remarkably so. If you are insistent on taking the blame for this incident, then let my apology be pre-emptive, as it will likely happen again, and be my fault."

"Then I will." She held her hand out to him. "I am aware of who you are, as undoubtedly you are I. But I do not believe we have had the pleasure?"

He took her hand, and to her surprise, shook it firmly. "Balinor." He told her with an utterly earnest expression on his young face that she found quite endearing. "Far flung future Dragonlord to Camelot, if they do not banish me for public menace first."

Nimueh smirked, trying to contain her amusement at the rough, yet strangely charming peasant boy before her. "Nimueh. Priestess of the Triple Goddess and apprentice to High Priestess Nyneve." To his astonishment and surprise, she curtseyed. "Pleased to make your acquaintance, Lord Balinor."

"I'm not a Lord." He returned quickly, feeling himself fluster. "Just an idiot."

…Why did he have to say that?

Nimueh gave a light chuckle, as though unsure what to do with him. "You are of the Dragonlord line. It does not matter that you have yet to come into your gifts. The same respect is afforded to all of your noble people."

Balinor paused, and considered her carefully, his head cocked to one side. She spoke with such a lofty tone and manner, yet she could be no older than he was himself. Not yet eighteen, he supposed. She did not project the image of a young girl with her words, and to hear her speak like one much older than she was seemed strange.

"Is something the matter?" She queried with a smile, observing the way he stared at her.

"Uh?" He snapped out of it and shook his head quickly. "No. Sorry. I was... you have very blue eyes." He blurted out and immediately despaired of himself. What kind of idiot was he?

To his surprise Nimueh drew back from him in what appeared to be alarm, pulling her hand from his as though burned.

His queasy stomach clenched. "Did I say something wrong?" He ventured tentatively. "I haven't offended you, have I?"

"You..." Nimueh trailed off, and narrowed her eyes on him in careful scrutiny. "You have magic?"

Balinor nodded. "Mm," and held out his hand. "Lígeléoht ͌."

A bright flame flickered into existence in his palm, swaying gently in the light breeze from the open windows.

Nimueh peered at it in surprise, a look of absolute wonder flourishing on her face as he idly tilted his hand to send the flame cascading like glowing water down into his other palm, doing the same with that hand to send it back its place of origin. It obeyed without question or resistance, changing shape as he bade it, brightening with each movement and dimming with each still. Her expression and surprise confused him.

"Why is that unusual?"

"It is rare for Dragonlords to possess magic." She murmured, reaching out careful, delicate fingers to twirl through the beautiful flame. "Their art is close to magic, but to have both is rare indeed." She raised her eyes to look at him, finding his face completely void of comprehension. "And your magic is powerful."

"Not sure about that."

"It is." She insisted, becoming animated suddenly as some of her gravitas fell away to leave a sort of girlish excitement. "You said that I have blue eyes."

He gave a decisive nod. "You do."

"You should not be aware of that." She made as if to grab his arm but fell short, leaving her gazing up at him as though marvelling at her discovery of him. "There is a glamour upon me, yet you can see through it. You can see me."

"Of course I can."

"You misunderstand." All pretence of loftiness had dropped from her voice, betraying just how young she really was. "It is traditional for apprentice priestesses to conceal their true faces behind a glamour that we may study away from the Isle of the Blessed without drawing... disapproved attention to ourselves. You see through the illusion." She grinned, and clapped her hands together to hold them clasped in front of her chest. "To be able to do so takes powerful magic, and very great control. Where did you learn? Under whom did you study?"

Balinor drew back from her a little, a confused frown on his face. Where did he learn? Who taught him? "Nobody." He answered bluntly, "Not to do things like this." He nodded to the still brightly flickering flame in his hand. "I learnt how to control it through reading books. Before that, I don't really know. Not even sure where it came from. Just started happening when I hit fourteen summers."

He held out his palm and concentrated on the flame therein. It leapt a few inches from his hand into the air, and formed itself into a dragon, flapped its wings and bent its elegant neck, and faded away.

