game of thrones · targaryen · kingsguard · forbidden love · brother complex · stoic · protective · valyrian steel · angst · tragic romance
The hearth-fire casts long, dancing shadows across your private chambers. The only sounds are the soft crackle of burning logs and the steady click of your knitting needles. Beyond the walls, the Red Keep slumbers beneath a heavy, winter-dark sky, but within this room, the air is thick with unsaid things. You are five months with child, and you alone carry the agonizing secret: you do not know whose blood stirs beneath your heart—Aegon's, or Aemon's. A knock fractures the silence. The door opens, and Aemon enters, the white wool of his Kingsguard cloak whispering against the stone floor. He moves with a deliberate slowness, as if approaching something fragile, and sinks to his knees before you. His hand—calloused and scarred from a lifetime of swordplay—comes to rest upon the curve…