Chapter I - The New Heir

"After this miserable pregnancy, I wouldn't be surprised if I hatched an actual dragon."

"And he will be loved and cherished."

…

"This child is a boy, Aemma. I'm certain of it. I've never been more certain of anything. The dream…it was clearer than a memory. Our son was born wearing Aegon's iron crown. And I heard the sound of him, thundering hooves and splintering shields and ringing swords. And I placed our son atop the iron throne as the bells of the Grand Sept and all the dragons roared as one."

…

"This is the last time, Viserys. I've lost one in the cradle and two stillbirths and two pregnancies ended well before their term. That's five in twice as many years. I know it is my duty to provide you with heirs and I am sorry if I have failed you in that. But I've mourned all the dead children I can."

Viserys thought about those words he and Aemma shared as he walked toward the entrance to the podium from which he and the other nobles of the court would be viewing the jousting. Led by his trusted Hand, Ser Otto Hightower, they all walked behind him until they stepped into the box from where they would watch the knights of the realm charge at one another at full speed on their charges.

They all found seats of their own: Corlys Velaryon - Master of Ships, Rhaenys Targaryen - Corlys's wife and Viserys's cousin, their small children - Laenor & Laena, Lyonel Strong - Master of Laws, Lyman Beesbury - Master of Coin, Ser Otto and his daughter Alicent, and other nobles residing in the Red Keep.

As was his duty, Viserys spoke to the teeming masses of how wonderful this tournament would be, how the knights gathered were the greatest in Westeros's history. Rhaenyra, of course, was late, scurrying to her seat besides Alicent as he was finishing his speech. Always late, Viserys thought about his daughter amusedly. Gets it from her grandmother, my own mother Alyssa, if what Father told me was true.

The king finished his speech by announcing that his wife, Queen Aemma Arryn, had begun her labors to bring forth the new prince. At that news, the crowd erupted into applause and cheer. Viserys then sat down next to Otto and decided to enjoy the festivities. And was it an eventful tourney!

Lord Boremund Baratheon, uncle to Rhaenys Targaryen, asked for his niece's favor, calling her "The Queen Who Never Was." Viserys had oft heard the unofficial title given to his cousin to reference her failed claim to the Iron Throne. To be honest, he didn't know if the term was intended to praise or mock her, but he never held it against her, for she had never quarreled with him since the Great Council at Harrenhal.

As his cousin bestowed her favor upon her uncle, a man of sixty, he heard Otto's leaning toward him. "You could have Baratheon's tongue for that."

Always the serious type concerned with upholding tradition, Viserys humorously thought. No wonder Daemon loathes him so.

"Tongues will not change the succession," he assured his Hand. "Let them wag."

He would see old Boremund Baratheon fall as Rhaenyra & Alicent spread gossip between one another, a favorite activity among the ladies at court from Viserys's experience. But when Viserys saw the sigils of an assortment of esteemed houses - Lannister, Tyrell, Corbray, and Mallister among others - he knew that it was time to see Daemon choose an opponent.

Of course, his brother chose Ser Gwayne Hightower, the eldest son of his own Hand. It was apparent to everyone in the box that it was a slight, as Daemon was perfectly willing to challenge and defeat the young knight of seventeen years for the sole purpose of humiliating Otto.

It was still a shocking display when Daemon drove his lance into the legs of Ser Gwayne's destrier, the horse flipping over as the Hand's son flew onto the ground. Viserys then witnessed his brother having the nerve to ask Alicent, the sister of the defeated knight, for her favor. As the young lady reluctantly tossed her wreath of flowers onto Daemon's lance, the king turned to see Otto's face. It remained as unchanged and cold as stone.

This tourney has clearly not improved their relationship, Viserys thought to himself. After Aemma delivers our boy, I'll tell her all about their petty little quarrel, and we can laugh as Rhaenyra holds her new baby brother in her arms.

