Chapter Seventeen: Encephalitis (Please Favorite, Please Recommend)

At noon, in Morgana’s chamber, nearly all members of the royal family were gathered. King Uther sat at the bedside, holding Morgana’s hand tightly, his eyes anxiously fixed on Gaius across the room. Arthur and Merlin stood silently by the doorway, while Kay loomed behind the king, his expression dark and brooding.

Everyone awaited Gaius’s diagnosis.

Gaius placed his fingers gently on Morgana’s neck, then carefully pried open her eyelids, scrutinizing the subtle changes in her pupils.

After nearly ten minutes, Gaius quietly tucked the blanket around Morgana and turned to King Uther with a grave expression.

“How is she? Gaius, is my Morgana going to be alright?” King Uther asked, hope shining in his eyes. Like any parent, he wished for his child to never fall ill, and if sickness came, to be nothing serious. Uther clung to the hope that Morgana was simply exhausted from preparing the feast the night before.

“I’m very sorry, Your Majesty,” Gaius said solemnly. As the kingdom’s foremost healer, essentially the era’s physician, he could not conceal the truth. “It’s encephalitis.”

All of Morgana’s symptoms perfectly matched the late stage of encephalitis—a diagnosis Gaius could not mistake. Though not uncommon, this disease primarily afflicted young children. Morgana was twenty-three; how could she possibly have contracted such an illness?

Encephalitis was known as a childhood killer, a disease fiercely guarded against by families with young children. Typically, it presented with early warning signs: several days of fever, headaches, nausea, vomiting, fatigue, and altered consciousness. Only in its final stages did it manifest symptoms like Morgana’s—high fever, coma, and dilated pupils—at which point treatment was nearly impossible.

“How could this be…” King Uther suddenly felt dizzy, his vision darkening. Had he not caught himself on the bedpost, he might have fallen. Kay was quick to steady him.

“Your Majesty…” Kay’s voice was laced with concern.

Uther waved off Kay’s hand with a faint shake of his head and turned back to Gaius, his voice trembling with disbelief. “How could this happen? Morgana can’t possibly have this cursed encephalitis!”

Gaius himself was puzzled. How had Morgana contracted the disease? The timeline made no sense—just last night after the feast, she had seemed vibrant and full of life, showing no signs of illness. How could she have deteriorated so rapidly in mere hours?

Still, dwelling on the past was futile now. The disease’s progression varied with the infecting pathogen, and Morgana’s rapid decline, while unusual, was not impossible.

“Perhaps it’s a severe infection,” Gaius ventured carefully, knowing Uther’s temperament well. He needed to be transparent to prevent the king from spiraling into worse despair.

Uther had no energy to question how Morgana fell ill; he only wanted to know what could be done.

“Gaius, there must be a way to save her, right?”

Gaius hesitated, the weight of the situation pressing heavily upon him. In truth, her condition was nearly hopeless. Yet seeing his old friend’s red-rimmed eyes and shattered spirit, he could not refuse.

“I will administer a sedative to halt the progression of her symptoms and then do everything I can…” Gaius said, his voice tinged with uncertainty. He was a healer, not a miracle worker.

But Uther, like all who face such trials, clung to hope. Seeing the doctor present was reassurance enough. He settled beside Morgana, tenderly holding her hand and pressing a gentle kiss upon it. Whispering softly, he vowed, “Rest assured, my girl, your father will heal you. I promise.”

Almost everyone fretted over Uther and Morgana’s state—everyone except Kay.

The one who should have been most shaken remained unnervingly composed. Though his face betrayed concern, his eyes were calm and calculating. No one noticed this but Merlin.

Merlin’s keen perception, a gift of his magical talent, made him sensitive to such subtleties. He sensed Kay’s unusual calm and couldn’t help but wonder if the knight was truly as cold-hearted as he seemed.

Standing behind King Uther, Kay sifted through every piece of information in his mind, searching for inconsistencies.

Suddenly, he caught someone watching him—Merlin’s gaze met his. Kay was not surprised; Merlin’s reputation as a prodigious mage was well known, and having observed him personally, Kay acknowledged his superior talent compared to his own.

They exchanged a brief look, Kay sending a subtle signal for Merlin to read between the lines.

Startled, Merlin quickly lowered his eyes.

At last, Uther regained composure. Kay decided it was time to act.

“Gwen,” he called softly to the young black maiden who had been quietly weeping nearby. The others didn’t know what Kay intended, but seeing that King Uther paid no mind, they remained silent.

Gwen approached, her heart heavy with worry—not only for Morgana’s condition but also for her own sense of responsibility as the princess’s attendant. With the princess lying so ill, Gwen felt the weight of duty and feared Kay might hold her accountable, knowing too well the precariousness of Uther’s reputation and how easily blame could be cast.

The air in the chamber grew thick with unspoken fears as the fragile hope for Morgana’s recovery hung in the balance.