Chapter Text
Pregnancy couldn’t get any worse than this, Rhaenyra was almost entirely certain. Despite her husband’s best efforts, he could only do so much that could make her feel desirable or beautiful in her last weeks of carrying his child. Perhaps it would have been better if they’d slept apart during her confinement after all. She couldn’t sleep more than an hour or so at a time; she felt disgustingly hot even in the cool air of autumn; and ever since her baby dropped, her traitorous bladder always felt full, even going so far as having chosen to empty itself before she could reach the privy. Daemon never made her feel the worse for it, merely calling for a maid to clean the mess and washing her in the bath himself.
The only consolation in the end was the comforting kicks in her belly and the tender care she received from her uncle. He would leave after breaking his fast to train in the yard, and in the evening would visit with the City Watch, but he always returned for dinner. On the one hand, Rhaenyra knew the separation was necessary, good , but sometimes his absence made her cry, and Laena or Amanda or one of the others would immediately send for him.
He always came, sword still in hand and breathless from running up the stairs. Rhaenyra felt like a ridiculous child, crying because her husband was doing what he had always done instead of remaining locked up like she did.
Daemon had offered to stay within these rooms with her for the duration of her confinement, but she couldn’t bear it if he knew how desperately she needed him every waking hour. She couldn’t let herself be so delicate as to cage him like Caraxes in the Dragonpit. Surely she could stand a few hours a day letting her energetic lover loose until he spent up the endless stores of energy he possessed.
In the end it didn’t matter. After three consecutive days of tears and loneliness several weeks into her confinement, Daemon made the call himself. Rhaenyra felt guilty, but he insisted. Her chamber soon found itself with a training dummy for his use, but otherwise he spent his time reading or getting creative with ways of remaining fit.
What she couldn’t regret, however, was the sheer ease in which she could sink into Daemon’s arms whenever she wished. He would lift the weight of their baby off her hips, the relief immeasurable for those few short minutes. And when Rhaenyra struggled to sleep, she often found her husband also awake, any trace of exhaustion absent from his countenance even though she knew for certain he was exhausted.
In the bath, gloriously hot and relaxing, he would wash her hair and body. He would rub her feet, read to her, make love to her. It felt like another honeymoon, almost, but she still felt uncomfortable.
Gods, when will it end?
Rhaenyra sighed as another wave of cramps hit her. The sensation had more or less persisted since the initial false alarm, much to her chagrin. Yet another opportunity for her body to betray her.
“Daemon?” she finally whispered, squeezing his forearm, which was draped over her waist as they laid in bed so that she might rest her feet before dinner.
“Hm?”
He shifted slightly to nuzzle her temple with his nose. Her sweet fool—if the Rogue Prince could be called sweet. “They’ve started again.”
“Hmm.” His hand palmed her belly, rough calluses that would feel sublime on bare skin right about now snagging slightly on the fine fabric of her nightgown. “Do they feel worse or the same?”
“About the same, I think. I want it to be over.”
Daemon chuckled lightly, yet the sound wasn’t mocking. Somehow, his amusement was as comforting as the rest of him. Without it, Rhaenyra knew she would have gone mad with her persistent discomfort moons ago. “You are so close,” he reminded her. “Both maester and midwife agree the birth will happen anytime now. Perhaps the gods will grant you a kindness and begin your labours tomorrow.”
“The gods? Kind? That would certainly be a first.”
Still, she also laughed. If the Fourteen refused to listen to her, perhaps they would be willing to listen to him. Someone ought to, however it possibly couldn’t be a good omen if not even the gods would consider her worth listening to. Before the dark thought could make her bitter, she turned her head slightly towards Daemon. “Help me up.”
At least he didn’t resist an heiress’ command. Daemon shifted behind Rhaenyra in moments, pushing her forward until she was upright, and then he helped her slide off the bed. “We can sit outside on the balcony,” the prince suggested as he smoothed back her hair.
“That sounds wonderful.”
