Arthur pushed his small hand to his chest, trying to breathe normally. Trying not to embarrass himself.

Too late. He was already embarrassed… He… was… He didn't feel well. He didn't feel well at all… Leaning over the bucket that had been waiting for him, he threw up. Someone wiped his mouth.

Oooh… He moaned, feeling like he was dying. And the world was spinning. Maybe he wasdying.

He was so dizzy. Everything was tilted. Where was the ceiling?

There!

There!

There!

It wouldn't stay still.

I'm sick.

But he was a prince. Princes weren't allowed to cry, he knew, not because their stomach felt like it was being squeezed and ripped out, not because they were so tired… So tired they just wanted to sleep, but the convulsions kept them up. They weren't allowed to be weak, he'd heard, not even when they were seven years old.

Suddenly there was a hand on his back. Not Gaius's hand; he knew Gaius's hand. This was another man's. Someone he knew almost as well.

"Shh, son, it will be all right," said Uther, as comfortingly as he knew how—which wasn't very. "The sickness will go away. Just like every other enemy, it can be defeated eventually."

Arthur didn't care. He was the defeated one, not the sickness—he just wanted to die. His stomach twisted, as though to vomit, but he hadn't even the strength to retch again. But his father was here. His father would fight for him when he couldn't. Wouldn't he?

"Father…"

"Here, Arthur, put your head down. I'm right here."

He would.

Arthur sighed and nearly gagged, putting his spinning, heavy head down right on his father's chest. And there he lay, gasping, without the strength or the will to move. He didn't want to move. He felt the slightest of whimpers work its way out his throat. His father was here.

Uther's hand stroked his hair, shushing his young, suffering son, not knowing what else to do. Arthur didn't pull away from his touch, just leaned into his father's shirt. He was distantly glad it wasn't chain mail there, but soft fabric.

Arthur could hear his father's heart. Thump. Thump. Thu-thump. Thu-thump. He could hear, see, and smell his father's presence. Uther was here. Here beneath his little ear, ruffling Arthur's hair.

And as he slowly drifted away to sleep, Arthur thought with his ill mind that he heard his father whisper what he wanted to hear so much. "I love you, Arthur."

Arthur's eyes flew open, his breath going so fast that he thought his lungs might explode. Father! He cried in his mind, sitting up, wanting to reach out. His father loved him. His father had loved Arthur when he was younger, fighting the battle against sickness. And he had loved Arthur when he was older.

And now Uther was gone, Arthur suddenly remembered. He was gone forever. And no matter what Arthur might do, he couldn't come back. Gone.

Arthur hung his head.

He cried.