Torn Between Duty And Desire @cherrubie - Tumblr Blog

Kinfire.

Pairing : Aegon Targaryen x Niece!Reader

Summary : when your mother first spoke of marriage, her voice calm but her eyes calculating, you had not understood the weight of it. You had been twelve, still soft with girlhood, your thoughts more concerned with dragon eggs and the way your brother laughed than the politics coiling beneath every breath in court. She spoke of unity, of healing fractures between blood that had begun to sharpen into something dangerous. Your name, placed beside Aegon’s, felt strange in your ears—your uncle, a prince you had only known in glimpses: wine-stained laughter, distant eyes, a restlessness that clung to him like shadow. You expected refusal. The first attempt with Helaena had failed, after all. But Queen Alicent did not refuse this time.

Aegon Targaryen Masterlist.

There had never been a day in your life where love was rationed. It poured over you like summer light through the tall windows of the Red Keep, warm and constant, impossible to escape even if you wished to. Your mother’s hands were always gentle when they brushed your hair at night, her voice soft when she spoke your name, as if it were something precious she feared might shatter if spoken too loudly. Your father, in his own quieter way, gave you the world without ever naming it as such—rare silks from Driftmark, carved trinkets from distant ports, and a gaze that softened only for you, his only daughter. No request of yours had ever been denied. No tear had ever gone unnoticed. You were not merely loved—you were kept, guarded like a flame in a storm.

So when your mother first spoke of marriage, her voice calm but her eyes calculating, you had not understood the weight of it. You had been twelve, still soft with girlhood, your thoughts more concerned with dragon eggs and the way your brother laughed than the politics coiling beneath every breath in court. She spoke of unity, of healing fractures between blood that had begun to sharpen into something dangerous. Your name, placed beside Aegon’s, felt strange in your ears—your uncle, a prince you had only known in glimpses: wine-stained laughter, distant eyes, a restlessness that clung to him like shadow. You expected refusal. The first attempt with Helaena had failed, after all. But Queen Alicent did not refuse.

She accepted.

And suddenly, your life shifted.

The wedding came like a procession in a dream—gold and candlelight, the echo of prayers beneath the vast dome of the Great Sept. You were thirteen, draped in silks too heavy for your small frame, your dark hair falling in waves down your back, your hands trembling beneath the weight of rings and expectation. Aegon stood beside you, sixteen and already carrying the weariness of a man twice his age, yet when his hand closed around yours, it did not hurt. It did not command. It held—steady, careful, as though he feared you might pull away.

You did not.

And that, perhaps, was the beginning of everything.

Because what followed was not what the court whispered it would be. Not coldness, not cruelty, not the sharp edge of a forced union. Instead, there was something quieter. Stranger. Aegon, who had been spoken of in murmurs of excess and recklessness, softened in the privacy of your shared chambers. The wine cups grew fewer. The nights he vanished into Flea Bottom ceased altogether, as if that version of him had been sealed away the moment the doors closed behind the two of you. He asked—no, insisted—to remain with you, to share not only your name but your space, your breath, your nights. His mother resisted, of course. Alicent always did. But Aegon was relentless in a way that startled even her, pushing and pushing until the inevitable crack formed.

And then, one morning, your belongings were moved.

Silks and jewels, books and combs, all carried into the eastern chambers where sunlight spilled across the floor like molten gold. His things followed soon after—carelessly folded garments, the faint scent of smoke and spice clinging to them—and just like that, your lives were stitched together not just by vow, but by habit. By presence.

By choice.

You began to learn him in the quiet hours. The way his hand would find yours in his sleep, fingers curling instinctively as though searching for proof that you were still there. The way his voice lost its sharpness when he spoke only to you, turning low, almost uncertain. The way he watched you sometimes, when he thought you did not notice, as though you were something fragile and rare and entirely his to protect.

And you, who had been given everything your whole life, found yourself wanting only this—him, softened at your side.

So when the maester confirmed your pregnancy, the world did not feel like a blessing.

It felt like a cliff’s edge.

Fear settled deep in your chest, cold and unyielding. You had seen men change. You had heard the whispers, the warnings dressed as pity. You knew what Aegon had been before you—reckless, untethered, always chasing something just out of reach. And a child… a child could break even the gentlest illusion. You feared he would slip back into old habits, vanish into the city’s underbelly, leave you alone in a bed that would grow too large without him.

But he didn’t.

From the moment the words left your lips—I am with child—something in him stilled, then reshaped itself entirely. He did not retreat. He did not falter. If anything, he drew closer, as though the very idea of you carrying his child tethered him more tightly than any vow ever could. He hovered, constant and unrelenting in his presence, his hand always at your waist, your back, your stomach—as if he needed to remind himself, over and over, that both you and the life within you were real.

He stopped leaving the Red Keep altogether.

And when your time came—when the pain seized your body and dragged you into a storm of breathless agony—it was not just the maids and midwives who gathered.

Aegon stood at your side.

Alicent’s protests rang sharp and furious, her voice cutting through the chamber like steel, insisting he leave, that such things were not for men to witness. But Aegon did not move. He argued, voice raw, desperate in a way you had never heard before, his hand gripping yours as though it were the only thing anchoring him to the world.

“I am not leaving her.”

And even as the pain fractured you, even as your body trembled and your cries echoed against stone, you felt him there—his presence unwavering, his fingers laced with yours, his voice breaking as he whispered your name like a prayer he feared might go unanswered.

In that moment, between life and something perilously close to death, you realized something that no court whisper, no political scheme, no arranged vow could have ever foretold—

This was not the marriage you had been given.

This was the one you had made.

Six years had softened the sharp edges of court life into something almost bearable, almost gentle, within the walls of your chambers. Outside, the Red Keep still breathed politics and tension, every corridor echoing with ambition dressed in silk, but here—here, where the curtains fell heavy and the hearth burned low—there was only warmth, only the quiet rhythm of a life you had built together piece by fragile piece. Tomorrow would be Maelor’s name day, your second son already brimming with stubborn pride despite his small hands and unsteady steps, and you had mentioned only once, in passing, that he wanted a new wooden sword after Jaehaerys had broken the last one in a fit of brotherly rivalry. A simple request. A small thing. And yet, as you stood before the mirror, drawing the brush slowly through your long hair, your thoughts lingered on it—not out of worry, but out of habit, because motherhood had woven itself into you so deeply that even your quiet moments belonged, in part, to them.

Still, your gaze did not stay on your reflection for long.

It found him.

Aegon sat upon the edge of the mattress behind you, his posture loose, one arm resting lazily against his knee, yet his eyes—his eyes were entirely fixed on you. Not distracted. Not distant. Focused in a way that still, after all these years, felt almost unreal. There had been a time when he could barely sit still, when his attention wandered like a restless tide, but now it settled on you as though it had finally found its shore. And when your eyes met his through the mirror, you felt it again—that quiet pull, that invisible thread that had only grown stronger with time.

Your lips curved without thought.

You set the brush aside.

And you went to him.

He tilted his head slightly as you approached, watching you with a softness that never quite reached anyone else, his hand already lifting as if it knew where it belonged before you even stopped before him. The moment you were close enough, his fingers found your waist, slipping there with familiarity, drawing you just a fraction closer as though even the small space between you was unnecessary. Your hand rose instinctively, threading into his hair, nails grazing lightly against his scalp, and the reaction was immediate—a quiet exhale leaving him, his eyes closing as though the simple touch unraveled something deep within him.

“There it is,” he murmured, voice low, almost amused, but threaded with something warmer. “I was wondering how long it would take before you came to me.”

You huffed softly at that, though the smile never left your face, your fingers continuing their slow, absent strokes through his hair. “You looked as though you might stop breathing if I didn’t.”

