- Five -

Exactly what time it was when he finally woke, Balinor could not be sure. He could hardly be thought of as orientated when sounds of activity dragged him from dreamland. It took him rather longer than it really ought just to work out that he was in Uther's chambers and not his own room, and that the sounds to have woken him were generated by somebody moving about the room. Blinking, he raised his hands to run them over his face and breathed a deep sigh before forcing himself to life and propping himself up on his elbows.

Scurrying about the prince's chamber - more accurately the table - was a young man Balinor did not recognise. Clearly the short, fair-haired creation was a servant. He dressed like one, and was doing the job of one as he set the table ready for breakfast in a manner that, unfortunately for the boy, paled in comparison to the sheer professional majesty of Edmund's daily ministrations. That did not bode well if the lad was there in search of possible promotion. He did seem anxious to impress the prince, going by the way he snatched up a platter and began meticulously polishing it. A shame that anything even vaguely edible on the table would be inhaled before Uther could appreciate the set up of it at all.

Yawning, Balinor swung his legs around to stand and pushed himself unsteadily to his feet. As an after thought, he turned and jabbed Uther's snoring form in the back with one finger. "Oi."

The prince stirred, but did not snatch at his pillow to beat his friend with it. Instead he turned onto his back and blinked up at Balinor with bleary eyes.

"What time is it?"

The tousled peasant threw a thoughtless glance at the latticed windows. "Light out."

"That's not a time."

"Well past dawn."

Though that was not a time either, it held some resonance with Uther as the boy rubbed furiously at his eyes and hurriedly squirmed his way up into a sitting position. "What?"

His highness was feeling a little delicate this morning, by the looks of things. Panicky as well, judging by how wide and unfocused his rapidly blinking eyes were.

"I have to get up." He kicked back his covers and scrambled to his feet. "Father and Godwyn will be beginning their talks this morning. I'm supposed to be in attendance."

That sounded incredibly boring. Balinor wrinkled his nose in distaste. "I don't have to be there, do I?"

The look of utter incredulity, tinged with perhaps more than a little disdain that Uther threw him was almost as much of a relief as the answer itself. "What poss-ib-le reason could you have to be there?" He snorted, and folded his arms over his chest, all haste apparently forgotten in the face of his disbelief. "You know next to nothing about trade agreements. On top of that, your stupid face would just distract everyone and no work would get done."

"You mean distract you?"

Uther made no answer to that, taking instead to glaring around after the young servant currently striving to get the prince's clothing together. "What on Earth are you doing?! Where are my clothes? Why are they not already prepared?" He let out a petulant huff, unaware and uncaring that the poor boy appeared rather flustered as he approached with an armful of unsorted clothing straight out of the wardrobe. Despite yelling at him, the boy's presence seemed to slip Uther's mind entirely as he once again addressed Balinor.

"I on the other hand, have to be there. It is expected of me. To sit there and listen with at least half a brain to the dreary details while my head feels as though the smith has spent all night pounding on it with a hammer." As though in terrible pain, Uther pressed a hand to his temple and groaned loudly. "He has yet to cease. In fact I believe he may have moved inside and set up shop. Ohhh..."

Balinor folded his arms over his chest, not able to fight the smug smirk spreading steadily across his lips. Even as the poor servant boy struggled with Uther's rather ornate waistcoat from the night before, unable to work out what was buttons and what was decoration. "Oh dear. Does the fearsome prince actually have a hangover? I am sorry. Now you understand how us poor mortals feel the following morning."

"Do shut up." He winced, before throwing a surreptitious glance at his pet fool. "What of you? Perhaps you didn't indulge in the drink last night, but I seem to recall hearing some rather interesting chatter about a painfully thin boy and one of the young priestesses glimpsed getting rather closely acquainted in the Eastern corridor. Care to explain?"

Immediately Balinor's face flushed red, Uther crowed internally. It was true! Rejoicing in his discovery, he set a finger on Balinor, a grin tugging at his lips despite his awful head pain. "Ha! Nobody would have believed it – least of all me – I demand an explanation right now."

"Nothing to explain." Balinor muttered, and folded his arms over his chest defensively.

"You're not getting out of it that easily, Balinor. I want details."

"You're not going to get them." Balinor raised his head and stared back at Uther with a remarkably neutral expression despite his current colouring. "There's nothing to tell. Not for you to hear, anyway."

"Don't be a spoilsport!"

"Nothing to spoil. No marriage ceremonies on the horizon-"

"Balinor!" To say that the prince was shocked was an understatement. If he screeched any louder, Balinor's eardrums would explode and the rats tucked up in the walls would come out of hiding in search of their kin. "I didn't think you had it in you. Am I to believe that you would... experience one of our priestesses and not agree to finalise anything?"

