As soon as she stirred from her sleep, she knew something was wrong. Jaime was murmuring and tossing restlessly. The sun had yet to break through the sky and the heavy blanket of night was still wrapped around the world. She touched a hesitant hand to his forehead and pulled back immediately with a soft cry as his forehead was dripping with sweat and impossibly hot. She threw back all of the covers from their bed and rushed to the window, flinging it open. Next, remembering how Jaime had used it, she took the pitcher from their bed stand and dumped it onto him in frenzy. Emptying most of it onto the sheets he laid on, she hoped desperately that it would help his temperature somewhat. Frantically, she lit a candle and pulled on a light robe. Barefoot, she sprinted from the room and pounded heavily upon Septa Aliane's door. The woman pulled open her door momentarily, her mouth open to rebuke whichever drunk had stumbled upon the wrong room, but instantly shut it in shock.

"Lord Jaime is feverish and mumbling. I fear he's fallen ill, Septa."

Horror overtook surprise as the woman realized exactly what her lady was saying. She stood stock still for a moment, staring stupidly, before she started and nodded at Merilyn.

"I'll wake Willas and send him for a Maester. We've got to try to cool him down as much as possible."

"I'll fetch cold water for the bath, would that help?"

The Septa looked at her as if measuring her strength, "It cannot hurt, but you should be waiting with him and not off fetching something, my lady. I'll rouse the other staff and then come to your room. Ser Jaime should not be left alone."

Merilyn hesitated. Sitting and waiting was not helpful in any way, but arguing would not budge Septa Aliane's beliefs. She nodded and left for her room. She prayed silently that her siblings had made it out safely and none of them had been infected.

Jaime was no better as she entered and sat in a chair next to their bed. He moaned softly as he tried to move. Unsure of what else to do, she tore one of their bed linens and doused it with the scant water in the pitcher. With a shaking hand, she reached out and wiped away the sweat on his face. He didn't respond to her touch in any way, lying motionless now.

She tried to call to mind everything she knew about the Heat Sickness, but there was so little. She had thought it didn't affect adults, that it was purely a childhood disease. It might be possible he had fallen ill with something else then, her mind grasped hopefully even though her chest tightened with disbelief. Mindlessly, she moved the cloth gently around his face, remembering his complaint of his head. If she'd told someone then, sent for a healer at that very moment, Jaime might not be in this situation.

Willas stumbled into the room, "I've sent Hanely and Jessup. They're our faster riders and will return very shortly."

She didn't look up from Jaime's pale face, "We have to find Culwin, Willas. He's the best this far south."

"He won't return, my lady. I... spoke with him yesterday when we were first sent out to find a maester."

"Even if the next Lord of Casterly Rock has taken ill?" She bit out the words angrily.

"I'll find him and bring him back, my lady." Willas watched her sadly.

"I'll beg if that's what he wants. Tell him that," she looked at Willas directly now, "I'll gladly grovel if that's what he needs to come back. I'll do anything if he helps Jaime."

Jaime murmured and his eyes fluttered. She leaned closer to him, calling his name softly. He seemed not to hear her the second time and as his eyes fluttered again, she saw none of the green she was accustomed to, but just the whites of his eyes. Her heart clenched.

"Go, Willas. There's no time to waste." Her voice was strangled and she gripped hard at the headboard, her knuckles white. She saw him leave from the corner of her eye, but her attention never left her husband. She wondered if he was in pain, could he hear her, if he even had a chance to recover.

A sob ripped from her and she fought to control her breathing. She had no right to cry. If he could see her now, he'd mock her for her weak heart. She straightened her spine and took another deep breath. She would do her very best to help him and he wouldn't succumb to this illness. A vow whispered quietly to the Olde Gods rose from her lips and she quickly went back to mopping his forehead diligently.

Septa Aliane entered moments later, followed closely by Leila. Each carried stacks of linen and buckets filled with water. The septa gave a cursory glance over Jaime and her face turned ashen. She met eyes with Merilyn and she shook her head slightly.

"Has he spoken at all, my lady?"

Merilyn shook her head, "Nothing with words. I don't know if he can even hear me. Can you… do you know if it is… the Heat Sickness?"

The last two words were whispered as if saying them loudly would make it truth. She looked at the septa, knowing her desperation was flush on her face, wanting the woman to confirm anything other than her biggest fear.

"I've only seen it in children, Lady Merilyn. But, yes, I think, yes," she nodded her head frantically. The normally composed woman looked upset, "The Seven help him, I think it is."

Merilyn nodded slowly, but it was an empty gesture. The two other women bustled around the room, setting down the buckets and filling the bath. Merilyn stood as if frozen, her arm extended towards Jaime, the rag limply in her hand. It was as if her mind had fled to somewhere else. Leila's hand came up and took her rag. She led Merilyn back to the chair and guided her to sit. Gently, her maid stroked her back lightly.

"Let the Septa and I care for him for a few moments, my lady. Willas will be back shortly with a maester and then he'll care for Lord Jaime." Leila looked down at her with mingled sympathy and pity and Merilyn's heart sank further.

