#songoftroy

“Carla, we cannot do that.” Samuel replied while her hands began to unbutton his pants after closing the door of their bedroom behind them.

“It’s our party, I think we can do what we want.” Carla chuckled and Samuel unzipped her dress when she turned around.

Samuel pressed his lips to her neck and she moved her head to the side to give him more access. Carla hummed when he nipped at her pulse.

Carla turned around his arms and Samuel smiled at her when she tipped toe to kiss his lips. Her hands wrapped around his neck, playing with his hair.

“I love you, you know that right?” Samuel said caressing her jaw. Her emerald eyes shinning with happiness and love that mirrored his own.

“It’s our engagement party, I hope that you love me.” Carla teased and Samuel’s arms wrapped around her waist.

Finally, after years of being together, they were happy and in a good place. Life had not been easy for them with challenges threw their ways but they made it work in the end and they were getting married soon which was a victory.

“Let’s have a quickie before Lu comes bragging in here.” Samuel said after brushing his nose with her.

Carla laughed and pulled him to the bed before straddling his laps. She put a hand her small bump and smiled at Samuel, pulling his one of top.

After all, Helen came back a Spartan queen. Alive and unblemished. Menelaus survived and Paris was dead; the greeks returned victorious and Troy had fallen after ten endless years of war. They marched into the city arm in arm. The wronged husband and the regretful wife, ever so joyful of being home again. Back to her rightful owner. Helen had stepped over the blood of both trojans and greek soldiers when they dragged her to her husband’s ship; there had been crimson pools all along the shoreline. It was morning - Sparta was breathing a soft summer breeze when they arrived. The people gathered around to watch the queen’s return, and Helen knew that she had to smile at them, for they had lost husbands, fathers and sons in a war fought for her possession. If I were a woman I would be weeping, Helen thought. As a queen she had no choice. They had to believe she had been unwillingly taken; and for that she had to do what a queen should do best and deceive the common people with her fabricated smiles and declarations of gratitude to each greek warrior who dedicated their lives for her return.

But Hermione was no such people. Influencing others had never been a difficult task, but her persuasiveness was worth nothing when it came to her daughter. It had always been so. Her eyes sought her as they entered the palace where for many years she had reigned, fearing the possibility of not recognizing her own blood. When she left, Hermione was only a child. Now she was older than Helen had been at her birth, but she identified her nonetheless. She was her father’s likeness, but far more beautiful. Her hair as red like Menelaus’, the eyes were also of the same color, and as Helen recalled, she often shared his temper, too.

‘My sweet daughter’, she whispered, facing her with a soft gaze. Whenever Helen closed her eyes, she heard the screaming of the souls departed for her sake and a chill ran down her spine. Her fingers touched a strand of Hermione’s hair, placing it behind her ear. It still felt strange to look at her and think she was her own flesh; motherhood always seemed something so beyond her comprehension, like she couldn’t truly reach it. From the day she birthed her, the experience seemed alien to her. Facing her was more uncomfortable than ever now; for the mere sight of Hermione was a reminder that she had abandoned a child. She was innocent, and she suffered for her mother’s choices. Helen hid her shame by lifting her eyes to look straight into her daughter’s, denying herself the instinct to stare down at her feet. ‘You are a woman now. As beautiful as I knew you would become.’

She had been warned beforehand, of the horrors her old friend had been put through, but even that could not prepare her for the figure before her, a shell of a girl she once was. Sansa supposed they both were, in different ways. “Jeyne” she breathed, voice nearly cracking. A reminder to herself to raise her walls, to not break into the tears which were threatening to spill out of her oceanic eyes. 

A defeating silence followed her words. 

She was pregnant. With another man child. 

Lisandro shallowed hard. He knew that it was coming, she had been married for six months and she was already pregnant. 

He avoided her gaze, he couldn’t look at her in the eyes. Lisandro’s heart squeezed painfully in his chest. He obviously knew that they had sex but still it hurt.

Lisandro turned around to look out of the window. It was winter, snow was falling quickly on the plain. He observed the horizon for a few minutes, listening to her breathing behind him. 

It was the first time that they found themselves alone in a six months. Six months were he had to watch her be happy with her husband. His own love life was back on track, he was getting married soon. 

❝Congratulations are in order I suppose.❞ Lisandro finally said when he turned around to face her. 

He observed her and could clearly see the bump under dress, she must be at five months or so. Her cheeks were flushed and her hand unconsciously rubbed the bump happily. She stopped as soon as she saw his eyes looking at her. 

She bit her bottom lip in nervousness. She obviously knew that he wasn’t going to be happy about this news, it was far from what he thought she was going to say when she tugged him away. 

❝Lisandro.❞ She said with a slight tremor in her voice. She closed her eyes and he took a step toward her. 

❝What do you want me to say?❞ He asked angry, “that I’m happy for you when I’m dying from even imagining another man touching you.❞

❝I just wanted you to learn it from me.❞ Cayetana said and took a step forward. Her hand cupped his cheek softly before leaning her forehead against his.

He froze at her touch and closed his eyes anyway. It was the first time in months that he felt her touch. He moved away with difficulty to it was needed when he felt her baby bump touching his flat stomach. 

A tear escaped his eye when she dropped her hand from his face. ❝I hope that he makes you happy.❞

“ your gifts could be your downfall, that is if you are not careful, ” mary offered, though she suspected it could be advice that was misplaced. “ you do understand, i hope? ”

“A Lady Nicole,” Luc called out, walking over to the young woman. “Would you happen to know where my father is right now?”

d e l e t e d   ≫   💖BFF 💖          joff hit me today…d e l e t e d   ≫   💖BFF 💖          am i stupid for still wishing for a happy ending?d e l e t e d   ≫   💖BFF 💖          i’m so sorry i could protect you from ramsayd e l e t e d   ≫   💖BFF 💖          do you ever wish we could go back to being the girls we used to be?d e l e t e d   ≫   💖BFF 💖          if you hurts you again i’ll kill hims e n t   ≫   💖BFF 💖          god you’ll never believe what arya did today. literally THE WORST sister ever !!! 

On summer the garden glowed in golden shades,wet with morning dew. Often she would rise earlier than the sun to walk betweenthe trees and thick green bushes, and feel the damp grass tickling the spacebetween her toes, with her daughter on her arms – growing heavier by the week,ever since she was born. The sunrays at their weakest were good for the baby’s health.Helen liked to just sit there, weaving garlands with the flowers they picked,like she had done so many times when she was a child. She hadn’t maintained many habits from those days. Sometimes her mind still wandered, foolishly, during theconstant occasions in which she had to suffer through tedious conversationsever since she was made queen, and Helen even thought, idiotically, that itwould have been nice if she could still be playing outside with Clytemnestrainstead of learning about trade routes and their strategic points. It was likeshe had not lived enough of those things. She often met young princes with theirfaces still smooth and plump as hers and wanted to flirt in that silly way that children did – but she had achild at her breast already. Hermione was a pretty jewel. Her giggles weremelodic like she laughed to the sound of Apollo’s lyre, red curls sparkled wildly likethreads of copper down her shoulders, matching the emerald of her eyes. A softand childish version of her father. As precious as she was, there was always astrange feeling in the back of Helen’s mind when she thought of Hermione. Othermothers had something that she simply did not. Her child was a doll, indeed.But Helen herself had barely stopped playing with dolls at the time she wasborn.

‘What a beautiful flower, my darling’, shesaid, the back of her fingers gently brushed against her pale cheek. ‘I’llkeep it by my window, to overlook all others.’