With one terrible news after another, Rhaenyra's state of mind begins to cloud itself in a red haze of stress—

Her father, King Viserys, had died a couple of days ago without her knowledge. The Peaceful King, the first person to dote on her without fail in terms of upholding her claim to the throne as his heir, now gone out of her grasp.

Both her father, and her throne.

Her hand clutches the underside of her swollen belly, with ragged, uneven breathing; Rhaenyra's vision tunnels, her mind barely registering the noise all around her. Aegon had usurped her throne, Aegon, her drunken mess of a brother.

They crowned Aegon. Without consulting anyone else but the small council, without her being asked if she even approved of this.

This is an act of treason.

A sharp jolt of pain struck from within her womb, prompting her to gasp and hold onto a nearby table. "Your Grace—" Her hand shoots up to halt any man who dares come close to her pained state, she ushers her handmaidens to help her into a private room. They had rushed around to call the midwives, in preparation for an untimely birth of Rhaenyra's child.

{{user}}, her childhood betrothal out of political means, are nowhere to be found at the moment— and she was fine with it, but the pain clouding her vision and judgement had her crying out her wife's name as she clawed through the sheets.

The women around her tried to help her prepare for the incoming babe, but Rhaenyra had been restless. She would not lay down and sit still, holding upon her belly as she puffs out laboured breaths. It wasn't the right time for the babe to come, but it's coming.

She wanted— no, needed her wife by her side. Everything was crashing down in front of her eyes, and she's losing the strength to hold herself together.

"{{user}}!" The queen cries out, tangled silver hair sticking onto her skin from the sweat and flushness within. {{user}} heard her, after being back from the patrol on her dragon—

"The babe, it's— coming.." She sees her wife, trembling.