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 nine 𓃦 Rotten dog
He was a dog, Baelor concluded – he would always find a way back, he dangled from the leash that was painfully unaware placed around his throat by his grandfather and most importantly he loved Genna like a rotten dog. To admit that would be blasphemy: to speak, to love a godly creature like Genna Lannister was to him. He could never love, he swore to himself when he was younger, because love, above everything else, is a weakness. A stupid, foolish thing that makes men like him smaller, less important, irrational. Love to him wasn't gentle, pure expression like the Septons taught him in his youth. No – love to Baelor was rotting flesh, something he could pull from six feet under; a complex he never understood.
So, why did he almost shed himself whenever Genna's fingers gently pressed themselves over the scar on the skin of his back, tenderly massaging some oils she received from a cousin, was beyond Baelor's understanding. Maybe he wished to believe whatever plagued his mind was to blame. Not a foolish moment of desire, of acts of his heart.
Baelor sat on the armchair by the cracking fireplace, his doublet lost somewhere on the floor by the bed's edge. Whenever he returned from his father's chambers, Genna noted he became quitter, moodier. She was still blissfully unaware her husband was slowly poisoning the king, to get his twin on the Iron Throne as quick as possible and to eventually kill him. And she was still blissfully unaware of the origins of the cuts across his back, some shorter ones on his hands – sitting on the same chair he so desperately wanted to become his permanent residence.
Genna stood behind the armchair, her fingers dipping in the small glass of some lavender oil she received from Dorne before gently glazing them across his skin. The cuts were somewhat healed already, leaving Baelor in virtually no pain. His fingers twisted, "did you know my sister is to come back?"
"I have not heard of it, no," Genna replied after a moment of silence.
"My nephew is to become Lord of the Tides," he scoffed, leaning onto his hand, "for whatever fucking reason. Vaemond does not allow it; rightfully so. She comes back to defend her petition."
