Author's Note: Once again, there is a gap of more than a few days between chapters. I apologize profusely, but I really can't figure out anything of significance that happened between Artur and Amaline's wedding in FY 937 and the Black Fever epidemic of FY 939, and the events of this chapter symbolize the beginning of a new period in Amaline's life anyway. A quick word on event timing: in the guide, it states that Bonwhin ascended the Amyrlin Seat around FY 939 but in this story she states that she is about to be raised a week before Amaline marries Artur. I played on the 'around' part of it, since it's not really known when Bonwhin took the stole.

Amaline focused on her sewing as if her life depended on it. She knew she was making stitches an inch long but couldn't make herself care, not in the face of the things that palace walls and Artur's attempts to "protect her" could not hold out. She looked around the room with a kind of desperation. There were only four other women here now instead of the many who had once held places in the joint household of the Princess Amaline and Queen Mailinde. Most of them had died in the horrible waves of fever that had swept over Shandalle and the others had either been summoned home or went voluntarily, hoping to escape the terrible plague in the countryside.

King Myrdin was reportedly still clinging doggedly to life at one of the royal fortress-castles near the Tovan border while Queen Mailinde lay delirious in her chambers in the suite next to Amaline's. The physicians whispered that she would not live long, but never where Artur could hear, and Amaline didn't have the heart to confirm it herself. She had tried to Heal the Queen, but her abilities at Healing were so meager that she was only able to lessen Mailinde's suffering for a few hours. All requests to the Tower for a Yellow sister had been refused, even ignored but for one very cutting message from the Amyrlin stating that Shandallans were of no importance whatsover in comparison to those in other nations who the fever had laid low. In a fit of despair and rage towards Bonwhin after that arrived, Amaline had cursed the woman bitterly, voicing the wish that the other woman would meet a death far more horrific than that Mailinde and the other unfortunates suffered.

"My lady," a nervous-looking servant said, breaking in on Amaline's thoughts. "My lady, the Queen's calling for you."

"I will come." Amaline laid aside her sewing and tried to fix it in her mind that this was no harder than facing the trials she had endured in her tests for Accepted and Aes Sedai. Some of the ladies stirred slightly when she stood, and she made a small gesture to tell them to keep their seats and continue their work as she followed the servant out into the hall and through the next door.

Mailinde's chambers were, as always, filled with physicians from all over the country and their assistants, all talking quietly among themselves of the conditions of various patients and making their bows as Amaline passed them. Despite her best efforts to, she could not force herself to go into the darkened room where her mother-in-law endured the last stages of the Black Fever, clinging to the doorknob for a long moment as she tried to rally her defenses. Finally, with the greatest effort of will she had ever made in her life, Amaline entered the sickroom.

Mailinde's drawn, wasted face was almost the same ashen-grey as her faded hair. The Queen had only been ill for two weeks, but it had aged her fifteen years at least, turning her black hair grey and making her thin and gaunt. Her head turned slightly on her pillow towards Amaline and the younger woman had to fight to keep from bursting into tears when she saw a faint flicker of recognition in Mailinde's pain and fever-glazed eyes. "Child," the Queen whispered, barely a thread of sound making its way past her dry lips. Amaline offered her a small glass of water, but Mailinde shook her head weakly. "No need for that now," she managed. "There is not so very much left to be said."

"Hush, Mailinde," Amaline said, amazed that she could speak around the hard knot in her throat. "You shouldn't talk until you're stronger."

"I'm not going to be getting any stronger, Amaline. I've seen my fetch, as we say it in Moriena-my own ghost. It's over for me." Amaline felt Mailinde's fingers close tightly around her hand. "Child-take care of Artur for me. He's not...practical. Poets never are." There might have been a hint of a smile on Mailinde's mouth then; the dim light made it hard to tell.

"I will," Amaline gasped, her eyes burning with tears she knew she couldn't allow the Queen to see.

"Myrdin-where is Myrdin?" Mailinde stirred restlessly on her pillows. "Myrdin Paendrag Maregore, I'm going to have your hide for this one, leaving me here alone with a baby. No, I don't care if the Tovans are trying to invade, you had no right." Amaline shuddered at just how convinced Mailinde was that she was young again and Myrdin had went to negotiate peace treaties with the Tovans when Artur was still an infant. The Queen looked confused for a moment. "No, Myrdin, that's not right. You're supposed to be coronated today, Myrdin, you can't-Ah, Light!" Mailinde's breathing came hard and fast, as if she were afraid of something.

"Mailinde," Amaline said, hoping to recall the Queen from the past. "Mailinde, Myrdin isn't here."

She could tell that it hadn't done any good when Mailinde looked at her again. "Caltrine! Callie! Wonderful to see you, dear-I thought your husband would never let you back to Court-why, what a lovely little girl, Callie, what's her name? Amaline? That's a pretty name." Amaline's urge to cry grew even stronger when she realized that Mailinde was mistaking her for Caltrine Tagora Helmsol, Amaline's own long-dead mother.

"Mailinde, I'm not Caltrine. I'm Amaline. Remember?"

"Amaline," Mailinde murmured, her eyelids fluttering. "Such a pretty name..." the older woman was silent for a long moment. "You will make a fine queen, child," she whispered. "I should have liked to have seen my grandchildren." Mailinde was still breathing harshly and unevenly, but she did not speak again and after a while the Queen's chest ceased to rise and fall at all. Once the reality of her death set in, Amaline wordlessly drew her veil over her face and wept behind its pale shield.

It was some time before she could control her sobbing enough to face the physicians and servants with any semblance of dignity. Once they had been duly informed of the Queen's death, Amaline used the Warder bond to help her find Artur. She didn't have to say the words, because he took one look at her face and knew. "Mother's dead, isn't she?"

"Yes." Amaline had to fight not to lose control again. She had promised Mailinde she would take care of Artur, not add to his burdens.

"Dear Light," he managed after a while. "It's hard-hard to accept. I should be praying for her soul-"

"I know," Amaline whispered, then gave into impulse and went to him. They were still clinging to each other and weeping when a weary courier and a group of solemn nobles came upon them.

"My lord, my lady," the courier said. "I regret to inform you of the death of our most excellent sovereign lord, King Myrdin of Shandalle. Long live King Artur." The courier and the nobles knelt. Amaline started to draw back and follow suit, but Artur would not let her go.

"You are all I have left in the world now, Ammy," he whispered into her hair. "You're one person, at least, who will never bend knee to me."