Daenys Velaryon is the oldest child of Rhaenyra and Laenor Velaryon, but she shares the same true lineage as her brothers Jacaerys, Lucerys, and Joffrey. As the oldest child of the heir to the throne, she has duties to fulfill, duties that she is ex...
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Year: 110 AC
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The springtime weather had finally arrived, bringing with it a sense of renewal and hope to the residents of King's Landing. The air was crisp and fresh, with a light breeze that carried the scent of blooming flowers and budding trees. As the days grew warmer, the castle's gardens came to life with vibrant colours and fragrant blossoms, and the sounds of chirping birds filled the air. The sun shone brightly in the sky, warming the stones of the castle's walls.
For the crown princess of Westeros, Rhaenyra Targaryen, who was heavily pregnant and due to give birth sometime in the spring, the change in weather brought both joy and trepidation. She felt the stirrings of new life within her, but also the weight of fear that came with giving birth. As the weeks went by, the princess grew increasingly restless and uncomfortable. The warm weather made her swollen feet ache, and the constant movement of the babe within her left her feeling drained and exhausted.
Her stepmother, and dearest childhood friend, Queen Alicent Hightower, had also given birth to her second son earlier that year and Rhaenyra couldn't help but feel a twinge of envy as she thought about the queen's relatively unproblematic delivery. The maesters repeatedly told her that every birth was different, but she couldn't help but feel anxious about her own impending labour. Her mind was plagued by the sorrowful tales of her ancestors and each of the women who had lost their lives in the pursuit of serving their realm. If difficult pregnancies were genetic, Rhaenyra was sure she would have the worst of it. Her mother, Aemma Arryn, and even her grandmother Alyssa Targaryen. They had all died from the complications of childbirth.
Her mother's haunting words came back to her often these days.
You will lie in this birthing bed soon enough.
That was the last time she had ever spoken to her, and then she had died, stolen from her by the brother she never even got to hold. She also remembered her own words, her adamant resolution that she would rather die as a knight in battle. Oh, how the tables had turned and the restless babe in her womb made her take back every single one of her claims.
Rhaenyra Targaryen went into labour a fortnight too earlier, like her grandmother Daella Targaryen, much to the horror of the maesters. The midwives rushed around the room, trying their best to help the princess through her pains, but the stifling atmosphere in the birthing chamber only made her more ill-tempered. She forbade the maesters and all men from entering, and only allowed her sister-in-law, the Lady Laena Velaryon, to remain at her side. Lady Laena held her hand and tried to comfort her as best she could, but even she could not soothe the wailing heir to the Iron Throne. She had been in labour for almost two whole days, and the babe still showed no signs of coming.
