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Chapter Text

Laenor stared at his cousin, certain that his expression was the very picture of befuddlement.

Surely she wasn’t serious.

“Ser Harwin?” He repeated when his wife didn’t begin laughing at her jape. “You want Ser Harwin Strong to sire our future children?”

Ser Harwin was an honorable man who clearly adored his wife, and Laenor truly liked him. But with his brown hair, large statue and most importantly, his pale complexion, the Heir to Driftmark wasn’t sure he would be the most logical choice to sire Rhaenyra’s children.

Their agreement had been set in stone even before they got married, and he would stand by it. They had always known it was a strong possibility that their marriage bed would remain an empty one, and six moons after they’d been wed, Rhaenyra had started to look elsewhere for their much needed heirs.

Though she went searching for an alternate solution with his blessing, Laenor regretted what felt like his failure deeply. His beloved Joffrey was no longer here to help him be a true husband to his dear cousin, and thus their attempts at coupling remained a failure. Pain shot through his heart. He missed him so much it felt like he couldn't breathe sometimes.

Joffrey had been his everything, his twin flame and the very wind in his sails, and the fact that his love had been murdered on his wedding day enraged him still. That Ser Criston Cole had escaped unpunished was beyond the pale and something he would never forgive the queen-consort for.

Now, sitting by the fire in his and Rhaenyra’s shared apartment in the Red Keep, Laenor mourned his loss even more.

There would be no heir coming from his seed, and thus both the Crown-Princess and her husband went looking for another way. 

Rhaenyra nodded, seemingly glad he finally caught on. “Yes. Ser Harwin is a good, loyal man who cares deeply for me. He'll keep our secrets. I think he would be a good choice, cousin."

Laenor couldn’t help it, he burst out in laughter. Her offended expression only made it worse, but not even Rhaenyra could stop her lips from twitching at the delight radiating off her often melancholic husband. Even if it was at her expense.

“Rhaenyra,” Laenor spluttered, still chuckling. “Take him to bed if you so desire, but he surely you see why he can’t be the father of your, of our children.”

The idea alone was enough to make a foreboding feeling take root in his stomach. Laenor and the princess had tried for six moons already, and the pressure on his wife was building with each passing moon. But that didn’t mean they should be careless. 

The Greens were already looking for fault in the King's chosen Heir. He'd heard the whispers and snide remarks as Rhaenyra stomach remained flat. Meanwhile, the queen-consort flaunted her green dresses like they were war banners, and he knew there had been remarks of the princess' similarities to the former queen and her troubles bearing children. Alicent had grown brazen. Too brazen.

Laenor knew that he'd been numb to it all since Joffrey's death, but no longer. 

The princess frowned, offended. “Why ever not?”

The Heir to Driftmarkt felt an incredulous laugh bubble up his throat. Surely she was japing. Surely she saw the issue with picking the Commander of the Goldcloaks as the father of their heirs. But taking in the increasingly flustered expression on her beautiful face, Laenor had the sinking feeling she did not.

“Have you looked at the man?” Laenor exclaimed, arms waving through the air. “Have you looked at me, dearest cousin? We do not look anything alike! What if the child takes after him?”

Rhaenyra scowled, a stubborn set to her jaw that worried Laenor. “Why would they? Look at Alicent’s brood. The blood of the dragon is strong.”

Alicent Hightower had indeed whelped three - soon to be four - Valyrian looking children. But it seemed Rhaenyra had forgotten his own mother, who had been born with locks as black as any Baratheon. With the violet eyes of their Valyrian ancestry yes, but otherwise his mother was very much her mother’s daughter.

“Would you bet your reputation on that?” Laenor asked, knowing as well as she did that they couldn’t do that. “The lives of your children? You need trueborn heirs, or at least heirs that appear trueborn.”

His wife blinked slowly, all fight leaving her. “Oh.”

“I’m sorry,” He murmured, stepping closer and wrapping an arm around her. Laenor knew she cared greatly about Ser Harwin, and even more, Rhaenyra trusted him. He might not love her as a husband should, but Laenor did love her. She was his cousin and she'd become his dearest friend. Her support and kindness in these past few moons as husband and wife meant the world to him. 

Which meant he couldn’t let her do this. At least, not without alerting her to the dangers of this choice.

Rhaenyra leaned into him, accepting the comfort he offered.

He knew the pressure she was under. The queen-consort's cool remarks and the court’s scrutiny were all on Rhaenyra - and her still-flat stomach. Even the king made the occasional thoughtless comment, and he hated what it all did to her.

“Who then?” She asked after a long silence. “One of your cousins? A dragonseed? Or maybe it would be wiser to pick someone completely unknown.”

So they were on the same page.

“We need to consider it carefully.” Laenor closed his eyes, thinking deeply. “We cannot be careless with this. Uncle Vaemond is ambitious enough as it is. If one of my cousins talks, we would be ruined. And if the child doesn’t appear Velaryon, Vaemond will be difficult.”

And yet…

His mind flashed to Cousin Daemion.

Cousin Daemion, with his purple eyes and complexion in a shade close to his own. Cousin Daemion, who was born of Uncle Vaemond and his pretty blonde Celtigar wife. Cousin Daemion, who was loyal, handsome and brave. 

Daemion, who looked alike enough to Laenor that he could have been his trueborn brother.

“What are you thinking?” Rhaenyra asked, and Laenor opened his eyes.

“We can’t trust blindly.” He explained. “The dragonseeds might be a good idea, but it would take time we don’t have to build true trust and loyalty. But one of my cousins-” 

There was one who would keep his secrets. Who already was keeping them. One who had no interest in the Iron Throne, or even the lordship Laenor was heir to. One who cared for family and the seas he sailed above all else. 

“He’s the third son of the second son.” He murmured, aware that even in the princess’ private rooms the walls could have ears. “Three years older than I, and unmarried still.”

“You like him.” Rhaenyra stated softly. “But do you trust him with this?”

Did Laenor trust him with Rhaenyra and what could very well be their future children? He thought he might.

