Game of Thrones: Bastard? I’m the Damn Heir!

Chapter 373 373: Sansa Gives Birth

King's Landing was solemn. A tense atmosphere filled every inch of the Red Keep.

The Royal Guard stood watch—three steps, one sentry; five steps, one post—guarding this royal castle, the core of the Seven Kingdoms.

Pairs of eyes fixed on every person who passed before them, scrutinizing every detail without letting the slightest thing slip.

Yet beneath this severity, as cold as an iceberg, there stirred a trace of excitement in everyone's heart.

Sansa Stark, eldest daughter of House Stark and Queen to His Majesty King Kal-El, felt a sudden pain after finishing her breakfast today. Soon after, her waters broke.

Grand Maester Peyton performed only a brief examination before declaring that His Majesty King Kal-El would soon welcome the first child of his life—the heir to the Golden Throne, a prince of House El and the Seven Kingdoms.

The moment his words fell, Tyrion Lannister, Hand of the King, immediately declared that all of King's Landing was to enter a state of lockdown.

And the Red Keep—was of utmost priority.

The Royal Guard, loyal only to the King, turned the castle into an impregnable fortress.

"What should we do? His Majesty is still at the Wall?"

"The army at the Wall is about to march, and humanity's counterattack will soon begin. I fear His Majesty cannot arrive as he had promised…"

The few remaining members of the small council gathered together, speaking in hushed voices as they listened to the cries of pain drifting through the gauze curtain.

In just a few exchanges, they were already discussing the fact that His Majesty Kal would not be able to keep his promise to be at his queen's side and witness the birth of his first child.

Varys stood with his hands tucked into his sleeves, his gaze deep as he looked at the gauze before him. Two maids hurried out from within, carrying towels and basins of dirty water that were discarded after a single use.

"Even if we send a raven to the Wall now, it would still take His Majesty at least a week to return on dragonback."

"Kal told me he would return on time," Tyrion replied. Sitting on a stool, he clenched his fist tightly, then unconsciously loosened it again.

Everyone present knew what it meant for Sansa Stark to bear Kal-El a child.

At a time when the realm had endured countless upheavals and now faced unimaginable crises and trials, what this child would bear on his shoulders was far more than merely the title of heir to a kingdom.

Among the heavy chain around Grand Maester Peyton's neck was a link forged of silver. He was currently busy behind the curtain and had not heard the murmured discussion of the council outside.

Though he had once greatly disliked being assigned by the Citadel to serve in King's Landing as the king's maester, over time he had gradually grown accustomed to such a life.

Perhaps it was because he still had no desire to involve himself in politics.

"As long as the prince is born under our watch, witnessed by our own eyes, whether Kal returns or not is of little importance."

"For the Seven Kingdoms as they stand, the safe birth of this child alone will be enough to stabilize the unrest and the growing tide of rumors."

At the exchange between the Master of Whisperers and the Hand of the King, Lord Randyll Tarly, Master of Laws, shook his head slightly.

Compared to the two of them, he appeared far more steady and composed.

He cast a glance at the curtain before him, then stepped back a few paces and took a seat.

Dacey Mormont of the Kingsguard and Brienne of Tarth stood fully armed, strictly carrying out their duties.

For a time, the only sounds in the room were the intermittent cries of Queen Sansa Stark upon the birthing bed, and Grand Maester Peyton's continuous words of reassurance.

Tension, anticipation, and complexity filled the air, infecting everyone present.

Then, at that very moment, a loud bark suddenly rang out across the Red Keep. Everyone's expression tightened at once.

Those who had long resided in the Red Keep knew exactly what that sound meant.

Sure enough, only seconds later, the steady, resonant rhythm of footsteps approached from afar.

A loud and clear announcement followed immediately.

"Kal of House El, First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Ruler of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm!"

The Royal Guard stationed outside, the moment the King entered their sight, loudly proclaimed his titles and name, announcing his arrival.

As the proclamation echoed and the footsteps drew nearer, everyone within the birthing chamber halted what they were doing and slightly bowed toward the doorway, where a young man with a bright smile stood.

