༻♕༺

𝕿𝐇𝐄 𝕹𝐄𝐖 𝕻𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐄

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐑𝐎𝐖𝐍𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒 || 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆'𝐒 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆
𝟑ʳᵈ 𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐧 || 𝟏𝟐𝟏 𝐀𝐂

༻ •𖢻• ༺

     𝕰𝖛𝖊𝖗 𝖉𝖔𝖊𝖘 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖕𝖆𝖘𝖘𝖆𝖌𝖊 𝖔𝖋 𝖙𝖎𝖒𝖊 𝖋𝖑𝖔𝖜 𝖔𝖓𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖉, showing neither haste nor restraint, though this could not be said for young Maelera for suddenly nine moons have come and gone since the day she chose to name King's Landing her home.

   And the babe within the Green Queen's womb had decided upon coming into the world this day.

Whilst Alicent labors, her screams resounding all across the Red Keep–through the halls and down the twisting corridors–her children sit with Maela in the princess' chambers. All awaiting for any word on Alicent and the babe.

Helaena is occupied with her collection of insects on the cushioned windowsill, the sound of crashing waters echoing in through the window, mumbling her vast knowledge of the small creatures to herself. Aegon lounges upon the chaise as he gazes numbly into the flickering flames of the hearth across from him, his shoulders flinching with every scream of his dear mother that tore through the halls.

Sitting on the woolen carpet in the sitting area, the blazing hearth casting shadows on their ivory skin, Maelera entertains young Aemond.

The pair playing with whittled toys of mounted knights, soldiers, and dragons. Fantasizing a great battle cast in dragonfire that has the young boy falling into bouts of laughter that warm both her and his siblings' hearts.

The chains of grief latched around Maela's heart had begun to rust and fade within the abyss the longer she remained with the Queen and her children. They gave her something she thought to have lost.

Joy. Serenity. And companionship.

Little Aem grabs one of the dragons and swoops it down onto the army, sending the wooden soldiers sprawling across the carpet, defeated.

Maela giggles. "Ah, come here, you." Grabbing the young prince by his waist and falling onto her back, she holds Aemond's belly atop her legs and raises him high into the air, spreading his arms out to the side as their hands lay palm-in-palm. Aemond squeals with more laughter, and Maela couldn't contain her own even if she wished too.

"I fly like you, Maeya."

She giggles, "Yes, you do, sweet thing."

With a tender gentleness, she sways the boy from side to side, raising and lowering his arms to mimic the wings of dragons, then lowers him onto her stomach. Aemond contently curls up on Maela's torso, like a feline, as tiredness creeps into him.

And with the soothing rise and fall of her chest and the lullaby of her heartbeat beneath his ear, her loving hands weaving through his hair and rubbing circles across his back, little Aem falls asleep.

After hours, the ancient sun now settling beneath the horizon, the keep falls eerily silent and Ser Criston Cole comes to gather the anxious children.

Holding little Aemond to her hip, Maela trails in the knight's shadow, with Aegon and Helaena on either side of her, to Alicent's royal apartments. Where another prince or princess awaits their siblings and cousin.

Maela and Hel hoped for a girl, but Aegon wished for another brother.

   Upon arriving, the children discover another Targaryen prince were born into the world. A pink babe with tuffs of silver hair dotting his little head and bright violet eyes wonderingly staring at all the people around him laying in the arms of Alicent, whom beckons her children onto the bed with her.

   Little Daeron Targaryen.

   Maela finds herself wondering if the Crowned Princess would gift her and Hel with a princess to have around as Rhaenyra Targaryen were nearly bursting with a babe, as well.

The Grand Maester, Mellos, attempts to interrupt the children, stating the Queen needs her rest, but Alicent commands otherwise.

"My children will remain with me, Maester. That will be all."

With having carried four dragons within her, she was bound to have a little fire of her own.

The Grand Maester bows his head in respect, taking his leave of the chambers along with the flurry of the Queen's handmaidens.

When the doors shut behind the servants of the Realm's monarchs, the children flock to their mother/queen. Helaena leans against her mother's side, head resting on Alicent's shoulder, with Aegon against his mother's other side, ear above her beating heart, looking down at his new baby brother. Whilst Maelera rests her head on a pillow she placed on the lump that is Alicent's legs beneath the sheets, laying on her side with little Aem curled into her front, looking up at the Queen, her two eldest, and now youngest child.

