Lady-of-the-Dueling-Mist, shariena, Birdy Main, Lexoo, homeric, TragicCure : thank you for your reviews !!

Here comes the next chapter, after my muse's short absence... Hope you'll enjoy it.


- 7 / Contagion -

Her heart was heavy that evening, but her stomach grumbled loudly, and she realized she had not eaten since the previous day. She felt guilty about thinking about something as trivial as food when three people lay ill in the Healing Rooms, but she reasoned that if she were hungry she would be no use to her patients, and went to dinner.

As the evening was nearing its end, blending into the night, some of the knights decided to continue the feast in the tavern, whose owner was none other than Vanora. Bors refused to listen to Viviana's refusal when she said that she was needed in the Healing Rooms. When she made it to leave, she felt someone touching her arm. 'You should go', murmured Dagonet. He laid his large hand on her shoulder, and its warmth made Viviana's heart flutter. She suddenly wished there was no dress separating their skins, and immediately chided herself for it : even if the knight shared this attraction, this was neither the time nor place for such desires. 'You have worked the whole night and day ; I will take care of them.' His words were true, and they both had already seen patients who seemed condemned ; this was nothing new to Viviana, even if it always was difficult. And yet, this time there was something more to these cases, something that was bugging her, a little voice in the back of her mind, whose words she couldn't distinguish.

'See ? You can come, lass !' Bors slurred, dragging her by the arm and ignoring Arthur's stern look. Viviana tried in vain to resist, digging her heels into the ground and glancing at Dagonet for help, but he merely chuckled as Gawain finally scooped her up and threw her over his shoulder.

'Let me go at once !!' she exclaimed, scandalized, but the knights only laughed. She tried to squirm out of Gawain's embrace, but he was holding her tightly, carrying her as if she weighed nothing. Finally she resigned, trying in vain to look dignified while hanging helplessly over the blonde knight's shoulder. Despite her sour looks, despite the day's events, she felt happy and accepted. It was a new and oddly pleasant feeling for her.

The tavern was crowded with both local men and Woads. Both groups eyed each-other warily, the peace between them still fresh and their past wars not fully forgotten. Gawain slumped her onto a chair and she shot him a dirty look, crossing her arms in outrage. He only smirked, and walked away to order the drinks. Feeling a movement behind her back, Viviana turned around to see Tristan sitting in the shadows, chewing impassibly on a green apple. He nodded in acknowledgement, and the young woman understood that their secret now marked them as brothers. Bors slumped onto a chair at the other end of the table, Galahad and Lancelot next to him. 'Vanora ! Come, bring us some ale !' he bellowed, and the red-haired woman approached, carrying a heavy-loaded tray.

As the night went on, Viviana observed the knights : Bors and Gawain were now singing a rather crude song about their masculine attributes and naughty farm girls : alcohol obviously made them cheerful, but seemed to have no effect at all on Tristan, who drank silently one glass after another ; if Viviana didn't know better, she could've thought he was trying to forget the recent deaths he saw. But the knights had been fighting in Britain for over fifteen years ; they knew since long that drowning the victims' faces in alcohol was not an option.

She was shaken out of her thoughts when Galahad quickly excused himself to empty his stomach into a gutter nearby ; Viviana wrinkled her nose in disgust. 'Yeah, some of us can actually hold their drink' muttered Tristan behind her. 'I can… can hold my… wha' was it again ? Yeah, my ale !' the youngest knight stammered, sprawled out on the floor, trying to reach for his mug, but Lancelot took it away, laughing : 'No more for you tonight, Pup !'

And the night went on : Lancelot and Bors were engaged in a card game : judging by the curly-haired knight's sour looks, he wasn't winning. Galahad had foolishly challenged Tristan to a knife-throwing contest, and was now contemplating sadly his complete defeat.

She missed Dagonet's presence, but he was right that she needed to rest. Yawning, she excused herself, gathered her skirts and walked away, heading into the shadows of the courtyard that led to her room.


She was woken up by a loud banging on the door. Still half asleep, she mumbled 'Wha' is it ?' and rubbed her eyes. 'Viviana ! Viviana, wake up !' called Lancelot's voice. He sounded alarmed, and she hurried to throw a shawl on her nightgown, inspiring harshly when her feet met the cold stone floor. When she opened the door, the light of the torches blinded her, and she blinked, trying to distinguish the knight's face. 'What is it ?' she asked. 'New patients have arrived in the Healing Rooms. New cases of illness.' He looked really shaken. 'You should come quickly.'

