anastasia [got || on hold]

five

— five —

      JAIME LIES ON HIS SMALL COT, EYES WATCHING THE NIGHT SKY THROUGH HIS BARRED WINDOW.

   His thoughts linger on the past, visions creeping through his mind like nightmares.

   He was in the gardens, a very pregnant Elia Martell gripping his arm. She wasn't supposed to be out, he had caught her sneaking along with Rhaenys towards the garden and had almost sent her back to her room but when she began to speak of how boring life in bed had become he had relented.

   Rhaenys ran ahead of the two, screaming wildly as butterflies touched down upon her body. Jaime hadn't seen butterflies in Kings Landing since Elia had died. A particularly big yellow one touches her nose and she squeals excitedly.

   "She reminds me of him," Elia whispers.

   They stop, Jaime looking over to the woman. Their noses almost touch as he speaks. "Who?"

   "Oberyn," she places a hand on her stomach, "I wish I could name the boy for him, Rhaegar is so... relentless."

   Jaime covers her hand with his own. "The prophecy?" Elia simply nods, gripping Jaime's hand harder.

   "Rhaenys is his heir, Rhaenys should be enough!"

   The princess begins to breathe heavily and grow shaky. Jaime grips her sides, pulling her to him, holding her weight for her. The baby inside kicks out his foot, and Elia cries out. "Let's go back to your room," Jaime says softly. She tries to walk but her legs become weak. "Elia." Shes pale. Too pale. Her hand grips his and moves it lower and lower until he has to follow it with his eyes and he's met with the ghastly sight of blood.

   Jaime has to stop himself from crying her name out, the same fear that had gripped him that day gripping him again. He had almost lost her that day, he could only scoop her up and take her to the maester, who was almost certain she was going to die. She didn't, though.

   Elia Martell was a fighter.

   And so was her daughter.

—

   "Why can I remember Kings Landing?"

Those words stop Nymeria Sand in her tracks, hand pausing in mid air. She recovers quickly and continues to comb through Rhaenyra's hair, but the girl has noticed her hesitation. "Father tells powerful stories, Rhaenyra, and with a powerful imagination such as yours comes beautifully realistic pictures," Nymeria states briskly.