- 10 / Burn -

Viviana could see the sky through the small window near the ceiling of her cell. Its grey colour meant that dawn was near. The air was cold and she shivered, wrapping her arms around herself in an attempt to keep warm.

She was sitting on a small stone bench carved in the wall, thinking about Elysius' insane plot. In Arthur's absence, Guinevere was in command. The Woad was intelligent and skilled in battle ; while she was alive, no rebellion could take and burn the fort. And the man who could kill her traitorously is not born yet, Viviana thought with a grim satisfaction. At least, Camboglanna was safe.

As for her… No one would worry when she didn't return, and even if they did, she was too far from the fort, in a place so well-hidden that all of Tristan's scouting skills would not suffice to find her in time. She would've liked to believe that the knights would find her and save her, like the heroes they were destined to become over the centuries. But legends remained legends. The knights she knew were only people, brave and skilled in battle, but still only human, with human strength and wisdom. In a few hours, the priest's followers would come to take her to her death. And what a horrible death it would be…

She whimpered in terror, curling up in a ball on the cold stone bench. She was so scared of what was to come : the pain, and her own life ending, without nothing to follow… Would she just cease to exist, or was there something more after she passed away from this world ? She hoped there was, for the thought of the world just going on like she never existed was suddenly unbearable to her. She really, really wanted to live. Tears filled up her eyes, and she cried for what seemed like hours, her face buried in her hands, her exhausted body trembling in fear and cold.

Upon hearing footsteps, she looked up, her heart beating wildly with a mad hope : the knights had come to rescue her. Approaching the iron bars of the cell, she knew it was impossible, but a small part of her refused to acknowledge the harsh reality. Her heart sank when she recognised the man who had murdered an ill woman in the name of God, and she recoiled into a corner. 'Witch', he spat, his eyes burning with hatred, 'Your time has come.'

She saw the fire begin to devour the pile of wood she was standing on, and she struggled with all her strength, trying to pry her wrists free from the ropes that were cutting into her skin. The logs were dry. She knew this meant that there would be no merciful death by asphyxia. Her sentence was cremation ; her agony would be complete. Blue smoke rose towards the clear sky, the acrid smell pricking her nostrils. The followers cheered loudly, eager to see her burn, to see her flesh turn to ash and her bones blacken in the heat of the pyre. The crowd was avid of sensations, drawn to her torment like leeches to a bleeding wound. Viviana watched them mass around the pyre, a show of rotten teeth and rags… Avid faces, feverish stares, no help to be expected from them. Reality finally caught up with her. She was going to die. Her heart constricted painfully in her chest, and she trembled in fear.

The flames were now licking the top of the pile of wood, nearing dangerously her feet, and she shrank back against the pillar, trying to escape the fire. The clamours got louder, the crowd impatient to hear her scream in pain as she was consumed alive. Her breathing was becoming laboured, her lungs burned with smoke, her strength was waning. He will not come… The sneering faces began to spin, and her vision darkened ; she tried to focus, but all she saw were coloured dots swimming in a black fog. Half-consciously, she felt something warm trickle down her fingers : her blood, flowing freely from the chafed wounds on her wrists. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears and she inhaled deeply, thick smoke rushing into her lungs. How I wish I could see him one last time… Viviana threw her head back in an attempt to capture some air, although she knew she was only extending her agony ; her will to live was stronger than her fear of the pain, despite what she had always thought. Her body screamed for oxygen, and through her pained eyes she saw a bird soar freely across the cloudless sky… A hawk.

The same instant, fearful screams and screeches of disappointment erupted from the crowd beneath, and an arrow embedded itself into one of the fanatics' chest. As darkness claimed her, she felt the ropes restraining her loosen and strong arms snatch her away from the deadly heat.

It felt as though someone was cradling her gently in a warm blanket. She could smell leather and herbs, the fragrance reassuring to her numb mind. Through her half-closed eyelids, she could see nothing but darkness, and yet she was not scared. She was still alive, that much she could gather from the signals her body was starting to send her. Her throat was dry and swollen, even swallowing brought her pain. Her whole body ached. Snuggling against the blanket, she managed to stick her head out into the fresh air, and saw Dagonet's face.

Relief washed over her, and she could have cried with joy. The big knight was holding her close against him, wrapped in his cloak, urging his horse forward. She studied him : his brow was creased in a worried frown, his eyes fixed intently on the road. His cheek was sporting a crimson burn, and his whole face was marred with a dark substance that Viviana identified as a mix of soot and blood. So it must have been him who saved me from the pyre… He must have jumped into it to cut her free, she realised with a rush of gratitude, and… fear ? Was she afraid for him ?

She had thought about him as they led her to what should have been her death, she recalled, but she also had thought about her family, and all the people she loved. Loved… If she had been completely honest with herself, she would have seen this coming, would have realised that unbeknownst to her the gentle knight had fought for her heart, and that she had lost. The idea of him dead, or even simply not there, was suddenly unbearable to her ; she had grown too depending on his quiet and reassuring presence, on his kind words, his kind smile, so warm to her heart.

As her senses were coming back to her, Viviana noticed that the rocking movement of the gallop was far from gentle. The horse leapt over a log, and Viviana felt herself lose the precarious balance. She grabbed Dagonet's arm in order not to fall off, and instantly he pulled her closer, holding her tightly against him. He looked down, his face deadly serious, just like when he returned from the scouting missions, his armour crimson with both his and his enemies' blood. 'All is well, Viviana. You are safe. I will not let you fall.' 'Thank you', she murmured, exhaustion taking its toll, her eyelids heavy. 'For saving me.' He leaned in to kiss the top of her head. 'I thought you were lost', he whispered into her hair, his voice hoarse. 'I thought you were dead.' They rode in silence for a while. 'Sleep', he spoke finally. 'The Wall is still far.'

Viviana snuggled deeper into his cloak, content to have him near. High above, the dark sky was clear of clouds, the stars lighting up softly the cold night. The rhythmic thundering of hooves finally lulled her to sleep.

When she woke up again, Viviana was lying in her bed, dressed in her nightgown. The sun was already high in the sky, its light entering through the window, playing on the stone walls. When she tried to get out of bed, she saw that her wrists had been carefully bandaged, meaning that Dagonet had tended to her wounds the previous night while she was sleeping.

A new maid named Ailse helped her wash and dress, supporting her when she winced in pain, as water bit into her wounds. She was about the same age as Viviana, and it was her first job. In order to try to hide her inexperience, she prattled nervously about the dull life of the fort ; Viviana tried her best to reassure the girl, but her usually compassionate heart was elsewhere. Getting done with dressing as soon as she could, she slipped out of the room and headed for the Healing Rooms.