A vow to serve
Prompt: Sick fic for @hotd-bigbang
Pairing: Daeron the drunken/Dreamer x Margella Tyrell (Original Female Chracter)
Sick!Daeron x Caregiver!Margella
Summary: Margella wonders about her feelings of exhaustion and guilt while still caring religiously for her husbands's decaying health.
Warnings: Mentions of chronic illness and pain (physical and mental), themes relating to anticipatory grief but without death of characters, caregiver exhaustion mentioned
Wordcount: 3500 words
Notes: I loved writing this and creating this new OC, it was also the first time writing this heavier sickfic format!
Dear Sister Lena,
218 AC Summerhall
I write to you in despair. I use this ink and this paper as a means to vent, and selfishly so, for I still send these words to you instead of casting them into the sea. Daeron is ill. He has been in poor health for years now, as you already know, but he is getting worse by the second. The maester believes his lungs are infected and his heart is faltering. That can still be treated, they say, but they don't know what to do about his mind. It seems to fight all reason. Some nights ago, he left the bed when I went to pray in the sept, even against the orders of the maesters. He went drinking heavily again. The guards brought him in poor condition, so I spent the night caring for him. When he woke up, he cried and apologized, as he always does, with his poor sad wet eyes that I adore so much. I know it's not his fault, but why does bliss never last? Prince Maekar's worry and shame grow in equal measure, but so do my feelings of loneliness. I sleep by his side every night in his sickbed, I'm scared to leave him alone. Sometimes I wake in terror because he is in so much pain, and sometimes because I dream he is. I ask you, sister, for your guidance and for your presence. If you can, come to Summerhall. These days, I catch myself detaching from reality and thinking about my young years as a novice under your care. I close my eyes and see the ocean before us, but my hope is not as boundless as its water. Please, come to me.
From your Margella, who loves you in faith and life
Sister Lena departed immediately for Summerhall when she received such a missive. When she arrived, Lady Margella hugged her with deep affection and felt comfort for the first time in many moons. The Septa was more of an observer during the first days in the royal place. Her former student was tired beyond description, and so was the prince. Sometimes he resented her care, he was frustrated, understandably. And yet, she also saw the tenderness, the sweet care, and love in Margella’s fingers when she fed him, and read for him. When Daeron was awake and not in deep pain or poor mood, he made her laugh easily and sought to comfort her too.
Lady Margella was a peculiar child when younger. She, from House Tyrell, was endowed with a certain beauty, like the botanicals of Highgarden, perhaps not like flowers but like ivy. She was sent at a young age to serve and study as a septa herself. She claimed to have been touched by the wonders of the gods once when she lost herself in the woods as a young girl. The girl made a vow of silence for six moons until her father agreed to let her go. She was never talkative or affectionate at home, but the total absence of speech made him too depressed to argue.
The life of service was a path of many flavors, as many would not expect. Besides the obvious obligations regarding chastity and faith, there was knowledge open to her, there were choices and duties, and the paths branched in many shapes. Beyond marriage and death, in womanhood, that was a liminal space where one could belong and not belong in society, a treasure for many who went there of their own free will or to escape undesirable unions. Many were the women to advise, inspire, and guide her, and many were the young girls she saw arriving whom she sought to inspire too. There were times when doubt surfaced, of course, about the future, old age, solitude and men, even so, Margella was happy with that life.
On one occasion, when she was visiting her family, she met the princes, the Targaryens themselves. That's where she saw Daeron for the first time. She told Sister Lena, "Sister, I've dreamed of him. I saw parts of who I was and who I ought to be. I am to be married to this man. In the past, I thought this life was my purpose, but now I must submit to another. Forgive me, sister, forgive me! My devotion must now lead in another direction." Sister Lena was speechless. She tried to persuade her pupil to commit to her vows, but to no avail. Daeron and Margella married not long after meeting each other. It was quite an unlikely match that only got approved by the High Septon because it was a demand by the royal house, and Margella was of noble lineage herself. Prince Maekar believed with conviction that a man needed a wife, and his son was no exception. Yet, none would fit him. So, if the septa was the one he wanted, he would move hell if needed, to make it happen. Maybe that could heal him, maybe that could save him, he thought.