He gave a faint chuckle, one that vibrated beneath your touch, before his gaze lifted again, lingering on you with an intensity that had never quite dulled. “Can you blame me?” he said quietly. “The gods took their time when they made you. It feels… absurd, sometimes. To look at you and remember you’ve given me three children.”

You shook your head at that, a soft laugh escaping you, warmth blooming beneath his words but tempered by the ease that only years could bring. “Flattery will not distract me, husband.”

“Oh?” His brow lifted, a hint of mischief threading through his expression now, though it was softer than it once had been, less reckless, more… contained. “It has worked every time before.”

“That is because I allow it,” you replied lightly.

But your words faded into a quiet breath when his hands tightened just slightly at your waist, guiding you without force, without question, until you settled onto his lap. The movement was natural, practiced, as though your bodies had long since memorized the shape of one another. His arms wrapped around you easily, one securing your waist, the other resting just beneath your ribs, holding you close as his head dipped forward, coming to rest against your shoulder.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

There was only the quiet of shared breath.

Your fingers resumed their path through his hair, slower now, gentler, and he leaned into it without hesitation, his body relaxing beneath yours in a way that would have been unthinkable years ago. Aegon Targaryen, once wild and untethered, now stilled by nothing more than your touch.

You tilted your head slightly, your lips brushing faintly against his temple as you spoke. “Tell me,” you murmured, voice soft but purposeful, “did you remember Maelor’s gift?”

There was a pause.

Then a quiet, knowing chuckle.

“I did,” he said, his voice muffled slightly where his face had shifted closer, his breath warm against your skin. “A wooden sword. Stronger than the last, I’m told. And another for Jaehaerys—so he does not feel the need to steal it before the day is done.”

You smiled at that, though a soft laugh slipped from you as you leaned back just enough to look at him. “And what of Jaehaera?” you asked, one brow lifting in gentle challenge. “Or have you decided to start a war within our own chambers?”

That earned a proper laugh from him, low and amused, his arms tightening briefly around you as if in acknowledgment of the truth in your words. “I am not that foolish,” he said, glancing up at you, his expression softening again. “She has a new doll. One with silks finer than any she’s owned before. I suspect she will forgive me for the swords.”

“She will demand more,” you corrected gently.

He smirked. “Then she is truly my daughter.”

You shook your head, though your smile deepened, fondness threading through every line of your expression. “They will all be pleased,” you said quietly. “And if they are pleased… the keep may know peace, if only for a day.”

“A miracle,” he murmured.

But his voice shifted then—subtler, quieter—as his gaze dropped, following the curve of your form where you sat against him, the years having changed you and yet… not in the ways most would expect. His hand shifted slightly at your waist, his fingers pressing just a fraction more firmly, not enough to restrain, but enough to feel.

To remind himself.

“You speak of peace,” he said, voice lowering, “yet you sit here like temptation itself.”

You exhaled softly at that, your fingers stilling for just a moment in his hair before resuming their slow movement. “Aegon…”

But the warning held no real weight.

Not when you felt the way his grip tightened just slightly, not when his head dipped again, this time not to your shoulder, but lower—his face brushing against you, his breath warm as it ghosted over your skin. There was nothing hurried in the gesture, nothing reckless. It was measured. Familiar. Intimate in a way that belonged only to the two of you.

You leaned into him just slightly, your voice dropping as you spoke near his ear, soft enough that only he could hear. “You would do well to remember,” you whispered, a hint of amusement threading through your tone, “that I have already proven my fertility.”

A quiet laugh left him at that, low and warm, his hold on you tightening just a fraction as if in response, his breath brushing against your skin again. “I remember,” he murmured.

“Do you?” you pressed gently, your fingers trailing down the back of his neck now, a subtle shift, a quiet reminder. “Because I have no intention of giving you another child just yet.”

His hands stilled for a moment.

Then, slowly, they tightened again—firm, grounding, but not demanding.

“And why not?” he asked, though there was no real challenge in his voice. Only curiosity. Only that quiet, dangerous warmth.

You smiled softly, resting your forehead briefly against his temple, your voice gentler now, steadier. “Because,” you said, “our children are still small. They need us. They need time… to grow before we give them another to compete with."

And then, quietly, he nodded against you, his hold shifting—not loosening, but settling, as though he had found a new balance within your words.

“As you wish,” he said softly. "But i will not promise you if someday you will once more carrying my child"

His arms remained around you, his presence warm and steady, his breath slow against your skin—and in that quiet moment, with the world held at bay beyond your doors, you realized something once more, something that had only deepened with time: This was where the fire lived now.

Morning did not arrive gently—it crashed into your chambers with the reckless determination of a child who had decided the world would bend to his will. The doors flew open with a force that shattered the fragile stillness of dawn, and you startled awake, your breath catching sharply as instinct took over, your hands clutching the sheets and pulling them swiftly against your bare skin. For a fleeting second, the world was all confusion—soft light spilling through the curtains, the lingering warmth of sleep, the solid presence of Aegon beside you—but then your gaze snapped toward the doorway, and there he was.

Maelor.

Small, stubborn, and utterly unstoppable.

Behind him, two nursemaids hovered in visible horror, their faces flushed and eyes wide as they tried—far too late—to pull him back, murmuring apologies that tangled over one another. But Maelor paid them no mind. He had already made his decision, his little mouth set into a determined pout as he marched forward with uneven, clumsy steps, his nightclothes slightly twisted, his hair tousled from sleep.

You could not help it.

A soft laugh slipped from your lips.

“It is quite all right,” you said gently, your voice still thick with sleep as you waved the nursemaids away. “You may leave us.”

They hesitated only a moment longer before bowing their heads and retreating quickly, the doors closing behind them with a quiet click that felt almost conspiratorial, as though the world outside had been sealed away once more. And then it was just the three of you.

You adjusted the sheets higher against your chest, tucking them securely as you turned your full attention to your son, who had already reached the bed and, with all the grace of a determined toddler, climbed onto it. His pout remained firmly in place, his small arms crossing over his chest as he stood there, looking at you as though you had committed some great betrayal.

“Oh?” you murmured, your lips curving as you reached for him, gently taking his arm and pulling him toward you. “What is this look, my love?”

He made a small, indignant sound but did not resist when you drew him into your embrace, his little body warm against yours. You pressed a soft kiss into his hair, inhaling the familiar, comforting scent of him as your hand smoothed over his back.

“What's wrong sweet boy?,” you whispered against his crown.

For a moment, he remained stiff, his pout lingering stubbornly as though he meant to hold onto his grievance. “You weren’t there,” he mumbled, his voice small but accusatory. “I woke up and you were not in my chambers.”

A quiet ache tugged at your chest, though your smile softened further, your arms tightening just slightly around him. “We are here now,” you murmured gently, brushing another kiss to his hair. “And we would never miss your name day.”

Something in your tone, in the warmth of your hold, began to unravel his indignation. You felt it in the way his small body slowly relaxed against you, the tension slipping away as his arms moved, curling around you instead. The pout faded, replaced by a quiet contentment as he pressed closer, his cheek resting against you.

But the moment did not remain undisturbed for long. A low groan sounded beside you, rough with sleep and just edged with confusion, and your gaze shifted instinctively as Maelor lifted his head, curiosity replacing what little remained of his earlier sulk. Aegon stirred slowly, his brow furrowing as he blinked against the morning light, one hand dragging lazily across his face before his eyes finally settled on the sight before him.

His son.

Curled in your arms.

And you, half-wrapped in sheets, watching him with quiet amusement.

Aegon let out a soft, breathy chuckle, something warm and unguarded slipping into his expression as he pushed himself upright, the remnants of sleep clinging to him. “Well,” he murmured, voice still low and rough, “it seems I have been replaced.”

