Chapter Text
Aemma
The bath was hot, not as hot as her husband liked to take his own or even her daughter’s whose bath was close to liquid fire in terms of temperature, but still hotter than normal. She was a Targaryen after all, the heat was what they loved the most. And even a half-Targaryen like her loved the heat. And she desperately needed some heat. Hot baths were very soothing now that she was nearing the end of her pregnancy and it seemed the little one inside her agreed with that, he or she always seemed to calm down when she was in the bathtub.
This would be her last babe, she could feel it. Being pregnant had never been something that brought her much joy. She was not sad to carry a child, far from it, but what scared her was the loss. She was never able to carry a child to term and on the rare occasions it happened the babe would die in the minutes following their birth or just be delivered dead. The oldest a boy of hers had lived had been a few minutes, he had not even screamed upon delivery as if he knew he wouldn’t make it and had preferred to stay silent.
Viserys had also agreed it would be their last try. After that they would see and find another solution. Maybe through Daemon or bypass him and use Rhaenys instead. They had to think about it very carefully, the future of the realm depended on their decision after all.
If the gods were merciful, she would give birth to a healthy son, their long-awaited son. She knew Viserys longed for a son, he was the King and he needed an heir and yet her body kept failing her and was unable to provide. She loved her husband and all she ever wanted was to be able to provide him with an heir and yet all her love had only given him were ashes. And she wanted a boy just as much as her husband, there was a special bond between a mother and her son, a different one from daughter and mother, a sweeter one she thought. Mothers might not be their role model but they were their comfort and she longed for that, to be the comforting figure of a son.
Rhaenyra was her only living child and yet sometimes she wanted to rage. Why her? Why not one of her son? Why was she allowed to live? She adored her daughter, her only living child but she also resented her for being alive. She should have been born a boy. Had Rhaenyra been born a boy, Aemma’s life would have been so much easier. No more talks about heir and no more mocking looks from the Court whispering about her cursed womb. But Rhaenyra was born a girl. She loved her daughter, her temper and her smiles, her love of dragons and her hate of Septas. Yet a part of her couldn’t help but resent her, and she hated herself for it. No mother should think like that about their child, they should love their child no matter what.
She was not a good mother to Rhaenyra. She was aware of that. She tried so hard but Aemma knew she was absent more often than not. She was a shadow in her daughter’s life, there but not really impactful in any way. They didn’t share a lot of things in common either, her daughter was a wild thing who enjoyed riding her dragon, delighted in pretty dresses and jewels, reading books and eating cakes. The gods knew how much love she had for her daughter, her only living child. That pretty girl whom she loved and yet kept at arms’ length at the same time. Viserys loved her and kept his distance too due to his duties, making Rhaenyra lack not only a mother but also a father. Yet her daughter never said a word, she never complained about it to them always smiling and saying she understood (and if that broke a bit of her heart every time well, she always thought deserved it) and she always took comfort in her beloved uncle who for all his faults loved her very much. She had not approved of Daemon’s presence in her daughter’s life, he was quite the bad influence after all. But the more she tried to have a son and the less time she had to devote to her daughter the happier she was Daemon was here to be a comforting presence to her daughter. He adored her and she adore him in return.
Rhaenyra was born a girl, she would follow in her mother’s footsteps, birthing children for her Lord husband. Would she be like her? Would she fail? Would she follow into her grandmothers’ footsteps instead? A dark and twisted side of her - the Targaryen one she tried so hard to hide because she felt ashamed - hoped her daughter would be like her so she would not suffer alone in having a failing womb, so she would understand Aemma’s plight and they would be able to bond as equal and not as mother and daughter. They would be able to commiserate and maybe Rhaenyra would understand her position a bit more and not think ill of her. Her own mother Daella had died in childbirth, Viserys’ mother suffered the same fate and so many other women in their family had issues birthing children… She worried her daughter would share that fate. She hoped her daughter would have a healthy son right away if only to be spared from the tragedy of losing a child. Her biggest fear was for her daughter to die like Daella or Alyssa something that was very likely to happen to her. Aemma herself had escaped that fate but all she got in exchange were dead sons and a daughter who was very likely unable to birth any heirs and die in childbirth. Just the thought made her feel ill.
Like many mothers in Westeros Aemma’s main problem was not just birthing heirs and staying alive during the process but also how to cope with a daughter. A daughter was often thought of as a burden and while she had hated hearing it as a child, now that she was a mother herself Aemma understood why people said that. A financial burden to their father for sure but the one no one really spoke about was the mental one to their mother. For mothers had to love their daughter enough to raise them but also not enough to be too affected when they died.
And so many of them would die… After all how many of them would die either giving birth or because of birth complications? How do you love someone you know lives on borrowed time? She didn’t know about that. She was still struggling with this. It was one of the greatest tragedy of being a woman in this world. When she looked at Rhaenyra she saw death - hers, her future children, it didn’t matter, Aemma just knew death would be her future for she was a woman and their battle in the birthing bed often killed them - not love or happiness.And her daughter was small, such a tiny slip of a girl and while she was barely twelve she had a feeling her daughter would not be one of those woman having the most coveted ‘birthing hips’ and instead would be cursed with the Targaryen thin form and it was not one that was recommended to survive childbirth, may Maesters had said so. And the Lords of the Kingdom knew by now which features should be looked at to be sure children could be born and plan to marry someone who could birth them.
