Breathing hurts, thinking hurts, everything hurts. Her vision is dancing in and out, her ears are ringing, and the blood pouring out of her body is pooling on the marble beneath her. Hermione Granger is dying. It's inevitable at this point. There's too much blood, every old wound Hermione's ever gotten as a result of magic has been ripped open with little more then a flick of the wrist and an unknown incantation.

Hermione sucks in a shallow breath, tries to think of a way to slow the bleeding until someone can get her to st Mungo's, and absently traces her finger through the blood cooling beneath her hand.

Suddenly someone's hands are stroking back her hair, lifting her eyelids, putting pressure on wounds there's no use putting pressure on. She wants to tell them that. Wants to tell them to get Harry or Ron, they won't be able to help her but at least they'd be there, but when she opens her mouth blood bubbles up to dribble out the corner of her mouth and disappear into the soaked mess of her hair.

She settles for peeling her eyelids open to stare at the person, Ron as it turns out to be, as he tries to close the worst of her wounds. He's bleeding too, Hermione realizes, the cut he'd gotten during his training has torn itself open again and is painting his face maroon. Without much thought Hermione reaches up with trembling fingers to wipe the blood away from his cheek.

"Tell me what to do," Ron begs, his voice cracking as he presses harder against the wound curling from her shoulder to her hip. "Please Mione, just tell me what to do."

You can't do anything, she thinks but doesn't say.

Instead she finds herself dropping her hand to lace her fingers through his. A bit difficult with all the blood but it covers the fact that her hands are clammy and chilled and his hands are so warm despite all the blood. But then, that's just how Ron is isn't it? Hermione thinks about all the times she's curled up against his side just to be close to the warmth of him.

"You'll take care of Crookshanks won't you?" Hermione asks, words slurred and soft even to her ears.

"What are you talking about? You'll be fine... In a few minutes some healers will come and I'll bring Crooks to Mungo's and you can see him as much as you want. I'll sneak him in if I have too, stuff him down my shirt. No one'll question if I say I've gain a few pounds seeing as mum'll likely be bringing meals over."

The laughter that spills out of her hurts worse then it should but Hermione ignores the sharp ache radiating through her body in favor of smiling up at the man kneeling beside her. His smile is sad, so terribly sad, and his eyes are full of tears. They clear little paths down his cheeks and Hermione wants to wipe them away but she just can't get her arms to move.

"I love you," Hermione breathes as black begins to creep in along the edges of her vision. "I love you... so much it hurts."

"I love you too."

"And I'm sorry... I'm so sorry... I didn't want it to be like this."

Now Ron is crying, great hulking sobs that shake his shoulders and causes his fingers to tighten their hold around her own. It doesn't hurt, Hermione thinks it probably should but she's lucky she can feel anything at all.

"It's not your fault." Ron manages to say between hiccuping sobs.

Everything blurs into a swirl of red and black and Hermione wants to tell him to take care of Harry too, and Ginny, and George, and himself most of all. But there's not enough time and she doesn't have enough energy and so she just blinks up at her husband, aching at the thought that he had to witness this but thankful for it too. Hopefully he gets some sort of closure from this.

Hopefully, hopefully, hopefully.

"It's not... It's not your fault either." Hermione mumbles.

And then it's over.

There's no more pain, no more aching, no more tears. Just endless black and the distant rumble of someone's voice telling her they love her.

~X~

They do not let her see the babe. The small, sweet thing that had been pushed from her womb silent and still. From this dance hence her babe will not be remembered as anything other then one of the many stillborn babes Rhaella has given birth to. But despite this, despite everything, Rhaella will mourn her child. Her sweet little dragon babe who would have brought her such joy.

"My Queen, the child?" Pycelle's voice tears through Rhaella's grief.

And she cannot look at him, not when he's holding the still figure of her babe in his arms when she herself cannot.

"The King must be told." Rhaella says, tone hollow even to her own ears.

Aerys will not be pleased. This is the third child she's given him to die before its birth. He will not be pleased to know that the sister-wife he'd wanted for Rhaegar has died. It had been different for her husband when the babes dying had been boys, possible heirs should Rhaegar die before taking the throne. It's different now. For him at least, for Rhaella it hurts all the same.

"Yes, Your Grace."

And then Pycelle leaves her to her sorrow and two women who help her wash the blood away and change into a fresh chemise before carefully guiding her from the room.

~X~

Cassana screams, fingers curling around the damp fabric of her soiled chemise, sweat dripping down her nose as she push, push, pushes her babe from her womb. Maester Cressen offers her words of encouragement, tells her that she is doing so well, that he can make out the top of the babe's head. All she has to do is push a bit harder. Just a bit.

