Touch of the Stranger – Whisper of Danger
Her second time in the birthing bed was much easier than her first one. He just slipped out after a short labour – at least short compared to the agony that Daeron's coming into the world had been. Although exhausted, she still had the energy to prop herself on her elbow and watch as they bathed and dressed him before bringing him to her. She was so intent on him that the maesters had to remind her that she had the afterbirth to expel. She did so without as much of a moan. Afterbirths didn't have big heads.
To her enormous relief, he was clearly very vigorous, squirming in her arms and trying to remove the hat they put on him as soon as they did. The midwife put it back; he tried to take it off again. Dyanna laughed and noticed that this one would clearly have Maekar's fair hair. The wetnurse even said so as she approached the bed. Dyanna's laughter stopped and she watched intently as the woman put him to the breast. Sometimes babes, even vigorous ones, could not take suck. But her new son did and she reclined back against her pillows, waiting for the moment the maesters would tell her that enough time had passed and she could go to sleep. She would do so with the content of a job well done.
Her milk came in, furiously, at the fourth day after the birth – but Aerion did not want it. He took the nipple eagerly but immediately after, as soon as he drew some milk, he'd spit the nipple as if it was bitter, sometimes coughing so hard that Dyanna was afraid he'd choke. Nothing could fool him into swallowing, even when the maesters smeared Dyanna's nipples with honey. He took suck from the wetnurse but not his mother, no matter how many efforts and tears Dyanna spent. But that didn't stop him from lacerating her nipple with his mouth, just like Daeron, who had been nursed at her breast for more than a year, had.
Finally, she had to stop trying. She had no other choice. Bandaging her breasts was almost as bad as the lacerations. And drying up would take weeks, it seemed. Not days.
"I can't wait for it to happen," Maekar said one night as she squeezed herself dry. "I hate seeing you in pain."
She glanced at the looking-glass to check that he wasn't looking. She didn't want him to see her like this, her nipples red and crackled as if a monster had mangled them, and so far, Maekar had respected her wishes, although he had proclaimed them foolish. Like him, though, Dyanna had started to count the days until she'd be considered recovered enough to resume her marital duties.
"In a month, it'll be over," she assured him. "You won't need to bandage battle wounds."
"It is indeed a battle," he said, seriously, unlike her jape. "And you are a good man-at-arms, Dyanna. I thank you for this."
"A woman-at-arms, if you please," she replied, inspecting the damages. At some places, the skin of her breast looked sunken. She reached for it with the warm cloth and then froze. There it was, under her fingers. A growth. She glanced at her husband's reflection to make sure that he still wasn't watching and reached for the lump under her skin. She felt tension. She felt the growth. It was there. She hadn't imagined it. And it was a real growth, not a spot next to a hollow left by a babe's mouth.
Perhaps it will go away, Dyanna thought. But it didn't. Every morning, after Maekar had left and before she was attired, she checked and the lump was still there. It's nothing, she told herself as she went through her day. She was barely nineteen. Those who suffered such growths were older women. Much older. But when she was finally disrobed, it was there. It was real. It did not give her pain but it was in a place where she experienced constant pain anyway – the pain of drying milk and torn breasts, the pain the coiled snake had left in its wake.
Dyanna knew that women died of such things. She was scared of the Stranger. But she was also ashamed. How could such a thing happen to someone as young as her? Why was she so marked? If the thing in her breast didn't go away, would it grow bigger? Would it be noticeable? Would Maekar see it? The very idea terrified her. In their four years of marriage, she had come to believe that he did think her beautiful, that he cherished her looks. Would he turn away from her if this growth disfigured her, deformed her? Would the people start talking about the poor lady who must have done something terrible to merit such a disease? She couldn't sleep at night, clinging to Maekar in mute fear that she could not admit. Nightmares, she said when he woke up to her shaking, and when he took her in his arms, giving her his own warmth, she believed that the whole thing was a nightmare. For a moment or two.
But the lump kept growing, or so Dyanna thought. Either way, her panic that her husband might see it started consuming her nights. When she took Daeron in her lap, she was careful to rest him against her other breast. And lately, he had started clinging to her all the time. His nursemaid said that he, too, had started having nightmares. "It's as if he picks up on your own night demons, Your Grace," she said.
"I have no night demons," Dyanna snapped.
The next few nights, she took her son into their own bedchamber where she quickly realized that Zabra was right. Daeron did look tormented by her own nightmares, as if she was giving them to him. He became even harder to manage at day, whimpering about an evil thing that lived in his mother. Fortunately, no one paid attention to the ramblings of a child of three.
Days went by in a flurry of fear and hope. One night, Maekar stood behind her chair as she sat before the looking-glass and took the silver hairbrush in hand.
