#soft hotd

Rhaenyra’s bedchambers were warm, thick with the soft glow of candlelight and the faint scent of herbs and smoke.

At the centre of it all sat Rhaenyra Targaryen, pale but radiant, propped against her pillows with a newborn cradled gently in her arms.

Her son.

But not her heir, despite many lords of the realms' wishes.

Because that place, unchallenged, unquestioned, belonged to the small silver-haired girl now standing in the doorway.

Valora Velaryon was only two, but she carried herself with the grave importance of someone far older whenever her family was concerned. Her little chin was tipped up, violet eyes wide and curious as she stared at the bundle in her mother’s arms. One tiny hand clutched the edge of her father’s sleeve, though whether for balance or because she was still deciding how she felt about this new development, no one could say.

Laenor, standing beside her, looked down with poorly concealed amusement.

“Well,” he murmured, crouching so he was level with her, “there he is.”

Valora did not look at him.

Her gaze remained fixed on the baby.

“This is him?” she asked very seriously.

Rhaenyra’s tired laugh softened the whole room.

“Yes, sweetling,” she said. “This is your brother.”

Valora took a few slow steps forward, her little shoes whispering against the floor. She stopped at the bedside and peered up with all the intensity of a maester inspecting some rare and important object. Her silver hair, still soft with sleep from having been brought from her own chambers, spilled over her shoulders in uneven little waves.

The babe shifted in Rhaenyra’s arms, making a small, sleepy sound.

Valora gasped softly.

Laenor smiled. “He is rather small, isn’t he?”

“Very,” Valora said, still staring.

Then she frowned.

“He was bigger in Mama’s belly.”

Laenor had to turn his face away for a moment, shoulders shaking with silent laughter.

Even Rhaenyra smiled despite her weariness. “That is not quite how it works.”

Valora seemed unconvinced by that but allowed it to pass. Carefully, with enormous concentration, she lifted herself onto the edge of the bed where Laenor helped steady her, and from there she leaned just enough to get a better look.

The newborn’s face was red and scrunched, his tiny fists tucked near his chest beneath the blankets.

Valora blinked.

“He’s wrinkly.”

“He has only just arrived,” Rhaenyra said, amusement warm in her voice.

Valora considered that, then gave a small nod as though that was a reasonable explanation.

For a little while, she only looked.

At last Valora looked up at her mother.

“Can I hold him?”

Rhaenyra’s expression gentled even further. “You may sit beside me, and I shall help.”

Valora immediately straightened, as though being entrusted with such a responsibility had transformed her into something even more important than she already believed herself to be.

Laenor lifted her more securely onto the bed and settled beside Rhaenyra while she shifted the babe carefully, slowly, until he rested against Valora’s tiny lap with Rhaenyra’s arms still supporting nearly all his weight.

Valora went very still.

The little girl looked down at her brother as if she had been handed the most precious thing in all the Seven Kingdoms.

“He’s warm,” she whispered.

Rhaenyra brushed a kiss to the top of her daughter’s head. “Yes.”

Valora’s fingers, chubby and impossibly gentle, hovered over the blanket near the baby’s hand. The newborn’s fingers opened slightly, brushing against one of hers.

Wonder stole over her in a way so pure it made Rhaenyra’s throat tighten.

“He likes me,” Valora breathed.

“Of course he does,” Laenor said. “You are his sister.”

Valora looked very pleased by that.

Then, after a brief silence, she lifted her head with the solemn pride of someone revealing a great and noble secret.

“I picked his egg.”

Rhaenyra blinked, smiling. “Did you?”

Valora nodded at once. “Mine did.”

Laenor’s brow rose. “Yours did?”

“Yes.” She looked between them, clearly astonished they needed clarification. “I picked it.”

Rhaenyra’s lips twitched. “Tell us, then.”

Valora drew in a little breath, puffing herself up with importance. “Went with dragonkeepers.”

Laenor rested his chin on one hand, fully indulging her. “Did you?”

“Yes.” Valora nodded again. “Lots of eggs.”

Her nose wrinkled a little, remembering. “Some too dark. Some too dull. Some sleepy.”

“Sleepy?” Laenor echoed.

Valora looked at him as if he were the foolish one.

“Eggs can be sleepy.”

“Ah,” he said gravely. “Naturally.”

Rhaenyra bit back another laugh.

Valora looked back down at her brother, then reached one finger to touch the edge of his blanket.

“I picked the best one.”

“And how did you know it was the best one?” Rhaenyra asked softly.

Valora’s answer came at once, full of certainty.

“Because it was his.”

Silence followed.

The sort that came when something simple was said with such perfect conviction that no one could improve upon it.

Rhaenyra felt her chest ache with it. Gods, but she loved this child. Loved the impossible earnestness of her. The way she spoke as if the world could be understood if only everyone would be sensible enough to listen.

Laenor reached out and tucked a strand of Valora’s silver hair behind her ear. “And what makes you so certain?”

Valora looked down at the babe again. Her expression softened into something almost protective, almost fierce.

“He needed one.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes stung unexpectedly.

Laenor’s smile faded into something more tender.

Valora, oblivious to the effect she had on either of them, leaned a tiny bit closer to the newborn and whispered with all the authority of an elder sister making a formal declaration:

“I got you a dragon.”

The babe scrunched his face and let out a soft little noise.

Valora beamed.

“He heard me.”

