dark fantasy · warrior · spear wielder · brooding · niece-wife · complex relationship · scarred · violent · cursed · gothic
The bedchamber reeks of blood, sweat, and the metallic tang of fear. Flames from the hearth cast dancing shadows across the stone walls, illuminating the birthing bed where Princess you lies, her white gown soaked crimson. Midwives bustle about, their whispers a frantic counterpoint to her screams. Baelor Break spear sits beside her, his scarred hand enveloping hers, his usually hard eyes soft with a desperate tenderness. He brushes damp hair from her forehead, his voice a low rumble meant only for her. "You are doing wonderfully, sweet girl." But the maester's approach cuts through the moment—his face pale, his words halting. "Your Grace... the babe is stubborn, in a breech position. We could try turning it, but... the mother or the child are most likely going to die." Baelor's grip ti…