The winter wind sang, nearly howling as it blew through the windows and swept across the room, parchment on the table fluttering in its wake.
It brought with it a chill that struck deep into my bones despite the heavy robes I had on, soliciting a mild shudder from my body. The air stank of the usual ungodly mix of salt, fish, and all sorts of unsavory aromas distinctive to King's Landing.
But today, it was somewhat cleaner, fresher, and within it carried a sense of peace, a grain of tranquility that served to assuage my worries and fears as I breathed it in and exhaled softly.
"Do you think Mother's going to be alright?" Aemon, my eldest son and heir, questioned as he paced across the room, his voice raw with anxiety, his pair of lilac eyes almost unsteady.
He has always been worrisome when it came to births, and who could blame him? Warriors like himself fought in wars and battles. They got stabbed, cut, beaten, trampled, burnt, tortured, and endured all sorts of horrors and pain beyond count.
They were hardy, brave, and strong men who defended the realm fearlessly against evil and treachery. But all of that bravery, courage, and strength disappeared into smoke in the face of their women birthing.
Whether it be a mother, daughter, sister, or wife, the greatest source of fear and anxiety in any man is the uncertainty of whether or not the child and their mother would come out of the process safe and healthy.
It was a blinding fear that in the past used to grip my heart so tightly that it seemed as if it would burst at any moment and choke me to death with my own lifeblood.
But later in my life, I realized it did no good to fuss over matters I could not control. It was so much better to just leave everything in the hands of the Gods, be it the Seven, the Old Gods, or even the ancient, nigh-forgotten Gods of my Valyrian ancestors.
This line of thought has kept me through twelve births. A thirteenth one wouldn't be any different.
I gazed at my anxious son and smiled. Unfortunately, my heir wasn't as 'wise' as I was...
"Like I've said for the past hundred times, she's going to be fine, brother," Baelon let out a sigh, fingers raking through his platinum-gold hair that had been bound into a ponytail.
He took the wine flagon from the lower table, poured and filled a silver cup with it, and raised it to Aemon, who walked past him for the umpteenth time. "Now stop fidgeting and come drink some wine. Hopefully, it'll shut you up for good." He smirked teasingly.
Aemon paused, his pair of lilac eyes squinting as he leveled a glare at Baelon, who was seated relaxed on one of the chairs, leg crossed over the other.
He snorted haughtily at Baelon, turned his gaze to the offered cup, and snatched it from his hand, instantly gulping it down.
Baelon's smirk widened and he chuckled playfully. "That's the spirit, brother." He pointed at the unoccupied chair on the other side of the lower table. "Now, sit down and let's talk about our future brother or sister. I'm sure you've already thought of a score of names that you would highly recommend he or she be named."
Satisfied, Aemon let out a sigh of content as he brought down the silver cup from his lips, wiping it with the long black sleeve of his wool tunic, and flashed a small smile at Baelon.
"Of course. Naturally, as the Crown Prince of the realm, it is my solemn duty to think of and provide the names of every royal babe of this esteemed and blessed household," he replied dramatically, nodding with mock seriousness as he stepped to the seat and sat down, placing the empty cup on the table, "lest some people get some abominable ideas."
He drawled mockingly, his tone teasing, his eyes gazing at Baelon accusingly.
Baelon's face fell and a sheepish smile drew on his face. He scratched the back of his neck. "It was only once and I was drunk. Why do you continue to torment me with this?" He sighed helplessly as he took another silver cup, filled it with wine, and took a mouthful.
Aemon shook his head, a playful smile on his handsome face. "Even a drunk kitchen wench could've done better. Who in seven hells decides to name his son Vililys? Vililys Targaryen—what a dullard my nephew would've been." He laughed, and Baelon's face turned half red.
"I was drunk. Viserys was always my choice," Baelon defended himself helplessly. "I can only blame the Dornish for that night. Only the Gods know what the bastards put in their Reds." He accused and chuckled with an innocent smile on his face.
"Yes, yes, let's blame the Dornish for your terrible naming sense. As if they don't have enough worries as it is." Aemon shook his head and laughed heartily.
Baelon joined him only a heartbeat later, and before long, the solar was filled with the sounds of laughter and chatter as the two brothers moved on to tell bad and inappropriate jokes about the Dornish and their ways, drinking their way through the flagon of Arbor Red.
I shook my head at the crass jokes they were making, my smile widening as the unease and tension in the room slowly dissipated, my eyes fixed on Baelon, whose next bout of laughter made a bit of his wine spill from his cup onto the Myrish-carpeted floor.
He was trying to hide it—his fears and anxieties behind his mask of aloofness and playfulness—but I could still see it as clearly as the day he was born.
His fingers unknowingly crossed and twitched, his purple eyes gave furtive quick glances at me, and his feet shifted and shook every few seconds.
He was scared, probably more so than even Aemon, but it was not in his nature to show it. It was not in his nature to show fear.
If it wasn't for the fact that I was his father and had been watching and studying him since the day he was born, I wouldn't be able to tell either.
