✦ New Faith ✦ Aegon Targaryen

○ fourty three ○

♧

It had been nearly six months, and King’s Landing was more restless than I’d ever thought possible. Tensions stirred in every corner of the Red Keep, rippling through the city like a dark undercurrent. Where I’d once attended courtly duties at Aegon’s side, now I spent my days in my chambers, secluded from the constant talk of alliances and war strategies against Rhaenyra. The maesters assured me the babe would come soon, yet with each passing day, my heart grew heavier with a longing for home.

I pressed my swollen belly against my writing desk, the discomfort grounding me as I dipped my quill into ink and began to write, finding solace in the familiar flow of words.

Dearest Mother and Father,

I write with joy and humility, as soon I am to bring a new life into this world—your grandchild. It would mean everything to have you here for this sacred time. I long for your guidance and strength, and the peace only family can bring.

Please, let me know if you will come. Rooms are prepared, and I await you eagerly, holding you close in my prayers each day.

With all my love,
Tanda

As I finished the letter, a subtle sense of peace crept over me. I sealed it, then turned to my handmaiden Yveni, who waited patiently. She took it with a small curtsy, and I called for another handmaiden, Milly, who entered promptly with a deep bow.

“Yes, my Queen, what do you require?” she asked, her voice as gentle as her demeanor.

“Would you bring the blanket I’ve been working on? I’d like to go to the godswood and sew for a while.”

Milly nodded and retrieved the small, unfinished blanket, then followed me out, trailed by Ser Davian. I walked slowly, each step a reminder of the weight I carried. By the time we reached the godswood, my back ached, and I longed for a moment’s rest. Milly and I settled beneath the ancient tree, its branches sheltering us in their quiet reverence.

“Milly, dear,” I asked softly as I adjusted my sewing things. “Are you married?”

A blush crept over her cheeks, her usual shyness blooming into her expression. “No, my Queen, but I am to be soon.”

“Oh?” I smiled, curious and grateful for this rare, gentle distraction. “And who might the lucky man be?”

“A baker named Arny,” she replied, her cheeks flushing even deeper.

“Is he handsome?” I teased, a lightness returning to my voice. She only nodded, bashful, and I chuckled softly, savoring the simplicity of it. I hadn’t realized how much I missed conversations like these, small moments untouched by the weight of titles or duty.

But as I laughed, a wave of unexpected emotion surged through me. Tears pricked my eyes, and soon they were slipping down my cheeks. Milly looked up, alarmed.

“Queen Tanda? Are you alright?”

I managed a nod, dabbing at my eyes with my sleeve. “Yes, Milly. Just the babe, I think. These emotions come so easily these days.”

She offered a sympathetic smile but didn’t press further. After a moment, I collected myself, arranging the needles and fabric between us. I passed Milly a needle and thread.

“Would you help me sew a few stars and flowers for the babe?” I asked, steadying my voice. “It would mean a great deal.”

She nodded, and we both fell into a quiet rhythm, our hands moving in unison as we stitched delicate stars and petals into the fabric. Each stitch felt like a prayer, a plea for peace, safety, and the small hope that maybe—just maybe—the Seven had not abandoned us.