After leaving Kashan Castle behind, Prince Arslan and his followers headed eastward under the cover of night. They made camp after a day's travel into their new course, and when the sky had lightened they set out once again.

Narsus had decided they travel through a forest on the edge of Kashan's territory. It was surrounded by slightly mountainous terrain, which, in addition to the cover of the wooded area, would aid in avoiding any forces from Kashan that might have been foolish enough to follow them.

The crisp early morning warmed up slightly as they made their way, the ground becoming increasingly rougher. After surveying ahead once more and finding no dangers, Daryun slowed his horse's gait and fell back into position at the right of His Highness, who rode near the protected center of their little group. As he did so, he felt his eyes return almost reflexively to the young prince. Arslan sat atop his horse, looking forward at the road ahead, though he noticed Daryun's gaze and gave him a small, tight smile.

As soon as Arslan looked away, Daryun couldn't help but frown.

After Arslan's discussion with Narsus the night before last, about the inherent pitfalls of abolishing slavery and humanity's inborn right to freedom, the prince seemed subdued. Daryun thought it similar to the melancholy mood that had overtaken the boy after the ill-fated battle at Atropatene. While Arslan was by no means a garrulous person, he would occassionally ask thoughtful questions of Narsus and himself, about varied subjects: abstract strategy, politics, history of the places the two older men had traveled. Sometimes he would share random observations with or ask personal questions of Elam (who was usually a bit gruff, being caught off guard by the former and made uncomfortable by the latter).

But today Arslan had been noticeably quiet. As Daryun looked more closely, he thought maybe the prince sat a little rigidly upon his mount, features serious and determined. Ruminating about the troubles of his kingdom, Daryun suspected. But was it a trick of the sunlight, or did Arslan seem to be of an even lighter pallor than usual...?

His thoughts were interrupted by someone clearing their throat. Glancing around, he realized the group had stopped, and Narsus was looking at him. His old friend had an amused smile playing at his lips; it wasn't often that Daryun, the perfect soldier, lost himself in thought.

Daryun's expression must have conveyed his question, because Narsus gave an elegant shrug and said, "I suggested we continue from here on foot." Daryun noted that indeed, any path they could travel would lead them over slightly craggy inclines - most disadvantageous for riding on horseback.

"Of course," said Gieve. Atop his honey-colored mare, the minstrel gave a dramatic sigh. "An easy path would be too much to ask for."

Narsus turned to Prince Arslan. "Likely only for a short distance, Your Highness. The terrain has grown a little precarious, and we'd do better to lead the horses until we reach the forest and the path is not so steep."

Arslan nodded, and though he looked determined, his eyes were a little wide. Daryun had never seen the prince worry his bottom lip with his teeth before, but he had the distinct impression that the boy might have wanted to do so now.

The group dismounted and set off, picking their way carefully. They continued for a time, until far off near the horizon, about another hour's walk by Daryun's estimation, were the beginnings of the forest.

Up ahead, Elam led his horse alongside Arslan. He hesitated only a moment before speaking to the prince. Arslan seemed not to have heard, so Elam was forced to repeat himself, with a stronger voice. "Autumn does seem to come more swiftly each year, doesn't it?"

Daryun wondered at the rare sight. Aside from curt directions, Elam rarely initiated conversation with the prince. Perhaps Daryun wasn't the only one who had noticed Arslan's reticence this day.

"O-Oh! Yes!" exclaimed the prince. He glanced around himself, as though noticing the ever-present and plentiful trees for the first time. "The leaves have not yet changed color. But I look forward to it." He might have said more, but as his eyes were looking upwards, his foot seemed to catch on something and he tripped, nearly stumbling to his knees.

Elam bent down at Arslan's side, one hand hovering outwards as if to help him up, but unsure if he should do so. "Are you alright, Your Highness?"

"Yes, I just..." Arslan trailed off, then suddenly shook his head a little. Again, that small and tight smile. "Fine, I-I'm fine. Thank you, Elam." He got to his feet and though he did indeed seem to be all right, Daryun noticed that the prince led his horse a short distance ahead and did not resume his conversation with Elam.

