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Don’t let me die like this. I don’t want to die. Please, Lyonel. Please don’t let me die.
Alys’ pleas echoed inside his mind as he sat by her bedside. He had not moved in three days and no force could make him. His grip around her wrist and the slow, but steady rhythm of her pulse was the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth.
She was in the Gods’ hands now. At least, that was what the septons kept telling him. He’d threatened to cut out their tongues and likely would have, were it not for Maester Syzario.
Whatever combinations of serums and ointments the old man had concocted had stopped the infection. He could easily see the color returning to her cheeks. The sting of copper and sickness no longer filled his nose. All the same, he could not bring himself to leave her.
She had called for him. The way her screams pierced through the thick oak wood of her chamber door would haunt him for the rest of his days.
He'd survive war. He knew what it was to fear the Stranger. Never had he felt it so acutely as when he saw it in his wife’s eyes, her grip on his hand so tight he could feel the bones begin to crack.
Don’t let me die like this. I don’t want to die. Please, Lyonel. Please don’t let me die.
The midwives had pulled their son screaming from her womb, but despite the months of waiting for his arrival, Lyonel could not spare him a second thought.
Blood kept pooling out of her. It gathered on the bed, too thick to fully soak into the sheets. Somewhere far away he would hear frightened voices and frantic movement. All he was truly aware of was the chill of her skin and how her hand went limp in his.
He couldn’t recall much after that save for the foolish attempts of others to pull him away.
None of them understood. His Alys was fierce, the fiercest woman he knew. The Stranger would do her will. She simply needed to turn him away. He was still here. Their son was here waiting for her. The Gods could not have her.
Maester Syzario at least agreed. He also knew better than to try to physically force his liege lord away. He initially called the servants, tempting him with the promise of food or rest. There were the appeals to his health and his duties. He’d even asked the wet nurse to present his son, hoping the babe would be enough to turn his lord’s thoughts to that of a father rather than a husband.
Lyonel refused all. Alys had called for him and so he would stay until she dismissed him. Their son could wait. His mother deserved to hold him first. And if she could not… he couldn’t look at the boy.
He bowed his head, his hands collapsed around hers as if in prayer.
“Forgive me Alys,” he murmured. “Please. I’m so sorry. Forgive me.”
He had been a fool. They had already lost three in the womb. Although he suspected there were still more Alys kept secret from him. He had seen what it had done to her, but the maesters kept insisting it was only a matter of time. The Gods’ willed them to wait. She was young and healthy. Her sisters had proven ample child bearers. And this one seemed so determined to live.
Fuck them all. And damn him to the hells for being so blind.
Don’t let me die like this. I don’t want to die. Please, Lyonel. Please–.
“Lyonel?”
He bolted upright, his heart clenching as his breath shuttered out of him. Her voice was too small, too cracked, but Gods save him, it was the sweetest sound.
“I’m here,” he promised. “I have you, Alys.”
He leaned over the bed, cupping her face in his hand as he pressed a kiss to her forehead. Her skin was still chill and damp with sweat, but he could not bring himself to care. She was awake. Blue eyes shone up at him, open and clear. `He did not know whether to laugh or weep. The only thing in the world that could matter now was Alys.
“I’ll tell the maester you’re awake.”
He started to pull away only to be stopped by the shake of her head.
“I’m well,” she insisted. “The child?”
A small bit of shame twisted at his insides. He had not laid eyes on the boy since they last tried to tempt him away from her.
"Healthy," he answered. “Strong too, if his lungs are any indication.”
“A son?”
He nodded, his first smile in days finally cracking across his face.
She tried to match him. The line of her lips splintered into a fragile estimate, but it could not hold. Water pooled in her eyes. She sucked in a sharp breath in some vain attempt to keep them at bay only for her throat to betray her with a dreadful sob.
Her whole body shook with the force of it, chipping away at his heart piece by piece. He could not recall a time he’s seen her like this. He longed for a task, a target, something tangible he could do to take the pain away.
He crawled onto the bed beside her, pulling her into his lap. Hot tears streamed down her face as she clung to him. He could feel his shirt grow damp against his skin, but he just held her tighter. It was all he could do.
“It’s over,” he promised. “I have you. You’re here. I have you Alys. It’s done.”
She shook her head, pressing herself deeper into his chest. Had she the strength, he imagined his ribs would be cracking. Not that it would make a difference. He’d let her crush his lungs in, if that’s what she needed.
“Don’t make me do it again,” she begged. “Please Lyonel. Don’t make me do it again. Not again. Please. Please–”
“I won’t,” he swore. “We have our son. One is enough.”
