Chapter Text
It took a few hours for Prince Daeron’s head to return to his body.
“My babies?” The first thing his coarse voice told, blinking whilst managing to sit back, extremities heavy looking like a true boulder trying to move.
The movement and motion certainly exhausted him, for he was slightly panting. There was a certain amount of paleness too strange for even his complexion, for his cheeks lacked any kind of color and his lips had seen better days. The bags under his eyes sealed the whole perturbed image, deepening his eyes in muddy blue, not even the purpleness he donned. Gael truly thought he looked worse than in his cup days.
His father bolted from his seat, trying to keep him still.
“Careful.” Prince Valarr supported him, one hand at his shoulder to push him back, whilst Gael got closer.
“Muña.” Gael whispered, reaching out for his hand.
His mother gave him a soft smile, those of the easiest and prettiest ones reserved only for Gael and his father. Vulnerable and brave at the same. Gael supposed it took a man a great deal of bravery to let himself be vulnerable.
“Gael, my boy,” his hand cupped Gael’s cheek, gently. “I love you a great deal, truly, but you and your father certainly talk endlessly.”
His father bristled, cheeks as if the reddest apple. “Gael, fetch the maester at once.”
“And my mother, my newborns and your siblings.” His mother commanded, back resting against the headboard.
Gael did as told, not before resting his gaze upon his sires, both immersed in each other.
“You scared me, my love,” Valarr cupped his face as one cradled his greatest treasure, voice wavering in relief. “Please do not let us repeat this again.”
From the threshold of the chambers, Gael managed to discern the roll of eyes prince Daeron gave his husband.
“We shall have two more babes after the twins, at the least.”
“I won’t trade my wife for more children.”
"Ah."
Dragonstone certainly revived no long after its lady’s awakening. Lackeys rushed from the chambers at great speed, cleaning and bringing supper for Daeron. Gael crashed into one of them, almost dropping his new sister, the one he so desperately pleaded with his grandmother to bring himself. The babe fussed, perturbed by the sudden movement both found themselves in and he shushed her; a poor attempt to hide his almost mishandling. A soft chuckle from the king only brought heat to his face.
King Baerlor walked softly behind them, cane resounding in the wind as he remained silent hand to hand with Daelor, the star grandchild of the royal family -no that Gael was envious. Behind them, a servant carried little Maelor at her waist whilst Vaela took her hand, who was too calm and silent for Gael’s liking. All of his siblings remained well groomed in the softest and simplest wool garments, for they were rushed to see their mother by their elder brother. And he interrupted both of his grandparents' sleeping forms, as well.
“Hand me the babe, boy.” Maekar ordered, even when none of them stopped through the corridor, straight towards prince Daeron’s chambers.
“You already have one.” He said, cradling the girl even harder, stopping to glance over his siblings and check out if they still followed them.
“And the only one you’ll have left if you drop her into the cold floor.”
Gael sputtered.
Baelor surpassed them swiftly, the servant in tow. His grandsire gave a brief look over at them, eyes too tired of the last day’s ordeal. Daelor had not looked better than him and Gael supposed he resembled the same, still in his training gear he donned before his mother entered in labor, for he hadn’t seen a droplet of water in days.
“Let the boy do it, Maekar.” His grandfather stated, hand clasped around Daelor’s little one in comfort, who shyly nodded at him before muttering to Gael.
“You stink.” Daelor must love Targaryen’s laws for it frowned upon those who disrespected bearers.
Maekar only looked down at Gael, hand caressing the white tuft of hair in the babe’s head, for his wispy strands looked too much like his mother’s disheveled curls and Gael’s long and unruly off white hair. Whatever he searched with his eyes deemed enough, for he only nodded and renewed his walk. Small steps so Gael could reach up and walk by his side.
He looked better than he did in the morning, hair groomed in his preferred style and using one of his fanciest garments. The afternoon sun softened the edges of his stoic structure and Gael felt himself lighter.
Not long after they reached their destination, both Vaela and Daelor rushed to Muña’s bed, crumpling the sheets under their bodies. Both nothing better than leeches, if you asked Gael.
“Careful!” Prince Valarr supported his wife back, worrying etched so firmly on his face, making sure none of Vaela’s knees pressed too hard on her mother’s inflamed stomach.