By Kal's decree upon his ascension, even commoners need not kneel to those of high rank in ordinary times—even if that person was the King himself.

Amid the voices of greeting and bowed figures, Kal's steps came to a halt before the members of the small council.

Randyll, who had just sat down, immediately rose again to pay his respects.

"I think that soon, after this long string of titles of mine, there'll be one more—Protector of the Children of the Forest."

A familiar voice sounded, though the content of the words was baffling.

And immediately after the King's words fell, another voice followed—a sweet yet clear and resonant voice of a grown woman.

"And yet, the Children of the Forest may not see it that way."

Children of the Forest?

Including Varys, the council members could not help but feel a question arise in their minds. The woman's voice was unfamiliar to them.

Yet when they raised their heads, they saw no strange woman standing beside Kal.

The group looked around in confusion.

Of course, this did not include one man whose stature was… uniquely endowed.

Kal's Hand of the King, Prime Minister of the Golden Throne, regent in the King's absence, the last remaining seed of House Lannister—the dwarf, the half-man, Lord Tyrion Lannister—stared wide-eyed in shock at the fantastical figure standing beside Kal.

"It… it really is… a Child of the Forest!"

"By the Seven, they truly exist!"

The large ears like a squirrel's, still partly hidden beneath a cloak woven of leaves; the deep brown skin marked with fawn-like spots; those extraordinary eyes, a blend of gold and green, long and narrow like a cat's—

All of it drew the learned dwarf's gaze like a magnet.

He had only ever "seen" such wondrous beings in the songs of bards, in the histories of maesters, or in the scripts of stage plays.

And upon hearing that somewhat impolite remark, the "squirrel" puffed her cheeks in mild annoyance before suppressing it. She turned her head and looked levelly at the human before her.

"A dwarf?"

"So you like keeping such pets in your palace? Is he your fool?"

"If so, then he is quite a competent one."

The "squirrel" still wore that head of hair colored like autumn—brown, red, and gold intertwined. It was no longer as messy as before.

Yet vines and small branches were still woven through it, and the withered flowers had now been replaced with fresh blooms.

The moonflower Kal had given her was also tucked into her hair. She clearly loved this flower that bloomed under moonlight, glowed softly, and scattered faint starlike motes.

Kal had told her that in a certain peculiar place, he had cultivated an entire field of such flowers.

"Squirrel" very much wanted to know where that place was—but Kal refused to tell her.

Curiosity, and sincere questioning, masked the sharp tongue beneath.

Varys and the others gradually came back to their senses as well, each of them looking at the creature that had suddenly appeared before them with strange, astonished expressions.

Her words, too, snapped Tyrion out of his shock at her sudden appearance.

"My apologies if I disappoint you, my large-eared, fawn-marked lady. I am a subject of the King beside you—his Hand—not some jester for others' amusement, as you seem to think."

"Oh? A dwarf Hand? I have never heard of such a thing. That sounds rather interesting."

Equal in height, yet utterly different in race—the two of them seemed to spark some peculiar friction the moment they met.

"If you're interested in each other, take your time."

Kal left only that line behind before turning and walking toward the curtain deeper within the chamber.

Compared to his wife in labor, and the child he was about to meet for the first time, he had no interest in indulging Tyrion in banter.

Such a commotion had naturally alerted Sansa upon the birthing bed to her husband's arrival.

Of course, she could not rise to greet him. From the moment her waters broke, nearly half an hour of contractions had already drained all her strength.

Unlike Arya, Sansa—every inch the noble lady, skilled in poetry, embroidery, and dance—was indeed not as capable in certain respects as her sister, who was more like a boy… or even a street urchin.

"Sansa, are you all right?"

After briefly greeting the professionals assisting with the delivery, including Grand Maester Peyton, Kal immediately sat at her side and took her hand.

"I promised I would be with you. I'm sorry I came a little late."

Sansa's strength was nearly spent. Sweat soaked her thick auburn hair, strands clinging to her forehead and cheeks.