He was the best at being brave—or at the very least, very good at hiding and masking his fear. This talent, or particular trait of his, won him the epithet 'Baelon the Brave' when he slapped the snout of the great dragon Balerion, and it has only made him more self-conscious of his fears and even better at hiding them.
He had made it his duty to be a symbol of calmness and courage for Aemon, his family, and even the people of the Seven Kingdoms. I admired him for it, for it was a heavy burden.
...One I was all too familiar with.
"What do you think, Father?" Aemon asked with a wide smile as he looked into my eyes, a hazy look on his face, holding his wine-stained cup to his lips. He was getting drunk.
"Think of you getting drunk?" I cocked an eyebrow at him, a smile on my face, fingering one of the golden-rubied rings on one of my right fingers.
Baelon snickered and Aemon smirked, completely unabashed and unapologetic, and took a sip of his wine.
"No, Father." He shook his head and said softly, his tone playful. "I'm talking about the name of my incoming sibling. What do you think of the names Aelon and Aeleys? The latter if Mother births a girl and the former if it's a boy?"
"Hmmm." I stroked my soft white and long beard, my forehead furrowed and my eyes squinted as I pretended to give it a thought. "They are strong names. I'll give it some thought." I nodded and answered with a smile.
Aemon's eyes lit up and he grinned, showing his perfect white teeth. "Give it lots of thought, Father. I know you'll make the right decision." He laughed cheerfully, his tone confident.
Baelon shook his head at his brother's antics and shifted his violet eyes to look at me dubiously. I simply smiled at him, and a wide knowing smirk instantly drew on his handsome face.
Unlike his brother, who was gradually getting intoxicated and not without his full wits, Baelon was still clear-headed and understood that unless the Seven themselves descended from their lofty heavens and commanded it of me, I was never going to entertain Aemon's wishes.
Alysanne would never forgive me if I did. She took it upon herself to personally name our children and forbade me from doing so. According to her, she did all the hard work and thus, this was simply her payment.
I was the King of Six Kingdoms, and the highest power on the entire continent of Westeros. I was a Valyrian Dragonrider and patriarch of the most powerful House and Dynasty in the world.
But despite all my power, there were some battles even I didn't dare fight. And fighting Alysanne, my Queen and the love of my life, over the naming rights of our children, was sadly one of them.
"As I was saying, Baelar is way better a name than Ae—" Baelon was about to argue his point when a hard knock on the front door echoed across the room, instantly cutting him off.
Immediately, the air in the room changed and the faces of Baelon and his brother fell, their bodies tensed, their bottled-up fears and anxiety rearing its head.
I could intimately feel my own heart frantically pounding against my chest, and glancing down at my pale weathered hands adorned with golden bracelets, I saw them shivering and shaking.
I tore my gaze from my hands and looked up, meeting the nervous gazes of both of my sons. They were both staring at me, waiting for me to make the next move.
They were waiting for me to answer the knock and invite the person in, to receive the news they had been sent to give—news that could very well determine how we'd spend this winter.
Whether in miserable sadness or unreasonable joy...
"My lord?" I heard Ser Gyles Morrigen, the Lord Commander of my Kingsguard, ask from behind the door. "Is everything all right? May I come in? I have good news to deliver."
The sound of his strong basal voice and of good news instantly pulled me out of my reverie. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath of the cold winter air, and exhaled sharply, bringing a sense of calm within me.
"Come in," I commanded confidently and loud enough for him to hear.
My sons immediately schooled their facial expressions, replacing their nervousness with a practiced mask of calm that betrayed nothing of their inner feelings, their eyes shifting from me to the large ornate door.
A creak sounded as it opened and hard footsteps followed as Ser Gyles stepped in, his polished silver armor and clean white cloak gleaming in the light.
His gruff, bearded face was half hidden inside his silver helm, and his stern blue eyes instinctively scanned the room, looking for any sign of threat, one hand loosely placed on the pommel of his longsword.
"My King." He bowed deeply towards me first and greeted reverently, and then shifted his posture slightly to give a quick but low bow to my sons. "My Princes."
"Lord Commander." I nodded at him with a small smile and my sons did the same. "What news do you have for us?" I asked, and he straightened, his lips slightly ticking upwards to betray the happiness he tried to hide under his stony face.
"It's the Queen, your grace," he informed as emotionlessly as he could. "I am pleased to announce that she is safe and has given birth to a healthy babe."
My sons and I immediately heaved sighs of relief, theirs louder than mine, and broad smiles blossomed on their faces.
Thankfully, the Gods didn't hand out misfortune to my family today. This was going to be our last child, and by the grace of the Gods, nothing bad had happened to it or her.
"Tell me, Ser, is it a boy or a girl?" Aemon asked quickly and excitedly as they both got on their feet.
"It is a boy, my prince." Ser Gyles answered calmly, a small smile finding its way to his face.
Aemon nearly squealed in joy and turned to smile slyly at Baelon, who looked nearly aghast, his expectant hopes crushed.
