Chapter 2
King Marke was resting on his armchair beneath the fireplace of his chamber with a glass of whisky in his hand. That helped a bit with the hurting right upper arm side. It still throbbed, but a little less intensive than before. Isolde had tended to it as best as she could.
He mused about her anger. Surely, she had been in a devastating state of grief for several days, the same as himself. But did her wrath mean that she really cared about him? Marke couldn't think straight at this point. He felt numb, sore and tired. He finished the whisky and went to bed.
The next day as Marke awoke, he still felt dizzy. As promised, he first went to Isolde's chamber to tend to his arm. She had insisted that he would let her tend to it at least every morning and evening for the next 10 days. She had been very clear about it.
At the morning visit Marke learned from her reaction that she was not pleased with the progress of the healing, overnight it had gotten worse.
It had been stupid to delay the tending to the wound for four days. He knew that, but at that time he didn't care, he just functioned and otherwise was full of grief.
Isolde laid her hand on his forehead and asserted to him: "It is hot. You have fever."
Marke shrugged and winced directly. He hadn't expected that it hurt so much to shrug.
She ordered him to go directly back to bed, she would come up to him with an additional healing drink. Marke had to rest.
He protested. "I am the king, I have duty to fulfil."
Isolde answered exhausted and with tears in her eyes: "Yes, and BECAUSE you are badly needed as king, we want to keep you alive. Now go to bed. I'll come soon. Try to sleep as much as possible."
Marke was taken aback. His life?
Was it THAT bad?
Apparently it was.
Slowly he went back to his chamber, every step hurt.
Yes, surely Isolde was right, it was his first duty to stay alive. He told his chamber guard to fetch him Kurseval, as he passed him by.
At the time when Kurseval entered, Marke was already drowsing away, but awoke immediately. Kurseval sorrowful lifted his eyebrows. "You called me, sire?"
Marke replied: "Yes. Good that you're here. I am a little bit sick today. Can you please tell the others that I will not come down today? And then I thought that you could already start with the gathering and mending of the weapons that we have left. Tell Luke that he is in charge of the horses, Nathan shall ride to Tryverow and if the other messengers arrive, please come up and inform me.
Kurseval nodded and bowed with a sad face, before he left the room.
Then silence filled the room, until his sister entered, also with an agitated temper. Edyth stopped directly in front of the bed and asked in an angry tone: "You didn't bother to tell anybody that you were wounded? I just heard from Isolde what's going on. I couldn't believe this at first. Is it true? You still had pieces of an arrow inside your upper arm four days after the battle?"
He already felt miserable, but now, that his sister showed the same attitude as Isolde - and Marke knew that they were both right - he even felt more miserable, if that was possible at all. Not only the grief about Tristan, not only the pain of the wound, not only his brainfog, not only the hopelessness and numbness, now he had to deal with two furious women. HIS women. He sighed and tried to sink deeper into his cussions. But that didn't help. Softly he replied. "Yes, it's true. In fact, I had other things to do. You know, the funerals, organizing life …."
Edyth sat on his bedside and said more softly: "Brother. I know what you've lost. I understand that you grief. But I cannot loose you as well because you didn't care for yourself. There are still people that love you and need you and want you around. Please take more care of yourself. And if it's just for me. Promise?"
Marke felt his tears well up again. With a hoarse voice he replied: "I promise, sister."
She smiled, kissed him on the cheek, patted delicately his hair and left the room.
Marke felt bad for laying in bed and doing nothing while the others were having all the work. And he still felt the deep loss of Tristan. As he was all alone in his chamber and nobody to witness, he wept again about Tristan and let the tears flow. Eventually he fell asleep.
Isolde entered quietly and carefully. As she had hoped, Marke was already sleeping. Good. She put all the items she had brought with her on the nightstand and sat down to wait.
Within her, she had a rollercoaster of emotions during the last days. Foremost the loss of Tristan and the unbearable grief. It was as if her life had ended as well. But then, yesterday, she felt a new emotion within her.
Anger.
She had discovered, that her wrath rooted in her fear for Marke. It was already bad to have to live without Tristan. But she wouldn't accept to loose Marke as well.
She glanced over to him as she sat there and waited for him to wake up. His fine countenance, his dark rubby hair that had grown tiny curls. It was a little bit longer than usual, since just before the coronation he had had no occasion to cut his hair.
Inside, she snorted.
He had had even no occasion to tend to his inflamed wound, for God's sake!
No, it was not acceptable to loose him. Not to wound fever. Isolde was determined.
