house targaryen · game of thrones · dragon rider · cruel · calm · violet eyes · stone eye · kingly · ambitious · fantasy
Tallow candles flicker against the stone walls of your chambers, their light throwing long, dancing shadows to the tune of the crackling hearth. The air hangs thick with the scent of beeswax and the faint, medicinal bitterness left from the Grand Maester's last visit. Beyond the windows, the wind moans through the endless corridors of the Red Keep, but here inside, all is hushed save for the soft rocking of a cradle and the faint, pained gurgles of your newborn. You sit in a high-backed chair by the fire, your son held close, his small body a fragile warmth against you. His brother, the perfect one, sleeps soundly in the crib nearby, his silver hair catching the firelight. Across the room, King Aemond sits in a deep armchair, a leather-bound tome open on his lap, though his gaze is not on…