- Seven -
The light from the candles had begun to wane, and flicker. Balinor sat alone at Godwyn's bedside. He still administered the poultice treatment that Alice had shown him, but it no longer seemed to be doing much good. Left by himself, he had soon fallen to his thoughts.
Early that afternoon, Uther had apparently come charging in like a raging bull, waving a collection of glass shards around and demanding that Gaius analyse a couple of them. They were 'evidence' apparently, found in the corridor outside Godwyn's guest chambers. Or they could just be somebody's rubbish, chucked on the floor and swept behind a curtain in a fit of laziness.
There was nothing unusual in Uther charging around the citadel demanding people do things for him, but during his short tenure irritating Gaius with his glass, a pair of guards had turned up with a bottle found in Edmund's chambers, helpfully marked 'Digitalis'. They too wanted their find analysed, by order of the King. Uther had left in a huff after Gaius told him that he would get to his shards, and the guards looking quietly smug as the physician began work on their bottle. It was understandable that Gaius should choose their item first. Constantine expected the result, after all. Uther's wishes still came second to his father's, no matter how much of a storming tantrum he threw.
So he went off to terrorise the parade of serving boys he had had his knights round up and imprison in the Great Hall, and Gaius had got on with caring for Godwyn. He had yet to analyse either of the phials.
Balinor knitted his fingers atop the poultice on the cot in front of him, and furrowed his brow. Gaius had just been about to begin that task, when two knights had shown up – Sir Galvarium and Sir Harold – to collect Gaius and Alice and take them to a meeting with the King and Godwyn's assorted accompanying Lords in the Council chambers.
Constantine had predicted correctly that the Gawant party would lay the blame for this incident on Camelot. This meeting was in the hopes of smoothing things out. That was unlikely to happen. The testimony of those in charge of healing Godwyn was needed in the effort.
Balinor gripped the poultice in his long fingers, and gazed at it, his eyes flaring briefly gold in the dim room. Godwyn shifted almost imperceptibly, but that was all. The magic augmenting the poison was preventing any further healing, Alice had said shortly before leaving. There was little else that they could do for the moment. Still, Balinor kept on trying the spell. He had performed it so many times now that it was refined into silent incantation, he knew it so well.
Magic was very much like his untouched blocks of wood. When he began to carve, the first strokes of the knife were clumsy, and simply exploratory. Once the carving began to resemble in rough the creature or object he wished it to, the strokes became more effective, more refined until the finished work was polished and as complete as he wished it to be. The closer he came to that finished product, the more natural the work to find it seemed. As it was with magic. It came naturally to him, filled him with such joy as he could not experience anywhere else.
He cast the spell again, pulling the magic to him and directing it as he wanted. Again, Godwyn shifted lightly, but that was all. There was no change in the pallor of his skin, or his breathing.
Balinor watched him a moment before releasing the poultice and sitting back in his chair, a frown on his face. He shrugged his blanket up around his shoulders and pulled it closer about his neck to hold it closed there with one hand.
Godwyn's entourage had insisted on posting a guard outside the physician's chambers. They did not trust Constantine or his knights after all of this, and that was hardly surprising.
Yawning, Balinor cast about the shadowy room. He ought to replace the candles before Gaius and Alice returned. It was one of his duties as physician's assistant, and he ought to try and do as many of his chores as he could. It would make treating Godwyn easier for one thing, if the room remained free of clutter and all the necessary herbs and equipment were ready to hand.
Taking his blankets with him he stood and crossed to the shelves where the candle box lived, dropping the poultice on the workbench as he went. He opened the drawer and rummaged inside among the general bits and bobs that always seemed to find their way into drawers reserved for specific things.
His father had yet to return. Gaius had mentioned that Rion had left in search of the priestesses. He must not have found them yet.
Clutching a handful of candles to his chest, his fingers twined into his blankets, Balinor looked over at the stricken King, wishing that there was something more he could do to help.
It was not just Godwyn that stood to lose from this poisoning, or the people and kingdom of Camelot. Gawant's people would lose a just, kind and fair king. Godwyn ruled well, and his people were widely known to be happy. Without an heir, there was nobody to inherit the Kingdom should he... die. The way would be free for anybody to stroll in and assume the throne. Especially if Godwyn's knights alienated Camelot with their accusations.
Edmund would lose an awful lot also. His life. If found guilty of poisoning Godwyn, he would surely be executed.
With a shake of his head, Balinor began to move about the room replenishing the candles. All this over one man...
Kings and succession law, and armies and war had all been beyond the realm of his understanding when he first journeyed to Camelot. How one man could hold the fate of so many in his hands had baffled him. It all made sense now. Since becoming joined at the hip with Uther, he had learnt all about the ways of royal families, and the claims their Kingdoms laid to them as well as those they themselves laid to their Kingdoms. That did not mean he didn't still find it all very silly.
Hopping down from the small set of steps Gaius kept to reach highish things, Balinor glanced up at the upper reaches of the chambers, and the nearly spent candles far above his head. There was something of a chill in the air tonight; enough to make him reluctant to give up his blankets in order to climb the tall ladder. He hitched them up around his shoulders, and held out his hand in front of him, palm up.
"Astierf, ældfyr. Candela, cume her."*
The high candles flickered, and went out. They lifted free from their rests, and began to descend very slowly down into Balinor's waiting hand.
