So much blood. Everywhere. There was so much.

Amarah's fevered brain couldn't comprehend much beyond that fact. Her hands and thighs were streaked with it. The little lifeless shape in her hands was covered in it.

Maester Qyburn's disembodied head floated above her in the darkness, whispering words she couldn't quite hear through the blood that thundered in her ears.

Her numb hands felt the loss of her lifeless little lump before it was returned to her again, now wrapped in a dingy cloth.

"My lady," the disembodied head spoke, an uncharacteristic frown closely resembling sympathy marking its face. Then she was alone again.

Amarah looked down at her baby in the darkness, the little face peaceful amid so much chaos. There was something so beautiful about that face, though the eyes would never open in life. Somehow her little one had found the peace she so desperately wished for.

The tiny closed lids caught his mother's tears as she wept in the darkness.