"Calm down, Uther." Balinor rolled his eyes. "I didn't 'experience' anything last night."

"Hm." The prince shook his head lightly. "I should have known. You'll be an old man before you lose your innocence. Certainly no time soon as the only woman to ever show any interest in you will be absent from Camelot for some time. You are aware that the Priestesses will have left already?"

Balinor was silent. He mused on that idea a moment. Every year the priestesses embarked on a pilgrimage to Côr y Cewri*. Was that why Nimueh had been so forward in her advances? Because she knew that she would be leaving the next day?

Really. Uther felt like throwing his hands in the air. How could somebody be so stupid? Exasperated with, and annoyed by the insolent, simply idiotic serf in front of him, Uther snarled and yanked his shirtsleeve away from the fumbling servant and bellowed at the boy in a tone of utter murder, "What are you doing!? Is there something wrong with your brain that you cannot complete even the simplest of tasks?! Where is Edmund? At this hour of the day, Godwyn must be finished with him. Where is he?! Where is my manservant?!"

The poor serving boy looked absolutely terrified. He dropped his eyes from the irate prince to set them deferentially on the ground and openly quaked with fear, his small hands clasped behind his back.

Balinor huffed aloud, the whole exchange striking him as completely unnecessary, and stepped closer to Uther to start on the buttons of his seething friend's waistcoat. "Don't be such a git." He chastised the prince, offering the shaking servant a small smile of encouragement and a nod to dismiss him.

The servant fled the room without looking back, grateful of the reprieve and doubtless harbouring no more misguided designs on serving the prince.

Balinor waited until the chamber door was firmly closed, and the boy well away before speaking again and risking inciting Uther's ire any further. "Just because you have a headache doesn't give you the right to go around bellowing at everyone. Up arms."

Uther raised his arms above his head and wriggled a bit as Balinor helped him shuck his tunic and waistcoat in one go. "I am the crown Prince. I will bellow at whoever I so wish."

"You would, even if you were not the prince. You're just a loud-mouth, Uther. You put the cyhyraeth* to shame."

The prince did not say anything to that. He watched in a thoughtful silence as Balinor sorted a fresh tunic from the pile of clothing the poor servant boy had flung on the bed.

"... I'm not that bad, am I?" He ventured after a beat, his voice surprisingly small and uncharacteristic.

Balinor did not answer, electing instead to shake the creases out of the tunic in his hands.

"It is my right to issue commands!" Uther snapped, incensed by the silence.

"There's a difference between issuing commands and screaming at somebody because you're in a bad mood." Balinor returned gruffly. "You have no respect for the feelings of others."

"What would you know about it? You're so soft spoken, you may as well be mute."

Again, Balinor chose not to answer. Sometimes he did wonder what the point was.

The lack of reaction got under the prince's skin. He ran a hand through his hair and huffed loudly. "He is a servant!"

"I'm a lowly peasant." Balinor reminded him bluntly, and helped him on with his tunic. "Care to shout at me as well?"

The words 'don't tempt me' came muffled from somewhere in the tunic's depths, but but they seemed somewhat half-hearted.

Balinor pretended that he hadn't heard them. "It doesn't matter what station the poor boy holds. You hurt his feelings."

"And what would you have me do, Balinor?" Uther's head emerged from the tunic's neck hole, a scowl on his face. "Mollycoddle him? Hold him and assure him that his terrible service was good? Heaven forfend, put up with it?"

"Not howling at him because you are in a foul mood would be a start." Snatching up the prince's leather waistcoat, Balinor thrust it at him carelessly. "Respect the fact that he has feelings and that barking at him is liable to injure them."

"I am the prince." Uther reiterated, disbelieving. "One day I will be King of Camelot. What type of kingdom will this be if I am not respected?"

"And shouting at people will make them respect you?"

"A king demands respect."

"Then he shall not have mine."

Uther glared at Balinor, his eyes gradually widening to a stare. "Excuse me?"

Balinor gave a casual shrug, already in the process of sorting a pair of trousers from the assorted laundry. "A king that demands my respect won't get it. Who I give my respect to is one of the few things in life I get to decide. I will not give it to a king who demands it of his people, but to one who earns it."

Uther was silent. He frowned, watching his idiotic, idealistic peasant with uncertainty as he took the proffered trousers and Balinor left him be to stride across the room to review himself in the mirror. As much as he called his peasant all manner of names, and as much as he would never admit it, Uther knew that he would not be without Balinor. The young Dragonlord-to-be tempered him, cooled him and gave him the pause for thought and self-review he sometimes sorely needed.

