never too old to fangirl!

In Jena’s most humble opinion, her son was the most darling child to ever live. At just five weeks old, he only cried when he wanted to be close to her and spent most of his time awake staring at the world in wonder. 

She had never in her entire life felt so content. This was odd, because she was by all rights exhausted and filthy. She could have complained wholeheartedly about the aches and sweats and complete lack of personal space, but she did not. The only people who she saw were Baelor, her maids, and an occasional family member or friend. For the most part, she was alone with Valarr. 

Jena told him everything. About herself, about King’s Landing, about what she was doing and why. She told him all of her favorite stories, and her hopes and dreams, and how very much she loved him. There was absolutely no need to filter herself. She spent hours drawing him with charcoal while he slept. She wanted to memorize every tiny detail about him. When he cooed back for the first time, she nearly wept. Part of her wanted to stay forever in this sweet haze. 

But the bubble had to burst. 

“That is too precious,” Baelor said, coming up behind her. He was dressed very finely, with a princely circlet on his brow. Jena stood by the mirror, letting her maids make the final adjustments on her skirts. Valarr, in her arms, was dressed in an ornate white ensemble with a bonnet tied under his chin.

“Your mother had it brought out. It’s what you wore,” Jena told him. Valarr reached up to grab at the collar of her gown. “Are you dressed just like your father, darling? Yes, I think so.” 

“I wore this?” Baelor pulled at the lacy frills. “I am glad I had no brothers yet to mock me.” 

“Don’t say that, he looks perfect.” 

Baelor kissed her cheek. “He is.” 

According to her husband, it seemed that the Red Keep had little better to do than gossip about their parenting choices. He kept the worst of it from her, Jena was sure, but she could imagine the scrutiny. The trouble for all of those gossipers was that neither of them cared a lick. 

Even today, when they were leaving for Valarr’s blessing at the sept and presentation to the rest of the world — when it would be expected of any noble lady to relinquish her baby to staff if she had not done so already, so that she might also re-enter society — Jena would not budge. 

She was happy. 

Baelor stayed so close their arms were brushing the entire walk to the outer bailey, where the carriages were waiting to take them down Aegon’s High Hill. Jena did not care for the stares she received. She only had eyes for the baby looking up at her from the safe crook of her arms. 

“You look radiant, good daughter,” Queen Myriah greeted them outdoors. It was a lovely, sunny day, and the sky was blue overhead. All of the royal family would be joining them at the Sept of Baelor, bar Dyanna, who had withdrawn from events on account of a horrible bout of night terrors. Jena did not envy her. “And look at our little prince!” 

Valarr gurgled when he saw his grandmother. It made Jena pleased that he had seen the woman enough to recognize her. Myriah had been quite gentle these past few weeks, coming to visit but never overwhelming Jena’s peace. 

“I daresay one of his eyes is turning darker,” Rhaegel said as he wiggled his fingers at her son. “Perhaps he’ll get your mismatched colors, Baelor.” 

“Perhaps,” Baelor agreed happily. “But I think he looks more like his mother. If I am lucky, he will inherit all of her grace, too.” 

Jena beamed at him. “Oh, stop that.” 

“Never.” 

Valarr loved the carriage ride, something she had been fretting over for days. Every time they hit a bump, he wiggled his legs. He was growing chubbier every day. Jena picked up his foot like she was going to eat it, and— 

“He’s smiling! That was a smile!” Jena immediately shifted herself so that she was on the same bench seat as her husband, rather than across from him. “Look, look.” 

Baelor’s entire face lit up with joy as he watched his son. There was little she loved more than watching the two of them interact. Having Baelor was a gift, yes, and Baelor had given her Valarr, yes, but both of them had given her a family. 

“Who could resist smiling at you?” he said after a moment. He was saying all sorts of things lately that made her heart skip a beat. The love she felt for him was nearly painful. 

The crowd that had gathered outside the Sept of Baelor was nowhere near so big as the one that had assembled for their wedding, but Jena was transported all the same. As soon as she stepped from the carriage holding the newest Targaryen in the line of succession, a great cheer went up and many hands began to throw rose petals. 

What had Baelor said back then? 

“Someday they will tell their children that they saw the future queen, standing radiant before the Sept of Baelor.” 

And now someday these fine people could say that they saw their future king when he was still tiny enough to be cradled in her arms. Jena picked up Valarr’s little hand and waved at the crowd, and somewhere behind her she heard King Daeron laugh. 

In the sept, they stood before the grand altar, and Jena looked up into the tranquil face of the Mother. The High Septon brushed oils across Valarr’s brow and read passages from the Seven Pointed Star. She and Baelor draped their son in the “cloak” of House Targaryen and pledged to always protect him. 

Baelor’s eyes met hers, his hand over her own on Valarr’s back. “From this day until the end of my days.” 

When it was over, Jena leaned in to kiss his cheek in plain view of witnesses, and told him, “We did well.” 

~~

Dragonstone welcomed them home with open arms. Even the waters were tranquil on the journey over, seeming to calm just for Valarr. It seemed to Baelor that everyone had some gift to bestow upon his son, from vassals to chambermaids. 

