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Rhaenyra stepped closer and, without a word, gently took the baby from Baela’s arms. She pressed the infant to her chest, inhaling that sweet, warm scent, and rocked her for a moment, pressing a kiss to the soft crown of her head covered in fine brown down.
“She’s beautiful,” Rhaenyra murmured, the affectionate slip coming naturally. She smiled tenderly and handed the baby back to Baela.
“Of course she is. She’s my daughter.”
Baela let out a husky laugh as she received her child. The baby immediately began making eager little noises, mouth open and searching.
“Someone’s hungry,” Baela said, amused. “Of course you are, you little glutton.”
She glanced around for her favourite rocking chair—the one made of dark carved wood that Jace had commissioned for their first child. They were now on their third. A sound investment, she thought.
Before she could sit, Rhaenyra cleared her throat softly. Her voice was thick with concern she could no longer hide.
“Darling, are you quite sure you don’t want a wet nurse? For you. There are excellent ones in the realm—healthy, loyal to the family.” The Queen had clearly rehearsed this conversation with her adoptive daughter, but her nerves still showed in the way she twisted the gold rings on her fingers. “With your third baby… it can tire you, make your nipples sore..,,,, You’ve already been through this twice.... As a mother of several myself, I know how uncomfortable it can be. You deserve some rest, Baela. You don’t have to do everything alone.”
Baela dropped into the rocking chair with a theatrical sigh and settled the baby against her. With the easy familiarity of a woman who had long since abandoned any shame in front of her mother-in-law and queen, she tugged down one side of her fine linen shift. A heavy, milk-swollen breast spilled free. The skin was tight, blue veins visible beneath the surface, the nipple dark and sensitive. The baby latched on greedily, and Baela let out a small groan of mingled relief and discomfort.
“What am I supposed to do with these tits, Your Grace?” Baela asked with a crooked smile, looking her straight in the eye. “They’re enormous. Heavy as sacks of grain. If I took them off, would you… store them in the royal treasury? They could serve as siege weapons. Someone ought to make use of them.”
Rhaenyra blinked, long accustomed to her daughter’s humour yet still faintly taken aback. She gave a soft laugh and sat on the edge of the bed facing her.
“Baela—”
“Well-endowed, you mean,” Baela corrected, rocking the chair gently with her foot while the baby suckled contentedly. “They look like two ripe Dornish melons. They ache when they’re full. They ache when they’re empty. They ache when the wind blows too hard. Basically all the time.”
Rhaenyra shook her head, but her eyes shone with affection. She leant forward, elbows on her knees. Seeing the girl she had once cradled in her skirts now become a mother for the third time—to her eldest son’s children—always filled her with a deep tenderness for Baela.
“That is precisely why I’m offering help. Don’t see it as weakness, daughter. I used wet nurses with my own children. You could choose her yourself… It wouldn’t break the bond with Daenera; it would simply give you rest. You’ve already suffered enough with the first two.”
Baela raised an eyebrow, . The baby let out a satisfied gurgle, and she stroked her plump cheek with one finger.
“ Your Grace, with three little ones running about, the only rest I’ll get is when I’m dead. And even then, I suspect my ghosts will still be watching over them.”
“Baela…” Rhaenyra’s voice softened, almost pleading. “Let me take care of you. You are my daughter. I watched you grow, ... I cannot bear to see you exhausted. The shadows under your eyes are darker than mine were after my council meetings, and I can tell this little one is far more demanding than the others.”
Baela held her mother-in-law’s gaze for a long moment. The baby had fallen asleep still latched to her breast, a tiny drop of milk escaping the corner of her mouth.
“Fine,” she conceded at last, her smile smaller and more sincere. “But on conditions. I still want to feed her at night. Just… help me during the day. These two —” she gestured at her breasts “—need breaks sometimes.”
Rhaenyra rose and approached. She bent down and kissed Baela’s forehead, then the baby’s.
“Done. Tomorrow I’ll have three candidates for you. The very best. And if none of them suit, we’ll keep looking.”
Baela snorted, settling more comfortably in the rocking chair.
“You know I’m going to reject the first two just to torment you, don’t you? I’m not handing my firstborn daughter over to just anyone.”
“I am prepared for your torture,” Rhaenyra replied with mock solemnity. “I can endure it.”
The silence that followed was comfortable. Baela carefully covered her breast again, wincing as the fabric brushed her sensitive nipple.
“It really does hurt,” she admitted quietly. “Not just physically. Sometimes I feel like my body isn’t mine anymore. It belongs to them. …But then I look at this little one and think it’s worth it. Even if I have udders like a milk cow for the next few years.”
Rhaenyra sat on a low stool beside the rocking chair and took Baela’s hand.
“You and I have royal wombs. This is what motherhood is for us—service to the realm, often wrapped in discomfort. But you don’t have to carry it all alone.”
Baela squeezed her mother-in-law’s fingers.
“Thank you, Mother,” she said softly. “Even if I still think my tits could be used as siege engines.”
Rhaenyra let out a genuine laugh.
“The historians would write about the Queen and her daughter-in-law. The bards would sing ballads about you.”
The two women laughed together, a warm, genuine sound that filled the chamber like sunlight. Even the baby,, seemed to relax further, letting out a tiny, sated sigh.
Within those rooms lit by the soft glow of candles, there were only two women bound by ties stronger than blood: a worried mother and a deeply beloved daughter.
Baela continued to gaze at her daughter’s round, peaceful face. She rose carefully, holding the baby against her shoulder and patting her back gently until she burped. She walked to the dark carved wooden cradle and laid her down with great tenderness.
“Your Grace,” Baela asked quietly, almost pensively, as she tucked a light blanket around Daenera, “did you ever have a baby as large as this one? I swear I’ve never seen a babe so big.”
Despite having already given birth to and nursed two children, Baela still felt her body struggled to adjust. Her hips were not as wide as she had imagined they would become after two labours, and though her curves had grown more pronounced, they had not been quite enough for a baby of this size. Looking at her now in the cradle, it was obvious.
“Perhaps I’m overdoing it with the milk,” Baela muttered with a self-deprecating half-smile, touching her still-swollen breast through her shift. “If I keep this up, the next one will be born with teeth.”
Rhaenyra’s violet eyes softened with a mixture of amusement and affection. She approached the cradle and leant over to study the baby more closely. She reached out and gently stroked the plump, velvety cheek of her first granddaughter.
“Well… Jace was always a big baby,” she recalled with a tender smile. “From the moment he was born, he seemed to take up more space than he should. And look at him now—tall and strong as an oak. That trait may work against you sometimes, my dear. But perhaps she’s simply very hungry. She does eat a lot, doesn’t she?”
“More than normal, yes,” Baela confirmed with a tired but loving chuckle.
“Then she’s a big baby,” Rhaenyra nodded, unable to hide the emotion in her voice. “She’s so lovely… plump, soft, perfect. She reminds me of when I held my own children.”