To begin with, Uther had not seen it that way. Balinor was simply a novelty. He was a new toy to play with, and keep entertained by. Somehow, over the course of the past two years, he had become more than that. He had become a friend.

Uther lowered his eyes to the garment in his hand, his temper receding. Balinor was the best and truest friend he had ever had. Never had Uther met someone so patient, or so understanding. The very fact that Balinor was still hanging around him was a testament to his never-ending well of patience. It was unlikely that anything could make the laid-back boy snap. For that, Uther was grateful. He was not afraid to admit that Balinor was his friend. In fact, he was proud of it.

Though he would never say such a thing to Balinor's face. Everyone else knew. Balinor probably knew, too. He knew almost everything, after all. What he didn't know, he would usually find out. It was most unlikely to be a secret from him.

To hear that there was a possibility of perhaps losing his friend's respect? It left Uther feeling surprisingly cold inside. For the life of him, he could not understand it. He cared little for the opinions of most, but he cared very much about Balinor's. It bothered him after that flat statement concerning respect. All of his life Uther had been decided what kind of king he would be. A great one. The greatest. Respected by his people, and celebrated by them. It was something he had never questioned. His people would respect and revere him because he was their king, because of the authority he showed. Yet, being the loudest and most forceful was suddenly not enough?

Perhaps others would afford him respect because of his status, but Balinor would not. With all that the idiot's words had thrown into disarray in his mind, one thing remained entirely clear to him: He wanted to be the type of king Balinor could respect. With a small shake of his head, he swallowed. Since when had the opinion of one so far beneath him become so damn important?

He had to wonder, exactly what kind of king he would be in reality. A good one, certainly. Fair, and capable of making good decisions. As long as Balinor remained at his side, the latter would definitely be true. His friend was nothing if not level-headed. In fact, Uther did worry briefly, exactly what type of king he would be without his faithful, loyal confidante beside him to quell his temper.

That worry was only fleeting, chased away by a mental scoff. Balinor would always be there. That was something Uther knew for a fact.

… One he was grateful for.

"What are you waiting for?" Balinor's voice snapped him from his inner musings. The gangly idiot had turned away from the mirror to level a disapproving frown at him, combing those stupid long fingers mindlessly through the knots in his thick, dark locks. "I thought you were snarling because you're late? And I'm not putting those on you." He nodded towards the trousers in the prince's hand. "I'm sure you're capable of that much, at least."

"Shut up and get out." Uther growled, so low that it was almost a mutter and shrugged Balinor off in favour of examining, and deciphering, his trousers.

Raising an eyebrow, Balinor shook his head lightly and retreated into the corridor to await the clearly baffled prince. Perhaps he ought to sit down somewhere? This looked as though it could take some time.

Uther found himself wishing that Balinor would slow down. It had to be today of all days that the clumsy oaf decided it wasn't necessary to tumble over everything every few seconds, didn't it?

Groaning quietly, he raised a hand to his head. Why did he drink so much the previous night? This was all Johfrit's fault. It had to be. In no way could it be his own.

Mounting the steps into the tower, he trailed Balinor along the corridor to the physician's chambers. His pet peasant had flat out refused to let him go anywhere until he had gotten one of Gaius' foul hangover remedies down him. The way he was feeling this morning, he was actually quite looking forward to necking the vile potion.

Suddenly, a wave of dizziness swept over him, the prince finding himself pulled up in a start to avoid crashing into Balinor's back and avoid impaling himself on one of his friend's razor sharp shoulder blades. The scrawny twat had apparently stopped to allow an assortment of guards past.

Balinor frowned, worry hitting him to note that they had come out of Gaius' chambers. "What's going on?"

One of the men halted and opened his mouth to answer Balinor. His composure crumbled to see prince Uther hovering over the boy's shoulder. He dropped into a stiff bow. "It's Lord Godwyn." He answered in a low tone. "He's been poisoned."

Uther's head shot up, a look of horrified disbelief plastered across his face. "Poisoned?" That was absurd. Not in Camelot. Not among friends. "Who would do such a thing?"

The guard gave another bow, aware that his fellows were leaving him behind. "We are under orders to arrest his servant."

Both Uther and Balinor looked at one another in surprise and horror. Godwyn had not brought a personal servant with him. Instead he had been assigned -

"Edmund." Uther murmured, and shook his head. "That is preposterous! Edmund has been my manservant for years. Most of my life. He would never do such a thing. It is not in his nature. Who gave these orders?"

The guard shifted uncomfortably. "The King, my lord." With that, he took his leave and hurried on his way after the others down the stairs.

