- 7 / Blood -

'Porphi… Porfa…' Arthur grimaced, and glanced at Viviana for help : 'What is the name, again ?' She smiled slightly. 'Cutaneous porphyria, my King' she answered. 'Yes, that.' Arthur nodded. 'It is… well, Viviana will tell you about it' he finished, shifting uneasily in his seat. The young woman stepped forward, a usual but unwelcome pinch of self-consciousness in her heart. 'It is a hereditary disease that affects the skin. An exposure to light causes the skin and the gums, such as the lips and nose, to decompose, giving birth to the legend of vampires' she explained. 'The illness also brings alienation, therefore I must stress this : our murderer is most probably not conscious of his deeds.'

The King of Britain looked at her gravely. 'You must understand that I do not feel entirely… comfortable with this explanation', he warned. 'Such an excuse may be abused of, should the story spread.' Viviana remained silent, not knowing what to add. There was nothing more for her to say, except that she was sure that the dead man had been killed by his ill, delusional child, whom he had kept locked away in a cellar for at least twelve years – if her estimation based on the height of the age lines was accurate. She pitied the poor being, a man grown into a monster, dangerous in its alienation : no more than an innocent weapon ; but she also understood Arthur's point of view : the risk was high, for all the condemned criminals of the island waiting to be judged wouldn't hesitate to claim they had acted upon a delusional streak. How were they to single out the liars ?

Arthur sighed, and rose from his seat. 'Knights, a patrol will be sent out as planned : Lancelot, Galahad, Dagonet.' He looked at each one of his men. 'I can not stress enough the importance of the capture of this murderer. Be very attentive… And be careful.'

Viviana bit her lip, glancing at her husband worriedly, but he smiled back reassuringly. The gathering was dismissed, and he walked over to her. 'I don't want you to leave' she whispered, as he took her hand, entwining his fingers with hers. 'I know' he murmured, leaning in to kiss her forehead. 'But it is my duty.' Viviana nodded reluctantly. She understood, and accepted, that Dagonet's loyalty would always be divided between his family and his brothers. After all, she too knew of duty.


The wind howled, sweeping over the green plains surrounding the fort, tearing at the banners at the gates ; cold was the day for the beginning of summer. Dagonet checked the girth and the stirrup leathers, and fastened his spare axe to the side of the saddle. Viviana watched quietly from aside, wringing her hands nervously ; noticing her distress, he caught her hands in his and pulled her closer. She immediately snaked her arms around his waist, her head on his shoulder. 'Don't go' she muttered into his somewhat uncomfortable spiked armour, and felt him shake his head. 'Viviana', he whispered, 'I can't.' She sniffed, and immediately felt a calloused hand under her chin, forcing her to look up. Dagonet gently wiped her tears away, caressing her cheek. 'Promise me you will be careful' she demanded, and he chuckled, but grew serious when he saw anger flash in her eyes. 'I promise I will come back to you and our child' he said gravely. Kissing her one last time, he mounted his horse and kicked it into a gallop, following Galahad to the gates.

Gathering her skirts, she ran to the Wall, climbing the stone stairs hurriedly. The view of the plains lay before her as she watched her husband ride away to the woods, waiting until he appeared to be nothing more than a small spot on the horizon.

Already, she wished he was back.


A heavy rain was pouring down on Camboglanna, and a lightening illuminated the dimly lit Healing Rooms as Vanora burst through the door : 'Viviana, hurry !' she cried, pulling the astonished midwife by the sleeve. 'It's Ahern !'

Viviana set down the pot of salve she was holding at once. 'What has happened ?' she panted, running in the mud to keep up with the red-haired woman, but received no answer. Dread was rising in the pit of her stomach, her imagination supplying dreadful scenes, and possibilities of awful accidents. Soaked to the bone, the two women pushed their way through a crowd gathered at the gates, and Viviana gasped at the scene.

Ahern and Gilly were rolling on the ground, fighting fiercely in a whirlwind of fists and kicking feet, pulling each-other's hair, biting and scratching to draw blood. This was no mere brawl between children ; they were struggling with all their strength, fighting for victory, and the weakest one's complete submission. Gilly was bigger and heavier, and placed a well-aimed punch into the grey-eyed boy's face. Viviana heard distinctly a nose break, but Ahern did not seem to notice the blood that was flowing down his face. He sank his teeth deeply into Gilly's neck, tearing out flesh as the boy howled in pain. He used this momentary distraction to gain advantage, rolling on top with a hoarse cry. His small fists struck Gilly's face, bruising, drawing blood, and Viviana saw his eyes close in unconsciousness. 'He is going to kill him !' moaned Vanora, wringing her hands in despair. The woman seemed to be at a loss about what to do, for this was no ordinary tavern fight ; there was more than just drunken anger involved.

But Ahern continued the beating, yelling incoherently, and Viviana finally recovered from the shock. 'Ahern !' she screamed, launching forward, 'Stop it !!' The boy paid her no attention, and she had to circle his waist, dragging him away from his defeated adversary. But the boy was too enraged, and too strong for her, and he writhed out of her grip, determined to launch himself upon Gilly once again. Thankfully for Vanora's son, Bors arrived, panting, and held Ahern's arms in his back. 'Calm down, boy !' he bellowed, and Ahern obeyed finally, sinking to the ground like a puppet. Gawain came running seconds later, his axe in his hand, prepared for an attack, but frowned upon seeing the carnage.

Through the soaked curtain of her hair, Viviana saw Vanora pick up her son, crying at the sight of his wounds, stroking his bloody face tenderly. 'You allright ?' murmured Tristan, and she nodded absently. She could not describe her shock about what they had all witnessed.

Bors was still holding Ahern, shaking his head at the damage. The boy seemed to be sulking, unconcerned by his injuries. He glanced at Viviana, his eyes burning in silent challenge. She noticed Siobhan standing nearby, her wet dress clinging to her small body. The girl was clutching her favourite doll, but the toy seemed to be torn, the head hanging by a few threads. The girl watched Ahern in silence, and he returned her gaze, but his bruised face softened somewhat ; suddenly, Viviana understood. She knelt in the mud beside the boy, lifting his chin so she could look into his silver eyes. 'You defended her, didn't you ?' she whispered, and he nodded, still wary. She sighed. 'You could've killed him, Ahern.' He scowled, but nodded in understanding.

'Vanora, Bors, I am so sorry' she pleaded, struggling to find the words to tell them how much she regretted her foster son's behaviour, but Bors shook his head, his face grim. 'Gilly asked for it' he growled, glaring at the bed where his eldest son lay, bandaged and asleep. 'He was bullying that girl o'yours, Siobhan.' The stocky knight sighed. 'A mighty beating he received too, and I ain't complainin', but that boy…' He looked her in the eye : 'Almost killed him, the little devil ! He's evil, I tell ye.' Viviana shuddered at the tone of his voice. 'Mark my words' he whispered, 'That boy will bring ye tears.'