The doctors and midwives crowded around Daenerys, moving quickly, murmuring to one another as they handled tools, herbs, and potions.
Slaves and hired free physicians surrounded the bed, each offering their own opinions to the others.
She strained to catch their words and understand what was happening, but the low, urgent hum only blurred into a single wall of noise that pressed against her ears.
Her water had broken that morning. Any moment now she would bring a Targaryen heir into the world—boy or girl, it no longer mattered. Today everything would be decided, and it would go smoothly. It had to.
For the past two weeks her body had kept every physician in the palace on edge.
The princess from the distant Seven Kingdoms, wife of one of Volantis's three Triarchs, spent her days exhausted and bedridden. Her moods swung wildly. She slept late and rose early only with effort.
Elyn said the birth was near, and the physicians agreed.
Even so, Daenerys had forced herself to push past the constant weariness. She had kept working—handling the duties Viserys left behind, reading reports, making decisions.
It was almost funny. She had been sitting at her desk reviewing the latest spy reports on the Elephant Party's movements when they carried her to the birthing chamber.
Now she lay against the pillows, trying to shift into a more comfortable position with shaking hands. Since the birth would not be quick, she needed to prepare herself for the long fight ahead.
Her thoughts crashed between the tearing spasms of pain and the fierce, desperate hope of finally seeing her child. Back and forth, like a trapped animal.
"I have to hold on. I have to… for him, and for our baby."
Someone tried to speak to her, soft words meant to comfort, promising that everything would be fine if she just endured a few more hours.
Her pregnancy had been easy. There was no reason for anything to go wrong. Yet standing at the threshold of birth, she could not stop the fear.
Everything that was about to happen was new. Huge. Unknown.
A fresh wave of pain hit—sharper and deeper than any before—and she cried out, voice raw.
Footsteps hurried. A senior physician gave orders. The room filled with movement again.
Had her own mother suffered like this?
What about Elyn?
Her wet nurse had given birth without trouble, though the child had not lived. Her mother had died bringing her into the world.
What if—
"I have nothing to fear," she told herself. "Elyn said Mother died of anxiety, exhaustion, and fear. The old maester was already half-mad and the enemy could have landed at any moment. I've taken care of myself. There are so many doctors here. Everything will be fine!"
The reassurance did not last long.
She could no longer focus on anything around her.
The pain blurred her vision, yet the next spasm somehow made everything around her painfully sharp.
The midwives' voices seemed to vanish. Their movements slowed to a crawl. Even through the agony, Daenerys felt the wrongness of it.
Then she saw something that made her forget the pain completely.
Behind the frozen physicians, a tall figure in a hooded cloak walked slowly past them. The cloak itself looked woven from living flame.
The figure was enormous—Moqorro would have looked like a dwarf beside it.
It moved through the oblivious doctors and stopped beside her bed. Slowly it pushed back the hood.
Daenerys groaned, voice hoarse. "Go away… get away… get out!"
The figure ignored her.
She saw its face at last and felt her breath catch. She had never seen anything so beautiful and so terrifying at the same time.
Human features blended with a dragon's. A mane of living fire spilled over its shoulders. Its skin was pale as the purest marble. Its eyes—when she looked into them she saw endless flame, fire that could burn even dragons to ash.
It reached out a clawed hand toward the swell of her belly.
In that instant of pure terror, Daenerys understood exactly what it wanted.
"Stay away from my child! Get back! Leave!"
A mother's screams, pleas, and curses changed nothing.
The burning fingertips touched her belly.
Daenerys Targaryen's violet eyes slowly closed.
---
"I don't want to!" the little girl cried, lower lip jutting out. "This needle has pricked my fingers all over!"
"You simply aren't paying attention," the woman said gently but firmly.
"But I shouldn't even have to do this…"
"Every lady must learn embroidery, Daenerys." The governess's tone grew slightly sharper. "It is part of a lady's duty. Nothing more natural."
"But I'm not a lady. I'm a princess." Little Daenerys tilted her head, eyes bright with mischief as she looked up at the older woman. "Princesses don't have to sew."
"And what is the difference between a princess and a lady?"
"Princesses are higher!" Daenerys declared with complete confidence, glancing proudly at the single stitch she had managed. Maybe this nightmare would finally end. "They don't need to embroider. There are so many more interesting and useful things in the world. Who would want to do this?"
"Then what would you rather do, Princess?"
"I want to fight with a sword like my brother!" Daenerys's eyes lit up. "I want to lead soldiers into battle! What good is embroidery to him? On the battlefield I could actually help him. I want to help him, Elyn. Isn't that good?"
The older woman smiled and reached out to stroke the girl's silver-gold hair.
The simple touch worked. Daenerys quieted and turned back to her needle with renewed determination.
"You are still very young, Princess. Too young to lead anyone, let alone armored warriors." Elyn's voice was soft. "Embroidery is required of noble ladies for good reason. It teaches patience and diligence. It shows us that anything truly precious requires effort—nothing worth having comes easily. When your hands are busy, your mind can think clearly. Focused work steadies the heart."
Seeing that simple reasoning wasn't enough, the governess tried another approach.
"Embroidery can help your brother too."
"How?" Daenerys looked up, suspicious.
"I may not know much about war," Elyn said, "but I'm sure Prince Viserys has told you how important a battle banner is to a commander."
"Of course!" Daenerys recited the lesson at once. "When the banner falls the army can break. When it flies high it gives courage to the wavering. A true commander protects his banner above all else. That's how you tell if he's fit to lead."
"Very good, my princess." Elyn nodded. "And do you know who usually sews a great house's banners?"
"Um… their wives…" Daenerys said, then added quickly under her governess's steady gaze, "or the lord's hired seamstresses and maids."
"Correct. Now, is a banner made with needle and thread alone?"
"Isn't it?" The girl stared, confused.
"That is only half the truth."
"Half?"
"Yes. A banner is half silk and thread, half the heart that sews it. A banner stitched with scorn, anger, or fear has never brought good fortune." Elyn smiled. "There is an old story in my family from the end of the Dance. Boros Baratheon met his end because of such a banner."
Daenerys immediately forgot the needle. Her violet eyes were wide with curiosity. She had never heard this tale, and she loved Elyn's stories more than anything.
"What happened?"
"Before he marched against the riverlords, he ordered new banners for his army. The old ones were tattered from sun and wind. But he was in a hurry and kept pushing the women of House Hayford, even threatening their husbands. The banner sewn for Aegon the Second carried not thread, but hatred and fear. An army like that could never win on an open field."
The little girl looked down at the needle and thread with new respect.
So something so small could hold the power of life and death. If you sewed with true heart and love, it could change everything…
"Elyn, I…" Daenerys spoke carefully, "I want to embroider a war banner for my brother."
"Your wish is beautiful, Princess. Your brother will treasure such a gift." Elyn's smile was warm. "But now you understand how important this is, how much responsibility it carries. It cannot be done carelessly."
"I know!" The girl nodded hard, eyes shining with determination.
"So we will not set aside your practice to begin the royal banner just yet." Elyn's voice was kind but firm. "You must start with simpler work. Only when you have mastered the basics can we begin something this important."
"All right! I understand!"