“He did,” Laenor said.

Valora settled immediately into the role she had clearly decided was hers. She peered down at him with severe concentration for a few seconds more before asking, “What’s his name?”

Rhaenyra and Laenor exchanged a glance.

“We have decided on Jacaerys,” Rhaenyra said.

Valora repeated it carefully, working her way through the unfamiliar shape of it. “Ja... cae... rys.”

“Very good,” Laenor praised.

Valora looked back at the babe.

“Jace,” she said firmly.

Laenor let out a laugh. 

Rhaenyra smiled. “Jace?”

Valora nodded once, as if the matter were settled and they were all fortunate she had simplified it for them.

“Jace.”

The babe shifted again in her lap, making a tiny, unhappy sound this time.

At once, Valora’s whole body tensed.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Rhaenyra soothed. “He is simply letting us know he is there.”

Valora frowned at him with concern. Then, in the same voice Rhaenyra herself often used with her, she whispered, “It’s alright. I’m here.”

Jacaerys quieted.

Valora looked up at once, proud and a little smug.

“He stopped.”

“So he did,” Laenor said.

For a long moment, the three of them remained there together: Rhaenyra weak and glowing from birth, Laenor warm and watchful at her side, and little Valora cradling her newborn brother with all the seriousness of a princess already certain of her place in the world.

Then Valora looked down at Jace once more and said, in a tone that suggested she was already thinking far ahead:

“When he’s bigger, I’ll show him his dragon.”

Laenor smiled. “Will you?”

“Yes.” She glanced at her mother, then her father, then back at the tiny babe in her lap. “I picked it. So I show him.”

Rhaenyra’s tired, joyful gaze lingered on both her children.

“Yes,” she said softly. “You shall.”

A few months later, Valora had grown into the sort of babe who no longer seemed entirely content to simply sleep through the world.

She watched it now.

She lay across Rhaenyra’s lap near the window of her chambers, wrapped in soft sea-blue and crimson, one tiny hand stubbornly tangled in the ribbon fastening her blanket. Sunlight spilled across the room in pale gold, warming the rushes and the carved cradle nearby, where the black-and-red egg from Meleys still rested like a promise.

Rhaenyra traced one finger lightly over Valora’s cheek.

The babe made a soft humming sound in response, then blinked up at her mother with grave concentration.

Laenor, lounging nearby with all the ease of a man who had fully decided watching his wife and daughter was a worthy use of the entire afternoon, smiled at once.

“She does that,” he said.

Rhaenyra glanced up. “What?”

“That look.” He gestured vaguely toward their daughter. “As though she is enduring us all with great patience.”

Rhaenyra let out a quiet laugh. “Perhaps she is.”

“From you, no doubt.”

“From me?”

“Yes. That exact expression is yours when lords begin repeating themselves.”

Rhaenyra smiled despite herself and looked back down at Valora, who had now found one of her own fingers and seemed deeply pleased by the discovery.

There came a knock at the door.

Before either of them could answer, it opened, and a familiar voice announced itself with all the warm confidence it had possessed since childhood.

“Well,” said Laena, stepping into the chamber, “I was told she had become even prettier, and still I think I have been misled.”

Rhaenyra’s face lit at once.

“Laena.”

Behind her entered Daemon, slower and quieter, one hand resting lightly at the pommel of Dark Sister more from habit than need. His expression, as ever, was composed into something unreadable, though his eyes went immediately to the child.

Laenor grinned from his seat. “There you are.”

Laena barely spared her brother a glance. Her attention had already fixed wholly upon Valora.

“Oh, she is beautiful.”

She crossed the room in a sweep of dark silk and dragonfire confidence, stopping beside Rhaenyra and bending at once to get a better look.

Valora blinked up at her.

Laena’s entire face softened.

“There you are,” she murmured, almost reverently. “Hello, sweet girl.”

Rhaenyra smiled, watching the immediate change come over her.

It was impossible to miss. Laena was taken at once.

Not politely pleased.

Not simply affectionate.

Taken.

As though in the space of a single glance she had already claimed a place in the child’s life and had no intention of surrendering it.

“She has your eyes,” Laena said to Rhaenyra, though her gaze remained on the babe. “And your look.”

“My look?” Rhaenyra echoed, amused.

“Yes. As if she has already decided she is above everyone in the room.”

Laenor laughed. “I said the same.”

Rhaenyra narrowed her eyes at both of them. “You are insufferable.”

“Yet not incorrect,” Laena said.

Valora made a soft sound then, kicked once beneath the blanket, and turned her face slightly toward Laena’s voice.

Laena put a hand dramatically to her heart. “Did you see that? She likes me best already.”

“Impossible,” Laenor said at once. “That place is reserved for me.”

Laena finally looked up at her brother with a grin. “You say that as if babes are known for good judgement.”

Laenor gasped in mock offence.

Daemon, from a little farther back, gave a low snort that might almost have been laughter.

Rhaenyra glanced toward him then.

He had not come closer.

He stood near the hearth, broad-shouldered and dark-clad, silver hair catching the light, looking at Valora with an expression so carefully blank it betrayed itself at once.

Interested.

Wary.

Unsure.

Rhaenyra knew him well enough to see all three.

Laena noticed too, of course.

She always noticed.

“You may come closer, you know,” she said over her shoulder.

Daemon arched a brow. “May I?”

“It is a babe, not Balerion returned.”