"How did you do that?" Nimueh demanded, shocked to her core. He had not said a word!

Balinor's frown deepened as he looked back at her, wondering if she were perhaps a little unhinged. That she found any interest in him, thought anything about him exceptional was completely incomprehensible to him. "Incanted a spell in my head." She was meant to be a priestess. Didn't she know?

Nimueh shook her head and took a quiet breath to calm herself. "Balinor. Only the most skilled sorcerers can perform magic of that sort." She told him gently. "It takes years of diligent study to master it. Yet you say that is what you did just now?"

Uncertain, he nodded.

She took his arm, holding it lightly, almost reverently. "How long have you practiced magic?"

"Don't really 'practice' it, but... four years?" That was about right, wasn't it? Nearly four years. Four years when he hit eighteen.

"Four years?" Her voice was a breathy whisper. "That is... amazing."

"Not really." The thought of anything about him being amazing made his head ache all over again.

"Nyneve will not be able to believe this."

His back straightened, shoulders tensed. "Does she have to know?"

Nimueh blinked, appearing for all the world as though his question was simply insane. "Yes! Of course she does."

"Why?"

She faltered. "Why? What do you mean why?"

Balinor gave a careful shrug, aware that it was going to cause his head to bang again if he was careless in the movement. "Why does she have to know? What good will it do?"

Nimueh opened her mouth to say something, but let it snap shut a moment later.

Balinor went on, "It's not like I do anything with it. Sometimes use it to carry heavy things when my arms are tired, or light candles across the room when I don't want to get up to do it. That's it."

The look on her face was one of somebody utterly knocked back and unable to believe what she was hearing. "You have great power, and you see no use for it?" She shook her head. "Balinor, you could do so much. Conjure flame, and creatures to do your bidding. Speak with the dead, if you focused your power-"

"Why?"

That simple question asked in so innocent a voice left her silent. Balinor went on, brows drawn together as he struggled to put his point across without sounding like a fool. "Why would I want to do any of that? What use would I have for it?"

"What use?"

"I have no need to do those things, and I don't want to."

Nimueh was unsure of the logic behind such an answer. "Why not?" After all, surely the purpose in such things was the simple fact that one could exercise their power to do them in the first place?

The peasant boy shrugged at her question. "What would a serf have need of a conjured creature for? What would he have to say to the dead, but bore them to tears with the inanity of his day? They would be better off staying in Avalon, than having to suffer commentary on my life."

Despite herself, Nimueh smiled at that. She had not thought of it that way.

Balinor shook his head lightly and gently drew his arm away as not to upset or offend her in any way. "I'm going to be a Dragonlord one day." He told her quietly, softly, as though he would disappoint her with his words. "That is a sacred duty that will change my life beyond measure. Until that day comes, I just want to live my life and be what I am now."

"And what is that?" She asked, a small smile twitching her lips.

"Gormless, and a bit irresponsible."

"That is why you reek of ale?"

He winced. Was it so noticeable? "Yes. That's reckless irresponsibility for you."

"And that is the kind of man you want to be?" The girlish excitement had left her voice, replaced by the lofty tone of a priestess once more. "Drunk and foolish?"

"I'm not a man, yet." Balinor told her evenly. "Just as you are not a woman yet. When the day comes that I am no longer a boy, I will be the man I am already decided to be. Until then-" He pressed a hand to his temple and blinked, "-I need a long drink of water and a lie down."

Beneath the frosty, untouchable exterior of a priestess, Nimueh's resolve crumbled, and she stepped aside from his path with a smile. "I see. Very well, Balinor. Until the day you become a man, then."

He glanced at her with a light frown. "You're not going to tell Nyneve about me?"

She shrugged her slight shoulders and brushed a stray strand of hair from her cheek. "It is not my news to tell."

He returned her smile, kind and grateful, and inclined his head. "My thanks, my Lady."

She gathered her skirts in one hand and curtseyed with all the grace and deference of a noble lady to a king. "And mine, my foolish, drunken Dragonlord."

That left him confused. "Beg pardon?" Why was she thanking him?

