Chapter eight          𓃦          Do not shut me out

          There was a saying that plagued the back of Baelor's mind which he heard one late night while walking through the busy streets of King's Landing – whenever one of those Targaryens is born, the Seven flip a coin, I heard. They either become mad or die trying to be that. If he wasn't in disguise, he would have laughed in her face.

But how cruel if the fate – Baelor sitting back inside the cold chambers of Maester Orwylle, his doublet fidgeting in between his fingers on his lap as the old man inspected his back, fingers trailing every scar and cut as if that was to explain whatever entered his mind and kept him hostage. He heard Orwylle sigh and moved away, "that is getting better, my prince."

Baelor nodded, pulling the shirt back over his head, watching as the Maester walked to his desk, pulling out the stack of papers, "I assume the cuts have nothing to do with my mind."

Another sigh from Orwylle as he flipped over the pages before finally writing it down, "they are becoming more common, my prince."

Baelor bit the inside of his cheek, looking down at his feet, "I am aware of that, Maester. What I am not aware is how you can help me."

Orwylle sat on the old and creaky chair, fingers wrapped around the edges of the pages: times, places, people the prince was around whenever he came rushing inside his chambers after whatever happened to him. His eyes watched over the letters, "three attacks in the past moon while before that it was one on mayhaps six moons."

"Orwylle," Baelor spoke more sternly, almost angry at the lack of help, looking forward at the desk, "I am aware of how many times it happened, yet you seem not to wish to help me."

"Because I do not know how to, my prince," Orwylle responded, looking up from the papers: the charts, the moons, the words, "the mind of a human is a complex thing. I have read in a paper from Essos that they had a woman – screaming of hysteria after she gave birth – and that they made a burr hole in the back of her skull; to let out the evil spirits."

The prince laughed, "and you wish to treat me the same as someone from Essos? Are we not further with medicine?"

"We are not, my prince," Orwylle replied, placing the paper back, "not in the mind medicine, at least."

Baelor remained silent for a moment before speaking, "you will not put a hole in my head. I do wish to see my daughters grow up; you know?"

"The woman survived."

"I do not give a shit about that woman, Orwylle!" Baelor yelled out before cursing himself for yelling so loudly, "my brother already scares the court with his eyepatch, what would they think of a hole in the back of my skull by comparison?"

Before the Maester could argue back, Baelor stood up, walking to the doors while tucking the doublet in his pants, "and send those herbs to my chambers."

"My prince," Orwylle sighed, "the herbs do not –"

"- do not help the way they should," Baelor replied with a knowing way, "yes, I am aware, Maester, but I also know they keep me at peace. So, do send them up."

With that, Baelor opened the doors and closed them behind himself, letting out a shaky breath he wasn't aware he was holding. He shook his head at the moment of weakness before disappearing down the barely lit hallway and back upstairs.

Sliding through the doors of the Godswood, he was met with Larys Strong, his fingers wrapping around some flowers he found. Without turning around, the lord spoke, "my prince."

Baelor clenched his jaw, straightening, "lord Strong."

"I have heard of your children's sudden illness," spoke the lord, leaning on his wooden cane for support as he turned to face the prince, "I do hope they are feeling better."

The way he spoke of his children, sent shivers down Baelor's spine, "they are, thank you, my lord. Words spread quick around the Keep."

"Like fire, my prince," Larys responded with a small chuckle, slowly moving closer to the prince, "it is like a bird to be locked inside its cage."

Following his words, Baelor responded, "and what would it take for the bird to be released from its cage?"

"Little things, my prince," he responded, fully leaning on the cane, "for the bird already sings for someone higher than you."

His mother, Baelor concluded. He nodded, "and what would have to be done for the bird to sing for a prince?"

"A fair price," he responded before moving away from Baelor and further in the Godswood, "I have heard the tales of lady Genna's beauty."

Baelor's jaw clenched, "and you have yet not seen her to confirm the tales? She is everywhere in the Keep, lord."

"Well, yes," Larys turned again to look at the prince, "but I have yet not had a conversation with the lady. I have many questions of the House Lannister pondering my mind for her to answer."