Cousin Daemion was like him. Well, in a way.

But unlike Laenor, Daemion had an actual choice. He liked both goose and duck, and while he cared more for the feminine form than the masculine, he still had been the one to introduce Laenor to the joys of watching knights train back in their shared childhood.

Daemion had told him about his lovers, both male and female, that he’d met on his voyages. He’d never judged Laenor for his preferences, which was something only his mother and sister had managed. And Rhaenyra, too, of course.

“Yes,” Laenor took a deep breath. “If there is anyone I could trust with this it’s Daemion.”

His cousin had always been uninterested in marriage or any other type of long-term relationship, and for other reasons than Laenor himself was uninterested. Daemion didn’t want to be bound to a woman or man, didn’t want to stay landbound for longer periods of time. 

He knew he had nothing to give to a wife or paramour, he had no keep or lands. 

And the sea had always called to his cousin. 

“According to mother’s raven,” Laenor murmured, turning to meet the princess’ hesitant purple eyes, “my cousin has returned from his latest voyage. You could meet him, and then make your decision.”

Because it was her decision. It always would be. He would never force her to tolerate someone in her bed she did not want there. It was bad enough they had to attempt to couple themselves in these past few moons. It was their duty as husband and wife, but it had felt horrible for the both of them. Wrong. Sickening. And completely unsuccesful.

Never again.

“You truly trust him?” Rhaenyra hummed, indigo eyes considering. Laenor nodded. “Very well. I suppose we are due for a visit to Driftmark.”

Chapter Text

Eleven moons later, Laenor was waiting in the hallway outside his wife’s rooms as she let out a scream loud enough to wake the whole keep. 

At the entry to those rooms stood his wife’s most faithful guard and Commander of the Goldcloaks, grim-faced but determined in ensuring the princess’ wishes would be followed. No gray rat would be allowed entry while she was in the birthing bed.

Laenor glanced to his side. Seated with him were his parents, the Lord and Lady Velaryon. They’d arrived in the Red Keep as soon as Rhaenyra reached her eighth moon of pregnancy, intent on being here when their first grandchild was born.

For which he was grateful, because Laenor discovered he was a complete mess when someone he cared about was in this much pain.

The news of Rhaenyra’s pregnancy had been celebrated all throughout the Seven Kingdoms. It had dragged him out of the fog that had been clouding his mind since Joffrey’s death, and while Laenor knew very well that the child was not from his seed, it was still closer to it than he ever thought he could have.

Daemion’s kindness and attention to both him and Rhaenyra had done the rest. By the time his cousin left for his next voyage, Laenor felt like himself again, though the bouts of melancholy never completely left him. 

“How are you doing, son?” Corlys asked, concerned.

Laenor shook his head, silver-white braids moving with the movement. “I’m not the one in pain right now, father.” 

He’d been in the library with his parents when one of Nyra’s ladies-in-waiting shared the news that his wife’s water had broken. Unfortunately, in his haste to get to Rhaenyra, he’d somehow lost the ribbon he used to tie his hair. 

His father’s lips twitched with humor at his wild appearance, and he pulled out a dark navy ribbon from his pocket which he silently offered to Laenor. He took it gratefully, easily arranging his hair into something approaching his normal standards.

“Our son is speaking wisely, husband.” Rhaenys spoke calmly from his other side, sitting in her chair as if it was a throne. As always, his mother appeared perfectly dignified and at ease. “But your father means well. Try to remain calm, Laenor. The worst is yet to come.”

Laenor winced. “I was afraid of that.”

His wife let out another pained noise, and he jumped up, unable to sit still anymore. Glancing at the empty chairs next to his parents, he barely held back a scoff. Rhaenyra was in there, giving birth for the first time, and Viserys was nowhere to be found.

The whole keep knew the princess had started her labors, and yet Rhaenyra only had her ladies and the midwives she herself had found and hired to support her through this.

No sisters, nor any aunts, grandmothers or her much-missed mother. And for the first time since he wedded his cousin, Laenor realized how alone she must have been.

The king had tried waiting with them for a short moment, but as soon as Rhaenyra started screaming Viserys fled. The queen-consort hadn’t even bothered showing up to support her once-friend, but Laenor was sure she would turn up like a bad copper as soon as the princess’ labor was over.

The king might mean well, but Laenor had come to know his goodfather well enough to know that he would do everything he could to avoid the birthing bed after the many sorrows with his beloved first wife.

Even if it was his own daughter.

And the further the queen was from his wife the better. The woman hadn’t been subtle in her suspicions of bastardy, and while she hadn’t outright said it, he knew the woman thought Rhaenyra had laid with the Heir to Harrenhal.

Poor Harwin wasn’t subtle in his adoration for the princess.

The door opened, and one of the midwives stuck her head out. “My lady? The princess is asking for the comfort of her goodmother.”

Rhaenys stood, dignified as always even with the pained sounds coming through from the other room. “Of course.”

He was glad to see her easy acceptance. Laenor had seen the knowing glint in her eyes in the week Rhaenyra and he spent on Driftmark. Fourteen days spent in the sunshine of his home, a comfort he’d sorely needed. 

Fourteen days where Rhaenyra got to know her goodfamily and his family got to know their future queen and mother of the future Lord of the Tides. It had been good for them both. The connections they forged there would last a lifetime.

(And if one of those connections came to visit Dragonstone once or twice in the following month, well, who could say?)

All he missed was the presence of his sister, but Laena had made her home in Pentos. She and the often-exiled Rogue Prince had decided to stay there, something he knew still saddened his wife. As soft as the love she shared with Ser Harwin was, her Kepus was her twin flame.

Even married to other people as they both were, Rhaenyra and Daemon still burned together. 

As they always would. 

Just as Laenor had found a sweet kind of comfort in Qarl, though he too still burned for his beloved Knight of Kisses. Sometimes he wondered how they did it, Qarl, Harwin and Laena. Loved they might be, but each knew they were not their love’s first choice.

His wife screamed, and Laenor winced.

