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Dragonstone – Corridor Outside the Birthing Chamber
The corridors of Dragonstone were even creepier at night. Torchlight flickered across the stone walls, making the carved dragons look like they were writhing. The air stayed cold and damp even in summer, the kind of chill that sank into your bones.
A small crowd waited just outside Lady Selyse's room.
Stannis Baratheon stood like a statue by the door, hands clasped behind his back, spine ramrod straight. But his feet betrayed him. Every few minutes he paced the length of the hallway, turned, and paced back. His brows were locked tight, mouth a thin line. Every time a scream tore out of the room, his shoulders bunched like he was bracing for a blow.
Pierce leaned against the cold stone wall a few paces away, face calm, eyes taking in everything.
The Dornish women were there too. Princess Arianne had insisted on staying "out of concern for the lady of the castle." Obara, Nymeria, and Tyene had tagged along as her companions. Shireen stood beside Pierce, small hands twisting the hem of her dress. She wore a soft yellow wool gown and a white fox-fur cloak; the torchlight made her already pale face look even whiter.
"Father looks so worried," Shireen whispered.
Pierce smiled down at her. "Every father gets like this when his child is born. It's normal."
"Mother sounds like she's in so much pain…" Shireen's eyes glistened with tears.
Pierce crouched so they were eye-level. "Birth is hard work, but Sister Moana is the best. She's delivered over thirty babies and every single one came through fine. Trust her and the Mother's blessing."
Dragonstone had never truly belonged to the Baratheons. Their dragon blood was thin. Pierce had looked into the reason for Shireen's greyscale years ago and discovered the black stone itself radiated a strange energy. It stirred whatever dragon blood remained in the family. The awakening had been too weak to protect Shireen, so the disease nearly killed her. Her three younger brothers hadn't been so lucky—they were stillborn.
The child inside Selyse had no Baratheon blood at all. That was exactly why it was growing strong. The irony was almost funny.
Shireen nodded, relaxing a little. She'd read enough of Maester Cressen's books to understand. But every fresh scream from the room made her flinch again—until Pierce's calm voice steadied her.
To her, Pierce was someone who could fix anything. Before he came, Dragonstone had been a half-dead rock with a handful of fishing huts. Now the little village was a bustling town, glass workshops smoking day and night. Maester Cressen said if the island had better farmland, it could have become another Tidehead.
And her face… everyone said greyscale could never be cured. Yet under Pierce's care the gray patches had faded. They still flared up now and then, but Maester Cressen called it a miracle.
(If only I could grow up faster… then I could marry Lord Pierce and be his wife.)
While Shireen daydreamed, Pierce was watching her too. In six months the maids he'd sent had worked wonders. Her cheeks had color now, her eyes sparkled, and her posture had straightened. The Baratheon blood was finally showing—deep blue eyes like a summer night, raven-black hair, delicate features. Renly Baratheon had turned heads; Shireen would too, once the last scars vanished.
But Pierce's real attention was on the hallway. Stannis's anxiety was genuine—tight jaw, restless pacing. Arianne stood quietly, polite concern on her face, but those sharp green eyes missed nothing. Obara leaned against the wall looking bored; Nymeria toyed with a lock of hair, thoughtful; Tyene kept rising on her toes, trying to peek through the door crack.
Three hours. Three hours since the contractions turned regular. Selyse's screams rose and fell. Sister Moana's calm instructions drifted out now and then.
Stannis stopped in front of Pierce again. "It's taking too long," he said, voice tight. "Shireen's birth didn't last this long."
"Every child is different, my lord," Pierce answered evenly. "Sister Moana said first-time mothers average six to twelve hours. Three hours in is still on the smooth side."
He paused, then added gently, "And when there's been a long gap between births, some women can take a full day or two."
Stannis's jaw worked. "She sounds like she's—"
He never finished. A scream sharper than any before ripped through the door, followed by a clatter of metal and sudden silence.
Then—loud, strong, furious crying. A newborn's healthy wail.
Stannis froze. Joy, relief, and raw pride flashed across his face so fast it almost hurt to watch. He took one involuntary step toward the door, hand half-raised, then caught himself.
Pierce straightened. He caught Arianne's tiny, knowing smile.
The door opened. Sister Moana stepped out, sleeves rolled to her elbows, hands still damp, but her face glowed with triumph. She cradled a soft cotton bundle embroidered with the crowned stag of House Baratheon.