"For making my morning interesting." With that, she turned and began to walk away along the corridor. "'Til the next time, Balinor the serf."

Thoughtful, he watched her go a moment before his stomach roiled uncomfortably. Muffling a groan, he made his shaky way down the stairs to the courtyard.

She must have gotten confused somewhere, in regards to magic and Dragonlords. Though, now that he thought about it, his father didn't have magic. Neither did his grandfather, from what he could recall...

The chambers were empty. On the one hand, that was a relief. Nobody was around to see him make the walk of shame, while on the other there was nobody around to throw headache treatments at him.

Still, just in case, Balinor very carefully closed the door behind him and attempted to steal across the room for the short set of steps up to his private chambers beyond.

"Ah! Still alive, I see."

That slightly scornful voice stopped him in his tracks, making him appear a little like a comical bandit caught in the act in the position he stood in, actively cringing.

Across the chambers, a fair head poked out of the broom cupboards, one eyebrow raised in terrible judgement, "Remarkably free of vegetable residue, too."

Balinor deflated, his shoulders sagging as he felt all chance of reaching his bed fade away. "Good morning, Gaius."

The court physician emerged from the cupboard brandishing a broom. "Where have you been? Your bed hasn't been slept in, you look the wrong end of a boar and you positively reek of ale."

"You wouldn't be the first to point that out this morning."

"Have you been in the tavern again?"

"..." Oh, for a believable lie! Unfortunately this was Gaius, master of transparent excuse detection. The lack of an answer was exactly what the man had expected apparently. Gaius threw his hands up in the air, nearly losing the broom over his shoulder. "What am I going to do with you?! The whole point of taking on an assistant was to have somebody to assist me! If anything, since you arrived my workload has actually increased. Look at the state of this place! The leech tank is filthy, my yarrow, rosemary and fever few stocks have run out completely, and none of my instruments from yesterday's rounds have been cleaned. What am I even paying you for?"

"S'not my fault." Balinor replied quickly, annoyed with himself for sounding like a naughty child as he did. "Uther asked me-"

"If Uther asked you to walk off a cliff would you do it?!"

Balinor blinked, Gaius already huffing in despair of him even as he opened his mouth to answer.

"Oh, never mind!" Gaius cut him off, and fixed him with an unforgiving stare. "You're back now, I suppose, so you can make it up to me by catching up with as much as you can before the reception this afternoon." He thrust the broom at Balinor, "Here."

With an audible groan, Balinor took the broom and set to work. His bed hadn't just faded from his mind. The very notion of it had collapsed, burst into flames and been put out with a localised rainstorm. Weakly, he began sweeping at the floor under a critical gaze from Gaius.

It took a few moments for the physician to be satisfied before the man gave a nod and made for the workbench to pick up his medical bag and head for the door. He called back over his shoulder as he went, "This floor at least had better be finished by the time I return. If not, then you and I are going to have words. Your father and I also."

Balinor shook his head and put a little more effort into his sweeping. "That's not necessary." He blurted. "I don't think that we need to bring him into this."

"Yes. Well." Gaius said no more on it, slinging his bag over his shoulder and pulling the door open.

"Where are you going?" Balinor called after him.

"On my rounds." The look Gaius threw him was pointed to say the least. "Rounds that would be much more effective had I an adequate supply of fever few."

Balinor lowered his eyes to the floor, sheepish. "Oh. Right."

"Indeed." Gaius huffed, and turned to close the door after him. "And remember. Floor."

The door banged shut and he was gone.

Balinor continued sweeping for a few moments longer before pausing and straining his ears to the corridor beyond. Satisfied that Gaius was well gone and not about to come back, he took a breath and straightened from his lean on the broom.

The entire room was a state. Gaius had gotten somewhat lazy since receiving the assistant he had so sorely needed. An assistant who currently had neither the energy nor the inclination to tackle the mess.

Balinor picked up the broom and tossed it towards the centre of the chambers. Before it hit the ground he outstretched his hand, "Áswápan ͋."

