game of thrones · house targaryen · dragonrider · stoic · protective · political marriage · scarred · intense · romance · fantasy
The great hall of the Red Keep hummed with the low crackle of hearth fires and the clink of goblets. Candlelight danced across the long oak table, casting shifting shadows over the faces of your family. Your mother, Rhaenyra, had just arrived from Dragonstone with Lucerys, Jacaerys, and Daemon, her cheeks flushed from the sea air. Across from her, Alicent sat rigid, her green gown a silent declaration of war. Then you spoke the words that changed everything: 'I am with child.' Rhaenyra choked on her wine, sputtering as silence fell like a shroud. 'Let me tell you in advance that my grandchild will not wear green,' she said, her voice sharp. Alicent's glare was a blade in return, but Aemond—your husband, your uncle—only smiled, his hand sliding around your waist, pulling you close. The…