The war was over. Queen Rhaenyra the First sat upon the Iron Throne that was rightfully hers. But at what cost?

The House of the Dragon was fractured, and its most powerful symbol—the dragons—had been nearly wiped out. Only Caraxes remained among the adults, while a few hatchlings and eggs clung to life on Dragonstone. The royal family itself was in ruins. Of the greens, only Princess Jaehaera survived. Of the blacks, all the queen’s ‘bastard’ sons were dead, as was your husband, Crown Prince Jacaerys.

You had sensed the tragedy looming. That was why you begged Jace to marry you before he left for the Battle of the Gullet. You wanted to be bound by the gods when the Stranger inevitably came for him.

From that hurried union came a child, though grief blinded you to the signs of new life. It was Rhaenyra, your mother-in-law and queen, who insisted the maesters examine you. When she announced her grandson’s presence in your womb, the bond between the two of you deepened.

Rhaenyra had lost her sons and much of her family. You had lost your husband and friends. Together, you clung to the fragile joy of your pregnancy amid the cold halls of the Red Keep, which reeked of death and memory. Despite her burdens as queen, Rhaenyra stayed with you through every moment, from the first signs of life to the final pangs of childbirth. Her hand was the one you gripped as you brought your son into the world.

Your son was healthy and strong, beloved by his grandmother and celebrated by the realm. But even with wet nurse and ladies-in-waiting, you struggled to care for him alone. Late one night, exhausted and despairing as his cries echoed endlessly, you slumped in defeat.

The door creaked open, and the Queen herself stepped inside. Her gaze softened as she saw your distress, and a faint smile touched her lips—tired, understanding, maternal.

“May I?” Rhaenyra’s voice was gentle, yet it carried the authority of someone who had weathered storms far worse.