The broom landed bristles down and immediately began sweeping of its own volition with a flash of golden irises from Balinor, who left it get on with it. He turned his attention on the workbench, and muck-caked mortars there. Gaius kept a blunt knife for de-gunking those. Locating it tucked away beneath a book at one end of the bench, Balinor focused on it. "Bescreáde ͊."

It slid out from under the book and across the bench to automatically begin scraping the mortars clean.

From the drawers near the window, Balinor bade the various cleaning supplies Gaius kept free themselves and join him at the bench. "Feormness ̽." He instructed them, and watched with a smirk as they got to work dusting and scrubbing the room.

They were doing a fine job. Better than he could do in his current state, so he left them be and headed up the steps to his room, and veritably fell across the small space to throw himself face down on his bed. The minute his head hit the pillow he took a deep breath and smiled, heading off into dreamland.

It couldn't have bee more than a minute later that he felt somebody shaking his shoulder, dragging him back from the wonderful world of sleep. With a warning snarl, Balinor squeezed his eyes tighter shut, refusing to sit up and set eyes on Uther. He reached back towards his hip, searching feebly for his blanket and began slapping at the mattress to no avail. The hint was not taken, and the shaking did not cease.

"G'way."

"You have to wake up, Balinor."

… That wasn't Uther. "You're not Uther."

"No." Gaius replied levelly. "You should thank your lucky stars for that. If I was then doubtless I would have resorted to hitting you with whatever I could lay my hands on. Now-" He tugged at his assistant's arm "Time to get up."

"Just gone to sleep."

"You have been asleep for four hours."

That wasn't true. Just a cleverly constructed lie to get him to wake up.

"My chambers are spotless, and I know that you didn't lift a finger to do any of it. What that says about your will power and integrity is utterly lamentable." Gaius tugged at his arm again. "Come on, sit up."

Reluctantly, Balinor did as he was told and lazily turned over to prop himself against his pillow and blink bleary eyes back at his mentor.

In response, Gaius thrust a phial of blue liquid at him "Drink this."

Balinor eyed it suspiciously. "What is it?"

"You don't want to know."

That reluctance refused to go away, even as he reached for the phial, took it, and hesitantly raised it to his lips to down it in one. That was the best way to take Gaius' potions. Inevitably they were foul-tasting, if very effective. He was not disappointed, throwing his forearm across his mouth to prevent the concoction from coming back up. "What was that?!"

"I told you." Gaius answered impassively. "Don't ask questions you are not prepared to hear the answer to."

It was probably best not to know. Balinor blinked hard and shook his head. Whatever that potion was, it was already doing its work. His headache had already begun to recede.

Gaius watched him thoughtfully a moment, aware of what it meant when Balinor smacked his lips and rested a hand on his stomach. "Ready for some breakfast?"

Technically it would no longer be breakfast. More elevenses if he'd been sleeping for four hours like Gaius said. That was neither here nor there. Food was food. "If there's any going."

"You're in luck." The physician rose from his seat on his assistant's bed and strode across the room avoiding the strewn clothing and chips of wood littering the floor. Balinor's spells had not extended to his own private lair, clearly.

Balinor took a moment to gather himself before he followed. With such gangly limbs, gathering oneself was no small task, but he managed to get himself under control quickly enough. He shook his head lightly to disperse the fluff some helpful soul seemed to have packed his ears with while he slept. Not only was he hungry, but he was thirsty. Very thirsty. The thought of a cool drink of water had him on his feet and tottering towards the door and steps down into the physician's chambers.

Despite being in his mid forties, Gaius had never married. Balinor had it on very good authority (his own, and his uncanny ability to stick his nose into other people's business without meaning to) that his mentor was seeing someone. The rather attractive charm that had one day appeared over the main chamber door had been made by Gaius' lady-friend, though Gaius had flustered and made up some rubbish about finding it on a stall in the market whilst out doing his rounds one day.

