Prompter: thenotoriouscow

Prompt: something 12/Clara fluff, something IWoaH/SiaSoBaB or WoF

Originally prompted: 22 November 2015

Notes: 1846 words; warning that this does start out really sad, but it gets better; lots of hurt/comfort going on here; there is likely a lot of "pathology doesn't work this way", so I'm sorry anyone in the medical fields my best advice is to MST3k Mantra this and remember it's a fantasy AUverse

News spread quickly about the Marchioness's sickness throughout her land, collapsing of fever in the middle of court. She was an adept ruler, loved by most and respected by even more, though none wanted such a fate for her as dying with young children still in early schooling years and her eldest not yet of-age. Worse yet was the standstill that the marquisate ground to, as the Marquis abandoned his duties to stay at his wife's bedside. The Earlessa and her sister tried to keep some things moving, but without the authority their parents carried, there was not much that they could do.

"Her fever's climbing," the Baroness Coal-on-the-Hill said, taking the thermometer from her patient's mouth. Their husbands were both there with her, standing at the foot of the bed in the chamber. "Unfortunately, no matter what I do, it's going to get worse."

"Why's that?" the Marquis asked, his expression flat. He never took his eyes off his sleeping wife, using his lord's mask as a shield.

"This infection will only get worse and worse—some people get better after they seem to go to the brink, but most die," the physician explained sadly. "It is very tricky to tell who will be the lucky ones until the upswing and if they stay on that path or revert until death."

"Is she contagious? Are the children in danger?"

"No—it's contracted intestinally. It's very likely she had some bad water on the road at a stop no one else drank at. Most people if they contract this do so as babies, when their immunities have begun to develop on their own, and it is not as deadly then, but many adults die and I'd say that is the risk with being a bride not of Gallifrey."

"Then I will stay with her," he said. "Go and get some rest, please. I can handle being a nursemaid."

"Johan, don't give us that," the tutor said. He placed a hand on the other man's shoulder, only for him to shove it off.

"I said I can handle it," he snapped. The tutor took a step back and frowned, though his wife came between them, glaring up at the Marquis.

"Listen: don't be a fool, Johan," she fired back. "I really hope this is not the end for Clara, but if it is, then you need to keep yourself together for the kids, got it? My earliest memory of you was wandering the Primary while in mourning black on your annual visit, at a time when any other nobleman already in his title would be prowling the Season for a new wife if he didn't have one already. I understand losing Lady Melody was a shock to you back then, and losing Clara won't be any easier when the day comes, but you know what it's like to mourn now and you have six young ones who don't know if you need to be their rock or not. You may stay, but for your stars' sake get it out of your system."

The Marquis swallowed and nodded. "I understand," he said, voice quiet and raspy.

"Very good; now I'm going to show you what to do, and then Danny and I are going to go back home. We'll take your children with us for the night and I'll come back in the morning. How does that sound?"

"It sounds like I am lucky to have such good friends," he admitted. After being instructed in how to care for his wife, the Marquis was left alone, the Baron and Baroness off to fetch all seven children and bring them back to their cottage. They were good people, the Pink-Joneses, and even though his eldest two daughters were skilled enough to care for their youngest siblings, it was always more of a comfort knowing that they could have some support as well.

The violet evening crept into the room as time passed and eventually night fell upon them. Servants brought in a humble tray for their lord and a broth for their lady, should she wake. The Marquis politely nibbled at the food between adjusting pillows and cooling his wife's compress in water. He knew he had to eat, and the words of the physician repeated plainly in his mind.

Deep into the red of night, the Marquis finally experienced a change in the Marchioness's behavior. She began to cough, her breathing labored, and so he quickly leaned her forward and rearranged her pillows, setting her back so that she was sitting up.

"Johan…?" she wondered.

"Yes, I am here," he said, taking her hand in both of his.

"Where are the children? I want to see them."

"They're with Daniel and Martha; would you like me to send for them?"

"No… if they're there, then that lifts my spirits just as well," she smiled weakly. "My body feels so cold, Johan. What's happening to me?"

"It's a commoner's childhood sickness, brought on by bad water," he explained, throat tightening. "It's claimed many adult lives in the past and you have no immunity because you are not originally from here. The children should be fine, since they have been exposed to people with the sickness already in their blood since birth, but we don't know about you."