This birth is harder then her last and distantly Cassana wonders if her babe is dead or coming the wrong way as some babes are wont to do. She hopes not, prays that this is not so, because Cressen might be able to save her if he can but either way her babe will die and... Cassana loves her babe, unborn though it may be, just as fiercely as she loves Robert.

The thought of her babe coming into the world silent and unmoving makes something in Cassana clench painfully.

"A boy." Cressen says when the child slips from between Cassana's legs and into his waiting hands.

A brother for her sweet, bold Robert.

She's getting ready to ask for him, to tell one of the girls helping Maester Cressen to hand over her son so that she might see him and give him his name and tell him how much she loves him when a sharp pain lances up her spine.

"What's happening?" She demands, pretending not to hear the quiver of her voice.

Maester Cressen moves back between her legs, carefully checking for anything that might prove fatal.

"There is another babe," The dark eyed Maester says and Cassana is, for a moment, relieved that it not something a bit more serious.

Cassana squares her jaw, rolls her shoulders back, and pushes with all the might her battered body will give. She will not die in this bed, her babe will not die here either. Cassana will give birth to a babe, boy or girl, and she will love it just as she loves her other children. Even if it is deformed, even if it's caused her more pain in the last few minutes then either of its siblings.

Her agony bleeds into her voice as she screams.

"I see the head, My Lady!" Cressen cheers.

Sweat and tears blend together on Cassana's cheeks and she grits her teeth as she push, push, pushes.

Just a bit more, she tells herself, just a bit more.

It's almost unbearable, this pain. Cassana's old Septa would have told her that it was a sign, would have told her that Cassana's babe was going to be a warrior. Strong and fierce and wild. Cassana used to think Septa Ayleen's teachings were a load of horse shit but at this rate she wouldn't be surprised if the old woman was right. Gods, Cassana hopes she was right about such things.

And later, when the dark haired Lady's screams are drowned out by the sharp wail of a babe Cassana allows her body to sag back against the pillows piled high to keep her propped up. Despite the exhaustion Cassana can't help but be relieved.

"A girl," Cressen says, sounding mystified.

"A girl? Is she healthy?"

"Yes, My Lady, she is."

"I want to hold them," Cassana says, already pulling herself up to sit against the pillows. "Let me hold them."

And so Cressen does. Lowering her boy into her arms while he goes to clean her daughter.

Cassana's son is a small thing, with nut-brown skin a few shades lighter then her own and a thin patch of hair curling atop his head. He looks like Robert did when he was a babe. Cassana smiles at him, presses soft kisses to his delicate head and nearly cries when he curls his little fingers around her own.

"Stannis," Cassana tells the boy, the name she and Steffon had chosen should they have a boy naught but a soft breath. "Your name is Stannis."

When a wet nurse comes for her son Cassana passes him off hesitantly, the only real reason she does is because her body is beginning to tremble and she needs to sleep but she needs to see her daughter more. So when they pass the crying babe to her Cassana finds herself laughing despite the ache of her body.

"My Ostara," Cassana breathes. "You are... So beautiful."

The babe cries now, a desperate sounding wail, for food or for something else Cassana isn't sure but her body is beginning to feel heavy so she passes the babe off to the wet nurse and allows Cressen to check her over before settling back and allowing herself to sleep.

~X~

She'd grown up with mildly religious parents, they'd never gone to church but her mother always spoke of Heaven and how Hermione would see her grandparents there one day. Hermione had never been overly religious during her life but she believed there was at least something after death. And then she died, and then there'd been nothing but peaceful darkness and if that was Heaven then Hermione could accept it.

if that was Heaven then Hermione could learn to appreciate it.

Because there wasn't any lingering traumas, no occasional pains emitting from her cursed wounds, no more nightmares about Bellatrix and her wild eyed anger and her nails digging into Hermione's cheek as she cackles above her.

But then she'd been moving, the dark walls squeezing around her and moving her along. She'd wondered if she we moving on as some would call it. Going from that peaceful black to the place where her grandparents would welcome her with open arms and the three of them would wait for Hermione's parents and Ron and Harry and every other friend she'd ever made over the course of her life.

Unfortunately, there's no bright light and fluffy clouds and laughing family waiting for her.

Instead it's a man with kind dark eyes and peppered hair. He smiles at her, pulls something filmy and slick away from her nose as her eyes and passes her off to another woman who begins cleaning her and... Oh.

