✿
~Chapter XIII~
Five months had passed since Aelora first shared the joyous news of her pregnancy with Jacaerys, and the anticipation of their child's arrival was ever-present. The seasons had turned, bringing with them the crisp chill of winter that settled over Dragonstone. Inside the stone walls, warmth was sustained by roaring fires and the love that flourished within its halls.
Aelora reclined on a chaise, her hand resting protectively over her growing belly. The absence of Jacaerys, who had traveled to Winterfell to secure the allegiance of House Stark, left a void that only her mother's presence could partially fill.
Aelora found herself spending more time with her mother, Rhaenyra, whose presence offered both comfort and wisdom. The two women shared a bond forged in blood and fire, strengthened by the trials they had endured together. It was a bond that now found new depth as Aelora prepared to become a mother herself.
On this particular afternoon, the two sat in Rhaenyra's solar, the room filled with the scent of spiced wine and the soft rustle of parchments. Aelora reclined on a chaise, her hand resting habitually on the swell of her belly, while Rhaenyra occupied a nearby chair, her gaze warm and perceptive.
"How are you feeling, sweetling?" Rhaenyra asked, her voice a soothing melody that cut through the winter chill.
"Better now," Aelora replied with a small smile. "The sickness has mostly passed, though I still find myself exhausted by the simplest of tasks."
Rhaenyra nodded knowingly, reaching over to squeeze her daughter's hand. "It is a blessing and a burden, this gift of life. It takes much from us, but the reward..." Her eyes softened, memories of her own children flickering across her features. "The reward is beyond measure."
Aelora shifted slightly, a flicker of apprehension crossing her face. "Mother, tell me truly... is it as painful as they say? The birth?"
Rhaenyra's expression grew contemplative, her gaze drifting to the window where snow danced in the wind beyond the glass. "It is a journey through shadow and fire, my dear. Painful, yes, but also powerful. You will find strength within you that you never knew existed."
Aelora listened intently, her heart both comforted and troubled. "And the fear...?"
"The fear is natural," Rhaenyra assured her, leaning closer. "But you will not face it alone. Jacaerys will be by your side, as will I and those who love you. We will all stand with you, and our strength will become yours."
Aelora nodded, absorbing her mother's words. The thought of Jacaerys holding her hand, whispering words of love and encouragement, brought her a measure of peace. Yet, there remained a shadow of doubt, a whisper of fear that lingered at the edges of her mind.
Sensing her daughter's lingering unease, Rhaenyra decided to shift the conversation. "Speaking of strength," she began, a new light in her eyes, "Lucerys has been sent to Storm's End."
Aelora's brow furrowed slightly, curiosity and concern mingling in her gaze. "To see Lord Borros?" she asked, recalling the stern and formidable lord of House Baratheon.
"Yes," Rhaenyra confirmed, her tone taking on a more serious note. "We need to secure his support for our cause, and Lucerys is more than capable of representing our interests. His charm and intelligence will serve him well."
Aelora nodded, her thoughts turning to her younger brother. Lucerys, with his quick wit and bright smile, had always been a favorite among their extended family. "I hope the weather is kind to him," she murmured, glancing again outside.
Rhaenyra followed her gaze, her expression thoughtful. "The gods willing, he will return to us swiftly and safely. His mission is of great importance, but I trust in his abilities."
The conversation turned to lighter matters, stories of Lucerys's antics and tales of their childhood that brought laughter and warmth to the room. Still, Aelora could not entirely shake the worry that settled in the pit of her stomach. The world beyond Dragonstone was fraught with uncertainty, and the stakes had never been higher.
As the afternoon wore on, Rhaenyra and Aelora continued to talk, their words weaving a tapestry of family, hope, and resilience. The bond between them, as mother and daughter, was a testament to the strength that flowed through their bloodline, a strength that would see them through the trials ahead.
"Remember, my sweet Aelora," Rhaenyra said as they prepared to part, her hands warm and steady around her daughter's, "we are Targaryens. We were born amidst the flame, destined to rise above fear and adversity."
Aelora nodded, feeling the weight of her mother's legacy and the promise of new life within her. "Thank you, Mother," she whispered, drawing strength from Rhaenyra's unwavering gaze. "For everything."