They watched the sunset and ate their evening meal underneath the stars. In the far distance, Rhaenyra could just make out the lively music coming from Flea Bottom, where the people were more loyal to their prince than their king. As Lady Flea Bottom—Daemon always laughed when she called herself that—the princess herself yearned for the freedom she enjoyed the fateful night she’d taken her uncle as her first and only lover. No doubt one day her son would frequent the same streets his own father once prowled, annoying as it was to think about.
Rhaenyra stifled a gasp. Another cramp took hold when she and Daemon returned inside, and it took effort to keep walking. She said she was fine when he noticed her discomfort. She clenched her teeth when the pain persisted.
It was after midnight when it finally became unbearable. “Daemon,” she gasped, digging her nails into his arm. “Daemon!”
He was upright before she’d called his name the second time. “What’s wrong?” he inquired, his voice tight.
“It hurts. I-I… It hurts so badly.”
“Worse?”
She nodded rapidly.
“We need to call the midwife.” Neither of them dared breathe what this could mean, but Rhaenyra knew all too well what this very well might be.
“Please don’t leave!” she interjected, grabbing his wrist in a vice-like grip.
“Sweetheart, I am not screaming my head off like a fishwife to get someone’s attention. I will be gone for not even thirty seconds. Can you handle that?“
Slowly, her fingers released his wrist before she could think too deeply. It shouldn’t have been an impossible request. Ser Erryk was just outside the door. She could see her husband mere feet in front of her as he spoke quietly with the Kingsguard in his nightshirt, yet his absence still felt disastrous. It was only when Daemon was beside her once more, helping her sit up and pressing her against his firm chest, that she felt even a modicum of calm.
“I have you,” Daemon was whispering, rubbing her arms. “We stay together, remember? There’s my good girl.”
The minutes passed slowly, and so did the pain. Finally Rhaenyra was able to relax. Her uncle’s arms only wrapped tighter around her.
Elinda is the first new face she sees, carrying the birthing chair and followed by the two midwives. “A bit of an early morning, wouldn’t you say, princess?” the girl all but sings, cheery-faced as if it wasn’t the hour of the wolf. Rhaenyra laughed, pained.
“Let’s see what we have here,” the old woman interrupted, approaching the bed. “Hopefully this time the babe has truly decided to join us. Have your waters broken yet, Your Grace?”
“No.” Slowly she propped her legs up to endure the humiliating process of being examined. Daemon rubbed her thigh soothingly.
“How frequently has the pain been?”
“You expect her to count ?!” Daemon snapped sharply.
“Yes, my prince,” the midwife replied sternly but calmly. Rhaenyra admired her candour. “If she is in labour, time between contractions tells us how far along the babe is. Princess, can you remember how much time has been between contractions? For how long?”
It was hard to think. She’d been more concerned with not worrying Daemon that she forgot to keep track of her contractions as she ought to have. “Since this afternoon, I think,” she started. “It started every few hours but then it seemed more frequent. The pain seems to be every few minutes now.”
“Every—?!”
The midwife skillfully cut Daemon off, continuing, “Good. You are well on your way. I can feel you aren’t fully dilated yet, so we still have some time before we need to settle you in the chair. If you’d like to pass the time, I’m certain your husband won’t oppose helping you walk around the chamber a little bit, unless you’d prefer Lady Massey do that.”
Rhaenyra shook her head. “Daemon.”
“Come on,” he murmured once the midwife pulled away. He manoeuvred them upright and helped her off the bed after he slipped on some trousers. His hands were so warm, so sturdy; she clung to them as easily as she had as a child, letting him hold her steady as she hobbled about. They would stop when a contraction hit. Rhaenyra’s arms would wrap around his neck, and he would hold her while rubbing her back.
Daemon also spoke little, and Rhaenyra couldn’t decide why. It was hard to conceive that he might be anxious, but she could see the way he would press together his lips or clench his jaw. Every word he did say felt wholly for her benefit. Nevertheless, she clung to him, comforting him in turn where she could by kissing his mouth or one of his hands.
