- Eight -

The moon was high in the cloudless sky, its silver light casting long shadows across the paths of the woodlands below. That peaceful silence of night was broken by the drumming of hooves and the baying of hounds. The royal hunting pack tore through the undergrowth, lead dogs howling out their alert as they picked up the trail. Behind them thundered the knights of Camelot, Prince Uther at their head. Their crimson cloaks billowed out behind them, slashes of red in the low lying mist that clung to the leaf mould and bark of the Darkling Woods.

The Prince urged his stallion on faster, fingers gripping the reins and the coat belonging to the apothecary's assistant so tightly his digits shone white in the moonlight.

The hounds had the scent. They followed its trail away from the city gates, veering from the road and out across country to the tree line of the wood. The boy had run. An admission of guilt if ever there was one.

He couldn't have gotten far. The trail was too easy to follow, too fresh to be found so quickly. They would ride him down soon enough. Uther grit his teeth and dug his heels into his horse's ribs, demanding even more speed.

… Sooner then anticipated.

At a flash of light-coloured fabric through the trees to the right, Uther's head snapped up, spotting it in his peripheral vision. He was too experienced, and too good a hunter to miss it. He turned his horse from the path, the animal leaping a bramble bush and thundering along the less travelled path the boy had taken.

Boy was perhaps too loose a term to describe his prey. Young man was more like it – slim and short and running as fast as his legs would carry him along the bed of a shallow stream beside the path. Uther could see him clearly in the moonlight, just as the boy could see him.

Without warning the fleeing assistant veered right, up out of the stream, over the bank and away into the woods up a short slope.

Uther drove his stallion on as fast as the snorting animal could go, the thunder of hooves behind him signalling that his knights followed. He rose from his saddle as his horse leapt the stream and landed galloping, hindquarters pushing the fine beast on up the slope. Crowning the crest, Uther spotted the boy fleeing in the middle distance, his gait the stumbling run of one who had almost reached their limit.

He was almost upon his prey, a mere few feet behind, when the assistant whirled to face him mid stride, and thrust his palm out.

"Forþe fleogé!*

It was as though he had collided with a solid wall. Sheer force slammed into Uther's chest and sent him flying backwards from his saddle, his stallion charging onwards without him. He hit the ground and drew in a deep gasp of shock and pain. Writhing on his back he managed to roll onto his side and sit up, running a mental check of his body for any injuries. He seemed well enough.

His quarry must be tired, to have done so little damage. Still, the Prince struggled to his feet and called a warning over his shoulder to his approaching knights. "Sorcerer!"

They were aware, the spell having struck most of them also to leave only Goveniayle and Johfrit still ahorse. The two of them pulled up abruptly a little way from their downed brothers, mounts panting and snorting in excitement and alarm.

"My Lord!" Gorlois called out, breaking Uther from the quick examination he made of his men. It was a request for instruction.

Uther drew his sword, "come on," and started after the fleeing assistant and his own fled horse at a sprint.

He would be damned if the sorcerer was going to get away. Magic did not scare Uther.

The knights and Prince sped through the forest, scrambling over obstacles with swords in hand. They remained fresh and strong from chasing on horseback. It was not long before they caught up with the flagging sorcerer.

The young man was moving at almost a walking pace, though he tried valiantly to keep running.

"Halt!" Uther bellowed out, and lowered his head to put on a burst of speed. When it came to a footrace, there were few in Camelot who could outrun the Prince.

The sorcerer did as he was told, whirling on one leg, stumbling backwards. He kept his feet, lowered his head and raised his palm. Before a word of magic could pass his lips the lead hound of the royal pack, Cocidius, burst from the bushes to his prey's left and leapt, snarling deep in his throat and clamping his formidable jaws around the sorcerer's wrist. Herne and Weylyn appeared from the undergrowth to join their leader in latching onto their prey and bring him down.

The young sorcerer swore and spat and snarled unheard words in the language of magic, hurling the dogs away from himself with a flash of his eyes. Injured by the hounds' attack, he struggled to his feet. His wrist was torn and bleeding where Cocidius' teeth had found purchase. With a grimace he pulled it to his chest. Cursing under his breath, he turned and ran once more, limping away from the approaching knights.

