akotsk (old) men with their newborn. wife!reader
Baelor Targaryen:
when he had heard of the birth, he was caught between a meeting and an urgent letter. he had promised you to be by your side as you gave out the womb life to your babe. he had given up on trying to write the letter and stood outside the birthing chambers. He listened to the shuffling behind the door, the murmur of words passed between maesters and mid-wife’s causing his blood to itch his skin. The door was lightly pushed open and a young woman greeted him, moving to the side to let the heir to the iron throne break into the threshold. and there you were, her body against the headboard and a un-washed babe against your bare breast. he felt his mouth go dry as he approached.
“A boy” you say when he gets close, leaning down to kiss your head. he looked down at the babe, feeling uncharacteristic tears well up on his lash line.
“He’s perfect..”
Maekar Targaryen:
Maekar was by your side, he didn’t care for what was expected of him. He sat beside the birthing bed whilst you brought life into the hollow halls. Your nails had dug into his hand when contractions that were particularly sharp shock through your abdomen. the babe was a difficult hatchling, the midwife had joked that he was cracking from an egg before you would be able to push him from the warm womb. Maekars eyes were trained on your core, watching as the midwife slid her hands under your thighs to assist you to open them, her hands before your opening. Awaiting to catch the babe. After a few tense moments of you letting out pained gasps, you had felt the stretch of skin and then the sharp pain before numbness sank in your hips. Then a loud cry, the shrill screech rivalling the tales from the old history books. Your hand began to ache, due to Maekars sudden grip, his eyes were unblinking. you chuckle and shake his hand, regaining feeling in your legs once again.
“are you okay?” He nods. You raise a brow and he let out a shaky breath. The midwife held the cleaner babe over, “a boy, my Prince.”
The room stunk of birth, the metallic scent and the underlining sourness of medicines. but to Maekar, that didn’t even register. He was too focused on the babe that was staring up. He held the babe in his arms until you had fell asleep, and for many hours after.
Lyonel Baratheon:
Lyonel hadn’t realised. He was deep in his ale when he looked at you, looking slightly more pale. He narrows his eyes and put the chalice on the oak table, he reached for your hand. “my doe?” your eyes were looking down, unable to reply for a few seconds.
“the babe is coming.”
The travel to the chamber was everything but grace, Lyonel had tripped over his hooves more than once, and nearly took out a young serving boy in the process. His eyes were wide, and stayed so since you had utter the words in the middle of his feast. When you were in the bed, the maesters instructed him to leave. He stayed outside the door for exactly 16 minutes and 12 seconds before giving up his idea of tradition and shamelessly flung himself into the door and right back into the chambers that had changed in smell. The scent of sweat and burning incense making him squint, his nose being attacked. the birth was going smoothly, thank the gods. you had a layer of sweat over your face, which he assisted in wiping away with a cloth. a few moments later, you were instructed to push. After a solid two minutes in time, a small cry came from the gap between your legs. The midwife lifts the babe and pats its back, ushering for it to cry a little louder. Lyonel’s golden heart had almost fallen, but was thrown back into place by the frequency of the newfound cry. The red faced babe was crying into the air. Making you and Lyonel both smile. “A boy.” A maester says, when the babe is slid into the corner of your arm and against your chest.
“oh.. hes perfect.” You had whispered, which made Lyonel look closely. A babe with brunette hair and familiar features. “uh.. he looks a bit.. squished?” You just stare, the baby deer just staring at their sire.
“joking..”