Laenor barked out a laugh at that, then looked toward Daemon with open delight.

“Oh, please do. This is already the finest entertainment I’ve had all week.”

Daemon shot him a dark look. “You are enjoying this far too much.”

“Immensely.”

Rhaenyra had to bite back a smile.

Daemon hesitated for only a moment longer before he stepped nearer, though there was still a curious caution to it, as if he were approaching some small, delicate creature that might either break or bite.

He stopped beside Laena and looked down at Valora.

Valora, in turn, looked up at him.

For one long second, neither moved.

Then Valora blinked once, solemnly, and reached a tiny hand up into the air in his general direction.

Laena turned very slowly to look at him with a triumphant smile.

“Oh, that is excellent.”

Laenor laughed outright now.

Daemon frowned at the child as if personally betrayed by the situation. “What is she doing?”

“Choosing you,” Laena said sweetly.

“I do not think that is what this is.”

“It is exactly what this is.”

Valora made another small sound and flexed her fingers again, still reaching vaguely upward.

Daemon looked at the tiny hand as though it were some strange challenge placed before him by the gods.

Rhaenyra’s voice softened.

“You can touch her, uncle. She will not shatter.”

His gaze flicked briefly to hers, then back to the child.

Carefully, more carefully than anyone who knew him might have expected, he reached out and offered one finger.

Valora’s hand closed around it at once.

The room went quiet.

Daemon stilled entirely.

Laenor, who had looked a moment away from laughing himself senseless, now looked almost overcome by amusement and fondness all at once.

Rhaenyra watched the exact moment Daemon lost whatever battle he had been fighting with himself.

His expression did not change much.

Not outwardly.

But something in him softened.

Something old and sharp and hidden eased just slightly under the weight of one tiny hand gripping his finger like she had every right to it.

Rhaenyra looked between an amused Laenor and Laena and then back to Daemon, who still stood as though any sudden movement might somehow undo the moment.

Valora’s tiny hand remained wrapped around his finger with surprising determination.

For a babe not yet old enough to sit, much less speak, it was a remarkably imperious gesture.

A command rather than a request.

Daemon stared down at her with narrowed eyes, as though trying to determine whether he was being mocked.

“She has a strong grip,” he muttered at last.

Laena turned, delighted. “That is your first remark?”

“It is an accurate one.”

“It is also the least interesting one.”

Laenor laughed outright.

Rhaenyra could not help smiling.

There was something almost absurdly endearing in the sight before her. Daemon Targaryen, rogue prince, warrior, terror of courts and battlefields alike, standing trapped by the hand of an infant who had decided he was worth holding onto.

Valora made another small sound then, not quite a coo, not quite a hum, and tightened her fingers just enough to make Daemon go very still again.

Laena pressed a hand to her mouth in a futile attempt to hide her amusement.

“Oh, she has him,” she said softly.

“She has everyone,” Rhaenyra replied.

“That too.”

Laenor rose from his seat then and moved nearer, folding his arms as he studied Daemon with the open delight of a younger brother who had found something he would treasure forever.

“You look stricken.”

“I am not stricken.”

“You are.”

“I simply do not understand why she is doing this.”

Laena arched a brow. “You are tall, silver-haired, and glaring at her as if she has personally offended you. Perhaps she finds that familiar.”

Rhaenyra let out a laugh at that, and Daemon gave Laena a withering look that only made her smile more.

Valora, undisturbed by any of it, blinked solemnly up at him again.

Daemon exhaled slowly through his nose.

Then, with a care that looked foreign and yet somehow natural all at once, he bent slightly and let his other gaze hover uncertainly over the babe.

Rhaenyra saw it immediately.

The uncertainty.

Not fear, precisely.

Something older than that.

Something like absence.

As though he knew swords and dragons and blood and battle, but not this. Not tiny hands and warm blankets and babes who smelled of milk and sunlight.

“You may hold her,” Rhaenyra said quietly.

Daemon’s gaze lifted to hers at once.

For a second, he looked almost caught out.

Laenor, of course, noticed it too and looked ready to enjoy every heartbeat of it.

“That,” he said brightly, “is an excellent idea.”

Daemon shot him a dark look. “Must you sound so pleased?”

“Yes,” Laenor said without hesitation. “Deeply.”

Laena laughed again and moved at once to stand beside Daemon, close enough to murmur, “She will not bite.”

“That is what everyone keeps saying.”

“Because it remains true.”

Rhaenyra adjusted Valora more securely in her lap and looked at him steadily. “Would you like to?”

There was no challenge in it.

No teasing.

Only the question.

Daemon looked at the child again.

At the pale silver lashes. The soft roundness of her face. The tiny hand still gripping his finger as though it had every right in the world.

And for the first time since entering the room, something undefended showed plainly in his expression.

“Yes,” he said, low enough that it nearly disappeared into the warmth of the chamber.

Laena’s smile softened immediately.

Rhaenyra shifted carefully, rising only enough to guide the babe upward. Daemon removed his finger from Valora’s grip with visible reluctance, as though he had the strange notion she might object to it. But the moment Rhaenyra moved her toward him, Valora simply made a sleepy little sound and blinked again.

Daemon held out his arms.

Awkwardly at first.

Too stiff.

Too ready for the weight of a sword rather than the weight of a child.

Laenor made a soft noise under his breath. “Gods, you look as though you’re preparing to catch a falling chandelier.”

