𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕣𝕪 𝕡𝕒𝕣𝕥

It is true, he is well accustomed to babes, with as many younger siblings as he has. But one of his own...it is different. That he has helped to create such a precious and perfect little life seems so strange to him, and yet the proof lies sleeping in his arms, with her soft downy curls, her sweet little face, ten little fingers and ten little toes. Truly, she is perfect, and his mother's words make him smile again as he runs a finger over cherubic little cheek.

Daeron looks up at his mother as she expresses her pride, a flush of warmth in his chest that seems like it might, at least for a little while, tamp out the darkness that seems to reside more and more in his mind as of late. He is no fool, he knows it is no miracle cure, but he still cannot help but hope that maybe, just maybe, it will be enough. That perhaps he might be able to cling to it for as long as possible.

A sad smile adorned Dyanna's face, as she took the babe in her arms. "I think it a beautiful name," she said quietly, getting a feel for holding the child and patting her bottom soothingly as she rocked her in her sleep. She knew how dear Valarr had been to Daeron, and obviously even moreso to Kiera. Dyanna had loved him like another son herself - just as she had Matarys - and it would always be a reminder of how keenly special this little girl was. Baelor and his line may have been gone, but part of it would always be remembered in the Princess Vaella.

"My darling girl," Dyanna whispered softly. "You are more loved than you will ever know. Your grandfather adores you already, you know. And all of your aunts and uncles. And I'm your grandmother, and I love you ever so fiercely."

Her eyes rose to Daeron once more. "She has Kiera's colouring, but she reminds me of you too. You were so small and dainty, but strong nevertheless. We had thought you might be sickly, having been early, but you were blessed with strength and health. I remember the septas saying you had strong lungs," she reminisced. "I had never been so glad to hear such words. I feared I would labour for days only to have you too weak at the end of it all. But here you are, still here and a father yourself now."

The news reached him in the middle of a hunting trip and Maekar had never driven his poor hose closer to the edge of collapse than on the way back to Summerhall to reach his wife. He made it, just barely, before their first child was born and the Gods had blessed them with a boy. A strong, wailing little thing with golden hair, from what he had been able to tell, before the midwife threw him heartily out of the chamber.

Thoughts still reeling and nervous anxiety spreading through his chest, Maekar paced in front of the door, listening for every sound from the inside that could mean his wife was in danger. The babe had come early, from what he could tell, but the midwife had ensured him that there was no need to worry, for his little lungs were fine and he had cried immediately. A boy. Maekar was grateful for this blessing, though he had to admit that he didn't have preferences. An heir was always welcome, but even a daughter would have made him no less grateful or happy.

When he was allowed back inside, he tentatively approached Dyanna's bedside, eyes drifting from her to the babe. They had not been married for long yet and though their match had been arranged, their relationship was amicable and so fondness for her swelled in his chest as she offered him the boy. Their son. Clumsily and hesitantly, Maekar took him and stared at his tiny features for a long, awed moment. As the youngest son, he had not seen many babes in life, at least not this young. They were terribly small and his hands felt too big, too rough to hold his boy, but he carefully, albeit stiffly held him, barely daring to breathe.

Dyanna had, with time, begun to get to know a Maekar Targaryen that very few others were allowed to see. He was brusque, and coarse, and quick to anger, but he also could be gentle, and wary, and thoughtful when the situation demanded for it. She knew it was the latter of the two men that she was seeing that day - even if he looked more than a little cautious with their son in his arms.

As she took the child back into her arms, she kissed his forehead delicately, before taking in the scent of him. She couldn't get enough of it. He was entirely hers - and Maekar's, she supposed - and he was the most perfect thing she had ever laid eyes upon.

"I need nothing," she said, despite desperately needing sleep, but she could not bear to be parted even in slumber from the babe. "Just your time. You could sit with me, with us, if you wish it," she suggested, eyes glancing to the space beside her.

Daeron leaned into his mother's touch quietly as she brushed the tear from his cheek, eyes fluttering shut for a moment. He knows that he is supposed to be more grown now, more independent, that he is supposed to be a role model for his little brothers, but in truth he does not think he will ever not need his mother. His mama can bring him comfort where few others can, can solve near enough any problem, can make the world feel a little quieter when everything gets too much.

Yet even she cannot wish the dreams away. No one can, he must simply endure, and for what reason he does not know. Why have the gods cursed him with such a thing? Has he done something wrong, in this life or the last, to condemn him to such a torment? It is a lot for a little head to wrap around.

Daeron loves his father, he does, but he can be a stern man at times, and he does not always know how best to communicate with him. Particularly as he shows no great skill with the sword. Oh, he can stay atop his horse well enough, and he won't be immediately disarmed, but he's certainly not winning many fights either. Sometimes he wonders if his father is disappointed in that. Quietly, Daeron takes his mother's hand, tucking in close to her side as they move towards her chambers, "Papa is never frightened."

Dyanna purses her lips at the insinuation that Maekar is never frightened. She has seen him before riding off to war, has heard him talking of what he had seen when he came back. She knows he has felt fear in his life. She knows he feared each time she laboured, or each time a child falls ill. But how is a child like Daeron, as young as he is, supposed to ever envisage a man like Maekar Targaryen as knowing fear?

