[center][fancypost= width: 450px; text-align: justify;][size=11][font=timesnewroman]Sweetophelia had given birth once before. She had no longer possessed her original body by that point but she had still been on her first life. She had been younger and she had just given up her life in BloodClan and BlizzardClan, left all of her friends and what little family she had left behind. Her twin sons became everything to her and she had tried so desperately to be a good mother. But her motivations and thoughts were often clouded with jealousy and bitterness, watching as her sons' father fell into bed with any common girl susceptible to his wit and dark allure.
Tsubodai had only promised her Targaryen princes, not exclusivity or devotion, but nevertheless the envy and hurt had eaten away at her. When her sons were finally sent off to Westeros to fulfil Tsubodai's ambitions, Sweetophelia had nothing else but that lonely, frigid ice castle in the north with no one but the male who simultaneously blessed her with children and tore out her heart. Sweetophelia had left him, and died soon after.
She would not live again for many months until her youngest, Lucerys, had finally gotten his wife with child. The couple, although deeply in love, was doomed from the start and suffered through countless miscarriages and short-lived children. For a time, she had been her own granddaughter, eventually sent back into the clans, to Westeros and BlizzardClan. It was a forgettable period in her life, one Sweetophelia was keen to put behind her. Because it was only once she had regained her identity, that she was able to be happy again.
Riddlersgame, her childhood love and the one animal she had never suspected to receive a second chance with, loved her still. Their children might not have been planned and despite his own misgivings at the prospect of fatherhood, he did not abandon her. For once, Sweetophelia had genuinely believed that there was hope, that there was a chance that this happiness would not be fleeting. Her second birthing labour had been more difficult, and undoubtedly her body was already strained by the circumstances of its birth. But she had survived it and brought life into the world. Her youngest sons - Mieczyslaw and Aleksei - were loved by the BlizzardClan leader in great abundances.
But despite her fierce love for them, she could not help but linger on the thoughts of the oldest child of her second litter. It was nothing more than a little sack of fur and flesh, thin and already dead in the womb. But even despite the truth which she had been treated to from the start - not deceived by any falsehoods of hope - Sweetophelia could not help but feel wretched at the thought of what could have been. She was fortunate to have conceived at all, even luckier that the mortality rate was only one-third, but reason was lost in her grief, a mother's heavy mourning.
Sweetophelia had never once thought to name her dead child - giving it a name would have made the loss even more raw. So instead, she took the small body out of camp, far below the floating islands to the base of the mountains below. She had buried it deep in the earth and now stood beside its grave, her mouth pressed into a thin, sorry line.
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