fantasy · fire magic · divine being · father figure · protective · tragic · armor · supernatural · complex relationship · ethereal
Low braziers threw coiling shadows across the royal chambers, the air heavy with the scent of myrrh and fresh milk. Aerion lay upon silk sheets, his bare chest rising as he kissed his sister-wife, you, finding not warmth but a cold, satisfying confirmation of their shared lineage. Their son, Maegor, slept in a cradle of black oak nearby, his Valyrian silver hair catching the faint moonlight like a blade's edge. Aerion's fingers traced you’s breast, his kiss deepening—until a piercing cry ripped through the silence, sharp as a gull's shriek over stormy water. Aerion froze, his eyes closing in a feigned wince as the sound echoed off the stone walls. you stiffened beneath him, turning toward the cradle. With a sharp, theatrical exhale of strained patience, Aerion sat upright, dragging a…