Red. Cersei had never seen so much red. Blood had coated the bed and had spilled down her legs to the floor. They had promised her it would be easy, that it never would get this far. Yet, her belly continued to swell with a child she did had no desire to have. The Moon Tea had failed her, leaving the Maesters desperate to appease her. The Queen of King's Landing refused to carry the child to term, not while knowing Robert was the father. Those who served her dare not question her demands. Nor did they relay them to the King who was off on one of his many drunken boar hunts. The cover of night was all they had to provide their Queen with the outcome she desired. While the operation was life-threatening, Cersei had made it clear it would be their lives lost if they did not dare make an attempt to appease her.
She had consumed enough wine to stain her mouth purple, easing any bit of pain that threatened to take her. It was only as the Maester hovered over her, a bloodied blanket in their arms that she knew they were successful. "It's a son, M'Queen," his words were careful, his scared eyes focusing on her pale features. Pushing up onto her elbows, disapproving eyes sneered down at his pale skin and wisps of dark hair. The sight of him sent her stomach into knots. He was so small, so fragile, and yet, he reminded her completely of Robert. The child was not a Lannister, he was no son of hers. Taking him in her arms, eyes watched him closely, surely he was much too small to survive without her. "He's not breathing," she spoke, tucking the blankets over the infant's features before shoving him back towards the Maester who was far from convinced. "Take him to the docks or the kennels I don't care where. Assure that no one finds him." The lies they would tell Robert would be easy enough to believe as long as they never found the body.
"Yes, M'Queen. At once." Dropping his head, he drew his hood and stepped out into the empty corridors of the Red Keep. Those he passed stepped into the shadows, their curious eyes lingering before continuing on their way. The Maester found his way into the streets of King's Landing, dirty water splashing up onto his robes with each stride. He dare not take the child to the kennels and have the hounds feast on the poor infant's flesh. It would hand too heavily on his conscience. The crashing waves called to him, each roll into shore an invitation into their embrace. Each wave would take the child into its hold, drown him under their force and sweep him out to sea. As the Maseter took to the docks, the child cried out in his arms overcome by the discomfort of hunger and the chill of the sea breeze. While he was pulled from his mother long before his true name day, he was a fighter. The child wasn't meant to breathe life, yet he cried for her mother's breast. He would not slaughter his Prince.
Quick feet carried him down the docks, the sun creeping up onto the horizon bringing the sailors to life. Tired on their feet they prepare the cargo for their travels. It was among the fishmongers he found piles of linen meant of Essos. It was among them he abandoned the wailing child before returning to the refuge of the Red Keep. There would be no celebrations of this day. Not even a whisper of the birth would be heard, only a sad tale fabricated by the Queen and his Handmaidens. He would be one of the few to know the truth, and it would hang heavily over him like a long winter for the rest of his days. The clamor of the guard marching their patrol was not out of the ordinary in the keep. It had become a sound the old Maester had become accustomed to with time, but his blood ran cold when the air became silent and he was greeted with the crooked smile and the blade of a Lannister guard: "You shouldn't have come out here alone."