"…but they're alright, and you're alright…"

"…physically, yes." The Marquis took the cloth from her forehead and felt the skin there, finding it to be hot. He rewet the cloth and rung it out, replacing it carefully. "Mentally… I'm not sure."

"You are silly, you know that?" the Marchioness coughed. "This day was coming whether we wanted it or not; we both knew it would happen, despite the jump you've got on me."

"…when we are both white-haired and our starlets each have their own moon and stars, not now," he retorted. "I'm not ready to have another wife torn away from me… not yet."

"Martha won't mind being a mother to our children if I return to the earth early, helping Lena where she has little experience, but don't force Daniel to be their father," she commanded. "I know you, and if you don't have something to focus on, you won't survive long enough to lead Lena to the wedding platform, let alone Maglina."

"Then get well so that you can take Sterling and Seren there and Lena and Martha won't have to," he replied. "There is still a chance you will."

"Let me be brave, Johan," his wife said. He brought her hand to his lips and kissed the knuckles. "If I survive, then we will continue to be happy, but if I don't, then you will not insult my memory by sulking and withdrawing from the world. Don't make the children suffer even more by having them lose both their parents."

"The thought already hurts…" he admitted. "My hearts can't take it."

"Then I guess we're both going to have to be brave."

After that the Marquis went and helped her drink some broth, spooning it out carefully so as not to spill. The Marchioness then had him climb into bed and read to her, arm around her shoulders and with her pressed into his side. He read until well after she fell asleep, afterwards going to sleep with her in his arms and the book in his lap. Tucking her head under his chin, he didn't want to let go and risk losing her forever.

The lord dreamt that night, an uncomfortable terror if he'd ever have one. In it he had both Clara and Melody before him, bound and trapped and at-risk of being consumed by the incoming flames from behind them. He would only have enough time to save one—a decision that punched him in the gut.

Quickly he moved towards Clara, fumbling with her bonds as hurriedly as possible. He heard the voices of their children urging him to move faster, to save their mother, to make it out alive. This was the life he chose, and he knew there was no going back to a woman already dead.

"Grandpapa?" a little voice asked suddenly. "Why won't you save Grandmamma?"

He turned his head and saw a young girl, the very image of Melody at four years. Behind her were two other children, a boy and a girl, each without a face, and behind them he could see his childhood love, now aged as he had become over the long years. Featureless adults and youths stood around her, silently pleading for their mother's life. He stopped and reached out, wondering how this could even happen. The spectres became smoke and Melody went up in flames. Turning back to Clara, he found that it was too late, and the fire had reached her as well. He tried to pick her up, carry her out of danger until he could have enough time to undo her bonds, but he couldn't move in his panic. She cried out, cursing him in the ceremonial tongue as flames enveloped her.

"Clara, no!" he wept, falling to his knees. He felt a hand touch his shoulder, though he did not react.

"Johan."

"Leave me."

"Johan, it's time for breakfast."

The Marquis woke with a start, finding that he was laying down in bed with his arms still around his wife's waist. The Marchioness, however, was sitting up, a tray on her lap and a kind expression on her face.

"Wake up, sleepyhead," she giggled, brushing his curls from his forehead. Twisting one end of his whiskers affectionately, she let her fingers trail along his face, tracing his jaw and coming up to his lips. "You were talking to your dreams again."

"It was a nightmare," he explained as he sat up. He pressed a kiss behind her ear, tears in his eyes. "At least, I don't think it is one I shall have again."

"Then at least drink this tonic and regain your strength; you've worried yourself so much that you might become ill soon as well," the physician smirked. He glanced towards the end of the bed and saw her at a table, finishing off mixing some medicine before pouring it into a glass and bringing it over to him. It tasted horrid, but he finished it all anyhow.

"Thank you," he said. "How are the children?"

"They slept well knowing you were here and are even better now that their mum's awake," she grinned. "Clara should be ready to see them in a couple days. Until then, she's all yours."

The Marquis exhaled and kissed his wife on the temple, pulling her in a wee bit closer. She retaliated by tearing a chunk of her bread and popping in his mouth. "Good," he replied through the bread. "I let Clara Oswald get inside me, and when that happens, she never leaves, meaning as long as I have her hand in mine, my hearts are at ease."

"How poetic," the physician said. It was good that they had each other, she thought, for they truly were meant to be.