The early morning sunlight was breaking over the cliffs, casting the palest red light over the darkened landscape. The next day dawned with Merilyn staring blankly out, unmoved by it all. She sat alone on the small hill overlooking her beach. The light hadn't reached the water yet, creating murky depths that hid everything swirling beneath the surface. The waves broke with a choked voice, like the night muted their full power. She hated the ocean like this, sinister and fathomless.
He had been unfaithful.
She had known for two days now. She had not slept for the same number. She tried to burn the letter seven times. Seven times, she pulled it away from the flames at the last moment. It was evidence that shattered her, no matter who else would know. It was evidence that would destroy him, should the world discover. She carried it resentfully, unwilling to let it out of her reach, unwilling to acknowledge it in her mind.
For the third time that night, a violent shudder tore through her body. Her gaze remained unbroken, still trained upon the waves rolling in. The air around her was thick and heavy, and each breath was tainted with moisture and salt. Like every breath she took, every thought that crossed her mind was poisoned by the knowledge laid bare in that letter.
He loved another woman.
She should return to the castle now, before anyone stumbled blearily out of bed and discovered the Lady of Castlerly Rock had foregone sleep yet again. Twice already, she had given some partial excuse to Willas about feeling poorly, simply to discourage his questioning. Leila would see the bed still made, too, if Merilyn didn't make it back. She raised her gaze from the waves beating against the sand, up to horizon. Fog rolled along the ocean's surface.
She couldn't bear to be back inside, not when every part of the castle reminded her of him. If the air outside weighed on her lungs, it was nothing in comparison to the asphyxiating trap that was his home. The outdoors were hers, her freedom, her escape. Here on the edge of the hill, before the decline onto the sand, she was safe from the memory of his heated breath on her neck or the imagined sound of his laughter in the hall.
He had been unfaithful.
That night, she swallowed her pride and heartbreak. She wiped her eyes in private and stood without flinching when Maester Culwin came in and announced that The Seven were with Jaime. His fever had broken. The relief nearly brought her to her knees, but she only nodded her thanks and let Leila lead him to his old room. Willas had asked if she wished to see Jaime, had found it odd when she shook her head mutely, and tried to voice concern for her only to have her brush him aside.
Instead, Merilyn had avoided Jaime's room for the past two days. She always had a reason, an excuse. The Celebration had ended, but many of its attendants remained out of concern for their Lion Lord. The mine victims still needed to know someone cared. She ran the castle, even managed to extend an olive branch to Maester Culwin and asked him to permanently return to Casterly Rock. She scanned the horizon constantly for ravens, hoping to hear news of her family. No request was too small for her notice, not if it gave a reason to avoid her bedroom. Her husband.
He loved another.
Footsteps resounded from behind her. She closed her eyes, holding in a sigh. The illusion of the peace she held so sacred fell away and she felt robbed of any semblance of control. The footsteps stopped behind her, just close enough for her to hear him breathing.
"I was wondering when you would find out."
She let out her first sob, wrenched painfully from her. Oxygen felt like fire when she drew breath, and the second sob was swallowed. He sat next to her, far enough to maintain propriety, close enough for her to see his drawn face.
"How long have you known, Willas?" Her voice was hoarse, laden with unshed tears and stifled anger.
He took longer to respond, seemingly distracted by the fog over the ocean. His gaze scanned the same stretch of horizon repeatedly before he sighed, "The Royal Visit to Winterfell, she wasn't... discreet."
She flinched. Merilyn hadn't once thought directly of her. Willas sighed and ran a hand over his eyes wearily. He looked like he hadn't slept either. His gaze returned back to the horizon as he spoke again.
"He's asked for you twice now. It's being talked about amongst the servants, your lack of visits," he exhaled sharply, "Leila has done a good job, spreading rumours about it not being safe for you because of your...," he gestured towards her lower half almost shyly, "condition. But Ser Jaime is gaining strength fast and will soon no longer ask for you, but simply come find you."
