(Author note in the comments!)
105 AC (After Conquest)
Powerful golden wings flapped in the sky as a mighty dragon soared proudly. It moved, as if dancing elegantly, much to the pleasure of its rider.
Dragon and rider flew atop King's Landing, before they landed in front of the dragon pit. Dust flew up everywhere, almost knocking down a couple of dragonkeepers, whose clothes and bodies were stained with ash due to working so closely to dragons.
"Dohaerās Syrax." One of the dragonkeepers said, trying to calm the dragon down.
Princess Rhaenyra jumped down from the saddle and moved away from Syrax, though not before she caressed it with a smile on her face.
"Welcome back, princess," said Ser Harrold Westerling atop his white horse.
"Try not to look too relieved, Ser," Rhaenyra teased.
"I am relieved," he replied. "Every time that golden beast brings you back unspoiled saves my head from a spike."
Rhaenyra laughed and approached her friend, Alicent, who was waiting for her on the stairs of a carriage.
"Syrax has grown quickly. She will soon be as large as Caraxes," she said with an easy smile.
"That's almost large enough to saddle two," Rhaenyra replied with a suggestive tone.
Alicent's smile grew a bit wider. "I believe I am quite content as a spectator, thank you."
The two laughed and entered the carriage. Making their way back to the Red Keep.
They walked side by side—gossiping and laughing—all the way towards the room where Rhaenyra's mother lay.
"Rhaenyra!" Aemma called.
Rhaenyra walked towards her mother.
"You know I don't like you flying while I am in this condition…" Aemma said.
Rhaenyra rolled her eyes. "You don't like me to go flying whether you're in any condition," she stated matter-of-factly.
"Your grace," Alicent curtsied slightly.
"Good morrow, Alicent," Aemma greeted her.
"Did you sleep?" Rhaenyra asked.
"I slept," her mother answered.
"How long?" She insisted.
"I don't need mothering, Rhaenyra," Aemma answered dryly.
"Well, here you are, surrounded by attendants all focused on the babe. Someone has to attend to you." Rhaenyra stated.
"You… will lie in this bed soon enough, Rhaenyra." Aemma nudged her daughter with her foot playfully. "This discomfort is how we serve the realm."
Rhaenyra shook her head, a scornful expression at the idea her mother presented. "I'd rather serve as a knight, and ride to battle and glory." She said with a smug smile.
Aemma laughed while Alicent smiled.
"We have royal wombs, you and I," Aemma said, "the childbed is our battlefield. We must learn to face it with a stiff lip." She eyed her daughter with a loving yet stern gaze. "Now take a bath. You stink of dragon."
In the chamber of the Small Council, amidst the usual discussions of politics, lord Corlys Velaryon brought up the matter of a recent union between the free cities, forming what they called the Triarchy. In particular, about Craghas Drahar, the so-called 'Crab Feeder', and Prince Admiral of the Triarchy. Though much to the dissatisfaction of the Sea Snake, he was ignored by both the King and his Hand.
At that moment, Rhaenyra entered the room.
"Rhaenyra!" Viserys called, effectively interrupting a still speaking Corlys. "You're late! King's cupbearer must not be late. Leaves people wanting for cups."
Rhaenyra leaned down, kissing her father's cheek. "I was visiting mother…"
Viserys smiled and took a whiff of a familiar scent. "On dragonback?" He asked teasingly.
Lord Beesbury, not one to miss the chance to complain about spending money, raised the matter of Daemon's—current Commander of the Watch—reequipping the city watch using the crown's coin. As the Master of Coin complained, Viserys was quick to dismiss him with a smile, putting the matter to rest.
"I would urge that you not allow this Triarchy much latitude in the Stepstones, Your Grace." Corlys tried bringing the matter up once more. "If those shipping lanes should fall, it will beggar our ports." He said.
"The crown has heard your report, lord Corlys, and takes it under advisement." The Hand of the King, lord Otto Hightower, spoke with a stern tone.
The atmosphere in the chamber became somber for a brief moment before Otto himself decided to speak again.
"Shall we discuss the heir's tournament, Your Grace?" He asked.
"I would be delighted," Viserys smiled. "Would the maester's nameday prediction hold, Mellos?" He asked.
Maester Mellos cleared his throat. "You must understand that these things are mere estimations, my king. But we have all been poring over the moon charts, and we feel that our forecast is as accurate as it can be." Mellos said.
