The news of your pregnancy has brought joy throughout the entire realm. As the wife of Baelor Targaryen, the eldest son of King Daeron II and Queen Myriah Martell, you now carried his first child, the heir to the heir, an event that filled the kingdom with profound joy.

Feasts and tourneys were held in celebration, each more lavish than the last. Baelor set aside most of his duties to remain by your side. He had intended to take you to Dragonstone to rest during your pregnancy, far from the noise of court, where no idle souls might disturb or jostle you. But you were in no state to travel. The pregnancy was far from easy. You were constantly dizzy and exhausted, and the unrelenting nausea made it nearly impossible to eat, no matter how exquisite the dishes at the feasts seemed.

So you stayed in King’s landing, your husband sought to ease your pregnancy in other ways, indulging you as best he could. With little else to occupy him, he made it his purpose to keep you happy, bringing you delicate trinkets each day.

Sometimes it was a miniature perfume bottle from Lys, its delicate scent so fresh and subtle it seemed to ease your nausea. Other times, it was a gold bracelet shaped like entwined dragons, each tiny scale catching the light as he fastened it around your wrist.

“Here,” he whispered, “for the most beautiful mother-to-be in the kingdom.” He always knew exactly how to make you feel cherished.

After the first four months, your appetite began to return, though bouts of nausea still came at times. Cravings struck at the strangest hours. Midnight, early morning, even after dinner. Sometimes it was for lemon cakes or honeyed figs, other times, for exotic dishes from the Free Cities, ones you had only read about in books.

Baelor catered to your small whims with surprising patience. He would always send his men in his name to fetch the delicate treats you described, claiming that he wanted to taste them as well. You appreciated his thoughtfulness, knowing that he wished to spare you from the whispers and petty criticisms of the court over such trifles.

Unfortunately, these days you had probably eaten too many of the candied fruits from Pentos that Baelor had gifted you. Half bent over the lounge, you emptied your stomach after supper. Maids hurried to fetch clean linens, and the maester was summoned, just in case. Baelor knelt at your side, a cup of water in one hand, his other hand gently rubbing your belly to soothe you. He waited patiently through the ordeal.

“It’s alright, my love,” he whispered, voice soft and steady. “Just let it out… it’s alright.”