Chapter Text
Small.
That had been the first thing that Aerion had said when his new babe had been placed in his arms for the first time.
It was not something that could be said of her older brothers and sister. The first three children had been big, huge really—it was a wonder how they had even ever fit inside of him without tearing him open. That was what everyone thought, but only his insolent wretch of a younger brother, Aegon, had the nerve to actually say.
She had come quickly. Aerion had done little more than stand from his bed and cross the room to his vanity when he had felt a sudden, jolting movement inside of him. He would have fallen to his knees if his attendants hadn’t been on hand and gotten to him first. They had laid him carefully on the ground and rung the bell to alert the keep. In the time it took for the maester to come running from next door the babe was already halfway out, and by the time Duncan had been sought out from where he was patrolling the gates, she was already born.
“It happens much quicker the more you have,” the maester had explained as he checked the babe over and announced that they had a girl.
Still, Duncan had blamed himself all the same. “I shouldn’t have left your side,” he wept as he stroked the top of his daughter's head, encompassing it whole in one giant hand. She had the same hazel hair as her father.
But Aerion had barely paid attention to the words. If he hadn’t been too distracted he may have vowed to make Dunk regret missing the birth. But he couldn’t summon the will to. He simply could not look at anyone save his new daughter.
She was abnormally small. Tiny, really, even for someone who didn’t have a giant for a father.
“She’s small,” he said, almost accused. So small. Like him.
“Yes, she is a bit on the small side, Your Grace,” the maester began, “but I believe she is healthy. You may be able to manage feeding this one yourself.”
Before the birth of his eldest, Aerion had vowed he would feed all of his children himself. They were the blood of the dragon, and they needed the dragon’s milk—not that of some common kitchen wench, he had been absolutely insistent.
But all of his children had been so huge, and their appetites so insatiable, that he simply hadn’t been able to do it alone, so begrudgingly he had allowed it, so long as most of their milk came from him.
Their first, Maegor, had been a difficult pregnancy, and an even more difficult birth. Aerion laboured for three days to bring him into the world. The boy lacked the silver-gold hair of his mother. He had common hair, a chestnut-brown shade the same as his father. But when his eyes first opened and Aerion saw the same violet shade as his own peeking back up at him a smile spread openly across his face—one that Duncan said he would never forget, not until the end of his days.
Aerion hadn’t thought it possible that he would carry a bigger babe, but his second-born disproved that notion, he had been even larger than his first. Like his elder sibling, he had arrived with a full head of hair—proper, strong hair, not just the wisps that babes sometimes had that would fall out after the first few weeks—and it was the same silver-gold shade as his own. And when his eyes opened for the first time, Aerion saw that they were the same purple as his brother’s.
They named him Arlan, which Aerion had been annoyed about in the beginning. His husband had approached him nervously after the birth and said he wanted to name their son after his old master. Ordinarily, Aerion would never have allowed it, but Duncan had caught him when he was still half-drugged up on the poppy so he had only been half paying attention when he mumbled a tired yes.
Later, when his senses caught up to him he had stood, against the maester’s wishes, and sleepily pulled the knight's own dagger from where it rested in its sheath and said if he ever named one of his children without his permission again he’d put it through him for good. The knight had done little more than smile warmly and mumble an ‘Of course dear, of course’, as he tucked him back in bed—happiness plain on his stupid face.
But Aerion found that he didn’t mind, not really. His second son may have a common name, but his features were so obviously and strikingly Valyrian that it did not matter. Besides, it wasn’t his fault that his father was an idiot.
Still, Aerion hadn’t allowed the same to happen with the next. She was the third to come in as many years, and his first girl. Not quite as large as her older brothers, but an impressive size nonetheless, she would grow to be much taller than he was, of that Aerion had no doubt. She also boasted the silver-gold hair of her mother, as well as his violet eyes. He had named her Maera, for his mother—a name people would think twice before speaking back to. It matched nicely with her eldest brother, too.
Maekar was here now. He had ridden back to Summerhall from King’s Landing some weeks ago to see Aerion through the last trimester, and the King, his father Baelor, had arrived some days ago, just in time to catch the birth.
“Have you thought of a name yet?” his father asked from where he sat perched at the end of the bed. He said it with a smile, but Aerion could tell that he was bracing himself. Aerion remembered well enough the shock and aversion that he had failed to disguise in time when he had announced the name of his firstborn.
“No. Not yet,” Aerion said, his gaze never leaving the too-small bundle in his arms. He was still trying to rid the shock he felt at her size from his body.
Duncan didn’t display the same apprehension as he looked down at his new daughter. “She’s perfect,” he declared tearfully. She was so small that she nearly disappeared in the blankets. “What about Aerea? You wanted one named after yo—”
“No!” Aerion snapped at the suggestion with such ferocity that it set the babe to weeping.
Dunk, Maekar and Baelor turned to him then, shock and surprise clear on their faces.
“I haven’t thought of a name yet,” Aerion said, distress plain in the declaration.
So the little princess remained without one.
It had taken her three days to open her eyes for the first time. Dunk had worried, but the maesters assured them that some babes simply take longer—they need more time to adjust, they had explained. So they waited.
Aerion did not pretend that he held much faith with the seven, but even so he prayed anxiously: please, please, please, he begged, as he waited for his daughter’s gaze to meet with his. But when it finally did, it was not his own eyes that he saw looking back up at him.
Not violet.
Blue.
Aerion stopped holding her after that.