At Dawn's Light

Chapter 11: A Simple w**d

“Where is he?" Rowan asked, icy daggers stabbing into her heart. Lea lead the way to her uncle's chambers, then stood aside.

There was only the king's personal healer and General Tarik in the room. Rowan could feel the heat radiating from her uncle as she approached the bed.

“My lady, get out of here!" The healer's voice cut sharply through the silence.

Rowan's temper was instantly ignited.

“He's my uncle, my only relative! I will stay," she snapped.

“Besides," she continued less savagely, “I had this fever earlier this year and survived. I do not fear it!"

She saw the general wave his hand slightly and shake his head at the healer.

Excusing himself saying he had to tend to others, the healer left the room. General Tarik followed.

It was then, Rowan noticed her uncle looking at her.

“Your Majesty," she curtseyed.

“Don't come closer," he rasped. “Go back to your chambers and study."

He flinched, sighed, then moaned. Rowan looked around but she was alone. Seeing a basin of water, she grabbed a towel and got it wet. Gregan relaxed instantly as she dabbed his forehead with the cool cloth. When her uncle began snoring softly, she left the room.

Lea and General Tarik were speaking in serious tones.

“You can't keep going in there, my lady. It's too dangerous."

“General Tarik," Rowan stood tall. “No matter how miserable the king is, he is my uncle. I will not leave him."

Tarik looked thoughtful, “You may be the only one who can tend to him, then. I wish there was something more we could do. We are so very low on fever herbs."

He turned and walked away.

Lea and Rowan found themselves alone in the hallway. Rowan voiced her fears.

“They have no herbs for fever?"

Lea shook her head, “They had an outbreak a few months ago."

Rowan paced with her hands on her hips, “There are no Worray Trees near here either. What can we do? I can't let him just....go."

She was confused at the feeling the thought of losing her uncle created in her chest. Could she actually care for that miserable, demanding, old man?

“Rowan," Lea took hold of her lady's arm. She laughed quietly, as she spoke, “There is this old remedy, my mother taught me...I need to go to the river."

Nodding, Rowan called after the running half-elf, “Tell Jax, to let you take Dunvelli!"

Within the hour, the handmaiden returned, holding the stems of wild river thyme.

“We are going to feed my uncle a w**d?"

Lea held a small glass vial, “Hold this, my lady."

Lea artfully peeled the outer skin from the stems, something at which Rowan knew she would have failed doing well. The handmaiden then began squeezing the stems from the top down, dripping an oily substance into the vial. When she was done, the oil almost filled the vial.

“Rub it directly on the chest and forehead," Lea wiped the sweat from her forehead with her wrist.

Rowan returned to her uncle's room. She noted the room seemed warmer, and her uncle's breathing more shallow. Quickly she dumped some of the vial's contents onto her hands and paused only a moment before applying the oil to her feverish uncle.

“What are you doing, child!"

“I'm a young woman, uncle!"

“Stop talking back!"

“Stop giving me orders!"

“Why do you disobey me?"

“Why are you so hard on me?"

The king went silent. The oil was soaking into his skin, cooling him and calming the fever.

He closed his eyes, but before he fell asleep he whispered words Rowan could barely hear.

“You are the daughter I never had, the one I deserved."

Silently, the young woman dropped to her knees. Resting her head on the bed, she watched Gregan's breathing until she fell asleep.

Rowan woke to a hand resting on her head. Instantly, she was awake and looking into the eyes of an exhausted king. His breathing was slow and heavy, and Rowan forced herself to push images of her father's last moments out of her mind.

“Ah," the voice was slightly more than a whisper. Gregan swallowed. “Rowan. Why are you still here?"

“I finished my studies, Uncle," she lied. “I thought I should come to check on my king to see if he was getting the proper treatment."

Raising a skeptical eyebrow, the king took a deep breath and said, “You've been here all night, and haven't eaten this morning."

Suddenly he fell silent and drifted into sleep. Rowan grabbed the vial from her waist and shook out the last few drops. Quickly she brushed her hands together and rubbed Gregan's face and chest.

His breathing became easy in the minutes it took for the oil to work. General Tarik entered to room and sent Rowan a questioning look. Soon, the king's eyes opened again.

“There's a box," the king pointed randomly. “Over there, on the stand. It's red and covered with gold lace."

He struggled to breathe. General Tarik retrieved the box and brought it to the bed, looking into Rowan's worried eyes with his own.

“Here, Rowan," King Gregan opened the box. “This belonged to my beloved Queen, and now it will adorn a new and most gracious head."

Looking into the box, Rowan gasped at the beautiful gem-encrusted hairpiece. It was a depiction of a flying bird, wings spread, rubies for eyes, gold and blue filled the body and wings.

“I gave it to my Queen on our wedding day," she looked up from her gift to meet her uncle's uncommonly soft ones. “She would have loved you, just like I have grown to do."

His eyes closed and Rowan jumped forward to hold his hand.

“Uncle! Please...please," her voice trailed off into a hopeless whisper.

He opened his eyes again and seemed to have recovered some inner energy. As he struggled to sit up, Rowan stepped in front of the general and assisted her uncle.

“General Tarik," The King's eyes were bright, although bloodshot from the fever. “Bring in your commanders."

Rowan delicately straightened her uncle's greying hair, and he reached up to squeeze her hand. She blushed at his sudden affection and went to pull away, but he held firm.

In minutes, seven officers of General Tarik's forces stood shoulder to shoulder at the foot of King Gregan's bed.

“This is my decree," Gregan breathed heavily. “I name my niece, the Lady Rowan Alys Byrnehaven, my heir. From this day forward, she will be given the respect and duties her status dictates."