“It will be alright, my son.” Rhaenys murmured as she passed by him on the way to where the midwife was waiting patiently by the door. “Our future queen is strong.”

Laenor shot her a grateful look. His mother knew the babe could very well be not from his seed. 

She had always seen him clearly - had known just where his preferences lay even before he did - and though she wished for an easier path for him, she did accept him as he was. Wedding him to Rhaenyra had been his father’s - and the king’s - desire, and not even his mother could have stopped it. 

Rhaenys was aware that the timing of this pregnancy was suspicious, but she’d kept her mouth shut as long as it stayed by suspicion. No matter the parentage of this babe, it would be the blood of her blood. Targaryen and Velaryon.

And Laenor knew his mother could appreciate a well-thought-out scheme.

Rhaenys knew as no other the struggles Rhaenyra faced. She knew his wife would have to work thrice as hard as any male heir would have to do.

And his mother had shared her concerns about the duties he would have to perform as a husband. So if the babe ended up looking like a trueborn heir, then she would support them wholeheartedly in this scheme.  

His father on the other hand was too blinded by his desire to see his blood on the throne to notice anything amiss.

“How is she?” Laenor couldn’t help but ask the midwife, flinching when his poor wife let out another scream. Never had he been more glad to have been born a man. “What can I do?”

However grateful he was not to be expected to support his wife from inside the birthing room, it wasn’t any easier to listen to her pain from out in the hallway. He knew of her fear. Her mother’s many miscarriages, stillbirths and horrific death had never been more on her mind as she experienced her own pregnancy.

She had refused her father’s offer to let the maesters attend to her, and together with Laenor she had searched both Driftmark and Dragonstone for the best midwives. One of which was looking at him now, and he got the distinct impression she wasn’t all that impressed with him.

But then the midwife’s stern visage softened. “Nothing at all, my lord. Please trust that the princess is in good hands.”

Corlys chuckled, clapping him on the shoulder. “This is a woman’s battle, my boy. Let her fight it.”

Rhaenys rolled her eyes, smirking over her shoulder at her husband. “As it should be. Our lines would have died out long ago if the men were the ones fighting this particular battle.”

His father let out a loud laugh, the sound deep and full of mirth. “True, my love. Too true.”

The hours passed. 

For six long hours his wife labored. For six hours she screamed and cursed and pushed, fighting a battle only another woman could truly understand. For six hours, Laenor paced in the hallway as his cousin fought for her life and the life of their child.

And then, quiet.

Laenor froze where he stood, meeting Harwin's wide-eyed gaze. He was desperate for a sign of life. Any sign. His breath froze in his lungs and he hoped, prayed for the well-being of his wife and babe.

Behind the great doors, an infant started wailing.

Corlys jumped up and embraced his frozen, teary-eyed son. “Congratulations, my boy. They have the lungs of a true dragon.”

Laenor leaned into the hug, needing the support and comfort of his father.

The door opened again, and there stood his mother. “Come, Laenor. Your wife asks for you to come in and meet your firstborn.” 

“Are they well?” Laenor asked, unashamed of the way his voice shook. “Rhaenyra and the babe?”

“The princess is tired but as well as she can be,” Rhaenys assured him immediately. “And as you can hear, the babe is in good health.”

By the door, Ser Harwin let out a relieved breath.

“Ten fingers and toes?” He asked, both for Harwin's benefit and his own. The man had been as much involved in this pregnancy as he was, supporting Rhaenyra whenever and as much as he could.

“Ten fingers and toes,” Rhaenys assured her son fondly. “Now go, she is waiting.”

It felt like an eternity before he reached Rhaenyra, who was holding a swaddled bundle in her arms. The blanket was Arryn blue with little silver falcons embroidered on the edges, and he knew it was the same one she’d been swaddled in as a newborn babe by Aemma. Laenor smiled softly.

His wife was humming softly as she gazed down at the slumbering infant, a High Valyrian lullaby he remembered from his youth. She didn’t look up as he entered the room, too focused on the babe in her arms. 

She looked pale and exhausted, yet the princess was glowing with love.

The maids were bustling around them, changing the bloody linens and cleaning up whatever they could. Laenor barely noticed. All his attention was on the bundle in her arms. A child. His child. Blood of his blood. He was a father now.

He must have made a noise, because Rhaenyra looked up, indigo eyes shining. “Come, husband. Meet your son.”

Laenor felt his eyes grow hot and wet. “A son?”

A son to teach how to sail, to teach how to fight and how to be kind, honorable and true.

He let out a shuddering breath, and carefully sat down on the bed. Rhaenyra smiled softly, looking from the babe in her arms to her shaken husband. With gentle hands, Rhaenyra adjusted the blanket so he could see his son’s little face. 

Beautiful.

By the Fourteen, never before had Laenor seen an infant so beautiful. He took in his son’s tiny features, from his perfect little nose to his pouty little mouth and felt nothing but awe. He looked like Laenor. Even his complexion, still red from childbirth, had a dusky undertone similar to Laenor’s. 

And his hair, his hair was the pale pearly moonlight he’d only seen from his grandfather’s portraits, and it curled like he’d seen only with members of his family. The perfect mix of Targaryen and Velaryon.

Behind him, his mother gasped when she got the first good look at the babe. “Oh! That color…”

The babe opened his eyes, and Laenor smiled. “Would you look at that? He has your eyes, Nyra.

“He does indeed.” Rhaenyra smiled wryly, satisfaction warring with fierce pride in her eyes. They had done this, made it possible. “And your everything else.”

No one could accuse this child of being a bastard. Not when he looked to be a mirror image of his supposed father, just with his mother’s eyes.

“He’s beautiful,” Corlys murmured, coming to join his wife. “A beautiful grandson, hale and hearty.”

“What will be his name?” Laenor asked, knowing full well it was normally the husband who named the sons but not giving a shit. As far as he was concerned, Rhaenyra did all the hard work so she has the right to name their son.