"What do you suggest, Willas?" She asked, tonelessly. She refused to look at him, refused to tear her gaze from the steady rhythm of the waves. The sound of the water anchored her, soothing her sleep-deprived anxiety.
"He loves you," Willas hurriedly blurted. The thin sunlight was enough for her to see the reddening of his skin, even as he studiously avoided her gaze. "I hope you don't think me out of place."
"Very out of place, Willas, but I can't bring myself to actually care," she shrugged. The revelation that Willas thought Jaime loved her was enough to make her laugh, but was prevented by the need to simultaneously cry.
He swallowed, "I apologize, my lady."
She felt desperation rise in her throat like bile, spilling over and out into words, "What do I do, Willas?"
Her voice pleaded, while her gaze turned directly upon him. She felt herself move forward and fall into him, finally succumbing to her tears. He raised his arms around her to catch her, startled. Hesitantly, he held her as if she were breakable, while she continued to cry.
It wasn't until the fourth day that he finally found her. Unfortunately for the Lannisters, when he did find her, it was in her Glass Palace, on their couch, in a pool of blood.
Willas escorted him out to the sparring yard, after Maester Culwin had arrived and roared for Jaime's removal. The future Lord of Casterly Rock's head was a whirlwind of confusion and fear. The last four days had been hell. Merilyn hadn't come to see him once since he'd awoken. Maester Culwin explained the events and his return, but never her absence. He was certain that one night, she had crept in while he was sleeping, but left before he woke. Her scent had lingered next to their bed, just a hint fresher than the scent that still clung to her pillow.
But she hadn't slept in their bed a single night. He had been weak from the fever and the maester had forbid him from rising before his body had rest. Jaime had even seen Willas a handful of occasions, without Merilyn in sight. He was angry at his wife's lack of concern for him, but also guilty that he had left his young, pregnant lady alone to run a castle with her husband's likely death overhead. He was conflicted and confused, which only served to anger him further.
He had been fully intent on exacting exactly why Merilyn had avoided him over the course of four fucking days, when he had faced down his worst nightmare for the second time in their life together. Stunned, he hadn't moved from the entrance when Willas elbowed his way through and then began yelling for the maester. Jaime felt like he couldn't breathe as he looked at her ghostly-white face, even as Willas forcibly pulled him by the elbow from the room.
The clang of steel in the yard shook him from his dazed thoughts, and he looked at Willas, who was pacing. The young lad had dodge most of Jaime's questions over the last few days, especially any that directly pertained to Merilyn. He'd disappear for an amount of time, only to reappear whenever Jaime seemed to need him. Jaime had assumed he'd been with Merilyn, but the boy wouldn't ever confirm when asked.
Jaime turned back towards the door they'd just exited, determined to go up to his wife. Willas strode forward in front of it.
"You heard what Maester Culwin said, Ser, you're not to be in there."
"She's alone," Jaime said softly.
Willas hesitated, but shook his head, "Just wait, Ser. Trust Maester Culwin. He healed you after all."
"Where has she been, Willas?" His tone was more forceful as he stepped closer.
Willas shook his head, "I don't know, Ser."
"Quit fucking lying. You're her god damned shadow most days, lad. Remember who brought you into service here."
Willas stared ahead resolutely, "I don't know where she's been, Ser. She disappears as fast as she reappears."
Jaime sighed and his shoulders sank a fraction of an inch.
"Ser, maybe we should just go to the kitchens. There's an extra barrel of mead that cook was saving. I bet they wouldn't notice it go missing." Willas' grin was wolfish.
Jaime cracked a weak smirk and decided to follow the boy. Confusion was generally alleviated by drink, and that theory proved wrong, he probably wouldn't care either way.
The drink was strong, and he drank fast. The lack of food in his system, coupled with his determination to reach the level of well and truly pissed, meant he was soon well on his way to a great impersonation of Tyrion. Willas paced his drinking and kept his wits about him, though he continued to look thoughtfully over at his Captain.
"What, lad?" He asked curtly, at the fourth poorly veiled glance his direction.
