Chapter Text
This was it; this must be how dying felt. The soft strands of her silver-gold hair clung to her skin, glistening with sweat and the Crown Princess hunched over with a low, guttural moan. The muscles in her abdomen clenched and tightened, another wave of pain sweeping over her small frame.
‘The childbed is our battlefield,’ her mother’s voice echoed in her ears. It was a memory long past, yet one that had haunted to her throughout her years, since the fateful day Aemma Arryn has been slaughtered in her birthing bed. Now she was in the same position, bent over her bed as she rode through another wave of pain. When would it end? Why was it taking so long? How much more could she bear?
“It will not be long now, Rhaenyra,” the soft voice of Laena Velaryon soothed her, Laena’s gentle hands massing her lower back. Rhaenyra nearly sobbed in relief as the wave passed and she collapsed to her knees. “You are doing so well; it will not be much longer.”
“You don’t know that!” Rhaenyra snapped, frustration building again as she was maneuvered to a leaning position. The silver-haired beauty that was her cousin didn’t respond, just squeezing her hand gently. A sob forced itself out of her throat and Rhaenyra ran her hand through her hair in grief. So many Targaryen’s lost to the childbirth, she was going to be next. Her fear was coming true, it had been too long. A day of labour, the pain growing with every hour that passed. A brunette swept into her vision, dark wavy hair pulled up into a crown of braids and out of her freckled face.
“Do not despair, my Princess, many women have been in the birthing bed for much longer than this and come out with a bright and healthy babe,” Lady Charis Oakheart encouraged. She was the second lady-in-waiting Rhaenyra had taken following her tour, Lady Laena being the first many years before. She was older than the others, at five and twenty. Rhaenyra merely growled in response, another wave building from deep inside of her. She picked up the words ‘Come now to the bed’ as they gathered her up, with gentle hands and moved Rhaenyra to the bed. The vague noises of the ruckus were filtering through the door, and a midwife, picked with great care by Rhaenys Targaryen, came over with a fresh basin of warm water.
“Let us check your progress, Your Highness,” the older woman stated, rinsing her hands in the fresh water and moving to the end of the bed. Yet another indignity she must endure. Rhaenyra’s thoughts had darkened as the hours wore, but she leant back and steeled her expression as the Midwife’s hand went under her nightgown. A calm smile fell onto her face, and she gave a curt nod to the Crown Princess. “It is time, this babe is ready.”
“Wha?” Rhaenyra gasped out, before another contraction ripped through her. She felt her ladies come behind her, propping her up. The urge to bear down forced its way through her, and despite the bone-deep exhaustion she felt, she pushed with all her might. Words of encouragement were filtering through her mind, yet the searing agony overtook them, and her entire body felt like it was on fire. For a moment she couldn’t breathe, all the air being swept from her lungs.
“Nearly there, my dear.”
Her mother’s voice rang in her ears and Rhaenyra inhaled with a cry. Mother, please… please be with me… A final push and suddenly, the world went white. Her entire body sagged, and the sharp bawl of a new baby pierced the air. Rhaenyra gasped for breath and opened her eyes.
“A boy, Your Highness. A strong and healthy boy!” The midwife proclaimed. Rhaenyra almost wept in relief. Then the cramping started again and the handed her son over to one of her Ladies. “That’ll be the afters.”
Moments later, when her tangled silver-gold hair had been pulled back and her brow wiped clean, Rhaenyra was propped up in her bed with pillows, reaching out for her new son. With a smile, Laena gently placed the babe in her arms, wrapped in a bundle of blankets. He was crying fiercely, lilac eyes squeezed shut, his small fists clenched as he adjusted to new, colder temperatures outside the safety and warmth of Rhaenyra. She swept the blanket from his head and beamed at her son, running her fingers gently over the silver curls that adorned his head.
A true Valyrian Prince.
