The pregnancy was calm. Aegon was even given more freedoms, allowed to use most of the castle and go out into the garden, moreover, Jace himself came to him to inquire about his well-being, the condition of the child. Aegon was flattered. Jace's attention was wild and unusual, but he was flattered nonetheless.

The tragedy came unexpectedly. One day Aegon woke up and realized that he did not feel life inside him, that something had happened to the child. And a couple of hours later, contractions began. Too early contractions, too early stroke. The child was born dead, underdeveloped and a boy. Aegon was hurt and scared. Aegon could not accept that fate had been so cruel to him even after the Dance of the Dragons, after Rooks' Rest, Blood and Cheese...

There was no fire in the fireplace. It had gone out, though the servants had lit it a few hours ago. The ashes of the burnt logs had settled in a heap on the ashes. Aegon's chambers were cool, grey, and musty. Dust particles hung in the air, especially near the torn bed with its crumpled sheets. Aegon stood by the window. He was dressed in an emerald black robe, the same one he had worn when he had lost his child only a week before. His tear-stained, puffy eyes stared into space, while his shaking hands clutched the baby blanket that had been meant for his son but had never been used. Wet trails from his tears were drying on his pale face as he continued to weep silently within himself.