Here, in their own castle, people did not whisper so much about their choices in child rearing. Every night, Baelor slept in his bed with his wife, and Valarr slept in his bassinet beside them. He watched Jena simply bring Valarr along to her duties, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. 

It was a blessing, truly — Valarr was such a curious baby, and no one who saw him could be the least bit rude to Jena. In fact, it seemed that every time she had a meeting with some visiting noble or tradesman, she left with some choice deal that she had gained half from her own charm and wits and half from the adorable child in her arms. 

How was it possible that every day he spent married to his wife, he continued to become increasingly in awe of her? Baelor thought he might have hit the ceiling for the emotion by now, but he kept surpassing it. Every day, watching her simply be herself, was enough to make him dizzy. 

“I cannot believe you two were arranged,” Ed Rosby said, standing on an upper ridge looking down at the training yard. They were watching Jena below as she made her rounds. Soldiers — hardened, difficult men — had stopped to fuss over Valarr. Beside her was Mya. 

“Why’s that?” 

“I love my wife, but we chose to wed,” he said simply. Edric Rosby and Mya Rivers had wed only a few moons ago, with the enthusiastic blessing of the crown. As a bastard, it was a very fine match for Mya, and the arrangement had attached her to Baelor’s most loyal friend.

And to both Jena and Baelor’s delight, shy Mya and dour Ed were quite enamored with one another. 

“We are both very lucky men, my friend.” 

Baelor felt he was nearly drowning in gratitude. He could not keep it all locked within himself. Apparently Jena felt the same. 

It was on a quiet summer evening, when the sky had darkened and all was a-hush, and Baelor was beginning to wonder where his wife was, that she appeared. He had been answering personal correspondence in their bedroom for some time. 

Jena swept in, eyes bright and hands covered in paint marks. Valarr was sound asleep in the sling of fabric she wore tied around her chest. 

“My love,” Baelor greeted her instantly, holding out a hand that she crossed the room to hold. “You are up late. Have you been painting?” 

“How could you tell?” She smiled down at her blue fingers. “And you are busy worrying or working or both?” 

“Always both, but I can stop if you’d like. Would you like to have a drink by the fire? I believe there is still mulled cider from supper.” 

Jena looked down a bit shyly. “I had another thing in mind. I have a gift for you.” 

“Another gift besides this one?” Baelor stood and gently hovered one hand over Valarr’s back, careful not to disturb him. “Unfortunately you are unable to outdo yourself.” 

“That I do know, but it is a gift all the same. Follow me?” 

So Baelor followed his wife, as he would have followed her anywhere, up into the highest tower of Dragonstone. Her art studio was lit with a number of candelabras that emitted a dazzling warm glow. It caught on the highlights in her oil pieces — on the portrait of him she had prominently displayed on one wall. The air smelled strongly of turpentine. 

Baelor inspected some watercolors she had done of Valarr asleep. 

“We could put this in our room,” he said, pointing to a particularly sweet one. When he received no response, he turned to find Jena standing nervously with her hands crossed over Valarr. She bit her lip and swayed. “What is it?” 

“Your gift. It’s — I — well, I must just show it to you.” But Jena did not budge from her spot. She kept glancing at the canvas on the easel, which he could not see the front of. “I began it quite a while ago. It was something you said to me… I am afraid you might think it vain.” 

Baelor caught her hand and kissed it. “Show me.” 

After a moment of staring deep into his eyes, Jena nodded and moved aside. He came around her to take a look and his breath caught in his throat. 

It was a self-portrait, but not like any self-portrait that Baelor had ever seen. Jena in the painting was sitting with her back to the viewer — her bare back, a rather scandalous sight. A bolt of cloth covered her lower modesty, and her surroundings were murky and nondescript. Her red hair tumbled down to the seat. Her lovely profile was turned, peering back over her shoulder towards him. 

Painted-Jena’s face was not one full of vulnerability, despite her pose. It was a level, calm look, without challenge. Self-assured, he thought. 

Baelor held out a hand, full of hesitation, and skated it just above the canvas’ surface, down the figure’s spine. 

He recalled asking Jena for the gift of seeing her as she saw herself. When he made that request, she had still been half a stranger to him. 

“It is remarkable,” Baelor chose his words carefully, letting his eyes rove the frame. He thought it best he start clinically. “The color, the light, the form… But none of that is why I cannot look away.” 

“Thank you,” Jena sighed out a breath of relief. Valarr gargled in his sleep. “I chose a foggier palette, as it makes the skin stand out. I was thinking of moonlight, almost. That contrast.” 

Baelor saw the pride in his wife’s eyes as she beheld her own work. He understood what a gift this was. 

“Why is her back to us?” He asked, though he knew. 

“She is protecting herself, but she is revealing herself. Or… something like that.” Jena gave him a small smile. “It is me. I do not know. It says what I cannot.” 

“I understand,” he told her softly. “It is the loveliest gift. Thank you, my darling… I believe I was wrong before.” 

Jena’s steel blue eyes blinked up at him, glazed gold in the low light. “About what?” 

“You always do manage to outdo yourself.” Baelor pulled his wife into a kiss, their baby snug between their beating hearts. “And you always keep surprising me.”