(121-11-03) Mission of Mercy

Madrighal had been coming everyday to play soothing music to the sick, but last night the Red Witch brought him in delerious after collapsing in the Quill during a performance.

It's a busy time at the Citadel. With most of the most experienced healers (including /the/ most experienced healer) sick with the plague, novices and acolytes are suddenly pulled into serious cases that they wouldn't normally handle. Bryn, one of those novices, comes in carefully carrying a tray with a cup of steaming tea on it.

Madrighal is hoarsely singing in Dornish accented high Valarian. It seems to be part of a love poem about a lover who missed a rendevue, but the tune keeps changing. he sings the same passage over and over and keeps fretfully trying to escape the bed, though he is likely too weak even if he could untangle the blanket.

Bryn sets the tray on the table beside the singer's bed, and looks to him, biting his lip. He waits just a moment for the tea to cool a little more, so those who aren't Targaryen can handle it, then picks it up and says, "Calm down. Here, drink this, it will help your voice." If Madrighal lets him, he'll gently feed the tea to the singer. It's a mix of herbs, likely mixed to be pleasant tasting and easy on the stomach.

Madrighal looks up at him with a worried expression, "I can't find her. She's been with me since I was small… Maester Leandro's poem…." He does drink though, despite his fretting.

Bryn helps Madrighal finish the tea, then sets the cup aside. "Who can't you find? I'm good at finding people, and things. Do you need me to get Maester Leandro?"

Madrighal paws weekly at his arm, "My lute. I can't find my lute!" A glance around will show the case thoughtfully tucked under his bed. "I can't work out the tune without my lute."

Bryn looks around a moment, and then says, "Here it is." He crouches down, pulling out the case and opening it. He picks up the lute carefully and hands it to Madrighal.

Madrighal clutches at it and cradles it to his chest, rocking it. Holding it seems enough for now. His huge eyes aren't really focused and the inevitable dehydration makes the strong bones of his face stand out stark as flesh mets away. In a child's voice he whispers, "I don't feel well. everything is…is wrong. Inside."

Bryn nods and says, "I know." He glances around and says, "A lot of people are feeling just the same. But don't worry, the smartest maesters around are figuring out how to cure this. They'll come up with something."

Madrighal closes those large sunken eyes, "Don't tell him to come. I don't want him to die." He curls around the lute, "I don't want to die. I'm not finished yet." He begins to weep, water his body can ill afford.

Bryn bites his lip, but knowing how to handle a case like this is beyond him, in terms of both skills and maturity. He watches the singer a moment, then turns and runs off, looking for someone who may be able to be more reassuring.

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