Chapter 213: Baelon Targaryen

The months between Aerion’s betrothal and Rhaena’s confinement passed with considerably less excitement than I had learned to expect from our family.

I was grateful for that.

Lys settled into an uneasy peace beneath Drazenko Rogare’s victory. The rival magister faction survived in name, but most of its wealth and political influence had been stripped away through settlements negotiated after weeks of fighting.

House Rogare emerged stronger than it had been before Lysaro’s death, while Fredo increasingly handled matters that would one day belong to him completely. Lysandro remained alive despite every pessimistic report sent across the Narrow Sea, though his health continued declining slowly enough that no one could confidently predict whether he would live long enough to see his daughter married.

Aerion and Larra continued preparing for their wedding, and Rhaegar continued receiving enough marriage proposals to supply every raven in King’s Landing with permanent employment. None of that required me to raise an army.

For several months, my greatest concern became Rhaena’s pregnancy.

Luke had become worse than Jace. I had not thought that possible.

Jace had spent Sara’s first pregnancy treating every discomfort as a potential disaster until Sara eventually threatened to remove him from her chambers. Luke had apparently taken that behaviour as a challenge. By Rhaena’s seventh month, he had developed strong opinions regarding staircases, riding horses, sea voyages, cold baths, warm baths, and nearly every food placed before his wife.

Rhaena tolerated him longer than I expected. The breaking point came over dragonriding.

Luke had been trying to convince her for weeks that she should avoid going near the dragons until after the child was born, despite Rhaena not possessing a dragon of her own and therefore having little intention of flying anywhere. Apparently even visiting Arrax had become unacceptable.

I arrived at Dragonstone one afternoon to find them arguing inside their solar.

Rhaena sat near the open window with one hand resting upon the curve of her stomach, while Luke stood opposite her trying to explain himself with the careful patience of a man who had already discovered that every possible phrasing was dangerous.

"I am not saying you cannot decide what is safe for yourself," he told her. "I am saying Arrax is still a dragon, and dragons sometimes move unexpectedly. If he became frightened or irritated while you were nearby, you would not be able to move as quickly as usual."

Rhaena looked at him for several moments before replying. "Lucerys, I have been around dragons since before I could properly walk. I know that Arrax is not a horse, and I have no intention of crawling beneath his wings while he eats. I am going to stand beside a wall and watch you work with him. If that is now considered reckless, perhaps I should remain in bed until the child is born."

Luke heard the danger too late. "That is not what I meant."

"It is remarkably close to what you have been suggesting for the past month."

I considered leaving. Rhaena noticed me first. "Your father is here. Perhaps he can explain whether pregnant women are still permitted to cross courtyards."

Luke turned towards me with immediate suspicion. "You are not helping."

"I have said nothing."

"You were about to."

"That accusation depends entirely upon imagination."

Rhaena smiled despite herself. Luke folded his arms. "Mother sent you to speak with me, did she not?"

"No. Your mother told me that if I happened to visit Dragonstone, I should remind you that she carried seven children while surrounded by dragons and somehow survived the experience."

"That sounds exactly like something she would say."

"It was considerably longer when she said it."

Rhaena leaned back into her chair. "I like his version better."

Luke eventually surrendered, although he insisted upon accompanying Rhaena whenever she went near Arrax. She accepted the compromise largely because arguing about it required more effort than allowing him to hover nearby.

I found the whole matter amusing until I remembered how I had behaved during Rhaenyra’s pregnancies. The difference was mostly that no one had preserved my worst moments for comparison.

The child was expected near the end of the month. He arrived eleven days early. The raven reached King’s Landing shortly after dawn. Rhaenyra and I were eating breakfast when one of the servants entered carrying the message from Dragonstone. His expression immediately told me the subject before the seal was broken.

Rhaenyra reached for it first. "Rhaena’s labour began before midnight."

I put down my cup. "Any complications?"

"The maester says none so far. Luke sent the raven himself."