Daemon’s glare sharpened. “Say one more word and I will throw you from the window.”

“See?” Laenor said to no one in particular. “He is already speaking to her like family.”

Laena covered a laugh with one hand.

Rhaenyra carefully laid Valora into Daemon’s arms.

Daemon froze.

Not from discomfort.

From shock.

Valora fit so strangely and so perfectly there, one tiny body bundled in crimson and sea-blue, her silver hair bright where the sun found it, her face turned inward for a moment before she shifted and tucked herself closer against his chest.

As though she had decided this, too, was acceptable.

Laena watched Daemon’s face carefully.

He was trying very hard not to look affected.

Trying so hard, in fact, that the effort itself betrayed him.

His hold became surer by degrees. One large hand curved protectively at the babe’s back while the other adjusted beneath her with painstaking care. His shoulders, so often taut with sharpness and coiled impatience, eased little by little.

Valora gave a tiny sigh and settled.

Rhaenyra saw it too.

Saw the way Valora had settled against Daemon’s chest as though she had known him always. Saw the way his hands, usually meant for reins and steel and war, had gone so impossibly careful around something so small.

Her smile softened into something quieter.

“Well,” she murmured, folding her arms as she leaned lightly against the bedpost, “that seals it, then.”

Daemon glanced at her, wary already. “Seals what?”

“You are finished.” Laena laughed

“With what?”

“With pretending you are not entirely taken with her.”

Laenor made a delighted noise under his breath. “Yes. That.”

Rhaenyra laughed softly, one hand covering her mouth, unwilling to risk disturbing Valora where she rested against Daemon now with perfect, infuriating ease.

Daemon narrowed his eyes at all three of them. “You are all being insufferable.”

“And yet,” Laena said sweetly, stepping closer to look down at the babe again, “not one of us is wrong.”

Valora made a tiny sleepy sound, the sort that was barely more than breath, and turned her face more firmly into the dark fold of Daemon’s doublet.

That seemed to undo him further.

Not enough for anyone who did not know him to notice.

But enough.

His shoulders eased another fraction. His thumb, large and scarred and wholly unsuited in appearance to gentleness, shifted once at the babe’s back in an absent little stroke.

Laenor saw it and looked ready to collapse from joy.

“Oh, this is glorious,” he said.

Daemon did not look up. “I can still hear you.”

“I know. I wanted to be sure of it.”

Laena laughed, then turned her attention fully back to Rhaenyra. She sat at once on the edge of the bed without asking, as if she belonged there, which in truth she did.

“Gods, look at her,” she said quietly, reaching out to brush one finger over the edge of Valora’s blanket. “She is perfect.”

Rhaenyra smiled, all softness at once. “I know.”

“And growing far too quickly already.”

“She has only just discovered her own hands.”

“That is how it starts,” Laena said gravely. “First their hands. Then they are running through the halls and refusing instruction and somehow always dirtier than when last you saw them.”

Laenor snorted. “You say that as if you were not exactly such a child.”

“I was a delight.”

“You were a menace.”

“A beloved menace,” Laena corrected.

Rhaenyra laughed again, and the sound filled the chamber warmly.

Laena reached for her hand and squeezed it lightly. “How are you?”

Rhaenyra knew that tone well enough to answer honestly.

“Better,” she admitted. “Still tired. Still sore. But better.”

Laena’s gaze gentled. “Good.”

For a moment, her eyes moved around the chamber. To the cradle beside the bed. To the black-and-red egg from Meleys resting within it. To the pale light spilling over the rushes. Then back to Rhaenyra.

“She suits this room,” Laena said.

Rhaenyra arched a brow. “The room?”

“The whole of it. The fire. The sea-blue. The dragon egg in her cradle. Everyone orbiting her already as though she is the sun.”

Laenor gestured grandly from where he stood beside the chair. “Because she is.”

Daemon made a low sound that might once have become a scoff, though it never quite managed it.

Laena tilted her head, watching Valora again.

“What does she do?”

Rhaenyra blinked. “What?”

“At this age. What are her little habits? Tell me everything.”

Laenor laughed. “Everything?”

“Yes, everything.”

Rhaenyra smiled despite herself. “She likes the window. Or at least she grows quieter near it.”

“Laenor says she looks at everyone as though they are disappointing her.”

“She does,” Laenor said firmly.

Rhaenyra ignored him. “She hums sometimes when she wakes.”

Laena’s face softened at once. “Does she?”

Rhaenyra nodded. “Not often. But enough to notice.”

“And she grips sleeves,” Laenor added. “And ribbons. And fingers. Especially fingers, it seems.”

His gaze flicked meaningfully toward Daemon.

Daemon, still not looking up, said, “Do not start.”

Laena smiled wider. “You heard him. She does like you.”

“I have held her for less than a minute.”

“And yet here she remains.”

Valora, as if determined to prove the point, stretched one little hand against Daemon’s chest and gave another soft, contented sigh.

Rhaenyra watched his face carefully.

The uncertainty was still there, though smaller now.

There was almost something boyish in it, buried very deeply beneath years of hard edges and sharper habits. Not innocence. Daemon had never possessed that. But unfamiliarity, perhaps. The strange discomfort of wanting something gentle and not knowing the proper shape of it.

Laena saw it too. Her expression changed, turning fond in a way that belonged only to him.

