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Chapter XXXVI: Hatching

Much like the sea, the desert was a marvellous thing. From above, the sea looked like an infinite looking glass, with moving tints of green, blue and grey. When the sun shined on it, blinding bolts of white light danced on the waves. The desert was just as moving, he realized. The wind created sparkling golden dust when it made the sand fly. Dunes were sometimes red, sometimes yellow, sometimes brown or orange. And just like at sea, he could see the reflection of the sun in its white flashes. Though where water splashing from the tide could be refreshing, the flying sand was not in the slightest pleasant. It got stuck in the scales, stung the eyes, and whipped the less protected skin of the neck. The desert also harboured less preys. Sometimes, he came across a sheep flock, but he never resigned to killing the good of other men. Wild horses were sparse but made for a nice supper. The other living creatures of the sand were not meaty enough at best and completely poisonous at worst.

As for now, he was completely alone in the night sky. The sound of the leather wings disturbed the silence periodically. Interesting how a flying dragon made the same noise as a maester unrolling an old parchment. Sometimes the tail cracked the air like a whip. The breathing also, sounded like a fire in the hearth.

It was… otherworldly. That was the world. He could easily imagine being in another world, on another continent, or maybe even in the stars. This night had the beauty of foreign land. And the dragon only sublimed it. Dark grey scales shimmering with bronze sparkle almost melting away in the desert sky.

He smelled the prey before he saw or heard it. An old horse, already dying, or maybe even dead. He hoped not, dead horse was something he had no wish to touch. It was alive thankfully, but it did not look like it had the strength to run across the desert. Thirst had done it for it. He remembered the last small pond with its solitary palm tree. It was a long way from where they were now. The horse would never make it. It would die anyway. Might as well give him the honour of being eaten by a dragon. Not that a horse cared for honour. Descending from the sky, he caught the poor horse completely by surprise. Taking it into his mouth, killing it with the strength of his jaws, he imagined the animal had not suffered much from him. He flew back to where he had come from. It had to be at least twenty leagues. He did it all with the horse between his teeth. Weirion was waiting for him, or sleeping, he did not know. When he landed and put down the dead horse, the other dragon lifted his huge head, looked at the supper and went back to sleep. So much for bringing something back to him. He guessed Weirion had gone to the sea and captured some of the small rorquals, he preferred seafood, it appeared.

Daeron woke up from his night of warging, thinking that if Rhoynax was now strong enough to carry a horse in her mouth she had to be ready for a rider on her back. He would have to try. Only after this thought had passed did he realise that he had not woken up naturally and that dawn had only just started. Arianne was shaking him with a look of panic on her face.

"Daeron, Daeron!" She was screaming at him, he realised. "I think I've gone into labour." Her words had the same effect as a cold bucket of water on him.

Suddenly fully awake, he told her he would get the maester and ran from the room. Ser Jaime, who was on duty that night, took several seconds to realise that his king had come running from the chamber and that he had to follow him. Maester Caleotte was not an old man, but when Daeron ran into his study to wake him and tell him to come, the young King felt like he had asked an elderly person to move. The panic probably distorted his perception of time, for he could swear he had never seen a man so slow. Then again, he preferred that he take all the supply he needed before he tended to his wife.

While the maester prepared, he shouted orders to the young boy who assisted him daily. He called for midwives, linen, herbs Daeron had never heard of, he had the presence of mind to ask that someone warn Prince Doran. Daeron would have never thought of that.

Finally, they returned to the chamber in haste, Daeron leading the way while Caleotte and Ser Jaime ran behind him. Daeron was forbidden from entering the birthing room. Childbirth was the realm of women and maesters, Caleotte told him. So he had to wait.

"It might take long, your Grace, do you wish to do something else while you wait? Spar maybe? Or go see the dragons?" Ser Jaime suggested once they were alone outside the door.

"And risk not being there when my child is born?" Daeron snapped shaking his head. He should not have been so rough with the Kingsguard but he was too anxious to realise it.

