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TWENTY-EIGHT —— FALLING FEELS LIKE FLYING UNTIL THE BONE CRUSH
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109 AC, KING'S LANDING.
Morrigan is on her way to the Godswood, trying not to rub her temple, trying not to look as exhausted as she feels. She's never had so many issues with when she'd carried Deran— she'd felt like throwing up nearly all the time, yes, but it'd never been like this. Now, she feels like something has shifted in her body and nothing quite fits anymore. Like it might just fall apart at the slightest wind. Like the slightest resistance might make it all crumble— a swaying ship, a flying dragon is all it takes for her to be nearly crippled with nausea. She feels like her brain is boiling in the straight sun. She just genuinely hopes that like with her issues with Deran's pregnancy, these will fade the further she gets into it all.
She'd even relented and seen Grand Maester Mellos with Rodrik earlier this morning— barely past dawn— while Deran had still been asleep. Against her better judgment, she relented to admit her symptoms to him, to divulge a suspicion she'd already known he would easily confirm during her visit. She'd hated herself for the weakness, had felt every nerve in her body fighting the mere presence of being in his chambers, but at the end of it all— she'd hoped he would have some suggestions that might relieve her of her pains.
So far, Mellos had not given her anything, had placated her with the same words she'd been placating Rodrik for days now. It might just as likely pass once she'd settled into her pregnancy.
Morrigan had to curl her fingertips into fists to keep herself from strangling Mellos at the tone and thought she could understand Rodrik a little more for his frustration with her antics, as he'd liked to point out.
Now, Morrigan is making her way inside the Godswood, trying to ignore the familiarity of the scenery, the memories boiling up in her mind— she'd spend so many hours in this place once, it'd felt like a small sanctuary in the Red Keep to her— now, it's just another place with history.