“She likes warmth,” Laena said lightly, as though speaking only of the babe. “She can tell when someone runs hot.”

Daemon finally glanced at her. “That is not a thing.”

“It is now.” Laena grinned.

Laenor moved to pour wine for himself, then thought better of it and set the jug back down with theatrical restraint. “I do hope someone appreciates how well I am behaving.”

“No one,” said Daemon.

“That seems unkind considering I am offering you all this memory free of charge.”

Daemon looked at him flatly. “What memory?”

“The one in which you stood stricken by a child scarcely bigger than a loaf of bread.”

Laena made a choking sound trying not to laugh.

Rhaenyra looked down at the coverlet, shoulders shaking.

Daemon’s stare turned murderous. “I will kill you.”

“Laena, do you hear how tender he sounds?”

“Almost musical,” she agreed.

Valora, perhaps offended by the laughter around her, let out the tiniest little protesting noise.

Every head turned to her at once.

The room fell silent.

Then Valora blinked, yawned enormously, and settled back down against Daemon without another care in the world.

Laena melted instantly. “Oh, gods.”

Rhaenyra pressed a hand to her chest. “That was cruel of her.”

Laenor looked genuinely wounded. “And I missed part of it because I was being mocked.”

“Deservedly,” said Daemon.

“Laena, did you hear that? He defends her already.”

Laena reached down and touched Valora’s tiny foot through the blanket. “When she is older, I shall teach her all the best things.”

Rhaenyra lifted a brow. “That sounds dangerous.”

“It is.”

Daemon looked interested. “Do continue.”

“I shall teach her how to sit a dragon properly, how to laugh at pompous lords without being caught, how to win affection and arguments both, and how to climb where she is not meant to.”

“Absolutely not,” Laenor said.

Daemon smiled. “You make a compelling case.”

Laena grinned. “You see?”

Rhaenyra looked at Daemon as if betrayed anew. “You are encouraging this.”

“Only because it amuses me.”

“That is hardly comforting,” Rhaenyra informed him.

“It was not meant to be.”

Laena laughed and leaned back on one hand, wholly at ease in the chamber now, as if she had always belonged in the warm circle of sunlight, dragonfire, and soft blankets. Perhaps she had. Valora certainly seemed to think so of all of them. The babe lay peacefully in Daemon’s arms, one tiny fist curled against his chest, breathing slow and even, as though there was nothing at all remarkable in using the Rogue Prince as a cradle.

Laenor still looked delighted beyond reason.

“I do hope you understand,” he said, “that I shall never allow you to forget this.”

Daemon did not so much as glance at him. “I had assumed as much.”

“You should. I mean to speak of little else for the next decade.”

Laena tilted her head thoughtfully. “Only a decade?”

“At minimum.”

Rhaenyra laughed softly and shook her head. “You are both impossible.”

“We are charming,” Laena corrected.

Laenor only noticed the silence after several blissfully quiet moments.

He looked up from where he had been half-sprawled on a cushioned bench near the hearth, one goblet in hand and the other resting forgotten on the table beside him, and frowned.

“Where is Valora?”

Rhaenyra, seated near the window with a piece of embroidery she had not touched in some time, did not look up at once. One hand rested low against the gentle swell of her stomach, absent and protective both.

“With me,” she said dryly, “unless I have misplaced her in the last few breaths.”

Laenor gave her an unimpressed look. “You know what I mean.”

Rhaenyra smiled faintly then, finally lifting her gaze. “I do.”

She was several months gone with child now, and though she still carried herself with all the same sharpness and certainty, there was a softness to her of late too. Not weakness. Never that. Something quieter. Warmer. She had one of her mother’s old books open beside her, untouched, and the late afternoon light spilling through the windows gilded her silver hair into something almost ethereal.

Laenor sat up properly.

“She was here not long ago.”

“She was.”

“And now she is not.”

Rhaenyra arched a brow. “An excellent observation, husband.”

He ignored that. “Did someone take her?”

The smile in Rhaenyra’s mouth deepened into something openly amused now.

“Yes,” she said. “As a matter of fact, someone did.”

Laenor blinked. “What?”

“She was stolen.”

He was on his feet at once.

Rhaenyra laughed before he had even fully straightened.

“Oh, sit down.”

“I will not sit down if our daughter has been abducted.”

“She has not been abducted.”

“You just said she was stolen.”

“I said someone took her.”

“That is the same thing.”

“It truly is not.”

Laenor stared at her, and Rhaenyra, thoroughly unhelpful, only leaned back slightly in her chair and looked entirely too entertained for a woman discussing the disappearance of their child.

“Laenor,” she said patiently, “your mother stole her.”

He stopped.

Then blinked again.

“…Mother?”

“Yes.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then Laenor’s shoulders dropped all at once.

“Oh.”

Rhaenyra hummed, pleased.

“She came by not half an hour ago. Valora was meant to be resting, but your mother appeared, looked at her for all of three seconds, and declared that the child had suffered enough of stillness for one day.”

Laenor snorted despite himself. “That does sound like her.”

“It does.”

“And you let her take her?”

Rhaenyra looked pointedly toward the door. “Do you often stop Princess Rhaenys when she has decided on something?”

Laenor considered that.

“No,” he admitted.

“Nor do I, particularly while carrying another child and in no mood to begin a duel in my own chambers.”

That earned a proper laugh from him.