Terror rushed through Dyanna and almost made her bolt. Today! She had forgotten! Today the usual recovery period after childbirth had ended. Maekar clearly expected and wanted her to accept him as his wife. He might feel the excrescence if he touched her there – and he did that a lot, often. In fact, he might soon get to wonder why Dyanna no longer drew his head to her breast and kept it there for a long time. The slight pressure had proven a great relief from the pain where the snake had coiled.
"I… I am not ready yet, Maekar," she said. At this critical moment, her talent for lying had abandoned her. She could not think of a single reason to give him that would sound even remotely plausible. "I am not up to it yet."
To her relief, he didn't look doubtful. But in fact, he had no reason to be. She had always shown her fondness for their marital bed without shyness. He probably thought that she was still tired, that all would fall in place in the next few days. She had perhaps one week to think of something else.
"You look very frail," her goodmother said as they sat in the garden, under the chestnut trees with their embroideries. "Do you not eat?"
Dyanna smiled to show that it was nothing and rose to tear a leaf and draw it along her cheek.
Pain shot through her, so sharp and unexpected that she gasped. A sword was tearing her breast, sending waves of pain to her armpit from the place that dreaded growth was. Well, Dyanna thought numbly, here it is, finally. The pain. She fell back into her chair with an audible thud that made the two other women share a look.
"I think you should see the Grand Maester, Dyanna," Jena said carefully. "I think you're ill."
That was the first time her goodsister let herself make such a comment. The two women were unfailingly polite to each other but they had little to talk about. Dyanna knew that Jena disapproved of her, her gowns, her barely checked ebullience and wild imagination. If she's ready to say something like this to me, I must look like someone on their way to the Stranger, Dyanna thought and vowed to herself that from now on, she'd force herself to eat and rest in bed, even if she couldn't actually sleep. She'd drink potions that would make her blood stronger. She'd do anything, except for showing her breast to someone, even the Grand Maester. He'd immediately go to the King. Dyanna's health was, unfortunately, a matter that concerned more people than she had counted on upon her marriage. And then her goodfather would undoubtedly tell Maekar. And her goodmother. At the end, her husband would turn away from the vileness that she harboured in her breast. People would pity her, fear her, disdain her. No!
"I am fine, Jena," she said and even managed a smile. "As ever."
That night, she saw the excrescence for the very first time. It wasn't going anywhere. It was staying. It was growing. All that she had heard of the demon exploded in her head: the rupture, the fetid lesions, the pain that made women howl like beasts…
"What?" Maekar asked sharply, coming to her side. Since her repeated avoidance of lovemaking, he had become crosser than usual. Dyanna feared that it was only a matter of time before he found himself a whore. "You spend half the night naked in front of this looking-glass. You have recovered, don't you see? You've more than regained your figure – in fact, a little more weight would only do you good. Even so, you're the most beautiful woman in Westeros, so stop obsessing."
Dyanna rose, turned around and went to put her nightgown on. "And what are you going to do if you lose the most beautiful woman in Westeros?" she asked, careful to keep her voice playful.
Maekar stayed where he was, only turning to look at her. "Do you plan to run away with a stable boy or something?" he inquired. "If so, you're very stupid to warn me."
"I'll make sure to leave a note," she assured him, ducking under the covers. "Come here. I'm cold."
He came near but didn't climb in. "Do not jest about it," he warned.
"Fine," Dyanna agreed. "I won't. But you must answer me."
Mighty Seven, it was so hard to preserve her face even and her voice undisturbed when all she wanted was to howl out to the world in debilitating fear!
He lay down and drew her close.
"I don't know. I don't want to go back to the way it was before, never. It was… lonely."
Now, the tears that she had held at bay stung her eyes. Such an admission was a very hard one for Maekar and it only underlined his faith in her. "It was lonely for me too," she whispered.
"Not in the same way. You reach out and draw people to you. Somewhere along the way, this was let out with me. Before I was even born, I think. Out of everyone I know, I am the one closeness and affection come hardest to. If you lose me, you'll grieve but you'll still find hope and comfort in people and things in life that you delight in. If I lose you, I think I'll just turn into the empty shell I was meant to be."
Dyanna snuggled closer. All of a sudden, she felt so guilty, so foul. Almost all of her fears had been about her alone. She had barely thought what her death might mean to him or her two small children. Now she did – but what could those concern change? Perhaps if I don't think about it, it won't be there, she told herself. "I was just being stupid," she murmured. "You know, my imagination running wild again."
He laughed softly. "I've missed your… err, imagination," he said. "Just not when it grows so dark. Next time, I'd rather have you ask me to kill an Other for you."
Kill the growth for me instead, she thought but this gift from the Stranger was an enemy that Maekar's mace could not reach.
For now, he had accepted her explanation. But for how long? By the Seven, for how long?