Lord Beesbury once more spoke about coin expenditure. "The cost of the tournament is not negligible. Perhaps we might delay… until the child is in hands?" He said.
Viserys groaned.
Lyonel Strong, Master of Laws, said. "Most of the lords and knights are certainly on their way to King's Landing, to turn them back now-" Though he was interrupted by the king.
"The tourney will take the better part of the week. Before the games are over… My son will be born." He said confidently. "And the whole realm will celebrate."
Rhaenyra tightened her hold over the wine jar, gritting her teeth in subtle irritation.
"We have no way of predicting the sex of the child…" Maester Mellos spoke up.
"Of course. No maester is capable of rendering opinions free of conditions, are they now?" Viserys spoke. "There's a boy in the queen's belly. I know it. And my boy will put all this damn handwringing to rest himself."
Later that day, Viserys walked into a candlelit room, where his wife lay inside a bathtub. Her expression was serene.
"You spend more time in that bath than I do on the throne." He joked.
She sighed with a hint of weakness escaping at that moment. "This is the only place I can find comfort these days."
Viserys kneeled at her side and put a hand on the water, and the moment he did, he frowned. "It's tepid." He said.
"It's as warm as the maester will allow," she spoke.
"Don't they know dragons prefer heat?" Viserys caressed his wife's head.
She hummed. "After this miserable pregnancy, I wouldn't be surprised if I actually hatched an actual dragon."
"And he will be loved and cherished," Viserys kissed Aemma's hand.
"Rhaenyra already declared that she is to have a sister," Aemma joked.
"Really?" He smiled.
She nodded. "She even named her."
"Dare I ask?"
"Visenya… She chose a dragon's egg for the cradle that she said reminded her of Vhagar." She sighed.
"Gods be good! This family already has its Visenya," he exclaimed.
"Has there been any news from your brother?" Aemma asked.
Viserys shook his head. "Not since I named him Commander of the City Watch. Though I am sure he will re-emerge for the tourney. He can never stay away from the lists."
Aemma looked away. "The tourney… to celebrate the first-born son we presently do not have? You do understand… that nothing will cause the babe to grow a cock, if it does not already possess one?"
Viserys stared her straight in the eye and spoke resolutely. "This child is a boy, Aemma. I am certain of it. I have never been more certain of anything." He paused. "The dream… it was clearer than a memory. Our son was born wearing Aegon's Iron Crown. And I heard the sound of thundering hooves, splintering shields, and ringing swords, and I placed our son upon the Iron Throne… As the bells of the Grand Sept toll and all the dragons roared as one."
"Born wearing a crown?" Aemma asked with a joking tone. "Gods spare me! Birth is unpleasant enough as it is."
Without raising looking at him, Aemma spoke once more. "This is the last time, Viserys." Her tone was somber and melancholic. "I have lost one babe in the cradle, had two stillbirths, and two pregnancies that ended well before their term." She leaned forward and looked him in the eyes. "That's five, in twice as many years… I know it is my duty to provide you with an heir, and I'm sorry if I have failed you in that. I am. But I have mourned all the dead children I can."
Neither spoke after that, as they chose to remain silent and take solace in each other's presence.
That same night, Daemon Targaryen, displaying his princely charisma and known cruelty. Ordered for his City Watch to 'rid his brother's city of crime'. That night, people were beaten down, limbs were cut, and heads rolled.
Came morning, a council meeting was called for, where Daemon's action came up, and the Rogue Prince was chided for his performance.
The tournament began as knights and lords alike clashed wooden spears against one another's shields atop powerful horses.
Among them, two became the center of attention. One Ser Criston Cole, a commoner, son of lord Dondarrion's steward, after he unhorsed the two Baratheons. And of course, Daemon Targaryen, the Rogue Prince.
Though during the tournament, a maester came for the King, as the Queen had entered childbirth.
Viserys rushed to the palace, heart thrumming loudly in his ears. Soon, he heard Aemma's pained screams.
"What happened?" Viserys asked the maester.
"The infant is in breech, Your Grace." The maester replied. "All attempts to turn the babe have failed."
"Do something for her!" Viserys screamed.
"We've given her as much milk of the poppy as we can without risking the child. Your Queen is a strong woman. She's fighting with all her might, but it may not be enough.
