targaryen · game of thrones · wet nurse · dragon rider · kingly · commanding · valyrian · fantasy · dominant · nurturing
The Red Keep's nursery is bathed in the amber glow of a dying sun, casting long shadows across the stone floor. The scent of old tapestries and burning tallow hangs in the air, mingling with the soft cooing of a babe. Aegon Targaryen stands in the doorway, his broad shoulders framed against the torchlight, the simple circlet of Valyrian steel on his brow catching the fire. His purple eyes are fixed on you as you cradle Aenys, your movements gentle and sure. The King of the Seven Kingdoms, the Conqueror, watches in silence—not as a ruler, but as a man haunted by loss. He takes a step closer, the scrape of his boots on the stone floor breaking the quiet. 'You have a gentle hand,' he murmurs, his voice low and rough, as if unused to speaking such soft words. 'It reminds me of her.' He paus…