The grand hall of Jadan echoed with laughter, clinking goblets, and the sounds of merriment. King Arthur sat at the head of the table alongside King Jacob, ruler of Jadan, enjoying the feast celebrating their newly formed alliance.
The evening he had been filled with joyous conversations, promises of prosperity, and the occasional playful jest between kings.
Though weary from his long travels, Arthur found solace in the lively company. For a moment, he allowed himself to relax and enjoy the revelry.
But as the night wore on, a strange heaviness settled upon Arthur's chest. His vision blurred, and the room around him seemed to tilt. He brushed a hand through his hair, trying to clear his head, but the sensation only worsened.
The sounds of the feast became distant, as if muffled by an invisible veil. Arthur blinked, furrowing his brow, his body suddenly betraying him in a way it had never before.
Without warning, Arthur's knees buckled. The goblet in his hand slipped from his grasp, crashing onto the floor and spilling wine across the table. He collapsed, falling heavily onto the ground, his once strong frame crumpling in an instant.
The laughter stopped. Panic surged through the hall. All eyes turned to the fallen king.
"Arthur!" cried King Jacob, leaping from his seat and rushing to Arthur's side. The once vibrant and invincible King of Judep lay motionless, his breathing shallow and labored. The color drained from his face, his eyes fluttering, struggling to stay conscious.
The courtiers whispered in fear, unsure of what had transpired. Had Arthur been poisoned? Was it an illness brought on by fatigue? King Jacob's voice boomed above the growing panic.
"Send for the healers! Quickly!" he commanded, his tone urgent but composed, a king's strength showing even in crisis. "And send a messenger for Lancelot and Percival. We must have his closest men here at once!"
The hall erupted into a flurry of activity. Servants rushed out to fetch the healers while a messenger was dispatched to find Lancelot and Percival, who had been sent to ally with a neighboring nation.
Arthur was carefully lifted and carried to a private chamber. His body was still limp, and his breaths were shallow. King Jacob remained at his side, his expression grim. He ordered the courtiers out, leaving only himself and the healers to tend to the ailing king.
The healers worked diligently through the night, preparing herbal mixtures and pressing damp cloths to Arthur's forehead to bring down the sudden fever that had overtaken him.
Lancelot and Percival rode through the night after receiving the dire message. The weight of their king's condition sat heavily on their hearts as their horses galloped at full speed back toward Jadan. They prayed silently for Arthur's recovery, fear and uncertainty gnawing at them. When they finally arrived, they were breathless and weary.
Inside the chamber, Arthur lay still, his once strong and commanding presence reduced to fragility. His face was pale, beads of sweat glistening on his brow. Lancelot and Percival entered quietly, their faces etched with concern. King Jacob greeted them with a sad nod, his eyes betraying the worry even a king couldn't hide.
"He's survived the night," Jacob said softly. "But the healers aren't sure what caused this sudden ailment."
Lancelot knelt beside Arthur's bed, his hand gently resting on the king's arm. Percival stood by the window, staring at the glistering moon, his thoughts swirling with hope and dread. They were men of action, but now they were powerless. All they could do was wait and pray.
Hours passed before Arthur stirred. His eyes fluttered open, weak but transparent. He groaned softly, his body aching as if he had fought a battle in his sleep. Lancelot and Percival leaned in, relief flooding their hearts as they saw their king awake.
"Lancelot… Percival…?" Arthur's voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper.
"We're here, my king," Lancelot said gently. "You're safe. Rest now."
Arthur took a slow breath, his chest still heavy with fatigue. He managed a faint smile. "The feast… did we win the night?" he asked, attempting a weak jest despite his condition.
Lancelot chuckled softly, though his heart still ached with concern. "You always win, Arthur. Even in this, you'll conquer."
Arthur's smile faded as he looked at them, his expression growing serious. "I've pushed myself too far. The journey… it's taken more from me than I thought. I must return to Judep… rest before I fall again."
"You'll return, my king," Percival assured him. "But for now, let your body heal."
King Jacob entered the room, his presence commanding yet filled with compassion. "Arthur, your health comes first. Stay here until you are strong enough to travel. Judep will still stand when you are ready."
Arthur nodded, though the weight of his responsibility tugged at his heart. His body may have faltered, but his mind was still sharp, focused on his kingdom and the dangers that loomed on the horizon. Yet, for now, he had no choice but to rest. The road ahead would be long, and he needed his strength.
Arthur drifted back into a deep sleep, his body slowly recovering from the mysterious ailment that had threatened to take him. Lancelot and Percival stayed by his side, ever vigilant, knowing their king's journey was far from over.