I was again slightly late for work for finishing writing this.
Sometimes I get the urge to write sad things.
TW: mention of misscarriage
The hour of the wolf, the darkest hour of the night, standing at the window he could only imagine the waves crashing against the rocks on which stood the castle of High Tide. Over the sky in the distance he could see the flashes of lightning, a storm was coming. As a sailor he knew better than anyone that change is the only constant in this life, a calm sea can soon become a rough one, the sun's rays can suddenly be eclipsed by black clouds, you can set a destination but never the path.
He would have liked to think that he had lost count of the nights he had woken up just to feel the breeze on his face, but those were the same nights since that terrible day, and he was not going to forget that.
Neither did she and he was sure she never would. Why them? Why her? It was clear that they were not the noblest people who had ever walked the world, they had never pretended to be, they were only human, with mistakes and flaws, of course, but they did not deserve this, they did not deserve to be mere spectators while life slipped through their fingers in front of them. Give me a battle and I will fight it, I will not run away, I will fight and look my enemy in the eyes, but how to face a God whose name is the stranger, it is ironic, everyone has witnessed his passing, but no one has seen him, and yet he found himself asking the same god to take that soul who had never known the light of day to a better place, for of all people it was the most innocent.
He could barely see her, I think it scared him to see her so fragile, as if just with the weight of her gaze she would break, but he also knew she was strong, after all she was here, breathing, with that hope that maybe soon the gods would reward them for all the pain they had caused them.
The dim light of the candles next to the bed managed to draw the silhouette of her face, her thin lips, her soft cheeks and that expression of ephemeral tranquility. What he could tell was that this was the first night in which she had managed to sleep without waking up shaken between tears and laments.
She asked without consolation in his arms, reviving the tears that in her dreams had already begun.
What could he answer, what comfort could he give her? The only thing he was able to do was to hold her in his arms caress her, give her tender kisses, profess his love with everything else but words, for what had happened to them had no name.
He too had shed tears, he too had broken down, the loss was as much his as hers.
"Have you thought of what to name him yet?"
Between his fingers he stroked a lock of his wife's hair.
"You still think it's going to be a boy."
She met his gaze in the mirror on her dressing table.
"I know he is, a sailor, like his father, maybe he'll go farther than I ever could."
She put down the comb that had helped her untangle her hair after her walk through the air as had become customary.
"It's still too early, remember that during Laena's pregnancy, you, me and half of Westeros assumed it would be a boy, and the first time I held her in my arms I can swear she had a reproachful face, I don't want this baby to be born thinking the same thing"
Now standing and facing him, her hands rested on the small curve of her belly, she was still able to wear all her dresses, but soon, very soon she would have to leave them in the trunk for a while.
"Patience is not my strong suit."
His hands now accompanied his wife's at the place where her hopes rested and grew.
"That I know better than anyone my love."
It was then that their lips met on the road and they joined, a sweet dance they had perfected over time.
Maester Kelvyn said he had been a boy.
Her cries flooded the room, but it was her tears and her grief that made it unbearable, the pain, the loss, almost impossible to tolerate, this was the battle and they had lost it, their greatest defeat.
"Rhaenys I don't think it's…"
Her hands ran down her face filled with beads of sweat that mingled with the bitter tears.
"He is my son, I want to see him if only for once."
She pleaded with her voice in a whisper.
The room was left alone, just the two of them with their son in their arms and their grief, their pain.
The hour of the nightingale, the sun would soon peek as always over the sea, the dark hour was passing and light was what ruled flooding even the smallest corners, not everything remained in the shadows forever.
His wife's voice brought him out of his thoughts bringing him back to reality, back to the present.
"It's still too early Rhaenys go back to sleep."
He said reaching for the bed.
"I know, but you should too, we both need it."
Her delicate hands tucked one of her dreadlocks behind her ear.
Without further ado he climbed into bed and covered his wife with his arms. He did not give in to exhaustion if not until he saw Rhaenys' breathing sink into a soft beat.
He whispered before joining her in the dream world.