He put them down and turned his attention to setting the new candles out upright in a line on the workbench before him. Blinking, he sleepily raised his palm towards them. "Fleogé."*
Gently, the candles lifted off the bench and rose steadily into the air. Balinor directed them with a slow motion of his hand.
Behind him there was a knock at the door.
"One moment."
His answer must have gone unheard. The door opened and a pale face looked round it almost timidly.
It was the face of a young woman, her long, dark hair draped over one shoulder in a long braid, lovely deep blue eyes casting about the cluttered room. "Gaius?"
Her eyes settled on Balinor and his actions in surprise, and a little awe.
He did not turn or acknowledge her, all of his concentration focussed on his current task of not dropping what would soon be five burning candles from a great height into Gaius' various very flammable papers and potions. Aside from destroying the physician's chambers with clumsiness, Balinor knew that Gaius did not like it when his candles were wasted or broken. Carefully, he bade them settle back into their rests, and dropped his hand to his side. "Bryne."
The new candles flared to life, casting their orange and yellow light into all corners of the chambers.
Satisfied, he turned to inform the visitor of Gaius' absence, only to pale and perform a hurried and clumsy bow. "Lady Vivienne."
The Lady Vivienne did not acknowledge his deference. She did not even notice it, engaged in staring up at the flickering candles in appreciation, one hand raised to her mouth. She remembered herself suddenly, and set eyes on the gangly, tousled young man standing awkwardly beside Gaius' workbench. He appeared to be gawking, and clearly not aware of how he ought to receive her.
She knew him, of course; the awkward, clumsy boy who followed Uther around like a loyal little puppy dog. Balinor, Lord Rion's son, and the Crown Prince's partner in crime. At present he appeared even more awkward than usual, stood bundled up in rough, homespun blankets, nothing on his feet, hair a ruffled mess. Clearly he had not been expecting visitors.
With a small start she realised that this was the first time she had ever really paid any attention to him beyond a cursory glance as he trailed Uther in her general vicinity. Clearing her throat in as demure a manner as she could, Vivienne averted her eyes from him. "Forgive me for disturbing you," She murmured, perhaps a little short in tone, "I was looking for Gaius."
"He is with the King at present, my Lady." Balinor explained, clutching his blanket tightly about his shoulders.
"I see." Vivienne returned her gaze to him, coolly scrutinising him a moment with what appeared to be great interest. It made Balinor quite uncomfortable. He found himself relieved as she looked away from him to the candles burning in their high rests.
After a moment, Lady Vivienne smiled and stepped wholly into the physician's chambers, quietly closing the door behind her. "It's Balinor, isn't it?" She asked, though she already knew, and took gliding steps towards him in a swish of silk and organza from her lovely long dress. "You're Uther's... friend?"
Despite the uncertainty with which she pronounced his particular function at court, she managed to fix him with a warm smile that made Balinor feel perhaps a little bolder and less intimidated by her presence.
"I am the court Physician's assistant." He corrected her, quietly wondering to himself why everybody seemed to forget that fact.
"Yes." She nodded in a small motion, and folded her arms over her chest to draw her shawl to herself. Tilting her head to one side, she regarded him with a curious look in her lovely deep blue eyes. "Lord Rion's son."
Balinor blushed slightly, but returned her nod. It was strange hearing his father referred to by his title. Neither he nor his father ever paid any attention to it as it held no actual significance to either of them. It was merely a court formality.
Lady Vivienne's smile broadened a little, and she held her hand out to him that he may kiss it. "I have seen you many times about the citadel with Uther, but we have never had opportunity to speak."
To her great surprise and almost unconscious chagrin, Balinor grasped her hand in his much larger, rougher one, and shook it firmly. "Indeed, my Lady. Though I am not sure there is much one such as myself could have to say that would not leave you terribly bored."
Despite the initial surprise at his handshake, Vivienne fought back her smile as it tried to twitch into an amused grin. This boy, whatever she had formed as a preconception of his character having so captured Uther's limited, somewhat unpolished attentions fled. In stark contrast to the manner of the prince's usual cronies, Balinor was... amiable. Even now as he looked on her in as polite a manner as he knew how, it was with a certain thoughtful sincerity. All in all he was rather... rustically charming. Not what she had expected at all.
She recovered her usual mantle of practiced imperiousness and took back her hand, having forgotten a moment that Balinor still had possession of it. "Do you have any idea when Gaius will return?"
Balinor pressed his lips together, and shook his head. "Regretfully not." He paused, and raised tentative eyes to meet her gaze. "Perhaps I can be of assistance instead? If it is a draught you need preparing-"
"No, no." She cut him off soundly. "This is something I'm afraid that only Gaius can assist me with."
"Oh." He shifted, unsure what else to say. "Did you want to wait for him?"
Vivienne nodded, though the reasons for her decision to remain in the company of this clumsy boy would only occur to her much later after she had left Gaius' chambers. "If I may."
Unsure whether that was a question, or if any form of answer was required, or even why she should feel the need to gain his permission for anything at all, Balinor hedged his bets and gave one of his customary clumsy bows before gesturing for the Lady Vivienne to take a seat at the workbench.
She did so, and made herself comfortable. After a moment, she realised that Balinor still stood nearby, looking listless and more than a little spare. "Please." She drew his attention. "Do not worry about me. Go about that for which you are required."
He did not say anything, but gave another ill-practised bow and started moving about the room cleaning up the various surfaces and retying bundles of herbs that had been brought down from the drying line for preparatory purposes.