Uther smiled to himself, gaining on the injured sorcerer ahead. There was no way he could possibly escape now, and that he did not stand and fight with his magic must mean that he could not, or would not be able to win if he tried.

Suddenly the limping man veered right again, dropping onto his side with a pained yelp to slide down a steep hill covered with fallen leaves to the valley floor below.

Uther came to the brow of the hill and halted.

The valley below was cast in brilliant silver moonlight, set in a wide clearing. It was far from empty. Stones – cairns – littered the place. Between the trees, ribbons were strung, garlands made from strips of multicoloured rags as those in the druid shrines. Relics danced in the breeze, hung from the low branches of trees, and the heads of staves planted in the ground.

The sorcerer had reached the valley floor, and curiously, had stopped running. He stood a little way into the clearing staring back up the hill at the Prince, clutching his wounded wrist to his chest.

That he no longer ran unsettled Uther. There was nothing the sorcerer could do. His magic was weak, he was injured. There was little he could do to defend himself.

Movement at the edge of the clearing drew Uther's sight. In the bushes among the trees, his hounds had arrived. They circled just outside the pool of moonlight illuminating the clearing, their heads low and coats bristling, growling deep in their throats at their prey, but would not step into the light. Instead, Weylyn halted in his prowling and sat back on his haunches. He raised his scarred head to the waxing moon, and howled long, and low.

The haunting, doleful sound sent a shiver down the Prince's spine. He brushed it off and readjusted his grip on his sword as his men caught up to his position. Nodding his intention to them, he began to edge forward to descend the hill. They would follow him down and surround the sorcerer.

A firm hand on his shoulder stayed him.

"Stop, Sire." Gorlois pulled him back.

Uther glanced over his shoulder, throwing his most loyal knight a questioning frown.

Quiet, cautious, Gorlois gestured to the clearing below, and the old cairns. "This is a place of magic."

"I am aware."

"Sire." Gorlois reasserted himself. "It is no Druid shrine. It is a Licburg. A city of the dead. Sacred ground. To enter without protection is to invite disaster."

That gave Uther pause. He faced his friend, a deep, cold feeling descending on him to raise the hairs on the back of his neck. "What do you mean, 'disaster'?"

"To people of magic, this is a holy place. To those without, it is cursed ground." Behind Gorlois, the other knights shifted awkwardly, and exchanged fearful glances. Uther himself swallowed.

"Then, we cannot enter without calling a curse down upon our heads?"

Gorlois shook his head. "We cannot." He glanced over his shoulder at his fellows, before settling a cautious look on the Prince. "You, however..."

Uther frowned. "Me?"

"I have read that it is possible for those who have been touched by magic to enter a Licburg."

"And I have?" The idea seemed a little far fetched.

Gorlois however, appeared confident. "Yes, Sire."

"How? Surely I should have some memory of such a thing?"

The look of slight exasperation on Gorlois' face was puzzling. "Balinor, Sire." He told Uther in a patient, level tone. "Your closest confident is a sorcerer and a future Dragonlord. He is a creature of magic. Though, it is not certain that your contact with him will be enough..." He trailed off, taking a deep breath.

Uther hesitated, dubious. Gorlois was very well read, but he could still be wrong. To go down the hill into the valley was to risk being cursed. He would not select one of the knights to take that risk. If he did not go, then Edmund was sure to be executed.

With a deep breath of his own, Uther steeled himself, and made to descend the hill.

Only to be stopped again by Gorlois.

The blonde knight held his hand out. "Your sword belt and daggers, Sire."

The look Uther threw him was withering and disbelieving to say the least. Still with that endless patience, Gorlois explained, "You must not carry weaponry into a place sacred to magic. It is a wage of war."

None too pleased, Uther nodded and began to unbuckle his belt.

He felt naked descending the hill to meet his foe without sword or concealed knife, without his knights at his side as they watched from the safety of the hill's crest.

Correction. He felt naked as he moved unarmed to meet a sorcerer. He had not been able to see any weapons on the man, but it was all too easy to conceal a dagger. If the man's magic was weakened that he could no longer use it to defend himself, then a hand held weapon was the next logical choice. The sorcerer was injured. Even with a weapon it was unlikely that he could best Uther. Still the prince kept caution in mind. He knew from experience how wily sorcerers could be. Messing about with Balinor everyday was of some benefit after all.