Maelor tilted his head at that, considering his father for only a second before his attention sharpened, his earlier purpose snapping back into place. “Father,” he said, as if the word alone carried weight, “did you forget?”

Aegon arched a brow, the hint of a smirk tugging at his lips even as he leaned closer, his arm sliding naturally around your waist, drawing himself—and by extension, both of you—closer together. He pressed a brief, affectionate kiss to Maelor’s hair, his voice softening.

“Forget what?” he asked, though the amusement in his tone betrayed him.

“My sword,” Maelor insisted, his small face serious once more.

You let out a quiet laugh at that, unable to stop the fondness that filled your chest, your fingers absentmindedly smoothing through your son’s hair. “It seems you are in grave danger of disappointing him,” you murmured to Aegon.

But Aegon only huffed softly, his smirk deepening as he leaned back just enough to meet Maelor’s gaze fully. “Do you truly think so little of me?” he asked, mock offense lacing his voice. “Your sword is already waiting for you.”

Maelor’s eyes lit up instantly, the seriousness melting into pure, unrestrained excitement. “Truly?” he gasped.

“Truly,” Aegon confirmed.

And that was all it took.

With a delighted sound that rang through the chamber like a bell, Maelor wriggled free from your embrace and all but threw himself at Aegon, his small arms wrapping around his father’s neck with enthusiasm that nearly knocked him backward. Aegon laughed—a real laugh, full and unguarded—as he caught him easily, his arms coming up to hold him securely.

“Careful,” Aegon muttered, though the warmth in his voice contradicted the words entirely. “You will send me back to sleep at this rate.”

“I want to see it!” Maelor declared, bouncing slightly where he was held.

“And you shall,” Aegon replied, steadying him with practiced ease. “After you greet your mother properly.”

Maelor paused, as though remembering, before twisting slightly in Aegon’s arms to look back at you, his grin wide now, all traces of his earlier pout gone.

You could not help but smile back, your heart full in a way that felt almost too large for your chest.

“Happy name day, my brave boy,” you said softly.

And in that moment—sunlight spilling across the bed, your son laughing between you, Aegon’s arm still loosely wrapped around your waist.

The chamber had begun to stir with the soft rhythm of morning, the golden light slipping through the tall windows and spilling across the stone like something alive, catching on silk and skin and turning everything it touched into warmth. You stood before the mirror once more, your fingers moving with quiet precision as you adjusted the fall of your dress, smoothing the fabric along your waist, ensuring every detail sat just as it should. The faint sounds behind you—small feet shifting, soft laughter, the rustle of movement—wove themselves into something comforting, something deeply familiar.

And when your gaze lifted to the mirror again, it found them.

Maelor, relentless as ever, had both hands wrapped around Aegon’s arm, tugging with all the determination his small body could muster. His little face was set with purpose, his excitement barely contained as he pulled insistently toward the door, his voice a soft, urgent stream of demands that tumbled over themselves.

“Come, Father—now, now, now—"

Aegon, for his part, made no real attempt to resist. He allowed himself to be dragged half a step at a time, his lips curved into a quiet smile, his eyes flickering between his son and your reflection with something warm and amused lingering beneath the surface. There was a time he would have brushed such impatience aside, but now… now he indulged it, let it wrap around him as easily as Maelor’s small hands did.

You could not help the soft smile that touched your lips.

Shaking your head gently, you turned from the mirror, the light catching in your hair as it fell over your shoulders, and stepped toward them. “Maelor,” you said, your voice calm but threaded with gentle authority, the kind that did not need to be raised to be heard. “Where do you think you are going in such a hurry?”

He paused—only for a moment—his grip on Aegon’s arm loosening just enough for him to glance up at you, his expression caught somewhere between excitement and defiance. “To my sword,” he declared, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Aegon huffed a quiet laugh at that, his hand coming to rest lightly against Maelor’s back as he looked at you, his eyes glinting with amusement. “You see?” he murmured. “He has decided nothing else in the realm matters today.”

“Of course it does,” you replied softly, stepping closer, your hand lifting to smooth gently over Maelor’s hair, taming the soft mess of it from his attempt to dragged his father. “You must eat something first. And you will greet your grandmother before anything else.”

Maelor’s face shifted instantly, his mouth pulling into a deeper pout as he turned fully toward you now, abandoning Aegon’s arm in favor of making his protest known. “No,” he insisted, his voice small but firm. “Sword first.”

Aegon chuckled under his breath, watching the exchange with quiet amusement, though his eyes flickered toward you as if waiting to see how you would handle it.

You only smiled.

“Is that so?” you said gently, your fingers trailing down to cup his cheek, your touch warm and grounding. “And what would your grandmother say if she heard you wished to ignore her on your name day?”

Maelor hesitated, just briefly, his brows knitting together as though he were weighing something very serious in his mind. But then his determination returned, his pout deepening as he shook his head. “Sword,” he repeated stubbornly.

Aegon let out a soft laugh at that, unable to hide it now, and before Maelor could resume his tugging, he bent slightly and gathered him up into his arms with ease. Maelor squirmed in protest at first, his small hands pushing lightly against Aegon’s chest, but he settled quickly enough, still frowning as he looked between the two of you.

“You heard your mother,” Aegon said, his tone firm but far from harsh, one brow lifting as he looked at his son. “You listen to her… or there will be no sword.”

Maelor’s pout only deepened at that, his lower lip trembling just slightly as he looked at you, searching for some sign that you might relent.

And for a moment, you let him.

Just long enough for him to feel the weight of it.

Then your expression softened again, your hand lifting to stroke his cheek once more, your thumb brushing gently against his skin. “I will make you a promise,” you said quietly, your voice lowering just enough to draw his full attention.

His eyes flickered with curiosity, the beginnings of hope.

“If you listen to me,” you continued, “you will have your sword… and I will not stop you from eating sweets today.”

The effect was immediate.

His pout vanished as though it had never existed, his eyes lighting up with a bright, delighted spark that seemed far too large for his small face. “Truly?” he asked, his voice suddenly eager, the earlier stubbornness melting into pure excitement.

“Truly,” you echoed, your smile deepening.

He did not need to be told twice.

Maelor nodded eagerly, his arms wrapping around Aegon’s neck once more as he turned his head quickly toward him, already tugging at his collar now with renewed urgency—but this time, it was different. Focused. Redirected.

“Grandmother,” he announced, as though the decision had been his all along. “We go now.”

Aegon laughed outright at that, the sound rich and warm as he adjusted his hold on him, glancing toward you with a look that carried both amusement and something softer—something quietly admiring. “You have him entirely in your grasp,” he said under his breath.

You only smiled, stepping closer to brush your fingers lightly against Aegon’s arm, a fleeting touch, but one that lingered. “As I do you,” you replied softly.

His eyes held yours for a moment longer than necessary, something unspoken passing between you before he shook his head faintly, the ghost of a smile still resting on his lips.

“Come then,” he said, shifting Maelor more securely in his arms. “Let us go and present ourselves before the queen… before our son decides to overthrow the realm for a wooden sword.”

Maelor giggled at that, though he did not quite understand it, his excitement already pulling him forward again as he tugged lightly at Aegon’s collar, urging him toward the door.

And as the three of you stepped out together—his laughter echoing softly, Aegon’s presence steady at your side, your hand brushing briefly against his.

The corridors of the Red Keep seemed softer in the morning light, the usual tension of court not yet fully awakened, as though even ambition required time to stretch its limbs. By the time you reached the queen’s chambers, Maelor’s patience had long since dissolved into restless excitement, and the moment the doors opened, he slipped free from Aegon’s arms with surprising speed, his small feet carrying him across the room in a determined rush.