Willas sharply tore his gaze away and shook his head, "Nothing, Ser."
Jaime's stomach was still a pit of lead, twisting tighter the longer the day wore on. Several times he saw Leila and Septa Aliane running to and from the kitchen with hot waters and towels, but neither stopped at his shouted questions and Willas kept him from chasing after. He stopped drinking in the afternoon, and was pacing, uncoordinatedly, by evening. The lack of information was slowly torturing his self-restraint, until it was rail thin and stretched tightly. He was on the verge of knocking Willas out and climbing the stairs to the Glass Palace, when Maester Culwin entered the kitchens. Both men stood and rushed to meet the maester at the entrance. Neither asked questions, but merely stood and waited for the news.
"Lady Merilyn is safe and resting. I was unable to save the child."
Jaime strode past him and up the stairs, ignoring the calls from behind, intent on one purpose. When he entered their bedroom, she opened her eyes blearily. She looked so worn down, so small, he felt his anger disappear. He was so fucking relieved that she had lived, again. That, once more, he was given a gift he didn't deserve, while she suffered the most. Instinct pushed him forward, and without hesitation, he climbed into the bed and pulled her into him. He felt rather than heard her sob through the rise and fall of her chest. She said nothing, moved nothing, just the quiet intake of breaths and the slow, shaky exhales of someone trying desperately to hold themselves together.
She hadn't cried the first time this had happened either. He clutched her desperately, not trying to hurt her, but unable to stifle the fear over his near-loss. His arms around her reassured her presence and survival. He glanced down at her, only to see that she had fallen quickly asleep. Pushing aside all other emotion besides his relief, he lay awake with her steady breathing as the only thought in his mind.
When she finally pushed off the fog of sleep for the final time, the sun was high in the window filling the room with light. She could feel the heat of her husband beside her, and ruthlessly tamped down on the feeling of happiness that crept into the corner of her mind. Try as she might though, she could not bring herself to wake him. If she had learned anything about herself over the past few wretched days, she knew she loved him.
She was in love with a man who broke one of the foundational rules of humanity, who had crawled between the legs of another woman the night he had exchanged vows with Merilyn, who continued to fuck his twin even after Merilyn conceived his child. She was in love with this man who slept peacefully with his arms around her, who killed three men easily just to get near her in chaos, who had brought her to her first orgasm. She most definitely loved this man that was both a blessing and a curse.
And he loved another woman.
As she lay still in their bed, she noted the emptiness of her body. She had finally relented to sleep on their couch in her glass room, and had fallen into fitful rest. On the occasions where she had awoken, it was blurred in her memory. What remained concrete was fear for her child and the sorrow of its later loss, for her body knew what her mind could not recall.
Grief and she were now an intimate pair, she thought almost dejectedly. How many moments of heart-wrenching loss should a person have to suffer? Her failure ate at her thoughts, Jaime's betrayal waiting quietly to slip in every so often. Her heart was starting to race, as the feeling of loneliness and loss rose to drown her. Tears pricked behind her eyes, and she angrily clenched her eyes shut, sick of crying.
"Shhh," a soothing hand, rubbed lightly along her back, and her husband pressed his lips to her forehead, "You're safe, Merilyn."
She focused on the feel of his hand, grief latching onto whatever comfort was offered. She could continue this life without ever telling him what she knew. He could grow to love her the way she loved him, that would always be a possibility. He desired her, he cared for her, he protected her, wouldn't love follow?
A nasty voice popped into her mind and whispered about what would happen next time he slipped off to King's Landing. She would wait like a good, little wife at home, while he snuck into another woman's bed. Anger was a brief spark in her mind, before it was smothered by her myriad of other emotions. Anger could wait.
She forced her thoughts back to his hand, "Did you comfort Cersei like this when she lost her first-born?"
The hand stopped suddenly. Astounded the words had left her mouth, Merilyn waited, her body taut as a string. Jaime grabbed her chin and forced her to meet his gaze.
"Do you have something you'd like to get off your chest, my wife?"