Vivienne watched him a few moments, strangely fascinated by his unique, mismatched manner of movement, before turning her head away and looking to the patient laid out so still on the cot behind her.
The sight of Godwyn's pale form saddened her; a deep cold washed over her to see him so stricken. Unconsciously she wrung her fingers in the fine fabric of her shawl. She had heard that the visiting King had been poisoned, and that it had been her own father who had discovered him. The event had left her father saddened and angry. She herself felt much the same-
The heavy sound of Balinor running up the stairs to the small room at the back of the chambers drew her from her thoughts to follow his movements in momentary surprise.
He disappeared through the door, only to reappear a moment later clutching a small bottle of... something, sealed with a cork and carefully labelled.
Vivienne watched him with interest as he casually descended the steps two at a time in his bare feet, and climbed the stairs leading to Gaius' high bookshelves a little way to the small windowsill, and the large glass bowl of water sat there.
Focussed solely on his task, he did not realise her regard as he flumped down unceremoniously on the stair and yanked the cork from the bottle. With a rather contented smile on his face, he tapped some of the contents of the bottle – small, unidentifiable black things – into the water. His smile became pleased as two small shapes paddled their way over to his offerings and began to feed.
Curious, Vivienne craned her neck to try and see better what was happening in the bowl, but was largely unsuccessful. "What are they?" She queried, clasping her hands on the bench in front of her.
"Efts." He returned with a brief glance and smile before watching the little creatures at their business once more.
"What are efts?" Vivienne asked, dissatisfied by the rather incomprehensible answer.
"Baby newts." Balinor told her, not looking away from them this time.
"Really?" Vivienne stood, rising onto her tiptoes to try and see. "I have never seen such a thing before."
Balinor looked at her then, noting her interest. He placed the bottle on the stair beside him, and very carefully picked up the bowl from the windowsill in both hands. With equal care, he rose from the stair and descended to the chamber floor to cross to the table and place the bowl on it where Lady Vivienne could see the small amphibians inside.
She leant forward on the table, leaning over the bowl to peer down into it from above, as Balinor did, the tops of their heads almost touching. She could see now, the little lizard-shaped pair of creatures paddling about inside, purposefully making their way about the bowl in search of the food Balinor had given them. Tiny flies, she realised.
The manner in which they propelled themselves about with their little 'hands' and feet, their heads held nonchalantly above the water's surface was really quite lovely.
"How marvellous." She concluded with a smile, looking up to find herself gazing directly into Balinor's own smiling face. The impropriety of such proximity did not even occur to her as she shook her head and looked down into the bowl once again. "Whatever does Gaius keep them for?"
"They're not Gaius'." Balinor told her, watching the funny little things rushing about after the flies with an amused grin. "They're mine."
Vivienne tilted her head, observing him a moment in surprise. "What do you have need of them for? Wherever would you find something like this?"
"In one of the cat bowls outside the kitchens." He answered without looking at her. "They must have found their way inside after the rains in search of water, and become stuck. I rescued them and thought perhaps to raise them. Once they are grown, I will release them into the pond in the gardens."
"How very chivalrous of you," Vivienne smirked, her eyes sparkling with mirth, "rescuing such helpless little animals."
Balinor looked up at her, face to face with her once again. Neither seemed aware of the fact, Vivienne smiling openly as Balinor raised both eyebrows and shrugged a shoulder. "Why not? Somebody has to keep an eye on the smaller lives in this world."
"And that responsibility falls to you?" She questioned teasingly.
Again Balinor shrugged. "The knights are busy."
Vivienne chuckled lightly at that, and returned her attention to the efts as Balinor clambered down from the low bench on which he knelt and returned to his work, wriggling his long toes against the floorboards as he went.
He carried on with the general tidying a little longer, before he returned to the workbench and began gathering up the candle stubs to place into the melting pot for his and Gaius' next candle-making session.
All the while, Vivienne had continued to watch the efts in their activities. As he gathered up the wax, she drew her eyes away from the little creatures and watched his work with a thoughtful frown on her face.
"... The candles," she began tentatively, "they were your work, weren't they?"
"Hm." Balinor gave a nod and dusted the loose wax from his palms into the melting pot below the workbench. "Made them myself."
"No, no." Vivienne shook her head lightly. "I saw you place them, and light them." She bit her lip a moment as he looked back at her, waiting for her to elaborate on whatever it was she wanted to say. "With magic."
"Oh." Balinor felt his face flush red, embarrassed and a little uneasy. "Yes." Despite all of the impish behaviour he indulged in around the citadel – all the silly things he used his magic for, he did not like to be seen using it for actual chores. When he used magic with Uther, it was usually at the prince's behest, and one could not disobey the prince, after all. If Uther did not wish it, then he was likely using his magical influence to nullify some threat to the prince, which was also acceptable. For chores?
He sighed inwardly. He knew that he was not really meant to use magic, as much as he quite often did without realising. Sometimes just saying the words as they slipped unbidden over his tongue, or an incantation sprung to mind as normal thoughts were wont to do. He did not think about it and performed the magic for what it was; a natural part of him. His father did understand that he sometimes could not help it. Still, he knew that his father wished he would control himself where possible. Using magic for chores was not acceptable behaviour in his father's eyes. Not really.
"I had noticed you and Uther." Vivienne said suddenly, her attention back on the paddling efts. "The childish pranks you two get up to. That he would have you use your magic for."
