Part One

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Author's Note: This is based on the depiction of Aegon in HBO's House of The Dragon and not the books, though I do change some details about his character here and there. I fully recognize that he is a horrible person in the show, especially, but it still makes me want to fuck him just as badly. Please give me hate for this, so I know what to add to the story to piss you Aegon haters off. Toodles!

Chapter Warnings: Graphic depictions of childbirth and complications, death, reference to sexual assault, Aegon speaking inappropriately to a minor.





Screams echoed throughout the dark streets of Flea Bottom, the sound emanating from one of the many brothels that occupied the townspeople and even certain royals. The usual moans the whores had listened to were gone, replaced with their encouraging words and the shallow pants of a woman in labor. The establishment was closed for the night, which was unusual. They were always open, even on holidays that were supposed to be observed in silence, but this, they believed, was far more important.

One of the fellow women was giving birth to the firstborn daughter of Daemon Targaryen, a bastard.

"Push Elaina! Push," the Madam commanded, holding her sweating hand.

The whispers of the other girls were the only thing Elaina Black could hear, even over the pound of blood through her ears. She had taken all the proper precautions to avoid this, but it seemed the Gods had other plans for her. Elaina had been the private whore of Daemon Targaryen, reserved only for his cock. Typically, the Madam would refuse such a demand, but he was a prince, and only the best were given to the Highborn.

"I can't," she whimpered, tears streaming down her temples. Unable to hold herself up, she lay on her bed, legs held open by her fellow girls. It had been hours, and the babe had not breached the canal. She was exhausted, sweat coated all her limbs, and she had given up on the birthing chair.

"You must!" A young girl to her side whispered, dabbing her forehead with a cool, damp cloth.

"The babe is stuck," the Madam said, her gruff voice turning into a soft, worried sound. Her callused hand rubbed her stomach.

"I-I need something, anything, for the pain," Elaina cried, her whole body feeling like she was lying in a bed of flames.

"I am sorry, sister, but it might harm the child," a girl holding her leg spoke. Elaina grunted, baring down and pushing with all her might with a scream. She felt as if her eyes were going to pop out of her head with force.

"Yes!" The Madam shouted. "Yes! Yes! Keep going, Elaina! It is moving!"

"Oh Gods," she groaned, attempting to roll on her side, but was held down.

The Madam had a bright smile as she stuck her hands inside Elaina's canal, feeling the soft hair of the newborn as it slid forward. She could feel the child's head moving against her pelvis, creating an indescribable pain. A few more contractions and the babe would be free.

Elaina tossed and turned, gripping the stained sheets and nearly ripping them in half as a soft tuft of brown hair appeared. She screamed, her back lifting as she bared down, knowing that would be the last push.

A searing pain surged through her body from her core, traveling up her spine. She felt like she was being ripped open, all her insides tearing apart and coming out with the babe.

"Good. Good," the Madam soothed, the cry of a newborn echoing in the room. "You may rest now, Elaina."

And Elaina tried, she did, but the contractions did not stop. She kept pushing and pushing. The sighs of relief all the whores let out were all that could be heard. They left Elaina to tend to the babe, ignoring her raspy breaths. Though they were still in the room, she felt so alone and helpless, lying there with her legs spread open. She assumed her body kept pushing for the afterbirth, which was something to be expected, but she didn't think it would happen so soon. She felt her body pop like a plug pulled from a drain, which she assumed was the placenta exiting her body. She finally relaxed, her body exhaling all her pain and tension.

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