Kal reached out, somehow producing a towel, and gently wiped her down.

Even in pregnancy, Sansa remained delicate. Hearing his words, her clear blue eyes met his deep blue gaze.

Feeling the warmth of his large hand holding hers, she smiled, her eyes filled with love.

That still slightly youthful face now shone with a mother's radiance.

"I am well, Your Majesty. To bear you a son is the greatest honor of my life."

"This is my battle. This is my field."

"And I will claim a glorious victory—I promise you."

As she spoke, a trace of resolve appeared in her gaze.

Hearing this, Grand Maester Peyton's expression also turned solemn.

Ordinarily, women in labor would not face a situation like the queen's.

But the queen was different. This was her first pregnancy—her first child.

And the child was too large. For Sansa, it would be exceedingly difficult.

In less than half an hour, her strength had already been exhausted.

And this—Sansa herself clearly understood.

From barely two months into her pregnancy, she had already committed such knowledge to memory.

"Your Majesty… I would like…"

Grand Maester Peyton spoke in a low voice, as though preparing to say something.

But Kal calmly raised a hand and cut him off.

"I know what you wish to say. There is no need. What you fear will not happen. Do your work, Grand Maester. Here, you are the foremost authority."

"As for the rest—with me here, there is no cause for concern."

Kal reassured him briefly before turning back.

"What you fear will not happen. Ease your mind. I am here."

A faint green glow emerged from Kal's palm, slowly flowing into Sansa's body.

Within her previously drained body, strength appeared from nowhere.

Sansa, who had already prepared herself for the worst, felt life return under that radiant vitality.

She smiled.

"Yes… I should not have doubted you, Your Majesty."

That dense vitality, almost tangible in its presence, caused "Squirrel"—who had been in the midst of lively banter with the dwarf outside the curtain—to freeze, then turn her head to look over, her large eyes filled with confusion and shock.

In the next moment, a figure who had arrived with her but vanished just as quickly passed by her side.

Erevi carried a box in her hands as she stepped calmly into the curtained chamber.

"Kal, I've brought it."

"Good," Kal nodded, reaching out to stroke Sansa's cheek. "Sansa, close your eyes."

Sansa looked at the dark elf witch who had appeared with a box in hand. Though she did not know what it contained, out of trust in Kal, she chose to close her eyes.

In the next instant, her breathing steadied, and she fell asleep.

"The child is too large. A natural birth alone would be too difficult for Sansa."

Before the attendants could even understand what had happened, they saw the queen fall asleep under the king's soothing touch.

Then the dark-skinned woman with pointed ears opened the box. Inside were sharp iron instruments.

"Your Majesty…!"

The moment Peyton saw them, he understood everything.

And just as expected—before he could even cry out to stop it—the dark-skinned witch had already cut open the queen's abdomen with a blade.

Before he could react further—

In less than three seconds, a newborn infant was in her hands.

He stared wide-eyed at the queen's abdomen.

But where was the incision?

There was nothing—only that the once swollen belly was no longer swollen, replaced by a slender waist, calm and serene, smooth as new.

As though everything that had just happened had been nothing but an illusion.

If not for the child in the witch's hands—its mouth just beginning to open in a cry—and the umbilical cord still attached to its belly.

"Shall I cut the cord? Though I would suggest you do it yourself—it might feel more meaningful."

"Then we shall do it together—with my wife."

Kal reached out and took the infant from Erevi's hands. The child, who had not yet quite realized it had been born, finally opened its mouth—

"Sansa, open your eyes."

"Look. This is our child."

Kal gently shook Sansa.

At the same moment, a loud, piercing cry rang out, echoing to the heavens.

"Waaah—!"

"Waaah—!"

"Roar!"

"Woof! Woof!"

Sansa slowly opened her eyes.

Above King's Landing, the dragon roared, carrying the news across the Seven Kingdoms.

Within the Red Keep, a loud bark shattered the solemn stillness—

And in that instant, everything turned to celebration.