Rhaenyra smiled and rested her hand over her stomach again. “Besides, Valora was delighted.”

Laenor moved around the table and came to stand beside her chair. “And where have the two of them gone?”

Rhaenyra tilted her head toward the gardens beyond the open balcony doors. “There, I imagine.”

Laenor followed her gaze.

The late afternoon had turned the gardens below into a wash of soft green and gold. Roses climbed the stone walls, bees hummed lazily among the blossoms, and the summer air carried up the scent of earth warmed by sun.

Rhaenyra watched him for a moment before adding, voice light, “She took Naelys too.”

Laenor turned back sharply. “She took the dragon?”

“The hatchling,” Rhaenyra corrected. “Do try not to make it sound as though your mother has led Vhagar through the Red Keep.”

That, too, was fair.

Naelys was still small enough to be more wonder than terror, though no less clearly dragon for it. Black-scaled and red-winged even now, she had grown from egg to hatchling with all the sharp intelligence and imperious confidence one might expect of a creature that had chosen Valora.

Where Valora went, Naelys generally attempted to follow.

And where Rhaenys went, apparently both now followed.

Laenor rubbed a hand over his face, though the smile at his mouth betrayed him.

“She has truly stolen them.”

“She has,” Rhaenyra agreed.

There was affection in her voice. Deep and easy.

Laenor bent and pressed a kiss to her temple before straightening again. “Then I suppose I must go retrieve my daughter from her thieving grandmother.”

“Do tell me how that goes.”

He gave her a suspicious look. “You are enjoying this far too much.”

“Immensely.”

Laenor huffed and headed for the doors.

The gardens of the Red Keep were quieter at this hour.

Courtiers had mostly retreated indoors, and what servants remained kept respectfully distant from the winding paths and shaded alcoves where the royal family often walked. The sun hung lower now, casting long ribbons of honey-coloured light between the hedges and flowering trees.

Laenor found them near the farther end of the garden, where the paths opened into a broad patch of lawn edged with pale roses and low stone benches.

His mother stood beneath an arch of trailing greenery, dark hair stirred faintly by the breeze, one hand clasped behind her back and the other holding the tiny hand of his daughter.

Valora, still small enough that her steps held the unsteady determination of recent childhood, toddled along beside her in a little gown of pale lavender trimmed with silver. Her pale hair caught the sunlight in bright threads, and her free hand clutched a flower stem she had clearly been allowed to keep despite having already mangled it thoroughly.

Several paces ahead of them, Naelys flapped in an ungainly burst from one patch of grass to another.

The dragon was still too young for graceful flight. What she managed instead was a series of determined hops, flares of black-red wings, and tiny offended hisses whenever the ground failed to cooperate with her ambitions.

Valora let out a delighted little laugh.

Rhaenys smiled down at her without even trying to hide it.

“There now,” she said, as Naelys pounced with all the dignity of a queen and all the coordination of an overconfident cat. “Do you see? She believes herself fearsome already.”

Valora nodded with tremendous seriousness. “Nyss.”

Laenor stopped where he was, simply watching for a moment.

There was something absurdly lovely about it.

Rhaenys, who had worn disappointment and dignity like twin crowns for half her life, now walking slowly through the gardens with one tiny granddaughter at her side and a baby dragon stalking the flowers before them as if it owned the world.

Valora tugged at Rhaenys’s hand, trying to pull her faster.

Rhaenys allowed herself to be tugged a single step before anchoring them both again. “No, little dragon. You may not run simply because your dragon thinks she can.”

Valora looked up at her, considered this, then pointed accusingly at Naelys.

“Nyss.”

“Yes,” Rhaenys agreed gravely. “Anarchy in small form.”

Laenor laughed then, unable not to.

Both of them turned.

Valora’s face lit at once.

“Papa!”

She abandoned all interest in measured walking and flower stems and attempted to run toward him. This resulted in three quick, determined steps and then a near-catastrophic wobble that would have ended badly if Rhaenys had not caught the back of her gown with impossible ease.

Laenor reached them in the next breath anyway, scooping Valora up with a laugh and pressing a kiss to her cheek as she grabbed immediately for the chain at his throat.

“There you are,” he said. “Stolen from me, were you?”

Valora beamed as though this were excellent news.

Rhaenys folded her hands before her and regarded her son with calm amusement. “You make it sound as though I snatched her in the dead of night.”

“You took my daughter.”

“I borrowed your daughter.”

“You did not ask.”

“I did not need to. Rhaenyra was sensible enough to see the child wanted air.”

Laenor snorted. “And what if I object?”

Rhaenys’s brow lifted. “Do you?”

He looked down at Valora, who was now happily tangled in his arms, one hand in his hair and the other still somehow holding the crushed flower.

Naelys, having noticed him at last, gave a tiny triumphant chirp and bounded over across the grass, wings half-spread and tail lashing in a show of self-importance.

Laenor sighed, defeated before he had begun.

“Not particularly.”

“Then I fail to see the issue.”

He shook his head, smiling.

Naelys reached them at last and reared up in a tiny burst of offended dignity until Valora leaned half out of Laenor’s arms to point at her.

“Nyss.”

“Yes, I see her,” Laenor said. “Very fierce. Very terrifying. I am deeply afraid.”

Naelys hissed at him.

Rhaenys looked almost pleased. “As you should be.”

Laenor glanced at his mother. “You encourage her.”

“Of course I do.”