“Grandmother!”

His voice rang bright and clear, and Alicent, who had been standing near the window with the morning sun casting a pale glow around her, turned just in time to catch him as he all but collided into the folds of her gown. A soft, genuine smile broke across her face—one reserved only for moments like this—as she bent and gathered him into her arms with ease, holding him close as though he were still small enough to fit there entirely.

“There is my sweet boy,” she murmured, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Happy name day, Maelor.”

He laughed, that light, unrestrained sound that seemed to echo warmly against the chamber walls, his arms wrapping tightly around her neck as he buried his face against her. “Thank you,” he said, though the words came out slightly muffled.

Behind him, Aegon slowed his steps, the edge of his earlier amusement softening into something quieter as he watched them. His hand found your waist without thought, pulling you gently into his side, and you leaned into him easily, your shoulder brushing against his chest as you allowed yourself a moment to simply take in the sight.

Alicent turned her gaze toward you then, her expression still warm, though it settled into something more composed as she addressed you. “Will you join me for breakfast?” she asked. “There is more than enough, and I would not have you rushing about on such a morning.”

You smiled softly, inclining your head. “We would be honored.”

At once, she gestured toward one of the maids nearby. “See that two more places are set,” she instructed calmly, before her attention returned to Maelor, who had already begun speaking again, his excitement bubbling over.

“Father got me a sword,” he announced proudly, lifting his head to look at her, his eyes shining.

“A sword?” Alicent echoed, adjusting him slightly on her hip, her lips curving. “Well, I cannot wait to see you with it. I imagine you shall look quite the little warrior.”

Maelor beamed at that, clearly pleased with the image.

Aegon let out a quiet chuckle beside you, the sound low as he leaned closer, his lips brushing near your hair as he spoke just for you. “Gods help us,” he murmured. “I can already see the chaos he will bring upon his brother.”

You huffed a soft laugh at that, your head tilting just slightly toward him. “As though Jaehaerys will not meet him blade for blade,” you replied under your breath.

“Then we shall have a war before midday,” he said lightly.

“Only one?” you teased.

He smiled against your hair.

The table was soon prepared, and you and Aegon took your seats across from Alicent, though Maelor remained firmly settled in her lap, quite content to be fed by her hand as though he were still much younger.

For a while, there was only the quiet clink of goblets and the murmur of small conversation.

Until Alicent spoke again.

Her gaze shifted to you, thoughtful, almost contemplative, before she said, “Have you considered giving Maelor a sibling?”

The question came gently.

But it landed like a stone in still water.

You choked lightly on your wine, the suddenness of it catching you off guard, and you turned your head quickly, your eyes widening just a fraction as you looked at her. Beside you, Aegon let out a low chuckle into his goblet, clearly far less surprised by the turn of conversation.

You cleared your throat softly, setting your cup down with care as you composed yourself. “That is…” you began, your voice steadying, though warmth crept faintly into your cheeks. “A question, Your Grace.”

Alicent’s expression softened, her tone gentler now. “I do not mean to press you,” she said. “You have given this family much already. I would understand if you felt your hands were full.” Her gaze flickered briefly to Maelor, who was happily chewing on a piece of bread she had offered him. “It is only that… I find myself missing it. Holding them when they were small. And now—” she gave a small, almost wistful smile, “—they grow so quickly.”

Your eyes softened at that, the weight of her words settling quietly in your chest. You glanced briefly toward Aegon, seeking him in that unspoken way you had come to rely on, and he met your gaze easily, one brow lifting just slightly as if to say this is yours to answer.

You smiled faintly before turning back to Alicent.

“Aegon and I have spoken of it,” you said gently. “But we have not yet decided. Maelor is still small… even if he would insist otherwise.” A soft breath left you, your tone warm but thoughtful. “We would like them to have a little more time before another is brought into their world.”

Alicent nodded slowly, her expression understanding. “That is wise,” she said. “There is no need to rush what is already a blessing.”

But before the moment could settle fully, Aegon leaned back slightly in his chair, a familiar glint of mischief returning to his eyes as he glanced between the two of you.

“Though,” he added casually, lifting his goblet, “given your… remarkable success thus far, I do not imagine a fourth would prove particularly difficult.”

You stared at him for half a heartbeat.

Then your hand moved on its own, striking lightly against his arm.

“Aegon,” you hissed under your breath, though the warmth in your tone betrayed any true annoyance.

He laughed softly, catching your wrist briefly as though to steady both your hand and himself, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin before he released you again. “What?” he said innocently. “Am I wrong?”

“You are insufferable,” you replied, though your lips curved despite yourself.

“And yet,” he murmured, leaning just slightly closer, his voice lowering so only you could hear, “you chose me.”

Your breath caught for the briefest moment.

And then you smiled.

Across from you, Alicent watched the exchange with a quiet, knowing look, her hand still gently guiding Maelor as he ate, her expression touched with something softer—something that might have been relief.

The morning had settled into something softer, the sharp edges of ceremony and expectation dulled beneath the quiet intimacy of Alicent’s chambers. You sat beside her on the settee at the center of the room, the two of you angled slightly toward one another as your conversation drifted easily from one matter to the next—small court whispers, the subtle shifts in the keep.

Because the other half belonged across the room.

Aegon had long since abandoned his seat, drawn instead to the corner where Alicent had thoughtfully arranged a soft carpet, a space meant for small hands and louder laughter. Maelor sat between his father’s knees, a wooden figure clutched tightly in his grip as he babbled on about something only half-understood, while Aegon listened as though it were the most important tale ever told. He leaned in when Maelor spoke, nodded at all the right moments, his hands steady and warm as they guided, caught, encouraged.

Alicent followed your gaze without needing to be told, her eyes settling on them as a knowing smile touched her lips. “He has become a good father,” she said quietly, her tone carrying both pride and something softer, something almost reflective.

You smiled at that, your eyes lingering on Aegon for a moment longer before you spoke. “He once told me,” you said gently, “that he did not want his children to endure what he did.”

Alicent’s expression shifted, the smile softening into something deeper, touched with understanding. “Then he has already done better than most,” she murmured.

The words lingered between you, unspoken things threading through them—past wounds, quiet regrets—but before either of you could sink too deeply into them, the chamber doors opened once more.

And with them came chaos.

Two small figures stood at the threshold for barely a heartbeat before they spotted you, and then they were moving—running with the unrestrained urgency only children possessed.

“Mother!”

You barely had time to brace yourself before they reached you, both Jaehaerys and Jaehaera throwing themselves into your arms at once, their laughter spilling freely as they clung to you. You let out a soft chuckle, your arms wrapping around them both as you steadied their eager weight.

“We could not find you,” Jaehaera said quickly, her voice bright as she pressed her cheek against you.

“So we knew you must be here,” Jaehaerys added, nodding as though the logic were flawless.

“I see,” you murmured, pressing a kiss to each of their heads, your heart swelling at the familiar warmth of them.

Alicent let out a soft, exaggerated sigh from beside you. “How unfortunate,” she said lightly. “Two of my grandchildren enter my chambers, and yet neither thinks to greet me.”

The twins froze.

Then, almost as one, they pulled away from you, turning toward her with wide, sheepish smiles before rushing forward again, this time into her arms.

“Grandmother!” they chimed together, their laughter bubbling as they hugged her tightly.

Alicent chuckled, wrapping her arms around them with ease. “There now,” she said, pressing a gentle kiss to Jaehaera’s temple. “I feel far less neglected.”

Across the room, Aegon rose, Maelor still perched comfortably in his arms as he made his way toward you all, drawn by the growing energy of the space. His gaze swept over the twins, a small smile forming as he came to stand near the settee.

