Chapter Text
The room still seemed suspended between two times.
The before, marked by pain, by exhaustion, by the metallic smell that Maekar could not ignore, and the after, too silent, as if the world was holding its breath in respect of what had just been born.
The baby slept after getting full of the milk from his breast.
Small, hot, too real to be just another duty imposed by the crown.
Maekar kept his arms firm around his son, but the body still trembled slightly, betraying the recent effort. Each muscle carried the memory of childbirth; each breath came with a deep, old tiredness, which was not limited to that night.
Baelor was there. It always was. But Maekar only became fully aware of this when he felt the weight of his gaze, attentive, silent, almost devout.
"He didn't cry much," Baelor commented, his voice low so as not to break the moment.
Maekar answered without looking up
"Valarr cried more."
"Valarr has always been noisy."
A corner of Maekar's mouth rose, but the smile was not completed. He adjusted the fabric around the baby, fingers too experienced for someone who insisted on saying that it was not made for motherhood.
Baelor got closer. It didn't ring right away. Observed.
The newborn's face still looked undefined, but there were traces there that Baelor recognized. Not like a king. As a husband.
"The nose," he murmured. "And the shape of the eyes is yours."
Maekar felt something contract in his chest.
"So I hope the rest comes from you."
Baelor frowned.
"Why?"
Maekar hesitated. The silence extended, heavy, uncomfortable. He knew that Baelor would not let the question die there.
"Because I know what I am," he finally said. "And I know what it cost."
He looked up then, staring at Baelor with an almost cruel frankness.
"I'm rigid. Demanding. Cold when I shouldn't. None of this makes a child happier."
Baelor straightened up slowly.
"You're wrong."
Maekar let out a short laugh, without humor.
"You always say that."
"Because you insist on diminishing yourself." Baelor rested his hand on the edge of the bed, leaning until they were on the same level. "And I won't allow that. Not here."
Maekar tightened his arms around the baby, instinctively defensive.
"I'm not speaking out of vanity or false humility. I'm talking because I lived this. Because I know what it's like to grow up trying to be impeccable and never be enough."
The voice failed at the end of the sentence.
Baelor took a deep breath.
"And do you think that's all you are?"
Maekar didn't answer.
"You are discipline, yes," Baelor continued. "But it's also constancy. Protection. You never abandoned what you love. It was never careless. He was never weak."
His voice hardened, not in anger, but in conviction.
"You don't have the right to talk about yourself as if it were a mistake. Not after giving me children. Not after giving yourself whole to this family."
Maekar swallowed hard.
"I love you," Baelor said, without ceremony, as if it were a truth too old to be hidden. "Exactly as you are. And I like that Daeron looks like you. I want more children like this, and I will get you pregnant as much as I can, so that every time I look around me, I see fruits of my love for you."
Maekar closed his eyes for a moment. The weight of those words was almost unbearable.
"That doesn't seem fair to them," he murmured.
"It's fair because I'll be here," Baelor replied immediately. "Because we will be. And because no child raised with constant love is born condemned."
The silence came back, but different. Less sharp.
Maekar looked at his son again. He carefully ran his thumb over his tiny cheek.
"His name will be Daeron," he said, finally. "I thought about it during childbirth."
Baelor nodded.
"A worthy name."
Baelor stretched out his hand and touched Maekar's fingers, wrapping them carefully, rubbing them with affection.
The baby moved slightly, but didn't wake up.
Looking at something so sweet that he had generated, he thought that maybe at that moment, it could be enough.