The two boys let him go and hurried along the corridor to Gaius' chambers.

They burst through the door to find Godwyn laid out unconscious on the patient's cot to one side of the room, Gaius hovering over him, examining him. Constantine was present also, wringing his hands concernedly at his fellow king's side.

At their noisy entrance Gaius looked up briefly to set eyes on his assistant. "Balinor. I need a tincture of yarrow and dandelion as quickly as possible."

Balinor nodded and hurried to the workbench.

Uther crossed the room to his father's side and stared down at Godwyn in shocked surprise and discomfort. "What happened, father?"

"His meal was poisoned." Constantine murmured, a quiver of anger lacing his voice.

"... And Edmund is suspected?"

The King looked up at his son, his brows drawn together. The quiet disbelief in Uther's voice was clear, and fully expected. Edmund had been his manservant for likely as long as Uther could remember. He had been approaching his sixth summer when Edmund was appointed to the position. Understandably he would not want to believe his servant capable of this.

"The evidence is clear, I am afraid, Uther." Constantine sighed wearily, and shook his head. "Edmund is the only one who had opportunity to tamper with the meal after it left the kitchens. It was prepared by the cook and head kitchen maid themselves. Edmund himself admits that the meal never left his sight."

"Yet neither of them are under suspicion?"

"It was tasted before leaving the kitchens in Edmund's hands. The boy who did so shows no signs of poison."

So Edmund was the only one who could have poisoned the meal? Uther did not want to believe that, Balinor could see. Biting his lip he looked away from the prince and back to his work grinding the plants in the mortar before him.

"How is he?" The prince gestured to Godwyn.

It was Gaius who fielded the question, a deep frown on his face as he did. "His condition is grave. All of the symptoms he is displaying suggest that he has been administered a heavy dose of digitalis."

The look of uncertainty on Uther's face was clear to Balinor at the workbench. "Foxglove." He translated for the stumped prince, aware that his voice trembled around the word.

Gaius gave a nod, quiet pride in his assistant's remembering underlying his overriding concern for his patient briefly. "It is a potent poison in large doses."

Uther swallowed. "Gaius. How long does he have?"

The silence, though only of a few beats, was telling. "I estimate about four hours. At the most. His body has already begun to shut down."

"Is there nothing you can do?"

"I can concoct a solution to flush out the stomach, and a draught to do the same to the digestive organs, but beyond that..." He raised his eyes to gaze across the room, his sight resting on Balinor, "His only hope may be magic."

Balinor looked up sharply, meeting his mentor's gaze, hand stilling, pestle resting in the mortar.

Constantine looked Gaius in the eye. "Gaius?"

The physician shook his head. "My magic is not powerful enough, not focussed enough for such a task. Not now that the poisoning has advanced so."

The King closed his eyes, cold fear nestling in the pit of his stomach. "The Priestesses have already left on their pilgrimage. They would never be reached and return within four hours." He let out a shaky sigh, and looked to Rion's boy where the youngster stared back at his king in alarm. "Can you do it, boy?" Constantine asked, well aware of the slight jump that came from being directly addressed by him. "Can you save this man's life?"

Balinor stuttered, "I-I..." and swallowed, well aware of the three pairs of eyes on him, scrutinising him hopefully. "I don't know, Sire." He managed after a moment, and let his eyes fall from the King to Godwyn's still form. "I can try."

"Then do so." Constantine ordered him with a nod.

Hesitantly, Balinor returned the nod and poured the tincture he had concocted into a phial ready to be administered.

Gaius directed him to do so as he himself rose to find the correct book containing spells for purging poisons.

Uther watched with a growing sense of dread. Balinor had powerful magic at his disposal, he knew, but he also knew that his friend was entirely self-taught. Gaius offered him guidance and advice on keeping his magic in check, but he was generally without the opportunity to learn and improve. Uther had no idea how proficient the peasant boy was with healing magic. Neither did Balinor, Uther imagined. Mostly Balinor used his magic for convenience, or fun. This was something else entirely. Failure, too, as not an option.

He could not remain to watch the outcome. Godwyn was in the best hands. His concern now had to be Edmund, and finding the true poisoner.

"My Lord." He caught his father's attention, and offered a parting bow. "I shall take charge of the investigation and discover if there are any others involved."

Constantine nodded his approval. "Very well. Though I am surprised that you were not here to take charge earlier."

Uther winced slightly, shamefaced at the quietly barbed comment. His father was a fair and patient man, but he did not like to be disappointed. Uther did not make to explain himself, and again bowed to his father before turning on his heel and making to leave the room, still a little groggy under the influence of his banging headache.