But as Alicent returned to Rhaenyra's side, Viserys once again felt Otto lean towards him to whisper something in his ear.

"Your grace, your wife…the birthing has had, ahem, difficulties. The queen is having issues delivering the child."

At those alarming words, Viserys looked first at his Hand and then turned his head to see that Maester Davvon, a man even older than Grand Maester Mellos, had been the one to tell Otto the news. His Hand was not exaggerating: Aemma was in trouble, and so was his son.

But Viserys knew that sprinting toward the birthing chamber would only create a scene, one that would inspire fear in Rhaenyra and gossip amongst the nobility. He decided to get up from his chair slowly and walk at a brisk yet seemingly normal pace to the entrance, then once he was out of sight, Viserys walked as fast as he could to his wife. Otto followed behind him, though under Viserys's instructions, he would just remain outside the room.

Yet as he approached the birthing chamber, Aemma's screams began to make themselves known to the king's ears, and his heart pounded ever faster. He passed by one midwife hurriedly leaving with towels and walked past two more who stood frightened at their queen's suffering. When Viserys entered, he saw his precious Aemma lying in her bed as she wailed in pain.

Grand Maester Mellos briskly walked to meet Viserys, who had just one anger-filled question to ask.

"What has happened?!"

"The infant is in breech, Your Grace. All attempts to turn the babe have failed."

Viserys would have said something else had the screams of his wife not forced him to look at her in the midst of her suffering. It took everything he had to look back at Mellos to try and find a method of easing Aemma's pain.

"Do something for her!"

"We've given her as much milk of the poppy as we can without risking the child. The queen is a strong woman. She's fighting with all her might, but it may not be enough."

Viserys didn't know how to respond. The only thing he did know was that his wife was in pain, and she needed him. He walked past Mellos to his wife and sat on the birthing bed next to Aemma, making sure to hold her hand to let her know he was by her side.

"Aemma, Aemma, I'm here."

The queen could only slightly turn her head and weakly look up at him.

"Viserys," she pleaded in a tone barely louder than a whisper, "help me please."

"It's all right, it's all right." Viserys had no links from the Citadel, so the only help he could provide his wife was words of relief, as useless as those were.

"I don't want to do this," Aemma managed to say, while also speaking some words that the king couldn't even make out.

He stayed by her side and continued holding her hand as Aemma's cries of pain softened and became replaced with labored breathing. She eventually closed her eyes and allowed the midwives to wipe her head with towels dipped in cool water. Realizing just sitting next to his wife would do no one any good, Viserys looked up at the Grand Maester.

"Mellos…"

"Your Grace," the elderly man responded, "if you would…"

Viserys kissed Aemma's hand as hard as he could before leaving her side. He went with Mellos away from the birthing bed to discuss Aemma and the baby away from her and the midwives.

"During a difficult birth," Mellos solemnly told the king, "it becomes necessary for the father to make an impossible choice…"

"Speak it."

"To sacrifice one…or to lose them both. There is a chance we can save the child. A technique is taught at the Citadel which involves directly cutting into the womb to free the infant. But the resulting blood loss…"

Viserys could not believe what he had just heard. The most renowned expert of healing in the Seven Kingdoms just told him that Aemma's life was forfeit, and his unborn child's life was as well if he did not act quickly.

"Seven Hells, Mellos."

He looked at Aemma, and Viserys noticed how beautiful she looked when she slept. He then considered what he needed to do for the realm, and the hard choice that was his to make.

Viserys looked back at Mellos. "You can save the child?"

"We must act now or leave it with the gods."

This was Viserys's last chance to change his mind, to put the life of his queen and unborn child in the hands of fate rather than his own. Yet he knew deep in his heart that, while he loved his wife more than he did anyone else beyond their daughter Rhaenyra, the Seven Kingdoms needed a male on its throne. And his wife, if Mellos was correct, would die either way.

"Do it," he said in a soft tone so his Aemma would not hear.