“But what if he dies?” she cried. “What if he doesn’t survive past the cradle? I can’t do it again, Lyonel. Please. I can’t.”
“Then Gowen will be the heir,” he answered, firmly. “Our father will roll in his grave and he can keep rolling down through all seven hells for all I care.”
He cupped her face, guiding her to look at him. Exhaustion and fear plagued her red stained eyes, but she did not turn away. He took it for the gift it was. Despite it all, she still had faith in him.
“I am grateful for our son,” he said, slowly as to ensure she heard to every word. “I will love him and protect him as surely as any father would, but I could not forgive any who would take you from this world. No one will force you to have another. It was my cloak I placed on your shoulders. You are mine and I am yours and I swear to you, I will not allow any to bring you such harm again. I’m sorry I ever did.”
She did not answer him in words. Her arms only wrapped themselves about his neck, before pulling him into a desperate kiss.
Lyonel did not hesitate, kissing her back with an earnestness as deep as his vows.
She was his and he was hers, from this day, until his last day. And if the Gods did not expect a fight, they would ensure to take him first.
“My lord?”
He did not remove himself from his wife’s lips, only barely registering the voice had come from the door.
“My lord?”
Alys proved to be more discerning, turning away from his attentions enough to address the man.
“Maester Syzario,” she greeted, her breath still shaking with emotion.
Lyonel was listening now, but that did not stop his lips from moving to her cheek and temple and any other bit of skin he could reach. Alys could be as courteous as she wished, but he knew her mind. His only purpose now was to give what comfort he could.
It was a credit to the old Maester that he did not shy away from his lord’s obvious display. He only looked to be waiting for the rain to stop.
“I’m glad to see you awake, my lady,” he said, warmly. “How do you feel?”
“Tired,” she admitted. “A little hungry.”
“Any pain?”
“Some.”
That finally pulled Lyonel away, his eyes widening in alarm.
“Did I–?”
She silenced him with another kiss, placing a gentle hand on his cheek.
“No, my love,” she assured. “A mere ache. Nothing dire.”
Lyonel’s brows furrowed, turning his attention to Maester Syzario.
He seemed to anticipate his lord’s question. “I shall need to do an examination to ensure all is healing properly. After, I shall administer some milk of the poppy. If all has gone well, rest and nourishment will be all that is required.”
Lyonel let out a long sigh. That would also mean he’d have to let Alys go for a time. He wasn’t keen on the idea and if the way her arms remained around his neck was any indication, she was just as reluctant.
“If you wish to delay a moment, perhaps you would like to see your son,” Maester Syzario offered.
She flinched. It was a small thing. Had he not been so close, Lyonel imagined he might have missed it. It was answer enough.
“My lady is tired,” he said, his voice decidedly calm. “Some bread if she can keep it down, and milk of the poppy to help her sleep a while longer. If she is not in immediate danger, you may conduct your examination after.”
“My lady?” the Master asked.
She nodded. “I think that would be best.”
The old man did not attempt to argue. With a small bow, stepped out of the room, allowing them the privacy both needed.
As soon as the door closed, Alys let out a staggered breath as her head fell to his shoulder.
“I am a terrible mother,” she whispered.
Lyonel gave her a gentle squeeze as he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “No. Babe or not, he had you battle the Stranger for three days. It will take time, that is all.”
“But what if I can’t…”
She did not finish the thought, but he could easily guess at the rest.
She was supposed to be happy in the sacrifice; her life for her child if needs be. And she had been afraid. Some would call her coward, but he knew battle. Those who fought bravest were the ones that wanted to live the most. If there could be one thing he’d hoped the mother of his child would be, it was fierce.
“No,” he repeated. “Do not agonize about it now. You are going to be well again, and the rest will come as it will.”
He doubted she believed him. He knew her too well, but she did not press further as she settled against him.
“Will you stay with me?” she asked. “Just until I fall asleep again.”
“I am yours to command, my lady.”
And he did stay. He helped her swallow down a few bites of bread. He held her hand when the Maester returned to ensure the bleeding had indeed stopped. His fingers ran through her hair as she sipped on milk of the poppy. Only when she was once again asleep, the rise and fall of her chest as steady a rhythm as her heart did he finally leave her.
He moved slowly, his legs weak from lack of use. His stomach made it clear he needed to eat. His mind begged for sleep, but he could not give into either just yet.
With steady purpose he made his way to the nursery.
Their son needed him now. There was no telling how long it would take Alys to be able to embrace the boy. He would carry the weight of it, for as long as it took.
Don’t let me die like this. I don’t want to die. Please, Lyonel. Please don’t let me die.
Never again. For the love of everything. Never again.