"Congratulations, Lord Stannis!" she said warmly. "It's a healthy boy!"
Stannis moved like a man in a dream. He stared at the bundle, emotions storming across his face—joy, relief, pride, the crushing weight of duty finally lifted. He reached out and took the baby with clumsy, reverent hands.
"A boy…" he whispered, voice shaking. "An heir for House Baratheon…"
He hadn't noticed the faint, mocking glint deep in Sister Moana's gentle smile.
Pierce stepped closer for a better look.
That was when Stannis's expression changed.
The baby's face came fully into view—healthy pink skin, strong lungs, thick black hair. Curly black hair. And even through the newborn flush, the skin was noticeably darker. Full lips, broad nose…
Separately the features meant nothing. Together, next to Stannis's pale, thin-lipped face and narrow nose, the difference screamed.
Stannis went rigid. The joy drained away. His brows drew together. His mouth turned down. The light in his eyes guttered out.
The baby, sensing the sudden tension, stopped its triumphant cry and began a fretful whimper.
"He… he doesn't like being held," Stannis rasped, trying to explain it away.
Arianne stepped forward smoothly. "Newborns are very sensitive, my lord. They feel when the person holding them is tense. You're a little stiff—let me try?" She smiled, all innocence. "I used to hold my little brother Trystane back in Sunspear. I have practice."
Stannis hesitated a heartbeat, then handed the baby over like a man in a trance. Pierce saw the tremor in his hands.
Arianne cradled the infant expertly, adjusting the head in the crook of her arm. The crying stopped almost at once.
"See? Just needed the right hold." She smiled down at the baby. "Strong little fellow, isn't he? Though his skin… it's quite dark for a newborn. Aren't they usually pinker?"
She looked up, violet eyes wide and guileless, as if she'd only remarked on the weather.
Pierce jumped in smoothly. "Newborn coloring changes fast, my lord. Some start darker and lighten in a few days. And Lady Selyse carries Florent blood—traits can skip generations."
It was a reasonable explanation. It changed nothing. Stannis stared at the child in Arianne's arms, suspicion and dread slowly replacing every other emotion.
Sister Moana cleared her throat gently. "My lord, the birth went well. The lady is only tired. You may go in and see her now."
Stannis blinked, looked at his wife's door, then back at the baby. He gave a single, wooden nod.
"Good… good. I'll go see her."
He turned and walked toward the chamber, footsteps heavy.
Pierce shot Arianne a quick look. She understood at once and passed the baby back to Moana. "Better the child stays with you, Sister. Lord Stannis will want to be with his wife right now."
Moana took the infant, still smiling, but her eyes carried quiet worry. She had noticed the features too—and Stannis's reaction. Her gaze flicked to Pierce. He gave her a tiny, reassuring nod. She relaxed.
She knew how ugly noble secrets could get. But the baby was innocent. She would not let this child—delivered by her own hands—die for someone else's sin.
Stannis pushed the door open and stepped inside. Pierce stayed where he was. This was a moment for husband and wife. Outsiders didn't belong.
He was curious how Selyse would try to explain it, but his work here was already done. No need to push his luck.
Inside the chamber, Selyse lay exhausted against the pillows, face ashen, hair plastered to her forehead with sweat. But her eyes held a strange mix of relief and terror.
Stannis walked to the bedside and looked down at her. The silence stretched so long she began to fidget.
"It's a boy," he said at last. His voice was flat, completely empty.
"I… I heard," Selyse whispered. "Is he… healthy?"
"Very healthy." Stannis's gaze traveled over her face, then dropped to her left hand.
She was clutching a small talisman—colored beads and feathers woven in the unmistakable Summer Isles style. Kalisto had given it to her for protection during the birth. She had been gripping it the entire time.
Stannis stared at the charm. His eyes went cold.
Selyse noticed. She dropped it instantly, the talisman tumbling onto the sheet. "That… that was Loana's idea," she stammered. "For luck…"
Stannis said nothing. He simply stood there, looking at the charm, at his wife's panicked face, at the flickering firelight dancing across the walls.
After a long moment he bent, picked up the talisman, and closed it in his fist.
"Rest," he said, voice terrifyingly calm. "If you need anything, tell Loana or Sister Moana."
He turned toward the door. At the threshold he stopped without looking back.
"Pierce. Come with me."