Valora, apparently satisfied that everyone had now properly admired her dragon, rested her head briefly against Laenor’s shoulder. Her cheeks were pink from the sun, her hair a little windblown, and she looked entirely content with life.

He softened at once.

“She has had a good time, then.”

Rhaenys’s expression gentled, though only slightly. “She has.”

Naelys had begun stalking a drifting petal now with murderous focus. Valora watched her with fascination, then lifted the crumpled flower toward Rhaenys with solemn generosity.

“For you.”

Rhaenys blinked.

It was hardly a flower anymore. More stem than bloom, crushed nearly beyond recognition by tiny, overfond fingers.

And yet she took it as though it were a crown.

“How gracious,” she said quietly.

Valora smiled, pleased with herself.

Laenor watched the exchange and felt something warm twist in his chest.

“She does adore you, you know.”

Rhaenys glanced at him. “Naturally.”

He laughed. “Gods, you sound like father.”

“That is because on matters of family, your father is very often correct.”

Laenor shifted Valora more securely in his arms and looked out over the gardens.

The sun was lowering now, gilding the edges of the hedges and painting Naelys’s black scales with red fire whenever she moved. Somewhere overhead, gulls cried over Blackwater Bay, and the whole world seemed, for this one hour at least, softened into something gentler.

“My wife said you stole her.”

Rhaenys looked entirely unapologetic. “And I shall do so again.”

“I never doubted it.”

“She was growing restless. And I thought it best she know these gardens while they are still only gardens to her.”

Laenor’s smile faded into something quieter.

He understood what she meant.

For Valora, now, the Red Keep was sunlight and roses and warm stone beneath tiny feet. It was her mother’s laughter drifting from open windows, her father’s arms lifting her high, her grandmother’s hand steady around hers, and a dragon hatchling tumbling through the grass as if she belonged there.

One day, it would not feel so simple.

One day, she would learn how sharp a place it could be.

But not yet.

“Thank you,” he said softly.

Rhaenys looked at him for a long moment, then at Valora in his arms.

Her granddaughter.

Her first grandchild.

Already beloved beyond reason.

“Of course,” she said.

Valora yawned then, wide and sudden and entirely unimpressed by the timing of it.

Laenor laughed quietly and pressed another kiss to her temple.

“I think your grand adventure has worn you out.”

“Mm,” Valora agreed, though it sounded more like a sleepy hum than a word.

Naelys chirruped once in protest at the fading attention.

Rhaenys looked down at the tiny dragon and then back at her son.

“Take them in soon,” she said. “Before your daughter decides sleep is for lesser creatures and her dragon decides the same.”

Laenor smiled. “You have become suspiciously fond of both.”

Rhaenys’s gaze followed Valora again, and for just a moment, all the distance fell away.

“Yes,” she said simply. “I have.”

Then, with one last touch to Valora’s little foot where it peeked from her skirts, Rhaenys turned and began to walk back toward the castle, still holding the ruined flower stem in her hand like something precious.

Laenor watched her go, then looked down at his daughter.

Valora had already begun to drift, lashes low against her cheeks, one small hand still fisted in the front of his doublet. Beside him, Naelys pressed close against his boots with a tiny grumble, as though unwilling to be left out of any carrying arrangement.

He laughed softly.

“Yes, you too, little menace.”

The birthing chambers were warm with candlelight and the soft murmur of voices, though the sharp edge of labour had finally passed.

Rhaenyra lay propped against her pillows, pale with exhaustion but glowing all the same, her silver hair loose around her shoulders. In her arms rested her newborn son, wrapped securely in soft crimson and sea-blue blankets, his tiny face half-hidden against her chest.

Beside the bed stood Laenor, looking as though he was trying very hard to appear calm and dignified while failing rather miserably at hiding his joy.

Near the doorway, five-year-old Valora Velaryon stood with all the solemn importance of a child who understood that something very significant had happened. Her long silver hair had been carefully braided back, though a few strands had already escaped, and her bright purple eyes were fixed entirely on the small bundle in her mother’s arms.

At her side stood three-year-old Jacaerys, who was trying his best to be serious as well, though he kept shifting from foot to foot with poorly concealed excitement.

The moment the nursemaid opened the door wide enough for them to enter, both children hurried in, though Valora slowed herself just before reaching the bed, lifting her chin as though reminding herself she was the elder and must therefore behave accordingly.

Jace nearly walked straight into her back before stopping himself.

“Careful,” Valora whispered without looking at him.

“I am being careful,” Jace whispered back.

“You stepped on my gown.”

“I did not.”

“You nearly did.”

Rhaenyra, hearing them, looked up with a tired but fond smile.

“There are my darlings,” she murmured.

At once, both children abandoned any attempt at whispered dignity and rushed to the bedside.

Valora stopped just close enough to peer down at the babe in Rhaenyra’s arms, her expression immediately softening into wonder. Jace had to lean slightly against the side of the bed to see properly, his eyes wide.

The baby was very small.

Very pink.

And, in Jace’s opinion, not doing very much at all.

Valora, however, looked wholly enchanted with her newest brother.

Jace blinked. “He’s tiny.”

Laenor let out a quiet laugh. “That is generally how newborn babes work, yes.”

Jace ignored him, still staring. “Will he stay that tiny?”

“No,” Rhaenyra said, amusement flickering in her voice.

“I can help,” Jace offered immediately.