The younglings begin prattling on about the newest member of House Targaryen–all about his dragon, the fierce knight they wholly believed he'd grow into, and when he could begin his lessons in swordplay. And Maelera looks at the Queen's tired face.

Perspiration dampening her auburn curls like autumn leaves, few strands sticking to her pale skin, yet still Maelera thought Alicent had never looked so beautiful, her features practically radiating with a joyful glow.

And the young girl thinks to herself in that moment, she never wants to subject herself to the childbed. A battle many women loose, including her cousin, Alyssa's, mother.

When the last light of the sun sinks beneath the horizon and the moon reaches her highest peek, the children have all fallen asleep. And the Queen gazes softly at the younglings, a mother's love shimmering in her emerald green eyes, and thanks the Mother for granting her this gift.

Aegon, Helaena, Aemond, Daeron, and Maelera Targaryen. Her children.

༻ •𖢻• ༺

𝔗he night that marked the fifth day since the birth of Prince Daeron, when the Queen were well enough to leave her bed, a grand feast was called to celebrate the new Targaryen prince.

Maelera and Helaena spent many evenings together in the Royal Gardens discussing which dress of theirs they would wear ever since they'd been told of the feast.

And now, with the feast only an hours time away, the jubilant halls bustling with excitement, the princesses gather within Maelera's bed chamber with Salna to dress for the occasion.

The Silver Princess were donned in an elegant gown of lavender silk, her favorite material, with threadings of gold in the shapes of majestic dragons. Her unique brunette -and-silver hair woven into an intricate southern style by Salna. Whilst Helaena were dressed in a sweeping pink gown sprinkled with hints of violet and white threadings taking the shape of butterflies across her shoulders and chest.

Maela stands behind Helaena at the vanity to braid her beautiful cousin's silver-gold hair, her deft fingers led by Salna's guidance. Once finished, Helaena clasps the necklace of Maelera's mother around her bare neck.

"You both look beautiful, my Princessess." Salna smiles at the young girls, who mirror it.

Knocks echo from the other side of the door.

"Come." Maelera grants, and she smiles as Princes Aegon and Aemond enter. She giggles as Aemond rushes over to her the second his indigo eyes spot her, catching his little form in her arms.

"My, my. What a handsome prince you are."

He shyly giggles, "You're really pretty, too, Maeya." A soft smile blooms across her lips, kissing Aemond's cheek.

The princes, then, escort the princesses to the grand feast held in the cavernous Great Hall. And 'tis exactly as Maelera would've expected the hall of the Iron Throne to look, mirroring the first feast she ever witnessed in the Red Keep. Evenly spread torch -and-candlelight flickering throughout the hall, illuminating the space with orange -and-yellow heat, four trestle tables filled to the utter brim with lavish dishes, and streams of color-filled fabrics and flowers dangling from wooden beams across the high ceiling.

   The Crown would spare no expense to hail the birth of one with the blood of the last dragonlords.

   Gliding across the carpet in the center of the hall stretching the distance between the grand oak-and-bronze doors and the platform of the Royal Family, the young Targaryens, then, ascend the steps onto the platform to join their family.

   King Viserys I were sat in the center, with the Iron Throne to his back–the pointed ends of the thousands of melted swords protruding from the gnarly throne give the Peacful King the appearance of dragon wings sprouting from his back with a crown of spikes–with his wife, whom held little Daeron in her arms, and firstborn daughter on either side of him. Seated down the oak table–that curves at the ends–from Queen Alicent's right were Aegon, Helaena, Maelera, then Aemond. To Rhaenyra's left were her husband, Ser Laenor Velaryon, then the members of the Small Council. The Lord Hand, Lyonel Strong, Lords Jasper Wlyde–the man Maelera hears is called Ironrod–Lyman Beesbury, and Tyland Lannister.

   The chatter of all the nobility fall silent when the King stands, raising his goblet into the air. "To Prince Daeron of House Targaryen!" The crowd echoes the King's words. "To Prince Daeron!"

   "Now, my lords and ladies, tonight we dine together. Tonight we celebrate the birth of Daeron, who I know will grow into a fierce knight."

