-ˋˏ ༻✧༺ ˎˊ- 𝐀 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐍 heir of an heir — prologue
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With the final push, with the final scream, Rhaenyra was finally able to slump against the mountain of pillows behind her. Her scream was followed by a loud cry of her newborn babe — a cry so unexpected that she stilled on the spot.
Her babe cried. Her babe was alive. Rhaenyra felt the heavy weight lift from her heart.
For the past nine moons of her pregnancy she had to listen to whispers that followed her — she had to avoid the pitiful glances sent her way. 'Her mother, the late Queen Aemma, did not have any luck birthing heirs for her husband so her only living child must carry the same problems.'
As if being with child was not scary enough, she had to be constantly reminded of how much she looked like her mother — her mother who lost pregnancy after pregnancy, birthing stillborn babes or having them live a day only to die afterwards — her mother who spent more time pregnant than free of the childbearing burden — her mother who wasted away before her eyes until it killed her.
It was safe to say Rhaenyra didn't dare hope for a good outcome despite feeling her babe kick and move. Baelon had been moving — she could still remember seeing the outline of his little foot on the side of her mother's belly. It did not matter because he barely lived a day.
But now, her babe was screaming with life and it made her want to weep.
"A girl, Princess!" one of her midwives announced. "Praise the Mother!" the other chuckled as she tried her best to clean the babe of all the blood.
Rhaenyra stopped breathing for a second. She would be lying if she didn't admit she hoped for a son — she hoped for a boy because it would've been easier. If she had a boy, his claim and rights wouldn't be questioned — the Lords of the Realm would accept him easily and without complaints because he would've had a cock between his legs which meant everything in this world.
But she had a daughter, not a son.
A memory flashed before her eyes — a green dress during her wedding and Rhaenyra instantly knew her daughter's life was going to be in danger from now on — Perhaps not even because she was born cockless, but because she was hers — because she grew in Rhaenyra's womb — because Rhaenyra birthed her.
Silent threats already loomed close, even before her daughter's birth. She already had to watch and guard her back, looking for traitors that wished to tear her to pieces and feast on her remains — all so they could get their hands on what was rightfully hers, the Iron Throne.
She never wanted it, she never wanted to be her father's heir. Rhaenyra only wanted her father to see her, to hear her, to understand her — she wanted him to stop torturing her mother by forcing her to birth him a son when she was right there, already born, already his.
