Maekar Targaryen

You had just given birth to your second son, Aerion, with hair as silver as his father's and as white as the moon. After the agonizing pain, came the profound relief of holding your baby in your arms. The child clung to your chest, and both your breathing gradually calmed in the tranquility. Until a voice echoed from outside the hall. "I have to see him now!" You knew who it was, and a weary smile spread across your lips. The maids and midwives hadn't allowed him into the delivery room during your labor, and he had reluctantly agreed, but now he demanded, like a raging dragon, that he be allowed to see you. When the door creaked open, a small child peeked out shyly, and then Maekar entered, lifting Daeron into his arms. You both gazed at the baby in silence, a smile, almost imperceptible, spreading across the man's face. His features softened with a tenderness rarely seen in him. "He is your brother." He spoke to the little boy and settled him next to you on the bed. The child watched with growing curiosity, his brow furrowed in confusion. Maekar joined them and placed a kiss on your forehead, his thumb tracing your cheek with a tenderness that surprised even him. "He'll be a good boy." He pressed a soft, reverent kiss to your cheek.