Chapter Text
His son was not Baelor's first loss. He remembered vividly the pain and anguish he had felt when the news of his wife, dear Jena's, passing found him, shattering a coat of himself he did not know could be torn.
But this? This was different. This one felt like death, as if his body was being torn limb by limb, each step and breath and beat of heart while his son's did not was another deep cut.
He stumbled, trembled... his mind drifting everywhere all at once and only his poor son remained clear.
How had it all came to this? How had his sweet little boy became the man to die instead of anyone, anyone?
. . . . . . . . . . . .
Baelor remembered the day his boy was born... He was ten and eight back then, such a young age that seemed now when he thought of it from his son.
He remembered how he had spent the nine months that lead to that day with thrilling excitement and overfilling love. How he had barely hold himself from jumping with whatever had filled his chest when the labour first began.
He remembered how his worries were overshadowed by his excitement in the first half.
Yet for the rest he remembered how scared he was. How his mind was almost only on the girl that screams shook one wing of the entire castle and not as much as so on the babe. He, of course, had not said this to anyone. He had not even told so to himself but as soon as the labour hit the "Dangerous" mark at almost one full day, he had started to pray for the safety of his wife while the castle did so for the babe. A possible heir meant more than a wife to them.
"You need to calm down." Maekar spoke up from his seat at the table, hands clutched over his forehead and violet eyes dragging behind his oldest brother as he paced up and down, hand in on another and rubbing them to each other. "You walking around like a mad man does not help your child come out faster."
Maekar was never the best one to calm someone, anyone, down in any case and he certainly was not the best when it came to -perhaps for the first time- Baelor. So his words did not help much other than making Baelor give a tiny huff of a laugh. Mostly a mask.
"You are right, brother." He only nod then, eyes still drifting to the wooden doors of his chambers as if he would not have heard someone rushing down the halls in any sour case. "Too bad I cannot help it, just like how you will not be able to when you are to be a father."
And young Maekar had reddened quickly. Really easy to see with his pale skin and all so white features. It seemed like he was in need of saying something before Baelor added.
"One day. I did not mention soon or far." He said with one finger up, chuckling; teasing and leaving Maekar who would have said something, some curse or mimic if it were not for the situation, to only mutter them.
Then he himself sighed to himself and went on to sit next to Maekar, patting his shoulder then to turn into his own silence.
His mind was a restless council, thousands of voices speaking and chattering. Praying.
And pray after pray he had to drag a line over one to tell another one.
Let my lady live,
Let them live.
Let no harm to come to her,
Let no harm come to them.
He wanted them both, both the babe and his Queen but had to put an effort to make his loudest wishes to point them both.
Baelor had married his own wife, Lady Jena of house Dondarrion only two years prior. Likely to Maekar's, his too was a match made for politics. Thank the gods he was lucky enough to fell for the women, to her fiery red hair and soft spoken mannerism. The girl had made Baelor love her so much in a way that he had never imagined possible between such matches. So much, so much that Baelor often found himself dreaming of a babe with her colouring. Boy or girl, he did not care; he would imagine the most beautiful babe in his dreams with her hair and her eyes and her skin and her lovely warm demeanour. He often -both out loud to him and to the gods when he prayed- wished for his brother’s marriage to be as lucky and loving as his.
So in an honesty even he could not bear to utter nor thought: Baelor was afraid. He had the blade of fear with its point end directly on his chest; not biting nor bleeding but there and very much real. He could hear his Wife's screams and rushing of nurses and maids with bowls of water and towel. Again and again for so long now.
Seven help me have them both safely. (Let her be safe.)
In one corner, a voce within was bargaining with The stranger,
I could rule until the end of my time,
Another voice tried to cut in between but it only kept going.
The line would pass to my brothers then. Aerys would be a good king, just as any of his brothers would and any that was brought by them could. Surely the dynasty would not fall if he had no child to success after him.
with crippling guilt he knew that he would really not mind such a life. As long as my wife..-
Then one voice grew to be the loudes: NO!
No. NO, I want them both. I need them both.