She watched, detached, as the two women flitted about the room, changing the sheets, moving their room about. Jaime's breathing hammered in her ears, creating a rhythmic pounding throughout her entire body. Her blood rolled and surged in time to the crescendo, strangely robbing her of any warmth she'd felt.

Time passed achingly slow in Merilyn's mind, though the physical world swept by and the sun appeared harshly at first and then ebbed softer into the room. Jaime's condition changed none while Septa Aliane began to wane as the day came to light. The septa's help cycled through the room, helping to change the sheets every other hour and keep the room as cool as possible.

Luna lay at Merilyn's feet, uncharacteristically quiet and motionless. Unable to stare at her husband's face any longer, Merilyn's gaze had locked onto the horizon outside her window. The morning mist had almost lifted and birds were starting to become prominent fixtures in the sky. Diving and soaring, she watched them with almost deliberate fascination, trying to fixate on the mysteries of flight and not on the nightmare occurring in her bedroom.

Boots echoed on the floor in a familiar rhythm and Merilyn tore her gaze eagerly from the window and landed searchingly on her door. Willas stepped into the room, looking even more exhausted than Septa Alaine. Closely following him was Maester Culwin. The Maester's appearance startled Merilyn, for he had grown sallow and sunken. The cloak he wore was a pieced together tatter that was in sore need of a wash. Even his hair made an unkempt figure upon his head. But he looked to Jaime with such a worry that Merilyn felt guilt sweep over her for turning this man from his home.

He did not look at her as he addressed the room, "How long has he been in this condition?"

"I awoke at midnight and found him like so, though he complained of pain in his head before he fell asleep." Her voice was chastised, muted in a way as she spoke. She felt torn asking for this man's help, torn between her pride and her need.

Culwin looked at her then. His face was furrowed in harsh lines of anger, but his voice was calm as he spoke, "Has he spoken in any way? Woken at all?"

She shook her head. She wanted to say more, to tell him of Jaime's moans of pain, of how she wanted nothing more than for the heir to Casterly Rock to open his eyes again. But she held her silence as the Maester felt his fever.

"We have to sweat it out of him. Willas, fetch wood as much as needed to light a large sentry bonfire. Septa Aliane, if you would, fetch more blankets. Pelts are better. Wool is best. My Lady Lannister," here he made direct eye contact as if to stare her down, "the next few hours are imperative, but you must leave."

"But –"

He interrupted her response, "he will not be comfortable and it is not my wish to subject you to more of his pain. This is a long and arduous process and in your condition, I will not have you in here."

She recognized the challenge in his voice. He didn't expect her to obey, and was pushing to see if she actually would hold to her promise of giving whatever he wanted.

"Can you heal him?" She asked instead.

"Medicine is not an exact science, but I will try my very best." His voice rang sincere and she nodded, accepting his answer.

She turned towards the servants in the room, "Anything Maester Culwin asks for he shall have and anything he asks of you, you shall do."

She turned then, glancing lastly at Jaime, and swept from the room. Shaking with fear and uncertainty, she walked down the hall without a destination in mind. Her feet moved faster than her thoughts and momentarily she stood outside the door of her sisters' room. She placed a hand upon the heavy door, feeling the uneven wood beneath it. She pushed it open and took in the messy room. The servants hadn't changed the linen yet, nor had they set foot in the room at all it seemed.

How could it have only been such a short time ago that her siblings had left? All that filled the void between then and now seemed so overwhelmingly time consuming that it felt like days since she'd last laid her eyes upon them.

Sansa had been the calmest of the three. She had even held Arya for a brief moment before their departure. Her sister had looked years older as she assured Merilyn that Rickon and Arya would be under her care until they reached the North. Merilyn hoped again that her prayers went answered and none of them fell ill.

She stepped forward into the room and stumbled onto the bed. Uncertainty and sadness rose up into her throat like hot liquid burning its path and she felt tears flood her eyes painfully. Images of Jaime flashed before her, golden hair flashing in the sun while he wielded a sword in the yard, breathing into her ear as he climaxed above her, his brutality the night of the wildlings' raid so long ago. The tears spilled over as she let her head fall to the pillow, and she allowed a hiccupping cry to escape her. She remembered when Jaime had teased her about marrying another, a less handsome man if he died, and her chest tightened painfully as she heard his laughter clearly ring through her mind. Her cries grew until they became overwhelming waves, wracking her body with the force of the emotion.

When Merilyn had been little, hardly the height of her father's knees, she had foregone her mother's instructions and ridden a forbidden horse without any supervision. It hadn't taken long for the horse to dislodge her and she had hit the ground with such a force that, in a moment of pure terror, she believed she was going to die from the suffocating pressure on her chest. The fear of that paralyzing pain had taught her a hard lesson and it took much coaxing to persuade her to ride again.

Her chest felt much the same now. Her breath came in gasps between cries and the sound emitting from her was raw and wounded. She desperately wanted to stop, for the pain to fade, and the tears to cease, but she couldn't draw enough breath to regain control. Her body made its own decisions, forcing her to feel every agonizing emotion running through her.