“Have you both eaten?” he asked, his tone carrying that quiet authority softened by affection.

The twins turned immediately, nodding eagerly.

“We did,” Jaehaerys said quickly. “We even ate vegetables.”

You could not help the laugh that escaped you at that, knowing full well how rare such an event truly was. Aegon, however, only nodded solemnly, though the hint of amusement in his eyes betrayed him.

“Then I suppose,” he said, “that such bravery deserves a reward.”

At once, their eyes lit up, excitement sparking between them as they glanced at one another, already imagining what that might mean.

You shook your head lightly, though your smile remained.

But before the moment could carry further, Maelor shifted in Aegon’s arms, his attention snapping back to what he deemed far more important.

“My sword,” he reminded, his voice firm despite his small size. “You said I would have it.”

Jaehaerys’s head turned sharply at that, curiosity instantly overtaking him. “A sword?” he echoed, stepping closer. “Did you get me one as well?”

Maelor’s expression changed immediately, his earlier delight replaced with a small glare as he looked at his brother. “No,” he said, crossing his arms as much as he could from where he sat. “You broke mine.”

Jaehaerys frowned at that, his brows knitting together. “I did not mean to,” he protested. “It was an accident.”

You reached out gently, your hand coming to rest against Jaehaerys’s hair, smoothing it back in a calming gesture. “And your father knows that,” you said softly, your voice steady and warm.

Aegon glanced at you briefly, then back at the children, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “Indeed,” he said. “Which is why I have ensured that none of you will be left empty-handed.”

“Truly?” Jaehaera asked, her voice small but hopeful.

“Truly,” Aegon confirmed.

Their excitement returned all at once, brighter than before, their voices overlapping as they began to speak, to ask, to imagine aloud what their gifts might be. The room filled with it—laughter, movement, the soft chaos of three children who knew, without question, that they were loved.

And you watched them.

Your hand still resting lightly in Jaehaerys’s hair, your gaze moving from one child to the next, then finally to Aegon—who stood there, steady and warm, holding Maelor as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

The yard was alive with movement by the time you reached it, the morning sun stretching wide across the training grounds, catching on polished armor and the edges of practice blades, turning everything into glints of gold and shadow. Yet even amidst the distant clang of steel and the murmur of guards, your world narrowed to the small chaos unfolding at your side. Maelor had resumed his relentless tugging at Aegon’s tunic the moment the courtyard came into view, his excitement bubbling over into impatient demands, while Jaehaerys, no less eager, had claimed one of his father’s hands and was nearly dragging him forward with all the stubborn determination of a boy who believed speed alone could summon a gift faster.

“Father, faster—”

“It is my sword—”

“You shall both have one if you allow me to walk,” Aegon muttered, though the laughter beneath his words betrayed any true frustration.

Beside you, Jaehaera’s smaller hand rested comfortably in yours, her steps far more measured as she walked, her other arm wrapped carefully around the doll Aegon had given her earlier. She glanced between her brothers with a soft giggle, her excitement quieter, but no less bright.

You shook your head gently, unable to hide your smile. “You have created a storm,” you murmured lightly to Aegon.

“And yet,” he replied, glancing down at the boys with something akin to pride, “it is a storm I rather enjoy.”

With a small gesture, he called one of the guards forward, his voice calm but firm. “The wooden swords,” he instructed. “Now.”

The guard bowed quickly and hurried off, leaving behind a moment thick with anticipation. Aegon set Maelor down beside Jaehaerys, the two boys practically vibrating where they stood, their eyes fixed on the path the guard had taken as though sheer will might bring him back faster.

You watched them, your heart softening at the sight—their shared excitement, their closeness despite their bickering—and then the guard returned.

Two wooden swords in hand.

Their faces lit up instantly, eyes wide, grins breaking free without restraint as they rushed forward to take them, their small hands wrapping tightly around the hilts as though they had been handed something far greater than carved wood.

“My sword,” Maelor breathed, awed.

Jaehaerys lifted his own, testing the weight with a proud tilt of his chin. “It is better than before.”

“Do not break this one,” Maelor shot back quickly, narrowing his eyes.

“I said it was an accident,” Jaehaerys insisted, already stepping back as though preparing to prove his skill.

Aegon chuckled at that, his hand finding your waist once more, pulling you gently into his side as he watched them run toward the training space, their laughter echoing brightly as they lifted their swords and began their clumsy, enthusiastic attempts at sparring.

You leaned into him easily, your shoulder brushing against his chest, your gaze following your sons as you spoke softly. “You will have a difficult time getting them inside today.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, his chin dipping slightly toward you. “I have learned a thing or two,” he murmured. “There are… methods.”

You glanced up at him, amused. “I fear to ask.”

“You should,” he replied, a faint smirk touching his lips.

But before you could answer, another voice cut through the air.

“Aegon.”

You turned your head, your gaze landing on Aemond as he approached, his presence cutting cleanly through the warmth of the moment. He stood not far off, his posture straight, his eye fixed—sharp, unyielding—on the way Aegon’s hand rested at your waist.

“I was wondering if you would join me,” he said, his voice even. “For training.”

Aegon’s hand tightened ever so slightly against you before he gave a small nod. “In a moment,” he replied.

You glanced between them, the subtle shift in the air impossible to ignore, and gently placed your hand over Aegon’s, your touch light but grounding. “Go,” you said softly. “I will take Jaehaera to the garden.”

His gaze flickered to yours, searching, before he leaned down just enough to press a brief kiss to your hair. “Do not wander too far,” he murmured.

“I never do,” you replied.

He lingered only a heartbeat longer before stepping away, retrieving his own sword as he moved toward Aemond, leaving you standing there, Jaehaera still at your side.

You turned, intending to lead her toward the gardens, when— Your name, spoken low, stopped you.

Then, quietly, you called a nearby maid, your voice composed despite the tightening in your chest. “Take the princess to the garden,” you instructed gently, brushing your hand over Jaehaera’s hair. “I will join you shortly.”

She nodded, her small hand slipping from yours without question as she allowed herself to be led away, her attention already caught by the promise of flowers and open space.

Only when she was gone did you turn back.

Aemond stood where he had been, though his focus had shifted fully to you now, his expression unreadable, but his gaze intense in a way that made something uneasy stir beneath your calm.

“I do not like it,” he said simply.

Your brows drew together slightly. “Do not like what?”

His jaw tightened, his gaze flickering briefly—pointedly—to where Aegon had stood moments before. “His hands,” Aemond said, his voice quieter now, but edged with something sharper. “On you.”

The words settled heavily between you.

For a moment, you said nothing.

Then you swallowed softly, drawing in a steady breath as you met his gaze fully. “Aemond,” you began, your tone gentle but firm, “you must let this go.”

His expression shifted, something flickering behind his eye—frustration, perhaps, or something deeper. “Six years,” he said, almost to himself. “Six years, and you still stand there as though nothing has changed.”

“Everything has changed,” you replied quietly. “I am his wife. I have given him children. I have built a life with him.” Your voice softened, but did not waver. “I love my husband.”

Aemond exhaled slowly, his shoulders stiffening as he looked away for a brief moment before his gaze returned to you, steadier now, but no less intense.

“You believe that,” he said.

“I know it,” you answered.

Then he stepped closer—not enough to breach propriety, but enough that his presence felt heavier, more tangible.

“And yet,” he said quietly, his voice dropping just enough to wrap around the words, “I have never believed that what you feel for him could rival what I feel for you.”

“Aemond—”

“I have watched you,” he continued, not raising his voice, but letting it deepen, steady and unrelenting. “From the beginning. Before him. After him.” His gaze held yours, unwavering. “And I know you.”

“You should not say such things,” you said softly.

