SEQUEL TO POPPY
❝ The strongest trees are rooted in the dark places of Earth. Darkness will be your cloak. Your shield. Your mother's milk. Darkness will make you strong. ❞
GAME OF THRONES - SEASON 4-7
THE POPPY SAGA - 3
THE MOR...
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FEAR WAS COURSING THROUGH HER BLOOD, that and adrenaline. The pain which met Clara Tatham's womb was indescribable, unimaginable, of nothing she could put to words. Her dimwitted brother, Mace, accidentally cutting her arm to the bone when they were young was like walking through a garden. Being bucked off her horse when she was but a girl and breaking her leg was laying in a field of daisies, Clara would take them both now and be grateful. She would say thank you at every crack of her bone or slice of her skin.
The pain climaxed and ebbed, like her rhythmically beating heart and all she could think about was Lyanna. Strong Lyanna. Iron-strength Lyanna. Willful Lyanna laying in that bed of her blood.
Clara had not half of Lyanna's strength, not half of her determination, so if she could not live past childbirth how would she be able to.
"You must push my lady," the maester instructed and she only shook her head fingers clenching down onto Odin's rough hands as he smoothed back her matted blonde hair. "You must push now!"
"I cannot," she cried.
In the beginning, pregnancy had been but a burden what with every woman in the near five-league radius seemed to find her and automatically want to rub her belly. They oohed and ahhed at her as if she were some insolent child performing a magic trick. Though, when she was alone and once the sadness of it all passed, Clara began to enjoy the feeling of it. Having her young babe kick and tumble inside of her.
Though all good things must come to an end mustn't they.
Another contraction flared and Clara's grip on Odin's hand tightened. "Clara," he cooed not giving any indication that her grip was paining him. "Clara our little boy is in there and he wants to come out. You gotta push him out Clare, you can do this."
Odin's forehead rested against her's and his blue eyes locked onto her own. It was moments like these which awed her. How woefully wrong she had been about this man when they had met. Clara had pegged him for the likes of Robert Baratheon, drinking and whoring across the Seven Kingdoms. Though Odin Tatham couldn't be farther from their present king.
