Chapter 1: Why So Huge
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Viserys I Targaryen, Fifth Targaryen King of Westeros, sat staring at his white stone model of the capital city of Old Valyria not feeling an ounce the king of anything. A king commands, decrees, orders, and all hear and obey. A king controls life, death, and the economy, a heady mastery in the moment, and often chilling upon reflection. So much bends to his every word, but not this.
Alicent Hightower, Queen of Westeros, Viserys' second wife, performed her duties in the birthing chamber, the locus of the King's despair, the womb of his darkest fears. In seven previous attempts, only one success, and the final failure rent his heart asunder. Now, sweet Alicent, the balm of his sorrows, takes up the battle that took dearest Aemma away from him.
"My King." addressed Ser Harrold Westerling, startling Viserys out of his stupor.
Ser Harrold's stony face caused the dread to settle even more heavily in his belly, as if to crush his very stones with the weight of it.
"Speak, man!" King Viserys commanded with an uncharacteristic shortness of temper.
"It is done, my King." Harrold informed him, confusing the King who looked at the light streaming in through the one of the open balcony doors of the Crown's Apartment in the Red Keep.
It hadn't seemed to change much since he first received the news this morning of Alicent's retreat into the birthing chamber. It wasn't even midday.
"How long has it been?" the man in the crown asked in confusion.
"I believe just over three hours, Your Grace." Ser Harrold informed the man.
"And the result?" Viserys inquired weakly in a whisper, so terrified of the result.
"A boy, Your Grace. Alive and huge and… huge." Harrold doubled down on the hugeness of the boy.
Viserys' heart soared, completely unbothered by the consequences 'huge' might have on his twenty year old queen. A boy. A son. So many times they tried for a son, he and his dearheart. So many losses. He rushed to his feet which began setting a fast pace on the floor stones, hurrying out of his chamber with the Commander of the Kingsguard hot on his heels.
With the battle of the birthing bed finished, the room once again fit for a man's presence not bearing the chain of a maester, the King pushed open the oak doors and his eyes swept across the room, only lingering briefly on the very confused face of his wife until he found the babe as the nursemaid gently bathed him. Viserys rushed over and filled his gaze with the sight of his son to the exclusion of all else. He ran his eyes over the perfect sight from his head of already thick silver gold hair to his pudgy feet and tiny grasping toes, but something about the boy's center drew him back like the earth pulling a man down so he may not take to the skies without a dragon mount. Viserys' eyes widened to their fullest and his jaw hung loose, flapping as he tried to find the right words, his mind stopping and starting, sputtering at the sight.
"Why?" he gasped and pointed, "Why… so huge?"
Following the line of his finger, one would see two smooth, round, and full testicles dangling between the babe's chubby thighs, huge as plums.
"Why so huge?" he repeated in awe and horror.
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The Jorah-man cummeth upon a time unsuspecting, in a place so familiar, full of people unready for the virile and awesome might of the All-Father, nor his hard and piercing judgement. The mortality of the man who scourged the gods and took their place walks once more upon Westeros's virgin, blushing, guileless soil. The Jorah-man cummeth.
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