Suddenly, she felt wet. For a moment Rhaenyra feared that she had accidentally relieved herself, but her bladder didn’t feel empty. Gasping, she looked down at the wet stone floor beneath her feet. “Oh,” she gasped, finding herself immobile. No no no I can’t do this I CAN’T—
Thank the gods she wasn’t alone.
“Midwife!” Daemon bellowed, demanding the presence of others, even as his voice croaked instead of carrying the usual certainty he could articulate while his wife trembled.
Rhaenyra was surrounded, finding herself sitting on the bed again to be checked, except just then a contraction so severe hit her, she couldn’t remember it being this bad. She wailed softly, a tear trickling down her cheek. “Oh dear,” Elinda whispered somewhere nearby, but the princess could only register her stalwart husband, who kissed away her teardrop.
“Not long now, I suspect,” the midwife murmured. “Ah, yes. Almost. Maybe another hour.”
“An hour?!” Rhaenyra gasped.
“Yes! Soon that’ll feel like no time at all.”
“That’s rich coming from you!”
“I’ve birthed plenty of my own babes, princess. Trust me when I say you will forget all of this.”
Were it not for the immeasurable pain and her husband’s strength holding her back, Rhaenyra was certain she would have throttled the old woman. “Perhaps the maester would be preferable to your intolerable jabbering,” Daemon hissed.
“Only the princess may decide, my prince.”
“Stop talking to him like that!” Rhaenyra shrieked.
Poor Elinda visibly flinched.
At least the midwife kept her mouth shut after that, and once the contraction ended, Rhaenyra was once moved once again, this time to sit in the birthing chair. Daemon braided back her hair from her face.
Another contraction.
And then another, and another.
“You’re ready now, princess!”
Rhaenyra’s heart rate ever increased. This was it, the very thing her own mother sacrificed her life for. The act of giving life so often embroiled in the loss of someone else's, claiming one woman after another. Sweat trickled down her back and her hands shook. Her ears felt like they were stuffed with cotton as panic settled in her chest.
The urge to push overwhelmed her, beyond all the pain her body chose to betray her. “Daemon!” she wept, reaching for his hand.
I can’t do this alone, she wanted to cry.
I know, he seemed to say when he kissed her fingers. “Be with me,” Daemon said aloud, kneeling on the cold stone floor.
“I want my mother,” she sobbed.
“She’s right here, dārilaros , you see?” He pressed a palm to her cheek. “You are the best of her. The very best.”
“It’s time to push now!” a voice interrupted them.
Push she did. Rhaenyra screamed and screamed, crushing her husband’s hand. She felt like she was being ripped in two. Every menstrual cramp, every injury, even her first time making love with Daemon… none of those things could compare to the intense pain she felt now. Still, she pushed with each contraction, sweating like a heifer, perhaps looking the most unattractive she could possibly be while her body betrayed her and expelled waste for all to see. Yet still Daemon clung to her hand, rubbing her thigh, and kissing her wrist while Elinda dabbed her forehead with a cool cloth.
“I can’t,” she hissed once the contraction passed. The pain only seemed to get worse and worse. Death would be sweeter than this.
“Yes you can, my love! You push, our son is born. If you do not, you both will die! I cannot lose you, Rhaenyra. My heart beats in my chest because of you. Would you leave this world before I do? This isn’t right! You die old and grey with beautiful children and grandchildren surrounding you!” Daemon rattled on, squeezing her hand hard , almost painfully, but it brought her to the present.
“I know not what the prince is saying but I’m inclined to agree with him,” the midwife expressed.
“I don’t recall asking for your opinion, you cunt!” Rhaenyra hollered, but incised by her husband’s words, she moaned as she pushed with the next contraction. “Gods, Daemon, why the fuck did I let you do this to me?!”
The woman chose to ignore the princess’ insult. “Rapid breaths now, don’t push yet!”
It was almost impossible to think beyond the pain between her legs. She’d periodically squeeze Daemon’s fingers, whimpering lightly when he brushed her knuckles with his thumb. “That’s it,” he would croon, eyes always on her face, unoffended by her anger. “You’re so beautiful, my heart, so strong. You can do this. You are a dragon, my beauty. You rode Syrax at only seven namedays, remember? The youngest of our line. If you can do that, you can deliver our boy into the world.”