"I have sinned, Sister Lena," Margella said to the septa during their daily prayers in solitude. They came to pray alone when Prince Maekar was in the room with Daeron. "Now the gods punish me with the reality of my thoughts," she spoke quietly in a soft voice in the prayer sept.
"What are you saying, girl? You, who have always cared for him so deeply, with so much patience, so much faith... I do not believe the truth in what you say, child."
"But you must, for I have harbored in my heart those feelings, and now they corrupt my soul as they corrupt his body," she wept quietly, just letting the water flow from her sunken eyes to her cheeks, feeding the feelings of shame. "I must tend to him now, I am anxious when I'm not..."
"Wait!" the septa proclaimed . "Unburden yourself, please explain, child, not as a confession. I know you well, I know your soul. I saw you grow since the moment you arrived in the Motherhouse at 10 years of age, and saw you flourish and falter and flourish once again." The elder woman continued, hoping that their past connection could allay her at last.
The younger one faced her with a sad and tender smile. " There 's not much to explain... My husband has shown me the most blissful of moments. I love him as he loves me, and yet, to know of such benediction makes this harder on us all. I have witnessed my husband's mental and physical decay through the years, and through the years I have tried, I have endured, the gods know I have. Nevertheless, the past two moons have proven too hard a trial... and yet, I pray." She started walking, signaling to her elder that she was not yet ready to talk about what she meant by that, by the letter, by her gaze. Margella walked back to where she always stayed in vigilance, beside the sickbed of Prince Daeron Targaryen, her beloved husband.
Prince Daeron lay in their shared chambers, covered in fresh linens and a blue and gold duvet. She made sure he was as comfortable as possible, clean, well cared for, treasured. His eyes were closed, sleeping dreamlessly, alas. The head maester had used an unadvised amount of milk of the poppy and sedative substances from a foreign root to induce a sleep that seemed dreamless enough for him to finally respire. His wife's routine during such days revolved around cleaning him from the fever sweat, brushing his hair, taking him to chamber pots , and making the room as fresh as possible for a sickroom. She sat close to touch his hand, caress his hair, and make sure he was breathing, that he was indeed alive when he was so deeply sedated. When she came back from praying, she took his hand in hers and kissed him, and then caressed her own face with his limp fingers.
"Please do not leave me in this place, husband, take me with you if you must go..." she whispered softly.
Margella brought a calm and tranquility to the prince that he could not completely understand. Their relationship flourished, as did the feelings they harbored for one another right after they met. She made him understand some of his premonitions, and for a while, he could see his peculiarities as a gift from heaven. Yet , his dreams did not stop. It kept happening, her presence just made hell easier to endure when he became delirious. As the years went by, and after the death of Prince Baelor Targaryen and his sons, Prince Daeron's paranoia and mental instability grew like a plague. It spread in all directions. He saw and tasted the beauty and kindness of the world, especially in his wife, and even so, even if she doted on him, he understood that the bliss and tranquility of spring was not meant for him. And that broke him even more. It did not matter how good she was, how kind the world could be, his soul was never going to be truly at peace. And with that came the guilt, in fact, the guilt had been there since the beginning, like a leash that needed time to grow. And so he drank, and dreamed, and cried, and drank even more, and fell ill many times in the process.
The lack of sleep from the fear of nightmares made his waking life a nightmare in itself. Suffice it to say the prince's presence was not a pleasure to endure, much less for himself. Everyone believed the prince had gone truly mad beyond salvation this time. His wife, however, was denying such accusations. She believed he was truly physically ill and that the illness was further harming his frail mental state. And she was indeed correct. Although this was more grievous than the others, he was prone to ailments, and his vices did not help. The prince had been in and out of consciousness for several days now, ultimately, his physical decay made his body too weak to protest being in bed.
"How was he in the afternoon, Lady Margella?" the old maester said while looking at the prince. He entered the room for the evening examination, as ordered.
"He slept," she took a sip of the tea "like he is now. Thankfully , I'm sure he is beyond tired."
