She reaches into the cradle, her fingertips brushing against his small stomach in a slow, soothing motion. At her touch, he sighs deeply, his little body shuddering in relaxation. A tender smile curls at the corners of Joana's mouth as she watches him. He looks so much like his father.
The same delicate features, the same soft hair, the same quiet strength even in repose. There is no doubt in her mind—Jaehaerys will grow into a handsome man one day, one who commands respect with nothing more than his presence.
"I wish you a good life," she whispers, leaning over him. "I wish for you to grow tall, much taller than me, and to one day hold a son of your own."
There is no response, of course. Just the sound of his quiet breathing, the peaceful stillness of his slumber. But Joana does not mind. One day, when he is older, there will be plenty of words between them—shared hopes, whispered advice, spoken love. Until then, she will hold these moments close, treasuring them in the quiet solitude of motherhood.
It is a wondrous thing, watching a child grow before your very eyes. Every day brings something new—awareness sparking in his violet gaze, his tiny face softening in recognition when she enters the room, his chubby limbs growing stronger with each passing moon. At first, he could do nothing but lie in his cradle, relying on others for everything. But now, slowly, he lifts his head, reaches for things in front of him, and—most excitingly—sits up on his own without the need for pillows to support his tiny body.
He sits now, balanced on his round little bottom, his expression one of pure curiosity as he looks around the chamber.
The Gracious Mother had gifted all her grandsons a wooden dragon statuette upon passing the half-year mark of life, a tradition meant to instill strength in the imperial bloodline.
Joana taps the toy against the floor, watching with amusement as Jaehaerys' face lights up. With a delighted squeal, he throws himself forward, determined to claim it.
"Come on," she coaxes softly. "How are you going to get it?"
He leans forward too quickly, losing his balance, but manages to push himself back up again. His smile remains, unbothered by the fall. Jaehaerys is an easygoing child, always happy, always giggling. Nothing seems to upset him—not hunger, not teething pains, not even the occasional tumbles he takes as he learns to move.
Joana chuckles, warmth spreading in her chest. "How will you get the dragon, little one?"
She lets him struggle for a moment longer before taking pity on him, handing him the small wooden figure. His eyes brighten instantly as he grabs hold of it, the sheer joy on his face making her heart squeeze. Without hesitation, he shoves the dragon's sinewy head into his mouth, gnawing at it with great concentration.
Marra had told her he was teething. His gums must itch terribly, though they had tried to ease his discomfort by giving him soft fruits earlier that morning. It seems, however, that any relief has long since been forgotten, and now the dragon statuette has become his newest remedy.
"Aww...My Baby, You're such a sweet little thing," she murmurs, running her fingers through his soft curls. "Where did you get this charm from? Certainly not from me."
Her mother had always said she had been a miserable baby, crying constantly and difficult to soothe. Jaehaerys, on the other hand, was nothing like that. He was all smiles and laughter, content with the world around him.
"I believe he got it from his magnificent father," a deep voice remarks from behind her.
Joana turns sharply, her pulse jumping. Aegon leans casually against the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, an unmistakable smirk playing on his lips. She had not heard him arrive.
A flush creeps up her cheeks at the realization, especially when his gaze flicks toward her maids, who now stand stiffly, unsure of whether to stay or go.
His smirk deepens. "Take my son to the gardens," he instructs coolly. "And leave us."
---
Joana remains seated as Dalla moves to pick up Jaehaerys. Her son blinks up at his father, his light violet eyes round with curiosity as he is lifted away. Aegon steps further into the chamber, allowing the three maids to slip out, closing the door softly behind them.
Now, they are alone.
Joana's gaze lingers on Aegon as he strides toward her, each step exuding confidence. His movements are unhurried, smooth, utterly assured—like a man who knows he commands every room he enters.
He stops just before her, forcing her to tilt her chin up to meet his gaze. There is a glint in his violet eyes, something unreadable yet wholly intent. A slow smirk tugs at his mouth.
"Stand up," he orders.
Joana does not move immediately. She suspects he enjoys this—the sight of her seated before him, looking up at him. The way his eyes darken confirms her suspicion.
Still, she does not hesitate for long. Aegon extends his hand, and after a brief pause, she takes it, lacing their fingers together as she rises to her feet.
He smells of the woods and the wind, the unmistakable scent of leather and earth clinging to him.
She realizes then that he must have just returned from a hunting expedition in the imperial forests. There is a quiet intensity in the way he studies her, his gaze mapping her features before settling on her lips.
"Jaehaerys has survived the first six moons of his life," he murmurs, his voice low.
Joana's breath catches. She knows what this means.
"He has," she answers carefully.
Aegon's smirk deepens.
"Does the Emperor know what that means?" she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.
He does not reply with words. But the look in his eyes tells her everything she needs to know.
It means he can summon her to his chambers once more.