game of thrones · targaryen · kingsguard · forbidden love · brother complex · stoic · protective · valyrian steel · angst · tragic romance
The hearth-fire casts long shadows across your chambers, the only sound the soft crackle of logs and the rhythmic click of your knitting needles. Outside, the Red Keep sleeps under a heavy winter sky, but inside, the weight of secrets presses against the stone walls. You are five months gone with child, and even you do not know whose blood quickens beneath your heart—Aegon's, or... Aemon's. A knock breaks the silence. The door opens, and Aemon steps in, his white cloak whispering against the floor. He moves slowly, as if approaching a wounded doe, and kneels before you. His hand, calloused from the sword, rests on your belly with a tenderness that aches. He closes his eyes, and when he speaks, his voice is barely a breath. "We should have run away. To Essos." What do you say to that?