She splashed cold water from the basin on her face, and dressed as fast as she could. Running down the stairs, she was thinking frantically : the disease was spreading ; there had to be something she knew, something she could do to stop this. In her hurry she almost ran into Dagonet. The giant knight steadied her, looking worried : 'You allright ?' She nodded : 'Lancelot woke me up. What is going on ?' She saw his grey eyes darken, the lines of his face harden as he gestured around them : 'This time, we are overwhelmed.'

There were four new patients, all of them presenting the same symptoms as the Woads : a merchant of the fort and his family, and a young seamstress named Lorna. 'I don't understand…' Viviana muttered as they walked along the sickbeds. 'What is the link between these people and the Woads ?' Dagonet shrugged. 'A poisoning ?' She shook her head resolutely. 'The epidemic would've been more massive… Oh Gods.' She covered her mouth with her hands, horrified. Why haven't I thought about it earlier ?! How could I have missed it ? 'There must have been a contact', she whispered. 'And I finally know what it is we're facing. It's called influenza.'

'How bad is it ?' the healer asked carefully, and she laughed bitterly. 'Very bad, trust me.' You can't treat it simply with cough remedies.' There was nothing here to help these people : no needles, no antiviral drugs, not even a needle and a syringe to make vaccines… How was she supposed to heal them ?

Overcoming this wave of despair, she straightened her shoulders. 'We need to know how bad the epidemic is. I need to talk to these people.' 'Marcus' condition is the best', agreed Dagonet. 'Maybe we can learn something from him.'

Marcus was a rather fat, balding man in his late fifties, although it wasn't easy to tell : he was shivering under the covers, clutching them with deathly pale hands, moaning in pain. When the healers asked him about his recent clients, he answered in a hoarse, painful voice : 'Sold a hundred short swords to ol' Moirrey there, in the woods…' A violent spasm shook his imposing body, and he coughed violently. When he spoke again, it was with great difficulty : 'Please… Save my family !' Laying a hand on his arm, Viviana whispered : 'I promise you to do anything in my power.' This seemed to reassure him, and he laid back on the pillows.

His wife was sleeping in the next bed : a woman in her thirties, her dark hair tangled and moist with sweat. Her skin was an unhealthy bluish colour, with dark circles under her eyes. Her chest rose irregularly. 'She can't breathe', murmured Viviana, and Dagonet nodded in consent. The sick woman was clutching a bundle to her body. Suddenly, a small hand emerged from the folds of fabric, and Viviana felt her heart constrict painfully. Marcus and his wife had a child, only a baby, whose life was condemned before it even really began if she didn't find a cure soon. This responsibility dawned upon her, and her hands shook in panic, but Dagonet caught them in his strong, scarred ones : 'Viviana, listen to me. You will not carry this weight alone. I am here.' She shook her head, staring at the floor, and he let go of her hands to lift her chin with his calloused finger, his thumb brushing her cheek tenderly. She looked into his silver eyes ; they held a devotion, a tenderness and a faith that she had only seen once, before. Such was the look that Arthur cast on his young wife ; such was the way Guinevere gazed back at him, when she laid her hand on his arm for support, when she stood beside him in the Table Room. A look of love ; she could've not recognized it, otherwise, and this new knowledge gave her the strength she needed to overcome her fears. If Dagonet had faith in her, she would live up to his trust.

Smiling lightly, Viviana laid her hand on his, leaning into his palm, closing her eyes. Their fingers entwined as he pulled her closer, and her head came to rest on his chest. She listened to his steady heartbeat, took in his fragrance and his warmth. Feeling his lips on her forehead, she looked up to see his eyes darken, and he leaned in again for a kiss that made her weak in the knees. She grabbed his tunic, clinging to him as he deepened the kiss. So tender, so powerful… Their little moment of peace in the middle of the upcoming mayhem.

The door banged open, and Lancelot and Gawain burst in, dragging a body behind them. 'It's Tristan', breathed the blonde knight. 'He passed out in the courtyard.'

Tearing herself from Dagonet's embrace, Viviana ran to the knights, and laid her hand on the scout's forehead : he was consumed by a fever so high she wondered how he had been able to keep up the pretence for so long. 'What is wrong with him ?' asked Lancelot. 'Influenza', she answered. 'Warn Arthur that we are facing an epidemic. From now on the fort must be quarantined.'