𝘼𝙉𝘼𝙀𝙇𝙔𝙎 𝙏𝘼𝙍𝙂𝘼𝙍𝙔𝙀𝙉 tore her mother apart from the inside out. She had gotten stuck halfway from the womb, slowly eroding the bones and muscles within the young woman. Her father had been granted a choice, and in that moment the chance...
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'THE CHILDBED IS OUR BATTLEFIELD'. The words had never felt so true. None of Aemma Arryn's births had been so torturous. Few made it to full term, coming into the world small and malformed, this one has swelled her stomach to its breaking point, no doubt being one of the three to make it so far.
She cried out in pain. The sharp stabs within her gut and abdomen had begun hours earlier and Viserys was little help, only summoning the midwives. Near two decades prior she would have pleaded with the King to stay, to hold her hand and whisper sweet words into her ear just for the sake of her comfort, but so long ago, before even her darling Rhaenyra, she had been taught to do otherwise. 'The childbed is no place for a man', so many had told her. The midwives, the maester, even her kind grandmother, Queen Alysanne, had said.
So, despite the searing pain that snaked through her entire being, Aemma had nothing to do but grit her teeth and bear it. Her husband must greet their guests, those present to celebrate the birth of who they all hoped would someday bear the crown. A son to take from the reckless Daemon Targaryen, a man so unfit to sit the throne. Aemma knew most of the duty that rested upon her shoulders. Rhaenyra would know hers someday, despite the girl's vehement protests.
A selfish part of Aemma hoped for another girl. She could never bear to witness her son, her own blood, rise to the position of King. It was a cruel fate for anyone so unfortunate. However, Daemon was a man too cruel and self-indulgent for the throne. Aemma considered herself strong-willed and selfless enough to allow her own blood to ascend the Iron Throne rather than subject her people to a second Maegor.