"I love the babe," he muttered. Feeling as if he was responsible even for his intrusive thoughts. As if this matter was of love only.
He had held his lady wife's stomach and beamed with joy upon feeling their babies movement inside. He had ordered toys and cribs to be made specifically for the babe. He was excited for it to arrive, to hold it and protect and love it so whether it was a boy or a girl; it could do so for the realm.
He loved the babe in his mind more than all the realms!
.
.
.
But Jena... Jena was life itself after all...
Baelor felt the urge to curse then, which was certainly Maekar's attire normally. He haf not even realised that he was jerking his leg through all thought.
Guilt was turning inside his stomach and knotting in itself. His own thoughts banging on his head.
It went on rather similarly, for until next second which he had found himself pacing in a haze with the midwifes, the halls seeming to stretch while he tried not to rush...
At least he had left most of his worries next to Maekar by then, upon hearing that both the babe and Jena was doing more than fine. Both were just exhausted.
Still, Baelor had held his breath until the wooden door opened. And when they did, before his eyes was his beloved, the rising sun was looking just inside through the curtains and outlining her. She was under white covers, half laying and her hair wild all around her head; skin still glossy with tear and sweat. The covers had been changed yet Baelor could still feel the stinging scent of blood under all that white.
Outside the bells had started to rung above from the high towers for all the realm to hear a new dragon was born. Echoing throughout the streets, over the waters of Blackwater Bay and up to the sky for clouds, the sun and the gods to hear. All knew that more would follow the capital, the ringings would infect the close by settlements until it reaches to the wall. The royal heralds would shout under the bells and announce the babe Baelor had not even asked the gender of when he fleed.
"Jena..." he left every title and burden behind that doorstep and walked up to her as only a husband. No king and no prince he was then. "Jena..." he whispered again, feeling his skin tingle when the girl turned to face him with watery eyes and a smile.
He climbed on the bed with one knee first; reaching to her and finally letting his lips find her temple. Lady Jena sighed a breath of relief and smiled in her husbands touch.
Thank the mother, Baelor's thoughts rushed.
Thank the seven, Thank the old gods. Thank to whoever helped her. That helped them.
"Thank the seven," but he said out loud only, kissing her hair again and taking in her scent as he let himself sit properly now on the mattress. His eyes closed and cheek resting on her head for the moment.
A second or so passed in silence, letting Baelor taste relief and her the feeling of life after being so close to death.
But in Lady Jena there already was a emptiness, an ache that constantly remembered and thought at the babe that was just inside her and then on her breast. Now in a crib, being wiped clean.
Which her husband had never held or felt minus the nights they shared with their hands on her growing belly. Thinking that alone made the lady uneasy, needing the her love to see and feel and hold what her body had grown for its love for him, what she had kept under her skin to protect as it grow to be there as it did now. Present and real. She needed Baelor to know.
"You should see him, Baelor..." she spoke with a fading voice, still tired obviously. When he opened his eyes again and looked down, he saw her looking towards the left end of the room, if she had it in her she would be standing over the crib and not letting her boy leave her sight. But she knew better and to rest, and believed that it was her husbands moment now after nine months. ” See what we made..."
He was about to chuckle, maybe blurt out a compliment that hinting her and ready to close his eyes again. Only to then stop:
"Him?" he only asked. A whisper. Just then his ears picked up on the echoing sounds of ringing bells again. Of course it was a boy, and an heir. That was why they were still ongoing.
Jena nod, "A son," then gave a laugh along with her breath when Baelor's hold on her loosened.
Her head fell on his shoulder again. "The prettiest boy, Baelor. The pretties babe I have ever seen. A treasure." she then pointed to the left end of the room with a movement of her head.
The nurses that had helped Jena all along were bent over the crib, beaming and smiling as one held a bowl of water while two had many sets of clean clothes. And Baelor suddenly faced it.
At that end, just after the nurses and perhaps a few coats of blankets layed his son. It felt heavier than it had ever did for the last half of his year. His heart squeezed in his chest. Bells seeming to get louder despite he knew they did the otherwise.