He was stayed by Gaius' voice calling to him from the bookshelves. "If I may ask a favour, my prince. There is a healer in the lower town, named Alice. She will be able to assist. Please have somebody escort her here."

Uther nodded, and turned to go again, this time stayed by Balinor calling his name. With a glance at his friend where he now sat at the head of Godwyn's bed, carefully trickling the tincture down the stricken king's throat, Uther caught the brief glow of gold in Balinor's eyes, and raised his hand to catch the phial of blue liquid that leapt across the chamber from its shelf.

Without so much as a nod or verbal thanks, Uther left, uncorking the phial and knocking back the contents as he went. Balinor did not need thanks. He knew the grutnol prince was grateful.

He returned his attention to Godwyn and began massaging his knuckles against the king's throat to encourage swallowing. All the while he could feel Constantine's eyes on him, following his every movement.

He did not like this attention. It made him nervous. Magic was easy, yes, but what they wanted him to do put him under pressure. Magic came naturally to him. It was always there, thrumming alongside his pulse, ready to be used, an extension of himself like an extra arm or something. Gaius was looking through the books, Constantine wanted him to perform it perfectly. Balinor clenched his teeth and took a breath.

He had never performed a spell from a book before. Everything he knew he had learned from watching others around the citadel and town. His spells were only a few words, all learned by ear and played with to help him use his magic as he wanted to.

It was not something that he told people, though Uther knew it, and of course Gaius, but his father did not like him to use magic. Rion did not understand it, and he did not like it when Balinor used it. Seeing his son perform magic always left a strange... sad expression on his face that Balinor did not like to see. He had never learned why it should be that his father was averse to his using his gifts – Rion avoided talking about the issue. Balinor put it down to the loss of his mother, and how his having magic must remind his father of her.

That he had learnt any magic at all, Balinor knew his father was not particularly pleased about. Rion did understand, however, that it was necessary for him to use it. Even if it was just a little here and there, Balinor had to use his magic, or it created an excess and used itself, so to speak.

It had never been anything too drastic: pots shattering of their own accord, objects leaping off tables, doors slamming. In one instance the broth levitating itself out of the pan on the stove in their old house back in the village, but never anything more than irritating happenings. It made Balinor feel itchy, though. Like he had pins and needles under his skin all over his body if he tried to hold his magic in for too long. His father understood that much, and allowed him to use enough to get by. But he did not want his son to learn.

Therefore, being faced with this task, and the idea of using so much magic unsanctioned, and inevitably learning some new magic left Balinor feeling highly nervous, daunted, and guilty, but exceedingly excited.

Suddenly, Godwyn gave a small cough, and began taking short, wheezing breaths. Balinor froze, ice forming in his veins as the king struggled to breathe.

"What is it?" Constantine demanded, panic rising in his voice, "What's happening?"

Balinor shook his head, fear taking hold of him. He didn't know! "Gaius!"

"Here!" The physician was beside him, holding the open spell book in front of Balinor that he could read the necessary incantation. The boy visibly paled.

"I can't do that spell, Gaius." He blanched, staring at his mentor in terror. "It's too complicated."

Gaius shook his head hurriedly. "I know you have never cast a spell of this nature before, Balinor, but you must try. A man's life is at stake."

That really didn't help matters, but Gaius was right. Shaky, Balinor looked over the spell again, noting the longer words and their pronunciations in his head. He had never cast a spell of more than a few words before. This one in the book in front of him, surrounded by beautifully painted purple and white foxgloves and a rather disconcerting skull and crossbones was several sentences long. Not only was there the question of his actually managing to do it, his father...

Gaius was right, though. A man's life was at stake.

"Alright."

He moved to Godwyn's side, and leant forward over the stricken king. He clasped his hands in the air above Godwyn's chest.

Gaius moved to the other side of their patient and sat across from Balinor, holding the book up open against his chest that his assistant could read the spell.

Nerves jangled in Balinor's stomach, the eyes of his king and his mentor on him, the shallow, laboured breaths of the dying Lord Godwyn ringing in his ears. He didn't know if he could do this. Never before had he done anything this complicated with his magic, but Gaius and Constantine were right. He had to try. If he did not, then Godwyn would surely die. If there was anything that he could do to help, then he had to try.

Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath. He reached inside himself, searching for his magic by the warm, comforting feel of it, and met it as it rose to meet him. Balinor grasped it and pulled it to the surface.

"Áfeorme sé ater. Áflieme dréor glófa ond oflinn seó siþ sé ædre. Blód, þiet æt mín galdor. Neáde úre gegenga fram geþonc bónsele. Eftbót hine!"*

Balinor opened his eyes, irises burning gold as he looked down on Godwyn. His heart clenched to see no change in the ailing man.