At the foot of the hill he paused at the Licburg's edge. Perhaps he did not fear magic, but he had always respected it. His father had instilled a respect of the Old Religion and its powers in him from a very early age. Even under the swathe cut across the land by the coming of the New Religion, Camelot held strong with the old ways. It was a city, and a Kingdom built by magic. Magic must be revered, and its power respected.

… He just had to hope that Gorlois was right in what he had read.

With another, deeper intake of breath, Uther crossed the threshold of moonlight into the sacred grounds of the Licburg.

He felt no different, sensed no rise of magic to do him harm. Across the clearing the sorcerer – Garth, Uther recalled the apothecary had called him, if that was even his real name – snarled under his breath and took a wary step backwards.

Uther strode across the bed of fallen leaves to meet him.

'Be respectful', his inner voice of good sense and reason, most often ignored, murmured, 'damage nothing. Touch nothing.'

To his surprise, Garth's face drained of shock, to be plastered over with a mocking smirk. With a stiff flourish, Garth dropped into an exaggerated bow. "Forgive me, my Prince" he chuckled in a voice a little older than a young man not twenty should possess, "I had forgotten that you have a pet sorcerer. An oversight on my part. There will be no more, I assure you."

Uther did not speak, He slowed his pace, dropped automatically into a fighting stance as Garth did not rise from his bow but mockingly cast his arms out to the sides and began to circle the Prince.

Uther felt himself stiffen involuntarily through his spine. What his opponents intentions were, he could not yet discern. He felt uneasy.

He did not have to wait long as Garth suddenly threw one hand out towards him,

"Astrice!"*

Uther threw himself to the ground, avoiding the ball of fire that struck the ground upon which he had stood and rolled to his feet some way to the left. He sucked in a desperate breath, pulling himself up sharp as he gained his feet in a series of hops, inches from the edge of an already dilapidated cairn.

The sight amused Garth no end judging by the chuckles emanating from his direction. "So close, Uther. One false move here and you're damned."

"That makes two of us!"

The fury in Uther's voice did not appear to affect the sorcerer at all. "I'm damned anyway! Astrice!"

Again Uther managed to dodge aside, the flame crashing into the cairn with force enough to send the stones tumbling.

The Prince's roll brought him up close to his enemy – close enough to rise with a fierce uppercut that sent Garth backwards clutching his jaw. "What is your motive in poisoning Lord Godwyn?!" Uther roared, falling back into a defensive stance. He should end this now, he knew, but he needed answers and he was damn well going to get them.

After what Garth had just done this whole situation was cast on unknown ground. There would be consequences for the sorcerer for disturbing the Licburg. Exactly what form those consequences would take was impossible to determine. The chance that he may die if removed from this place could not be taken. Answers had to be gained now.

"I should have thought that would be obvious. Even to one as lacking in wit as you, Uther." Garth mocked with a wide grin.

The Prince ground his teeth a moment, but held back any actions of his temper. The man was clearly mad. "Why bring Camelot to war? To what end?"

"What do I care if your Kingdom is at war?" Garth snorted. "It's state is no concern of mine. I have completed my task. My employer will be pleased, and the rewards would have been great indeed."

"Sellsword." Uther spat, disgusted.

"I prefer to think myself more complicated than that. Fleogé stángefeall!"*

Uther had little time to move, throwing himself to the ground as the remains of the toppled cairn rose from the ground to hail down with bone breaking force on his previous position.

He heard his knights cry out in alarm, but forced himself to ignore them, leaping to his feet and lunging forwards to tackle Garth around his waist. Both boys hit the ground, the sorcerer grunting in pain as his head collided with one of the fallen stones. Uther dragged him to his feet and hit him a hefty right hook to the face followed by a vicious jab to the stomach. Garth fell to his knees, gasping air into his winded body. He tried to form words, throw out a spell but could not.

Without care for his enemy's injuries, Uther snatched his arm and made to drag him to his feet. "Damned or not you will return with me to Camelot. I refuse to let an innocent man die for your crime."

"You have no right to judge innocence!" Garth all but spat, the words little more than a venomous wheeze.

Uther pinched his brows, uncertain what that could mean. He said nothing but instead put pressure on Garth's injured wrist, dragging him up.

