✦ New Faith ✦ Aegon Targaryen

○ fifty ○

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My knuckles turn white as I cling to the arm of the chair, each pulse of pain in my belly stronger and more piercing than the last. The ache claws through me, relentless, until my knees buckle, sending me crumpling to the floor. Tears prick at the corners of my eyes, and panic sweeps over me as I try to steady my breath, the thoughts rushing through my mind. “Is this normal? Should it hurt this much? I should have asked Mother more…”

I clutch my stomach, gasping, when the door swings open with a loud crash. Maester Orwyle rushes in, trailed by a small group of handmaidens whose faces are pale with worry. Before I can protest, they’re at my side, lifting me under my arms, half-carrying, half-guiding me to the bed. My hands grip their shoulders, my breaths coming in quick, shallow gasps.

“Your Grace, lie back, please,” the maester says, his voice calm but with an edge of urgency. “Open your legs. You need to be ready to push.”

I barely register his words, but somehow, I obey. I lean back, adjusting as best I can as another wave of agony rips through me. I cry out, feeling tears spill down my cheeks, my hands searching for something to hold on to.

“Mother!” The scream tears from my throat, desperate. My vision blurs through the pain and tears, and I search the room, looking for my family. But only the anxious eyes of the handmaidens stare back at me.

“Where is she?” I choke out, barely able to form words. “Please… where’s my family?”

The maester’s face looms above me, steady but serious. “Your Grace, you must focus now. The babe is almost here.”

The pain is like nothing I’ve known, sharp and searing, consuming all else. I push, my cries filling the chamber as I give in to the primal force of labor, wave after wave of agony wracking my body. Just when I think I can’t bear it any longer, a high, piercing wail cuts through the air, sharp and alive. Relief floods through me, and I gasp for breath, tears of exhaustion and joy mingling.

“It’s a boy an heir, Your Grace,” Maester Orwyle announces, his tone carrying a reverence as he wraps the tiny, squirming babe in a cloth. He hands him to me, and I cradle him, trembling with awe. He’s red and wrinkled, his little fists clenched, his cries fierce—but he’s mine. My son. I pull him close, pressing my forehead against his, overwhelmed by a fierce, protective love.

Cecilia moves to my side, her face soft with wonder. She meets my gaze, smiling through tears. “What will you name him, my queen?”

I open my mouth, ready to answer, but before I can speak, a fresh surge of pain twists through me, sharper and even more relentless. I cry out, my body tensing involuntarily, as if bracing against a storm.

Maester Orwyle’s face is suddenly alert, his hands reaching for me. “Your Grace, I believe there may be another child.”

Another? The realization shocks me, and I can barely process it as Maester Orwyle quickly takes my son, passing him into Cecilia’s waiting arms.

My heart pounds, and I struggle to catch my breath. “I… I didn’t know…”

The maester’s voice pulls me back. “You must push again, Your Grace. The babe is in distress.”

Fear jolts through me, sparking a strength I didn’t know I had. Gritting my teeth, I bear down, pushing as hard as I can, my entire body seizing with the effort. The pain is a fire within me, relentless, scorching, but I push through it, my mind a blur of desperate thoughts.

Just then, the door opens again, and Alicent enters with my mother and father behind her, their faces marked with worry and relief. My mother rushes to my side, her cold hand settling on my cheek, grounding me.

“One more push, Tanda I know it hurts,” she murmurs, her voice a balm. “You’re almost there.”

With her hand steadying me, I summon my last reserves of strength and push one final time, pouring every ounce of my will into bringing this child into the world. For a brief, heart-stopping moment, there is only silence. Then, Maester Orwyle lifts the tiny form in his hands, pressing his ear close.

“There’s a heartbeat.” His voice carries a quiet awe. “It’s a girl, Your Grace. A little princess.”

The weight of her is placed in my arms, soft and warm. She’s so tiny, so quiet, her eyes barely open, her little features delicate. My heart swells with a fierce, tender love as I cradle her close, touching my cheek to her downy head. The sense of awe, of devotion, overwhelms me. I hold her and my son, feeling a love as vast as the sea, stronger than any pain.

I sink back against the pillows, drained and blissful, both of my children nestled against me. The room is quiet, filled with only the soft sounds of their breaths, the weight of this miraculous moment pressing around us.

Alicent approaches, her expression softer than I have ever seen it, her voice low and almost reverent. “What are their names?”

I look down at my son first, feeling the weight of tradition. I had considered naming him Aegon, but something inside me pulls me toward another name—a name honoring King Viserys, who fought so hard for peace. “Vearys,” I murmur, my voice barely a whisper.

Then, I look at my daughter. She’s quieter, her skin paler, her little face peaceful. The memory of my father’s words comes to me, something he said about his own mother. I meet his gaze and see pride shining there. “Maiarys,” I whisper, the name falling from my lips like a blessing.

As I gaze at their sleeping faces, exhaustion sweeps over me. I close my eyes, feeling the weight of my children, their warmth against my heart, and drift into a deep, peaceful sleep.