At least she won’t be bedded until she is sixteen years of age. What happened to me will not happen to her.
Her grandmother Alysanne had warned her, wanting to prepare her in the way the woman hadn’t been in order to spare her heartache: love your daughters my dear, but not too much, just enough so when they die it won’t feel like you died with them. Wipe their tears and make them smile but do not keep them in your heart the way you will keep your boys. Your girls will experience tragedies because of their sex and you should harden your heart otherwise you will end up like me, torn apart every time I learn one of them died.
The woman had been old back then, the pain of losing her youngest daughter a bleeding wound. Aemma had sworn to herself to never end up like her grandmother, she would love her daughters but never to the point of dying. Daughters could die before their mothers but not sons, it was unnatural for a son to die before their parents.
That was a lesson she took to heart ever since.
Her darling Rhaenyra took care of her in her own way, always making sure her mother was taken care of and not just the child she was carrying. She was such a sweet girl, but she was also the daughter of a King, arrogant and impatient, vain and slow to forgive. And while Aemma let her daughter get away with a lot of things, she wondered sometimes if she wasn’t doing her a disservice. What would happen to her headstrong daughter once she married a Lord? She was so unused to obey that her Lord husband would have to discipline her and there would be no one to protect her. He would be in his right after all… She was aware that many marriages had rocky beginnings because of this. She would not allow that, Rhaenyra would marry a man her parents chose for her and it would be a good match. Maybe not a love match, she was aware of how difficult it would be, but she could learn to love her husband. Her daughter deserved a happy marriage and to be respected, love will come later.
She hoped no man treated her daughter the way Daemon treated his wife Rhea. It was one of the few fights she had with her daughter (that and her riding her dragon every morning instead of going to her lessons), she thought Daemon should not be so close to her daughter as he was not a good man. Oh he could spend time with her for sure but not all his time. And he should certainly not spoil her like he was, people would start speaking about his behaviour. He sometimes treated her more like he should treat his wife Rhea and less like a family member.
Though with them being Targaryen it always was a bit ambiguous…
Aemma had decided early on to let her daughter be free until she was to be wed and faced with reality. It was better for her to live her head in the clouds, dreaming of things young girls dreamed about rather than realise how the real world functioned. And while she was not close to her daughter the way she had once dreamed of being she loved her enough to grant her that freedom, something no nobles could ever have. Such was the privilege of being a princess.
Aemma played a bit with the water, letting the water slide from her fingers and tracing invisible patterns with the droplets, relaxing a bit more. Her mind drifted to happier times when she had more friends there with her in the Keep. How many friends did she lose to the birthing bed? Too many. The one that still hurt her heart the most was Elena Hightower, young Alicent’s mother. She had been such a good friend of hers, and she had died of birthing fever after delivering a boy who followed her in death. Otto had been devastated, the poor man had loved her so much… They had been a perfect couple, Viserys and her had always gotten along very well with them. She never understood Daemon’s mistrust of the man, her friend had only said good things about him and he was such a good husband! Alicent was a good girl and so were all her siblings which implied he must also a good father. The Seven would not reward someone with good dutiful children if they were bad people after all. Elena had been her dearest friend ever since she arrived with Otto in the Keep.
Aemma had been quite lonely, finding the people there boring and dull, too used to going outside with the other daughters from the Lords in the Vale. Elena had been a breeze of fresh air, bringing joy and fun.
They had been pregnant together and while all her pregnancies had ended in tragedies Elena had dealt with another terrible issue, her lack of children. Her friend had struggled a lot to get pregnant making her a perfect companion, someone who would understand Emma’s troubles and let her speak and rant and just be there for her as a friend.
And then the last pregnancy. Elena had been very excited and couldn’t wait to finally meet her child. It had happened less than a year ago but she could still picture her with her legs covered in blood and a child too small and unable to breath properly and then just nothing. After that horrifying event she had decided to take Alicent under her wing, the poor girl was so distraught… No child should see their mother’s death. Aemma herself was terrified of dying like this, birthing a child and alone, surrendered by only Septas and midwives.
She dreaded the birth and yet couldn’t wait for it. A part of her longed to be done with all this and just rest, to stop trying and failing so much. But she couldn’t succumb to this, she had to be stronger. She was Aemma Targaryen, Queen of Westeros not some unnamed peasant woman. She would face this trial with the pride and dignity a woman of her station should.
Thinking of Alicent made her smile. She used one hand to rub her swollen belly. The young girl was a mirror of her late friend and she adored having her around. Knowing how close she was to Rhaenyra reminded her of Elena and hers’ friendship. She had actively encouraged her daughter to keep her around her, hoping to create life lasting bonds. And it had worked like a charm, the two lonely girls had hit it off and were always together. She liked to believe that no matter who they would marry the girls would always be close.
