You’re Not Going Anywhere

Aegon chuckles at that. "I think he's likely to live," he muses. "If he's bold enough to sleep before his father and lord, then he's bold enough to fight off the evil that takes so many infants."

Joana swallows, tightening her hold on their son. The weight of his words presses on her heart, stirring both hope and fear in equal measure.

"I pray for that, Aegon," she says softly, catching herself before she almost calls him by his title. He had asked her to use his name, after all. "I pray to the Mother every day to keep him safe."

Aegon smiles once more, a flicker of something unreadable in his expression.

"Let me hold him," he requests.

Joana moves carefully, easing Jaehaerys into his father's arms. Despite her gentleness, the baby stirs, his little face scrunching up as he whines in protest. He wriggles against Aegon's chest, his displeasure is evident.

Aegon laughs, unfazed. "Oh? What is this? Are you so upset to be with me now?"

"He's just been startled," Joana reassures him, adjusting the swaddling cloth. "Don't read too much into it."

Still, Jaehaerys' violet eyes blink open, gazing up at his father with what could only be described as great offense.

Aegon chuckles again. "I think he is only now realizing how much better it is to be in his mother's arms," he muses, gently rocking their son. "Like father, like son, I suppose."

Joana feels her cheeks warm, unable to fully process his words. Their eyes meet, and she wonders if he is merely saying such things to please her. Surely, he cannot mean them.

"Why don't you lie down?" she suggests softly. "Take a rest."

Aegon inclines his head in agreement. He moves to her bed, still cradling Jaehaerys, and as he sits down, Joana kneels to remove his boots. He exhales a slow, tired breath, settling back against the sheets with their son resting against his chest.

Joana watches, smiling as Jaehaerys' tiny fingers reach out, brushing against the golden necklace Aegon wears. The sight is unexpectedly tender.

She sits beside them, resting a comforting hand on Aegon's shoulder. "I'm happy to have you here," she tells him. "Your son missed you."

Aegon raises a brow. "Just my son?" he asks with a teasing smirk.

Joana huffs a small laugh. "Both of us," she admits.

Jaehaerys stirs again, weakly lifting his head as though trying to observe the world around him. He is determined, even in such small things.

Aegon is right. He'll live.

As Aegon gently strokes Jaehaerys' small back, Joana watches him closely. The golden light of the setting sun spills through the chamber, casting a soft glow over them. But even in the warm hues of dusk, she can see how weary he looks. Shadows smudge the delicate skin beneath his eyes, dark and heavy with exhaustion. The usual sharpness in his features is dulled, his expression tight with unspoken burdens.

She hesitates for a moment before asking, "Is something wrong?"

Aegon exhales, his fingers never ceasing their slow, soothing movements against their son's back. "Not exactly," he says after a pause. "Just some trouble with everything."

Joana tilts her head, raising a brow. "Then everything is wrong," she teases, a small smile tugging at her lips.

At that, Aegon lifts his gaze to meet hers. The corners of his mouth twitch upward, his expression softening despite his fatigue. "I guess," he admits with a shrug, careful not to jostle the sleeping baby in his arms.

He hesitates for a moment as if weighing whether to continue. Finally, he says, "It's about Daenerys' wedding. The religious aspect of it all. We're still trying to find a way to make it work." He shifts slightly, then glances at her with dark, uncertain eyes. "And you."

Joana blinks in surprise. "Me?" The word escapes her before she can think better of it. "What do I have to do with anything?"

Aegon sighs, shifting his weight against the cushions. "Lords are petitioning the Lord's Hand," he explains. "They want him to speak to me on their behalf." His lips press into a thin line, his displeasure evident. "Some of them aren't too pleased with a commoner mothering a prince. They don't want to see any more children born to us."

Joana's stomach twists. She lowers her gaze to Jaehaerys, so small, so innocent, blissfully unaware of the world and all its cruelties. He sleeps soundly against his father's chest, utterly content. The thought that there are men—powerful men—who would see him cast aside simply because of her blood… makes her chest tighten.

"I don't even know what to say," she murmurs.

Aegon shifts his hold on their son, adjusting him slightly as his little body rises and falls with each steady breath. "It's nothing you should worry about," he assures her. "Most of them only care because they stand to gain something from your removal."

Joana frowns. "Such as?"

"Vassals from the Reach," Aegon answers without hesitation. "Lord Tyrell, Lord Redwyne… men with an interest in seeing Desmera or Margaery return to my favor."

Of course. The realization settles over her like a heavyweight. Lords with daughters who once held his attention—perhaps still wish to. She has no doubt they would rather see Maekar or Daeron be the only heirs to the throne. Jaehaerys, in their eyes, is an inconvenience. And she is an obstacle.

Her thoughts must be clear on her face because Aegon smirks before lifting her hand to his lips. He presses a warm kiss against her knuckles, his grip firm and reassuring.

"Don't worry," he says, his voice steady. "You're not going anywhere."

Joana studies him for a long moment. "Have you told them that?" she asks at last.

Instead of pulling away, she shifts closer, stretching out beside him. She lays on her side, her eyes gazing up at him through lowered lashes. Slowly, she reaches out, placing her hand over his where it rests protectively on Jaehaerys' back.