“First I wanted to name him Jaehaerys, or maybe Jacaerys.” Rhaenyra murmured, smiling down tiredly at their son. “But when I saw his hair I knew there was a different name, a more suitable name for a prince carrying these distinctive pearlescent curls.”

Rhaenys' breath hitched audibly.

“I wish to name him for his grandparents. For his grandmother, yes, but also his great-grandfather.” She looked up, first meeting his gaze, then switching to Rhaenys. “His name is Aemon Targaryen, Prince of the Realm and my firstborn and heir.” 

“A mighty name,” Corlys beamed, and Laenor felt a flash of amusement by the pride radiating off his father. “A fine name for the Heir’s heir.”

Rhaenyra smiled, and looked at him. “Do you like it?”

Laenor blinked, touched by her gesture. “A perfect name for the most perfect babe ever to be born.”

“I must agree.” Rhaenys nodded, and moved closer to her gooddaughter. She reached out to caress Aemon’s soft cheek, smiling softly. “You honor me, princess. Truly, Rhaenyra. Thank you.”

His wife's smile widened with relief but he noticed how her eyes were growing heavy. She’d just given birth, and here they were, talking like she wasn’t utterly exhausted and in pain. His mother noticed the new mother’s exhaustion as well, and straightened up.

Rhaenys nodded decisively. “We should take our leave, allow you to rest.” 

Yet her eyes lingered tellingly on the small form of her grandson, reluctant to leave.

Laenor smiled, grateful. He knew the king would soon visit as well, and he wanted some alone time with his son first. Hold him, if his fierce dragoness of a mother could bear to release him for a moment.  

“Thank you, goodmother,” Rhaenyra murmured gracefully, “for staying with me in the absence of my own mother.”

“Cousin Aemma would have done the same for my Laena should our positions have been reversed.” The Queen That Never Was smiled, eyes warm. “It was an honor to witness the birth of my grandson. Thank you for trusting me.”

Laenor felt his heart warm, joy spreading through his body as he watched his mother and wife bond. The proud grandparents said goodbye to the sleeping babe and tired parents, and turned to leave. 

A maid entered before they could though, and quickly walked towards the bed.

Rhaenyra looked at the mousy girl, one brow arched imperiously.

“Excuse me, princess,” the maid stuttered out. “The queen wants to see your babe. I'm here to take it to her.”

The princess’ eyes flashed, and Laenor felt his own spine straighten at the queen’s daring. His parents turned around, expressions stony.

“What did you just say?” Rhaenys asked icily from where they stood by the doors, tone icy. She strode back over, followed on the heels by his equally furious father.

The maid flinched. “The queen ordered me to take the newest royal babe and bring it to her.”

“You think to snatch my newly born son, a prince of the realm and your future king, from my arms on the orders of the queen consort?” Rhaenyra snarled, every inch the dragon. A mother dragon protecting a vulnerable hatchling.

(In the Dragonpit, Syrax stretched out her wings and let out a furious roar.)

“But,” the poor maid stuttered, looking flustered and afraid. “The queen- “

“No.” Laenor said quietly, standing. “You will not touch my son.”

His father nodded firmly. “Quite right. Who could be so cruel as to take a babe still wet from birth from his mother?”

The maid flushed, and Laenor saw the moment shame hit her as she realized what she’d been ordered to do. Good. The girl gave a quick but deep curtesy, and fled.

“Indeed,” his mother agreed, one brow arched. He could see her anger, and if it hadn’t involved his family he would have felt pity for the foolish queen. Alas. “I will go to Viserys. I’m sure he is desperate for news about his daughter and grandchild. Will you stay here while I’m gone, my love?” 

The Sea Snake bowed gallantly, “As you wish, Princess. I’ll walk you out and join Ser Harwin while we wait for your return.”

Her lips twitched, and with a curt nod, his mother took his father’s arm and left to fetch the king. And if she informed him all about the queen’s actions while she did so, well, that was only her right as a concerned grandmother, no?

Finally alone, they sat in silence for a moment, Rhaenyra slowly relaxing against her pillows. “Do you wish to hold him, husband?”

“Please,” Laenor blurted out, unashamed. He wanted to hold his boy. “I would like nothing better than to hold our son.”

Rhaenyra smiled. “Then do so, Laenor.”

And then he was finally holding his son. Small and warm in his arms, and so very fragile, Laenor couldn’t stop staring at the most perfect little creature he'd ever seen. He’d once promised to love Rhaenyra’s children as his own, but never would he have thought he could love anything this much.

From where she lay on the bed, Rhaenyra laughed softly as she caught her husband’s besotted expression.

“Hello, Aemon,” Laenor cooed, uncaring that his wife was laughing at him. ”I’m your father.”

Rhaenyra chuckled again, before hiding a yawn behind her hand. Her eyes were fixed upon the bundle in his arms and he easily read the stubbornness in her pale face. Fierce dragonness indeed.

“Rest, dearest,” he said to his wife. “I’ll guard our son.”

She nodded, aware that she would need all the rest she could get before the king and his wife arrived. Rhaenyra had survived one battle, but the next was already approaching their door.

“Very well, husband,” the future queen conceded. “Just a short nap.”

Laenor hummed, “Thank you, wife.”

Chapter Text

Less than an hour later, both the king and his second wife entered the room. Laenor’s mother followed behind them, lips pursed with disapproval. The king was beaming, eyes fixed upon his most precious child and the bundle she was once again holding in her arms. 

The queen, on the other hand, kept her expression carefully neutral. But Laenor could see the storm in her eyes, the distaste and envy as she took in the almost glowing princess on the bed and Laenor’s presence at her side.

Laenor would have felt pity for the queen, if only she hadn’t declared war on them all at his and Rhaenyra’s wedding feast.

Because he knew Alicent Hightower was stuck in a loveless marriage to a man old enough to be her father. A man who was king, yes, but also the father of Alicent’s once dearest and only friend. A man who cared for her, but didn’t respect her. 

The king didn’t treasure his second wife as he did his first, and if Laenor was being brutally honest, only seemed to use her as a broodmare. 