"He is a silent boy then." he forced himself to say, half amused. Referring to the babe as him and boy tingled his insides.
He had not even heared the babe cry... Baelor's voice was barely above a whisper as he muttered to himself. A Son, a son, a son.
and Jena chuckled as she nod.
"He came a long way, he is tired. That is it. He did made his dissatisfaction apparent when he first came."
Baelor's mismatched eyes had pinned to that corner now, his arm tightening around Jena and hand holding her arm with a gentle squeeze. Watching as the nurses beamed and smiled over his boy. "The prettiest boy you say..."
"Go to him, Baelor. You have been waiting for him." She rested her hands on his body and raided herself to urge him off.
That was said easier than done, he remembered his chest tightening and eyes suddenly flashing as if he was going blind. The ring if bells louder in his ears.
He had done many things that people called great, was to do more one day but at that mere second, he just could not believe he was strong enough.
It had been nine months, seven since they had known for sure...
There was also that stinging in his eyes now, the feeling of water filling under his eyelids. Biting the insides of his throat, making him weak. Guilt growing again, reminding him that he was just trading the babes life with the women under his arms.
how could I even wish that and see him?
Standing up now and walking there meant becoming something larger than all he had known, scarrier than all...
Yet he had somehow stood up, not waiting for nurses to hand the babe.
At that moment, he had felt taller than he ever was or would ever be; the nurses had stopped silently chattering and looked his was before bowing and stepping aside, holding the bloody clothes still. Then with seven steps he had become a father.
and dear gods...
His breath left his lungs all at once
The babe looked unreal, too- too beautiful... only one breath and one blink and one beat of heart.
Baelor remembered his soul leaving his body as well as it being breathed back in. His breath both clogging his throat and sliding freely now. A new blossom in his heart.
His round cheeks, closed eyes and sound presence blinded him. He must have been painted on the blankets for sure, such being must have been unreal. He... gods, he was just there, all curled up before him and breathing. Baelor's eyes picked up on the short rose and dip of the babe's chest, the flutter of his lashes and lurking of his tounge.
Alive.
He had wondered then, how could that be real?
He must not be, to check then he had reached with trembling hands. how could one be so tiny?
He felt himself grow a bit jealous as he reached; of the midwives that had held him before Baelor... Jealous at the fact that he was not in the room before.
"He is not cleared entirely, my prince-" one of the nurses spoke up but Baelor paid no mind; he slid his hand under the slightly stained white blanked that the babe layed on top of, placed one hand under the baby's neck and one under his back and that was enough to hold all of him. That little he was.
He remembered how Valarr had opened his arms wide, eyes scrunching with dissatisfaction before he yawned and cooed and settled as his father hold him close to his chest. Not entirely resting, only at its height as he bent down on him, mismatched eyes falling on every piece and detail of the little boy.
He remembered how he felt like this was what life was for, for the first time. He had held many babes, taken care of as so yet none were like his little boy.
And you were about to trade his life.
He remembered every detail of him... Valarr had what could be called just a gossamer of hair, a peach fuzz maybe. Though not dark for now, it was definitely not silver, blond nor fiery like his wives. His skin was pink, cheeks red only except the thin layer of blood that still needed to be wiped. His eyes were shut as if he was too exhausted to gaze into this world nor his father even once, occasionally wrinkling them and always, always cooing in Baelor's hands. As if trying to make his father to be a liar for calling him a silent boy.
Gods how he wanted to cry...
Had he really thought-just now..
Had he really prayed...?
He felt a tear run off of his eye.
His boy was not fat but not too light either. Just perfect, Baelor remembered thinking. The boy’s cheeks were round and skin oh so soft, belly obviously full yet mouth always opening and tongue flapping out for more.
Had he really?
Dear seven...
He really wanted to cry.
He hushed then, to himself and to the cooing boy. It felt as if even light wanted to kiss his little boy with soft morning yellow, falling that far end of the room just to reach his perfect Valarr and painting his cheeks and hair and small nose.