“Perhaps not,” he admitted. “But it does not make them untrue.”

He drew in a breath, slower this time, as though forcing something back beneath the surface.

“I do not expect you to answer me,” he said at last, his voice quieter now. “Not today. Not soon.” His gaze softened, if only slightly. “But I will not pretend that I do not see what stands before me. Nor that I will ever stop…”

He paused.

“…wanting you.”

You exhaled softly, your gaze steady once more as you took a small step back. “You must let it rest,” you said quietly. “For all our sakes.”

And without waiting for his response, you turned as you walked toward the gardens—toward your daughter leaving him standing there as he watched you leave.

The garden was quieter than the yard, as though it existed just beyond the reach of steel and expectation, a place where the world softened into something gentler. You sat beneath the shade of an old tree, its branches stretching wide above you, filtering the sunlight into delicate patterns that danced across your skin and the fabric of your gown. The air carried the faint sweetness of blooming flowers, and for a moment—just a moment—you allowed yourself to breathe without thinking of court, of duty, of anything beyond what lay before you.

Jaehaera’s laughter.

It rang bright and clear as she darted across the grass, her small feet chasing after a pale butterfly that fluttered just out of reach. Your maids followed closely behind her, their movements far less graceful as they tried to keep pace, their soft protests barely containing their amusement as the young princess zigzagged between them.

“Slow down, my lady—”

“I almost have it!” Jaehaera insisted, her voice bubbling with delight as she reached again, only for the butterfly to drift higher, as if teasing her.

You smiled, your gaze warm as it followed her, your hands resting lightly on the doll placed in your lap—the one Aegon had given her earlier, still pristine, still carefully kept despite her excitement. The sight of her, so carefree, so full of light, wrapped something tender around your heart.

You turned your head slightly, and your smile deepened at the sight of Helaena settling beside you, her presence quiet, almost ethereal as she folded her hands neatly in her lap. There was always something about her—something soft and distant, as though she existed half in this world and half somewhere just beyond it.

“You look tired,” she said gently, her voice carrying that same distant softness.

You exhaled a quiet breath at that, the truth of it slipping out before you could dress it in anything lighter. “I am,” you admitted, your shoulders easing just slightly as you leaned back against the tree. “These past few days… I feel as though I have not truly rested at all.” You paused, your brows drawing together faintly. “And I have been… nauseous.”

Helaena turned her head toward you, her gaze sharpening just enough to show her attention had fully settled. “Have you changed something?” she asked. “Your routine? Your food?”

You shook your head slowly. “No. Everything has been as it always is.” Your voice lowered slightly, thoughtful now. “That is why I cannot understand it.”

“When was the last time you bled?”

The question slipped into the space between you so simply, so gently… and yet it struck you like a sudden shift beneath your feet.

Your fingers tightened slightly against the fabric of your dress as the realization settled fully, your gaze drifting unfocused for a heartbeat before you turned your head toward her again.

“I…” you began, your voice quieter now, touched with something uncertain. “I have not bled for two moons.”

Helaena tilted her head, studying you with that same unreadable softness. “Then perhaps,” she said calmly, “you are with child.”

You swallowed softly, your hand moving instinctively to rest against your abdomen, your thoughts racing faster than you could contain them. “Perhaps,” you echoed, though your voice carried a breath of something deeper—something that trembled between hope and fear.

Helaena watched you for a moment longer before speaking again. “Is that… unwelcome?” she asked, her tone as gentle as before. “Would it displease Aegon?”

Your head lifted immediately at that, your expression softening as you shook your head. “No,” you said quickly. “No, it would not.” A faint smile touched your lips, warmer now, steadier. “He would be overjoyed.”

Your gaze drifted briefly, as though you could already see it—his expression, the way his eyes would soften, the quiet pride that would settle in his voice.

“We have spoken of it,” you continued softly. “Of having another child.”

“But?” Helaena prompted, her voice barely above a whisper.

You exhaled slowly, your hand still resting lightly over your stomach as your gaze returned to Jaehaera, who had now abandoned the butterfly in favor of gathering small flowers from the grass.

“But I worry,” you admitted. “They are still so young. They need me… for everything.” Your voice softened, almost to yourself now. “I do not know if I could give them less of me… not yet.”

Helaena’s lips curved into a small, knowing smile, one that held no judgment—only quiet understanding. “You already give them everything,” she said gently. “And you will continue to. That does not lessen because your heart grows.”

You turned your head slightly, meeting her gaze.

“You are a good mother,” she added, her voice certain in a way that left no room for doubt. “You will find a way to be so again.”

Something in your chest eased at her words, the tightness loosening just enough for you to breathe more freely.

“But,” Helaena continued softly, “you must be sure. The maester will tell you what your body already knows.”

You nodded slowly, her words settling into something steady within you. “Yes,” you said quietly. “I will.”

Before the moment could stretch further, the sound of small footsteps broke through your thoughts, and you turned just in time to see Jaehaera running toward you, her face bright with excitement, her small hands filled with a collection of delicate flowers.

“Mother!” she called, breathless with joy as she reached you. “Look what I found!”

You smiled instantly, your earlier thoughts softening as you leaned forward, your hands lifting to cup hers gently, careful not to crush the fragile petals she held so proudly.

“They are beautiful,” you murmured, your voice warm as you looked up at her. “Just like you.”

She beamed at that, her smile wide and unguarded as she leaned closer, pressing herself lightly against you.

The sun had begun its slow descent, painting the garden in hues of amber and rose, the warmth of day softening into something quieter, more intimate. You remained seated beneath the tree, though the world around you had shifted—shadows stretching longer, the air cooler against your skin. Jaehaera had long since returned to your side, now seated close enough that her small shoulder brushed against your arm as she played with her doll, murmuring softly to herself in a world of her own making. Your hand moved through her hair absentmindedly, slow, soothing strokes that were as much for your comfort as they were for hers.

But your thoughts were elsewhere. Your fingers stilled for just a moment in Jaehaera’s hair before resuming their gentle rhythm, as though the motion alone might steady you.

“You are still worried,” she observed gently.

You nodded, not bothering to deny it. “I am,” you admitted, your voice quieter now, more vulnerable than before. “It feels… soon. Faster than what Aegon and I had spoken of.”

Helaena smiled faintly, her gaze drifting briefly toward the horizon before returning to you. “The gods rarely wait for us to be ready,” she said softly. “They move as they wish. Perhaps this is simply… their way.”

You let out a slow breath, her words settling into you in that strange, steady way they always seemed to. You turned slightly toward her, offering a small, grateful smile. “Perhaps,” you echoed.

“Mother!”

The sound broke through the quiet like a spark, bright and familiar, and your head turned instinctively toward the garden entrance.

There they were.

Jaehaerys and Maelor came first, running toward you with all the energy they had left after hours in the yard, their voices overlapping as they called for you. Behind them walked Aegon and Aemond, their pace far more measured, though Aegon’s expression softened the moment his gaze landed on you.

You smiled before you could stop yourself.

The boys reached you within seconds, throwing themselves against your gown in a tangle of limbs and laughter, their small bodies warm and slightly damp with sweat from their play. You let out a soft chuckle, your hands immediately moving to their hair, smoothing it back gently, your touch lingering as you took them in.

“You have been busy,” you murmured, your voice laced with quiet affection.

“Maelor cheated,” Jaehaerys said quickly, his tone half-indignant, half-excited.

“I did not!” Maelor protested just as fast, his hand reaching for yours as though to claim your support. “I won.”

You laughed softly at that, your fingers curling around Maelor’s hand while your other hand brushed through Jaehaerys’s hair. “I see there is much to discuss,” you said lightly.

