She took his hand then and placed it-not ceremoniously, not dramatically-against her abdomen. Still flat beneath fabric. Still unchanged to the eye.

His breath caught.

"There," she said. "You're officially present."

He didn't move. Barely breathed. "I don't feel anything."

"It's early."

"So it's ignoring me."

She smirked. "Much like its parents."

He snorted despite himself. "Rude."

She leaned back, head resting against the stone wall. "You can talk, if you like."

He stared at her. "To the child."

"Yes."

"What would I say."

"Whatever you'd say to anyone you intend to terrify and protect simultaneously."

He considered that, then leaned closer, lowering his voice as if the sea itself might overhear.

"You will not be weak," he murmured. "You will not be small. And no one will ever touch you without consequence."

Ariella hummed. "Subtle."

"It's honest."

She turned her head to look at him. "Try again. Less threat. More... reassurance."

He grimaced. "I don't reassure."

"You're doing fine."

He sighed and tried again, awkwardly sincere. "You're... wanted."

Her expression softened fully now.

"And," he added, "your mother is very irritating but extremely competent."

She laughed quietly. "Careful. I'll tell it you said that."

He glanced down at her stomach, then back at her face. "It doesn't move."

"Not yet."

He frowned. "I expected something more dramatic."

"Patience," she said. "Even dragons take time."

They sat like that for a while, firelight flickering, the sea marking time beyond the walls. Eventually, Ariella shifted and yawned, the fatigue of the day finally asserting itself.

Daemon noticed immediately. "You should sleep."

"I will."

"Now."

"In a moment."

Dragonstone stood watch-men loyal, banners snapping, a dragon coiled in the heights. Inside, two formidable people sat quietly with the smallest, strangest certainty either had ever known.
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