Though Laenor felt that Queen Aemma had been treated much the same by King Viserys, but even though she was more often pregnant than not, she’d been allowed to sit on the council and had been the king’s most trusted advisor until her death.

Alicent was not trusted by the king as the first queen had been.

Yet he couldn’t deny that this had been her choice. Or at least the consequences. She’d willingly stepped into the king’s rooms wearing her mother’s dresses, likely knowing exactly what Otto wanted to happen.

Alicent's father might have ordered her to seduce the still-grieving king, but she’d made the choice to do it. She might have started as a victim, but at some point the she stopped being one. She’d made the choice not to be truthful to her grieving best friend about her father’s schemes. Laenor knew his fiery cousin, Rhaenyra would have protected Alicent from her father’s ambition.

But Alicent hadn’t, and now the daughter of a landless second son was queen.

No, Laenor had very little pity for the woman standing there now.

“What is she doing here?” Rhaenyra demanded, staring at the silent form of her once-friend. Once again wearing green and looking haughty, it was clear the queen-consort felt very little regret for her actions. "She tried to take my child!”

Viserys grimaced, uncomfortable. “Please, daughter, don’t upset yourself. Alicent’s means well. I’m sure it was only something of a misunderstanding.” 

“Was it?” Laenor asked quietly, supporting his wife.

The king’s grimace widened, and Laenor shared a look with his parents. “Wife, tell them it was a misunderstanding.”

The king was weak. Weak in mind and body, and to Laenor it was all too obvious where this was going to go. 

Absolutely nowhere.

Viserys' abhorrence for conflict and his blind spot the size of Balerion for anything with the name Hightower would ensure it. His goodfather's health might be worsening, but one only had to look at what happened to poor Queen Aemna to know that weakness had taken root long before his health took a turn.

The king was unable to control his family. And because of it, Rhaenyra's position was in danger.

After all, it was right under his nose that his own children with the king’s second wife were being raised to oppose his eldest daughter. Not openly, not yet. But it was obvious that the seeds were being planted nonetheless. 

Laenor had listened though. Listened, and watched them.

While Rhaenyra had very little interest in her half-siblings - the age difference too big and uncaring of the way her every move was watched whenever she came within three feet of those children. But Laenor, soft-hearted as he was, couldn’t help but pity them.

He loved children. He delighted in their bright laughter and carefree play. Happy children were the signs of a good liege Lord, and Driftmark had always been full of them for as long as he could remember.

But it was clear to anyone with eyes that Alicent's children were anything but happy.

Aegon was only eight namedays old and already troubled in a way no child should be. Shifty and desperate for attention, any attention, and Laenor was afraid of where he would find it.

Helaena, lovely girl that she was, was quite odd. Introverted and very fond of riddles and everything with way too many legs. Should she remain uninterested in the present and the usual lady-like pursuits, there would be many struggles in that poor child's future.

The court wasn’t kind to those who are different.

And Aemond? The boy was barely three namedays old, still in the nursery and Laenor could see the fire in that child. That boy was a dragon.

Daeron was still too young to have much personality, being only a few moons older than Aemon.

The sound of the queen-consort shifting uncomfortably brought him out of his musings, and Laenor focused back on the green queen.

“Of course, husband.” Alicent murmured demurely, nails picking at her hands as she lied right in their faces. “The maid misunderstood. I would never dare to separate a newborn babe from his mother so soon after the birth.”

Viserys waved with his hand, a relieved expression on his pallid face. “See?”

Rhaenyra opened her mouth to refute the queen’s ridiculous excuse, but was distracted by the soft coo their son let out. She gazed down at the still-sleeping infant, visibly spellbound.

“My girl,” The King blubbered at the sight his daughter made, leaning heavily on his cane. “My dear girl, you are the picture of your mother. My Aemma would have loved to see you like this, holding a babe of your own. Motherhood suits you.”

Though she smiled, something in Rhaenyra’s indigo eyes hardened. “Mother would have made the best of grandmothers.”

Laenor noticed the queen-consort's barely concealed displeasure, and decided to make it worse. He still owed her for the hurt and stress Rhaenyra felt these past nine moons and before. He was still owed a great debt from the protector of Joffrey's murderer.

And thus he opened his mouth, a gentle smile curling around his lips that was a mirror of his mother's at her most sincere.

“Queen Aemma was a lovely and gentle woman and she was an incredible mother to my wife in the time they had together. I’m sure she would have made a just as brilliant and loving grandmother to our child.” Laenor spoke, meeting the king’s watery eyes with a warm look. 

“Ah, Corlys,” Viserys chuckled, a grateful look on his face. “What a silver tongue your boy has.”

His father nodded, a proud look on his face. Corlys was still as smug as when they’d first announced Rhaenyra’s pregnancy, so certain that he’d made the right decision wedding his only son to the princess.

Laenor smiled, spite making his smile appear that much brighter. “Thank you, Your Grace. You flatter me.”

“Thankfully,” switching his gaze to the sour-looking queen, he sweetly added, “in Queen Aemma’s absence, we have two other grandmothers who can step up. My own honored mother; princess Rhaenys, and of course, my wife’s stepmother, the Lady Alicent.”

To the side, Corlys almost choked on his laugh. Rhaenys elbowed him swiftly, her own lips twitching with barely concealed humor.

“Stepgrandmother,” Alicent corrected hastily as Rhaenyra smirked. “I have no actual blood connection to the child and I don’t wish to step on any toes. I’m sure that I’m much too young to be acting like the babe’s grandmother.”

Viserys blinked at his wife, shocked by the cold words coming out of her mouth.

Rhaenys sniffed, and gifted the babe with a soft smile. “Well, I’ll gladly claim the title of grandmother of this child and any others that the gods are willing to grant us. As Cousin Aemma would have wanted.”

“Thank you, Rhaenys. My Aemma certainly would have wanted only the best for her first grandchild.” Viserys came closer, concerned. “But enough about that. I've waited long enough. Tell me, daughter, how are you and our newest little prince or princess?”

