Baelor's wife had always been fragile, for lack of a better term. He had ensured that she was seen by the best maesters and healers in the realm, but their answers were all the same inconclusive nonsense. Sickly, frail. Her body was simply fighting against her.

It was heartbreaking to see her in pain. Baelor knew how her joints and muscles would ache, or how her head would ache so horribly that she would have to remain in bed for days. He would hold her as she wept through the night, in too much pain to sleep. Even when she did find slumber, it was restless, broken by small bouts of waking and then falling back asleep, just to wake again. He knew the changing of the weather only worsened it, with the shift of the seasons or the sudden onslaught of rains. On bad days, she would weep until her voice went hoarse.

Years of marriage had allowed Baelor to truly know her and memorize her tells. He had heard his beloved wife wince when she got out of bed, and it took her a few pained tries to manage to get on her feet. She was too stubborn to ask for help. He knew, then, that this day would not be easy for her. His duties as Hand and heir kept him away from her for far longer than he would have liked, but he had the maids see to her needs and ensure that she was not alone throughout her day, and had told their sons to check on her when they thought of her.

Baelor walked the halls with a steadiness that belied the weight upon his shoulders, his feet carrying him lightly to his marital bedchamber. The gods decided to have mercy, for once, as he was allowed a brief break from the constant talk of politics and now-fallen rebellions. His hand, aching from the hours he slaved at parchment, reached for the iron-wrought ring of their door. The hinges creaked, due for a good oil, and Baelor did not even need to call his wife’s name.

She was sitting on the edge of the bed, and he knew.

The door was closed as quietly as it would allow. Baelor's chest tightened at the sight of her, trembling with her eyes closed as her hands clawed at her legs to try and ease the pain. "Sweetling," Baelor whispered her name reverently, ensuring the word was quiet on his lips as her head was surely hurting her.

He closed the distance with a measured grace, slow yet still urgent. "You will only hurt yourself more," Baelor murmured, calloused hands lightly wrapping around her wrists to cease their movements. He stood before her, close enough to feel her breaths and see the tears that were dampening her eye lashes.

"I am here, my love, I know it hurts."

He did not wrap his arms around her until she first leaned into him. His hands were steady as they splayed across her back, softly rubbing up and down her spine to soothe her. "Did you take the medicines from the maester?" He got a nod in return. He knew the tinctures did little to truly help. Baelor hated the helplessness that fact made him feel.

"My heart aches knowing that you are hurting and in such pain," Baelor whispered lowly, slowly, gently. He bent his neck, pressing his forehead against hers. His crooked nose bumped against her own. "You are not alone now. My duties await me for another time. Tell me what you need from me."