Aegon approached then, stopping just beside the bench, his presence settling around you like something familiar, something steady. He bent slightly, his lips brushing against your hair in a brief, affectionate kiss, his hand finding its place at your waist as though it had never left.

“I told you,” he murmured near your ear, a quiet smirk threading through his voice, “I would find a way to bring them in.”

You tilted your head slightly, a soft laugh slipping from you. “And what did it cost you?”

“A promise of sweets,” he admitted.

“That was my bargain,” you replied, amused.

“Then I merely honored it.”

Behind him, Aemond stood still, his gaze flickering once—briefly, sharply—toward Aegon’s hand resting at your shoulder before he turned his face away, his jaw tightening just enough for you to notice.

Maelor tugged lightly at your hand, pulling you back into his small triumph. “I won,” he insisted again, looking up at you with earnest determination.

Jaehaerys huffed softly. “You did not win properly.”

“I did,” Maelor argued, his voice rising.

You smiled, your thumb brushing gently across Maelor’s knuckles as you spoke. “Then perhaps you both fought bravely,” you said, your tone calm but firm. “And that is what matters.”

You turned your head slightly, your gaze meeting Helaena’s once more, offering her a small smile before addressing them all. “We should return inside,” you said gently. "There is much to prepare before supper in the king’s solar."

Jaehaera lifted her head at that, her doll momentarily forgotten. “Will you braid my hair?” she asked, her voice soft but hopeful.

Your expression softened instantly. “Of course,” you said, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “I would not let you attend without it.”

She beamed.

With a quiet breath, you began to rise, gathering the children with you, but before you could fully step away, Aegon’s hand tightened slightly at your waist, steadying you as you stood. The gesture was instinctive, protective—so natural it required no thought.

Instead, you glanced down at your children, your voice gentle but certain. “Come,” you said. “We must make you presentable before you face the court.”

They groaned lightly but followed, their hands finding yours, Aegon’s presence warm and constant at your side as the sun dipped lower behind you, casting the garden into soft shadow.

Your chambers had grown warm with the fading light of evening, the last gold of the sun slipping through the tall windows and catching against polished glass and damp skin alike. The bath had lingered longer than it should have—at Aegon’s insistence, of course—and now the quiet aftermath clung to the air, soft and heavy, as you stood before the mirror adjusting the fall of your dress. Your hair, still faintly damp, brushed against your shoulders, and for a moment there was only the gentle rhythm of your breath and the distant hush of the keep settling into night.

His hand found your waist from behind with effortless familiarity, warm and certain, drawing you back into him as though the space between you had been an inconvenience he intended to correct. You smiled instantly, your body easing into his without thought, your head tilting slightly as his lips brushed against your shoulder, slow and deliberate.

“You are impossible,” you murmured softly, though there was no real reproach in your voice.

Aegon only hummed in response, the sound low and pleased as he continued, his lips tracing a path along your skin, unhurried, as though he had nowhere else to be. Your hand lifted instinctively, threading into his hair, your fingers moving through it in a gentle rhythm that drew another quiet breath from him—something softer, something almost content.

His mouth moved higher, brushing against the curve of your neck, and your eyes fluttered closed for a moment, your head tilting just enough to give him more space, more access, your breath catching faintly as warmth spread through you.

“Aegon…” you whispered, though the sound carried more warmth than warning.

He did not stop.

If anything, his hold tightened slightly, his breath warm against your skin as he lingered there, as though memorizing the space beneath his lips. “You taste like the bath still,” he murmured, voice low, almost thoughtful. “I do not think I shall ever grow tired of it.”

You let out a soft breath that turned into a quiet laugh, your fingers stilling briefly in his hair before resuming their slow motion. “You have had quite enough of me for one afternoon,” you said gently. “You insisted on that bath, if I recall.”

He exhaled against your neck, the sound almost a sigh, though it carried something deeper beneath it. “It was not enough,” he admitted, his tone quieter now, more honest. “It is never enough.”

The words settled between you, soft but weighted, and for a moment you did not answer.

Instead, you turned within his hold.

Slowly.

Your hands slipped from his hair to rest against his shoulders before sliding upward, wrapping around his neck as you faced him fully. His hands adjusted instinctively, settling more firmly at your waist, anchoring you there as his gaze dropped to your lips, then lifted again to meet your eyes before he leaned in.

The kiss was gentle at first, almost careful, his lips brushing yours in a way that felt less like urgency and more like familiarity, like something he had returned to a thousand times and would never tire of. You smiled into it, your fingers tightening slightly at the back of his neck as you kissed him back, matching the softness, the warmth.

His grip on your waist tightened, pulling you closer as the kiss deepened, his mouth pressing more firmly against yours, the gentleness shifting into something heavier, more insistent. You felt it in the way his breath changed, in the way his hands held you as though he feared the moment might slip away if he loosened his hold.

You let out a soft breath against his lips, your fingers curling slightly as you leaned into him—

And then— He moved.

Just enough to press you back against the mirror, the cool surface a stark contrast to the warmth of his body against yours. The shift drew a quiet sound from you, half surprise, half something softer, as his lips found yours again, deeper this time, more certain.

The sound shattered the moment instantly, loud and unmistakable, and you pulled back from Aegon at once, your breath catching as reality rushed in all at once.

“Mother!”

The chorus of voices followed, bright and unrelenting as your children rushed into the chamber without hesitation, their footsteps quick and familiar.

Aegon groaned softly, his forehead falling briefly against yours in quiet frustration as you let out a soft laugh, your hands sliding from his shoulders as you stepped away.

“I did warn you,” you murmured, your voice warm with amusement.

“I was hoping,” he muttered under his breath, though the edge of it softened almost immediately as he straightened.

Jaehaera reached you first, her doll clutched tightly in one hand as she looked up at you expectantly. “You said you would braid my hair,” she reminded, her tone earnest.

Your expression softened instantly, the remnants of the moment with Aegon slipping away as you reached for her hand. “And I will,” you said gently. “Come, sit.”

You guided her toward the chair before the mirror, your hands already moving to gather her hair as she climbed up, her excitement bubbling softly as she settled. Behind her, the boys filtered in more slowly, their energy still lingering from the yard, while Aegon remained where he stood for a moment longer, watching you.

He let out another quiet breath, though this time there was no frustration in it—only something softer, something almost fond.

You caught his gaze briefly through the mirror, your lips curving faintly as your fingers began their work in Jaehaera’s hair.

The walk to the king’s solar felt slower than usual, though nothing around you had changed. The corridors were still lit by torches that flickered softly against the stone, your children’s voices still echoing lightly as they spoke over one another, and Aegon’s hand remained steady at your waist—warm, grounding, constant. Yet beneath it all, something else lingered within you, quiet and insistent, like a secret pressing gently against your ribs.

By the time the doors to the solar opened, the room was already alive with low conversation and the clink of goblets. Heads turned as you entered, and you offered a small, composed smile, inclining your head slightly.

“My apologies,” you said softly. “We are delayed. There were… matters to attend to in our chambers.”

Your gaze flickered briefly toward Aegon, catching the faint smirk playing at his lips, and warmth brushed your cheeks before you looked away again. Across the table, Alicent’s expression softened with understanding.

“There is no offense taken,” she said calmly. “Come. Sit. The supper is ready to begin.”

You moved to your place beside Aegon, your children settling close—Jaehaera at your side, her braids still neat, Jaehaerys and Maelor across from you, their earlier energy only just beginning to quiet beneath the structure of the table. Aegon’s hand lingered at your back as you sat, his thumb brushing lightly against your side before he finally let it rest.

The meal began easily enough. Conversation flowed, plates were passed, and for a while, everything felt… normal.

“Have you seen the maester?”

Helaena’s voice, soft yet direct, cut gently through the moment.