Narsus also seemed to have watched the exchange, and leaned over slightly towards Daryun. In a soft voice he said, "They may become friends yet."

It wasn't long before the ground levelled out a bit and the trees thickened, and they found themselves inside the forest proper. The group mounted once again and continued onward. By now, late afternoon sunlight poured through where it could and dappled everything it touched. A woodland bird cried out occassionally, and fallen branches snapped underneath the hooves of their mounts. There was chatter from Gieve behind, directed at the hapless Farangis.

It was by the grace of Mithra that Daryun's habit of glancing protectively at the prince afforded him the exact moment Arslan suddenly seemed to sway once, twice, there in the saddle. He listed to the side and didn't right himself, and then he was slipping off his horse. Falling.

Before the cry of "Your Highness!" could even leave his throat, Daryun found himself spurring his horse forward and reaching out. Though Arslan had begun to slip down towards the horse's left flank and Daryun approached from the right, he managed to grab hold of the prince's arm before he slipped completely out of the saddle. It was more of an ungentle yanking motion than Daryun would have preferred to use on royalty, but at least it saved the boy from hitting the hard ground.

The band of six halted, and Narsus and Elam immediately dismounted and hurried over to Daryun, who now carried the prince before him on his own saddle. Gieve and Farangis stayed atop their horses, concerned but also maintaining defensive positions.

With the prince unconscious, slumped sideways into his arms, Daryun's heart seemed to stop as he looked for an arrow wound; he had seen none fly but knew it was best to be sure. He found no bleeding injury, but now at such close range, realized that his earlier observation had been correct; Arslan's skin color was unnaturally pale, making the gray-tinged shade beneath his eyes and the slightly reddened cheeks more prominent. A few tendrils of fair hair were stuck to his forehead, dampened by a sheen of sweat there.

By any estimation, Prince Arslan looked quite ill.

A quick glance at the boy told Narsus all he needed to know. The master strategist directed Elam to take the reins of Arslan's horse and keep it still as he helped Daryun maneuver the prince safely down.

Narsus laid the back of his hand upon the prince's brow, frowning as Arslan groaned softly at the touch.

Narsus looked up, his features serious. "As I thought. A fever." His fingers felt for the small wrist, measuring the boy's pulse. "Not so bad yet. It may worsen, but for now he needs rest."

Elam made a small "tch" sound and looked at the ground. "I'm sorry, Master Narsus," he said, sounding frustrated. "I noticed he seemed...not himself, but assumed he was just fatigued. I should have considered he was ill."

Narsus smiled at his young friend. "It's alright, Elam."

Farangis spoke up. "How many nights' travel will bring us out of this forest?"

Narsus thought for a few heartbeats. "Two nights, and we should reach the outskirts by then. If we make camp early tonight, the prince can sleep and gather his strength and we can press on at first light."

A concerned frown marred Farangis' exquisite features. "Should we not wait to continue onwards until his Highness has fully recovered?"

Narsus shook his head. "Two nights is all I would risk in this forest," he said grimly. "Any longer and we give our enemies ample opportunity for an ambush." He stood, and with a gesture, indicated that they continue forward. "Daryun, if you would."

Daryun, who had been half kneeling and supporting Arslan's shoulders and head, now gathered the prince up into his arms and stood. They led the horses along as they searched for a safe area to prepare their camp. A clearing not too far away was chosen and everyone set to work.

At Narsus' direction, Elam went in search of water, and Daryun in search of firewood. Gieve retrieved any needed belongings from their traveling packs. Narsus and Farangis meanwhile, made Arslan a makeshift sickbed out of all they had on hand: an area of the forest floor slightly cushioned with moss, a gathering of fallen leaves for comfort, and the only spare blanket laid atop them. Arslan's light-colored cloak was removed and rolled up for use as a pillow.

It wasn't long before the prince stirred and opened his eyes. Upon finding himself lying underneath the trees in daylight, he gave a start and quickly sat upright. "What? Where - "

"You fell ill, Your Highness," Narsus explained gently. "A slight fever. With some rest, you should recover fully, so we've stopped and made camp early today."

Daryun knelt down at Arslan's side. "How are you feeling?"

