THE WIND OF DRAGONSTONE

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄

The atmosphere at Dragonstone was charged with anticipation as Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen navigated her pregnancy with a mix of joy and anxiety. News of her condition had spread quickly throughout the castle, with the lords and ladies of the court murmuring about the potential future of House Targaryen. Rhaenyra and her husband, Laenor Velaryon, were excited but also mindful of the challenges that lay ahead.

As Rhaenyra’s belly grew, she spent her days in the sun-drenched gardens, often surrounded by her maids, who helped her with the preparations. “I feel like a dragon in a nest,” Rhaenyra would joke, her laughter ringing out, though her eyes would sometimes betray a hint of worry.

Laenor was equally excited and devoted, constantly checking on Rhaenyra and ensuring she had everything she needed. They often found themselves discussing names, their voices low and intimate, filled with the hopes and dreams they held for their child.

“What if it’s a boy?” Laenor mused one evening as they strolled through the garden, the stars twinkling above them. “Perhaps we could name him Aegon, after the Conqueror.”

Rhaenyra smiled softly but shook her head. “Aegon is a strong name, but we should also think of something unique. What about Joffrey?”

Laenor considered this, nodding. “Joffrey is a fine name—noble and valiant. But what if it’s a girl? What will we name her?”

Rhaenyra’s heart fluttered at the thought. “Leanora,” she replied almost instinctively, her voice warm with affection. “It means ‘light’ in the Old Tongue. I can think of no name more fitting.”

Laenor beamed at her choice. “Leanora it is, then. Our little light.”

In the following weeks, they prepared for the birth, surrounded by the echoes of their dreams and the ever-looming presence of duty.

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As the day of her birth arrived, the castle was a flurry of activity. Rhaenyra was enveloped in the sounds of encouragement and support from her maids and the healers who attended her. The air was thick with the scent of lavender and herbs, meant to soothe and calm her as she labored through the pain.

“Breathe, Princess. Just like we practiced,” one of her maids instructed, her voice steady as she held Rhaenyra’s hand.

Rhaenyra focused on the rhythm of her breaths, closing her eyes as another contraction surged through her. “I can’t… I can’t do this,” she gasped, her grip tightening around Mary’s hand.

“Yes, you can! You’re a Targaryen! Remember your strength!” her maid encouraged, brushing Rhaenyra’s damp hair away from her forehead.

With one final push and a fierce cry, Leanora entered the world, her presence a radiant light amid the chaos. As Rhaenyra held her daughter for the first time, the tears of joy flowed freely. “Leanora,” she whispered, savoring the name that now belonged to her precious child.

Laenor stepped forward, his heart swelling with pride. “She is beautiful, Rhaenyra. Just like her mother.” He gently brushed his fingertips against Leanora’s cheek, feeling the warmth of their bond.