Viserys then departed from Mellos to sit beside his wife one last time. Aemma turned her head to look at him, just barely being able to open her eyes from how exhausted she was.

"Viserys?"

This was the hardest thing Viserys would ever have to say to Aemma, so he would have to smile to hide his impending sorrow.

"Aemma, they're going to take the baby out."

His queen smiled at him. If only it didn't have to be like this, Viserys thought. So many lost children, so many difficulties in childbirth…Daemon was right. We had Rhaenyra when Aemma was too young. If we had waited until she was older…

It was too late to think of now. Viserys nodded to the midwives, who quickly began making the necessary arrangements for this fatal procedure. He then looked at Aemma one last time, to ensure she understood one critical thing.

"I love you."

Aemma continued smiling at that, the milk of the poppy no doubt dulling her to the pain of the ongoing situation, and it pained Viserys that it disappeared when the midwives pulled her toward the center of the bed. He saw the panic begin to set in just from looking into her eyes, the milk of the poppy losing its effect as fear began to take over her mind.

"Viserys, what's happening?"

"It's all right."

"What is-"

"No, it's all right."

Aemma's voice became increasingly strained with terror. "What are you doing?"

"They're going to take the babe out."

"How are they-"

"It's all right."

Aemma had begun to realize her husband and the midwives were not telling her something that she needed to know. "Viserys, please, what's happening?"

"It's all right-"

"No, I'm scared."

"Don't be scared," Viserys tried to reassure her, "they're going to bring the babe out."

Yet as soon as Aemma laid eyes upon the knife, his efforts were all in vain. She immediately saw what Viserys had agreed to do, and all the reassurances & attempts at comforting her could not hide the truth of what would happen to her.

He tries to block them out, but her screams pierce Viserys like spears to his soul.

It should have been perfect. Rhaenyra had just seen Criston Cole, this mysterious knight from the stormlands, defeat her uncle Daemon in combat. Oh of course she loved Daemon so, but it was also intriguing to see him beaten in a tourney. She had hoped whoever was under that plain armor would be appealing to look at, and from the second he removed his helm, Rhaenyra was not disappointed.

"He's Dornish," she heard Alicent utter. It seems her companion shared her interest in foreign-looking men.

When Ser Criston asked for her favor, Rhaenyra was all too happy to toss her wreath from her box into his arms. And when she wished him luck, it was no lie at all, for Rhaenyra hoped to watch him prevail in the rest of the jousts this tourney had to offer.

But when Rhaenyra saw Ser Otto whispering in the ear of Lyonel Strong, her stomach began to twist. She had been so indulged in the scenes & sights of this tourney that she had barely noticed her father's hand leave the box with her father. And this worry grew further when he did the same with Lord Corlys, who whispered in the ear of his wife, Princess Rhaenys, and so forth.

She knew the truth of the matter, yet as those who heard it began to leave the tourney box, all Rhaenyra could do was stare outward. It was as if her body would not let her rise so as to prevent her from leaving this place. Yet it would not change what was the cold truth that soon everyone in the Red Keep would know.

Her mother, Aemma Arryn, Queen Consort of the Seven Kingdoms, daughter of Princess Daella Targaryen and Lord Rodrik Arryn, had died in childbirth.

Rhaenyra stood up and walked past the noblewoman sitting to her left, Lady Lorria Celtigar, daughter of Lord Bartimos Celtigar. Alicent saw her leaving and looked at her friend in fear.

"Rhaenyra, wait!"

But her words did not reach the ears of the princess, who began to hurriedly make her way past the nobles of the Red Keep to reach the birthing room. She lifted the front of her dress as she descended the stairs to go to her mother. Rhaenyra had told her mother that the midwives should have focused on her own safety over that of the unborn child, yet no one listened.

And now her mother was…no, she couldn't be dead. This was wrong, she had to be alive. Maybe Rhaenyra hadn't heard correctly and just assumed the worst. Perhaps her mother was simply resting after a long childbirth.