--
“I cannot continue to do this, we cannot continue on in this manner!” Rhaenyra snapped, throwing her hands in frustration. Rhaenyra paced her chambers in Maegor’s Holdfast while Laenor sat with his head in his hands. Over the years, the chambers had undergone significant changes, including the addition of seating areas to accommodate her ladies-in-waiting. A fire blazed in the towering stone fireplace, providing the sole source of light for their conversation. Rhaenyra's complexion was pale from exhaustion, and her eyes were shadowed as she gravitated towards the warmth, resting her hands on the mantle.
The usually sharp lilac eyes of Rhaenys Targaryen followed her with sympathy, lips pursed. Rhaenys was not unaware that this would be a possibility that her son would be unable to rise to his duty and provide an heir for Rhaenyra. It had been her greatest reservation, and her greatest fear, when agreeing to the match between the two, yet Corlys had been steadfast. She had observed, and requested her daughter watch over the couple also, the troubles they experienced evident. With each failure to conceive, the increasing pressure from the King and his Wife, and the whispers of the nobles at the court, Rhaenys and Laena had both seen the couple begin to crumble. Rhaenyra had begun to wither, losing weight and dark shadows developing under her eyes. Her skin was losing sallow and her hair losing its usual shine. Laenor was no different, looking defeated and burying into his cups and, if rumours were to be considered, his knights. Rhaenys stood, her hands clasped to her front, looking between her daughter-in-law and son.
“What is the problem, specifically?” Rhaenyra turned to her sharply, a flush blossoming over her cheeks. From embarrassment or fury, Rhaenys was not sure, but Rhaenyra marched over to her table and poured a goblet of wine.
“He cannot… he cannot spill his seed with me.”
It was so quiet that Rhaenys almost didn’t hear her, but Laenor did and groaned, reaching for his own wine. The Queen who Never Was closed her eyes momentarily, allowing the wave of uncomfortableness at the conversation to pass. When Rhaenyra approached her after her coronation, she had been reluctant to offer her support and guidance and yet somehow, she was still here, trying to figure out yet another blow to Rhaenyra’s succession. It had been 5 years of battling rumours, teaching the girl how to be the heir where her father was failing, guiding her to learning about the laws, the finances and the management of a kingdom and most of all, encouraging her to build alliances.
“What methods have you tried?” Rhaenys asked, and Rhaenyra groaned in frustration, snapping a sharp ‘Everything!’ at her. Eyebrow raised, Rhaenys allowed the girl’s sharpness to roll of her. Having anticipated a problem like this that may occur, Rhaenys had taken to researching in her library. It had been complex, as many traditional texts shied away from the act of child making and rearing, yet she had found some texts on the implantation of seed without the input of the male. While they were Volantene in nature, and the results were somewhat sparse with references to magic tinctures and potions, there had been evidence that in some cases it was successful. As she explained this, she could see light starting to appear in Rhaenyra’s eyes and Laenor’s jaw hung open slightly.
“It will not be easy, nor simple. It will require dedication and attempts on every eve; however, it may give you the results we require,” Rhaenys stated. Rhaenyra gave a slow nod and glanced at Laenor. He stood at her gaze, taking his hand in hers and then turning to his mother with a newfound determination.
“We can do it.”
--
The process was not straightforward. Rhaenyra experienced significant discomfort during the months she attempted to conceive, and she believed Laenor shared these feelings, the embarrassment of handing seed over to her ladies. She had to undergo a procedure where her legs were elevated by ropes attached to her bed canopy, positioning her pelvis in a way that increased the likelihood of the seed taking root. After three turns of the moon, she began experiencing sickness like no other. Initially, Rhaenyra kept this to herself for several weeks until she missed two consecutive moonblood. Only then did she inform Laenor, Rhaenys, and subsequently, her father.
Viserys had been overjoyed, hosting a feast in their honour. It had been 14 courses of pheasant, vegetables and fish that Rhaenyra had barely been able to eat, while Alicent had watched her with a suspicious eye. They had endured the japes, the comments on ‘Finally!’ and Corlys had smacked his son on the back in pride, oblivious to their struggles.
