The wait is unbearable, and the unsolicited sympathy everyone keeps offering makes you want to groan in annoyance. No one will tell you if your mother is well or if the babe has been born, making you pace like a trapped mouse — you know it’s unladylike to fret, but what else is there to do?

The doors finally creak open, and your father is the first to step inside. Your mother follows behind him, her expression weary but warmer than ever. She’s cradling a bundle of crimson cloth in her arms, the fabric protecting the newest addition to your family no doubt.

It’s a healthy baby, but despite all your prayers the gods have given you another brother.

Jace and Luke rush forward, their eagerness to show the egg chosen for their baby brother barely contained. But Laenor gently guides them away, insisting on the importance of dragon training. Ser Harwin now holds the babe, cradling the infant in his arms as your mother sits next to you. 

She takes note of your expression, her fingers threading through your hair in a soothing manner. The faint scent of sweat and myrrh hangs in the air, a reminder of the ordeal she has just endured. Yet her first concern is still you, her one and only daughter. 

“How are you, my sweet girl?” Her voice is gentle, soothing your worry in ways nothing else could.