"What's happened?" Constantine demanded, eyes fixed on the young sorcerer across from him. "Why has it not worked?"

Balinor paled, unable to look away from Godwyn as the man's breathing grew worse. "I-I don't know."

"Balinor." Gaius' gentle tone drew the boy to look at him. The physician held the spell book a little higher against his chest, and nodded encouragingly. "Calm yourself. Take your time, and try it again."

Take his time? How could he? Godwyn took a deep, shuddering breath as if to ram the point home. The man was dying. There was no time to take!

However Balinor tried to relax a little, and raised his hands over Godwyn's chest again. Calmly, carefully, he repeated the purging spell.

Again he felt his magic respond. Again, Godwyn did not. Despair filled Balinor. He looked to Gaius, whose brows were drawn together in concern. Again, it was Constantine who spoke.

"Why has it not worked?" He shot a look of command at Balinor. "Again, boy. Try it again."

With a small breath and a nod, Balinor did as he was told and repeated the spell. He felt his magic leap to him, yet again there was no effect. Godwyn did not improve and continued to worsen.

Constantine slammed a hand down on the edge of the cot, shocking Balinor to look up at him blinking wide, worried eyes.

"Do you not realise what his death will mean, boy?" The King demanded, his normally calm and level voice low, and dangerous. "To have been poisoned on Camelot soil – in this citadel – by one of our own servants? His allies will not view it as an assassin working alone. It will be seen as an act of war. Do you understand that?"

Dumbly, Balinor nodded.

Across the cot, Gaius shifted. "Sire-"

"Again."

Balinor complied. The spell did not. Panting, Balinor fell back in his chair, a thin sheen of sweat breaking out across his brow. His eyes did not leave his patient. All three were so focused on Godwyn, that they failed to notice Rion's entrance on the far side of the chamber.

Closing the door quietly behind him, the Dragonlord halted, his grave expression falling even further at the sight before him:

"Sire, I really must-"

Constantine cut Gaius off, rising to his feet to glare down at Balinor. "Damn you, boy. Again!"

Sweating, shaking, Balinor nodded, and took a couple of breaths to try and control his panting. His tried the spell again, his breathlessness growing worse as Godwyn's did, and once again fell back to slump in his chair as the magic had no effect. He was spent.

"Again, boy!" Constantine bellowed, panic clear in his voice. "Do you wish to see this man die? To see Camelot at war? Again!"

Balinor shook his head, unable to think straight. He felt as though he had nothing left; no more tries at the spell. He had given all that he had.

"Sire, he has nothing left to give." Gaius told the King gently, rising and laying a hand on Constantine's arm. "He has tried. That is all he could do."

"Godwyn cannot die, Gaius." Constantine stared at his fellow king, a slight tremble to his voice as he spoke. "He cannot, or many more will."

Rion started across the room, well aware of what it meant when the sadness left Constantine's expression, replaced by fire and aloofness as the King focused on Balinor again.

"Boy! Again!"

Balinor shook his head."

Constantine's expression twisted into one of unadulterated rage. "I said again!"

Balinor shook his head harder, raised his hands to press over his ears. Tears prickled at his eyes, his shaking breaths racking his body. He felt weak from exertion, though his magic still roiled inside him.

"Do you wish to see this kingdom at war? To see thousands dead and injured, more starving because of this man's death? Again!"

He didn't want to see any of that, but he had tried, and he had failed. He couldn't do it... but he could try again. The King was right. Godwyn couldn't die. Gaius believed that he could do it. He had to try again.

Barely able to keep himself from falling forward out of his chair, Balinor forced himself upright and leant forward to clasp his hands over Godwyn's chest one last time.

Rion halted at the foot of the ailing king's cot, mesmerised by the sight as his son took a deep breath, his shakes stilling, and began to speak.

Words fell from Balinor's tongue. They were not the words of the spell he had spoken previously, but something else entirely. Gaius almost lost his grip on the book, sitting up and staring wide-eyed at his assistant, understanding the words neither King nor Dragonlord could.

"Dost, tidfera, wópléoþ geoscæft ond sæl fyrn. Ásecge widsæ ond sé windgereste, hwanne brynenwála geóra forféran æt slæp. Fram sé bæl fenix, sylfym ellen ond alor, sé broðarsibb, bring an lihting æt cynnig beald. Seó mann sy fæg æt deaþ in wældréor. Wiccung fram sé Eorðe, cume æt me. Forslæwe hine heorte. Sypian sé laþsip ond forierre sé deoþgedál. Swígan wóp úle, ond gelangie dæg æblæc léoht sé swigeniht."*

Beneath their lids, Balinor's eyes flared gold. The rush of magic he felt was unlike anything he had experienced before. It raced through his body, stealing the last of his breath, and his energy. Silent, his hands fell to his sides. He swayed, and collapsed out of his chair, out cold.

