HANDS TURNING LOOM...
SPOOL OF GREEN, SPOOL OF BLACK...
DRAGONS OF FLESH WEAVING DRAGONS OF THREAD...
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She grew out of control, like an untreated wound. She had Aegon right in her hands, her serpent like hold tightening on him, choking him...
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"WE NEED TO FIND THE USE OF IT.."
---¤𖠁¤---
KING'S LANDING, MIDDAY.
Watching from a distance as Roselyn chats with Helaena, the two women were visibly beaming at each other, the two children bouncing in their laps. It was sickening. Within mere days of meeting, the two women so easily found solace with each other, like it was the most natural thing ever. As if they were not strangers just days ago. It was vile. It was blood boiling. It was infuriating. Why was no one comforting him like that? Sure, Aegon may not have been the best Father. Or the best husband. Or, the best of anything really. But, where was his comfort?
Helaena had been showered with love and comfort, the people of King's Landing mourn alongside her. Their Mother coddled her like a frail bug that she stupidly adores so much. Aemond kept apologizing relentlessly for his part in that inevitably lead up to Blood and Cheese. But, where was his comfort? Where were his hugs? His sweet words and prayers? Where was his pretty little Lady doting over him? Why was Helaena getting all of it? Had he not lost a child as well? Had he not suffered? Had he not mourned as well?
"She is a pretty little thing, is she not?" Aegon comments, drumming his finger against the cold marble of the balcony.
"Yes, the Queen Helaena is⎯" Ser Cole awkwardly gets out, before he cuts him off.
"I was not speaking of her." He snaps, "The Lady Roselyn, she is a pretty little thing, is she not?"
"She is, I suppose, your grace." Ser Cole coughs, shifting in place.
"Pretty enough for someone related to my cunt of a family in Oldtown." Aegon mumbles to himself, "If they are anything like my Mother, they are prudes and act holier than thou."
Trailing his back over Roselyn, there was something almost soft about the way she looked. Sitting on the soft lush grass, bouncing a giddy Maelor in her lap, a mix of warmth and heartbreak glimmering on her face. Picking at his bottom lip with his teeth, he faintly remembered something about her being widowed and losing a babe in the cradle. He could not remember correctly as he had mostly blocked out his Mother's ramblings as she was nagging a little too much at the time.
"She lost a child and my cousin, or something removed or whatever nonsense, no?" Aegon asks, trying to remember the details.
"Yes, a babe and the Lord Ettore, your Mother's cousin." Ser Cole nods, his voice curt.
"How? I had not heard of him perishing in a battle of sorts." Aegon shakes his head, "How?"
"From what the Dowager Queen had told me, twas' a fever that took Lord Ettore. The babe was born too weak, days old, if I remember correctly." Ser Cole explains, looking a little awkward.
Grinding his teeth together for a moment, it suddenly all clicked in his head, as to why she clung and dotted onto Maelor so much. Maelor was young, his second name day approaching soon enough, he was close in age⎯still dependent on Helaena and a wetnurse. A part of her must have felt connected to a child so close in age to her babe.