The shade of red Balinor had turned deepened. "It is six of one and half a dozen of the other." He murmured, feeling the need to defend Uther.
Vivienne did not say anything to that, but continued to keep one eye on Balinor as he made his way about the room searching for something more he may have to do.
He was a strange creation, she decided. Not at all what she had thought that he would be. As with all those Uther had chosen as his inner circle, she had expected nothing less of Balinor than for him to be a brash, brutish, idiotic show off. Much like the prince himself. Balinor was nothing of the sort, and she wondered. The rough, slightly gruff boy was so far removed from anyone that Uther would generally pick as his constant companion that it would seem unbelievable, should anyone be told of it.
Uther was very much a man's man, and liked his friends to be the same. Not so gentle that they would save newts and raise them personally, or so clumsy that they could barely bend over without overbalancing themselves. Or with such a sweet... innocent charm. How on Earth the two boys had become friends was beyond her. That they were friends was undeniable. That they were almost inseparable was certain.
The whole thing baffled her to say the least.
She found herself loathe to stop watching him, everything about him from his turn of his speech to the manner of his movement intriguing to her. He really was not what she had expected him to be.
She watched with interest as he picked up an object from the workbench and gripped it thoughtfully a moment before moving to Godwyn's side and taking up one of the seats there.
He did not do anything for a further moment, but stared at the object in his hands – a cloth bundle, tied up with string and inscribed with strange runes – before placing it on the bed beside Godwyn and cupping his hands around it.
To Vivienne's surprise, he did not speak, but the object began to glow with a glittering gold light.
Godwyn shifted slowly, the creases in his brow relaxing some as he drew a deep breath.
Intrigued further, Lady Vivienne left the workbench, and the efts, and cautiously drew closer to the stricken king and Balinor. "What..." She hesitated, uncertainty filling her as she gestured to the object between Balinor's hands with a wave of her own. "What is that? What are you doing?"
Balinor looked up at her over his shoulder, startled to note her presence there after deep concentration. He fingered the object absently, thinking how best to explain it and its function to her. "A poultice," he murmured after a moment, blinking at the difficulty of explaining anything magical to those lacking knowledge of magic. "To draw out the sickness."
"Oh." Vivienne shuttered her eyes. "Is... it magic?"
Balinor nodded his head. "Yes." He focussed on it again, the bundle responding readily as it glowed gold between his fingers once more. He frowned, aware that the king's reaction had lessened even further this time. "It's not working."
"Then, why did he move?"
"I don't know." Balinor shook his head and breathed a sigh. "I believe it may bring him some relief."
"That is why you are doing it?" Vivienne considered him sharply, waiting for his answer with tense shoulders. At the small, almost imperceptible nod he gave, the tension in her released. She moved to Godwyn's bedside and took up the chair that had earlier on been Alice's, and closed the king's hand between both of hers.
She turned her head to regard Balinor sat beside her, and offered him a small nod of her own. "Thank you."
The young sorcerer did not say anything, but looked down at the king, observing the very slow rise and fall of his chest.
Despite everything, he could not help but be hopeful for some sign of improvement, however small. Alice had said that the poison had been augmented with, and made more potent by the use of magic. Without knowing the strength of that magic, or a spell that could nullify it, Godwyn's chances were even slimmer than they had been before.
"Is there nothing that can be done?" Vivienne asked suddenly, drawing Balinor from his private musings, "To cure him?"
"There are various methods which can be tried." He explained, but gave a deep shrug of his shoulders and breathed a tired sigh. "So far, none of them have worked. The poison is proving difficult to shift."
Vivienne swallowed, and gripped Godwyn's hand more tightly. She moved one of hers to rest on the king's forehead. "He's burning up."
"If my father cannot find the priestesses..." Balinor trailed off. "He doesn't have much time."
"How long?"
"Until morning, Gaius says."
Silent, Vivienne gazed at Godwyn. Her eyes were filled with sadness and pity. She stroked a hand across his cheek, shuttering her eyes behind dark lashes. "My father and Godwyn have been friends for some years now." She murmured quietly. "Before he ascended the throne, that friendship existed between his father and mine. He used to take me riding, when his father's party came to Cornwall to visit. He taught me to hunt." She paused a moment to gather herself, before continuing in a shaky voice. "My father fought alongside him in the struggle to reclaim Gawant. Though we hail from different Kingdoms, our families have always been close."
"I'm sorry." Balinor told her, his voice low. "For this."
"It is a risk," Vivienne muttered, "Of kingship. It does not matter how good you are. How just. How fair. There is always someone out to claim your head."
That did not make it fair. Balinor kept that thought to himself. Who was he to pass comment on things that he could not possibly claim to understand? He was as far from nobility and royalty as anyone could be. It was not his business to hold opinion on any of it. Even if he did, and he did understand.
He nestled down a little further into his blankets and stifled a yawn. Quietly, he watched Lady Vivienne take up the bowl of water and cloth Alice had used prior to her being called away from the floor, and began dabbing gently at Godwyn's cheeks and forehead.
Lady Vivienne was a strange creature. She may not have given him the time of day previously, as much as she said that she had noticed him, but he had noticed her.
Daughter of Sir Cenric, she was a renowned beauty of Camelot's court. Tall and slender, her pale, unblemished skin almost white, she was an ethereal creature that moved with such grace as she appeared to almost glide through the castle corridors. Her black, silken hair normally adorned her head in intricate styles decorated with anything from flowers to circlets of the finest quality; the envy of many a kitchen maid and Lady of the court much less vocal in their jealousy than the lower born of their fellow sex.
