Ceiro felt the first pains when he tried to relieve himself. And try though he might, nothing seemed to relieve that gut twisting, soul shattering pain. It honestly had come to the point that he'd excused himself from the office, making the excuse that he was seeing Mr. Browning off as he was finally returning home (with the assistance of the Magician, as they had all agreed to for Mr. Browning's assistance.) But in truth he'd only managed to get a 'be safe' out before the boy was put in the car and concerned guards we just barely waved off.

Not now, he told himself, pale, white hands gripping the rails lining lifted walkways around the front of the Castle. Not yet, he still had things to finish- people to speak with, to prepare for the inevitable. But each step he took sent another sharp, gutting pain through his abdomen. The fact that the sharpest pain seemed focused on his back, to the right side did not ease his worries. If anything, the anxiety began to rise as a dizzy spell washed over him and his swollen, aching legs seemed to give out.

He honestly didn't remember hitting the ground. He certainly didn't recall if he hit his head or not, though the splitting headache of the past few months reared it's ugly head ten fold. He rolled to his side, a hand desperately clinging to a post as his body heaved in an effort to expel what little food he'd forced himself to ingest. All the while only one thought remained in his mind- would his son grow up not knowing his own father?

Doctor Catadlo had been perplexed by the results. And had decided to take more blood- and run the test himself this time. Something was amiss, the man said, not only in how long it had taken them to return...but that nothing was there. Nothing- as if the king was not sick. But Ceiro hardly looked the picture of health at the moment.

So it made no sense. Sort of. For his part, Ceiro had taken to the library to do some reading on the subject himself. If Dr. Catadlo's worries were correct- it was a cancer of some kind. And...he wanted to know what that meant. Really.

Dr. Cataldo was a good man, if slightly on the perplexing side. He'd been trying hard to keep up his practice in Town while serving as interim head of the Castle Medical Facility. Ceiro had, some time ago, offered him the position itself, but he'd declined due to an apparent love of his offices in town- and his patience there. In the need, Ceiro probably couldn't blame him. Being the head physician in a Castle was often much more work than one anticipated, and so the position remained, regretfully, open.

And that was, in truth, why Ceiro had excused himself to town to sit and speak with the Doctor. When asked by others where he was going, he simply said he wanted to make the offer to the Good Doctor again. In truth, it was because the headaches had been growing worse- and now his limbs seemed to be going numb. He'd burned his hand the other night without noticing. Luckily it was not so bad of a burn, but it was concerning- and even he could no longer ignore the problems.

But Dr. Cataldo had few answers to offer at that moment. He ran test, and frowned mostly. He took blood to send off to a lab for testing, and offered a few prescriptions to manage the headaches, and tended to the burn as best he could. All with the promise of discretion.

Though he did decline the offer to be head Physician in the Castle, once again.

Still, Ceiro was quite as he made his way back to the castle, hand clasped gently behind his back and he stared into the space in front of him while walking. If someone called his name, he didn't hear them at first...but that was becoming a rather common occurrence of late as well.

The cough was gone. But then allergies never lingered forever. What remained though was the aching in his head, and his mind seemed to be unable to focus. He honestly felt- tired. And every day felt a little harder to get up, and to make himself move to his office.

And yet he made himself do it. Because if he didn't- well, he couldn't very well sleep all day, could he? No matter how inviting the idea might have seemed.

So he sat in his office, his paperwork mostly ignored except for the few moments he managed to wrangle in focus long enough to read (and remember what he'd just read) a whole document. He supposed the best thing would have been to just...hand it off to someone else, but that didn't seem very likely. And there were so many documents and plans on his desk.

He'd had the cough for a day or two now, but had merely waved off concerned expressions that shot his way. It was probably unkind of him, but he still found it difficult to accept other's medical advice since Itchy's death. Assuming he'd even have gone to Itchy with such a minor thing.

Except that now there was a dull, aching headache that made him regret moving let alone another else.

It was in part why he opted to sit outside, to breathe in the fresh air instead of sitting his office. He found a bench to sit on under a tree, and rubbed at his temples from time to time as he vaguely read through a book balanced on his lap. Just a few moments of silence, really, and everything would be better.