As they get into bed, and he comes into her embrace, she holds him close and situates the two of them to be as comfortable as possible. "We can talk, my darling," she whispers comfortingly. "What shall we talk about?"

Robert comforting Ned after hearing about the deaths of Rickard and Brandon ❤️‍🩹

🎨 Art by @aydahare / aydahare on Twitter, commissioned by me 🫶 Ayan did such an incredible job bringing my vision to life, the result is better than anything I could’ve imagined. I highly recommend getting on his commission waitlist, you will not regret working with him, he’s so nice and talented! 🥹💖

My inspiration for this commission came from the canon knowledge we have that Ned and Robert were both at the Eyrie when the news arrived of Rickard and Brandon’s deaths, as well as Aerys demanding Jon Arryn send him the heads of Ned and Robert. So I’ve often wondered and imagined what exactly the moment was like when Ned found out.

In my headcanon, Robert finds out first, and breaks the news to Ned privately. What myself and Ayan wanted to convey with this was precisely that moment. Ned’s grief from losing his father and brother (not to mention Lyanna is still missing), but also the sense that war is inevitable now, since this is the event that actually causes Jon to call his banners and sets the Rebellion in motion. Not to mention the fact that Ned has suddenly become Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, something he never expected or prepared for.

I also wanted to show a softer side to Robert, of him holding his dearest friend, arms wrapped tight around him and comforting him. Hopefully that all came across well.

Close-ups below! ❤️

Rhae felt bad the second her mother's smile slipped from her features, because it often felt like she was nothing but a disappointment to her. She wasn't her favorite child by a long stretch and if she was being honest, she believed even Aerion came before her. Out of all the siblings, Rhae was the least like she should be and even though her father had given up on caring about it years ago, she knew her mother still asked herself where she had gone wrong in raising her to produce such an inadequate daughter in all ways that mattered. The only one who would always pick her first was Daeron. Their bond had never changed through time and space and Rhae cherished him like no other for the fact that he had never tried to change her in any way and loved her exactly how she was.

She listened quietly to what her mother said, eyes fixed on the fabric in her lap as if she was trying to disappear into it, if she just stared intently enough. It was always stories about Daeron, never her. Every good example of motherhood and maternal love only ever revolved around Dyanna's oldest son, which Rhae understood because she loved him fiercely, but she sometimes wondered if anyone who came after could compare. Certainly not her. "What if I don't? Love it like I should? What if I don't love it more than Vaella, or Daeron?" Perhaps a silly thought for right now, given how far she was from bringing a child into the world, but she truly worried about these things. Daeron's daughter was her little dragonfly, the only child in the family she had ever adored from the second she lay eyes on her, because she was his. What if she didn't like her own child as much?

Dyanna pondered the question, and supposed it was a valid one to ask. She had always known that she would be wed and expected to bear a lord's (as it turned out, a prince's) children. Rhae had not held the same expectations for her life. This turn of events naturally would cause doubt and concern. She listened well, and took every word from her daughter with the utmost care and consideration.

"I cannot describe the love to you, darling. It's unlike anything I could have comprehended before it came to me. And it only grew with each and every one of you that arrived," she explained. "Sometimes it is difficult. I was so sick when I carried Daeron, and Aerion wailed almost constantly for the first two years of his life. Daella suffered terribly from colic, and you surely remember how Aemma barely slept until she had six summers past her. But even though there are times that are difficult, and you feel like you are failing, and you just wish for a moment that you could just yourself again, fleetingly, the love never fades. Even today, when almost all of you are grown, I would give my life for any of you in an instant."

"And just because you love your brother, and little Vaella, does not mean you love your child less, or your child will make you love them less. I did not love Daeron less when Aerion came, or Egg less when you arrived, or you less when Shaena was born," she listed. "Love is a joy and a blessing. We have a large family and are more blessed than most - in some ways, at least. Do not think one love ought to cancel out another, sweet one." She pressed another kiss to her daughter's hand, and held it fast for a few moments.

at first, he did not notice the figure seated on the rock. as he rode out of sawle, the afternoon shadows already lengthening, his mind was focused on the patients he had seen, and on the visits he would need to make tomorrow. but as he reached the crest of the hill, the cliff stretched before him - and he spotted a young woman. and as he grew closer, he realized it was one he knew...

" mrs. carne! " he called, but the wind carried his words out to sea. drawing nearer, he dismounted and approached her with a welcoming smile. " morwenna? "

he had seen her on several occasions since her marriage - enough to know that her situation was far happier than it once it had been. though surely it would not take much to be so. he still sometimes thought of her first husband - and recalled with bitterness what he was sure had gone on under that horrible roof... but that was not his past to dwell on and he was pleased to see her situation - and health - so much improved.

It took Morwenna blinking a few times before she was able to draw herself out of her thoughts. Looking up into the sunlight, she smiled a little tightly as she observed the familiar face before her. "Doctor Enys," she replied, hand cradling her belly. "How nice to see you."

She could put on a brave face, despite her worries and woes. She had been able to do so in far worse circumstances than she found herself in now. But Dwight Enys had often been able to see through it all, even whenever she was at her most desperate. She did not know, that day, whether she wanted him to see through it all again, or leave her in peace.