Despite the pain, Garth refused to go.

"Choices, choices," the sorcerer murmured, an unsettling grin on his face. The sight of it gave Uther pause, but Garth continued, his grin widening as his breath slowly returned to him, "death by torment and Druidic curse, or be the first? I believe option three far more attractive -" in one swift movement his free hand flew up balled into a fist to hit Uther a nasty crack across the nose.

The Prince reeled back, tears blurring his eyes as he clutched his injury. Through the tears and stinging pain he caught sight of a glint of silver – a dagger drawn from Garth's boot.

The sorcerer clutched his weapon tightly, all traces of mirth gone from his face as he knelt on the ground trembling slightly. "Not going to see my payment either way now, but my job is still done. The King will die. I had no intention of hurting your servant, Uther, but an example will have to be made to avert war. Serves you right for your interference!"

Uther blinked, eyes still streaming as he struggled to make sense of his enemy's words. "You will give us the antidote, or the spell to undo the poison!" He demanded, watching Garth's fingers flex around the dagger's grip.

"I think not."

"Then our physician will cure him!"

"Again, no. Curses are not so easily undone." A flicker of something crossed Garth's face, all semblance of mockery and defiance gone as he looked the Prince over. Regret, Uther would have called it, had he felt sympathetic towards the man. Garth's fingers trembled, the dagger shaking in his hands. "I have done what I must. It would have been easier had I not such a flare for the dramatic, but the end shall be the same, despite the means. I am sorry for you, Uther. One who would risk damnation for the life of a servant is not what I expected at all. I only hope that the Goddess is more forgiving of me than I am."

All too late Uther realised his intention, his eyes flying wide as he dashed forward reaching for the blade.

"No!"

Utter defiance on his face, Garth drew back the dagger and plunged it deep into his own chest.

Uther caught him as he fell, a look of thunder on his face as he shook the dying man, "Tell me what you mean! Tell me how to cure Godwyn!"

Garth did no such thing. He choked wet breaths, his eyes slipping closed. His convulsions stilled, his body fell limp.

Uther cursed. He dropped the body to the ground and stood to turn in hurried circles, raking anxious hands through his hair. He opened his mouth to cry out in despair and frustration, but stopped himself short.

Instead he took a deep breath and steadied himself. The knights watched him from atop the hill. Under a façade of calm, Uther bent and gathered up Garth's body to sling over his shoulder, and slowly made for the edge of the Licburg.

His men were waiting to take the body from him as he gained the brow of the hill. It left him free to run a shaking hand through his hair once more. They were watching him, waiting for instruction. Despite his turmoil, he gave it:

"We return to Camelot. To deliver that to Gaius. Hopefully there is something he can do to cure Lord Godwyn without confession from the assassin."

The knights nodded and set about rounding up the horses and hounds.

Uther shared a nod with Gorlois. His friend could see through his front. Truth be told, they probably all could. It did not stop the deep feeling of cold growing in Uther's stomach.

Even with Garth's body there was still little more than Uther's word to link him to Godwyn's poisoning. The physical evidence still pointed to Edmund. Garth was correct. If Camelot was to have any hope of distancing itself from the crime, then an example would have to be made of the 'criminal'. Even then, that may not be enough.

Edmund had little hope now but to rely on Gaius' skills.

His fate may have just been sealed...

Dawn was fast approaching. The sky in the East had begun to lighten. It would be sunrise in Engerd soon...

Balinor shook his head and huffed. Shakily, he raised a hand to his eyes and rubbed at the corners with numb fingertips. The words on the pages in front of him had all begun to blur into one large illegible mess. Irritated with himself and his tiredness, he drew a heavy breath and forced himself to focus, to pay attention and return to scanning the words of the heavy tome in his hands.

At the work table, Gaius did the same with another book – one from several piles of many. His light eyes moved from one side of each page to the other behind his spectacles, searching for anything that may be of even the remotest use.

It had been some hours since he and Alice had returned from the meeting with Godwyn's entourage. Both of them seemed drained, and in low spirits. It was as feared: Gawant blamed Camelot. Godwyn's men believed Constantine to be behind the poisoning. If Godwyn died, then Camelot would find itself at war.