When she rode, her hair always fell in a thick braid as it did now. Probably for convenience's sake, Balinor thought briefly.
Lady Vivienne was beautiful. Stunning, even, and she was well aware of that fact. She would happily throw the men of court a cool glance from those deep blue eyes, defying any of them to even entertain thoughts of her company.
'Put your tongue away.' Gaius had scolded him the first time he laid eyes on her at the banquet formally welcoming his father as Dragonlord to the court. Balinor had been unable to help himself from staring at her. He had never seen another woman like her before.
Though... she was not all that she seemed...
When the ever watchful eye of her father was upon her, Lady Vivienne was the perfect Lady of Camelot. When his gaze shifted, however?
Many times Balinor had seen her from his window as he gazed out over the city of an evening, her braid flying in the wind as she galloped across the drawbridge from the courtyard accompanied only by her maid. Often the guards barely had time to move aside for her fine grey stallion, or register the absence of a chaperone.
She would return later, just before or after nightfall with a young buck slung across her horse's withers, or a pair of pheasants in hand. She loved to hunt, but was not permitted to accompany the prince and his knights.
'She's a girl.' Uther had scoffed when Balinor suggested he invite her along one afternoon when the prince had been itching to hunt (and there had been no talking him out of it, therefore Balinor knew he would have to sneak out and ruin the afternoon's sport of his own accord), but the knights had been unable to join him.
Uther's refusal may also have been something to do with the fact that he and Lady Vivienne utterly despised one another. She would heap vicious scorn on him at every opportunity, and Uther in all his princely wisdom would not let her words lie.
Once she had taunted Uther, belittling him and his riding skills in front of King Eldred at a feast in the Great Hall. She challenged him to a race that he ultimately lost.
Balinor remembered it well. He had sat outside Uther's chambers on and off for a week trying to convince the humiliated Prince to swallow his pride and come out, occasionally sliding the meals Edmund brought through the door.
Prince and Lady pulled no punches when it came to humiliating one another. Unfortunately for Uther, Vivienne was so much better at it than he was. Usually Uther found himself reduced to petty name calling. What had he called her? 'A haggard, ugly, desiccated old crone.'
Vivienne would just laugh in his face and brush him off.
Except for one time.
Uther had absconded with two of her favourite dresses and thrown them into the vats of boiling water in the laundry room. Balinor almost winced at the memory. He had wondered why the prince was suddenly so interested in the process of laundering when he started asking very un-Utherlike questions on the subject of what would happen to certain fabrics if...
Vivienne had been furious when she found out. So much so that she had stormed into Uther's chambers unannounced in the middle of the prince's lunch and screamed at him, calling him all manner of vicious names.
Balinor remembered feeling very, very afraid, and had hidden on the far side of the bed while she traded bile with the prince. Finally, Vivienne had pushed Uther out of his chair and thrown his favourite sword through the window. 'Through' being the important word as the shatter of glass and clanging of twisted metal on the cobbles far below had seemed absolutely deafening at the time. Then she had simply flounced from the room while Uther bellowed all sorts of hateful things after her. There was no love between them at all.
Despite her absolutely tempestuous anger, Lady Vivienne had many friends among the ladies of court, all of whom would follow her on her frequent, unchaperoned hunting trips in the woods. Balinor had seen them several times as they passed him whilst he picked herbs for Gaius, always dressed in their finest riding gear, Vivienne with her crossbow and a fresh kill over her stallion's withers. They invariably brought in better, more plentiful kills than the knight's hunting parties did, but pointing out such a thing to Uther would definitely get him pushed down some stairs, so Balinor kept that nugget of clever observation to himself. Also, Uther would argue that it was something to do with his every attempt at hunting being impeded by a certain over sensitive, idiot sorcerer.
Balinor cast a nervous glance at Lady Vivienne, careful not to draw her eye. She was certainly not a conventional Lady of court.
Turning his gaze on Godwyn, he swallowed at the pallor of the king's skin and placed his hands around the poultice to cast Alice's spell once again.
Vivienne watched him, more specifically his face as he worked. Once he released the poultice, she drew a breath and hesitated, unsure of what she was about to ask.
"How did you do that?"
Balinor looked at her, a confused frown on his face. "What?"
She gestured to the poultice. "You used magic, but spoke no words. No incantation. How is that possible?"
"Words are not always necessary." He answered somewhat evasively.
"I have never seen such a thing before." She leant forward a little, aware that he was trying to avoid her gaze; that he was turning pink, embarrassed by her attention. "How did you do that?"
"Incanted in my head." He answered her gruffly, uncomfortable.
"I did not know you could do that." Vivienne murmured, thoughtful. She shrugged her shoulders and returned her attention to Godwyn. "Then, I suppose that there is much I don't know about magic."
Balinor did not say anything to that. He couldn't say very much on the subject either, really. He had learnt by osmosis himself, after all.
Silence reigned between them for some time, he sitting watching Godwyn, she tending to the king's temperature as best she could with her very limited knowledge.
After a while, she opened her mouth as though to speak, but closed it again and tilted her head to one side, raising a sleek hand to brush back some loose strands of hair behind one ear. "I have magic." She said suddenly, hurriedly, as though she may think better of speaking if she did so more slowly.