“I am well, father. It wasn’t an easy birth, but it was worth all the pain.” Rhaenyra lifted her chin, eyes fierce. She raised her arms, allowing her father to see their child’s little face. “Your Grace, may I introduce you to my firstborn and heir: Prince Aemon Targaryen.”

“A son!” Viserys beamed, teary eyed. “How blessed we all are. A little prince for my darling girl.”

“A beautiful boy for both our Houses.” Laenor smiled proudly. “Named for both his great-grandfather Prince Aemon and our beloved Queen Aemma.”

Queen Alicent flinched at the sound of the name of the woman she’d replaced, but quickly recovered. “Targaryen? Shouldn’t your children be named Velaryon, princess?”

“No,” Rhaenyra told her curtly. ”He is my heir, and so he will be a Targaryen. As my father’s heir, all my children will be named so. As is written in our marriage contract, only the child who shall inherit Driftmark will be a Velaryon.”

Alicent blanched, eyes switching between his parents and him as if waiting for them to tell her it wasn’t true. And it hadn’t been easy, that was true. The Sea Snake was a proud man, a proud man who was even prouder of his name.

But the princess had made a good point.

It had been Rhaenys’ married name that had been the main issue to her being crowned queen. She’d taken her husband’s name, and her children were Velaryons. Jaehaerys might have been a fool when it came to his daughters, but that had been the last drop.

He would never let the throne go to a Velaryon.

And neither would Viserys.

So Corlys reluctantly conceded, knowing it would still be his blood that would be on the throne. A Targaryen on the throne with a Velaryon parent would have to be enough. For now.

And thus Rhaenyra remained a Targaryen, Laenor a Velaryon, and their children would be named according to the respective Houses they were heir to. Each would be granted the title Prince or Princess, and all would be granted a dragon egg.

“As is only right,” The king beamed, immediately taking the wind out of his consort’s sails. “May I hold him, daughter? I wish to hold my grandson.”

Swaddled as he was in the blue blanket, neither the king nor the queen could actually see much of the babe cradled to the Crown-Princess’ chest.

The queen smiled, a vicious gleam in her hazel eyes. “Yes, stepdaughter, let us see the newest Velaryon.”

“Targaryen,” Rhaenys corrected coolly. “My grandson's name is Aemon Targaryen.”

But Laenor ignored the byplay, glad as he was to see his mother defend his son. Instead he watched his wife, waiting for her agreement or refusal to the king’s request.

At Rhaenyra’s nod, Laenor stood to take his son from her arms. 

“Careful,” his mother warned. “Support his head.” 

“I know how to hold my own son, mother.” Laenor muttered, shooting her an exasperated look. “This isn’t the first time I’ve held him.”

Taking a moment to hold his boy before giving him over to his goodfather, he couldn’t help but smile when Aemon yawned cutely. Reluctantly handing him over to the now-seated king, Laenor remained standing at his shoulder.

“Ah, goodson,” Viserys murmured as he looked down at the infant. “He looks just like you.”

Alicent looked at the babe in the king’s arms, and Laenor saw the disbelief cross her face as she took in Aemon’s clear Velaryon features. She stared down at the babe, brows furrowed and expression sour.

Viserys turned towards the two silent Kingsguard standing by doors. “My grandson has been born. Ser Erryk, alert the measters and make them send ravens to all the major Houses in the Seven Kingdoms to announce the birth of Prince Aemon.” 

“Of course, Your Grace.” Ser Erryk nodded, but the king wasn’t done yet. 

“Let the bells ring in celebration for the birth of Prince Aemon.” He declared grandly. “Let them ring all day so that everyone knows that the Heir to the Iron Throne and her son are in good health.”

The queen consort’s expression turned even sourer. Ser Erryk nodded, and took his leave to do as the King had bid. The blank-faced Ser Arryk remained, standing vigilantly by the door as the king resumed cooing over his first grandson. 

“Oh,” he added belatedly, chagrined. “Sent a raven to my brother as well. He should be aware of our family’s newest member.”

It was obvious that Viserys hadn’t yet forgiven his brother for daring to touch Rhaenyra. Neither had the Rogue Prince forgiven his brother for refusing his sincere wish to marry Nyra. It was a mess, honestly.

Daemon hadn’t visited or even sent a raven since he married Laena without the King’s permission, but Laenor had kept in contact with his sister. Their mother visited her only daughter whenever she could, and Laenor too had traveled with Seasmoke to see Laena.

Only once though, a moon or two after the wedding. He hadn’t been able to stay in the Red Keep for a moment longer and fled on Seasmoke to pay a visit to his sister.

Who’d hit him soundly around the ears because unlike him, Laena knew what the whispers that surrounded Rhaenyra every day would say after he left her alone for half a moon. He’d left her alone to face that pit of vipers, and while she faced them admirably, he knew it cost her a lot.

Rhaenyra had few allies at court, and her most ardent defender had always been Daemon Targaryen. Yet until he could return, Laenor would step up to the best of his ability.   

But maybe there was hope, if the king was the first to reach out.

“Thank you, father.” Rhaenyra beamed. “You honor us.”

“Nothing less than you deserve, my dear.” He looked down at his grandson, who cooed. “Have you picked out his cradle egg?”

Laenor smiled, “Indeed we have. The princess and I have decided to see if the dark green egg from Vhagar’s last clutch will hatch for our son.”

It had been an easy choice. It was once Baelon’s egg. The very same egg Daemon had once stolen, and safely returned back to Rhaenyra. But his wife was drawn to the egg, which they both had decided was a good sign for a future hatching.

“I wish to honor Baelor, father,” Rhaenyra said, expression sincere. “My little brother might not have made it, but perhaps this way he'll live through my son.”

Viserys mouth trembled and he smiled, visibly touched. “Such a thoughtful daughter.”

“I shall go fetch it now,” Laenor decided, exchanging a telling look with his mother. Rhaenys nodded her understanding, and approached the chair where the king was holding his son.