She was terrified. The death of Jaime meant many things for her, but her mind could only think about the child she carried and the fatherless future it could face. She wished that fate upon no one, but especially the child whom she believed would look exactly like the man who lay dying only a few rooms away. How could she raise a child without his father?

Her guilt coupled with her tears and the shaking became more violent. Here she was moping as if he was already dead. He would survive, she'd sworn it. He had survived so many things up to this moment, even the marriage to a Northern woman. His death could not, would not come in this form. If she knew anything of the man, he would not die in the comfort of his bed, but in the chaos of a battle.

With that thought to strengthen her, her body began to release her from its torture. Her breathing slowed and her tears stopped. Her eyelids felt like lead as they fluttered to release the last few straggling tears. Exhaustion crept into her, bringing with it the fuzzy greyness so customary. Cradled by her pillow that smelled so faintly of lemons, she let sleep wash over her, grateful for the reprieve.

A knock on the door started her awake. The room was covered in darkness and the moon hung high in the window. Disoriented, she struggled to recognize her surroundings as she looked at the door. The day's happenings slowly flooded back and she braced herself as she invited the waiting person inside the room.

Leila opened the door and stepped in, carrying a bowl with steam slipping over the edges. The look of sympathy still lit her face, though there was some understanding mixed in that Merilyn saw. Leila nodded her head in deference and offered the bowl forward.

"Maester Culwin said it was likely you hadn't eaten and urged that I check upon you. Please, take it and eat, my lady."

Merilyn took the bowl, but set it upon a small table near her, "How is Lord Jaime?"

Her voice dripped with the heaviness of sleep, but she stood regardless. She had wasted enough time here. There was an entire household to look after. That was her duty.

"I don't know, my lady. I'm sorry."

Merilyn waved a hand, "It's fine. I'm going down to the hall. Send Willas and Eyries to me as soon as they can be spared. We must send word to the Lannister family and inform them of what is happening. I'm sure Lord Tywin will return immediately."

"Speaking of, madam, there's an envoy that's been sent from King's Landing carrying a message, but he's refused to give it to anyone other than Ser Jaime."

Merilyn nodded in response and left the room, intent upon bringing some kind of order back to the household. She entered the hall at a quick pace and found the envoy, eating quickly at one of the tables. He stood as he saw her enter and bowed.

"My lady, I've been given a message for Ser Jaime."

"I know. He cannot receive it at the moment. I will take it and have him read it when his health improves. I have my own message for you to take to King's Landing when you return."

The messenger shifted from one foot to the other, "I was told to give it to none, but Ser Jaime. It is most imperative."

"If you wish to deliver it to his hands, I'll show you to his room. Though I must caution that at this moment Ser Jaime is battling an illness and is on the cusp of death. I'll hope The Seven will protect you as you enter the room." Her voice was cold and unyielding and she saw the messenger's uncomfortableness double.

He shifted further and then seemed to make a decision, "Here then, ma'am," he reached into his purse and pulled a small, folded note out. She took it easily and instructed him the message he was to take home. She placed the note in her pocket as an afterthought and turned from him, intent upon finding Willas and Eyries immediately.

Sometime around midnight, when the moon was at its very peak, she stood in her room, for she considered the glass tower room completely hers now. Watching the waves crash against the cliff, she whispered a silent prayer, short and repetitive. She needed him to live, the same way she needed the breath in her lungs. It felt like a part of her was gone, just disappeared. The hole in her was heavy, weighing upon her in a way she'd never imagined she could feel. Soon her mind failed to form actual words and she just thought his name over and over.

There had been no improvement, Willas had reported, though he commended Maester Culwin on his work. Jaime was still floating somewhere between life and death. The fire was kept at a roaring temperature and the servants were kept constantly busy with replacing his thick blanket wrappings. Anyone who stood in their bedroom for more than a few heartbeats soon felt as if the heat would rob them of their very breath. Jaime was suffering through such pain in hopes he would sweat the fever out. Willas had had no more details than that.

She could see many lights in windows of those who lived here and worried after their next Lord. The lights were meant to be pleas to the Seven, to remind them to visit here. Merilyn couldn't see the stars though and her grief sat hard in the pit of her stomach.

She fingered the note in her pocket, surprised at its presence. Pulling it out, she wondered why it was so imperative that Jaime be the sole recipient of this letter. She wondered who the sender was, who from King's Landing would write and entrust it to a messenger rather than a raven. Her curiosity burned and without further thought she opened the letter slowly.

Her fingers trembled but any cautioning thought was ignored and she peeled the page apart, recognizing the writing instantly. Her eyes hungrily read the secret words and doom settled in her stomach with every new sentence. She finished the letter and her stomach rolled suddenly, forcing her to throw the letter away from her and retch into the nearby pot. She vomited violently as if she could cast the message from her body, but they echoed loudly in her head. She heard them over and over in her own voice and despair filled her again. Her life ended with that letter.