A Father's Embrace

Joana has been thinking carefully about her next move. Power in court is not won through beauty or birth alone—charm and strategy matter just as much. She knows this well. And so, as she sits by the window, watching the faint morning light filter through the delicate silk curtains, her mind turns to the men who hold influence.

Monford Helaryon comes to mind first, but she quickly dismisses the thought. He would not welcome an overture of friendship from someone as lowborn as her. The Helaryons are proud, ancient, and unyielding in their traditions. No matter how high she rises, Monford would never see her as anything more than an upstart, a stain upon the pure lineage he holds so dear. The idea of currying favor with him is laughable.

But Jon Arryn? That is another matter entirely.

The Lord Hand is a man known for his wisdom and fairness, someone who values loyalty and service above noble blood. A practical man, not easily swayed by empty flattery. If she is to gain his goodwill, it must be through something thoughtful—something meaningful. A well-chosen gift, perhaps, something that speaks not just to generosity but to understanding.

She taps her fingers against the polished wood of the table, considering. What would please such a man?

She presses the quill against her chin in thought. What would be appropriate? Something that alludes to his noble house, perhaps. The Arryns are an ancient and venerable line, their sigil a proud falcon soaring before a pale moon. She knows how much lords treasure their heraldry; it is not merely a matter of symbols but of legacy, of honor, of centuries of history carried forward in colors and crests. Her mother had once told her as much, that the simplest path to a nobleman's favor was through well-placed and accepted flattery. She smiles faintly at the memory.

A sudden cry from the cradle pulls her from her thoughts. Jaehaerys, blinking groggily, scrunches up his tiny face and stretches out his little hands, smacking his lips together as he whimpers. The report in her hands is forgotten as she sets it aside and moves to lift him, cradling him close. He nuzzles against her, seeking the comfort he instinctively knows she will provide. Joana strokes the back of his delicate head, already aware of what he needs. When she bares her breast for him, guiding the rosy tip to his eager mouth, he latches on hungrily, his whimpers fading into contented suckling.

She returns her gaze to the parchment paper in her lap, her mind once again turning to the matter of the gift. A ring, she decides, bearing the sigil of House Arryn.

A piece crafted with care, adorned with moonstones, pearls, and deep blue sapphires to reflect the sky and the moon of his house's banner.

The money Aegon had gifted her after Jaehaerys' birth would be more than enough to commission such a thing. It was a thoughtful choice, one that balanced elegance and symbolism without being excessive.

As she muses over the details, Marra enters, carrying her final meal of the day. The scent of warm, spiced meat and fresh bread fills the air, but Joana barely pays it any mind.

She sends for Jeyne, intent on informing her of the idea and giving instructions to the court jeweler. Discretion is, of course, necessary. She trusts Jeyne, though. The Mother herself had chosen Joana's maids, selecting only those who were both loyal and highly capable. Their salaries came from the harem's treasurer, not from Joana's funds, which meant she did not have to concern herself with their upkeep.

The coins she gave them as additional rewards were just that—rewards, tokens of appreciation that only strengthened their loyalty further.

By the time Aegon arrives, she has already eaten and changed Jaehaerys' swaddling clothes.

The moment he steps into the chamber, Joana rises, holding her son securely as she drops into a deep curtsy. Aegon watches her, his hands clasped behind his back, a small smile playing on his lips.

His sharp eyes sweep over the room, then settle on the maids. "Leave us," he commands in a low, measured tone.

Joana grins at the sight of them hurrying away, though inside, she cannot help but wonder what has brought Aegon to her chambers tonight.

The midwife had cautioned her to wait two months before resuming nightly visits. But Overseer Meria had once confided in her that the harem's custom dictated that the Emperor should wait half a year before summoning a woman who had borne him a child. It was a rule meant to protect the women, give them time to recover, and shield them from the dangers of pregnancies spaced too closely together.

And the Mother—always watchful, always mindful of propriety—would never allow her son to disregard that tradition. Which meant Aegon was here for another reason entirely.

She just had to figure out what it was.

Aegon glances at their son, his expression softening. "He seems well," he remarks.

He steps closer, and Joana straightens, gently rocking Jaehaerys in her arms. Aegon's gaze is warm as he reaches forward, brushing his fingers over their son's tiny hand.

"Are you sleeping before your Emperor, boy?" he murmurs, amusement in his voice. "Shall I chastise you for your insolence?"

Joana laughs, glancing down at their son. Jaehaerys' long silver eyelashes rest against the soft curve of his cheeks, his tiny mouth pursed as he slumbers. He is blissfully unaware of the world around him; his only concern is the warmth and safety of his mother's embrace. Aegon's knuckle grazes over the baby's face in a tender motion, his smile lingering.

"Babies this young do little else," Joana says with a knowing smile. "He spends most of the day asleep. It isn't personal, I swear. If Jaehaerys knew his father was here, he'd be awake and gurgling words of respect, believe me."

She watches Aegon closely, wondering if he finds amusement in her jest or if he feels the same quiet awe she does whenever she looks at their son.