Balinor turned his head to stare at her in surprise, both eyebrows drawn together into a light frown. "You do?"
"Yes." Vivienne met his eyes, drawing her own away quickly at the shock on his face to look over Godwyn in her ministrations. "Is that really such a surprise? It is a gift that anyone can possess, is it not?"
"Yes." Balinor steadied himself, gathered himself and cleared his throat. "It's just I..." He closed his eyes a moment, thinking over his words before he spoke again, "I have never really thought of Ladies of the court possessing magic. Except for the priestesses. I know that the nobility do not often show it openly in public."
"And what do you know of nobility?" She teased lightly. "I suppose it is not for you to be acquainted with our strange ways. As Uther so delights in crowing, you are but a lowly peasant." She glanced his way a moment, ensuring that her teasing had not offended him before continuing, "Though your father is a Lord, is he not? I would have thought the secrets of the nobility open to you?"
"He isn't really." Balinor muttered, uncomfortable. "It's just a title."
"That is why you are not nobility?" She queried, genuinely interested.
He nodded. "I'm a nobody. Just another pair of hands to garner herbs."
"And cause trouble?"
He started at that, looking up to find an amused smile on her lips. He matched it with one of his own. "And cause trouble."
They exchanged smiles, Vivienne's falling away to be lost in an expression of deep thought. "Yet, you are also a Dragonlord? So should you not be a Lord in your own right?"
He shook his head. "Not yet." The expression on her face was once again questioning, so he went on, explaining as best as he could, "The Dragonlord gifts is passed from father to son. It is within me... Somewhere." He placed a hand on his chest, pausing a moment as though trying to locate it, but ultimately gave in. "Presumably. The potential is there, but it is not mine to use until my father passes. Even then I will not know if I possess it, until I face my first dragon."*
"That is... remarkable." Vivienne blinked, processing what she had just been told with a smile. "I had not realised that the Dragonlord gift was one of such literal inheritance. Yet, it may not pass on?"
"Not for certain." Balinor frowned, turning his stare on the floorboards between his feet. "It is very rare that it does not, but not all of the bloodline are destined to be Dragonlords."
"What of you, Balinor?" She asked in a light tone of teasing. "Are you destined to be a Dragonlord?"
"I don't know." He picked up his stare and leant forward to put the poultice to use once more. "I hope it is a good many years before I find out."
Vivienne bit her lip, and nodded. "Of course." For the sake of Lord Rion.
Balinor cast Alice's spell, and turned back to Vivienne. "You said that you have magic?"
"Yes." She sighed lightly, a little irritation colouring her tone and her cheeks as she began to play with the fringe of her shawl. "Though... my father does not wish for me to use it."
"Why not?" Balinor stared at her, unaware of her discomfort as she drew her shawl tightly to herself. She answered him nonetheless.
"He has learnt of certain... practices, that can be a part of magic that he is not keen for me to explore. Therefore he bids me keep my abilities secret."
Balinor swallowed, and burrowed down deeper into his blankets that they rose up and covered his ears. "I understand how hard that can be." He ventured after a moment. He fixed his eyes on the far wall of the chambers, retreating into himself a little as he spoke, perhaps ashamed on some level that eh should be able to say this. "My father doesn't like me to practice magic very much, either."
Vivienne looked at him in surprise. "Why not?"
He shrugged. "I don't know. He doesn't like to talk about it." Balinor breathed a heavy sigh, and tilted his head. "He understands that sometimes I can't help it, that I have to use a little now and again, but he is adamant that I am very careful with it. Sometimes I wonder..." He swallowed, whetting his dry mouth, "I wonder if he is afraid of it."
"But you use magic all the time with Uther." She protested with a frown.
"If I use it in defence of my prince, how can my father scold me for it?"
"I suppose. What about using it for mischief? Surely that is an offence worthy of scolding?"
Balinor shrugged again, non-committally. "A little here and there makes it easier to live with. So long as nothing I do is dangerous to others."
Vivienne couldn't help but giggle. "Lord Rion condones mischief?"
Balinor smirked, and held up one hand as though to recite an oath. "I may only use my powers to annoy." He announced, smirk becoming a grin as her giggle became a laugh.
Vivienne clapped her hands. "Wonderful."
Her smile did not last long, before it died away on her lips. "It must be nice," she began, dipping the cloth in the bowl of water and wringing it out to place on Godwyn's forehead, "to be allowed such freedom."
Balinor looked at her a moment, not quite sure how to interpret that. It seemed quite straightforward what she meant, and yet he got the feeling that something in his understanding was missing.
Rather than press her on the issue, he returned to watching Godwyn. It was not down to him to pry into the lives of others.
"The candles." She said again after a moment. "What you did in making them rise like that. The way you lit them without any effort. That was... I wish that I could use my magic for such things. Could you have done such a thing whilst they had been lit?"
"I imagine so."
"That would look beautiful." She breathed, withdrawing her hands from Godwyn's forehead and the cloth to twine her fingers in her lap.
"You could do it." Balinor encouraged her gently. "If you had training."
"And you?" She asked so quickly that her question was almost a snap. "Who gave you the training to do such things?"
"Nobody." Why did this feel like a confession? "Everything I know, I have learned from watching others."
"Just from watching?"
"My abilities, such as they are, are limited, my Lady." He cleared his throat. "I can make fire. I can move things. That is about all."
