Game of Thrones: I Am The Heir For A Day

Chapter 388: First Meeting in the Reflections of the Moon

Chapter 388: First Meeting in the Reflections of the Moon

As the minutes dragged on, Laena's agonized cries grew more intense and desperate, each cry a testament to the intense pain she was enduring.

Crunch...

The attic door creaked open, and an old maester with a deeply furrowed face emerged, moving with hurried steps.

Daemon's face tightened, and he rushed to meet him.

The old maester, sweat dripping from his brow, whispered urgently, "A full-term pregnancy is ten months, but Lady Laena is only eight months along. It's extremely difficult for a premature baby to be born safely."

Laena had conceived earlier this year, and now, in late July, she was eight months pregnant. With the medical limitations in Westeros, premature births were dangerous and often equated to difficult labor.

Daemon, stunned by the maester's words, glanced anxiously toward the attic and asked, "Is there any way to ensure a smooth delivery?"

"I learned a technique in the Citadel to assist labor, but it doesn't work for every woman," the old maester replied, his voice laced with helplessness.

Daemon, momentarily dazed, patted the maester's shoulder and said heavily, "Do everything you can to protect my wife and child."

"I will keep you informed of any developments," the maester assured, wiping the sweat from his face before quickly returning to the attic and closing the door behind him.

Daemon stood there, watching the door close, then turned and scratched his long hair in bewilderment.

Laena's first labor had gone smoothly, resulting in the birth of twin daughters. With that experience, Daemon had hoped this time would be safer.

"Uncle," Rhaegar's voice broke through the tension, his eyes filled with concern as he approached.

Daemon glanced at him briefly, then tugged off his cloak and discarded it, continuing to pace restlessly in front of the attic door.

He had noticed his nephew's arrival but chose to ignore it out of sheer frustration.

Seeing Daemon's distressed state, Rhaegar took a deep breath and decided to let it be.

Before arriving, he had many things to say. But with Laena in labor, any words felt out of place.

"A woman giving birth is a terrible ordeal," Rhaegar muttered to himself, stepping back from Daemon.

With that, both uncle and nephew fell silent, each retreating to his corner, lost in thought.

Daemon's mind was consumed with worry for his wife and the premature labor, while Rhaegar's thoughts wandered to Rhaenyra and the memories of his mother's difficult childbirth.

"Roar..."

The only sound in the large vestibule was Vhagar's low, mournful roar. The old dragon, sensing its rider's pain, let out wails of sadness mixed with anger.

Time seemed to stretch endlessly.

The birth was not yet over, and Laena's screams gradually weakened, fading into an unsettling silence.

Bang-

The old maester burst out of the door, his dry, thin hands stained with blood.

Daemon, his face a mask of worry, hesitated to speak.

The old maester’s expression was despondent as he apologized, "There’s really nothing I can do. The child refuses to come out."

Daemon’s heart sank. He moved toward the attic, but stopped halfway, his gaze fixed on the scene inside.

"Push hard... ma’am... push hard..."

"Ah... ha..."

In the spacious hall, a large bed had been improvised. Several demurely dressed women bustled around with basins of water.

Laena was kneeling on the bed, her body sprawled forward, hands clutching the sheet as she wailed in agony. Her loose white dress was soaked with blood, her desperate cries echoing through the room.

The old maester followed quickly, his voice sorrowful, "I’m terribly sorry, Prince."

Daemon stood silently, his eyes locked on his wife. He murmured, "My brave wife."

Laena had helped him win the battle to take Tyrosh. Now, without rest, she fought alone on the birthing bed.

Rhaegar, who had arrived quietly, leaned against the wall to listen. Laena was his acknowledged cousin and housemate, the rider of Vhagar, and he had no intention of leaving.

"Ma'am... you need to push... hard."

"Ah... get out..."

Laena's hoarse voice echoed through the room. Her body was tense, shaking with effort, tears streaming down her face.

The pain was unbearable.

The women around her anxiously encouraged her, wiping her sweat and checking on the progress of her labor. With no one else in the Archonh's residence and the neighboring civilian physicians hiding, unwilling to help the invaders, the only assistants available were the women who had given birth before.

The old maester hesitated before speaking, "We can perform a cesarean section, but I can’t guarantee the child will survive."

Rhaegar’s head snapped up, his eyes fixed on Daemon and the old maester.

His mother had died from a cesarean.

Daemon, obviously thinking the same, glanced quickly at his nephew in the corner.

Without much thought, Daemon asked hopefully, "Can the child’s mother survive?"

He was more hopeful for his wife’s safety than for the child’s uncertain future.

The old maester drooped his eyelids and shook his head helplessly.

In cases of difficult labor, both mother and child often died. With a cesarean, at least the child had a chance of survival.

Daemon’s head buzzed, leaving him frozen in place, unable to think clearly.

He looked helplessly at his wailing wife, unable to utter a word.

"Prince, please make a decision as soon as possible," the old maester urged, knowing that every second of delay increased the danger.

Daemon’s heart was in turmoil. Leaning against the wall, he shook his head in silence.

He was not a man who took childbirth lightly. To him, a woman’s birthing bed was as much a battlefield as any other.

It was a battlefield on which he felt unqualified to make a choice for Laena.

"Prince..."

The old maester tried to persuade but found no words.

"Why don't you choose?"

Rhaegar spoke abruptly.

Daemon turned his head, licking his dry lips.

Rhaegar's eyes were heavy as he stepped in front of his uncle and said, "Laena is dying. You have a choice to make."

"No!" Daemon shook his head, "I can't decide if she lives or dies."

"But she needs a decision," Rhaegar said firmly.

Daemon continued to shake his head, muffling his voice, "My brother made a choice once, and he may have won, but I don't want to gamble on it."