Rion caught him from hitting the floor, gently easing his unconscious son back into his seat and holding him there, terror on his face to find Balinor completely unresponsive.

On the cot, Godwyn's breathing evened out, and slowed. It continued to slow, until it was no longer audible, or visible in the rise and fall of his chest. He no longer moved at all.

Constantine put his ear to his friend's chest, panic written all over him even as Gaius pressed two fingers to Godwyn's neck. "His heart has stopped." The King breathed. Rage contorted his features. He rose to his feet all of his ire directed towards the unconscious, oblivious sorcerer slumped opposite him. "He has killed him!"

Rion's arms looped protectively around Balinor, pulling his son to his chest. "You asked too much of him!" He shot back at Constantine. "He is not schooled in magic! What you demanded was beyond his power!"

"Sire-" Gaius' quiet voice prevented the argument from progressing any further. "He lives."

"What?" Constantine turned to Gaius with a deep frown. "His heart has stopped."

The physician shook his head. "No. It has not." He sent a fond, disbelieving look at Balinor where the boy had begun to snore lightly in his father's arms. "What Balinor has done is slow Godwyn's heart almost to the point of death. He could not cure the poison, but somehow he has acted to almost halt its spread through the King's body. Godwyn's entire body has slowed to a crawl."

Constantine stared at the boy in surprise. "He could do that, yet not simply cure him?"

Gaius shook his head. "There is much about Balinor that I do not know. That he does not even know himself. His magic and its capabilities are very much uncharted territory as he has never been taught. I can, however, say with a degree of certainty that he is probably unaware of what he has just done."

"... He did this... without meaning to?"

"I believe so."

Rion glanced down at his boy in amazement. Balinor lay against him, his cheek snuggled into his father's chest, completely deaf to the talk going on around him. Not for the first time, but certainly with the most conviction, Balinor questioned why his child had been gifted magic. Inevitably, he found himself fearing, as he had many times before, exactly what his boy may become because of it.

Constantine watched the still form of Godwyn thoughtfully. "Will this harm him, in the long run?" Looking to Gaius and finding the questioning expression on his face prompted him to elaborate. "The magic, not the poison?"

"I don't see why it should." Gaius answered openly. "If anything, it will prevent further damage. Balinor has bought us more time."

"And this... healer you sent for?"

"Alice?"

The King nodded. "Yes. You believe that she will be able to assist?"

"Sire," Gaius laid the spell book closed on his workbench and turned to face his king. He folded his hands neatly inside his sleeves and let a small smile grace his lips. "she is the best healer I have ever known. Her skills in magic far outweigh my own. She will be able to perform the purging spell much more effectively than I ever could."

His physician's words were enough. "Then, I am satisfied."

"Perhaps, Sire," Gaius ventured, noting the slight tremor to the King's hands, and the look of thunder on Rion's face, "you should take some time to be seen around the citadel? Godwyn's entourage are in need of information on their King's condition, and the people require reassurance. Uther is more than capable of neutralising any remaining dangers arising from the issue."

Constantine nodded. "Of course." Gaius didn't want him getting under his feet. That was clear. "I will return later to see how things are progressing."

"Hopefully the news will be better."

Gaius watched him leave, exhaling a small breath of relief once the door was closed. Immediately they were alone he hurried to Balinor's side and began checking the boy over.

Rion held his son in silence until Gaius had finished, when he took a nervous breath. "Is he well?"

"None the worse for wear." Gaius concluded levelly. "He has just exhausted himself. That is all." Fondly, he ruffled the sleeping boy's hair and managed a small smile. "We'd best get him to bed."

"What of Godwyn?"

"He will be fine for a few moments." Just to be sure, Gaius threw an assessing glance at the almost frozen King. "Balinor needs to be made comfortable. He has seriously overexerted himself."

With a nod, Rion gathered his boy into his arms.

He really was light – still only a slip of a boy, and almost weightless to what he should be. Many times Gaius had assured Rion that Balinor was slender as he was still growing. While it was reassuring, it did not completely allay a worried father's concern.

Rion's arms were not even tired when he lay Balinor on his bed. He stepped back while Gaius fussed around the boy, covering him up with the blanket and tucking him in. Running a hand back through his thick, dark hair, the Dragonlord breathed a sigh, watching the care with which Gaius treated Balinor. It gladdened Rion's heart to know that his boy had another who cared for him so. One who could be there in those stoic, introspective moments Balinor was occasionally known to drift off into. With his duties, Rion knew that he could not always be there. Even if those lonely moments of his son's were much decreased since coming to Camelot and befriending others his own age.