Arslan met Daryun's gaze but a moment before looking away. "I'm alright. Just a little warm, that's all." His still-flushed cheeks attested for that.

But Narsus' voice was knowing. "A full inventory of your symptoms, if you please."

The young prince closed his eyes momentarily, and fought to keep an undignified sigh from escaping. "Warm, and tired. And there doesn't seem to be an inch of me that doesn't ache."

Elam piped up. "If you hadn't tried to hide it all morning, maybe you wouldn't have almost fallen clean off your horse."

Arslan's eyes widened a fraction in surprise, then lowered with guilt. "I tried to ignore it," he admitted. "But the walk over that rough ground made me tired, and dizzy. I don't remember much after getting back upon my horse."

Daryun's frown furrowed his tanned brow. "Your Highness, forgive me, but why did you not tell us you had taken ill?"

Arslan looked even more distressed, if possible, and his head lowered further. "Everyone is working so hard, risking their lives to help me, and here I am, adding to our difficulties." He broke off with a wince and and a small cough, his sore throat protesting its use. "I...I didn't want to be a burden," he finished.

"You can hardly reclaim your throne if you can't even take care of yourself," said Elam, rather bluntly.

"What my young page here is trying to say," said Narsus smoothly, "Is that your health is not a matter to be taken lightly, Your Highness. You're the hope of Pars, and in one way or another, the reason why we're all here."

"And you are not a burden," added Daryun.

Daryun's voice was stern, but there was also warmth and sincerity in his words, and Arslan smiled to hear them. As he had done countless times over since that bloody day on the battlefield, Arslan found himself fervently thanking the Gods for the loyalty the Black Knight had shown him.

"Well," Narsus said decisively, getting to his feet, "We'll leave you to your rest."

Arslan nodded. His body, especially the muscles at his upper arms and thighs, felt increasingly heavy yet strangely weak at the same time. His throat had begun to pain him at every swallow, and a vague pain was also forming at his temples. He certainly wasn't going to argue with more sleep at the moment. Lying back upon his blanketed bed of moss and leaves, he turned his back to the campsite and closed his eyes, drifting into sleep soon enough.

The camp grew relatively silent as each companion worked at their tasks in the meantime.

Elam prepared some of the root vegetables he carried along on their journey. "Strange," he mused aloud to his Master Narsus. "Prince Arslan falling ill so suddenly. Will he really be alright?"

The strategist observed his retak, noting the concern that shone in the boy's dark eyes. As a result of his slave upbringing, Elam was quite cynical for one so young. Reluctant to turn that pragmatic view onto the fate of their young charge, he now sought reassurance.

"I'm sure he will be," Narsus told him. "It seems to me a fever brought on by exertion, and undue stresses."

"His Highness carries many worries on his shoulders," said Daryun. "He did seem particularly troubled by the incident with the slaves at Kashan."

Gieve's words were airy and glib when he cut in. "Perhaps this is what befalls the nobility, when they attempt to grapple with the problems of the common folk. A fever for their troubles."

Daryun honestly couldn't help the glare he sent the minstrel's way.

A quiet fell upon the group once again, until Farangis suddenly stood. "The healers at the temple would sometimes prepare a strengthening drink for the sick. I will try to find the appropriate herbs and recreate it for His Highness. I should return before dawn." With that, the Priestess departed.

Shortly afterwards, Gieve pushed off from the tree trunk he had been leaning against and announced that he, too, would take his leave. It was his turn to hunt for the night's dinner, after all. With a little bow, he was gone, leaving Daryun, Narsus, and Elam in the clearing, with a sleeping prince.

The moon was high in a dark field of stars when Arslan next opened his eyes.

He laid still a moment, cataloguing the state of his body. He still felt warm. An experimental swallow still hurt. He moved his limbs and found them not just achey, but almost confined by something spread over him, large and heavy. A cloak, he realized, and after a moment noticing the deep black color and silver trim, he knew exactly whose it was.

"Daryun," he murmured. His voice was slightly hoarse.

"Your Highness," answered the cloak's owner, from his sentry post near a tree at Arslan's left. In the flickering light from the fire, the warrior stepped closer and sat down next to the young prince. "Are you feeling any better?"