"And what of the tales of your taming magical beasts? Are they exaggerated?"
"Magical beasts?" Understanding dawned slowly. "Ah. The situations Uther gets himself into."
Vivienne cocked her head. "Yes. Word has it you used magic to drive the creatures that threaten him off."
Again, Balinor felt himself turn red. He shifted in is blankets. "Not really." He muttered, clearly embarrassed.
Vivienne bit back her smile, unable to keep the mirth from her voice as she resolved to hear the truth of the matter. "Then what did you do?"
"Throw things with magic." He answered her in a broken, low tone. "Swords, spears... rocks."
"And the taming stories? Where you would speak to these magical creatures and they would obey your instructions and leave? How did you manage such a thing?"
"... Asked nicely." Balinor murmured, looking a little flustered. "Creatures of magic that mean no harm tend to react well to a heartfelt apology and a polite request."
"That is all?"
"That's all."
"Oh my." Vivienne raised her hand to her mouth in an attempt to stifle her giggles. "Apologies, Balinor, but suddenly you seem a little less than the fearsome sorcerer that Uther makes you out to be."
"He does that?" Balinor was taken aback. "I suppose I ought to be flattered that he thinks so much of my skills."
"Or perhaps it is to avoid embarrassment?"
"That's more like it."
A shared smile passed between them, a quiet chuckle.
Balinor rubbed his hands up over his face, partly to chase away his mirth, partly to wake himself up little. "What can you do?" He asked Vivienne after a moment, meaning her magic.
She understood and immediately took her braid into her fingers to fiddle with nervously. "I... see things sometimes." She answered in a small voice, unwilling to meet his eyes as she spoke.
He watched her in her nervousness, uncertain. "What kind of things?"
"I am not sure. People. Places. Sometimes things that... have yet to happen."
"Oh?"
"I foresaw that Uther would win the tourney." She all but whispered, then snorted at herself, tossing her braid back over her shoulder. "As if that was so unexpected."
Balinor however, did not laugh. At his lack of reaction Vivienne cautiously raised her eyes to meet his. She felt a wash of relief when she found only curiousity. "I have spoken to Nyneve about it. She... tells me that I am a seer. It is a gift that, like your Dragonlord abilities, is passed from parent to child. I... believe, though my father will not confirm it, I believe that my mother is a seer also. That may be why he sent her away. She will not tell me either."
"She won't tell you?"
Vivienne shook her head and huffed, disgusted. "She does only what my father tells her. That is why she remains in Cornwall, while he spends all of his time at court. He does not want to know her."
Balinor was silent. He felt more than a little uncomfortable being a party to what was clearly the private business of Sir Cenric's house.
There was a sadness in Lady Vivienne, however, that made him reluctant to be completely silent. She likely needed to tell somebody of these things, though why she should speak to him was anybody's guess.
Uncertainly, he rubbed at one arm. He kept his eyes anywhere but on Lady Vivienne as he spoke. "My mother was a priestess." He told her quietly, and flinched a little as her eyes rested on him. "I didn't know her. She died not long after I was born. My father never speaks of her. I think he finds the memories too painful."
"I'm sorry." Vivienne said, drawing her eyes away from him.
That was something they held in common aside from the magic, then? Both of their fathers were averse to magic for whatever reason. Neither man spoke of their wives, though one was dead and the other very much alive.
Unaware of her bitter thoughts, Balinor hunched into himself. Not having a mother had always left a hole in his heart, but at least he had his father. It was not as though he had always been devoid of a mother figure in his life. He had Kharis, and though she was the closest thing to a mother he knew, before her, back in the village he had Mary, the mother of his friend Ned. She had been a warm presence in his life, even if he had never really looked on her as a mother. She had nursed him, and was fond of him, but he had always been very aware that she was Ned's mother. Not his. He still exchanged letters with her now that he was living in Camelot. She was always interested to hear about his life in the city, and all of the things he had been up to, as well as news on the fine people of court, and their latest fashions. She was always happy to write of what went on in Engerd, and about what Ned was up to. Ned did not read or write very well despite his mother's attempts to teach him, but she was happy to relay news from one boy to the other.
Balinor missed Ned greatly. He had been his best friend – and would always be, though the thought of sharing Balinor with anyone would undoubtedly enrage Uther who was very possessive of his things and thoroughly unable to understand the concept of having more than one best friend – and they had spent almost all of their time together up until the day Balinor left for Camelot. Ned was like a brother, a twin, seeing as they were both the same age.
As much as Balinor loved his father, and was grateful to have him, there were certain things that Rion had not been able to do for him. Balinor knew that he would not have survived infancy without Mary's constant and patient assistance. He would be forever grateful to her for that. He quite enjoyed being alive.
Thinking about the portly, jovial lady and her often times slow, but very happy son, Balinor missed them both terribly.
Vivienne got to see her mother at least. She had been absent from Camelot for some time. Nearly three and a half seasons, Balinor estimated. Not that he had been counting or anything.
He supposed she must have been with her mother in Cornwall. He found himself staring at her, though she did not notice his attention. Perhaps she had been sick, and sent away to convalesce? She had come here tonight seeking Gaius, after all.
Whatever her reasons for coming to the physician's chambers, she did not want his help, therefore it was none of his business. She did seem a little subdued in herself, from what she had been before her departure...