He took his time to listen to the prince's chest, feel his skin and temperature. "He seems more comfortable than before, the heart's rhythm sounds and feels more regular, breathing is not so shallow now, so we have good indicators for a recovery..." He lifted the covers further, revealing the prince's legs and feet. "Looks less swollen today.. . that's good."
"I have been massaging his feet and legs. I noticed the swelling too. I don't know if it's the illness or a result of just being in bed for so long, but moving them seems to help , " she said confidently.
"Indeed, you should keep with that. In the moments he is awake, it's crucial, however, to keep him in this state as tranquil as possible and make sure he eats, his body won't be able to fight this without nourishment." He started preparing to leave after finishing the examination.
"Yes, maester, I know that... You know how he is, he will try to refuse everything but wine. I'll make sure he eats."
"I know you will, as always." The certainty in his voice was kind, she felt her actions acknowledged and smiled.
The prince slept deeply still. It was beyond the hour of the wolf when Margella woke up to her husband struggling with breathing. "Daeron!" With haste, she lifted his back with more pillows, easing the pressure in his lungs, and unlaced his chemise to cover his chest in salve and eucalyptus poultice. "My angel, hush, everything will be well . Breathe with me, please, please."
"Everything hurts..." such was the pain that he cried.
"Hush.. . I'll take care of you . Do not cry now, love, it will make it harder on your chest." Margella eased his labored breathing with the salve and her touch, and when he recovered his shallow but regular breathing, her own ribs relaxed again. "Better?"
"Yes... Thank you, my love." He caressed her. " I am so sorry... you should... sleep in the other room. I keep waking you up. You need rest. The maester can watch over me if you want."
"Drink this, love," she ignored his words and gave him an infusion with milk of the poppy and two drops of nightshade. "My angel... all is well. This will help you sleep again." She rearranged the covers and went to bed again by his side. Daeron spent the rest of the night in agony, the only comfort being the arms of his wife that wrapped him. He slept when the effects of the sedation hit. Margella did not sleep after.
The next day, Prince Maekar came to visit his son, as per usual, and Sister Lena convinced Margella to come with her and leave the room for a while. Prince Maekar also insisted on it, he could tell how much the burden was catching up to her. Lena told her to see the gardens, the weather was splendid, but the younger one made her way into the sept. There, under the gods' witness, the two women prayed, but Lena could feel the tension in Margella.
"Margella, what is burdening you? Is it not enough of a burden the illness in your husband? Must you burden yourself with guilt too?"
"Perhaps I must." She looked away.
"Tell me, child, speak frankly. We are under their eyes and ears, and whatever it is, They know the truth already."
She walked a little around and then stopped, kneeling beside her old master. "Daeron has been ill for a long time, but before he became bedridden like he is now, he had been having terrible, monstrous dreams. He would wake up in the middle of the night screaming, and I felt..." Words failed her there. ".. .So powerless to help him. I felt his sanity slipping through my fingers like water, day after day, as the dreams continued and progressed, and with that, the illness in his body progressed in equal measure. He had so many moments like that before, throughout the years, but this...these last ones were of a severity I cannot truly explain to you."
"I know , child... that's why I came to your aid as you wrote to me of the severity of these episodes." Lena grabbed her shaking hand on her lap and signaled her to continue.
"He..." she sighed before continuing, "a fortnight ago, he spoke about atonement, you see, that his family would be purged and slaughtered in fire as an atonement for the things they had done and are yet to do. And he would see figures, people, demons, and dragons... My husband is not mad Sister Lena, you might doubt me, but there is truth in what he dreams. I have seen it time and time again to be proven right, and at times it can be a blessing. But when it becomes like this, it transcends what health and the flesh are capable of enduring. It makes him so ill!" Her voice altered on those last words, almost cursing the gods for their fortune. "After seven nights of this torment, his physical decay caught up with the mental state, and it was an atrocious thing to witness... That seventh night, he was very drunk, fighting sleep. He was being loud, even aggressive."
"To you?!" Sister Lena inquired at once.
"No! Never to me, but to himself... " she quickly explained. "He started feeling and seeing fire, he screamed as I held him in my arms until his heart failed him, and he finally collapsed in my embrace. And in that moment, that simple moment where there was pure silence at last, and he was just laying in my arms, in that second when I checked for his pulse and breathing, there was a part of my soul that wished he was... no longer." She wept, shamefully, and before she could continue, the arms of Sister Lena embraced her as she planted a kiss in her dark hair.