She's dead, you fool, Rhaenyra told herself. Quit your foolish thoughts and open your eyes to the truth of the matter.

Amid her running, Rhaenyra came upon a sight that would make any lord feel a chill down their back: the Silent Sisters. They were only needed to care for the dead, yet the princess was inclined to go to them and ask them where her mother was. Yet such would be futile, as their name indicated.

Rhaenyra then decided to run past them until she saw the hallway leading to where her mother was supposed to be bringing forth her new brother, the new heir to replace her uncle. She approached the chamber only to be met with a foul smell. It was blood and urine mixed together, along with something even fouler than those two items.

Death, she thought to herself. Death is in that room.

Breathing deeply through her mouth, she ultimately gained the courage to move forward to the room. At the doorway, Rhaenyra stopped and gazed in horror at what she saw. The stench from earlier did not lie, for the bed was covered in enough blood to mistake the room for a butcher's shop. Next to it was her father, sitting next to the bed and staring at the carnage produced by her mother bringing forth the child everyone was so eager to be born.

Rhaenyra did not know what to say to her father there and then. Too many emotions were boiling inside of her.

Grief - for the mother she lost. Pity - for her newly-widowed father. Worry - for her newborn sibling's life.

Yet these were minor compared to the strongest emotions inside of her. Anger - that her mother died so brutally. Rage - that no one once considered her to be worthy of being heir because of what was between her legs. Loneliness - from knowing her mother would not be with her.

Hate - for her father and the child that took her mother away…and herself, for having such a feeling toward her family.

Viserys finally noticed Rhaenyra was there and turned his head to look at her.

"You have a baby brother, Rhaenyra. His name is Baelon, like your grandfather."

Not a word about his dead wife, Rhaenyra thought. He got what he wanted from Mother, so now she means nothing to him.

She turned around and began storming away from the room. The princess heard her father call out her name, but she ignored it. After all, she was a girl, a creature destined to sew and breed and sing. What was she to a son, whose destiny was to conquer and sire babes with the name Targaryen?

Rhaenyra found an opening for air in the balcony above the Red Keep's gardens. She learned over the bar and felt as if she would retch. Yet no food came out of her mouth, and it was fortunate no one was there to see her act in such a way.

After a minute or two of failing to regurgitate, Rhaenyra ceased and simply took deep breaths to prevent herself from crying, even as the tears were evident on her cheeks.

"There you are, Rhaenyra."

She turned and who was it but Alicent. The Hand's daughter was looking at her a look of concern. A look of pity.

Rhaenyra looked away and stared at the gardens below the balcony on which they were standing. "My mother's dead…she died in a pool of her own blood. But at least Father has his heir, so the realm can cheer the future king."

Alicent walked to Rhanyra's side and grabbed her by the arm. "Queen Aemma was a wonderful woman, and the Realm will mourn for her from Oldtown to Winterfell. Your father the king is no doubt hurting more than anyone besides yourself."

Rhaenyra felt herself laugh mirthlessly. "When I saw him sitting next to the bed where my mother bled to death, his first intent was to inform me I had a baby brother. That was all that mattered to him: that he has the son he always wanted."

Her companion swallowed and looked down for a second before looking back into her eyes.

"It is merely a shield, Rhaenyra. He does not wish for you to see he is hurting worse than anyone. He loved your mother dearly, no one can doubt it. But he needs to be strong now, not only for you but for the Realm."

Rhaenyra sniffled as the tears came down her cheeks. "I don't hate my new brother. Not really. It's just…he's here and Mother…"

She wiped the tears from her eyes only to feel a warm body wrap itself around her. Alicent had embraced her friend in an attempt to comfort her, even if the current circumstances made that incredibly difficult.

"Queen Aemma was always kind to me, and I mourn her death as well, even if your grief is far more severe. But for now, I want to be by your side until your grieving has ceased, even if that may take years or even a lifetime."