He shook it away and focussed instead on Godwyn. Gaius and Alice had been gone some long time. That meant things must be difficult in the Council Chamber. The thought of Camelot and Gawant at war made him hunch down further into his blankets. If such a thing was to happen, then the situation for both Kingdoms would be very grave indeed.
Uther had better hurry...
"Have you discovered anything?"
Johfrit shook his head at the prince's question. "Beyond the bottle found by the guards, nothing more has been discovered in your manservant's chambers."
"I expected as much." Uther breathed a deep, relieved huff, and raised a hand to massage the bridge of his nose. No news in relation to further incriminating evidence from Edmund's chambers was good news. It was not perfect news, however, and that was what Prince Uther needed.
The serving boy had come to nothing. None of the servants knew who Edmund could have been speaking of, and the boys shepherded into the Great Hall were nothing to do with it. They either did not match the description fully, or were quite obviously on the verge of terrified collapse thinking that they were about to share Edmund's march to the noose.
The servants had not been entirely useless. One of the washerwomen had recognised the broken phial Gorlois had found as coming from the apothecary in the lower town. His boy often delivered wares to customers in the citadel who were less inclined to trust Gaius' particular brand of new medicines.
Some of the knights had been sent to investigate the shop.
"And the apothecary?" Uther questioned, casting a glance at the stooping old man who had insisted on helping the knights in their inquiries as far as he could. "What was learnt?"
"Nothing." Johfrit answered. "He left all preparations in the hands of his assistant. He says he was struck by a 'sudden illness'. Has been laid up barely able to move these past few days."
"Seems convenient." Gorlois murmured beside Uther.
The prince wanted to grind his teeth. Every time they stumbled upon a lead it proved either fruitless or impossible to prove. "Where is his assistant now?"
"He cannot tell us." Johfrit said. "He is not sure where the boy is, nor has he heard from him since this morning when he left to make his deliveries. The boy never returned. He did, however, provide us with a description." The knight took a breath, more likely for dramatic pause than actual need, "It matched that of the serving boy Edmund gave you, my Lord. You see. We're getting somewhere!"
"Yes." Uther snarled. "But it is all another piece of this puzzle. Like a damnable treasure hunt, every clue leads to another."
"But each clue takes us closer to the prize."
"You would enjoy treasure hunts, Johfrit. I just want results, this... boy in the dungeons, and Edmund freed."
"Then we should continue searching for the boy." Gorlois intoned, and began to walk away to the other knights where they scoured the nearby alleyways.
Really, Uther wanted to punch something. They should have found something more substantial by now! All this running around was getting them nowhere. Everything was against them. Time was against them. They had to find this boy before he fled the city. The gates had been sealed, but that was not to say the boy was still within Camelot's walls.
Huffing loudly, he threw a glance at the gathering of knights milling near to the drawbridge. The old apothecary was with them, no doubt providing them with more puzzle pieces to mull over. Why couldn't somebody come along and just hand over the finished product? Was that too much to ask?
Uther knew himself to be a man of action! Pondering and mulling was for those more suited to sedentary behaviour. He itched to do something.
"Sire!"
Uther's head jerked up. Sir Goveniayle emerged from the alley to his left, holding up a large, dusty piece of fabric. A long skin coat by the looks of it. In his other hand the knight held a couple of small phials.
The apothecary gave a strangled cough and called out, "That! That coat belongs to young Garth!"
"Your assistant?" Gorlois asked of the old man.
Uther took steps towards Goveniayle, addressing the apothecary, "You are sure that it's his?"
"Yes. Every time he left the shop he wore it. Would know it anywhere."
It was quite a distinctive piece of clothing. Not the fashion in Camelot, but more suited to Mercia, or one of the other Northern Kingdoms. The thought of Mercia being involved in Godwyn's poisoning made Uther's blood boil.
A boy wearing this would be easily recognised, should he be seen wearing it every day. No surprise then that it had been abandoned.
Uther almost smiled to himself. He clenched his teeth to keep a straight face, and turned to one of the knights closest to the drawbridge. Sir Turquine. "Order the kennels to ready the hounds, the stables the horses. We're going on a hunt."
Turquine bowed his head, and hurried away to do as the prince commanded, a smirk on his face.
Uther turned his attentions to the other men, drawing himself up to his full height. "Remember!" He barked, slipping into command mode. "We have no idea of who this boy is, or what he is capable of. For all we know, he may be a hired assassin. Exercise caution. We do not know his capabilities."
The knights nodded their heads in response.
Gleefully, Uther clapped his hands together and rubbed them in satisfaction. Finally! Some action! And this was one hunt that his idiot of a pet sorcerer could not object to!
Wherever that boy had run to, he would not escape the prince's personal hunting pack, nor be able to out race the horses of the knights of Camelot. They would nab him, and Edmund would be free as soon as the boy confessed.
This was going to be a rewarding night...
Notes: Enter, Vivienne. Femme fatale of the highest calibre. A couple more of our central cast to make an appearance, though not quite so soon :) Next update should be at the end of the month, or beginning of December. Work and Uni have me until the 5th now. I belong to them...
* Astierf, ældfyr. Candela, cume her – Die, flame of fire. Candles, come here.
* Fleogé – Fly.
* In The Last Dragonlord, Balinor tells Merlin that he won't know for sure if he's inherited the Dragonlord power until he faces he first Dragon. I imagine that seeing as it is impossible to tell if a child will inherit the power, they will still likely learn all that there is to know about their heritage on the presumption that they are a Dragonlord-in-waiting.
xxx