That should have reassured me. It did not.

Rhaenyra was already standing. "We are going."

"To Dragonstone?"

"Yes."

"You intend to fly while the message is already several hours old."

"I have given birth seven times, Othorion. I know perfectly well that arriving sooner will not make the child come faster. I am still going."

There was little point arguing.

Dravvaxx and Syrax could have carried us there faster, but Rhaenyra chose the royal ship instead. The weather was calm, and neither of us wished to fill Dragonstone’s skies with nervous dragons while Rhaena laboured below.

The crossing felt considerably longer than it actually was.

Jace and Sara joined us, bringing Gaemon despite my observation that an infant would contribute nothing to the proceedings. Sara replied that the point was not Gaemon’s contribution, and Siren accompanied them because leaving the hatchling behind had recently become more difficult than simply bringing him.

Gaemon was now old enough to recognise familiar faces and young enough to believe beard pulling constituted a reasonable greeting. He spent part of the crossing upon my lap. Siren spent most of it attempting to climb the rail.

By the time Dragonstone appeared ahead, I had prevented one grandson from eating the clasp of my cloak and one dragon from dropping into Blackwater Bay. Grandfatherhood remained less dignified than expected.

Luke met us inside the castle. He looked terrible. That was reassuring. If something had gone badly wrong, he would have looked different. What I saw instead was the exhausted anxiety of a young husband who had discovered that there were moments when being a prince, dragonrider, and son of the queen offered absolutely no control.

Rhaenyra embraced him immediately. "How is she?"

"The midwives say she is doing well, but it has been almost twelve hours. She is exhausted, and every time someone tells me this is normal, I become slightly less convinced they know what that word means."

Rhaenyra held his shoulders and made him look at her. "Seventeen hours is not unusual, especially for a first child. If the midwives or maester were worried, they would tell you. Rhaena needs calm people around her, which means you must stop trying to interpret every sound through the door."

"I am not doing that."

A cry came from farther along the corridor. Luke immediately looked towards the chamber.

Rhaenyra raised an eyebrow. "I see."

Luke sighed. Jace approached his brother once Rhaenyra moved away. "I did exactly the same thing."

Luke looked at him. "That does not make it better."

"No, but Sara assures me it made me irritating enough that I should warn others."

Sara, standing nearby with Gaemon in her arms, nodded. "He spent several hours asking whether the midwives required anything until one threatened to put him to work carrying chamber pots."

"I was trying to help."

"You were trying to control something you could not control."

Jace looked towards Luke. "You will discover that marriage contains many such experiences."

That earned the first genuine smile I had seen from him.

We waited. There was little else to do. Rhaenys arrived from Driftmark before midday, having received a raven several hours after ours. She entered with considerably greater composure than Luke possessed, although it disappeared almost entirely once another cry came from Rhaena’s chamber.

For all her experience and strength, she remained a grandmother waiting outside while her granddaughter gave birth.

The hours moved slowly. I spent part of them with Gaemon, who appeared entirely unconcerned that another member of his generation was preparing to arrive. He had discovered the silver clasp upon Rhaenys’s cloak and devoted considerable effort to reaching it whenever she came close enough. Siren slept beneath a chair after finally exhausting himself.

"Your grandson is attempting theft," Rhaenys told me.

"He takes after Sara’s side."

Sara looked towards me from across the corridor. "You are aware that my brother controls Winterfell."

"I am counting upon distance."

Rhaenys allowed Gaemon to take the clasp anyway.

By late afternoon, the mood became quieter. Rhaena’s labour had continued without serious complication, but exhaustion began affecting everyone waiting outside despite none of us doing the actual work. Luke stopped pacing after Rhaenys informed him that if he continued wearing a path through Dragonstone’s floor, she would personally place him in a chair.

He obeyed. For perhaps ten minutes. Then the chamber doors opened. A midwife appeared. Luke was standing before she said anything.

The woman smiled. "Princess Rhaena has delivered a healthy boy. Mother and child are both well."