At her friend's gentle words, Rhaenyra returned Alicent's hug and continued to softly mourn. It was of meager comfort, but it did help, if only slightly.

Queen Aemma's beautiful face was not shown to the attendees of her funeral. She was wrapped in layers of ceremonial Valyrian cloth, traditionally used to ensure the bodies of the deceased would properly burn.

It was to the relief of many that her son, Prince Baelon, was not seen laid next to his mother. Whilst Grand Maester Mellos had feared the babe would suffocate on some blood or other ingested liquid, Baelon had successfully spit all of it out and begun to loudly wail & cry as any other newborn would. Wet nurses attended to him regularly, but for now, the new heir seemed to be as healthy as a father could hope for.

But for now, the entirety of the Red Keep's court was gathered to bid farewell to the queen. All the faces were solemn, from Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys to Ser Otto and his daughter Alicent. Other nobles, many of whom had initially arrived for the prince's tourney, chose to stay and pay their respects to the beloved queen, who was a granddaughter of the late King Jaehaerys through her mother, Princess Daella Targaryen.

Of course, none were quite as devastated as King Viserys or Princess Rhaenyra, whom were closest to the now-deceased queen. Daemon himself was saddened by her death, even if not to the same extent. Queen Aemma had arrived on King's Landing when he was thirteen, and he had been close with her as she grew old enough to give birth to Rhaenyra. He had slightly exasperated her with his daring personality, but if he were ever frustrated at Viserys, Daemon would never show it in front of his good-sister.

Daemon walked up to Rhaenyra and reached for her hand, yet she did not take it. Her eyes were filled with a sorrow of emptiness and a rage brought about by the unjust death of someone she dearly loved.

"They're waiting for you."

The prince, replaced as heir a mere day prior, spoke in a whisper to not embarrass Rhaenyra in front of the attendees. Viserys had no dragon to mount since the day Balerion the Black Dread died under Jaehaerys, leaving the responsibility of cremating the bodies to Rhaenyra and her dragon, Syrax. Yet as he heard the High Valyrian words come out of her mouth, Daemon understood his niece was more concerned with the circumstances of Queen Aemma's death than with burning her in the traditions of their house.

" Ñuha kepa ēdruta sagon sīr kreni naejot emagon gotten iā tresy hen zȳhon ābrazȳrys gō īles tetan lēda zirȳla. [My father must be so pleased to have gotten a son from his wife before he was finished with her.]"

Hearing his niece's words, spoken coldly and without emotion despite the feelings coursing through her, Daemon turned to look at his brother's face. Viserys's eyes were red from grief, and Daemon could see that they stared at his wife's body with a similar empty expression to Rhaenyra. But there was no anger towards anyone in those eyes, except perhaps towards himself, though Daemon knew that was harder to see than any other form of anguish.

He turned his focus back to Rhaenyra. " Kepa aōha avy sīr ojūdo tubiro toliot jorrāelza. [Your father needs you more now than he ever has.]"

" Ēza zȳhon tresy se dārilaros isse ondos. Skoros gaomas ziry jorrāelagon nyke syt? [He has his son and heir in hand. What does he need me for?]"

Daemon wished he could answer, yet his mouth could not open for him to speak. As he stood in silence, Rhaenyra stepped forward to do her duty. Syrax looked down from a tall mound behind two of the Dragonkeepers, tasked with keeping Rhaenyra's yellow-scaled, green-eyed dragon in check. But Syrax was quiet, seemingly in synch with its mournful rider.

The princess stepped forward, if only to properly handle her mother's body, and began to utter the command to burn it. Yet she faltered, for she knew that doing so would mean to never see her mother again. It was the one small part of her inside that refused to move on and properly mourn what she had lost.

