Blood Upon The Snow ||| Cregan Stark

forty-eight.

Jacaera was exhausted after the bliss of it all had dulled just the smallest amount. Her entire body still throbbed and ached, she still felt contractions every once and awhile, and she still looked pregnant.

Her exhaustion was exacerbated by feeding her son from her own breast. A wet nurse hadn't been needed in the Holdfast for much time. A baby would have to start her supply. And in the meantime, Jacaera would feed her son.

She didn't mind doing it. Jacaera enjoyed the connection. But as a Queen, she could not breastfeed her son until he ate solid food. It wasn't sustainable. A wet nurse was the best option.

She'd given birth in the middle of the night. The court wouldn't know of it until the morning. It gave Jacaera time, however, to be cleaned and to rest without visitors.

Maesters advised against baths for a while after birth. Superstitions. So Jacaera's maids washed everything as thoroughly and gently as they could, cleaning the blood from her legs and the sweat from her body. It felt heavenly to have her hair washed for her.

And even in the late hours, the kitchens were roused to deliver food to Jacaera. So she could eat after her exhaustive efforts.

After it all, when she'd been taken care of, she laid back in the bed, not able nor willing to travel far afterward, and laid in it with both her husband and her baby.

Her five brothers had given Jacaera valuable experience when it came to child-rearing. But she knew she still had much to learn, especially with a son of her own.

She treated Rickon like her own. Jacaera would never make him feel unwanted or uncared for because he wasn't her blood. But even he knew she wasn't his mother. His step-mother. Someone who loved and guided him.

There wouldn't be favourites as much as others in court would claim. Both boys were heirs to something. They would grow up with one another.

But still, it was different. To hold a child she created and birthed. Rhaegar wasn't more loved. It was simply a different type of love. One Jacaera didn't know she could name.

"The myth of men holding more strength than women is cruel. I know one hundred men who could not have done what you have."

Jace was the only person that was woken up and told in the middle of the night. He'd requested to hear the news as soon as possible. Even if it meant the middle of the night.

"The Queen has delivered a healthy son, Lord Hand. She and her son now rest with her consort."

His sister was alive, well, and had given birth to a healthy baby. It could not have gone better for her.

"Thank you for this happy news."

***

Some peace was had that night. When the babe was given to a maid so Jacaera could get some rest. And she did rest for a few hours until she was roused to feed her son.

Profuse apologies from the wet nurse who woke Jacaera. It would take days and weeks for the nurse's milk to come in. And though Jacaera was tired, she wouldn't leave her son hungry.

So she fed him, Cregan awake with her, and she did manage to sleep a little bit more that night. Much-needed rest.

And in the morning, after scattered sleep, Jacaera was woken for the day. She could only really be bothered to put on a loose nightgown. She was still bleeding and still extremely sore and exhausted from her efforts.