“I see the head now. This is the hardest part, princess. Take a deep breath and give me one long, hard push!”
Rhaenyra nodded and inhaled, groaning loudly. It burned, it burned, it burned, but gods did she still push, her throat raw as she let out a final scream.
“The head is born! All right, with the last contraction, we’ll be delivering your baby. Ready?”
Daemon pressed a kiss on her hand. “One more, my perfect girl, one more,” he whispered encouragingly. His eyes were inexplicably glistening. Rhaenyra whimpered as she felt her body cramp again. She took another deep breath and moaned as she pushed.
Then suddenly it all stopped.
Her baby wailed.
The world seemed to slow. It was done. She’s given birth to her first child. Slowly her eyes shifted toward the midwives, who were wiping blood and fluid away from the babe’s body before wrapping him in a fresh blanket.
The midwife cradled the baby with a smile. “Would you like to hold your son, princess?”
For a moment, Rhaenyra was mute, gazing at her child with wide eyes. Slowly she opened up her arms, and then all at once the weight of a newborn was pressed in her arms. She gazed down at her son, who was still expressing his displeasure, albeit more quietly now that he was pressed against his mother’s skin.
He was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. Her eyes welled with tears, and then she was crying.
“He’s perfect,” she blubbered. The most perfect boy, created with love and longing, unaware of the burden he would have to one day carry. The young mother leaned down and kissed his head. She then looked over at her husband, who was looking at her with his eyes still misty. “Look at your son. We made him together.”
Daemon loomed over her shoulder to look down at their babe, already comfortable in his mother’s arms while his father tentatively reached to caress the top of his head with his thumb. “You were brilliant,” he murmured, kissing her cheek.
“You helped.”
Snorting, the prince replied, “I held your hand. That’s hardly helpful.”
“You have no idea how much that means to me. I was so afraid I would have to do this alone. Women always do.”
“And you will never have to. I swear upon my blade.”
They kissed softly, and while Rhaenyra was overtly aware of how disgusting she undoubtedly looked, with the way Daemon looked at her, she felt like it was her wedding day again.
The princess endured the midwives’ fussing while they waited for the afterbirth, which proved to be an ugly thing. It wasn’t until the placenta was confirmed to be intact before the cord was cut and she herself was allowed to move and be cleaned. Rhaenyra didn’t want to let go of her boy, who slept so peacefully in her arms, her shift pulled down so that the babe could rest against her naked breast.
“Your Graces,” sweet Elinda, looking exhausted herself, approached the little family and declared, “the queen’s wet nurse is here to feed the prince.”
Rhaenyra, who had been rocking her baby, stalled her arms. Strangely, the announcement gave her no sense of comfort. In fact, she felt cold and her chest tightened. Her son would not be beholden to anyone in Alicent Hightower’s employ.
“No,” she hissed.
“She— Pardon?”
“No wet nurse.”
Elinda’s eyebrows furrowed. “I see,” she muttered. Rhaenyra didn’t miss how her eyes flicked up briefly for Daemon’s reaction, but he mercifully said nothing, only rubbing his thumb against her arm. Finally the girl nodded and left, leaving Rhaenyra to relax again.
“Do you disagree?” the princess inquired of her husband. Her voice was stiff, defensive. Did he think her mad?
“No,” Daemon assured her. “Remember what I promised you? Whatever you want. My brother, the court, they will all tell you what they want you to do and how to raise our son. They will make endless demands of you both. Find the little things you can control, my love. I will ensure they listen.”
She could feel his lips against her shoulder, and then her neck, and finally her temple. Rhaenyra tried not to cry. Oh, what a relief it was to be listened to, to be adhered to. She had chosen her husband well. Gods, what a pleasure it would be to show Daemon her gratitude once her body was healed.
