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Aegon paced up and down the length of the hallway - up and down, up and down, up and down - footfalls punctuated by the strangled groans and screams from the birthing chamber.
He had wanted to be there, wanted to support Jaehaera after all that she had done and compromised to support him, but in the end he couldn't take the screaming, the pain, the desperate expression that so harrowingly reminded him of his mother's demise.
He had fled like the coward he sharply felt himself to be.
The screams subsided, and he paused, heart pounding. Someone's footsteps, quick and hard-beating the stone floor, traced his own and came to a stop. The serving girl panted, her face red.
"Your grace," she wheezed, bowing low. "A boy. You have a son."
His heart leapt into his throat. He grasped her arm with a gloved hand, his mouth feeling dry. "The queen? What of my wife?"
"The labor was hard, but she is strong. She is well." The girl told him.
It was like a ton of bricks were lifted off of his chest, as he silently thanked any and all gods who were listening.
When he entered the chamber later, Jaehaera was sitting propped up on clean linens and pillows, the evidence of the bloody turmoil taken away. She was so acutely exhausted - her face pale, dark circles rimming her eyes from the day and night spent in labor, but she managed a smile as he entered.
A nursemaid held the infant, bouncing him in her arms. "Your grace!" she exclaimed on seeing him. "Would you - would you like to hold the prince?"
Wordlessly, he nodded. He held out his hands, unsure of himself, as she gently shifted the bundle into his arms.
The infant was asleep, his face rosy and his hair a tuft of white on his small head. Aegon didn't smile, but he felt some strange and untouched part of himself softening as he looked at the babe.
"Baelon," he declared. He looked to Jaehaera, nodding. "We'll call him Baelon."
Jaehaera smiled wanly. "A good name, no doubt."
He looked back at the bundle, watching as the babe yawned and remained asleep. He was so peaceful like this, so unaware of the world. So unburdened.
"Thank you," he said quietly, coming closer to his queen's bedside. "This is - this is a high gift you have given me."
"He is my son as much as he is yours, my lord husband," she pointed out. "It is not only for you that I have brought him into this world."
"Of course," he conceded. He passed the babe back to the nursemaid as he stirred. Looking around, he pulled a chair to Jaehaera's bedside and sat. "Your labors... they were not too difficult?" he asked hesitantly.
She blanched. "I have never known pain like that. I felt I was being ripped in two," she answered honestly. "But they laid him on my chest and I held him, and it was a balm to the ache."
He shifted uncomfortably, then spoke. "I am sorry I was not more support to you in your travail."
There was silence before he met her eyes again and saw her benevolent face.
"I am not angry with you, Aegon." She said quietly. "I understand as well as any living person can."
She looked off to where her son was, "I cannot imagine you still doubt my fealty," she mused. "For I shall love him all my days. He, the babe, has swallowed me up entirely."
Though he had long since ceased constant observation of her, he was always reticent in fear of rebellion. Her genuineness, though, was calming. He believed her.
The unspoken was there, too: you and I are tied forever. He is both of our blood.
Looking at Jaehaera now, eight-and-ten and no longer the waifish girl she was when they were wed, he felt a number of conflicting emotions. He couldn't remember ever seeing Queen Helaena himself, but all told him that Jaehaera was her to the image. It made him feel like looking at a ghost at times, a vengeful spirit to remind him of the blood that lay on his hands, the stain he had inherited. When she was wroth with him, when they sparred with sharp words in his private study, she struck him as the image of her father. He had spit that accusation to her once when they were younger and felt the chasm open only further. In those days, they had fought like dogs in a cage. What settled over them now was a quiet truce with no clear victor - a mutual surrender for want of companionship.
And yet, what he felt for Jaehaera was the closest thing to love that he felt capable of. He had never said as much to her - so much of their relationship was unspoken, after all - but only she stirred his thoughts to desire, only she, he allowed to touch him, only she could share his bed at night, and when he woke from recurrent dreams of his mother's dreadful final moments, only Jaehaera understood the experience so intimately.
The knowledge of his feelings for her was only magnified by the terror he had felt during her labor, the fear of losing her to a violent end nearly robbed him of breath. He had to see her, to drink her in now to remind himself that she was strong, healthy, and young, and she had been safely delivered of a son and heir for the realm.
"Nurse," he called, not looking away from her. "Leave us a while. I wish to speak with my wife."
The nursemaid was quick to bob a bow and leave, coping softly to the sleeping baby as they went into the solar. Aegon looked at his lap and removed his gloves, setting them aside.
He met his wife's soft lilac eyes and reached out to grasp her hand, skin to skin. Her cheeks bloomed rosy as he did, and she smiled further. It was a high intimacy, for Aegon to willingly remove his gloves outside of his personal chambers and privacy, much less to touch someone else. He rubbed the back of her hand with his thumb, thoughtful.
"I am glad you are well, Jaehaera." He said, his tone an indication of his depth of emotion, though his words were restrained. "Your safe delivery was my highest prayer."
"And here I am, safe and hale." She told him, her tone edged with slight teasing she gracefully refrained from targeting him with until they were alone. "Exhausted, yes. Sore, profoundly," she conceded, "But the worst has passed, and I am here. And with a son! How the small council will rejoice."
He felt the corner of his lip quirk in a small half smile. "Certainly, that is one less thing they will hold above my head."
They sat in silence for some time, him reassuring himself of her safety, her enjoying the show of vulnerability he yielded to her, and the evidence of his care for her, so hard won in the years of their marriage. At length she had to sigh.
"I think I must rest. I have not slept for a day and night, and I dearly miss it." She told him, apologetic.
"Of course," he nodded, withdrawing his hand from hers. "Are you comfortable enough? Should I send for something?"
She shook her head. "No, I was preparing to rest when you arrived. I will be fine."
"Very well," he nodded, standing. As he crossed to the door, he hesitated and looked back. "Gods grant you a quick recovery, my wife," he paused, and added, "That you may return to me."
Her smile was warm and sleepy and affectionate, and surprised him with how his stomach fluttered in response to it.
"I will, husband. I will."