Warning: Major (and completely random) character death.

Ajihad was sick. They had just gone back into the pavilion when he suddenly dropped to the ground. Angela and a few other healers were looking at him inside, and had kicked out everyone else out.

Pigeon was stalking back and forth in front of the tent, waiting, just like all the other people who had been kicked out were doing. It wasn't like he really had anything else to do. He could always go to the training grounds to get beaten up again, but that really wasn't a very favorable idea.

A few minutes later, one of the healers came out of the tent and said to them, "Ajihad has greenthroat."

"He's got what?" asked Pigeon, as the others let out gasps of horror.

"You don't know what greenthroat is?" asked the healer disbelievingly.

"No."

"It's a disease that makes the victim's throat get clogged up in green mucus, stopping them from eating or drinking or breathing. There is no cure, and... and it's contagious. By air."

The horror of the situation dawned on Pigeon. "Oh God," he whispered. If it was contagious, and by air, no less, then it wouldn't be very long until half the army got it. Starting with the people who had been near him in the last few hours, including Pigeon. And Dusk, still in the enemy's camp. "Does it kill everyone who gets it?"

"Can we cure it by magic?" asked Eragon.

"No-one's survived it yet, and you can't just go around curing everything with magic," the healer snapped.

"May I check?" asked Arya.

The healer glared at her. "Fine, but I told you, magic can't cure this. It's been tried before."

"By human magicians, maybe," said Arya, walking inside. The healer muttered something nasty about elves and followed her in.

Arya came back out soon enough, shaking her head. Pigeon looked back at the other elf. Rillon actually looked a bit... scared. Pigeon gulped.

A different healer ushered them all into the tent, which some of the people seemed pretty reluctant to do. "Relax," the healer said. "We've probably all got it now anyways."

That wasn't a very reassuring thought.

"Here's the plan," said Angela, standing up. Ajihad was still unconscious on the ground, and he looked deathly pale. Actually, Pigeon wasn't sure whether he was just unconscious or actually... he shuddered, not wanting to think about it. "Ajihad isn't dead yet, but he will be soon."

"Why aren't you doing anything to help him then?" Nasuada demanded.

"Because there is nothing we can do," said Angela. "But like I said, here's the plan: Everyone we find with greenthroat will be transported back here, and the area around this pavilion must be cleared completely. All of us are going to stay here, since we've all got a chance of carrying the disease. Except Saphira," she said, and the dragon nodded. Only her head and neck were in the tent. "So Saphira, you're in charge of bringing anyone with greenthroat here, as well as clearing the area."

Yes, said Saphira, and she retreated out of the tent.

"Are you sure that she can't catch it?" asked Jormundur.

"If she can, then we're all dead," said Angela, shrugging. "Let's just hope she can't."

At that moment, Ajihad began coughing. Globs of green mucus and blood flew out of his mouth as he spasmed on the ground.

"Father!" Nasuada cried, running over to Ajihad. "Father, please. Don't-"

Ajihad's face was already turning purple. After one last cough, he fell silent.

"-die," Nasuada finished. She stared at Ajihad's body in shock, and then she cried.

"That's the first victim then," said Angela, ignoring Nasuada's sobbing. She took a deep breath. "The rest of you should be reacting to it soon enough. First you'll feel tired and weak, and then you'll collapse, and then that." She gestured at Ajihad's body. "And after you, comes us." She was talking about the healers.

Just then, there was a commotion at the entrance of the tent. Two soldiers were flung in.

"Hey! You stupid lizard, what're you doing!" one of them shouted at Saphira.

"Stay," Jormundur snapped, when he made a move to rush out of the tent. The soldiers looked back and noticed Jormundur for the first time.

"Sorry sir, didn't notice you," one of them said quickly. Then his gaze drifted over to where Nasuada was crying over Ajihad's body, and his face paled. "Is Ajihad dead?"

"What? Ajihad?" asked his companion. "Is that greenthroat?"

"You can tell?" asked one of the healers.

"Wiped out my whole family 'cept fer me, 'course I can tell," the taller soldier said. "So why are we here?"

"Because you've caught it. Greenthroat, that is."

Both soldiers stared at Angela in horror. "You joking?"

"Not in the least. Everyone with the sickness is being brought here. Wait, how can Saphira tell if they have it or not?"

"She says they smell off," said Eragon.

"It's probably just because we had a drink last night," said the shorter soldier hurriedly, backing away.

"Stay," Jormundur snapped. And then he suddenly paled and dropped to the ground.

"Shoot," said Pigeon, as one of the soldiers followed Jormundur's example. It was spreading already.

Saphira came back and threw another person in, this time a cook, judging by his uniform.

"What's going on!" the cook shouted. "Damn liz- Oh sorry, Argetlam sir, didn't see you there. And holy cow, what the hell happened here?"

"Greenthroat," said the remaining soldier, by way of an explanation. He was staring in horror at his friend.

"I have greenthroat?" asked the cook. "What's greenthroat?"

"It kills you," said the soldier shortly.

"Oh," said the cook. "Sucks." He was taking it surprisingly well.

And then it suddenly struck Pigeon: this was a cook. He had access to the Varden's food supply. He cooked food for the entire army. "Eragon, tell Saphira that she needs to get everyone out of the mess hall right now, and make sure none of them take any food with them."

"Why- Never mind, I'm telling her now," said Eragon. Nasuada suddenly slumped over her father's body. Pigeon's heart was racing. He would be next, he just knew it.

You will not die today, said a voice in his head. He jumped, looked around, and then concentrated on the tent walls.

The voice went on just as if he hadn't done anything. Listen closely, Pigeon: I can cure this army of the virus.

"Really?" asked Pigeon, and then realized he had said it aloud. Really?

Yes.

Who're you?

That does not matter, said the voice. I can and will save the Varden on one condition.

What is it?

You must become the new leader of the Varden.

"I- What?" But I'm just a kid!

The voice ignored him and said, I can help you with this, if you agree. If not, then the Varden perishes, and you will forever live with the knowledge that you could have stopped the death of thousands.

You're not giving me much of a choice.

No, the voice said. So is it agreed. It wasn't said as a question.

Jormundur began to cough. The others looked on helplessly as he died. Well, the ones who looked on at all looked on helplessly. Some people just stood there and didn't look scared or bothered at all by the impending doom. Pigeon felt a sudden surge of intense dislike for elves in general and for Arya in particular.

Yes! Pigeon cried. Hurry up!

There was something extremely smug about the way it said, Very well. Pigeon harbored the thought, for only a second, that maybe the voice had been the one to plant the disease in the first place. However, his suspicions were subsequently blown out of his mind, and he completely forgot about them.

There was a flash of light. Colored wind that wasn't really colored or even visible swirled around him. He blinked, and the world changed.