Oh no.

"A girl."

She screams, kicks, and wiggles in an attempt to get away from the woman holding her but her body's too small and too light and the woman cleaning her merely coos at her and wraps her in a soft cloth before passing her off.

The woman she's given to is a sweet faces woman with wide brown eyes and richly colored curls. She smiles at her, teeth so very white and straight, and places tender kisses to her cheek.

"My Ostara," She sounds so elated, so relieved, and she finds her panic dying a bit as she listens to the woman's voice, so familiar and so sweet. "You are... So beautiful."

Her screaming, her crying, sounds a little less desperate but she still feels so lost, so cheated. Why couldn't it have ended? Why couldn't she have been left alone? There are so many emotions and so much confusion that she doesn't even balk when a woman offers her a breast. She just takes it and thinks about all the ways she's going to kick the ass of whoever did this too her.

~X~

"They are healthy?" Steffon demands, staring down at the babe tucked safely in his arms.

Cressen nods, "As healthy as your last."

Steffon nods slowly before turning his attention back to the little boy sleeping against his chest. His son, healthy and hardy and strong. Just like Robert. Just like Ostara. His family, his blood. Baratheon children that will carry his name and his legacy for years to come.

"Are you well, Cassana?" Steffon asks, eyes drifting away from his son to his daughter and wife.

"I'm tired." Cassana replies, soft but not weak, her finger tracing Ostara's leg.

"I would suspect so... Cressen says the twins' birth was harder then Robert's."

"Harder but not terribly so."

Steffon lowers himself into the seat beside Cassana's bed, adjusting the babe in his arms so he can reach out and thread his fingers through his wife's. Soon she'll be removed, helped from the birthing bed to the chambers she and Steffon share. But for now she's still a bit too weak and it would be unwise to move her in such a state. Thankfully the bed linens have been changed and a fresh chemise provided. So Steffon offers her water and hands her food and occasionally strokes back her hair when she permits his touch.

"Robert is excited. He thinks he's gained a new playmate." Steffon offers after a while.

"You've told him then, about Stannis and Ostara."

"Yes, he's thrilled."

"Surprising."

"A bit, perhaps... I think that he'll like them best in a few years, when Stannis is old enough to play."

Cassana laughs a bit at that but doesn't say anything.

Beyond the walls of Storm's End the sea rages and the sky screams, a storm unlike anything the residents living in the Stormlands have ever before witnessed. And the magic that swirls in the air, the magic that causes the waves to beat against the cliff side and the thunder to shake the very foundations of the Keep, go unnoticed to all save the small babe curled against her mother's breast and the shadow creature lingering in the corner nearest the door.

A creature that smells of carrion flowers. A creature that stares upon Ostara Baratheon as if gazing upon and old friend.

A tall, shadow creature that holds a silver haired babe tight in his grasp.

~X~

The news of Stannis and Ostara Baratheon's birth reaches King's Landing within days and Rhaella finds herself conflicted. She's glad for Cassana, it's a terrible thing to loose a babe and Rhaella would never wish that pain onto anyone... But she's also angry, because that could have been her. Why wasn't it her? She did everything right, ate what she was told to eat and Pycelle had kept an eye on her as she'd progressed into her pregnancy.

So why did Elaehra die while Ostara and Stannis live.

Rhaella swallows thickly.

Aerys will not be pleased. He's already visited her once, he'd not yelled at her and he'd seemed to be concerned for her health but Rhaella saw the way he'd looked at her. The way he'd whispered to Pycelle before placing a chaste, brief kiss to her temple. She wonders how long it will be before her brother accuses her of being unfaithful, of lying with another man and attempting to bring his bastards into the world and raise them as Targaryen royalty.

It is not a secret Aerys favors Steffon Baratheon, their shared blood and boyhood friendship having created a bond of sorts between them. But it's unlikely Aerys will be excited to hear that a child with only a fraction of the Targaryen blood he has has survived while his own children perish.

With a sigh Rhaella sets her sewing aside.

This has been the first time in nearly a week that Rhaella's been allowed out of her chambers on account of her own weakness and the terrible storm that had rolled across the whole of Westeros. She can see the rolling black clouds that have made up the Stormlands as of late. Rhaella finds it amusing for a number of reasons, however, it would appear the storms developing in her cousin's lands will soon make their way to King's Landing which makes the queen sigh.

She's grown so tired of rain and chill.

Without much thought Rhaella stands and gathers her sewing, aware of Ser Gerold Hightower's presence as he follows her back into the Red Keep.