When Prince Oberyn and Ser Richard arrived after Ser Jaime had sent a kitchen boy to fetch them, Daeron was pacing the hall making great noise with his boots on the marbled floor. He did not notice the faces the other knights made. No doubt they were stressed as well. Oberyn was Arianne's uncle after all and Ser Richard had a tendency to be stressed about anything. Tyene came as well and entered the room where Arianne was as if she owned the place. Nymeria was more polite and at least knocked. Obara preferred to stay with the men. She wanted nothing to do with women's business, as she called it. Ellaria arrived shortly after, she kissed her lover, gave Daeron a hug and an encouraging smile before going to Arianne's side.

The screams and whimpering of his wife started shortly after and with them, the stream of servants carrying in fresh linen and bringing out the used one. Most of the sound was unintelligible but sometimes they could understand. "Mother!" Arianne called often. "I want my mother here, please!" She pleaded. "Make it stop." She cried also.

Around noon, Prince Doran finally appeared, his wheelchair pushed by the giant of a man, Areo Hotah. Daeron glared at his goodfather who returned the greeting. Their relation had not gotten better in the last few months. It had never been ideal, but the matter with Myrcella had ended the mascarade. Doran did not even pretend to be a loyal servant of his Grace anymore. They lived in the same castle but did not talk anymore and crossed path as little as possible. With the prince came Sarella who quickly left them to be with her cousin, and Prince Trystane. A boy of thirteen, he tried to look strong and unintimidated, but his wide, frightened eyes betrayed him.

"Is Arianne going to be fine? Is she going to die?" The little brother asked after a few more hours of screaming.

"Don't be silly." His father reprimanded him. "Arianne is young and healthy. No need for fear."

My mother too was young and healthy. Daeron thought. But Princess Lyanna Targaryen was a young girl of sixteen when she gave birth to him. She had been too young and had had no help, no maester nor midwives, only a serving girl. She should not have died but her circumstances and the war had decided otherwise. Arianne was older and surrounded by apt people. She would not die, the pregnancy had been near perfect according to Caleotte. For once, he agreed with his goodfather… No need for fear. Then why was his heart so tight in his chest? Why were his hands trembling?

The last to arrive, were Sansa holding Robb's arm. She kissed Daeron's cheek when she came to his level and whispered in his ear: "Do you think I can go in?" He nodded to her which made her smile.

Robb then put a supporting hand on Daeron's shoulder. The king looked at his cousin whose eyes were shining. He had to be emotional, Daeron guessed this event brought back the memory of Talisa and their unborn child. He was grateful that Robb still had the courage to come and support him, though he believed he had to thank Sansa for this. It was like her to be considerate in this way.

The screams intensified and through the door, they could hear other people talking inside the birthing chamber. The end of the labour had to be near, these were surely the encouragement of the ladies present and the instructions of the maester. The time for supper was near, the birth would have taken the better part of the day. There were still long minutes to be lived in anguish and impatience though.

Finally, the cries of a newborn were heard through the walls. Daeron let out a breath he had not known he had been holding all this time since the morning.

"Congratulations, Daeron." Robb clapped his back.

"Congratulations." Oberyn straight out gave him a hug.

The other Kingsguard were more reserved in their congratulations. Trystane came to shake his head and Doran at least gave him a slight nod, quickly mimicked by his guard.

At long last, Sansa opened the doors and invited Daeron to enter. He was vaguely aware that behind him, Prince Doran tried to follow but was stopped in his tracks by his brother's spear who told him to "give the King and Queen their time."

"You have a son, your Grace." Maester Caleotte announced. All the women curtsied before leaving the room with the soiled linens and cloths.

"All went well?" Daeron asked anxiously.

"As well as we could have hoped, your Grace." The older man smiled. "The Queen and Prince will need rest, but they are both very healthy."

The last of his worries swiped away, Daeron went for the bed. The bedding had been changed, Arianne looked tired but blissful in her simple white nightgown. Her dark hair made a halo around her on the pillow. In her arms, bundled in white silk, rested their son. She held him close, carefully stroking his little cheek with her finger.

Daeron sat next to his wife, circled his arm around her and kissed her forehead. He detailed his son. Big eyes looked at him, they had the shape of Arianne's, but they were a deep purple in colour. The nose was his, as was the baby's skin tone. His lips, Daeron could not place, his own mother's maybe. And on the boy's head was a lock of silvery golden hair.

