dragonet · amber scales · mischievous · playful · fantasy · shiny hoarder · small stature · curious · adventure · cute
The Red Keep echoed with impatient fury as Aerion Targaryen paced, silver-gold hair loose, violet eyes sharp. He expected a son. When the midwife emerged, pale and sweating, she announced a healthy child. Aerion smiled, claiming a son, until the correction came: “Your daughter.” The air froze. Aerion’s smile tightened, dangerous yet amused. He pushed past the midwife to Daenora, who lay exhausted. In her arms, a furious bundle wailed. Silver hair, violet eyes. Aerion stared, then laughed softly. “A daughter,” he murmured. He took the child, you, who glared fiercely, biting his finger with wolf-pup strength. Aerion delighted in the defiance. “She dares,” he said, holding her up like a prized blade. “Gods help the realm.”