𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐞𝐚 𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬 || Aemond Targaryen

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐲-𝐭𝐰𝐨

The golden morning sun spilled through the windows of Aemond's chambers, casting long beams across the stone floor. The fire from the night before had died down, leaving only the warmth of fresh sunlight, the faint scent of milk and lavender in the air, and the quiet coos of a freshly-fed babe nestled at Lyanna's chest.

Freya sat nearby, carefully folding fresh linens, her expression fond as she watched the young mother cradle her fifth child with practiced ease.

"You make it look so effortless," Freya commented with a soft smile. "And this one's got lungs like her eldest brother already."

Lyanna chuckled, brushing a silver curl from her daughter's tiny forehead. "She screamed at the maester the moment she was born. A fighter already."

"She's yours," Freya quipped. "What did they expect?"

Just then, the heavy chamber doors creaked open. Aemond stepped in, hair slightly tousled from the breeze outside, looking just a little harried — but he wasn't alone.

"Aemond!" Lyanna perked up, adjusting her gown to secure the baby just as—

"Mama!!" two high-pitched voices screamed.

A blur of pink and silver came barreling toward the bed — Aerea and Rhaella, both in matching little tunics with tiny embroidered dragons stitched by Helaena. Rhaella tripped on the edge of the rug, caught herself, and then flung herself onto the bed beside Lyanna.

"I wanna hold the baby!" Aerea cried, climbing up with far less grace but all the determination of a miniature war general.

Behind them, Maekar toddled in at full speed, practically bouncing like a cub on fire. "Mama! Mama, where's the new one?! Papa said she tiny like a kitten!"

"She is tiny like a kitten," Lyanna laughed, already shifting her arms so her daughters could see their new sister. "But you all have to be very gentle—"

"I am gentle," Aerea huffed, clearly insulted by the suggestion. "I held a frog yesterday."

"That frog died, Aerea," Maekar chimed in very helpfully.

"It jumped out of my hand!"

Lyanna gave them all a look, lips twitching with amusement. "No frogs. No jumping. Just soft touches."

And then—

"I REFUSE TO PARTICIPATE IN THIS."

All heads turned.

There, standing rigid in Ser Criston Cole's arms like a very angry baby king, was Maegor — their eldest. Hair tousled, tiny fists clenched, and the deepest scowl on a toddler anyone had ever seen.

"I DO NOT WANT A BABY."

Ser Criston looked mildly betrayed. "He's been saying that for fifteen minutes. And kicking."

Lyanna raised a brow, suppressing a smile. "Oh? You're not excited, Maegor?"

"She's loud," he said with grave finality. "I don't like loud."

"She's your sister."

"I already HAVE sisters," Maegor snapped, then added, quieter. "They touch my things."

"You touch my things," Aerea shouted across the bed, clearly ready for war.

"Enough," Aemond said smoothly, stepping into the fray with the ease of a man used to managing small dragons in child form. He plucked Maegor from Criston's arms and hoisted him with one hand. "You'll like her soon enough."

"I won't," Maegor muttered, but he didn't protest when Aemond brought him closer.

Lyanna opened her arms gently. "Come see her. Just for a moment."