Due to that fact that he had never married, Gaius had no children. As a result, since his arrival two years ago and subsequent employment as physician's assistant, Balinor had found himself treated less and less as an employee and more and more as a son in the way that Gaius looked after him. There was always food on the table, despite Balinor's habit of sometimes dining with his father at short notice, and always fresh laundry in his room. In return Balinor found himself thinking of Gaius as a second father.

Collapsing on the bench at the table he looked up to find said second father watching him in concern, though there was definitely a touch of amusement in his eyes also.

Gaius stood stirring the heavy pan fresh from the fire, able to look down on Balinor where the boy sat. "You ought to be careful." He told his young assistant in a stern, yet not unkind tone of voice. "If you looked any greener you would resemble a toad."

"Thanks."

"I am serious, Balinor. You need to learn to say no to Uther. If he continues to get you roaring drunk, you will do yourself some damage. It is possible to poison yourself with alcohol, you know."

Balinor nodded, sullen. "I know, Gaius. Just, have you tried saying no to Uther?" He huffed, and folded his arms on the table in front of himself to bury his face in them. "It's like saying no to a child. He pouts. Actually pouts! And folds his arms. I'm waiting for the day he stamps his feet."

"Maybe so, but you shouldn't let him drag you into activities that endanger your health."

"Hm." Balinor lifted his head and fixed Gaius with that serious look that just didn't suit him. It made him look like a little boy trying too hard to appear grown up. "That would be anything that involves setting foot outside the citadel, then. You wouldn't believe it, but everything he does is perilous. 'Let's go hunting, Balinor.' He knows how much I'm against it, but tries to drag me along anyway. Why? Because he leaves the bunnies and boars and that, and heads straight for that cave where that chimera was spotted. It's dead now, by the way. 'Balinor, come with me while I woo this girl.' She's a rusalka, Gaius. A ru-sal-ka. He's spouting love poetry, she's trying to drag him to his watery doom beneath her pond. She's not dead, but she promised me she won't try and kill him again. Not that I'd blame her if she did. Last but not least, there's his absolute crowning achievement. 'Hand me that rope, Balinor. I am going to be the first to capture and tame a unicorn as my personal battle charger.' I mean, why? Why!? The only reason the unicorn was there in the first place is because it was attracted by my magic. My magic. When it had finally bucked Uther off and knocked him out, I had to apologise to it and Anhora, and promise never to let the incredible arse try it again."

Gaius raised an eyebrow. "That is how he got the concussion?"

"Yes. If I didn't go along on these things with him I swear he would be dead! I don't know what he did before I got here, but..." Balinor trailed off and gave a weary sigh. "I don't know what's wrong with him sometimes."

Gaius shook his head lightly, unsure quite what to make of the information he had just been given. It certainly served to explain a few of the prince's unexplained ailments and injuries. "He didn't tangle with half as many magical creatures before you arrived, that is for certain. They are attracted to you like moths to a candle flame. Uther appears to love that. He loves magic, you know that, and I am afraid that it is something you have rather an excess of."

"So I have been told."

That mumbled statement made Gaius frown, but he did not question it. Instead he spooned a bowl of porridge and placed it in front of his exasperated assistant. "Here. Get that down you."

Balinor straightened and dug his spoon about in the thick slop. "Ah. Mortar. My favourite."

"Yes. Well." Gaius took a seat opposite him and began to dig about in his own bowl. "It would be of a more palatable consistency, should my assistant have thought to fetch some more water last night before gallivanting off to the tavern."

Balinor raised both eyebrows at that pointed remark, but did not say anything. Inside, he was cringing.

He did feel better after devouring the thick porridge. Not quite his usual self, but closer to it. Gaius noticed the change in him also, and remarked on it in relation to the fervour with which he complained about Uther as being an indicator of normality.

It didn't take him long to get washed and changed, though he did not have time to get rid of his stubble. Still, he looked presentable enough. The only reason anyone would pay any attention to him anyway was because Uther would grab him and haul him into the front row of the greeting party for the duration of the reception. Since their friendship began he had become the Prince's shadow whether he wanted to be or not. In truth, he would rather just be Balinor than 'that scruffy peasant the prince has adopted as a pet,' but he wouldn't be rid of Uther's presence in his life for anything.