Rhaenyra let out a soft sigh as she pulled herself from her reverie, bouncing the small bundle in her arms. Her son had drifted to sleep, his chest rising and falling with small snores. A smile fell upon her lips as she gazed at him. He had Laenor’s nose, her almond shaped eyes. While not as dark as his father, his skin was darker than her own, complimented by the silvery curls atop his head. Rhaenyra couldn’t stop staring at this tiny bundle, her heart swelling in her chest with love, the hustle and bustle of the chamber around quietened to a distant din.
“My sweet boy,” she whispered, stroking his cheek. “I shall protect you and cherish you and I shall ensure no harm ever comes to you.”
Rhaenyra gently kissed the boy’s forehead as the doors to her chambers were opened, allowing Laenor Velaryon to enter. A look of joy adorned his face as he approached her, exclaiming, "A boy!" while being quietly reminded by her Ladies-In-Waiting to lower his voice. Rhaenyra smiled warmly, inclining her head as he drew nearer.
“The little Prince is sleeping, Laenor, we must not wake him,” Rhaenyra teased and Laenor practically glowed at her as he sat on the edge of the bed.
"May I?" he asked, and she chuckled, shaking her head.
"There is no need for you to request permission to hold your son," Rhaenyra stated. She carefully handed the infant to Laenor and took a moment to lean back and observe her surroundings. The chamber around her was a testament to House Targaryen. Banners adorned with dragon heraldry hung from the stone walls, their rich reds and blacks a stark contrast to the grey stones. The room was spacious, filled with a warm, soft glow emanating from the numerous sconces and the large stone fireplace that dominated one wall. The fire crackled and danced, casting flickering shadows that played upon the faces of the ladies-in-waiting bustling around the room. They attended to their tasks with a practiced grace, their whispers and rustling skirts adding to the symphony of quiet activity. Plush seating areas were scattered throughout the chamber, inviting and comfortable, draped in velvets and brocades of deep reds and golds. The grand canopy bed, where Rhaenyra now rested, was the focal point, its posts intricately carved with dragon motifs, hinting at the family’s storied history.
Rhaenyra eyes drifted back to Laenor as he gently cradled their son, her heart swelling with a mix of pride and contentment.
“He is beautiful, Rhaenyra. He was worth all this,” Laenor whispered, unable to draw his eyes from the small babe. Rhaenyra beamed, placing her hand gently in his arm. Laenor knew he had not made Rhaenyra's journey an easy one. She had endured much because of him—the whispers, the rumours, the court's relentless scrutiny from the moment they wed. The court was a breeding ground for intrigue and malice, where every gesture and word were dissected and twisted into new forms of gossip. Rhaenyra had faced venomous glances and thinly veiled insults, every day a battle against the toxic atmosphere that sought to undermine her. Despite all that, as he marvelled at their newborn son, a sense of fulfilment settled over him.
He had feared that the weight of their responsibilities would shatter them, but in this moment, holding their child, all doubts seemed to dissipate. He glanced at Rhaenyra, who smiled softly, her eyes filled with a serene strength. Rhaenyra’s thoughts wandered to the future, where her son would grow up amidst the grandeur of their house, learning the ways of courtly life and the burdens of leadership. She vowed silently to shield him from the treacherous politics that had plagued her own path. Laenor handed the baby back to her, his eyes reflecting a rare vulnerability.
"We will make this work, Rhaenyra. For him," he murmured. She nodded, her grip tightening around the tiny bundle as if drawing strength from the new life they had brought into the world. Together, they would uphold the legacy of House Targaryen. In the quiet of their chambers, amidst the flickering firelight and the distant hum of the castle, an unspoken agreement was forged. They would protect their son, and in turn, he would be the symbol of their resilience and strength. The future was uncertain, but with each other's support, they would face whatever lay ahead.
As the newborn prince slept peacefully in his mother's arms, the world outside Rhaenyra’s chamber seemed, for a moment, less daunting and more hopeful.