In My Time of Dying

#Corlys Corlys slowly opened his eyes, yawning as he scanned the ceiling. Curtains on the windows kept the sunlight out as it tried to brighten the room. He had the same nightmare again, the same one that had been replaying in his mind for months now. Clarice died in his arms, over and over again. Some nights she rose and attacked him, other times she stayed dead—Corlys wasn’t sure which he preferred. He gotten used to the dreams by now though and he no longer broke into sobs after waking. There was no real need for sadness anyway as Clarice was now always by his side.

Corlys tried to sit up and failed. His body had grown frail though Corlys wasn’t sure why. He had been eating all his meals with the children and Robert each morning. It was true that he’d missed a few meals here and there or neglected eating sometimes because he had other priorities, but he still wasn’t able to gain and keep any weight. It was perplexing and would have to be addressed soon.

Clarice and Lyarra appeared beside Corlys, each one grabbing a hand each. The two of them pulled Corlys up and helped him rise. Coverings slipped as he pushed himself up. Corlys ran a hand through his hair and sighed before greeting both Lyarra and Clarice. They had already begun their never-ending drone by the time Corlys got out of bed. It had become a morning ritual and he was greeted by their voices every morning. They sang their lullaby as he rocked himself to sleep each night. Corlys stretched and yawned as he walked over to a side table. He quickly drained the glass of water he’d poured himself.

Before he could set the glass back down, his eyes rolled into the back of his head and he fell sideways, smashing his head against the table. Glass shattered and sprayed Corlys as he convulsed on the floor. A guttural noise rose from his throat as he thrashed about. His arms and legs flailed and crashed with the table, fingers and toes twisting inwards as his limbs curled. Clarice and Lyarra watched carefully, their faces as blank as an unblemished canvas. Corlys’ throat tensed and his teeth chattered, his head banging against the floor with each shudder. Blood grouped around the spot where Corlys had hit the table and then subsequently the floor. The small table fell over as the convulsions continued.

#Vaemar

Vaemar smiled as he opened his eyes, greeting the new day with a giggle. He quickly sat up and looked around for Big Man, offering him a quick wave before throwing his covers away and climbing out of bed. His feet pattered on the floor and he fought the urge to sit. The story of Ser Sawayne the Mirror Knight had resonated with Vaemar and he had decided that he would try and not sit all the time. Maegor had even convinced him to stop taking everyone’s toys. Maegor’s words mostly stuck, though some toys were too tempting to not take. A few maids hurried into the room with Vaemar’s breakfast, but they didn’t feed him. Vaemar’s stomach grumbled as the smells wafted towards him. They didn’t feed him because that was Daddy’s job. Daddy had been feeding Vaemar every day after Mommy left with Second Mommy to go on their adventure. Vaemar yawned and plopped down, picking up his own knight and horsey combo. A nice man had visited recently and he gave daddy a bunch of toys. Vaemar had taken the two most similar to Maegor’s. He resumed playing the game he’d started at that party.

After a few minutes he rose from the floor and headed towards the door. With a quick laugh he jumped up and opened the door. Vaemar liked opening doors and would shuffle through the hallways and open doors at random. A few people had yelled at him, but they weren’t nearly as scary as Daddy or Maegor. There was always a nagging urge to sit in the back of Vaemar’s mind. Sometimes it was easy to say ‘no’ and other times Vaemar would quickly give in.

“Wee!” he squealed as he ran down the hallway in the direction of the nursery. Lucky, Baelon, and Rhaenys had been staying in there together. Vaemar wouldn’t have been happy sharing his room, but Lucky didn’t seem to mind—he actually enjoyed it. Lucky was different from him, but Vaemar still liked him. He was fun to play with and always gave Vaemar toys. Sometimes he didn’t even have to ask. Vaemar began hopping forward once he noticed Big Man had fallen behind. Each hop elicited a sound effect from Vaemar. He had to slow down sometimes to let Big Man or One Arm Man catch up. One Arm Man didn’t talk a lot, but Vaemar liked him as well. He was funny and reminded Vaemar of Grather.

The Prince arrived around the nursery and landed with a final hop which generated the loudest sound effect of the morning. Lucky was sitting outside the nursery with tears in his eyes. Vaemar frowned and walked over. He squatted in front of Lucky. “What’s wrong? Why are you crying?”

Lucky looked up and wiped away a tear. “Rhae and Bae. They not wake with me. They keep sleep when I try wake. Then they not talk.” Lucky reached out and grabbed Vaemar, who pulled him into a hug.

“Daddy will be here soon and he’ll make them talk. He’ll wake them, don’t cry Lucky,” Vaemar said, rubbing his brother’s back. His face lit up and he exclaimed, “Let’s go inside! Maybe we can wake them before Daddy does.” Vaemar smiled at his little brother. Sometimes Vaemar randomly smelled smoke and another smell that almost made him spit up all the food he’d had in a day. He could almost see Mommy covered with sticks and then there was a lot of red that jumped around. The dancing red and orange and yellow. The stick box appeared in Vaemar’s mind now, but Lucky was more important. Rhae and Bae were more important.

“Prince Vaemar, you shouldn’t go in. Something isn’t right,” a guard said, barring the entrance.