Rhaegar had only cried once at birth, then fell into a three-year-long slumber. Had it not been for the healing of a Shadowlands witch, it was unlikely he would have woken up.

His older brother was born before him, was king of a country, married the woman he loved, had an heir to the throne, and had always been luckier than him. Daemon recognized himself as an unlucky man and did not want to get on this table.

Rhaegar, mixed with emotions, lost his smile and looked down, "You're right. No one can decide life and death for someone else."

Clenching his fist and pounding his shoulder, he rounded the corner and headed down the hall, saying in a deep voice, "Then ask the person involved what they want."

"Ah..."

Laena was sweating profusely, her screams gradually weakening and exhausting.

Hearing footsteps, Laena gasped deeply, lying on the bed and staring in a lost daze.

Seeing Rhaegar dressed in black, she smiled bitterly, "I don't want to die in such a sorry state."

She had heard the conversation around the corner and was aware of her own situation.

The child had been refusing to come out, completely lacking the feeling of the last birth. This child, more than likely, would not survive.

Rhaegar walked over to the bedside and whispered, "The choice is yours. I will do my best to keep you safe."

With a flip of his wrist, he took out a glazed candle. Stretching out the palm of his right hand, he shone a deep slash across his palm, and crimson blood dyed the seven-colored glaze red throughout.

"Watch this, there is only one chance."

Rhaegar reminded, extending his intact left hand.

"Roar..."

Wisps of black smoke emerged, and the sound of snakes hissing came out.

Laena's eyes widened as she saw a bizarrely dark little serpent burrowing out, floating in the air and landing in the palm of Rhaegar's bloody right hand.

Zira...

Black smoke rose from the palm, and the small snake opened a large, toothless mouth disproportionate to its size and quickly devoured the black smoke.

When the black smoke was eaten, the wound in the palm recovered as before.

"Blood Sorcery?"

Laena was stunned, forgetting the pain for a moment. The scion of the most ancient bloodline, the descendant of the most powerful family in the kingdom, she had a clear perception of blood sorcery. After traveling the free trade city-states for many years, she had seen too many strange people.

Rhaegar said, "Decide!"

"Cut my belly open," Laena clenched her teeth and immediately made a decision.

If she did nothing they were both dead, so it was better to put up a fight.

"Very well."

Rhaegar nodded and gestured at a few prostitutes, "Move her to the bed."

The prostitutes, still shocked at the wonders of blood sorcery, reacted by rushing to move Laena onto the bed.

"Ah... ha..."

The movement involved severe pain. Laena clenched her teeth and lay down on the bed to lift the blood-stained dress herself.

When pregnant women give birth, there is no difference between men and women in this kind of situation.

Rhaegar turned his head sideways, his gaze falling on the two men around the corner, and said weakly, "Come over here and handle the knife. Do you think I know how to cut open a woman's womb?"

"Yes." The old maester's eyes shone brightly, and he flew to prepare the belly planing tools.

Daemon froze and hesitantly stepped back.

He was shocked. It seemed that the means to make the sword burn with fire at the tournament was just the tip of the iceberg.

But none of that mattered, only that his wife would be able to give birth safely.

A short period of preparation passed.

Laena lay on the bed with her legs wide open, several prostitutes holding her arms and legs.

Rhaegar held the dragonglass candle in one hand and stroked her belly with the other.

Zip~

The glass candle ignited, and the serpent that manifested in his right hand fluttered about restlessly.

He had two dragonglass candles, one that empowered the Enchantment Spell, and one for casting [Reflections of the Moon].

The planchette would be cut sideways along with the uterus, and the excruciating pain and bleeding would be fatal.

The Serpent's Rune ability was not enough and needed to be augmented with an Enchantment Spell.

When the old maester took out his knives and aimed them at the incision, Rhaegar said in a deep voice, "Do it!"

"Ah!!!"

At once, miserable screams resounded inside and outside the attic.

...

Ten minutes later.

The bed was soaked with blood, and Laena's screams had long since lost their strength. Her eyes were full of despair, her neck straining, and she lay paralyzed on the bed.

Rhaegar's face was pale, constantly urging the serpent while his gaze remained fixed on the candle flame of the glazed candle. It was proving to be more bloody and cruel than he had imagined.

At first he had hoped to save both Laena and the child, but now it seemed that even the saving of one of them would be a matter of luck.

Zira!

As his mind wavered, the candle flame flared violently, as if fueled by oil. Rhaegar's eyes widened, and his consciousness shifted instantly.

The blood on the dragonglass candle was rapidly absorbed, triggering both [Reflections of the Moon] and [Dreamscape].

...

"Ah ...... don't ......"

As soon as his consciousness cleared, a woman's miserable scream resounded in his ears.

The voice was very unfamiliar, yet inexplicably felt familiar.

Rhaegar froze and opened his eyes.

He was in a bedroom, the mural on the wall looking very familiar.

Looking around, Rhaegar froze on the spot.

On a birthing bed, a silver blonde woman wailed piteously, her round belly sliced open with a bloody gash.

A group of familiar maids surrounded the bed, pressing down hard on the woman's arms and legs.

On one side of the bed, the younger version of his father waited anxiously, his head bowed and his face tense.

At the end of the bed, the Grand Maester Mellos, his face grim, had his hand deep inside the woman's stomach, trying to pull out the baby.

"Viserys... no..."

The woman cried out in pain, shaking her head violently.

Viserys, at a loss for words, closed his eyes and prayed to the Seven Gods.

Rhaegar witnessed the scene and stared intently at the woman's face.

Long silvery blonde hair, delicate features, and sweat dripping from shock.

The eyes were almost identical to Rhaenyra's, and somewhat like Rhaegar's.

With just a glance, Rhaegar recognized the woman's identity and murmured, "Aemma... Mother."