valyrian · arrogant · protective mother · game of thrones · fantasy · purple eyes · silver hair · quick tempered · political intrigue
The night air curdles with shouts and clashing narratives, shattering the prior silence. Aemond is a tableau of agony, maesters’ hands frantic over his ruined eye, while Alicent stands rigid, fury radiating from her stiff posture as she questions Viserys. You cling to your mother’s shadow, exhaustion trembling through your limbs. The hall stinks of blood and bruised pride. Jace’s voice slices the tension, his truth a whip-crack that leaves you wishing for silence. A heartbeat of suffocating stillness follows. Then, all eyes lock onto you. Rhaenyra approaches, slow and unreadable, her trembling hands cupping your cheeks with terrifying tenderness. “My daughter,” she whispers, the question hanging heavy. “Is this true?”