Luke seemed unable to answer. Rhaenyra closed her eyes briefly, relief passing across her face before she embraced him. Rhaenys followed. I waited until they had finished before placing one hand against the back of Luke’s neck and pulling him close.

"You have a son."

He laughed softly against my shoulder. "I have a son."

The words sounded almost exactly as they had when Jace first repeated them months earlier. I understood why. No amount of preparation made the sentence ordinary when it first became true.

We were allowed into Rhaena’s chambers later. She looked exhausted enough that I immediately understood why the midwives had kept us away. Her hair had been pulled back without concern for appearance, her face was pale, and she regarded Luke with the tired affection of a woman who had survived several hours of his anxiety in addition to childbirth.

The infant slept against her. Luke sat beside the bed with one hand resting near the child’s blankets as though he still needed physical proof that the boy existed. Rhaenys reached them first. The strength went out of her face when she looked down.

"He has your nose," she told Rhaena.

Rhaena managed a tired smile. "Luke insists he has mine."

"I said I was unsure."

"Then I recommend waiting until his face stops being shaped like someone who has spent the day fighting his way into the world."

Rhaena laughed and immediately regretted it, placing one hand against her stomach.

Rhaenyra sat beside the bed and touched the child’s silver hair. "Have you chosen his name?"

Luke looked towards Rhaena. This time there was no argument. "Baelon."

The name settled into the room. Baelon Targaryen. An old name. A good one. One associated with strength, princes, dragonriders, and men whose lives had been shaped by the expectations placed upon them from birth. This Baelon knew nothing of any of that. He slept through his own naming.

Rhaenys looked at Luke. "For Baelon the Brave?"

"Partly. Rhaena liked the name, and we wanted something belonging to the family without naming him after someone we lost recently."

That last part required no explanation. Too many names in our family had become wounds. Baela. Daemon. Viserys. Corlys beyond the Targaryen line. There was nothing wrong with remembering them, but a child deserved to begin life as himself rather than immediately carrying someone else’s absence.

"Baelon suits him," Rhaenyra said.

Gaemon was eventually brought inside under Sara’s supervision. He regarded his new cousin with profound suspicion. Baelon slept. Gaemon made a questioning noise. Baelon continued sleeping. Siren chirped from Sara’s shoulder. That finally produced movement beneath the blankets.

Luke looked towards the hatchling. "If that dragon wakes him after Rhaena has finally managed to rest, I am throwing Siren into the sea."

Sara smiled. "You would have to catch him first."

"He flies into walls."

"He is improving."

Siren attempted to jump from her shoulder towards the bed, misjudged the distance, and landed against the blankets near Rhaena’s feet. Luke stared at Sara. She retrieved him without comment.

I held Baelon before we left that evening. He was quieter than Gaemon had ever been. That probably meant nothing. I had learned not to make predictions about infants based upon their behaviour during a single hour.

He opened his eyes once, revealing the dark uncertainty of a newborn gaze that had not yet decided what colour it intended to become. One tiny hand moved free of the blanket and closed against my finger when I offered it.

The same thing Gaemon had done. The reaction within me was no less powerful the second time. Two grandsons. That thought was still absurd.

Jace had Gaemon, with Siren already growing beside him. Luke now had Baelon, while Aerion was eight months from marrying Larra and Rhaegar had half the realm trying to decide whom he should marry next.

Rhaenyra stood beside me, watching our newest grandson. "We are getting old."

"You are getting old."

She gave me a look. "I see becoming a grandfather twice has not improved you."

"I was afraid it might."

She rested her head briefly against my shoulder. Outside, Arrax roared somewhere beyond Dragonstone’s walls, announcing himself loudly enough that Baelon stirred against my chest. I waited for the crying. It did not come. Instead, he settled again and continued sleeping. Perhaps Luke had been granted a quiet child.

Considering the family into which Baelon Targaryen had just been born, I decided not to trust that possibility yet.