Margella cried in the septa's lap, unable to say much after that. So the elder just continued caressing her and let her cry it out. After a while, she spoke to her. "My dear Margella... there is no sin to that."
"It was but a second, but the idea crossed my mind. His suffering was so enormous, so tormenting that I... I wished for it to end. And now he is in bed for days, and he is not well, Lena, he really isn't. It must be my fault for thinking that! Don't the gods know all things? Even what we don't say?" She cried deeply again before continuing, "He is awake, and I dread every second that I witness him in pain, and yet I cannot live without him, Lena. I simply cannot... Why must life give me such moments of bliss only to take them away from me? Are they punishing me? Is it for my sinful thoughts, or for breaking my vows?" The lady gazed into the ceiling as if seeking an answer from above.
"We have no control over the thoughts that cross our minds ... It is not so difficult to imagine death as a kind of bliss in a moment of despair." She grabbed Margella's face in her palms. "What you truly wish for is that the suffering of your husband could die, that his demons would perish like a fever that has finally broken. Do not punish yourself, for life is punishing you enough for reasons I am yet to understand. But have faith. We believe, without proof, there would be no need for this faith if not for these mysteries. Right now, you are walking through hell, and you don't know when it will end. But you are not alone." She kissed her forehead, and the younger woman felt like a stone had been lifted from her chest after she put into words the nature of her afflictions. She cried again, purging her soul of guilt.
As the next few days developed, Prince Daeron regained his senses. He seemed finally at peace for the first time in several days when he woke up with rays of sunlight. His wife, already awake, was preparing a sweet tea next to him, facing the window.
"Margella..." he spoke softly, extending his hand to reach her.
She turned right away to him and saw in his eyes the signs of the absence of pain. "My angel, you are awake, finally." She grabbed his hand at once to kiss it and sat in the corner of the bed.
"I don't think I resemble much of an angelic creature looking like this."
"You'd be surprised how much you do in my eyes, husband." She brushed the hair out of his face and felt he was free from fever.
"I... I don't recall much of the past fortnight... was I just here?"
"Yes, my love... you've been quite ill, the maester sedated you for some days so that you could fully sleep and recover. You are doing better now, we believe... Do you feel better?"
"I don't remember my dreams. I slept, I can breathe and talk, so... I guess I do. But I feel utterly disgusting. I'm ashamed you witnessed me like this."
His wife kissed him and cupped his face. "No need. I've cleaned you every day, but I'll tell the maids to prepare a bath with warm water and salve."
Daeron smiled, but then it faltered. "You must... cease this, wife."
"What?" She asked right away.
"To look after me like this almost all by yourself. I can understand that sometimes my limitations make me incapable of taking care of myself, but this is not fair, and it's not what I wish for us, for you."
"I've written to Aemon, as you asked. He will come here soon to be your maester and to help. Will that ease your mind?"
"That's... amazing news. Yes, it will, and it will ease yours too." He missed his brother and was tired of the maesters who could not fully understand his afflictions.
After breaking his fast, obliged by his wife to eat even if his appetite was little, she told the maids to prepare a warm bath in the room for the prince. She helped him in and massaged his aching body, then washed his hair of all traces of illness. A part of him felt like a treasure, the other felt like a burden. He was mortified with a sense of shame and impotence. Pain was endless, but fortunately, so was the care and affection of his wife.
"I am so sorry..." he said, finally holding her face in his hands when returning to bed. "I am but torture, pain, and labor in your life, and yet, I am glad that I am not alone in this world. Even when I lose sense of myself, you are what still brings me back." Without saying anything else, the prince wrapped his arms around her, enveloping her frame and placing her head on his chest. Some tears escaped her eyes. Those little tears seemed so heavy that he felt them leaking into his own heart.
"It's not your fault that things are the way they are, that you dream the way you dream... but I love you the way I do, and for all the things that make you you." He wrapped her tighter, letting her scent lift him in that soft ambiance, those fleeting moments of peace, a mirth.