Chapter Text
Rhaenyra's breath was labored, her brow slick with sweat, and her skin red with effort and pain. The midwives urged her to breathe, to push to get the babe out. But all Rhaenyra wanted was to rest, the many hours of labor having exhausted her strength. She sent silent prayers to the Seven that it be over soon so she may sleep for the first time in what seemed like days.
"The child's head is visible, Princess. One or two more good pushes and he will be with us." The maester's cold hands slid along her thighs as he sat back from the bed and looked at her, "Shall I have someone fetch milk of the poppy from my stores, Your Grace? To ease your pain?"
Rhaenyra shook her head, swallowing the saliva filling her mouth. It tasted like metal, she must have bitten her lip and caused herself to bleed. "No, maester. I will be fine." She looked to either side of her to the midwives flanking her bedside. "Help me sit up." Their hands grasped under her arms and pulled, placing her torso on the pillows behind her. Rhaenyra nods to the maester and hardly gives him time to replace his hands before pushing again, letting loose a guttural scream with the pain and strength she put behind the push. A searing pain erupted from her body, radiating from the joining of her legs. The maester's eyes widen, but he has no time to raise concerns as the babe is pushed from their mother, landing into his waiting hands. As soon as she feels the child leave her body, Rhaenyra collapses onto the pillows, her body simply having no strength left to hold herself up.
The maester hands the squalling baby to a midwife, keeping his worried eyes on the princess. He beckons with one hand to the other midwife, calling her closer. "Bring me thread, a needle, and milk of the poppy for the princess. Quickly."
The princess opens her eyes, concerned that the measter hasn't declared if the baby was a boy or girl as he should. Her body was still in great pain, the sharp feeling still emanating from between her legs. "M-maester? what has happened?"
The old man took the offered supplies when they are offered, threading the needle with sure hands. "I am sorry, my princess, but you have torn. I must close the wound lest you bleed out." He watches as the princess tries to refuse the cup of milk of the poppy, his brow furrowing. "Princess I must insist you drink it. This will be painful."
Once Princess Rhaenyra was asleep, and her torn body stitched back together, the maester stood and washed his hands in the awaiting washbasin. That is when Queen Alicent entered the birthing chamber, her critical eyes landing on the sleeping body of her stepdaughter atop bloody sheets. The cries of a newborn attract her attention, and Alicent makes her way to the crib surrounded by maids and midwives. They part for her, and she peers down at the infant. A girl, pink and healthy with a whisp of pure white hair. The very image of her daughter Helaena as a newborn. It made her heart jump, could Rhaenyra have seen the error of her ways and produced a trueborn? Is her honest Rhaenyra back? Could their relationship be salvaged from the scarcely smoldering embers it is now? All this raced through Alicent's mind as she took in the crying girl.
From the doorway, two pairs of purple eyes watched their mother. Two boys at too tender an age to understand what their much older half-sister just went through.