“Mayhaps I could have a turn holding our grandson before we return the little prince to his mother’s embrace, cousin?” The Queen That Never Was murmured, gladly swooping down to take the babe when the king agreed.

The last he saw before he left was Rhaenyra's well hidden relief and his mother's utter joy as she held her first grandchild. Stepping through the doors leading to the hallway, Laenor let out a deep sigh.

“Is everything well, my lord?” Harwin asked, voice quiet.

“All is well. He's beautiful, Commander,” Laenor breathed, grinning. “The most beautiful babe ever to be born.”

“If you don’t mind me saying so, my lord, you sound like a true father. I’m glad to hear it.” Harwin grinned, fond. “And the princess? Is she truly well?”

“Exhausted,” Laenor assured the man. “But well. I'm sure the princess wouldn’t object to a short introduction between her faithful guard and the little prince as soon as things calm down a touch.”

“Of course,” Ser Harwin nodded, relieved. “I'd be honored.”

He nodded at the good man. “As you were, Ser Harwin. I’m off to get our future king a dragon.”

The Commander stood straighter, hand going back to his sword as he resumed his position as Rhaenyra’s faithful guard. He might be called Breakbones by many, but rarely had Laenor met a man more gentle than Ser Harwin Strong.

Walking through the still-quiet hallways of the Keep, he couldn’t wipe the grin off his face. There was a spring in his step and Laenor was almost floating with happiness. A son. He had a son.

He’d left the royal wing and reached the grand staircase leading to the lower levels of the keep when a flash of white caught his eye, and the smile melted off his face as he came face to face with the last person he wanted to see.

Cole.

“Ser Criston,” Laenor greeted neutrally, schooling his face into a bland mask that belied the boiling rage he felt every time he saw the arrogant knight. “How do you do?”

It cost him something to act polite to the man who still featured heavily in his nightmares, but he did it. He had the queen’s protection, and until Rhaenyra was crowned, there was nothing they could feasibly do to punish him for the brutal murder of Ser Joffrey Lonmouth.

“Ser Laenor,” Cole muttered in greeting, sounding like he swallowed a lemon. He didn’t answer Laenor’s inquiry, but he didn’t mind that. The sooner he could leave his presence, the better. Something of his thoughts must have shown on his face, because Cole huffed.

He stepped closer, making himself big as he towered over Laenor.

“Tell me, swordswallower,” sneered the man who’d brutally murdered Joffrey, “has the princess given birth yet? Perhaps to a mysteriously brown-haired babe?"

Laenor watched him rage, faintly incredulous. He knew of Nyra’s history with her former sworn shield, but he found it difficult to see what she’d ever seen in him. Cole was a bully, a pitiable excuse of a knight and a blight on the honorable order of the White Cloaks. 

“Do keep your venom to yourself,” The Heir to the Tides ordered, one elegant brow arched with incredulity. “I know my wife’s rejection must have hurt your little black heart, but surely you can’t blame her? She is the heir to the throne, and you, well, you are clearly not even good enough to even kiss her feet.”

“You dare-”

Laenor snorted. “Of course I dare. You took advantage of your position as my wife’s sworn shield. She was a young maiden, drunk and thus not quite in her right mind. Innocent. You should have been as strong and honorable as you think you are and refused.”

Cole gaped at him, pale with shock. 

Laenor sniffed, shooting the man a disdainful glance. “Now, do excuse me, I have to fetch my son’s cradle egg from the dragonkeepers.”

An armored hand shot out to grip his arm, and Laenor stiffened. The grip was tight, but Laenor didn’t let the pain show in his face. Instead he stared at the offending hand, and waited pointedly.

Cole huffed, but released his arm.

“Your son? As if. The whole court knows the princess has borne a Strong bastard. Or is the child sired by someone else still?” He spat out, eyes flashing with hatred. “Who knows, with that woman as the mother it could be anyone really.”

Laenor stared at him, violet eyes dark with the force of his emotions. There was a madness in Criston Cole, a madness that was now aimed at his wife and child.

In his mind, a dragon roared.

“The Crown Princess is a trueborn princess of House Targaryen and the Heir to the Iron Throne.” Laenor smiled, eyes cold and hard. “She is the youngest dragonrider in history and my lady-wife. She is the mother of my son and the Realms’ Delight. Your desperate slander is treasonous, Ser Criston.”

“Rhaenyra is nothing more than a common whore, and soon the whole kingdom shall know it. I’ll make sure of it.” He snarled, cheeks flushed. “She and her little bastard will never be worthy of the throne.”

Laenor stilled, and those who knew him would realize it was the calm before the storm. He didn’t get angry often, but he was still a dragon. When he raged, he raged like any dragon. With Fire and Blood. And this stupid, cockroach of a man, this horrible excuse of a knight, just made himself a danger to his son. 

The imbecile.

Looking down at the broken body at the foot of the stairs, Laenor smiled.

Precious egg held securely under his arm, Laenor calmly walked through the door Ser Harwin helpfully held open for him. Cole’s body hadn’t yet been found, and he hoped it would remain that way for a while yet. 

“And the wetnurse?” 

Laenor halted in his tracks, wariness filling him as he heard the tone of superiority in the queen’s voice. But he continued on, calmly placing the warm egg in the ornate crib. Dragons, scales and flames were carved into the wood by the kingdom’s best woodworkers, complementing the egg wonderfully.

It was busier than when he’d left, maids and three of his wife’s ladies working quietly around the princess’ chambers. He shot them an approving look, knowing how much Rhaenyra would appreciate all signs of the bloody labor out of her rooms.

“Yes,” Viserys said, blithely ignoring the stiffening of his wife as he added, “Perhaps Daeron and little Aemon could share one?”

Rhaenyra set her shoulders. “Not necessary. I’ll be feeding my son myself.”

The maids in the back exchanged a look, surprised by the statement. Surprised, but approving. He noticed his wife’s glance at the women, and bit back a smile. That little tidbit would be all over the keep by morning.