"How did that come to pass?" Daeron asked, marvelling at his son's colouring.

Arianne chuckled lightly. "His origins will be hard to conceal." She gave the baby a small kiss. "Are you pleased?" She lifted her face toward Daeron.

He kissed her lips passionately, trying to convey all he felt for her. "More than words could tell. You are amazing, my love." The baby stretched his small fingers and yawned noisily making both of his parents giggle.

"Our little prince will need a name." Arianne said. "Rhaegar? Or Aegon for your brother?"

Daeron grimaced. "I don't think I am ready yet… I don't want to be like Oberyn and be sad every time I pronounce my child's name." She nodded and looked back at their boy. "What do you think of Aemon?"

"A good name, and it has never been worn by a king before. In a long time, hopefully, he shall be Aemon, the First of His Name." Daeron had not told his wife of her father's plot. If Doran had his way, this babe would be Aemon I, much sooner than they wished. "For Aemon the Dragonknight?" He focused back on his wife's question.

He shook his head. "No, for the Maester at Castle Black. My great-great-uncle… He's still alive at the Wall. A good man, a very good man."

"I don't doubt it. It would be nice if they could meet one day." Arianne smiled and he agreed. They remained in this position for a long time. "We should let the others come, they must be impatient." Arianne reasoned.

Reluctantly, Daeron dragged himself out of bed to go open the door. "I have a son." He announced with a smile.

Doran, Oberyn, Ellaria, the Sand Snakes, Trystane, Sansa and Robb came rushing through the door. The women, Obara excepted, cooed over the baby. The Kingsguards, as could have been foreseen, were worried about the colouring of the child. Doran was very pleased that no one could doubt the lineage of his grandson. Daeron remembered the appearance of Rhaenys had caused trouble at Court.

...

He was in a nursery, of that he was certain now that he had a babe of his own and had seen what such rooms looked like South of the Neck. In the North, nurseries of highborn children were designed to keep the babes and infants warm. The hearth was not against a wall, but directly in the centre of the room, the cradles arranged around it. There were often several children in there, as they stayed until their fourth nameday. Jon had shared his with Robb and even Sansa for a few moons. In the South, babies were moved out of the nursery at two, and the room was often bathed in natural light and decorated in soft tones like whites and creams. The bassinet was made of silver or gold whereas in Winterfell, the cradles were always wooden, to keep the warmth.

This nursery he was in, was in the Red Keep, judging by the colour of the walls and the scenery outside the window. A woman was bent over a cradle. She was in no way pretty, but she was dressed richly, at least a lady, or maybe a princess. A princess, Daeron realised when she turned to see him. One of her eyes was violet, like Targaryens, and the other was green. Her hair was dirty blond, she had big ears and lopsided lips but her smile was bright all the same.

"Congratulations!" She hugged him.

"I could say the same." Daeron returned the gesture awkwardly.

"Oh, my son is a few weeks old, already!" The woman smiled. "Daemon, second son of Baelon and Alyssa Targaryen." She announced proudly. He guessed she was Alyssa then. "What is yours' name?" She asked curiously.

"Aemon Targaryen, first-born son of Daeron Targaryen and Arianne Martell." He echoed her introduction.

"A worthy name, my older brother is named Aemon as well." This one had a sad fate, Daeron recalled. The heir of King Jaehaerys the Conciliator. Prince Aemon was beloved by all and regarded as an apt heir to the Iron Throne, he had died tragically, in a petty quarrel on Tarth of all places. Brigands from Essos had put an arrow through his neck whilst he was preparing the Crown's response to the unexpected invasion of the island.

Alyssa's husband became the heir after that, but it was his son the babe's older brother who became King after the Old King. Baelon died a decade after his brother of a burst belly. Actually, not many of Jaehaerys and Alysanne's children were alive when the Old King and Queen died.

"He will be strong, my son." Alyssa said. "I know it, he laughed so loud when I took him upon Meleys. He will be a dragonrider."

"You took him on a dragon? But he's a babe!" Daeron was shocked.

"I did! Within a fortnight after his birth, and his brother, I took when he was nine days old, though Viserys did not laugh. Precious thing that he is." The princess reflected. "I believe it makes for strong Targaryens."

