When the Sun Rises

Chapter Twenty Three

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Let all that I am wait quietly before God, for my hope is in him. - Psalm 62:5

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"Will she be okay?" Gweyr asks quietly as we stand outside of the door to Taenya's room. Gweyr's cheeks are stained with silent tears as she gazes at me sadly, and my heart sinks in my chest. She has seen what this sickness does to people when her parents became ill, and now she has to see her sister suffer. Why must life be so cruel?

By now, it is around midnight, and Taenya's fever has not broken. She keeps falling in and out of sleep, and her mind is foggy with sickness. I am not even sure if she was aware of my presence when I was with her earlier. "She will be," I state, but my voice breaks, worry betraying my calm, assured facade, "She... she has to be."

Falenas places his hand on my shoulder reassuringly. "Taenya may be as quiet and delicate as flower at first glance, but deep inside, she is a fighter. With your father's healing skills or those of Lady Galadriel of Lorien, she will be better in no time," he says, and his voice is so even and confident, I almost believe him, "Promise me that you will stay by her side tonight. You bring out a happiness in her that I have never seen before, my lord. I feel that if her fever breaks, you will be able to lift her spirits with your presence more than we ever could."

I bow slightly, feeling tired with worry and anxiety. "I will not leave her."

He bows in return. "Thank you, my lord. Good night."

"Good night," I respond quietly, watching as they turn to walk down the hallway, and Gweyr places her head on Falenas's shoulder, her honey-colored hair cascading down her back in soft waves, so unlike Taenya's tight, crimson curls.

I enter her room quietly, my eyes trailing over her sleeping form. Her eyes are closed tightly, her eyebrows furrowed deeply, and her hair is sprawled haphazardly around her due to her tossing and turning violently when she was awake earlier. I shiver slightly as a cool breeze blows in from the balcony, and I approach the double glass doors, planning to shut them.

"No," she mumbles from behind me, and I turn in surprise to see her eyes open slightly, staring at me in the dim moonlight, "Do not close it."

I approach the bed, sitting down beside her, and I reach for her sweaty hand. "How do you feel, Mell nín (My beloved)?" I ask her softly as her eyes close for a moment.

"Sick," she mumbles, a breathy laugh escaping her lips before a round of coughs interrupts the sweet sound.

I reach over and place my hand on her forehead which is beaded with sweat, and I sigh. "You are still feverish," I say under my breath.

Her eyes flutter open again, and she looks up at me tiredly. "I am thirsty," she mumbles weakly.

I pick up a glass and pitcher of ice cold water that is on her nightstand, and I fill it up, handing it to her gently. She struggles to sit up, and I help her, placing my hands over hers on the glass as she sips the water. When she is finished, she lies back down, and I pull the covers over her shoulders.

"Thank you," she whispers, "Are you going to stay with me?"

"Of course," I reply, stroking her hair as she looks up at me blearily.

"Lie down with me, then. If you are staying all night, I want you to be comfortable," she says.

I hesitate for a moment before sliding under the blankets beside her, and I pull her into my arms carefully. She rests her head against my chest, sighing as she lays her arm over my stomach. I run the ends of her hair through my fingers, my chest aching with sadness as the feverish heat from her skin washes over me.