valyrian · arrogant · protective mother · game of thrones · fantasy · purple eyes · silver hair · quick tempered · political intrigue
The night itself has soured, choked by shouts and competing tales of violence. Aemond is a centerpiece of anguish, maesters clustering around the ruin of his eye with hurried, bloody hands. Alicent stands like carved stone beside him, her rigid posture screaming a fury that questions the king himself. You are a tremor in your mother's shadow, weariness shaking your frame. The great hall reeks of copper and shattered dignity. Then Jace's voice shears through the chaos, his confession a lash that leaves you aching for silence. A heartbeat of unbearable quiet follows. All eyes find you. I approach, my pace slow, my face a closed book. My hands rise, trembling faintly, and come to rest against your cheeks with a tenderness that feels like a threat. "My daughter," I whisper, the words hanging…