"Nooo…" Aemma groaned.
"Aemma!" Viserys called worriedly. "Aemma, I'm here. I'm here. It's all right."
"I don't want to do this…" Aemma moaned in pain.
"You're going to be alright," Viserys said helplessly.
Time passed, and Aemma became weaker by the minute.
Viserys couldn't keep a thought for long, as they all twisted together into an incoherent mess. The worries of a husband seeing his wife suffer.
"Mellos…" Viserys called.
"Your Grace." He gestured to the side. "If you would."
Viserys kissed Aemma's hand, though the Queen didn't even register it amidst her pain and weakness. The King got up and walked towards Mellos.
"During a difficult childbirth, it sometimes becomes necessary for the father… to make an impossible choice," Mellos said somberly.
"Well, speak it," Viserys said with impatience.
"To sacrifice one… or to lose them both." Mellos' words hammered against Viserys, making the king narrow his eyes. "There is a chance that we can save the child. A technique is taught at the Citadel, which involves cutting directly into the womb to free the infant. But the resulting blood loss-"
"Seven hells, Mellos…" Viserys spoke in a choked tone, almost retching, disgusted by himself for considering the idea. "You can save the child?" He asked.
Mellos nodded. "We must either act now or leave it with the gods."
Viserys kneeled by the bedside, taking Aemma's hands into his.
"Viserys…" she spoke.
He smiled sadly. "They are going to bring the babe out now."
She smiled deliriously from the pain. The King nodded, and the people in the room cleaned the bed.
Viserys looked towards his wife. "I love you," he said.
Aemma smiled before they pulled her by her feet, dragging her down from the pillow she had rested her head atop.
"What is happening?" She asked.
"No, it's all right." He said, trying to calm her down.
"No, what is happening?" She asked again as they uncovered her swollen stomach. "Viserys… What are they doing? What's happening?"
Viserys caressed her cheek. "It's all right. They are going to bring the babe out."
"No, I'm scared." She spoke.
"Don't be scared." He comforted her.
"What is happening?" She sobbed.
As the maester started the procedure, Aemma screamed, she begged to stop, and she cried in pain.
They dragged the babe from his mother's still, warm, and lifeless body.
Viserys felt warm tears run down his face as he saw his wife's lifeless eyes. And he wanted to kill himself for it. He felt he had no right to cry. After all, he was the one who had ordered her killing. By his word, was his wife opened and gutted like an animal.
He almost hadn't heard when the maester called him, placing a bundle of cloth in his arms.
"It is a boy, Your Grace." Maester Mellos said.
The moment Viserys looked at the face of his son, the infant opened his eyes, and all in the room gasped in fright.
For the newborn prince's eyes were slitted like the eyes of a reptile—or perhaps the eyes of a dragon…
But that wasn't all… As his eyes were bright red, the color of smoldering flames.
Viserys swallowed dryly. His heart felt like it had stopped.
In the distance, outside of the Red Keep, the bells of the Grand Sept tolled loudly and proudly.
Down in the dragonpit, atop a pedestal, lay an egg. A dragon egg. Though not the one Rhaenyra had chosen for her supposed 'sister'. No, this one… this egg was one that Vhagar, the oldest dragon alive, had laid herself. From the times when Balerion still lived. Rumor had it that this was an egg born from the union of two of the greatest dragons to ever fly atop Westeros' skies.
Though that egg had long since surpassed the time it was supposed to hatch, it was petrified.
Now the dragonkeepers only displayed it, as one of the few relics The Black Dread had left behind.
But that wouldn't remain for long. Since at that very instant, the egg cracked.
A red wing burst from the shell. And a shrill cry came from inside it. The keepers who were close watched in astonishment and awe. Dropping to their knees and admiring the birth of something that should be impossible.
Simultaneously, all of the dragons, even the ones that were far away, roared in unison. Their mighty screams echo far and wide.
Viserys heard the bells; he heard the roars. And he looked back at his son in astonishment.
Viserys swallowed dryly, mesmerized by his son's eyes.
Mellos approached carefully. "My King… What is the name of the Prince?"
Viserys looked at his son, dreamily. Thinking that perhaps, just perhaps… he had made the right choice.
"Antares," Viserys said. "Antares Targaryen, rightful heir to the Iron Throne."