Elena joked that it was like seeing themselves but younger to which Aemma always agreed. She hoped the dear child would not be used as a pawn like so many Lords used their daughters, all in order to further their house. Maybe she should see who Otto had in mind to marry her to so that she could help the poor girl who had no mother figure. SHe might even offer to help him find a good match if he wanted…
She felt her little dragon move inside her, making its presence known to her. She put a hand to her swollen belly with a smile. She had a good feeling this time. This child will be the last but she was sure he would live, for she had decided in her mind that he was a boy. No matter what her daughter thought, her instincts were sharp and this child would be no Visenya like Rhaenyra so desired but a little Prince, a future heir to the House of Dragons. Her sweet girl had already picked a dragon egg for the babe, from Dreamfyre apparently. She hoped the egg would crack in the crib like it did for Rhaenyra.
He will be the future King and rule over the Seven Kingdoms. Though now, she mused, he was ruling over her belly and must have severely punished her left side for insubordination…
Aemma finally got up and started to put on light clothes with some help from the maids, hearing the tourney’s noises echo in the quiet of her room. Her husband was such an optimist she thought fondly. He always believed in her and her ability to birth a healthy child. He never doubted her and it made her love him even more. Sudden pain made her stop her walk towards the chair like she had wanted and then a familiar wet feeling.
The babe is coming.
Here eyes turned to the tourney, hoping Viserys would be notified soon of her labour starting now. A part of her, the one not consumed with the pain thought her babe was already very Targaryen, a perfect sense of timing and a dramatic entrance.
***
Why did she let her beloved do that to her again? True the process of making heirs had always been enjoyable but the birthing was just so painful it always made her regret falling for her husband’s good looks. Damn his sweet talking and his handsome face.
And she pushed when she was told, listening carefully to her midwives, hoping despite all odds that the birth would be successful.
"Almost there my Queen, almost done!" encouraged Tyna, her faithful midwife here since the very first pregnancy. She had been one of the women helping her when she had been pregnant with Rhaenyra and while she was not a friend she gave her strength to push and to not stop and succumb to the tempting darkness.
Come on Aemma, you can push once more. You will not end up like your mother and die. You will show them all you can do it.
That last push while screaming made her feel like a warrior killing their last enemy. And a cry, a beautiful and loud cry.
"A boy my Queen! It’s a boy!" Tyna was ecstatic, cleaning the child quickly, he was now wailing loudly. "And kicking like a horse… A healthy baby boy!"
Aemma was crying, the babe was quickly put in her arms and yet she kept crying. She did it. She birthed an heir. Fear started to war with happiness, what if…
The midwives working alongside Tyna took him soon after so she could deal with the afterbirth, they were checking him over and putting him in a blue cover. She had picked Arryn blue for luck and it seemed like it had worked…
She just stared, transfixed by her child, touching his small nose and rubbing his cheeks. He was beautiful and so small and so so alive. She had done it. Her duty was done. See, I could do it, I just needed time.
"Call my husband the King, he need to be made aware of his heir’s birth" Aemma ordered.
"Right away my Queen" muttered a few servants who ran right after speaking.
Tyna stayed with her, keeping watch over mother and son. She smiled at her delighted, knowing the older woman would understand her feelings.
"Look at him, isn’t he beautiful? Our future King…" sighed Aemma happily.
She had no idea how long it took for Viserys to come but she could hear hurried footsteps and suddenly the door opened. He must have been running she thought for her handsome husband was disheveled and trying to catch his breath.
"A boy my beloved? Are you sure? A… A healthy boy?" he sounded choked up, like he was close to crying but trying to hold his tears fearing the child had died during the time it took him to run to the Keep.
"Your son my husband, a very healthy boy with a good pair of lungs on him" she said proudly
"Oh Aemma. I- You… you did it! You made the most perfect boy the Targaryen line has ever seen I just know it! He will be a great King one day !" Viserys was beaming, he reminded her of a child and she felt a wave of love overcoming her. He only looked like this when he was building his beloved model. She hadn’t realised how much younger he looked at this moment, it was like a burden had been removed from his shoulder - an heir was born, of course he would be happier than ever before.
"I love you husband, you know that right?"
Viserys smiled at her, kissing her, before staring - like her - at their perfect son. She had never had a son live that long before. Tyna had assured her he would survive: he was very healthy and kicking everywhere which was a very good sign. And judging from his screaming during birth he had very healthy lungs, always a good thing. He reminded her a bit of Rhaenyra at birth: screaming so that everyone would know their presence and kicking because they were not happy. A true dragon in the making. Her daughter would be a bit sad not to have a sister but she would be ecstatic to have a brother, she was convinced of it.
"What shall we name him then?"
"I was thinking of Baelon, like my father…" Viserys was stroking their boy’s cheek as if he was still in disbelief and wanted to make sure he was not dreaming and it was indeed reality and not a dream. Apart from Rhaenyra they never had a child living for so long and he must be just as overwhelmed as she was. They had no need to think of what to do with the succession, their boy had arrived as if summoned by the gods themselves and was an answer to their problems.
"Prince Baelon, son of Visery and Aemma Targaryen, future King of the Seven Kingdoms" said Viserys proudly.