Daeron sat stiffly on the edge of the bench.
The cushion beneath him, sewn from fine silk and stuffed with soft cotton, should have been comfortable.
Instead, he felt as though he were perched on cold stone, unable to relax for even a moment.
Beside him sat a man with slumped shoulders and his head bowed low.
Viserys’ gaze remained fixed on the object in his hands.
It was a palm-sized stone carving, meticulously sculpted from pale gray marble.
Its edges had been worn smooth from countless years of handling.
His fingers rubbed over it again and again, as though the familiar motions were the only thing keeping his fear from overwhelming him.
“Aah—!”
Aemma’s agonized scream rang out from behind the closed door once more.
Her cries mixed with the hushed reassurances of the midwives and the calm, measured instructions of Grand Maester Arlan.
Every sound struck like a blacksmith’s hammer against the nerves of the two men waiting outside.
Viserys’ lips had become a tight, bloodless line.
The muscles along his jaw twitched from how fiercely he clenched his teeth.
Each time Aemma cried out, his entire body shuddered.
His fingernails scraped faint lines across the marble carving.
Daeron hesitated for a moment before gently placing a hand on his brother’s arm.
“Brother…”
His young voice carried a quiet certainty far beyond his years.
“Don’t worry.
Sister Aemma will be alright.”
“Grand Maester Arlan is the wisest man I’ve ever met.”
“He’ll protect her.”
Viserys froze.
Slowly, he raised his head.
The eyes that usually sparkled with warmth and laughter now overflowed with a fear Daeron couldn’t fully understand.
He stared at the boy for a long time before finally forcing a faint smile.
It looked more painful than crying.
His face barely obeyed him.
“You’re right…”
His voice was rough, like that of a traveler dying of thirst beneath the Dornish sun.
“Grand Maester Arlan has delivered countless children.”
“He’s far more reliable than old Elyssa ever was.”
The moment he finished speaking, his head lowered once more.
His trembling fingers resumed rubbing the marble carving.
Several times, it nearly slipped from his grasp.
A year earlier…
On another winter night…
In this very same birthing chamber…
Grand Maester Elyssa had still been alive.
Aemma had screamed just as desperately then.
In the end…
The midwives emerged carrying nothing but a lifeless infant.
Its tiny body had already turned blue.
Viserys had remained alone inside that room until sunrise.
Silence settled over the hallway once more.
Only Aemma’s strained cries…
And the soft rasp of Viserys’ fingers against polished stone remained.
Perhaps simply to escape the suffocating silence, Viserys suddenly looked toward Daeron.
His voice remained hoarse, though he forced calm into every word.
“Daeron.”
He held out the marble carving.
“What building do you think this is?”
He tapped one of the carved towers.
Curious, Daeron leaned closer.
It was an enormous fortress.
Its walls stretched proudly skyward.
Its towers were sharp as spearheads.
High upon the battlements was carved a great red dragon, majestic and terrifying all at once.
He tilted his head.
His deep violet eyes shone with curiosity.
After studying it carefully, he finally looked back at Viserys.
“The Red Keep?”
He hesitated.
“Or Dragonstone?”
Those were the only castles Daeron truly knew.
Viserys smiled gently.
Then shook his head.
“No.”
His fingertips traced the dragon sigil once more.
“It isn’t the Red Keep.”
He paused before speaking in High Valyrian.
“It is called…”
“Ivonys.”
Daeron carefully repeated the unfamiliar word.
“Ivonys…”
“It was a fortress in Old Valyria.”
Viserys’ eyes drifted somewhere far beyond the walls of the Red Keep.
As though he could still see the glorious empire before the Doom.
“Before the Doom…”
“It carried another name.”
He smiled faintly.
“They called it…”
The Fortress of the Red Dragon’s Wrath.
“Here.”
“A massive crimson dragon banner once flew from these walls.”
“The lord of the castle rode a great red dragon.”
“He guarded Valyria’s western frontier.”
“When the fortress bells rang…”
“The entire Rhoyne Valley trembled beneath their sound.”
Daeron listened in complete fascination.
He had never heard Viserys tell stories like these before.
“Does it…”
He spoke quietly.
“…still exist?”
Viserys’ expression darkened.
Slowly, he shook his head.
“No.”
“When the Doom came…”
“Valyria became nothing but ash.”
“Ivonys disappeared beneath volcanic fire.”
“The red dragons…”
“The bells…”
“The glory of Old Valyria…”
“Everything was lost.”
A quiet melancholy filled his voice.
Then…
Almost absentmindedly…
He whispered,
“But I think…”
“Some things are never truly lost.”
At that very instant—
A tiny cry echoed from behind the heavy oak doors.