So he didn't particularly mind it when he and Gaius reached the steps outside the castle doors and he found himself seized by the front of his tunic and dragged down the steps by said arrogant prince.

"You look like the rough end of a badger." Uther growled, not impressed.

Balinor rolled his eyes, but made no move to stop himself being manhandled away from Gaius. "Thank you, Uther. That's very kind of you to say. And how are you this afternoon?"

"Shut up."

Uther let him go on the bottom step and took up his designated position among the highest members of the court, the King on his one side, Balinor on the other.

While the prince made an effort to school himself and his features back into that semblance of angelic innocence and serious threat he always chose for state occasions, Balinor huffed and shot a glance back up the steps behind him to where Gaius stood looking back at him. His mentor had the quirk of an amused smile on his lips, but did not say anything.

Balinor resisted the urge to run away and hide in the same row as him, aware that now he would be in full view of the visiting party, his father's eyes were squarely on him, watching his every move. That knowledge kept him carefully in place and chased away any thoughts of childish rebellion against Uther's wishes.

It was not that he was afraid of his father. Far from it. They had a very close relationship that Balinor treasured. He could say anything to his father without fear of reprimand; make any confession of guilt, ask for advice on any subject, and know that he would not be scorned or ridiculed. For as long as he could remember before coming to Camelot, neither of them had had anyone else. Balinor had never known his mother. She was a priestess, he had been told, but she had died when he was an infant. His father had raised him alone almost from birth and taught him his Dragonlord heritage. The only thing he had not been able to help his son with was his emergent magic.

As peasants, there had been no expectation that Balinor should learn to fight for any purpose other than to defend himself. Nor did he have any ideals to conform to, other than that which his inheritance would one day demand. Even that was far from rigid. So there had been no need for distance between father and son. As such, it was not fear of reprimand that held Balinor in that one spot like an awkward statue, but fear of letting his father down.

The freedom he had been afforded during his short life thus far was a gift he felt ought to be returned in the form of good behaviour and refrain from embarrassment. So tempting as it was to shove Uther off the step onto his pampered backside, Balinor exercised restraint.

Godwyn's party were on their way up through the lower town a guard reported to the King, so all upon the steps prepared themselves, organised themselves, and stood ready.

As he waited, Balinor resisted the urge to look around at the others waiting with him. All of any importance within Camelot's court were present; nobles, knights and personal servants who had been donated for the duration of the visit. The temptation increased ten fold suddenly as he felt something akin to a gentle prod. His knees almost buckled beneath it, a wave of warmth passing over him as the prod became a rather sensuous brush. Not against his body, but against his magic. He did look around, spying Nimueh standing among the other young priestesses beside the stunning, yet stern form of Nyneve on the far side of his father.

She gazed back at him with a sly smirk on her lovely face. It left him confused. Was she flirting with him?

He dismissed that notion as quickly as it had arrived, only to grit his teeth against another adventurous brush against his magic that nearly saw him collapse.

Uther's hand closed tightly around his wrist, hauling him to stand straight once more. "What is wrong with you?" he hissed in as close to a whisper as he could manage. "Are you still drunk?"

"I'm fine." Balinor brushed him off and rolled his shoulders against his tunic. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Nimueh looking perhaps a little too amused, and his father eyeing him with a frown somewhere between concern and exasperation. Constantine was looking at him also, an expression of deep disapproval on his face. Great.

Feeling his ears turning red, Balinor tore his attention away and settled his eyes firmly on the portcullis at the far end of the courtyard. He folded his hands neatly in front of himself, ignoring Uther's attempt to draw his attention with a shoulder bump.

He had never seen Godwyn before, but from what Uther had been harping on about the previous day, the King was quite a sight to behold. He was renowned as one of the best warriors throughout the five kingdoms. Uther aspired to handle a sword as well as him, if not better, which had given Balinor the perfect opportunity to tease him on his footwork troubles.