Daelor protested quickly, yelling he too wanted to embrace him by the neck, and some stupid thing like Daeron was his mother first. Gael was the first one and you shall never see him say anything like it.
He muted the annoying sounds, eyes locked in the marrying scar that cut his mother cheek in half up to his left ear, courtesy of uncle Aerion’s whims in Ashford. Even then, with the brownish mark in his cheek, his mother looked beautiful, and as the minutes went on, he glowed at last, no longer so pale nor febrile, quite relieving for uncle Aemon's preoccupied face. The prince too changed clothes, with a soft beige tunic embracing his body and hair kept in his usual fashion, tied at the neck.
The older newcomers sat by the bed, watching the display, non judgmental stares of pure fascination.
King Baelor cradled Maelor in his lap, hand caressing up and down his back, eyes glued to his good wife, Maekar, adoringly, for his wife embraced the new babe with utmost confidence while rocking him; the queen was a man who had plenty experience in caring for children. It hit Gael then, of the love cursing up their veins, so mundane like the air that surrounded them. The same love his parents sort of had, even if it seemed doomed in their worst days.
He counted down to ten, watching in his arms his new sister, who looked nothing like in him with her ebony hair and frowned face, for she was born amid a storm and with fire in her blood.
Blood and fire were his family’s words.
At three and ten, he was almost his sire’s age when he married. And holding his sister then, he was not so sure if he could love Daelor the way they expected, for all he could see was a glimpse of his future, a dark haired baby in his arms and him… so doomed.
His mother then stared at him, lips wide in a tender smile beckoning him forward. “Let me hold my daughter, sweet boy.”
Such notions were better off for the future.
It took him in total three long strides to get beside the bed, his frame eclipsing the light coming from the window, casting shadows over his parents' face. He supposed he, even then when he was born, eclipsed a shadow of responsibility upon his parents, who were not that older than him.
For all of Vaela’s whinny sounds, their mother embraced his newborn daughter, looking at total peace at last. Prince Valarr sat on the other side of the bed, with Vaela hidden in his chest and Daeron laying between them, peering at his youngest sister.
“What shall we name them, Gael?” His muña requested, cradling the babe, who mirrored the way one would protect pure gold.
He did not hesitate. “Aenar and Saera.”
“No.” Maekar retaliated.
Gael took in his own father's mortified face, before saying directly at him: “Look at her, she was just born yesterday and she already is so grumpy.”
“Her grumpiness is the least of my worries… They are good names, they satisfy me enough.”
“Seven hells.” His grandmother sighed, eyes closed for what it seemed like the eleventh time that day.
Prince Daeron let out the first laugh since the whole ordeal happened. And Gael would lie if he said it was not the most comforting thing in the continent.
“Gael, could you please remain here?” Daeron asked when the sun began to set and their family slowly left, cane resounding through the halls, carrying away the mighty presence of the king of the Seven Kingdoms.
He almost could manage to hear whatever nonsense Vaela sputtered at their grandparents and father.
“What is it, muña?”
The prince sat straighter, a small strand of hair loose in his forehead. His big and open eyes reflected his usual devotion for his firstborn, and even without smiling at all, Gael could see the happiness etched on his face.
“We are leaving for Summerhall in two moons,” he said with a graceful simplicity, as if they would not move across most of his life there. “A change of scenery must help all of us.”
“If that is what my lady mother wishes so.”
His mother tugged at him until he snuggled him, face hidden in his chest, inhaling the soothing scent of his muña.
“You will find it more likable than… whatever is this.”
He smiled at his mother's incessant hate for Dragonstone. “I shall hope so.”
The soft rising and falling of his chest lulled him at peace.
“I will share a secret with you.” He said, voice soft with affection. “I never saw your father so happy and accomplished as the day you took one breath and were placed into his arms. You both loved each other the moment you met. He always looked for you and you did, even if you were in my arms.”
“Then why is he so far away now?”
“I’m afraid he is quite scared of the day your grandsire may send you away from him. Or worse, that you may realize how lacking he is, his words, not mine, ñuha tresy.”
Both remained silent, until…
“I crave lemon cakes… Could you fetch one of them for me, or two? Do not let your kepa see you.”
Much better.