With a final embrace, they parted ways, Aelora returning to her chambers where Jacaerys awaited her, a comforting presence amidst the uncertainty. She found solace in his arms, whispering her hopes and fears as he held her close, their shared heartbeat a reminder of the life they had created together.
And so, as night fell over Dragonstone, the fire within its halls burned bright, a beacon of warmth against the encroaching darkness.
★
In the vast and ancient halls of Winterfell, where the chill of the North was a constant companion, Jacaerys Velaryon stood by a hearth, its fire a feeble echo of the dragons he called kin. The warmth reached out to him, yet his thoughts were far away, across leagues of snow and sea, to the volcanic warmth of Dragonstone and the embrace of the woman he adored.
His fingers unconsciously toyed with the locket around his neck, a delicate piece of silver that held a lock of Aelora's hair-a piece of her to carry wherever his duties took him. The locket was a tangible connection, a reminder of the love that awaited him, and he found himself drawn to it more often as the days of his absence stretched into weeks.
Cregan Stark, the young but formidable Lord of Winterfell, observed him from across the room. The two had been spending much time together, exchanging tales and forging a bond that might strengthen the ties between their houses. Cregan, with his stark gray eyes and the quiet strength of the North, approached with the measured steps of one accustomed to the weight of leadership.
"You must love her very much, your wife," Cregan remarked, his voice carrying the rich timbre of the North. It was both an observation and a gentle prompt, an invitation to share the thoughts that clearly occupied Jacaerys's mind.
Jacaerys looked up, a smile breaking through the somberness that had settled over him like a cloak. "I do," he replied, his voice filled with warmth. "More than words can express. She is... everything to me."
As if the floodgates had opened, Jacaerys began to speak, the words pouring forth with a fervor that left no doubt of his sincerity. "Aelora is expecting our first child," he shared, his eyes bright with joy and wonder. "I cannot wait to return to her, to be by her side as we welcome our child into the world."
Cregan listened, a faint smile playing at the corners of his lips as Jacaerys spoke of Aelora's beauty, of her kindness and strength. "She is the most beautiful woman I have ever known," Jacaerys continued, his voice softer, as if speaking a sacred truth. "Her smile can banish the darkest of days, and her laughter is a balm to my soul."
The fire crackled softly, filling the brief silence that followed. Cregan nodded thoughtfully, recalling the portraits he had seen of Aelora, the tales that had reached even the farthest corners of the realm. Her beauty was renowned, but it was her spirit, her grace, that had truly captured the hearts of those who knew her.
"You are indeed fortunate, Prince Jacaerys," Cregan agreed, his voice steady. Yet beneath his composed exterior lay the remnants of a long-buried hope-a wish he had harbored in the quiet of his heart, one that had been extinguished with the news of Aelora's betrothal to Jacaerys.
There had been a time when Cregan, young and idealistic, had imagined a match with Aelora Velaryon. The thought of uniting the North with the blood of dragons had been a tempting prospect, and Aelora's beauty and spirit had captured his imagination. But the news of her engagement to Jacaerys had reached him swiftly, and with it came the acceptance that some dreams were not meant to be.
As Jacaerys continued to speak, Cregan pushed aside the vestiges of what might have been, focusing instead on the friendship that was growing between them. "The North is harsh, but it has its own beauty," Cregan said, steering the conversation toward lighter topics. "Perhaps one day, you will bring Aelora here, and she can see it for herself."
Jacaerys nodded, his expression thoughtful. "I would like that. She has never seen snow, you know. I imagine she would find it enchanting."
The two men shared a companionable silence, the weight of their duties momentarily lifted by the warmth of shared dreams and possibilities. In that moment, an understanding passed between them-an unspoken acknowledgment of the paths they walked and the ties that bound them.
As the evening wore on, they spoke of many things-the future, their hopes for peace, the legacy they wished to leave. But always, the conversation would return to Aelora, the heart of Jacaerys's world, and the promise of new life that awaited him upon his return.
Cregan, for his part, listened with genuine interest, setting aside the echoes of his own past desires in favor of celebrating the happiness of a friend. In doing so, he found a certain peace, a new path forward that honored both the past and the future.