A Dance of Hearts and Dragons | Aegon II Targaryen

Birth and Blood

The birthing room in the Red Keep was filled with the agonised cries of Myrielle Lannister. Sweat drenched her golden hair, now plastered to her forehead, as she gripped the edges of the bed, her body wracked with pain. 

The babe would not come, and every minute felt like an eternity. She panted and cursed, tears streaming down her face, her strength waning with each passing moment. She didn't know how much longer she could keep this up.

"AH!" she began to scream as another contraction took over her body.

Outside the chamber, Daemon Targaryen paced back and forth, his usually confident demeanour shattered by the distress of the moment. 

"Myrielle," he stormed up to the door and smashed his fist upon it. "Let me in!"

"NO!" a pained howl roared back at him.

Daemon groaned loudly as he ran his hand through his shortened hair. He may not have loved his second wife, but she was carrying his child and he was desperate to know what was happening to them both. Storming into a birthing chamber uninvited would likely not help matters for the mother, though.

"Please," he pleaded as he leaned his head against the door, "I need to know what's happening!"

Within the room, Myrielle's pain was reaching a fever pitch. She turned her fiery gaze on the maester attending to her, grabbing him by the collar and tugging him towards her. "You are not to tell that Targaryen cunt a thing," she hissed, her voice a mixture of fury and desperation. The maester, caught between his duty and her command, was torn. Her scream of pain, however, made the decision for him. He gently pried her fingers from his collar and hurried out of the room.

Daemon seized the maester's arm the moment he emerged. "What is happening? How is she?" he demanded, his voice a mixture of fear and frustration at being kept so uninformed.

The maester looked into Daemon's eyes, his own filled with apprehension. Neither his patient nor the prince would like the news he was about to deliver. "My Prince, it is unlikely both mother and babe will survive this. You must choose which one to save."

Daemon stared at him, uncomprehending. "What are you saying?"

"You must choose, my lord. Save the mother or the child."

"No," Daemon said as he took a step back. "No child should grow up without a mother. Save them both."

"My lord, it is not possible," the maester insisted, but Daemon's resolve firmed as he shook his head.

"I don't care what you have to do. Save. Them. Both," he commanded, pointing his finger in the maester's face.

The maester nodded reluctantly, his face grim as he returned to the birthing room, the weight of Daemon's impossible order pressing on him like a physical burden. Inside, Myrielle's screams had quieted to weak groans. She glared at the maester as he approached, her strength nearly spent.

"Did he order that you cut me open and steal my child from my dying body?" Myrielle groaned as her handmaiden mopped her sweaty brow with a cloth.

"The prince ordered that I save you both," the maester informed her, her eyes creasing with surprise. "Lady Myrielle," he said softly, "I will do everything I can."

Her eyes bore into him, looking for any sign of deception. Finding none, her body slumped, the nervous tension that she was about to be killed leaving her body. "Just get my babe out," she whispered, her voice shaking with fear.

Daemon stood outside, his heart pounding, every second an agony. He could do nothing but wait and hope that the gods would heed his desperate plea.

Save. Them. Both.