Baelon grumbled softly and rolled his eyes, sticking his fingers into a pocket of his tunic to bring out five gold dragons, which Aemon swiftly took from him and pocketed, his head raised like a peacock with a proud smile on his face.
Bloody children...
I sighed helplessly at the sight, a wide smile on my face, and got up from my seat. Ser Gyles was busily trying to stifle a chuckle as I stepped towards him and my sons.
"How is the Queen?" I questioned as I got to him, and his amusement vanished, shifting his body to dutifully flank me.
"She is fine, your grace," he answered as my sons took up positions behind me, still smiling. "According to the Grand Maester's acolyte, she is currently nursing the young prince."
"Good." I nodded, and he opened the door, revealing Ser Lorence Roxton, who stood on the left side of the doorway, and the wide red-walled hallway, which had servants bustling up and down it. "Let us go see my newest son."
———
The walk and descent to the Queen's birthing chamber didn't take long as it was directly beneath my solar, and before long, we stood at the door of the chamber guarded by two ever-dutiful knights of the Kingsguard: Ser Victor the Valiant and Ser Samgood of Sour Hill.
"My King, my princes, Lord Commander." They bowed and greeted us respectfully at the same time.
"Sers." I greeted back courteously with a smile, and Ser Victor turned to push open the door, allowing the sounds of low chatter, murmurs, and activity to stream into our ears.
The warm, comforting heat from the grand fireplace facing us at the end of the room wrapped around us, dispelling any chill in me, and fire crackled as a servant tossed a piece of firewood in it.
I walked in first and the sounds died down as the servants, the Grand Maester and his acolytes, nurses, and handmaidens in the room saw me.
Ser Lucamore Strong and Ser Clement Crabb of the Kingsguard stood sentry at the foremost corners of the room, hands loosely on their pommels.
My sons walked in after me, and the Lord Commander and Ser Lorence moved to take up posts at the unoccupied corners of the room as my eyes took in the large and extensively decorated royal chamber and settled on Alysanne.
She was lying comfortably on a white reclining couch, dressed in a long flowing white gown, clean white cotton sheets covering her waist to her legs.
Her silky and rich golden hair was messy and wet, there were droplets of sweat on her brows, her beautiful sky-blue eyes were watery, and her face was pale and lined with exhaustion.
Nonetheless, despite all this and the inescapable effects of aging on her once-youthful face, she still looked as radiant and as beautiful as I've always known her to be.
The angelic smile on her face as she swaddled and gazed lovingly at the baby wrapped in a bundle of white cloth in her steady arms created an almost ethereal glow around her that made her even more striking.
I've seen this sight countless times, but it never ceased to amaze and surprise me. And as always, it made the love I had for her grow even more. I've spent nights wide awake wondering what I'd done for the Gods to have blessed me with her.
Till this day, I still didn't have an answer.
"If you're done boring invisible holes into my face, perhaps your royal highness can grace our newborn son with his presence." She teased, her voice as soft as velvet, a smile still on her face as she kissed the forehead of the child, never once taking her eyes off him.
My sons chuckled beside me and I smiled, quickly stepping round the sofa to face her. My sons did the same, standing on my right and left sides.
The moment I saw the baby fully and clearly, my eyes widened in surprise. He was beautiful, the most beautiful being I'd ever laid my eyes on.
He had small tufts of platinum white hair that glistened in the light on his small head, a heart-shaped face framed by thin dark lashes, a small pointed nose, pink lips, pale and smooth unblemished skin without a trace of hair, and his almond-shaped eyes were a shade of purple I'd never before seen on a person.
They were the color of amethyst gems, a bright kind of royal purple that seemed to glow faintly in the light. They made him look almost divine, as if he was made not by man, but molded by the Gods themselves as a gift.
He was... perfect, and as he let out a soft coo at his mother, little arms raised to touch her face, his eyes shifted to look at me curiously, and the moment we locked eyes, my surprise disappeared and my heart filled up with great a love and devotion.
"What is his name?" Baelon asked Alysanne softly, his voice low and gentle, a smile on his face as he watched his brother with all the love in the world.
Aemon, who was standing right beside me on my left, watched him with a similar expression, content for once to stay quiet and simply observe.
"Vaelar." His mother took her eyes off him to look at us with her beautiful smile and answered. "His name is Vaelar Targaryen. My perfect prince." She declared, shifting her overwhelmingly loving gaze back to him, and I couldn't help but nod in agreement at the name.
Vaelar in High Valyrian meant the Exalted or Perfect One, and it was arguably the most suitable name for him. He was truly, for lack of better words, perfect...
My smile deepened and I knelt down to be at level with him, extending my finger towards his nose. He giggled and grabbed my finger, opening his mouth to bite it with his toothless mouth.
I laughed out loud at the sight and my sons and Alysanne joined me, filling the room with the sounds of joyful laughter.
"Vaelar. Vaelar of the House Targaryen. My last-born son. The Perfect Prince of Westeros. I love it."