He set a fond gaze on Balinor where the boy lay on his side, snoozing against the pillow clutched automatically in his hands. He barely recognised the young man he was becoming; the change in him since coming to Camelot, as opposed to the memories of a small, quiet and unduly thoughtful child that held precedence in his mind conflicted so much.

"There." Gaius joined him at the foot of Balinor's bed, looking the boy over with a quietly pleased eye. "He should sleep it off quite comfortably." He looked to Rion with a proud, yet cautious smile. "He has done well."

"Yes." Without question he had. And yet... Rion lowered his eyes and coughed lightly. He turned to follow Gaius from the room, pausing a moment to run a hand over one of the numerous wooden carvings standing on the desk against the wall, and an eye over the almost empty bookshelf on the other side of the door. He swallowed and descended the stairs to the physician's chambers, closing the door as he went.

"He will be fine, Rion." Gaius told him, able to see the troubled expression on the Dragonlord's face. "I know how you worry for him. Most of the time it is justified, to be sure. In this instance, you need not."

"Thank you, Gaius." Rion took up a lean at the edge of the workbench where Gaius had begun concocting something, "for caring for him, when I am not always able."

"It is my pleasure." Gaius returned almost off-handedly. "It is your duties that keep you from him. Not a lack of desire to be there."

Rion swallowed again, and fixed his eyes on the scratched old wood beneath his fingertips. "I hope that he realises that."

"He does." Gaius assured him. "He appreciates the time you are able to spend with him."

The Dragonlord gave no answer to that. He ran a shaky hand over his beard and exhaled quietly. "I must go and attend to some of those duties now. Tell Balinor that I shall return to see how he is later on, should he wake before then."

"Did you not wish to see the King earlier?" After all, Gaius had assumed that was why Rion had come to his chambers. He knew Godwyn was here – Rion had been the one to bear him here.

He had assumed right, and did not miss the shadow that descended on the Dragonlord's face, nor the way his previously loose fingers curled into tight, white-knuckled fists.

"It can wait." Rion said gruffly. "I have little desire to see Constantine at present."

And Gaius understood perfectly. He knew how important Balinor was to his father, and exactly how protective the man could be of his child. Rion and Balinor shared the same passive nature, but underlying it in the father was a temper to end all tempers. When impassioned to the point of outburst, Rion was positively fearsome. One way to bring out the fighter in him was to threaten his son. Rion had walked in to find Constantine shouting at Balinor, hadn't he?

"And if the King should enquire as to your whereabouts?"

"Tell him I am elsewhere – anywhere, I don't care. So long as it is not the caves."

Gaius understood his friend's reasons well enough. He had come to know Rion well in the years before coming to Camelot. Ealdor, Gaius' home village was a few miles North of Engerd. Their paths had crossed many times over the years. He knew that Rion was a solitary soul, and also that he was wont to do something he might regret if angered enough. Rion needed time to cool down.

"If Balinor wakes and has need of you before you return, I will send for you."

Rion gave a grateful nod, and made to leave. He hesitated at the door, glancing back at the physician working at the bench and winced a moment as he struggled to find the words he wanted. "Gaius?"

Silent, Gaius looked up, meeting Rion's searching, blue eyed-stare.

The Dragonlord drummed his long fingers against the door frame a moment. Words never had been his strong point. "If he wakes, tell him that he has done well."

Gaius gave a nod. "I will.

Rion returned the nod, and hurried out of the room, leaving the physician to his work.

* Cor y Cewri – 'Council of the giants', the traditional Welsh name for Stonehenge.

* Cyhyraeth – The Welsh version of the Banshee. Dwells beside rivers and screams three times for those who are about to die. Also for Welshmen dying far from home.

* Purging spell – 'Purge the poison. Cleanse the blood of the foxglove and stop its journey in the veins. Blood, roar to my magic. Force your fellow traveller from the body. Restore him to health!'

* The Mega spell – Sing, traveller whose time has come, the elegy of fate and times of old. Tell of open sea and the windy resting place, when great kings depart to sleep. From the phoenix flame, of Elder and Alder. The kinship of brothers, bring relief to the brave king. That man is destined to die in the blood of battle. Magic of the Earth, come to me. Slow his heart. Delay the painful journey and the painful separation. Silence the shrieking of the owl, and summon bleak day to light the night of silence.'

Notes: I love foreshadowing. Oh Uther, how you make me smile.