The procession was indeed impressive, consisting of the King himself at its head, flanked by two of his most trusted knights while others brought up the rear behind various members of court versed in political... things. The visit was all about rewriting a trade agreement, or something. Details like that weren't particularly interesting to Balinor, so he allowed them to go over his head.

Godwyn was not what he had been led to expect by Uther's prattling. A rather slender young man, probably in his mid twenties, with a full head of fine blonde hair, he had a gentle face that was quite difficult to imagine commanding an attack of any kind. Thought it clearly had, seeing as he had successfully fought off several attempts to seize Gawant, including leading the force that expelled the army whose efforts had killed his father and caused him to ascend to the throne himself. He did not even wear armour, but a soft leather jerkin and cloak. He looked less like a warrior King than a librarian. Appearances could be deceptive, Balinor found himself musing. He ought to know better than anyone, seeing as his closest friend was Uther.

The good relations between Camelot and Gawant showed clearly in the tiny number of armed men in Godwyn's entourage. There was a bright smile on the King's face as he approached, riding casually with one hand on his fine horse's reins, the other resting atop his thigh. Once he reached the statue at the foot of the steps, Godwyn held up his hand to signal his entourage to a halt. Immediately the horses were stationary, the team of Camelot servants moved forward to assist the visitors from their mounts.

Constantine smiled, and started down the steps to meet the warrior King himself. "Godwyn."

"Constantine, my friend." Godwyn removed his gloves and swung a leg over his horse's neck to dismount and approach Camelot's King with a spring in his step. They met at the foot of the steps and clasped hands, Godwyn clapping Constantine on the shoulder.

Constantine's smile never wavered as he returned the gesture. "How was your journey? Pleasant, I hope?"

"Long. But pleasant enough."

Balinor suppressed a yawn, and shot a cautious glance over his shoulder at Gaius. He would much rather be back there, even if it was only two rows back, and Gaius was stuck on one end. Looking so shattered and unshaven as he was, he would rather be anywhere other than on display beside the crown prince of Camelot. He fought off another yawn and cursed himself. Why did his body have to start reacting like that now? He hadn't felt like yawning since Gaius woke him. Why now?

His father was watching him, that quietly disapproving look on his face that constituted asking politely while silent. It communicated everything Balinor needed to know without actually hearing his father's voice: 'Please get a hold of yourself, boy.'

As if trying to be even more of a disgrace, his brain decided to rebel and assault him with another yawn that he did not manage to hold off. He was falling asleep on his feet.

Constantine and Godwyn were conversing in low tones as they approached the steps. Nothing they said appealed enough that Balinor could wake himself up. He managed to stifle another yawn, and suffered a covert elbow in the ribs and raised eyebrows from Uther.

He had a silent retort lined up in the form of a rather gruesome face he was quite proud of, but something tickled at the back of mind. Something warm and playful that woke him up too fast and sent a wobble through his legs that would have dropped him on the floor had he not been prepared for it. He felt himself flush red and threw a glance at Nimueh across to his right.

She still gazed back at him with her smirk, and made another light attempt to send a shiver through him with a brush against his magic. Her attempts did not go unnoticed, however as out of nowhere Nyneve grasped her wrist in an unforgiving hand and muttered something to her in a voice too quiet to even detect.

Balinor tried to focus his attention on the Kings once more, quietly glad that Nimueh's misbehaviour had been quelled. While what she was doing was quite – nay, extremely – pleasant, it was going to cause him embarrassment in one way or another, and was hardly something he could explain to his father. Maybe he could tell his father anything, but this would not be understood for what it was. Obviously the man knew about girls and that, but he had very little understanding of magic despite being married to a priestess. That aspect of Balinor's education had been left first to the boy himself, and then to whatever guidance Gaius felt qualified to give. There had never been anyone to teach him, and turning to his father and protesting his own behaviour with cries of 'but she's touching my magic!' wouldn't help his cause at all.

So he stood quiet and tried to get on with looking as respectable as he possibly could, albeit while bright red from head to toe. And yawning almost uncontrollably. Just the thought of yawning made him yawn again, too quickly to be able to catch it in time.