“That is not appropriate for a princess.” The queen-consort grimaced, looking uncomfortable by the idea alone. All her children had been fed by a proviable army of royal wetnurses. “You shouldn’t be feeding him yourself, Rhaenyra. It’s unnatural, unseemly. Think of your reputation.”

“What import does my reputation have when it comes to the wellbeing of my son?” Rhaenyra said, narrowing her eyes. “If it’s unnatural, why is my body making milk?”

“Spoken like a true mother,” Viserys chuckled, and the queen flinched at the unintended slight. “Your mother felt the same. She fed you from her own breast for as long as her body allowed, certain that it was the best thing for you.”

“Thank you, father.” She responded gracefully, smiling tearfully. She was exhausted still, and that didn’t help with her control. “Mother will forever be an example I strive to follow.”

“If you allow me, Your Grace,” Laenor spoke up, seeing her tire again. The short nap she had earlier was not enough. Not by a long shot. “My wife needs rest after her ordeal.” 

“Of course, of course,” the king chuckled, and Laenor gladly took his son back from his mother. Judging by the king’s increasing lack of fingers, this might have been the last time he held his grandson. ”We shall leave you two to rest.

Rhaenys pressed a kiss to Aemon’s forehead, breathing in deeply. “Rest well, sweet prince.”

“Have you forgotten our son and gooddaughter, wife?” Corlys chuckled, pressing a finger to the babe’s soft cheek. “Sleep, little one. And you as well, princess. You deserve it.”

“Of course not,” his mother said, looking as if she wanted to roll her eyes. She met Laenor’s eyes, and he swallowed thickly at the pride he found in her eyes. “I’m so proud of you, my son. You did well.”

Yes, his mother knew about Aemon’s true heritage. She knew, and yet she was proud of him anyways.

Rhaenys walked over to Rhaenyra, and carefully pressed a kiss to her head as well and murmured, “Thank you, gooddaughter, for this most precious child. Please don’t hesitate to come to me if you have questions only another mother can answer.”

Rhaenyra blinked, purple eyes wet. “Thank you.”

With one last smile, his parents and the king and queen left. 

At last they were alone.

Rhaenyra sank down with a weary sigh, her brows furrowed. “Did you see her face when she saw Aemon? Alicent expected to find a Strong bastard and found a Velaryon.”

Laenor huffed out a laugh, and brought their son over to his mother’s waiting arms.

“What happened, Laenor?” Rhaenyra asked as she adjusted their son so he rested easily in the crook of her arm, purple eyes watchful. “Something is different about you.”

He smiled, a vicious little thing that made his wife blink, surprised. “I came across your former sworn shield when I went to get Aemon’s egg. He had some things to say.”

Rhaenyra closed her eyes. “What did he do?”

“He’s done, Nyra.” Laenor murmured. “He won’t ever slander you or our son again.”

He could still hear the surprised noise Cole made as Laenor pushed him. The crack of his head hitting the stone steps echoed through his head, making him feel lighter than he had in moons. The man who’d murdered his love was finally dead.

“He woke the dragon.” She murmured, delighted. “The fool.”

Laenor laughed. “Joffrey can finally rest easy, knowing he has been avenged.“

“Good.” His wife nodded, carefully adjusting her nightgown so her breast was bared. Laenor watched, expression soft. “I’m glad, Laenor.”

It was a beautiful sight, watching Rhaenyra feed their son.

He latched on eagerly, their little prince. Only his second feeding and he already knew what to do. And though Aemon slept through most of the feeding. After a hesitant start, he clearly knew what he wanted and sleepily took his fill. 

The babe slept easily after that, warm and content in his parents’ arms and his belly filled.

It was only when the first rays of sunlight reached the window that the both of them were ready to release Aemon to his beautifully carved crib and the egg waiting for him. Carefully laying the infant down, Laenor let out a shaky breath.

“Thank you, Nyra.” He murmured in the peaceful silence.

She tilted her head. “For what, husband?”  

“For trusting me. For listening to my concerns.” He said. “For giving me something I had never even dared to hope for.”

“Of course, cousin,” Rhaenyra said, looking serious. “As much as I care for Harwin, you kept us from making a mistake that might have haunted our children for all of their lives. I should have thought about the consequences myself.”

Laenor shook his head. “I know why you didn’t think it through, Rhaenyra. The court’s pressure for an heir was increasing by the day. You are your father’s heir, of course you were getting desperate every time I failed to do my duty. Harwin was an easy choice to make.”

“But not a good one,” his wife murmured sadly. “Not for my heirs.”

Laenor sighed. “I am sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Rhaenyra said, eyes fierce. “Harwin understands. Our time on Driftmark and Dragonstone was exactly what we needed, and I could never regret the circumstances that led to this little hatchling of ours.”

Neither could he.

Daemion had been perfect for their needs. Fertile, and utterly uninterested in court and everything that didn’t involve his precious ship. The Silver Pearl was out on another voyage now, and Laenor knew not to expect him back for at least another six moons.

Meanwhile, as Aemon slept, fed, and slept some more, Laenor and Rhaenyra talked about anything and everything, napped as much as they could and sang the songs of Old Valyria to their newborn.

He could stare at Aemon forever, Laenor discovered as the days passed. Just watch his son sleep peacefully in his crib, his little chest going up and down with every breath. It was mesmerizing, and he was completely spellbound by the tiny little boy.

Laenor and Rhaenyra didn’t often share a bed - he had his own rooms next to the princess’ - but in the days after Aemon’s birth he found himself staying often. The nursemaids Rhaenyra had in her employ helped out often, but he still wanted to take care of his son himself.

As did Rhaenyra.

And thus it was only the three of them that evening as they put their son into the crib next to Rhaenyra’s bed.

“Good night, little one,” he murmured, laying the babe down in his crib. Aemon made a soft noise, and curled himself around his egg, unbothered by the heat radiating off the thing.  

Rhaenyra leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to Aemon’s little head. “Sleep well, Trēsy.”

It was only hours later that both husband and wife were woken by the sound of the egg hatching.