Ambers || Jacaerys Velaryon

8. Miara

Prince Joffrey was born on a dark day.

Clouds had been heavy in the sky for the better part of the week after the tournament, the capital wet and grey. Miara heard whispers over it in the halls and the kitchens. Some claimed it was a curse, that the gods saw fit to weep over another dark-haired babe born to parents of silver hair.

"The clouds will never part," a maid whispered in the cover of the servant's quarters. "That babe is a bastard, just like the others."

The words stung, igniting a quiet fury within Miara. It wasn't the first time she had heard such talk-- rumors about the royal children with their dark hair and tan skin plagued the court, but Miara buried her anger, letting it smolder beneath her calm exterior. Let them gossip, she thought, they know nothing.

Laenor had even helped to ease her aggravations. He told a different tale, one that made her see the stormy weather in a new light. One evening, as they stood together in the princess' chambers, Laenor held Joffrey to his chest. He gazed out at the rain that cried against the windows and spoke of his sons with pride.

"Each of my boys was born under clouds," Laenor had said. "The gods bless them. The sea and sky become one in their honor, bringing water to the lands of our future queen. It is a sign of prosperity, not sorrow." His voice had softened then, his gaze turning to his son rather than his cup for once.

The weather remained bleak in the following days, but Miara found herself praising the shadowy skies after Laenor's claims. Today was no different as heavy clouds loomed overhead, blocking the sun. 

"Do you think Prince Joffrey would like a fish or a dragon more?" Miara asks, trailing beside Harwin through the castle's exterior corridors, the stone still damp from the morning's showers.

Rhaenyra had dismissed them both, her sworn sword and cupbearer, wishing to nurse Joffrey in solitude. Miara had heard that most highborn ladies passed their babes off to wet nurses, allowing them to handle such tasks, but the princess seemed content to bond with her child. Miara admired her for it and was also grateful for the princess' humble mothering, as it allowed her a rare moment to be with Harwin during the light of day.

"Why a fish?" Harwin asks, glancing down at her, his brow furrowed in deep confusion.

"I don't know what a sea snake looks like," she replies, shrugging as if the answer was obvious.

She was eager to craft the little prince something special in honor of his parentage, her first gift to him, but she wanted it to be something he'd like, not something that might frighten him. The last thing she wanted was to make Joffrey cry with a horrid jet nightmare.

Harwin's chuckle rumbles through the narrow corridor they walk in. He tucks his hands into the waist strap of his sword's scabbard and keeps a leisurely pace. He always seemed calm after seeing the princess and baby Joffrey, much to Miara's content. His calmness often passed to her and made her feel as though they had all the time in the world together. 

"I'm sure the prince will appreciate anything you make him, dear one. Babes are kind in that way," Harwin says, his voice gentle, reassuring.

Miara decides silently she'll try her luck with the fish then. After all, Prince Joffrey already had the dragon egg Luke had chosen for him, nestled safely in his cradle. A bit of variety couldn't hurt. She'd grown a bit tired of the complexity of sculpting dragons anyway.

As they walk, the sounds of sparring and distant commands grow louder as they near the training yard. It was more populated than usual today. Spectators kept to the far corners of the yard, feigning interest in grooming horses or engaging in casual conversations about politics, when the real reason they were here was at the center of the main square.