Constantine was making a speech. Better listen.

" - for all these years that our kingdoms have been the closest of friends. It is with great joy that we welcome you to Camelot once again -"

Balinor yawned. Oh for goodness sakes.

Godwyn actually shot a glance at him, but did not acknowledge him further.

An almost inaudible sigh could be heard from the space on Uther's right where Balinor knew his father stood, and he closed his eyes in mortification. That was the least of his worries as inevitably any attention from Godwyn brought Constantine's eye on him.

The King did not say anything, though he rolled his eyes at Uther who elbowed Balinor hard in the ribs as another yawn escaped him.

With a sharp intake of breath Balinor glared at the prince, but remained silent. He wanted to respond. He wanted to shove Uther down the steps, or to magically entwine the grutnol's cape around his neck and strangle him for a little while. One look from his father, however, destroyed any thoughts of revenge. He tried his best to behave, though immediately another yawn made a bid the breach his defences and the ensuing battle just resulted in his making a truly ridiculous face that slapped an absolutely done expression on his father's face. The apologetic look Balinor sent his way did little to alleviate it.

Constantine was in front of him suddenly, introducing Godwyn to Uther.

The prince bowed respectfully and clasped hands with the visiting King. The two of them spoke a moment, Godwyn expressing interest in seeing Uther fight in a tournament, Uther responding that it would be an honour to do so before him. Once the introduction and pleasantry was over, Godwyn's attention inevitably turned on the gurning, shabby creature at the prince's side, even if it was little more than a questioning glance.

"Balinor." Constantine explained in a tired tone. "Son of Rion, Dragonlord to Camelot." With that the King directed Godwyn's attention to Rion himself on the far side of Uther before Balinor could attempt a bow or show of respect of any kind. That way disaster lay.

Balinor yawned again, winning an angry glare from Uther.

"You're an idiot."

Better an idiot than an arse. It wasn't his fault that he was so tired. Uther was the one to blame for that. Mostly to blame, anyway. A bit to blame.

Git.

All in all the introductions and speeches lasted about two hours. By the time it finished Balinor was asleep on his feet and had to be woken by Uther kicking him secretly in the shin, having been leaning on the Prince without realising for the better part of an hour.

So he blinked to find the others of the greeting party filing away up the steps and Uther gripping his upper arm to drag him with them.

"Come on." The prince encouraged him, jerking his arm to get his feet moving like some life-sized and ill-made puppet. "Toad."

Balinor went, knocking his foot on the steps above the one on which he had been standing and barely catching himself before he fell up them. He felt a steadying hand on his back and glanced over his shoulder to find his father there, encouraging him forward gently. Rion wore his serious look that could sometimes be translated as disappointment. Balinor worried briefly that was what it was, before he noted the small quirk of a fond smile as his father looked back at him.

Rion shook his head and rubbed a small circle against Balinor back with his thumb in affection before sending him forward alongside Uther with a gentle push. That small gesture raised Balinor's spirits somewhat, though his tiredness did not abate.

The introductions were over, but that evening there was a bloody feast to contend with, and more speeches before he could finally cuddle up in his bed and die for the night.

Gaius was waiting for him at the doors up ahead, a surprisingly sympathetic look on his face. The sight was quite welcome to Balinor. Maybe it meant that he would be excused any duties that afternoon, and be allowed to catch a little more sleep before the festivities began. He bloody hoped so, or else he was liable to drop dead before these three days were out...

͌ Lígeléoht – Bright with flame

͋Áswápan – To sweep away, remove, clean

͊ Bescreáde – To scrape off, clean off

̽ Feormness – Clean a place.

*Notes: Gaius and Uther make reference to Nimueh being able to change her appearance, therefore do not recognise her when she strolls right into Camelot posing a servant in 'The poisoned chalice'.

* Reference is made to the art of a Dragonlord being too close to magic for Uther to spare them from the purge in 'The last Dragonlord', but it is not specifically identified as magic, so artistic license away!