"And it is safe?" Daeron remained sceptical.

"Come with me!" She demanded, taking her son in her arms and leaving the nursery to stride toward the yard. Meleys was known as The Red Queen, for her scarlet scales and the pink membranes of her wings. When the dragon landed, Alyssa ordered for her saddle and 'fabric' to be brought forth.

The saddle was a bright piece of red leather worked in such a way that it accommodated the dragon while allowing some support for the rider, in the front and in the back. It looked as comfortable as a horse saddle, if not more. In the front, a chain dangled.

Daeron watched curiously as Alyssa held her son straight up against her chest and used a piece of stretchy fabric to hold him there. The fabric went under the baby's bum and across his back, crossed in the back of the mother, then in the front, once more over the baby, and was held in place by a knot that rested on her stomach.

"See?" Alyssa smiled brightly at him. "All secure. Now…" She climbed on the saddle, found the chain and attached it to her belt. "I am tied to Meleys and my son to me. We're safe." She announced before taking to the sky.

Rhoynax arrived shortly after. For once, she was the same size as she was in reality, though she did not have a saddle, she never had in his dreams, but maybe it was a good addition. He climbed on her wing then onto her neck. The next thing he knew, he was in the sky racing after Alyssa and Meleys. He realised, when he arrived at their level, that Alyssa had been right. Young Daemon was indeed laughing against his mother's chest. He looked to be in no danger at all.

...

The following morning, Daeron went straight to the leather craftsman. He had drawn what he had seen to the best of his ability and asked the man if he thought it possible. They spent the whole morning reviewing details, discussing technical aspect, and – the hardest part – taking measures on Rhoynax.

Daeron also spent a lot of time with his son and wife in the following morning. Both parents knew that as soon as Aemon was strong enough, they would have to go to Essos to meet Daenerys. Both felt like they needed to go as a family, because Daenerys herself was family. When they would come back, it would surely be war. They wanted to savour their last moments of peace as a family.

In the night, when Arianne was asleep and Aemon safely in his nursery surrounded by the two wetnurses Arianne had deemed worthy enough to care for her son, Daeron went out with either Oberyn or Ser Jaime. He went to the dragons, in the desert.

On the first night, he could feel Rhoynax's apprehension. She was excited and eager to have a rider, but she was also uncertain, as it was new. Daeron only managed to climb on her neck and find a place they were both comfortable with. Rhoynax refused to take flight, and Daeron somewhat agreed with her. He was not yet comfortable enough to fly with her in real life. Not to mention Oberyn's panicked plea for him to be careful.

On the third night, they finally took to the sky. They made a few rounds above the two dragon's lair. The following evening, Weirion joined them, and they spent more time flying. Ser Jaime's expression of awe when his king landed was priceless. By the sixth attempt, Rhoynax bended to his will and, with a little help of pointers said in Valyrian, he toured the sleeping Water Gardens atop the dragon.

The saddle was ready on the tenth day. Fine work, though not exactly the same as Alyssa's Daeron was convinced it would work. It was made of brown leather with a golden chain to secure the rider. The craftsman had embedded some decoration in it, one of which was a golden sun of House Martell with the three-headed dragons engraved inside. The part where Daeron was supposed to sit was also cushioned with silk. A nice thought on behalf of the man.

Yet, that night, Rhoynax looked way less pleased than her rider. "I will be safer and so will you… You won't have to worry about me then." He pleaded with the stubborn beast in High Valyrian. "I need it to take Aemon with us." He reasoned. Rhoynax hissed and scoffed and produced fire for most of the night. Dawn was threatening to break when finally, she accepted to try. It fitted well, and the straps could be adjusted for when she would grow. The comfort was a welcome addition to his first flight with the saddle.

The sun had risen when Daeron came back to his chamber to his worried wife. She questioned him sharply, wondering where he had been all night. Actually, she had started to have doubts a few days before when she had noticed that Daeron was more tired than usual. He remained vague.

"You will see when I want you to see." He jested and stole kisses from her, trying to distract her. She pretended to be pouting for a few minutes but Daeron's tickling broke her resolve.