“Waaah—!”
Small.
Fragile.
Yet impossibly clear.
It shattered the suffocating silence outside the chamber like a bolt of lightning.
Aemma’s screams gradually faded.
They were replaced by startled exclamations from the midwives…
And the unmistakable sigh of relief from Grand Maester Arlan.
Viserys froze.
The marble carving slipped from his hands.
It struck the floor with a sharp crack before rolling to Daeron’s feet.
He didn’t even notice.
His eyes remained fixed on the door.
His pupils widened.
Almost as though he couldn’t trust what he’d heard.
One heartbeat.
Two.
Three.
Then came another cry.
Stronger this time.
Healthier.
Louder.
Viserys shot to his feet.
He stumbled toward the door so quickly he nearly lost his balance.
Just as he reached for the handle—
The door swung open.
A sweat-soaked midwife hurried out.
Exhaustion covered her face.
So did joy.
The moment she saw Viserys, her voice trembled with excitement.
“Congratulations!”
“Congratulations, Your Highness!”
“Princess Aemma has safely delivered!”
“It’s a healthy little princess!”
“A princess…”
Viserys whispered.
He reached out instinctively, as though searching for something to hold.
But found nothing.
His lips trembled.
Without warning…
Tears poured from his eyes.
Hot tears streamed freely down his cheeks.
He tried wiping them away with his sleeve.
More followed.
Eventually, he simply laughed through them.
Daeron picked up the fallen marble carving, cradling it carefully before hurrying after him.
Together…
They entered the birthing chamber.
The room smelled strongly of herbs and blood.
The windows had been thrown open.
Warm sunlight streamed across the bed.
Aemma lay propped against embroidered pillows.
Her face was deathly pale.
Not a trace of color remained in her lips.
Loose strands of hair clung damply to her cheeks.
Yet her eyes shone brilliantly.
Filled with both exhaustion…
And the quiet tenderness of a new mother.
In her arms rested a tiny swaddled infant.
She held the little bundle so carefully…
As though embracing the entire world.
Hearing them enter, Aemma lifted her head.
A weary but gentle smile bloomed across her face.
“You’re here…”
“Viserys.”
“And our little Daeron.”
“Come.”
“Meet your little sister.”
Daeron approached the bedside with cautious steps.
Looking down into the blanket, he saw the tiny princess sleeping peacefully.
Every so often, she released the faintest little sound.
“Sister Aemma…”
He whispered carefully.
“So I don’t wake her…”
“May I hold her?”
Aemma couldn’t help laughing softly at how cautious he looked.
She reached out and affectionately ruffled his silver hair.
Then she looked toward Viserys.
Her eyes silently asked for permission.
Viserys stepped forward.
Every movement was impossibly gentle.
As though afraid the infant might shatter.
He carefully lifted the tiny bundle from Aemma’s arms.
Holding his daughter close, he rocked her softly.
For a long time…
He simply gazed at her face.
Only then did he reluctantly turn toward Daeron.
He extended the swaddled infant.
Daeron held his breath.
His arms trembled ever so slightly as he accepted the tiny princess.
She was astonishingly light.
Warm.
Soft.
He could feel the delicate rhythm of her breathing against his chest.
Lowering his head, he studied the infant carefully.
Soft silver hair rested neatly atop her little head.
Long eyelashes framed her closed eyes.
Every delicate feature reflected the extraordinary beauty of House Targaryen.
Something inside Daeron melted.
He had never experienced such tenderness before.
Instinctively, he swayed ever so slightly.
The little princess stirred, making the faintest sleepy murmur without opening her eyes.
“Brother…”
Daeron looked up.
“She’s beautiful.”
Viserys crouched beside him until they were eye to eye.
He looked first at his daughter…
Then at Daeron holding her so carefully.
His smile was so warm it almost seemed capable of melting stone.
“She is.”
He spoke quietly.
“She truly is.”
Daeron gently adjusted the blanket before asking,
“What will you name her, Brother?”
Viserys rose and walked toward the window.
Golden sunlight bathed him, surrounding him with a soft halo.
After a long silence, he turned back.
His eyes rested upon the little girl sleeping peacefully in Daeron’s arms.
Then, slowly…
Clearly…
With complete conviction…
He spoke.
“Rhaenyra.”
“I name her…”
Rhaenyra Targaryen.
Daeron lowered his head, gazing lovingly at the tiny princess.
“Rhaenyra…”
he whispered.
As though hearing her own name for the very first time…
The infant slowly opened her eyes.
Clear…
Pale violet…
Like two flawless amethysts filled with innocent wonder.
Her gaze met Daeron’s.
And for the very first time…
The two children looked into each other’s eyes.