#tw. miscarriage

“There were some…complications, my lord.”

Ramsay looks at you, eyes darting towards your covered middle. Your hands grip the bed sheet and you gulp as fear runs through you.

The agony of losing a child is defeated by the fear of whatever the future holds for you.

That’s what marriage with Ramsay resulted in. Nothing but fear and despair.  

"The babe? Is it fine? What happened?” Ramsay inquires the maester, genuine concern displayed in his face.

The maester glances at you, his face falling into a bow, and you do the same, avoiding Ramsay’s eyes. The excruciating pain in your middle worsens with the panic you feel, tears starting to flood your eyes.

The silence perpetuates.

“No. No!” you close your eyes, small sobs escaping you upon Ramsay’s frustration. His voice growing in volume until it cracks, desperate howls of agony as he mourns over your dead child.  

Your eyes opened in a fright as fingers painfully dig into your cheeks. Ramsay hovers over you, fury disfiguring his features.

“You…You little bitch! You did this.” He growls, eyes squinting with suspicion and your face snaps to the side with the force of his slap.

“You never wanted it, did you? My heir…my son.”

“No! Ramsay, please-“

Your pleas are rapidly interrupted with another smack, this one harsher. Your tongue tastes the blood of your torn lower lip but you know it’s only the beginning. His hand can go much harder than that. 

“You killed my child, you vicious whore.” He accuses you, grabbing you by your hair, the sharp sting making you whimper.

The madness and rage that burns in his eyes terrifies you.    

Ramsay spits in your face, the vigor of his hold increasing to the point that you can feel some of your roots giving up.

He gets closer and you stop your breathing.

“You’re going to suffer for this. When I’m done with you, you won’t even remember your own name. You’ll cry tears of blood and wish you were dead already.” he threatens you, his voice lowered to a whisper.

“And then you’re going to give me a child. A son. And another. And another. You’ll give me what I want. Over and over until you’re nothing more than my breeding bitch. That’s what you deserve.”

this is also a part of motherhood, she realizes. losing the child that has spent so long in the safety of your womb, expelled out through blood one morning with no warning besides what feel like labor pains. she'd woken baelor up in a panic, the pain almost blinding, as she'd stumbled out of bed -- unsure where she meant to travel to besides to maybe get help -- with the blood down her thighs like an omen.

twins. she finds out, after a horribly painful procedure to eject the babe -- babes -- that there are two, as had been suspected by the maesters for weeks. a boy and a girl. she gives them names through broken sobs, desperate ones, as if speaking them may make them cry, may make them begin to breathe. but there is nothing ; no intake of breath, no screams of the newborns. they are empty, their little souls gone to the mother.

now, a few days later, and with the funeral tomorrow, jena has yet to rise from the bed. they'd changed the sheets, given her a bath, tried to avoid her watchful eye as they took the little babes away and cleaned the blood, but jena had watched it all. there is no sleep for her, besides what is afforded by milk of the poppy and some concoction of sleep tea, but even that is short and nearly painful. she wakes up, often, whispering their names. aegon. rhaela.