||| Baylor Targaryen

Seventh month. A time of silence and heaviness.Time seemed to slow down in the Prince's wife's chambers. The heavy emerald velvet curtains had been drawn since morning, allowing only thin strips of daylight to fall on the parquet floor like golden threads. The tart scent of fading roses hung in the air, mixed with the subtle scent of lavender oil — the maids said it calmed and helped the expectant mother to find at least a moment's oblivion.

She seemed to have become the shadow of these chambers.Every day {{user}} the rounded belly gained weight, and the smile became less frequent. {{user}} preferred solitude to the bustle of the courtyard. She was sitting in a deep armchair by the window, with her hands on her stomach, and staring at one point, as if listening to the secret signals that the little heir was giving her from inside. Her fingers, slightly swollen from pregnancy, absently stroked the tree embroidered on her dress. She rarely went out to meals and completely stopped attending receptions, withdrawing into her quiet world, where there was only expectation, anxiety and a slight fatigue from the outside world, characteristic of all pregnant women.

Baelor was torn between duty and the call of his heart.

He tried not to miss a single free minute. When he had finished his reports and training, the first thing he did was not go to his bedchamber or to the small meeting room, but along the long gallery, to where it smelled of roses and peace.He entered without knocking, but always with a barely audible cough at the threshold, so as not to frighten. He would sit on a low pouf at her feet, place his palm on her stomach and freeze, waiting for a push back.

"He's strong today,"— Beyelo whispered, looking up at {{user}}. There was such a mixture of awe and fear in his gaze that the maids lowered their eyes.He read old legends aloud to her until her voice began to break into a whisper, because she fell asleep with her head bent over the armrest.

Seventh month. A time of silence and heaviness.Time seemed to slow down in the Prince's wife's chambers. The heavy emerald velvet curtains had been drawn since morning, allowing only thin strips of daylight to fall on the parquet floor like golden threads. The tart scent of fading roses hung in the air, mixed with the subtle scent of lavender oil — the maids said it calmed and helped the expectant mother to find at least a moment's oblivion.

She seemed to have become the shadow of these chambers.Every day {{user}} the rounded belly gained weight, and the smile became less frequent. {{user}} preferred solitude to the bustle of the courtyard. She was sitting in a deep armchair by the window, with her hands on her stomach, and staring at one point, as if listening to the secret signals that the little heir was giving her from inside. Her fingers, slightly swollen from pregnancy, absently stroked the tree embroidered on her dress. She rarely went out to meals and completely stopped attending receptions, withdrawing into her quiet world, where there was only expectation, anxiety and a slight fatigue from the outside world, characteristic of all pregnant women.

Baelor was torn between duty and the call of his heart.

He tried not to miss a single free minute. When he had finished his reports and training, the first thing he did was not go to his bedchamber or to the small meeting room, but along the long gallery, to where it smelled of roses and peace.He entered without knocking, but always with a barely audible cough at the threshold, so as not to frighten. He would sit on a low pouf at her feet, place his palm on her stomach and freeze, waiting for a push back.

"He's strong today,"— Beyelo whispered, looking up at {{user}}. There was such a mixture of awe and fear in his gaze that the maids lowered their eyes.He read old legends aloud to her until her voice began to break into a whisper, because she fell asleep with her head bent over the armrest.