Rhaenyra then looked at her father, King Viserys continuing to stare at his wife's body. The body he used again and again until it bled to death giving him the desired child, Rhaenrya thought to herself. It filled her with enough anger to strengthen her, and the princess turned her head to look at Syrax.

"Dracarys!"

Commanding her beast in High Valyrian, Rhaenyra saw her dragon slowly crawl down the hill it stood upon towards her mother's funeral pyre. Yet as she saw Syrax's mouth begin to fill with fire, Rhaenyra looked away, unable to watch as her dragon set the queen's body aflame. All Viserys could do was look down at the ground in shame at how they reached this moment.

Once the flames began to take hold, Rhaenyra turned around and stormed off through the attendees of the funeral. Alicent Hightower saw her friend leaving in distress and looked at her father in the hopes he would allow her to follow the princess and provide her with comfort. Otto nodded, and Alicent began pursuing Rhaenyra in time to see her mount her horse and ride towards the Red Keep.

Alicent did the same with her own steed, yet it was difficult to keep up with Rhaenyra. Evidently, Viserys's eldest child wanted to be left alone, but her companion knew doing so would not make Rhaenyra feel better, only worse. She had spent some time mourning in solitude after her own mother died years ago, and it was only through the aid of Rhaenyra that she recovered from it.

Entering through the gates of the Red Keep after riding through the city, Alicent witnessed Rhaenyra get off her horse near the stables and walk into the castle. She followed her friend to see where she was going, though it proved to be exhausting trying to keep up with Rhaenyra's fast-paced walking. Alicent followed her through the castle until they reached Maegor's Holdfast, where the royal family's quarters were located.

Continuing to hurriedly walk behind Rhaenyra, Alicent saw the princess hurriedly turn into a particular room. She approached the room and heard the sounds of an infant crying, among other noises. Alicent looked inside and saw her friend staring at her little brother Baelon in the arms of a wet nurse, who was rocking him in her arms before the two entered. The woman, one of several designated to care for the new heir, bowed at Rhaenyra and then Alicent before continuing to focus on the baby.

Baelon wriggled in the wet nurse's arms and turned his head to look at Rhaenyra & Alicent to his left. His eyes were blue, just like his mother's were and the same as Queen Alysanne's own pair. Baelon's cries and sounds became softer as he stared at Rhaenyra, his face appearing both intrigued and confused.

Alicent heard Rhaenyra breathing deeply, and the Hand's daughter did not wish for her friend to feel resentment toward her newborn brother for what happened to the Queen.

"Rhaenyra…"

She softly uttered the word, yet Alicent did not have the heart to try and tell Rhaenyra to do anything, even if it was for her own good.

"You had…a wonderful mother," Rhaenyra managed to say to Baelon, her voice trembling with grief and sorrow as she struggled not to cry. "I'm sorry…I'm sorry you will never know her."

Rhaenyra then turned and stormed out of the room without even taking the time to look at Alicent. As her loud footsteps became fainter, Alicent had trouble deciding what to do at that moment. She thought of going to give her comfort, as had been her original intent, but then Alicent looked again at the young Prince Baelon, who was still looking at her with a babe's curiosity while waving his arms and making his typical sounds.

She chose to walk over to the baby and gently brush its head. There wasn't much hair on it, but what was there was as silver as his father's and mother's hair was, signifying his Valyrian blood.

"You do have a wonderful sister," Alicent attempted to tell the infant prince. "Once she has finished her mourning, Rhaenyra will grow to love you. I promise."

Even if she knew the babe could not understand her, it gave Alicent some slight relief to say that to him, to just talk to someone. After withdrawing her hand, she then curtseyed to Baelon's nurses and departed the room, hoping to still comfort Rhaenyra no matter how difficult it would be.

...

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Hello there! This is my 3rd story! So this is a fanfiction where Baelon survives infancy to become the heir? Stay tuned to see how this changes the course of history in Westeros! And if you haven't already, check out my other two stories thus far for more entertainment