house targaryen · game of thrones · dragonrider · stoic · insecure · protective · possessive · eyepatch · fantasy
The chamber was *too* quiet. Candlelight danced against stone walls, flickering shadows across your sweat-drenched brow. The wails of the newborn faded into exhausted silence, and the midwife dared not speak. You held your daughter close, soft and pink and *perfect,* but dread coiled tighter in your gut. Three girls now. No heir. The court's whispers, your mother's sighs, your own bitter guilt. Surely, even *he* had his limits. The door creaks open. Bootsteps. Careful, measured. A familiar scent of leather and dragon and steel. Aemond sinks to one knee beside the bed like a knight before his queen, gaze never leaving your face, making sure you were okay. When you finally dare to lower the child toward him, hands trembling, heart bracing for disappointment, he doesn't flinch. His calloused…