Her laughs and smiles disappeared quickly, when three days later, after three more training rides, he took his son for his first flight on dragons back. Firstly, when he insisted that Arianne, Aemon, the Kingsguard and he take a ride in the desert, she had protested sharply. She only came when he threatened to leave her in the palace and go alone with their son. She mumbled all the way to the dragons' lair. It actually got worse when they arrived. Seeing the saddle on Rhoynax's back, she understood at once what Daeron intended.

"Daeron Targaryen, do not even think about it!" She warned. Daeron did not listen. He took Aemon in his arms and asked a very frightened Ser Richard to help him strap his son to his chest.

"No need to worry!" He gave her a reassuring smile. "I've seen Alyssa Targaryen do it, it's perfectly safe!"

"Alyssa Targ…!" Arianne started in clear disbelief. "You are not taking my ten days old son on a dragon's back! I did not even know you could ride Rhoynax yet!" She was angry, though Daeron, in his own paternal bliss, thought she was overreacting.

"This was the surprise!" He announced cheerfully. "Seriously, my love, do you truly believe I would risk our son's life?" He asked her calmly.

She did not answer the question directly. "Five minutes." She conceded. "Not one second more. If he cries, you come down immediately. I swear to you, if my son comes back traumatized, you will regret the day you were born." He kissed her, laughing and promising to do everything as she had said.

He started by presenting Aemon to Rhoynax. She sniffed him but did not seem annoyed by his presence. Through his bond with her, Daeron guessed she could feel the little human was important to him. He was more surprised when Weirion came forth to smell the babe as well, roaring after he did so. Daeron heard his wife's fearful gasp behind him but Weirion did nothing more, taking flight towards the sea. Resting one hand on his son's back, he climbed up Rhoynax's wing, onto her shoulder and then settled in the saddle.

"Sovegon." He ordered Rhoynax to fly conveying through his bond the need to be gentle. They did not rise too high. He wanted to be close enough to the ground to be able to land at the first sign of a problem. They went toward the palace. There was no sign of crying, only the sound of the leathery wings and the dragon's breathing. Daeron looked down at his son, bundled against his doublet. Aemon wore a big toothless smile and was wide awake, contrary to how he usually was – asleep in his cradle.

They circled back to their starting point and landed in front of Arianne who was visibly in the middle of a nervous breakdown. "He smiled all the way!" He exclaimed when he set foot on the ground thanking Rhoynax. Arianne did not care what he had to say, she ran to him and wrestled with the fabric to free her son. "He's fine, my love. He was happy up there."

She glared at her husband, but her gaze softened when she saw her baby was unharmed and seemed thrilled. "He's had his ride with you, now it will be many years before he flies on Dragon's back again." She declared.

"As you wish, my Queen." Daeron kissed her then their baby.

...

He kept his promise during the next two months, though he flew regularly. It made Arianne sick with worry sometimes to see him atop Rhoynax. But Daeron loved it, he loved the feeling of the air on his skin and the freedom it gave him. He could be in the Reach or the Stormlands in a day if he wished it so. For now, he remained around Sunspear though.

One day, on his way back to the palace, a rider came to meet him galloping. "Your Grace, your Grace!" The man shouted and agitated his arm in the air. Ser Richard who had accompanied Daeron this morning was on edge but the rider appeared to be no true threat. The closer he got, the more distinctly they could see what he carried. It looked like a letter. He stopped his horse to their level. "A letter for you, your Grace!" The man said, a little out-of-breath. "The Queen said you should see this at once."

Daeron took the letter, read it and paled immediately. News from the North.

Okay I realize I'm very bad at not making cliffhangers, so I'm going to stop promising that it's the last x).
Also, I know how genetics work, so if you're asking yourself why Aemon has this colouring, the answer is magic!
What did you think of the dragon flight?

Next chapter: the letter from the North forces Daeron to change his plans once again.

Guest reviews:

- (Hitman) Well, there is still the war... so I think Doran would have waited a little and he certainly would not have gone with the plan if it had been a princess. Also, don't forget maybe Sarella did not hear everything.
It will not be just yet, but yes, it should.

- Well, they will assess each and every solution according to the risks it poses ;).
You're right...
Thank you!