Mother don't eat me / mother i'm trying so hard to be better
⠀ ⸺ ⠀House of the Dragon / Fire and blood
⠀ ⸺ ⠀male!oc x multiple
⠀ ⸺ ⠀cover made by @roguesmoon <3
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Chapter five 𓃦 A dog on a leash
Within the gossips of the Realm, Baelor Targaryen remained a saint. With all the sheep clothing he carefully wrapped around himself, the world seemed not to notice the wolf lurking underneath. Though, his mother started to notice it more often. But those thoughts were always brushed away, pushed somewhere in the deep part of her brain. How could she not when her son helped Rhaella kneel on the soft dark red pillow in front of the statue of the Mother, before mirroring his work with Alyssa?
For the good graces of his mother, Baelor kneeled between his daughters, acting blissfully unaware of the Queen's presence as he muttered a silent prayer, letting the girls take over – how lovely did their father teach them the words. Rhaella smiled when the pillow next to her dipped, looking at the red Hightower hair by her side, the quiet words leaving her grandmother's lips.
Once they finished, Baelor pulled himself off his knees, helping his girls as well before turning to his mother with a gentle smile tugging on his lips, "I was not expecting you here."
"I always come here in the mor, Baelor, I thought you knew by now," Alicent replied in almost a whisper as if not to disturb the statues while Alyssa buried herself in the dark green dress of her grandmother, the Queen's hand gently brushing the curls to the side.
"I must have forgotten," her son lied, a sweet smile still on his lips as he watched Rhaella step closer to the statue of the Mother, "how is father?"
Alicent pursed her lips in a line, watching the bright lilac eyes of Alyssa staring at the ceiling, "not so well. I fear for the worst."
Baelor reached his hand out, Rhaella wrapping her arms around his leg, "I am sure he shall get better; he always does. He survived the redspots against all odds."
Alyssa buried her head further in Alicent's dress, her forehead pressed against her clothed thigh. The Queen sighed, "yes but . . . the Maesters cannot tell why he is sick. And if they cannot do so, they cannot treat him."