Baelor tilted his head, "is that the price for your words, lord? A conversation with my wife?"

Larys gave him a small smile – sick, twisted, "perhaps."

Baelor shook his head, letting out a breath, muttering, "you cannot be serious."

Larys moved towards the doors that lead back inside the Keep, calling over his shoulder, "the truth is never in plain sight, my prince. Sometimes it rots under the mask. Under someone else."

Baelor looked over his shoulder, "I suggest you watch what you speak to me, lord Strong, I am still your prince."

Larys smiled at him, "that, I am aware of, my prince," before disappearing in the hallway of the Keep.

Baelor let out a sigh, his hands bowling in a fist and opening in a rhythm to sooth himself – to not walk after Larys and have his head. A pair of arms wrapped themselves around the back of his leg, a spit of giggles heard. Baelor turned around and looked down at Alyssa, sending her a smile, "did you escape from Septa Mordane again?"

"No," Alyssa murmured against the back of his leg before the same Septa Mordane called for the princess' name.

Alyssa shrieked, followed by her soft giggles, as she moved around his leg, looking up at her father, "hide me! Please, please, please, please, please!"

"Absolutely not," Baelor swooped her off the ground and hoisted her on his hip, "I have told you, Aly, you must not run from Septa Mordane or from your studies."

"But she is so dull," Alyssa argued back with a pout, crossing her arms over her chest, "and she prefers Rhaella over me."

Baelor chuckled, moving from the Godswood and inside the Keep, "I think the reason being is that Rhaella does not run from her studies like you do."

"But it is so dull!" his daughter tried again, "I would rather swing my sword like you or Ser Criston than sit in the chambers listening to the Septa go on and on about what I am to dressed and what not."

"We all must learn things we do not wish to, little dragon," Baelor replied as Septa Mordane came in the view, clutching the Star of the Seven around her neck.

Breathing heavily, she came closer and bowed slightly, "my apologies, my prince, I – I have turned for a moment and the princess was gone."

"Do not apologize, I am very much aware of my daughter's antics," the prince replied, placing Alyssa on the ground and a kiss on her temple, "be good, Alyssa, I beg of you."

"Only if you take me on Moonfyre later," she smiled up at him, a mirror expression of Baelor himself.

He chuckled, jesting, "are you trying to blackmail your father?"

"Only if it is working," she smiled again.

Baelor placed his hand on her cheek, pressing his lips against the other one, "only if you do good today."

Before Alyssa had a chance to reply, Baelor straightened himself from the ground, "and I will ask Septa Mordane how good you did."

"Kepa!" Alyssa let out with a pout, her shoes clicking against the floor in protest.

"Tala!" Baelor let out with the same amount of dramatical antics before speaking calmer, "go study, please."

Alyssa pouted once more before she grabbed the wrist of Septa Mordane and dragging her back the long hallway, making Baelor turn around and towards his chambers.

Opening them, his eyes landed on Genna seated by the fireplace, Visenya happily babbling something in her arms. Baelor cursed himself under his breath before moving inside, closing the doors behind him. If she didn't hear the crack of the doors, Genna wouldn't know of her husband's presence as she watched him get to his desk, down the cup of wine, before dragging himself and his papers on the balcony. Since the act during the night, neither of them said a word to each other. Baelor – to embarrassed to tell her something is gravely wrong within him; like he was rotting while still breathing – and Genna – too scared to even ask.

His eyes followed the words he managed to write down – during the last four moon turns, six episodes reoccurred, five of them were when he was alone, one with Genna. If he was alone, he would scream his lungs out because of this plague that entered his mind. For he knew the cold truth – how could he ever be seated on the Iron Throne if he was slowly descending in madness, completely being took over the curse of a Targaryen?

For a moment, he thought about letting Orwyle drill a hole in his skull. If it helped a woman in Essos, why wouldn't it help a prince in King's Landing? What difference was it? In Baelor's mind, the Seven should protect him more as he is a prince, an Heir to the Iron Throne, while she was just a simple Essosi woman. But then again, he knew the truth that if it goes wrong, Baelor would never reach the Iron Throne, would never see his daughters grow up and old.