You paused mid-bite, your gaze shifting from Aegon to her, your expression smoothing into a small, polite smile as you shook your head. “Not yet,” you said lightly.

Aegon’s brow furrowed immediately beside you, his attention sharpening as he turned toward you. “Why would you need the maester?” he asked, his voice low but edged with concern. “Are you unwell?”

You offered him a reassuring smile, your hand resting lightly over his for a brief moment. “I am well,” you said softly. “Only… a little tired, perhaps.”

Alicent’s gaze followed, her concern more measured but no less present. “Are you certain?” she asked.

You nodded gently. “Yes.”

But then the servants brought the lemon cakes. The familiar scent reached you before the plate did, sweet and sharp and unmistakable—and suddenly, without warning, your stomach twisted violently. Your breath caught, your hand flying to your mouth as a wave of nausea surged through you, stronger than anything you had felt before.

Aegon turned instantly, his voice tight with concern. “Love?”

You tried to speak—to reassure him, to steady yourself—but the second wave came harder, stealing the words from your throat. You pushed back from the table abruptly, the chair scraping softly against the floor as you stood, your steps quick and unsteady as you moved toward the nearest basin.

You barely reached it in time.

The room fell silent behind you as you emptied your stomach, your body trembling slightly with the force of it. A servant appeared at once, steadying the basin, while another hovered uncertainly nearby.

“Easy… easy,” he murmured, his hand coming to your back, firm but gentle as he steadied you, his presence anchoring you through the moment.

When it passed, you drew in a slow, shaky breath, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand before allowing him to guide you back toward your seat. His arm remained around you the entire way, his grip more protective now, as though he feared you might falter again.

Alicent leaned forward slightly, her expression tightened with concern. “You are pale,” she said softly. “Are you certain you are well?”

Aegon was already reaching for a goblet, pressing it into your hand. “Drink,” he urged, his voice quieter now, but laced with something deeper—worry, unmistakable and raw.

You took a small sip, the coolness of the water easing your throat slightly as you exhaled slowly.

“I am… well,” you said again, though your voice was softer now, less certain.

Aegon did not look convinced. “That did not seem like nothing,” he said, his gaze fixed on you. “Tell me what is wrong.”

You hesitated then you exhaled quietly, your gaze dropping briefly before lifting again to meet his, then Alicent’s, then—briefly—the rest of the table.

“I…” you began softly, your hand resting unconsciously against your abdomen. “I believe I may be with child.”

The words fell into the room like a stone into still water. Alicent’s eyes widened, surprise flickering across her features before something softer followed—something that might have been hope. Aegon stilled entirely beside you, his expression unreadable for a single heartbeat.

Across the table, Aemond’s jaw tightened sharply, his gaze dropping away as his hand curled into a fist against the wood, the reaction quick but impossible to miss.

But you barely saw it.

Because Aegon moved.

His hand lifted to your face, gently but firmly cupping your cheek, turning you toward him so that your gaze could not escape his. His thumb brushed lightly against your skin, his touch grounding, searching.

“Love,” he said quietly, his voice stripped of everything but the truth beneath it. “Are you certain?”

You shook your head slightly, your breath soft as it left you. “No,” you admitted. “I have not yet seen the maester. But I have missed two moons… and I have felt…” You paused, searching for the words. “Different.”

For a moment, he said nothing.

And then something shifted in his expression—something that softened him entirely, something that lit behind his eyes in a way you had seen before, only in moments like this.

“Another child,” he murmured, almost to himself.

You smiled as your hand lifting to rest over Aegon’s where it still cupped your face, your fingers curling lightly against his as if to anchor both him and yourself in the moment.

“I must see the maester first,” you said gently, your voice calm despite the warmth rising within you. “We cannot be certain yet.”

Aegon’s gaze did not leave yours, but something in his expression shifted—something that softened into quiet acceptance, though the spark of something brighter still lingered beneath it. He leaned forward, closing the small distance between you, and pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead.

Your eyes slipped shut at the touch.

“I will remind you,” he murmured against your skin, his voice low and threaded with a faint, teasing warmth, “that I cannot promise not to make it true again.”

A quiet laugh escaped you at that, your fingers tightening briefly over his hand as you shook your head. “You are impossible,” you whispered, though the affection in your tone softened the words entirely.

He only hummed in response, his thumb brushing lightly against your cheek before he finally allowed his hand to lower, though it did not stray far—settling instead at your waist, where it seemed to belong.

Across from you, Alicent’s smile had deepened, her earlier concern replaced with something far warmer, far more hopeful. “If it is so,” she said gently, “then it is a blessing indeed.”

You turned toward her, your own smile widening as you inclined your head slightly. “Then perhaps,” you said softly, “your wish for another grandchild will soon be fulfilled.”

Her eyes softened at that, something almost wistful passing through them before she nodded. “I would welcome it,” she admitted.

Aegon let out a quiet breath of amusement beside you, the familiar smirk returning to his lips as he leaned back slightly in his chair. “I did say,” he added, his tone light but laced with quiet pride, “that such matters come easily to us.”

Your hand moved without hesitation, striking lightly against his.

“Aegon,” you chided under your breath, though the warmth in your voice betrayed any real disapproval. He laughed softly, catching your wrist for a brief moment before releasing it again, his gaze lingering on you with something softer, something steadier.

Before the moment could stretch further, a small voice rose beside you.

“Mother?” You turned at once, your expression softening instantly as Maelor looked up at you, his brows drawn together in thought.

“Does that mean… I will be a big brother?” he asked, his voice careful, as though he were testing the shape of the words.

Your heart melted.

You reached for him without hesitation, your hand coming to rest in his hair as you smoothed it back gently, your touch slow and reassuring. “Yes,” you said softly, nodding. “If it is true, then you will be.”

His face lit up immediately, the uncertainty vanishing in an instant as a bright, delighted smile spread across his lips. “Then this is the best present,” he declared, his voice filled with pure, unfiltered joy. “The best one."

You laughed softly at that, warmth blooming through you as you glanced briefly at Aegon. “Better than the sword?” he asked, raising a brow.

Maelor shook his head firmly. “Yes,” he said with complete certainty. “A sibling is better.”

Aegon huffed a quiet laugh at that, though the fondness in his gaze was unmistakable. You leaned slightly toward Maelor, pressing a gentle kiss to his hair. “You will be a wonderful big brother,” you murmured.

“And I already am,” Jaehaerys added quickly from across the table, sitting a little straighter, pride shining brightly in his expression.

You turned toward him, your smile widening. “Yes,” you said warmly. “And you will help him, will you not?”

“I will,” he said at once, his chin lifting just slightly, as though accepting a great responsibility.

Jaehaera, seated quietly beside you, clutched her doll a little closer, her gaze thoughtful as she looked between her brothers before glancing up at you. “Will it be a girl?” she asked softly.

You brushed your fingers gently along her braid. “Perhaps,” you said. “Or perhaps another brother. We shall have to wait and see.”

She nodded, satisfied with that, though her grip on the doll tightened just slightly, as though already imagining.

The warmth at the table grew, soft laughter and quiet conversation weaving together once more—but your gaze drifted, almost without intention. To Aemond.

He had remained silent throughout, his posture rigid, his gaze turned away as though the very air had become something difficult to breathe. But when your eyes settled on him, you spoke anyway, your voice gentle, steady.

“You will be an uncle again.”

Slowly, he turned his head. For a moment, his expression was unreadable, something tightly held behind the single eye that met yours. Then, carefully, he inclined his head.

“Congratulations,” he said, his voice measured, controlled.

Your hand found Aegon’s once more beneath the table, your fingers lacing with his as your gaze returned to your children—to their smiles, their laughter, their bright, unguarded joy.

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