   And with His Grace's final words, the bards begin to play their vast array of instruments. Their lively tunes echoing all throughout the hall from their raised platform in the corner.

   A harmonious air settling over the Royal Family as they laugh and dine together.

   A wide smile stretches Viserys' lips as little Daeron grabs a strawberry from his mother's plate and lifts it to her mouth, Alicent laughing as she gently takes the sweet berry between her teeth. Delicate laughs tumble from Rhaenyra as Laenor exaggerates many tales of his battles at sea to her, rubbing a hand over her rounded belly to soothe the wild babe within. Helaena falls into endless bouts of giggles with every clumsy nobleman- and-woman Aegon points to. As Maelera and Aemond toss blueberries between one another, attempting to catch them in their mouths. Not the manners that are to be expected of a prince and princess, but neither cared.

The hours of the radiant night blur into a thin stretch of time's endless cycle as the nobility within the Great Hall dance and dine together, the jovial laughter of all the lords and ladies ringing through the hall as the tunes enlivened the air with their every beat.

The princeling of the hour were swept away to the nursery he would soon share with Princess Rhaenyra's child after little Daeron'd fallen asleep admist the cacophony of noise.

The gentle smile across Alicent's lips expresses her fondness for her youngest son as her eyes follow the handmaiden leaving with Daeron.

She finds herself remembering those little things about her other children when they were newborns, so new to the world around them. Remembering how her Aegon was once the same, he could fall asleep nearly anywhere no matter the noises surrounding him.

Little Helaena was so small and sensitive, as if she saw not just the walls but the ghosts among them. Her girl would often wail herself to sleep many nights.

Aemond was the same not so long ago, always crying in the middle of the night. Until she began to tuck him into bed with Aegon.

The Targaryens were strange people, but their queer customs did not dampen the love Alicent's heart holds for her children.

Alicent's eyes fall onto Maelera, then, as thoughts of her babes fill her mind. And she wonders to herself, what was this wild girl like when she was just a newborn.

Would Maelera's wails awaken half of Runestone keep in the midnight hours? Did the Lady Rhea allow her babe near the Black Dread? Did she ever find her babe strange?

Alicent selfishly wishes she had known. That she could've fed Maela at her breast to strengthen the bond between mother and child. The Queen had never let any of the wet nurses attend to her babes, even if they screamed for their mother's milk in the hour of the owl.

But she blinks her green eyes, turning them away. Alicent did not carry Maelera in her womb, Maelera did not suckle at her breast. She was Rhea Royce's daughter by blood.

But that doesn't mean Alicent Hightower will love Maelera Bloodmoon any less.

The young girl, herself, looks to the sea of dancing nobility, waves of numerous colors flooding her plum eyes, and smiles. Standing from her seat, Maela offers her hand to little Aemond, wiggling her fingers. He takes it, without hesitation.

The princess and prince mingle midst the crowd and just as the Queen had done all those moons ago, Maela settles with Aemond within a break amongst the crowd.

   Beginning to dance with the young boy. Holding one anothers hands as they jump to the beat, giggles bright as the stars shimmering beyond the narrow windows tumbling from their smiling lips.

   Aegon joined by his sweet sister found the pair within the swirling sea of colors and elegant movement. And together, the four dance until their feet feel like they will simply fall off.

   Maelera spinning away all her troubles for just those few hours. And she finds herself glad this feast ended better than the Crowned Princess' wedding feast.

__________༻♕༺___________

༻ Author's Note ༺

Another chapter, is here, my lovelies!!

I've been so slumped when it comes to writing lately 🙁 but I enjoyed writing this chap! It's probably one of my favorites, Maela and Targtowers bonding 🥹 My loves 😍

Watching season ii ( which I love so far, even if I think it could certainly be a lot better ) makes me think about this book and where I want to take the Dance part of it. And I think it'll be even more fun than my original plot 😝 But honestly were not even close to that part yet, LOL! I have so much in store for this book, OMG I missed it so much 😆

Anyway, I hope all of you lovelies enjoyed this and please remember to keep the comments spoiler free for those whom have not yet seen the episodes. ( Let's give it a good week before talking about the new episodes, because I certainly don't mind having someone to talk about HOTD with 🤓 )