His thoughts were cut short with Genna's presence on the balcony. Her voice was soft, "are you alright?"

He thought about lying. He so desperately wanted to lie, to yell for her to leave him alone. But things were spiralling, sliding out of his grip and off his hands. Nothing was going by his plan no more – his grandsire betrayed him with refusing to treat his daughters, took the high step and took care of the King Baelor so desperately tried to kill; his mother was slowly to see through his act; his daughters almost died; thoughts of death and destruction are to plague his mind; the constant losing control. Baelor bit his tongue and looked at the papers in front of him, shaking his head.

Genna stepped out on the balcony, wrapping a blanket across her shoulders to keep the chilly spring air off her exposed skin, "what is it?"

"Has Larys Strong seek you yet?" Baelor asked, looking up at his wife.

Her brows furrowed, shaking her head, "Lord Strong? No, I have – I have not spoken to him."

"When he does want to do it," he replied, looking away from her, staring in front of him, "turn the other way and do not do it."

Before she could ask for the reason, Baelor looked at her, "swear it, Genna."

Silence washed over her as Baelor spoke again, "swear that you will not tell a thing to Larys Strong. About me, about the girls or about yourself."

Anxiety creeped up her body once more, "I swear."

Baelor nodded his head and looked away from her once more. The wind rustled the papers, letting them slip off the table and across the balcony. Baelor cursed loudly, trying to get as many papers as possible while one stopped at Genna's feet. She picked it up and though she tried not to read it but the words Prince Baelor experiences hallucinations, putting himself or others in high-risk situations, paranoia where he believes everyone is at his feet and has issues with connecting to other people burned in the back of her brain.

The paper was snatched out of her hand and she flinched back. Baelor looked down, fingers gripping the papers, "you did not see anything."

"Baelor," she whispered and her husband took a step back at the usage of his name, "what is wrong?"

"Nothing," he mumbled, taking the remaining of the papers from the table, pushing them all together.

"Please," she whispered, grabbing his wrist before he could walk away, "do not shut me out. I want to help."

"If you want to help me," he hissed back, pulling his wrist from her grip, "you will leave me alone. Let me do whatever I desire."

Genna apologized for her passed mother for not doing by her teachings but as Baelor walked back inside the chambers, she called after him, "if this is about Myna –"

"- do not mention her name!" Baelor called back, turning to look her way, "do not dare, Genna."

Tears threatened to spill from her eyes, "but I must! When you . . . when you said that you took care of the issue last night. You meant the babe, did you not?"

Baelor placed the papers on the desk by the doors, eyes traveling to the sleepy figure of Visenya before stepping closer to Genna, almost whispering, "whatever I do is for the sake of the greater good."

"You needn't to kill the babe," she whispered back, big brown eyes looking up at him, "if it was not yours, why would it matter?"

Baelor took her hands in between his palms, holding them to his chest, "Genna."

"I know," she whispered with tears, "I am aware, I always have been."

His breathing became deeper and slower, placing his forehead against hers, "I do all of this for a reason."

Genna shook her head; as much as his forehead against hers allowed her, "what can possibly be a reason to justify this?"

"You will see it," he whispered, "soon."

Genna remained silent before he whispered again, "do you remember what I told you? At the wedding night."

"That you will not hurt me."

Baelor pulled his forehead against from hers, his hands finding her cheeks, "which is a promise I intend to keep. I will keep you safe, Genna. If it means killing . . . I shall do that."

She shook her head, "you cannot possibly try to say your actions are done in my name."

"No, no," he whispered with a shake of his head, "not in your name, no. I do that in my own name but . . . I did some awful things; I will admit that. But . . . that time is behind me, now. I will get better; I swear it to you."

"Baelor," Genna whispered, her lower lip wobbling, "do not swear on things like these."

"But I did," Baelor responded, his thumb running across her cheeks, "would you rather see a bastard run over the Keep like my nephews did?"

"I would rather have no existence of your bastard at all," she whispered to him.

"Yes, well, those days are behind now," he replied quickly, as if trying to justify his actions, "more beautiful days are to come for us, love."