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Valarr is a happy baby, not one to fuss or wail, but he is very particular about his eating. On some nights, you’d wish for the help of a nurse or two after having to rise many times a night to feed him. But he would not accept milk from wet nurses. You prefer to breastfeed yourself, and any objections from the court on the matter had been dealt with by a single, even gaze from Baelor. There would not be any discussion on the matter.
But as you wake again to your son’s whimpering cries, you rise and walk to the warmth of the dying fireplace, you admit a night or two without interruptions sounds marvelous. You allow the rocking chair to sway with your weight as you settle and watch Valarr suckle, his mismatched eyes, exactly like his father’s, beginning to slip closed. Staring unseeing into the fire, you do not hear Baelor rise and make his way to you. When his hand slides on your shoulder, you jump slightly, Valarr whimpering a complaint. You brush your hand on his hair, so alike to his father’s, too, to settle him.
As you meet his gaze, Baelor can see the exhaustion in your eyes, but the smile you give him is still filled with love nonetheless.
“You did not have to rise.” Your voice dropped to a whisper, and you allowed yourself to appreciate the shirtless form of your husband. Muscles shaped from sword fighting and riding, a light brushing of dark hair on his chest, and trailing down his stomach.
“I did not want you to be alone.” You jolt out of your sensuous thoughts, blinking up at him.
“I am not alone.” You gesture to Valarr, who is finished eating, now teetering on the edge of sleep and awakeness.
Baelor huffs a gentle laugh as he bends to pick his son up, settling him into his crib, tucking him securely under his blanket. You yawn widely as you correct your shift, making your way to bed. You all but collapse onto the plush mattress, hoping sleep will claim you soon so you can get as much sleep as possible before Valarr will inevitably wake again.
As you bury yourself amidst the blankets and furs, Baelor makes his way back to bed too, pulling him to
“Sleep late on the morrow. I will take care of Valarr.” He whispers against your temple, and you hum, already half asleep.
*****
Baelor watches Valarr stack the blocks with meticulous focus, as the lords drone on about taxation and profits. Maekar is tapping his fingers on the table, staring up at the ceiling, and Dyanna cannot take her eyes off Valarr. The young prince handles the blocks with surprising dexterity for his age, and that bodes well for his arms training, as said by the Master of Arms, to your rising horror. He is merely a babe, surely, there will not be any arms training for ages?
The meeting has been going on for what feels like ages now, but the pile of present issues doesn’t seem to have shrieked at all.
“The Riverlands write of excellent wheat production, and -“ Valarr’s tiny hands slam onto the table, sending the blocks scattered around the table, a few falling to the floor. Baelor doesn’t even blink, just shifts his son to his other knee before he picks up the blocks, setting them down in his son’s reach again.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
You wouldn’t believe how much noise a small child can cause with a wooden block meeting a wooden table. The advisor’s voice is drowned out as Valarr slams the block into the table repeatedly, delighted in the ruckus he causes.
“He clearly is the son of the Hammer,” Maekar grumbles, glancing at his brother, who rolls his eyes. Baelor grasps Valarr’s wrist gently and guides his hand to stack the block on top of another.
The young prince forgets the fun of making noise as he busies himself with another tower, and Baelor gestures for the advisor to continue.
”My Prince, could your wife fetch him?” One of the Lords suggests, but Baelor’s eyes don’t rise, they remain on his son as he stacks another tower, his father handing him blocks one by one.
“My wife is resting”.
“We have many important matters to discuss, and the delays are not serving us well…” He trails off as Baelor’s head rises slowly to meet the Lord’s eyes. He doesn’t speak, one of his eyebrows rising just a fraction. Valarr, oblivious to the tension, throws one of the blocks across the table, the clatter like a thunderclap in the now silent hall.
The silence stretches for a good while before Baelor breaks it.
“You were speaking of Riverlands?” He asks the advisor, who blunders for a moment, frantically tracing his notes.
“Yes, my prince.” The conversation commences, but the Lord from before remains very quiet in conversation.
***
On the other side of the castle, the growing pressure of your breasts has woken you from your slumber. The sleep has done wonders, you are rejuvenated and well rested. But now, you must hurry to your son, as you are sure he is hungry, if the uncomfortable feeling in your chest can give you any indication.
You step into the hall, the guards at the doors bowing and announcing your presence as you sweep into the room, the conversation dying as you enter. A warm smile tugs the corner of Baelor’s mouth as he watches you step in, head held high, your gorgeous gown of red and black sweeping the floor with your movements. You seem better rested now. The tenseness of your shoulders eased as you leaned to press a kiss to his cheek.
“Pardon for the interruption, I simply came to fetch Valarr. We will be on our way.” With that, you duck out of the room, Valarr happily giggling in your arms, tiny hands wound to the neckline of your dress.
When the meeting finally finishes, he finds you and Valarr in the garden, your son sitting on a blanket, his tiny hands grasping the stems of flowers in wonder. You are embroidering the dragon of House Targaryen into a bodice of a dress you have been sewing as you watch your son gaze around the bright colours of the gardens in amazement.
Baelor doesn’t speak for a moment, just watches the two of you silently from the doorway. He hears the twittering of birds in the trees, and when he steps forward, he spooks one of them, it taking flight in a flurry of feathers. Valarr follows it with his gaze, leaning back, but it proves too much for his balance as he tumbles over onto his back. He is silent, blinking in amazement at his new position and the view opening in front of him. You set your work down with a warm laugh and help him sit back up.
“Up we get, my little prince.” You dust off your dress, sighing deeply.
Baelor steps into your line of sight, grasping your hand. He twirls you around into his arms, pressing a kiss, filled with affection, to your lips.
“Evening, my love.” His voice rumbles through his chest, the timbre gentle and warm, and you cannot help the smile that rises to your face.
“Evening, my sweet prince. How was the meeting?” He doesn’t answer, not with words, just sighs heavily.
“I am sorry that you had to have Valarr there. I could have looked after him…” You trail off as he shakes his head.
“You required rest, and Valarr could sit with me without causing much issue. Valarr is my son, second in line to the Throne, the Lords will have to grow to accept his presence.” He assures you, fingers trailing absentminded patterns on your skin, not even noticing he was doing it. You are silent as you watch Valarr entertain himself with his hands, content in the warm summer’s breeze.
As Baelor’s hands rub absentminded patterns on the skin of your hips, you feel heat rising to your cheeks, even if you try and will to cool and your thoughts to stop running.
“What is on your mind, my love?” His tone tilts in curiosity as he pulls back to see the full expression on your face. The heat on your cheeks rises.
“I am simply just… thinking.” You try to dodge, but he knows you too well for such diversions to work.
“Thinking of what?” You let the breath escape your lungs, silently as you bide for time.
“Have you thought of having another?” You respond with a question of your own, instead, and confusion flashes in him, but only for a moment.
Because when he sees your eyes trailing to your son and the rising heat on your cheeks, he understands.
“Another child?” His chest presses against your back, and you nod, unable to meet his gaze.
“My love, I am dying for another”, he breathes into your ear, “I simply didn’t want to push you too soon after Valarr.” Shivers run along your spine as your whole body shudders as his large, warm hands trail along your figure.
“I-I am sure that Dyanna wouldn’t mind watching Valarr for a few hours…” Baelor’s laugh rumbles in his body.
“I do not think a few hours will be enough.”
Let’s just say Matarys is born nearly nine months later.