PRINCESS OF STILLBORN SONS
Valarr Targaryen x f!wife!reader
warnings ; mention of stillborn sons, oc!valarr (maybe?), english isn’t my first language.
Your marriage to Valarr was born from an arrangement, like practically every marriage of your time. In the beginning, it was strange to wed someone you barely knew, but soon the two of you began to learn about each other and discovered that your union held not only duty, but love as well.
But love is not everything in life, especially when Valarr is second in the line of succession.
As months turned into years and no pregnancy was announced, people began to whisper things that could wound deeply if they reached the wrong ears—
—or perhaps the right ones.
With no heir, the burden of giving the realm a future king weighed more and more heavily upon Valarr’s shoulders, and the love you once shared slowly grew cold.
The bed was no longer shared for love or pleasure; it became merely a place where you fulfilled your duty to the kingdom, night after night, pausing only when your moon blood came.
And when it arrived, your heart broke once again. Yet despite everything, you never cried.
You changed, becoming someone very different from the woman you had been at the beginning of your marriage. He changed as well, and neither of you changed for the better.
When the maester confirmed your first pregnancy, the realm celebrated as though a battle had already been won. But one should never celebrate a battle before truly claiming victory.
Then, on an ordinary morning, you awoke to find your gown and bed sheets stained with blood. You knew you had already lost, but you tried to hold on anyway—for him.
It was useless. You knew that if the gods did not will it, you would never have a child. It felt like a cruel joke, offering you hope only to take everything away from you.
Now, instead of seeds that never took root within your womb, you collected stillbirths.
Three boys—children who never cried, never even drew breath.
If the whispers had once been capable of hurting you, now they could tear pieces from your heart.
No nobleman bothered to hide the look of revulsion in their eyes. No one cared whether it wounded you.
You are carrying another life within your womb, but this time no one celebrates. They all say the child grows there in vain, doomed like all the others.
Without a doubt, this has been the worst pregnancy of all. The pain in your feet and back is unbearable, constant nausea, nothing stays in your stomach for long. The maesters whisper that this child may carry you to the grave through complications.
Inside your womb, life is unmistakable. The baby seems to love moving, and despite the pain caused by such restlessness, you cherish the feeling of not being alone.
The labor begins earlier than expected. The maester and the nurses do not seem particularly devoted after the previous losses.
And yet, against everyone’s expectations, a beautiful baby girl is born.
Her heart beats. She breathes, and she cries loudly, as if determined to let everyone know that she is here.
She is exactly like her father—the same brown hair marked by a silver streak, and the same mismatched eyes.
But she is still a girl. No one celebrates the birth of a girl, especially when she is the first living child after years of trying.
You feel that the gods are still mocking you.
“She is alive and healthy… that’s what matters.”
Valarr whispers as holds his daughter in his arms. He watches her closely, noticing the way she moves and softly grumbles.
“She has your hands,” he says, looking at the baby’s tiny fingers wrapped around his own, her chubby little hand with perfectly formed nails.
“My hands?” You lets out a tired breath through your nose, utterly exhausted. “She has your hair and your eyes… who cares about hands?”
“Apparently, only me,” he laughs.
Silence settles over the room until Valarr speaks again.
“Listen, I know I’ve been distant, but I want to make things right.” He pauses for a long moment.
“It will be just the three of us, unless fate surprises us. I don’t want to keep forcing this pain upon you, my wife.”
He walks toward you as you lie in bed.
“I swear I will protect you as I should have from the very beginning—you and our daughter. And if we never have a son, then I will defend her until the day she sits upon that throne.”
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