PROLOGUE.

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˚✩ ⋆。˚ ✩
𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃

AEMMA ARRYN was no stranger to the pains that came from giving birth

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AEMMA ARRYN was no stranger to the pains that came from giving birth. Having gone through many pregnancies, the Queen knew that pain more so than others, and instead of trying to find a way to fight it back, she complied with the midwife's orders, as she wanted nothing more than to have her children on her arms and be done with it.

Often, Aemma told her daughter Rhaenyra how a woman's battle place was childbed and that it was their royal bellies' duty to provide children to carry on the Targaryen name, something that Aemma had yet to achieve. As Queen, Aemma's only duty was to provide an heir for her husband, who was desperate for a long-awaited Prince to inherit the title of King when he passed. But despite her several pregnancies, she had still not given Viserys a son, as her pregnancies often ended in miscarriages or stillborn children. Viserys didn't blame her for it, and he reassured Aemma several times that the Gods knew why they did it, but Aemma could see how he was growing impatient, which was why she had prayed to all of the Gods above that her most recent pregnancy would finally grant her husband they son they both wanted.

The maesters and midwives that accompanied Aemma in her quarters had ensured the Queen would be well cared for, and despite them promising her that they wanted nothing but to take care of their Queen, Aemma knew better than to trust them. She knew that they were there to be sure that her pregnancy would go to full term and that absolutely nothing would risk the life of the child she was carrying.

When Aemma began her labors, an odd sense of unease washed through her body, but she quickly pushed it away, not wanting to let it get to her head. The entire Realm was waiting to hear the news of the gender of the child that would come out of her, and while her husband had already gotten himself ahead and declared their child a Prince, going as far as throwing a tournament in his honor, Aemma knew that they would only be certain when the child was out of her.

"You will soon welcome your child, Your Grace," One of the midwives told Aemma with a kind smile as she continued to examine her. "You will have to start pushing soon, but I shall let you know when."

The Queen barely nodded, and instead concentrated on the cool feeling of the towel that had been placed on her forehead. "Have Rhaenyra come as soon as it's over, I wish for my daughter to meet her new sibling," Aemma instructed one of the maids, who bowed her head in response to the Queen.

"I'm sure the Princess will be thrilled to see her future brother, my Queen," Maester Mellos leaned in to tell Aemma, offering her a sip of the milk of the poppy he had brewed for her, which she kindly pushed away. "Are you certain that you don't wish to drink it, Your Grace?"

"Rest assured, Maester, I'll happily take you up on your offer once my child is born," Aemma replied, trying to offer the man a smile, but instead she moaned loudly as a wave of pain washed through her entire body.

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