In lieu of any others who could treat him, Gaius and Alice were permitted to continue with their ministrations, but only under the strict supervision of a Gawant knight well versed in battlefield medicine. He was to intervene at the first sight of trouble and suspicious behaviour.

Quietly, Balinor allowed his attention to wander from the page before him momentarily in order to eye the tall, silent man standing rigid beside the chamber door. Sir Thomas, his name was. A young knight with hard blue eyes who seemed to mark every detail and movement around him. Something that annoyed Gaius greatly, as more often than not the man questioned every move made. Despite his age, he was reportedly one of Godwyn's closest, most trusted men.

Rolling his shoulders against the hard shelves of the bookcase at his back, Balinor drew his leg up that his book may rest on his knee, and his backside be more comfortable against the hard stone floor beneath, and continued to read.

He was growing more and more tired, and reading had long ago become a chore. The poultice did no more good now, so Gaius had determined that he and his assistant must turn to the vast collection of books lining the walls of his chamber in hopes of finding something relevant that may help the King. At present they searched for spells that may be used to augment the potency of poisons, and in doing so, hopefully find some means of undoing them. Alice continued to try and keep Godwyn as comfortable as possible, but it seemed a fruitless task.

As this research did. So far Balinor had come across nothing that matched what they were seeing in Godwyn. Whether or not Gaius was having more success, it seemed doubtful as he cast his book aside and reached for another from the many piles.

Vivienne was no longer present at Godwyn's side, though she had not left the physician's tower. Gaius had been concerned to find her sitting with Godwyn as opposed to resting peacefully in her bed.

"My Lady, you ought to be resting," he had told her firmly.

"I am well, Gaius," she had replied, equally firm in her tone.

"I must insist that you return to your bed. You are meant to be resting, Vivienne. I can prepare you a sleeping draught, if it would assist you?"

"I would rather remain, Gaius. I am quite well, I assure you. And..." she had turned her sad gaze on Godwyn, clutched his hand more tightly in hers, "if there is anything I can do to help..."

Gaius had eventually relented and allowed her to stay, though he had managed to persuade her to take an hours rest. At present she lay sleeping soundly just up the stairs, curled up in Balinor's bed.

The thought made the boy blush a little. He tried to keep his mind on the task at hand, pulled from it by the hurried steps of Sir Thomas as he approached Alice at Godwyn's side.

Alice appeared about to administer a draught to the King.

"What is that?" Sir Thomas demanded. "What are you doing?"

"It is milk of the poppy." Alice told him patiently.

"What is its effect?" Sir Thomas demanded to know, leaning closer that he may verify the substance was indeed what she proclaimed it to be. Somehow.

Alice did not answer immediately, clearly a little perturbed by the man's proximity to her ministrations as she looked to Gaius for assistance.

He did not say anything, skimming his leather bound book and clearly biting his tongue.

"It's a painkiller," Balinor answered for them both, somewhat offhandedly, and turned to the next page in his own book to begin reading. "to dull the senses and make him more comfortable."

Sir Thomas gave a disgusted snort. "Who asked you, boy?"

Balinor looked up quickly, surprised and more than a little hurt. He opened his mouth to reply, but before he could make his voice work, Gaius rose to his feet and slammed his own book closed on the table with a resounding BANG!

"Enough!"

Both Alice and Balinor whipped around to stare at him, surprise and alarm etched on both of their faces at the forceful outburst. Gaius did not notice, all of his ire directed towards the rather taken aback knight.

"Have you no sense?!" The physician bellowed, "that every time we try and prepare treatment of any kind you must insist on involving yourself? Disrupting proceedings, and delaying Lord Godwyn's much needed relief! Because that is exactly what you are doing!"

He indicated the stricken, deathly pale King with a violent sweep of his arm. "Look at the man! You stand here to supervise his care and ensure that we do nothing to cause his death – look at him! If we wanted him dead, then we need do nothing at all. Would you rather that? It would surely satiate your burning curiousity that certainly drives you to stick your nose in where it is not required, and most definitely is not wanted, and serves only to hinder any efforts to prevent his suffering! How foolish must you be, to not possess even the capability to keep your mouth shut and stay out of the way of those providing necessary care in order to save the man's life!"

