TO LOVE A KING || Maegor II Targaryen [SLOW UPDATES]

040▪️ JUDGEMENT OF THE GODS

Inside the Red Keep, Queen Mellario's screams had quieted, but not in peace. Her voice, once full of wit and warmth, was now reduced to shallow moans and breathless gasps. Her dark hair clung to her drenched face, her lips cracked and pale. Blood soaked the silken sheets and pooled at her thighs.

Unlike her earlier births, this one had stolen something from her, her strength, her fire. She looked like a shadow of herself, a flickering candle.

King Maegor stood frozen at the edge of the birthing room, a man armored in helplessness. His hands were clenched, his eyes fevered.

Grand Maester Mellos approached with quiet dread. His face was pale, sweat beading beneath his links.

“She doesn’t seem to be in as much pain now,” Maegor said hopefully, his voice a desperate whisper. “Is that good?”

“The Queen has pushed herself far beyond her limits, Your Grace,” Mellos replied softly. Then, with a glance over his shoulder, he leaned in to whisper in the King's ear.

“There is… a choice to be made.”

Maegor blinked. His heart thundered. “What are you saying, Mellos?”

“During a difficult birth, sometimes it becomes necessary to decide. To sacrifice one, or lose them both.”

The words hit him like a hammer. Maegor went pale. His breath caught.

“No,” he muttered. “No. There has to be another way. Save them both.”

“I am sorry, Your Grace.” Mellos’s voice was grave. “There is a technique taught at the Citadel, a cut made directly into the womb to free the infant. But… the blood loss will be fatal. It always is.”

Maegor ran a hand through his hair, pacing like a caged animal. “You can’t ask me to sacrifice my wife.”

“We must act now, or leave it with the gods,” Mellos said. “I give you the truth, not cruelty.”

Maegor turned to face the bed where Mellario lay, barely conscious. He looked at her, his wife, his joy, his Dorne. She had always been fire wrapped in silk. And now she was dying, and he would be the hand that ended her.

He crossed the room like a man walking to execution. He knelt by the bedside, taking Mellario’s cold hand in his own. “Hold on, Mellario. Please,” Maegor whispers.

His wife glares at him through the haze of pain. “If I die, and this child dies with me… was it worth it?” she croaks. "Ten years of wanting to give you an heir?" Her orbs breaming in tears.

Maegor cannot answer. He swallows and shakes his head in tears of regret. “Don’t speak my love. Save your strength.”

Mellario muffled her tears.

The Maesters confer quietly near the foot of the bed.

“She cannot push anymore,” Mellos says, grim. “We may have to consider a cutting. Your Grace!”