Valora cast him a look. “You are three.”

“And?”

“And you drop things.”

“I do not.”

“You dropped your wooden dragon in the fish pond yesterday.”

“That was different.”

Laenor coughed to hide his smile. Rhaenyra simply shook her head fondly.

Valora leaned a little closer, careful not to jostle the bed. “What is his name, Mother?”

Rhaenyra looked toward Laenor, and he smiled before answering.

“Lucaerys,” he said. “But I think we shall call him Luke.”

Jace repeated it at once, testing it carefully. “Luke.”

Valora smiled. “It suits him.”

For a moment, both children simply stared at their new brother, the room hushed around them save for the faint crackle of the fire and the soft little sounds the babe made in his sleep.

Then Jace straightened suddenly, as though remembering something vitally important.

He turned at once to Valora with complete seriousness.

“Thank you.”

Valora blinked, pulled from her careful observation of the baby. “For what?”

Jace looked almost offended that she needed to ask.

“For letting me pick Luke’s egg.”

The room went still for a brief second, all the adults’ attention shifting to the two children.

Valora’s expression softened immediately.

“You were meant to,” she said simply.

Jace shook his head, curls bouncing. “But you let me.”

Valora frowned faintly. “No. It is the rule.”

Laenor folded his arms, smiling as though he already knew exactly where this was going.

Jace, still wholly earnest, pressed on. “You picked mine.”

“Yes,” Valora said.

“And so you could have picked Luke’s too, because you’re the eldest.”

Valora drew herself up a little straighter at that, clearly pleased by the acknowledgement, but she still shook her head.

“That is not how it works. I chose your egg because you were the next babe after me. And now Luke comes after you, so you choose his.”

Jace looked back at the sleeping infant, then at his sister, and his small face brightened with pride.

“I picked a good one.”

“You did,” Valora agreed at once.

Jace beamed, then added, “I made sure it was warm.”

Laenor laughed softly. “Did you?”

“Yes,” Jace said with all the confidence of a prince making a formal report. “And I told it Luke would need a dragon because he is our brother.”

At that, even Rhaenyra let out a quiet laugh.

Valora nodded as though this were perfectly sensible. “That was wise.”

“I know,” Jace said.

Valora reached out then and took his hand briefly, giving it a small squeeze. “It was kind too.”

Jace looked ridiculously pleased with himself.

Rhaenyra watched the two of them with a look so tender it almost hurt. Exhaustion still weighed on her, but there was something deeply soothing in seeing her children like this, her daughter so composed and loving already, her son so eager to do right by his little brother.

Laenor’s gaze moved between all three of them, his smile quieter now, fuller somehow.

“Well,” he said after a moment, “I think Luke is fortunate indeed. An elder sister who watches over everyone, and a brother who chooses him a dragon before he has even opened both eyes.”

Valora glanced at the baby again, then at her parents.

“We shall both watch over him,” she declared.

Jace nodded immediately. “Yes.”

Valora looked down at Luke with all the fierce seriousness a five-year-old princess could muster. “No one will trouble him.”

Rhaenyra smiled faintly. “I pity the person who tries.”

Jace puffed out his chest. “I can be frightening.”

Valora gave him a long look.

“You cried because the kitchen cat hissed at you.”

“He was fierce unexpectedly,” Jace said with dignity.

Laenor laughed outright then, and even Rhaenyra had to lower her head for a moment, smiling against Luke’s soft hair.

Valora, apparently deciding her brother had suffered enough, turned her full attention back to the baby.

“May I hold him?”

Rhaenyra hesitated only long enough to shift carefully against the pillows. “For a moment.”

Valora climbed up onto the edge of the bed with great care, sitting still as Rhaenyra gently settled the newborn into her arms. At once, Valora went utterly motionless, as though afraid even breathing too hard might disturb him.

Jace stared at her with naked envy.

“I want to hold him.”

“You may when you are bigger,” Valora said.

“That is not fair.”

“It is true.”

Luke shifted slightly in her arms, letting out the tiniest noise, and both children froze.

Then Valora smiled down at him, soft and radiant.

“Hello, Luke,” she whispered. “I am your sister.”

Jace quickly leaned closer, unwilling to be left out. “And I am Jace. I picked your egg.”

Laenor turned away slightly, one hand rising to his mouth in a failed attempt to hide his smile.

Rhaenyra only watched, her eyes shining faintly.

Jace frowned after a moment and looked to Valora again. “Do you think he knows?”

Valora looked very thoughtful at that.

“Yes,” she decided. “I think he does.”

Jace seemed satisfied with this answer. He rested his chin carefully on the edge of the mattress, studying his baby brother with solemn devotion.

Then, in a quieter voice, he said, “I’m glad you picked mine.”

Valora looked at him in surprise.

Jace shrugged one shoulder. “Because then I got Vermax.”

Valora smiled, and this time, there was something almost teasing in it despite her age. “So this is not truly about Luke at all. It is about your dragon.”

Jace gasped. “No.”

Laenor raised a brow. “A likely tale.”

Jace flushed. “It is about both.”

“That is better,” Valora said gravely.

The room fell quiet again after that, warm and peaceful, full of the kind of joy that felt too delicate to disturb.

Rhaenyra leaned back into her pillows, watching her children gathered around their newest brother. Laenor stood at her side, one hand resting lightly against the bedpost, his expression softer than usual.