Who: Lya, Alaric, Ned (while feverish) When: Aug 20th, late at night. Where: Lya's chambers Rating: PGish Status: Closed/Completed
((OOC: Thanks to Red for socking Alaric :D ))
Lya rang out cloth into the basin of water. When push came to shove, she didn’t trust anyone else with her son. The Maester she did let in when he came by simply because she didn’t know that much about medicine. She herself was tired to the point of exhaustion, but she wasn’t going to sleep until she was sure the fever had broken.
The candles flickered.
The door opened. “How is he?” Alaric said, a trifle out of breath from having hit the ground running the moment he heard the news. He hadn’t even burned time changing out of his sweat-stained tunic from his turn at the joust.
Lya looked towards the door, “What are you doing here?” was the first thing out of her mouth. A wonderful greeting both ways.
“For the Father’s sake, Lya, he’s my son.” Alaric said, nearly in a frenzy from sheer worry. “Politics and fealty may keep us apart, but no man is going to keep me from my son as he lay ill.” he pointed out testily. He could never acknowledge the boy, never admit being his father, but that didn’t mean he didn’t desperately miss him.
Lya sighed, it was odd to say she had hit a point where she was too tired to argue but that was where she stood right now. She didn’t point out how interesting it would be to explain this sort of visit to Will if he happened by. Luckily, his duties kept him busier than usual on top of everything else, “He and Genna both have fevers,” she said, pushing Ned’s hair back.
“I’m sure he’ll be fine,” she said, not entirely sure she believed it.
Alaric took a seat on the same side of the bed that Lya was perched on. “Which one is Genna again?” he asked idly as he studied his son’s face. This was the first time he’d really had a chance to see the boy, and it was plain to him that the boy had inherited more than a little Karstark. He also took the wet rag from Lya and sponged his son’s hot forehead gently.
“Will’s middle child, the harpy’s oldest,” she said, using an offhand nickname for Kaelyn. She was very glad that woman wasn’t here right now, and sure that if she was that Kaelyn would’ve found some way to blame Ned for both children being sick, “She almost has more energy than he does,” she said with a nod of her head to Ned.
Alaric was lost for a moment or two, just looking at his son. He had to fight down a surge of very real rage at his lord William for keeping he and Lya apart. It was the right thing to do, it was the honorable thing to do, and if anyone had tried to tell him that right then, they would soon be missing their head. He then looked over to his old love, noting how worn down she looked. How ragged she must have been feeling. “Go get some rest.’ he suggested gently. “I’ll stay here and watch Ned.” he added.”
“Does your wife know you’re here?” Lya returned, not moving from her seat, “Given the hour I’m sure she’ll miss you shortly.” Not that, in a perfect world, she’d want him to leave. But what you wanted and what you received were often two completely different things.
“She’s at a party.” he said curtly. “And she needs to learn once and for all who precisely is the lord of the manor, and who is not.” he said between gritted teeth. He wished for wine, briefly, but then pushed the thought aside. “Get some rest, Lya. You’re no good to your son if you’re dead on your feet.”
“I’m fine,” she said simply, “Besides, if he wakes up, he doesn’t know you. I should be here.” In a fever things often made little enough sense as it was, “You can’t make me leave.”
“He should.” he grumbled under his breath, sounding astonishing like an older version of Ned for a moment or two. “If you fall asleep, I shall have a painter capture the moment for all time.” he said teasingly. “We shall call it “A She-Wolf Drools.”
Lya laughed, “I’m sure it will be a very famous image,” she returned, “One for some great hall somewhere,” where people could walk by and laugh at it. Because she would, “And yes, he should, but we both know it isn’t going to happen, Alaric.”
“Dammit, Lya...” he started to say, then just sighed. “You’re right, of course.” he said sadly. “Damn him!" he said, balling his hand into a fist for a moment before relaxing it.
“Damn who, Alaric?” Lya returned, on the heels of a hushing noise. Fever sleep or not, she didn’t want Ned to wake up and then have to explain why someone he had never seen before was in the room.
“Jaers. William. Me. You. Him. ALL OF IT.” he said in a hiss. “Tell me of my son, Lya.” he said, sitting back down and trying to force himself to relax. “What sort of boy is he?” he asked, suddenly desperately hungry for information.
“An overly active one,” Lya said with a tired smile, “He manages to run circles me some days and likes to skip out on lessons to get in trouble,” she said fondly, “I suppose that makes him a lot like me.”
“To no-one’s surprise.” he said with a laugh. “He got my looks and your sense of adventure and energy.” he mused, brushing the hair out of the boy’s eyes. “I was a serious boy. Studious, hardworking, everything a young man is supposed to be.” he said.
“You were, but I still loved you,” Lya said easily. She was tired to the point where she wasn’t caring what she said. And he was still handsome to the point of it melting logic, but that was a different train of thought. Maybe.
He smiled at her words. “And I you, for all of your illogical, headstrong ways.” he said. “Still keeping up with the sword?” he asked her, as he reached over to take one of her hands in his.
“Every day,” Lya said, letting him touch her, “It’s not something I think I’ll ever stop,” there was freedom in the way she had to move, the way she had to think on her feet, “It’s too much fun. And someone has to beat my brothers on a regular basis.”
“May as well be you.” he agreed with a flash of a smile. “Although, what’s this I heard about you duelling the Prince of Dorne?” he asked. “What could you have POSSIBLY been thinking?”
“That he would be perfect beaten into a pulp?” Lya offered, “Let’s not talk about him, I don’t like him,” which was a mild way of putting it.
“Would have done well to leave a mark to remind you of your stupidity. You’ve been playing at the sword for, what, five years or so? That man has lived and died by it for perhaps ten.” he said. “You did well just to come out alive.”
“So I keep hearing,” Lya said, “He won’t be doing much of anything anymore, if the rumors are right,” she said with a shrug, “But yes, it was foolish, yes I’m lucky to still be walking around, and I don’t want to hear anymore about that.”
“Even in the frozen pile of the Karstark keep, we hear things.” he pointed out. “Damn shame, really.” he said with a shrug. “Ugly business, the grand melee.”
“It is, but I don’t know if I’d call it a shame. Either way it’s over and done with,” Lya said, glancing back at her son, “Like so many other things,” she said sadly.
“The Dornish tend to be hot-tempered. With Prince Myrwin’s injury and Princess Elia’s murder, I would not be surprised if the entire nation went mad.” he said sadly. “Not much risk to the Starks and their bannermen, but I wouldn’t want to be a Tyrell.” he said with a small smirk.
“I can’t say I feel sorry for them, now that Celia’s gone,” she said, her youngest sister having been taking by the plague freed her from that house. But then there were Celia’s children to consider, “Honestly, politics bore the hell out of me.” The prince of Dorne was a cur at best and the princess, well, she wasn’t even going to get started on that.
Ned stirred, rolling onto his side and groaning faintly. His eyelids flickered. Voices?
Alaric caught the movement almost instantly. “Looks like he’s coming around.” he told Lya with warmth. “Which probably means it’s my time to be moving along.” he said, sounding like the words were ripped from his chest.
“I’d imagine so,” Lya said, “But you know, fevers often make people see and hear things that aren’t there, so if there was something you wanted to say...”
“No.” he said, after giving it a moment of heavy thought. “We knew long ago I could never acknowledge him, never make him my son in truth.” he said heavily. “There is nothing to say to him now.” he added. Then he mopped the boy’s brow one more time, looking down upon his son with great sadness. “But there will come a day...” he vowed.