Sitting up, Arslan gave Daryun a rueful smile. "About the same, I'm afraid." He looked around the camp, and though his eyes felt bleary, he caught sight of all his sleeping companions save for one. "Where is Lady Farangis?" he asked.

"Gone to find some herbs for a strengthening drink, and should be back soon."

"I see."

Daryun stood and retrieved something small from near the fire: a bowl of what seemed to be a sort of stew. "Gieve went hunting, and our Elam worked his magic. I know it's late, but you shouldn't miss an opportunity to eat when you can."

While he thankfully did not suffer from a nervous stomach on top of everything else, Arslan felt no appetite at the moment. He had almost gotten out a polite 'no, thank you,' before Daryun thrust the bowl so suddenly and decisively in front of him that he could do nothing else but blink in surprise.

"Eat. To keep your strength," Daryun said. He must have realized that he had just issued a command to a prince, because he tacked on a hasty "Your Highness."

Arslan accepted the bowl. "Y-Yes, that would probably be best. I thank you." When he had finished all he could manage, the two of them sat awhile in a companionable silence.

"I do hope Lady Farangis is alright," said Arslan, worrying aloud.

Daryun chuckled. "The Lady Farangis is most capable of taking care of herself. I do not worry for her."

The comment was simple enough (and Arslan saw his point clearly; the warrior priestess had shown herself to be nearly peerless in many skills) but it struck something in Arslan, something that made his very heart feel as though it had been struck a blow.

It was the realization that he was so utterly unlike her, in that he always needed looking after. From his wet nurse in his infancy, to the servants and Vaphreze in his childhood, and now Daryun and the others; he was always someone to be taken care of. An unwanted responsiblity to be passed on to someone else. A burden to be shouldered.

Daryun had denied it, but all his life he had felt it. He felt useless as a prince, and even more so as a son. Even as a small boy, Arslan had felt his father's displeasure and his mother's coldness and assumed the fault was his own. Something he had done or said, something he was or wasn't, made him unworthy of their love (though a part of his heart still hoped he was mistaken). At the palace he often heard hushed words like "takes after his mother," and "meek as a mouse," and "wouldn't last a minute on the battlefield." They were uttered in tones that made things quite clear: his slight stature and gentle nature were weaknesses, his very person inadequate and undesirable in a future king.

And here he was now, a victim of his own failings. Too weak to protect his people, too inept to reclaim his capital. Too foolish to realize the full injustice of slavery. So feeble that with all of Pars at stake, he had fallen ill and caused more hardship for the few people who had the misfortune to follow him.

Daryun's voice suddenly broke into his thoughts. "Before you rend my cloak in two, please tell me what it has done to offend you, my liege."

Focused as he was on his self-pity, Arslan's mind was slow to grasp Daryun's words. He looked down to discover that he'd been tightly clenching the poor fabric between his fingers. "Oh!" he exclaimed. There was a rush of heat at his cheeks, and he knew it was not only the fault of the fever.

Daryun was watching him with no little amount of concern. "Something troubles you?"

In Arslan's mind, his previous thoughts seemed to echo. Always needing looking after. Always a burden. "No, Daryun. Just...thinking of all there is to be done," he said. He hoped the lie wasn't too apparent.

Daryun was silent a moment, staring. Perhaps warring with his instinct to help where there was obvious distress, and the obligation to afford the prince his privacy. Growing up in the service of the royal family, the importance of never overstepping his boundaries had likely been well-impressed upon him at an early age.

In the end, Daryun chose not to pry. "The Gods willing, we will retake Ekubatana soon enough," he said, bowing his head.

Just as Arslan was thinking that he'd like to stay awake longer (for he greatly enjoyed Daryun's company, and conversation helped distract him from his discomforts) he felt his eyelids growing heavy. A yawn slipped out, unbidden.

There was a gentleness in Daryun's voice. "Rest, Your Highness. We have a few hours yet until morning, and a long road ahead."

"I suppose you're right," said the prince. He lay back down and attempted to find some comfort, fervently hoping that he felt better upon waking the next morning. Peshawar was still so very far away. "If only we could fly as swiftly as Azrael," was his last conscious thought before his eyes slipped closed and he dropped into slumber once again.