Dear mother...
Oh how in love he felt, how beautiful. Only then Baelor really felt and knew what a bliss really was.
"My boy," he whispered, words letting themselves just fall of his tongue. Raising him in his hands to his face as he too leaned further in, a small voice feared he might just turn into dust and slip away. "No harm shall ever come to you."
Then he let his lips find the boys forehead, then to under his chin and up his shoulder which could hardly be called a neck; His son had crooked his body and moved his head in protest when he did and had cried. His wail piercing the serenity of the room in the best way possible. Then and there Baelor decided to clean shave his beard every morning, scolding himself over not doing so before.
He heard Jena laugh at them, also saw the maids smile among themselves in the short second when he looked up in a brief panic before resting the boy back to his chest, he too felt the bubble of joy burst in his chest and let out into the room.
Valarr's cheek was fully on his chest now. Spreading love where guilt was taking place.
Just his forearm was enough to hold him. That’s how small his boy was. With his other hand he reached and let his hand brush little Valarr's silky hair back, shooting the whining boy. "I am sorry, I apologise, I am so sorry." he was smiling as he did.
Gods... He could not stop. Oh so dear gods...
His thumb brushed the boys brow then to settle him.
He himself wanted to cry so bad, to go on and built a septon for the mercy of the Mother alone or to just sink into a chair until that babe grow out of his arms. just before his eyes so he can see every second.
"It is alright, it is all alright." he kept whispering.
No no no, he then corrected the previous thought.
He did not wanted that, to boy to grow... just for now. He wanted the boy to stay just as little and so out of worry all his life. Always fit on his chest.
"It is alright..." he said just once again before his boy had really settled, perhaps not for his words but because he had managed to reach and grab Baelor's finger, squeezing it tightly before the babe breathed in two big breaths into his small lungs and blinked his eyes open.
It was hardly noticeable then, but at that second Baelor had realised -under the sheer light and thin layer of tears- of the boy’s eye colours.
One brown and one blue. Two mismatched orbs looking up at him from his chest.
Eyes just like his.
The boy, his boy was nothing like his pretty wife but was all of Baelor and that surprised him. His boy was beautiful, how could he be so beautiful with features he new too well.
Eyes, hair and skin... nose and face too if oldest midwife was honest as she said that- was all of Baelor's. A smaller version of him. The same one Baelor was shamed and ridiculet at one point.
He recalled from his childhood, moments when the words would get into his head and he would watch himself on the mirrors. Trying to see his father in his face behind his mother's colors. Trying to find a Targaryen as all said.
Or a relative that looked like him through the crowds that shared his eyes at last...
Now it seemed that he will finally have a face that looked like his, colors just as, in those said crowds meanwhile being that one for his son as well.
Baelor cherished the latter more than the first, the unknown future seemed brighter all then the before with Valarr in his hands. He would live long and healthy just to always be there.
He had often felt bad for the younger version of himself, a soft pang that came from minor reminders here and there. A papercut in his life at most. But Valarr felt as if he healed it as well with the mere hour he was in life.
A chance to love the boy Baelor was now...
Had I really prayed for...?
As even now it felt impossible to even stand on his two feet without seeing the babe. Trying too hard to not squeeze him into his chest and not to blink in fear of him fading away
Baelor still remembered.
He still remembered all so clearly.
Many nights...
Baelor remembered how he would slide into his son's room silently at night when sleep would not visit him, looking over Valarr with moonlight shining on the boy.
Sometimes Valarr would wake and smile at him, making his father's heart break; sometimes he would just rest as his father watched.
Baelor remembered how he had cried silent tears many, many times over the boys crib in the first days. How he had prayed for the thoughts he could not even control and thank profoundly for his perfect boy.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
Now he was walking again in a mid-pace, likely to how he was on his way to the room where Valarr had been born. Again he was afraid and again he was praying.
He had met his boy that day, had looked over a crib and saw a baby that can fit on his forearm and two hands. Now they had-
Dear gods, Dear mother...
Now he was to see him dead?