𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐈𝐍 𝐌𝐘 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃 - House of the Dragons

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑,

𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐈𝐍 𝐌𝐘 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃
part one, In my tears, I stare at
the absence of your son.
_______________________________
101AC
Maelore Velaryon
one month later.

╔══ ≪ °❈° ≫ ══╗

A MOMENT OF PEACE AND AN ABSENCE OF SOLIDARITY. It can never weave the heart that seeks love within written pages of a book. She always told that to her when she was younger.

It was a tactic used by her mother to get her to stop reading but her mother used the person her daughter comfinded in to strike the words with meaning and purpose.

Aemma quoted the word like it was from a book. And maybe it was, just none she had ever read. She always had a way of easing her into doing stuff. Unlike the effects of her mother, Aemma was soothing and warm.

She placed a gentle hand on her shoulder instead of striking her with the same hand she bore her wedding ring from a false marriage that only consisted of lies and hatred.

Her hands rest on her stomach with a turning ache her head stares straight ahead. Red rims her eyes and her teeth clench as she tries to swallow the thick burdened sob that aches in her chest.

It feels as though a rock has been stuffed down her throat so that it fits so perfectly that if she tried to swallow it would get stuck.

And she has tried to swallow and the only thing it has done is get stuck.

She can't describe the pain in her heart as she stares at not one but body's that lay on the man built rests on the ledge of the waters letting the waves crash alongside them.

Pins and needles stab and slice at her heart and her eyes burn with red rimming the eyes to fight back the glossy thick tears ready to fall.

Her mother stands beside her with an emotionless face keeping her eyes on the sea like the body's aren't in front of her, like the babe that hasn't even taken more than enough air, isn't wraps nexted to his mother.

Too small, the babe could be mistaken for a rock. An unliving thing, that didn't need the air around it, as the babe that lay's cold on the pine.

Lady Maelores nostrils flare with meaning and anger at the gods above for doing this.

Once she manages to swallow the thickness in her throat, she steps out of place feeling the moist grass beneath her as she walks to the Princess, through the crowd of royals and high titled people, in mourning black, just like her.

She doesn't think about what her mother says at this moment; she can only think about Rhaenyra. She can see the young body of the princess stiffen from in front of Daemon.

Stalling with berdan and anger and most of all sadness for feeling these things. For having to feel these things.

Maelore feels a strong grip grab her hand and she almost thinks it's the grasp of her mother, but she turns her head to see Daemon who holds a protective gaze.

His eyes point and he raises his brows, looking
between the Princess Rhaenrya and Lady Maelore like he's trying to figure out his own answer to his own questions.

She flutters her eyes giving him a nod, decides not to fight him at the moment and he does the same, loosening his grip on her and she turns to Princess Rhaenrya.

"They are waiting for you, Princess." Lady Maelore whispers, her voice is fragile like it's trying not to break but being strong to give Princess Rhaenrya the courage to speak.