Sir Thomas did not say anything for a moment. His mouth gaped open and shut, though no words came to him in answer to anything that Gaius had said. However - "That peasant boy addressed me without-"

"That peasant boy is Lord Rion's son! More relevantly, he is my apprentice, and he possesses far more medical knowledge, and clearly more intelligence and common sense than you clearly ever will. Now, if you have any desire to see your King well again, then you will not hinder us any further. You are nothing but a distraction here, and cause disruption and grief to us with your sustained presence. Questioning our methods and treating us with suspicion and contempt. Alice is the most experienced and skilled healer that Camelot has to offer, and Balinor is responsible for prolonging the King's life this far. We all work through the night to save your King's life and you and yours repay us with accusations and strife! If you insist on remaining here, then have the plain decency to be silent and out of the way." Gaius paused in his tirade, and took a breath in which he looked from Sir Thomas, to Alice, and then to Balinor.

"In fact, if you must stay, then make yourself useful. Prepare some milk and honey for Balinor. He looks ready to drop himself, and send one of the guards outside the door to the kitchens. None of us have eaten since yesterday morn."

Despite Gaius' quietening down towards the end of his speech, Sir Thomas remained stunned, and utterly abashed by such a thorough and unexpected dressing down. So much so that no argument was forthcoming as he stiffly bowed his head and hurried to the door to do as he was told.

Gaius glared after him, jaw set and fists balled at his sides. It wasn't until he felt Alice's hand on his arm that he ceased boring holes into the closed door through which the knight had disappeared.

Balinor blinked at his mentor in astonishment. He knew that the knight's presence and continued interference had irked Gaius, but he had never seen that man let rip like that before. He was unsure quite how to react. Not to the mood, and the tirade itself, anyway.

He felt his face redden a little in embarrassment. "Thanks, Gaius."

As though slipping out of a trance, the physician glanced at his assistant and gave a warm smile. "You should not have to endure such treatment, my boy," he told Balinor softly. "Perhaps you are not nobility in the usual sense, but you are Rion's son, and so should not endure being spoken to in such a manner."

That was true, he supposed. As much as the title of Lord meant very little to his father and to himself, Rion did hold a position of honour within the Court. Being looked at with such disgust and contempt was something that had never happened to Balinor before. He had not known how to react. Since coming to Camelot, people had always seemed more exasperated with him, and endured his presence, rather than treat him in such a manner. They tolerated him because of his father. Even Uther had not been so truly hateful towards him when they first met. His disgust had been born more from arrogance than true belief. Constantine was a ruler well aware of the true and practical value of his serfs, and his son was also aware of what they did for the Kingdom and nobility.

The way Sir Thomas had been... Being looked at in such a manner had hurt.

It had disarmed him. Still, he swallowed the bad feeling and cocked an eyebrow at Gaius. "So, I'm intelligent, then?"

"You are, though I am inclined to believe it one of your lesser used qualities."

Balinor hid a grin at that, instead noting how Gaius' attention turned to Alice. She seemed very … attentive, suddenly. More than she had been previously, going solely on the way she held close to Gaius' arm, the way she gazed up lovingly into his face. Nope. No 'special feelings' going on there, then. None at all.

With a smug smile on his face, Balinor made to return to his reading when Gaius looked up from Alice and called out to him, "Balinor, would you wake Lady Vivienne? It is passed an hour. If she has not already awoken with all this noise. One would think this a tourney ground, and not a physician's chambers at all."

Balinor gave a nod, and closed his book to clamber to his feet. He gave a long stretch, glad for a chance to move about a bit and finally rest his burning eyes.

Despite the racket, Vivienne was indeed still asleep when Balinor knocked tentatively at the door. She did not wake to bid him enter, so he cautiously pushed the door open and stepped into his small room, at a loss as to how he was meant to proceed.

The place really was a state. His worn clothing lay flung over the rickety old chair and edge of the desk; various belongings strewn about the place where they simply had not been put away; one of his old boots, the ones he had used before his father provided him with the new ones he had recently been gifted, lay discarded on its side up on the windowsill. Quite how it had got there, and for what purpose, Balinor could neither remember nor be sure he could decipher. The floor itself was a hazard of wood shavings, sawdust and chips prone to sticking to one's feet scattered about like animal bedding. Which he supposed it could easily be construed to be. This was his own personal sty, fit enough for a creature liable to leave boots on windowsills. For a Lady of the Court, such as Vivienne? She may well have been just as comfortable sleeping out with the actual pigs. He felt more than a little embarrassed about it all.

