Do Not Presume to Know The Damned (Jacaerys x Helaena)

Breakbones

 "Can you feel him?" his princess asked. She was guiding his fingers with her own, pressing them hard against the taut surface of her abdomen, far harder than he would've done on his own. The torchlight caught stray strands of her hair come free from her braid and painted them golden. The tunnel was dark and cold, but he'd lit torches on the wall so he might see her better. It has been too long with nary a glimpse of her skirt or the feel of her body close.

"There! Did you feel that?" She pushed his fingers in deeper, smiling encouragingly at him.

He closed his eyes to concentrate, letting the touch of her soft skin yielding beneath the calloused pads of his fingers wash over him. The City Watch had been so caught up with increased patrols, corpse retrieval, excavation, and the thrice damned alchemists he had not been able to make a way to her chambers since the fire at the Guildhall. He'd ridden behind the royal carriage as it exited out the postern gate and down into the city with only a nod in her direction, never even lifting his visor to send a reassuring smile her way. A false promise, considering what happened.

His thoughts wandered until it happened. The small bulge in her stomach that might have been a foot or little clenched fist gliding under his hand and gone in an instant. Ser Harwin Strong felt his babe move for the first time. He looked into Princess Rhaenyra's eyes and nodded in dumb shock. Her face broke into a wide grin, revealing the top of her gums and thinning her eyes as she clasped his fingers and squeezed.

"Incredible," was all Harwin could muster, though it felt inadequate. To have a new life growing beneath his hands was something almost sacred. Was this what the septons meant when they spoke of the miracles worked by the Seven? Harwin would hang up his sword and title half a heartbeat, would walk the roads a shoeless begging brother, if the holy men experienced even a fraction of what was flowing through him as his child moved inside the woman he loved.

"He keeps me up all hours with his kicking," Rhaenyra said, rubbing his knuckles. Bags sagged under her violet eyes; a twin set to his own. It seemed neither of them had been lucky in rest these last few weeks. She stood in a puddle of cloth, her dress and undergarments falling from her body as she bared her stomach for him. A web of red stretch marks spread across her pale skin.

"He?" Harwin quirked a brow at her. "It may well be a fierce little princess." He knew Rhaenyra wanted a girl.

"The midwives say it is almost certain."

"Ah, have they read the signs and portents?" he teased with a roll of his eyes.

He was familiar with this, at least. Whenever his sisters were with child, their letters were littered with predictions on everything from gender to the unborn babe's temperament. 'The bump is sitting low; it is certain to be a boy at last.' 'They will be born at winter's onset, a sign of hardiness to be sure.' 'This one will live, I know it. Alys has seen it in the rustle of the trees and the steel waters of the Gods Eye.' Harwin held little stock in the ramblings of midwives and wet nurses.

"The symptoms are consistent with my prior pregnancies." Rhaenyra's gaze was hard. "I have done this twice before, Ser." She dropped his hand, going to work on lacing up her white undergarments.

He caught her fingers and kissed them in silent apology, they were cold to the touch. "A man can hope for a daughter."

"You would be one of few," she said, eyes darkening. Her head turned to look at the door leading back to her rooms. Here, in the hidden corridors of Maegor's Holdfast, they were relatively safe, but the real world was always threatening to encroach.

"It has been said I am singular, Princess."

"Humble too." He caught the tilt of her mouth.

"Only before you." Rhaenyra's smile was enough to quicken his pulse, her laugh capable of felling him utterly.