Her sweet boy was already so clever, awakening at just the right time to let out a cry. Rhaenyra was certain he was finally hungry. With uncertainty, she shifted the babe closer to her nipple and gently nudged open his mouth. After a moment, he latched on, and he began to suck. The princess tried not to flinch at the uncomfortable sensation, but she couldn’t find it in herself to regret her decision.
She was feeding her first baby at her own breast. He was so lovely to look at as he fed, greedy like any Targaryen ought to be.
Daemon hummed quietly behind her, a Valyrian lullaby she’d heard a hundred times from her earliest memories. His fingers brushed hers, helping her support their son. Minutes passed like that; Rhaenyra cared not to count them, only reminded of the passage of time when her babe finished feeding.
“He needs burping,” the midwife murdered. When had she come in?
“How?” Rhaenyra asked instead. The older woman approached, draping a towel over the princess’ shoulder, and helped her manoeuvre the prince over it. Then she gently patted his back until the undignified noise emitted from his little mouth.
“There now, all done. I suppose you would finally like to bathe now, no?”
“Yes, I would.”
Daemon was ever attentive, helping her to her feet once her cool bath was ready, shucking off his nightshirt. When the baby was finally set in his bare arms while Rhaenyra sank into the water, the elder prince never looked so handsome. As far as she was concerned, their infant looked like him the most.
Daemon rocked the baby gently, already whispering to him in High Valyrian, his own shirt removed for the baby to feel his father’s skin now. Was this how he was when she was born? Starry-eyed as he held her, teaching her their mother tongue from her first breath? How disarming it was to see such a dangerous man carefully cradle his delicate newborn son.
Once bathed and dressed in a new shift (and an unbecoming rag tied between her thighs for the bleeding), the little princeling was returned to her, Daemon settled behind her and rested his chin on her shoulder.
The peace was soon disturbed once more, this time to announce the arrival of the king and queen.
Ah. Of course. In all the chaos Rhaenyra had forgotten about protocol. While she was delighted to present to her sire his first grandson and nephew, the same could not be said about her stepmother. The baby had not even been allowed his first nap yet, and already their peace was to be disrupted.
Viserys all but burst through the door, mouth spread wide in a smile. “I was awoken early this morning by your maester with the news you had entered your labours! Are you well, my dear? How about my first grandchild?”
Rhaenyra smiled gracefully as she rocked her baby, who still slept despite the conversation at hand. “I am as well as one can be,” she replied, kissing her son’s head, “and so is he. He is the picture of perfection.”
The king was quiet as he approached the bed to peer down as the little boy. “He’s a handsome one, that is for certain. I am so proud of you, my girl. And, I do believe I ought to congratulate you as well, brother. Your first child at last!”
Daemon huffed quietly, almost like a laugh. “Rhaenyra did all the hard work. She deserves the most praise,” he responded, kissing her head. The princess melted into him. In his arms, she and her baby were safe and warm.
“He’s certainly… robust,” Alicent offered disdainfully. Rhaenyra fought the urge to roll her eyes.
“Isn’t he? He’ll be strong like his papa.”
“And what is the princeling’s name?” Alicent’s inquiry dripped of indifference.
Rhaenyra beamed brightly; Daemon’s hands squeezed her upper arms encouragingly. “We named him Aegon!” she announced excitedly. “After Daemon’s younger brother; the one I never got to meet.”
She swore the traitor woman’s eye twitched.
“Aegon?” the queen asked weakly.
“It’s a good, strong name!” Viserys interjected excitedly.
“Isn’t it… well, we already have an Aegon. Your son. Wouldn’t it be… confusing?”
It was with ceaseless joy that she saw her former friend’s cheeks redden as she tried to hide her anger.
“I doubt it,” Daemon piped up smugly. “He is second in line for the throne, and Rhaenyra wishes him to be in his own nursery.”
“Still, if we speak of one Aegon or another, how are we to know the difference?”
“Here’s a thought: our son may be known as the Elder, and this young chap shall be known as the Younger,” the king suggested with a smile.
Rhaenyra beamed brightly at her father. “That sounds like a wonderful idea!” she agreed.
Alicent’s visage was slowly turning green.