#Rhaenys

Rhaenys coughed weakly as someone looked at her. She shivered despite being wrapped in half a dozen blankets. Slowly she shifted her head towards her brother. Baelon’s nose kept running and he too shivered. Both of them were bundled in warm furs, but everything was still so cold. Rhaenys tried to turn away from the man, but he held her down and pressed a hand to her forehead.

“She’s burning up…” he said, letting go over her and walking toward her brother’s crib. “Baelon too. We need to bring their temperatures down immediately. Get ice water and towels. Someone tell His Grace—Oh Gods, Baelon’s eyes. Summon Grand Maester Garvein. Seven Hells, if these two…” the man’s voice died.

Rhaenys’ body ached and shook after each cough. It was like someone kept squeezing her with all their might and wouldn’t let go. “Dadadada,” she moaned, tears pricking the corners of her eyes. “Dadadad.”

#Corlys

Breaths came to Corlys in rapid succession as he lay on the floor. His attempts to breathe deeply failed as he pondered how long he’d been on the floor. Several minutes must have passed and Corlys was unsure whether someone had come in or not. His head ached, it was as if it’d been trampled by a boar—a dozen boars. Hesitantly he reached for his head. Dampness pervaded through his hair and he saw his fingers were coated in a thin layer of red. Corlys wasn’t sure how badly he was bleeding or whether it’d be visible to any. The episodes never lasted too long, but there was always the fear that he’d spent half a day lying on his back. Clarice and Lyarra were nowhere to be found. Maybe they ran off to get help. He grimaced at the thought of being seen like this. Only Valaena knew of this, though perhaps not the full extent of it. She was the only other soul in the world that knew about his illness and mental deterioration.

The door flew open as Tygett and a guard barged in. “Your Grace,” the guard bowed, “Baelon and Rhaenys are gravely ill. Please, come with me.” That news blew away the fog that had enveloped Corlys and washed away the fatigue that accompanied the episodes.

“No, please no,” Corlys whispered and absently motioned for the guard to go. He ignored the stares from Tygett and the guard. They must’ve been looking at the blooming redness in Corlys’ hair, but that didn’t matter now. When the guard failed to move, Corlys left the room without him and bounded towards the nursery with Tygett following behind. He ignored any in the hallway, whether they were guards, servants, or nobles. None of them mattered in the slightest. His legs had grown as weak as the rest of his body had, but Corlys made each one move. A gathering of people and… Vaemar and Lucky… came into view as Corlys approached the nursery. Moisture gathered around Lucky’s eyes as Vaemar comforted him. Corlys panted as he approached the two.

“Everything will be okay. I’m here now,” Corlys reassured the two, pulling them into an embrace. Lucky and Vaemar snuggled against him, burying their faces into his chest. His clothes were damp with sweat, but neither Lucky nor Vaemar seemed to want to let go. Daddy, you smell.

“Daddy, your hair… it’s red?” Vaemar asked, pulling away from Corlys. He reached up to touch Corlys’ hair and brought down a red hand. His eyes widened as he asked, “What’s wrong, Daddy?” Corlys wiped Vaemar’s hand with his shirt.

“Fater? Are you okay?” Lucky asked, worry and apprehension clear in his voice.

“It’ll be okay, just wait here. I’m going to go inside to see your brother and sister.” A red hand print marked Corlys’ chest as he rose and turned towards the closed nursery door. “Where is Garvein? Go get him. Now,” Corlys commanded, ordering two guards stationed outside to fetch the Grand Master. They bolted in the direction of his quarters.

Clarice stood outside the door and was quiet for a change. Corlys felt a sense of foreboding as he followed Clarice into the nursery. A maester stood over the cribs and was checking both children. He turned towards Corlys and his face was stretched and drawn.

“They are very ill, Your Grace. They both have an astoundingly high fever and we’re using damp towels and a mix of peppermint and elderberry to counter it. There are other remedies to lower the fever, but there are other symptoms. We won’t know more until the Grand Maester arrive,” the maester said apologetically.

“Fuck Garvein,” Corlys growled. “He couldn’t save Lyarra and I have no confidence he’ll be able to save my children.” Corlys pushed past the maester and reached down to touch Rhaenys’ cheek. He combed her hair back and she stared at him. Her amber eyes fluttered. Amber eyes. Clarice stood above Baelon, running her hand through his hair. Everything seemed to close around Corlys, the world shrinking before him. He could faintly hear Vaemar and Lucky’s voices. Something dripped down the side of his head and Corlys wiped at it with his hand. No need for tears. Everything is fine. He looked at his hand and stared at the blood on it. Another voice joined Baelor—no, Vaemar and Viserys? No, Viserys is dead. Grandfather is here. Corlys turned to look at Vaemar and a tiny Lucerys. Everything spun. He doubled over and vomited, falling to a knee and spewing forth clear liquid.

“You killed them. You killed them,” Clarice droned, towering over Corlys.

“Shut the fuck up, Clarice!” Corlys bellowed at the apparition. “Be silent!” The room came back into focus as did the figures surrounding him. Vaemar and Lucky were crying. Corlys wiped the taste of vomit from his mouth and rose to his feet. He panted, looking around, challenging anyone to comment.

“Where is Garvein?” Corlys asked, desperation leaking into his voice. He repeated the question, managing to steady his voice as the room continued to shake.