Hesitant, he crossed to the bed where she lay asleep, and reached out to gently shake her shoulder.

"My Lady?" He whispered, eliciting a quiet whimper from her. He tried again, shaking her a little harder. "Lady Vivienne?"

This time she stirred, turning onto her back, her eyelids fluttering. She glanced up at Balinor, blinking a moment as she took in both him and her surroundings, and pushed herself to sit. "Balinor?"

He nodded respectfully. "Gaius sent me to wake you."

"Has it been an hour already?"

"It has. Did you need longer?"

She yawned, and shook her head. "No. What I have had will be perfectly adequate." Looking up at him, her expression grew concerned. "What about you?"

He huffed deeply, lifted his shoulders in a light shrug and collapsed to sit on the bed beside her feet, mindless of propriety. "I'll have sleep when this is all over."

"Then I hope you are allowed as much as you need. I have quite monopolised your bed."

Balinor gave her a small smile. "That's alright. Though I doubt it was comfortable. Nowhere near as soft as you are used to, I'd imagine."

"Nowhere near," she confirmed with a light shake of her head. "I believe that may have been to my advantage. It has done my back the world of good. Too much comfort can be bad for a person."

Unable to help it, Balinor snorted. "Tell that to Uther."

"As if his fat, pampered backside would ever know what discomfort is."

Balinor raised both eyebrows at her in disbelief, and then joined her as she began to giggle.

"You know, Balinor," Vivienne began through her laughter, a little surprised at herself, "I do believe that you bring out the worst in me."

"I'm sorry," he chuckled in return, "I was unaware that my grumbling was contagious."

"I am a Lady of Court. I do not grumble. I pass judgement on people and heap them with scorn."

Balinor grinned, and turned his head away in an effort to contain his mirth. It was rather easy to picture the animated discourse he had seen Vivienne engage in with her ever-changing entourage as being scornful observations on Uther. It was a wonder the gittish Prince could move under the ever-growing heap. And ever-growing it must be. The twit was a magnet for scorn.

"How is Lord Godwyn?"

The question brought him back to reality with a bump. He breathed a hefty sigh, and raked a hand back through his thick hair. "Not good. He's shown no improvement."

"Oh." Vivienne's face fell. She folded her hands in her lap and fixed shuttered eyes on them. "Has there been any sign of Uther?"

"Not yet."

He had better hurry. He was rapidly becoming Godwyn's last hope.

Vivienne broke him from his morose thoughts with a light clearing of her throat. "Well, then. We ought to go and see if there is anything we can do to help." She meant assisting Gaius and Alice, Balinor understood.

"Mm. Keeping that knight off Gaius' back would be a big help. They may well come to blows otherwise."

"Come to blows?" Vivienne giggled, her eyebrows climbing in her surprise, "Gaius?"

Balinor shrugged. "He can be quite spirited when he gets up the motivation," he informed her flatly, his mind wandering to the sword kept concealed on the underside of the work table. While he had never truly been able to imagine a scenario in which it would be employed by his mentor, he would not put it past Gaius to lay Sir Thomas out with a solid punch. The same tactic had been used on a drunk patient before, and had proven rather effective in quieting the man enough to allow treatment to his thigh wound. After all, who would expect it from the less than physically substantial Court Physician?

He shook his head at his errant thoughts, and got to his feet, holding his hand out for Vivienne. They should see if there was anything more that they could do to help. Another pair of eyes searching for a solution may improve the odds of finding one, after all.

* Forþe fleogé – Fly forth

*Astrice – I strike

* Fleogé stángefeall – Fly heap of stones

Notes: Nearly a year since this saw an update, which is not good. Sorry! It managed to get buried under other things, but no more. The rest of this segment is written out, and shall be typed up as soon as possible that the next one can begin, and it makes me smile. Oh does it make me smile! Poor, clueless Uther. I do like Garth, even if he does come across as mad as a box of frogs. He looks so cheerful in my head. I'm going to miss him :(

A big and hearfelt thank you to the readers, reviewers and to the new followers joining this little tale! Welcome guys, thank you, and I hope you enjoy the ride! See you soon! xxx