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her beauty was her curse her naivety her downfall
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Dirt-ridden and haggard, Hermione Tatham was a beauty that made Sansa Stark's throat tighten with a bitterness that was hard to swallow. Once, Hermione had been mere light amid the shadows of Winterfell, but now she bloomed, breathless and radiant, a mouthful of lemon cake nearly spilling from her lips as laughter danced in her eyes. Though she had arrived at Winterfell looking a trifle frail, each passing day found her returning to the curves of health, her wheat-colored hair now curling just past her shoulders, a reflection of the warmth of summer that had graced the South.
Her hand often drifted to the swell of her belly, a tender gesture filled with hope and surprise, as if she were checking to see if the life within her still flickered with promise. At times, her fingers recoiled, startled by the reminder of her growing child, as if the weight of motherhood came with its own brand of fear.
"How far along are you?" Sansa asked, propping her chin on her palm, her blue eyes fixed on Hermione's gilded ones. The sun shone brightly in King's Landing, casting a golden hue over the balcony where the two women sat, ensconced in a moment of rare tranquility.
Hermione licked her fingers clean of the sweet residue, her smile softening as her hand cradled her belly once more. "I don't truly know, my lady. Maester Pycelle believes I've reached my third trimester—so perhaps seven or eight moons, give or take."
Sansa's heart raced, a hesitant warmth igniting within her as she reached out, her hand hovering above Hermione's belly, seeking permission before pressing gently against the fabric. The moment her palm made contact, a fluttering kick met her fingers, and Sansa's joy exploded forth, bright and unrestrained. "Did you feel that?" she gasped, her excitement bubbling over.
"No, but I felt it," Hermione sighed, the weariness in her voice tempered by a thread of laughter.
Since word of Hermione's arrival had reached Sansa, she had wasted no time in seeking out the woman who had become her only solace in this treacherous court, a flicker of familiarity in a realm rife with treachery. They spent hours together, Hermione recounting her harrowing journey with Robb Stark's men, her marriage to the King in the North, and the trials she had endured since. In return, Sansa shared the torment Joffrey's cruelty had wrought upon her life, her words heavy with the weight of silent suffering.
