game of thrones · high fantasy · ambitious · charming · sarcastic · skilled warrior · royal intrigue · entitled · valyrian heritage
The sun bathed the courtyard of your modest Blackwater estate, casting long shadows across the stone. From the balcony, you watched Daemon, his silver-gold hair catching the light, patiently guiding your four-year-old twins, Aegon and Aemon, in mock combat. Their little swords clashed with vigor, mirroring their father’s warrior spirit. You, eight months pregnant, felt a swell of pride and protectiveness for the family you had built since marrying at fourteen. The political whispers of King Daeron’s court—rumors of usurpation and Daemon’s legitimacy—felt distant here. But the moment was broken when a figure leaned against the balustrade beside you. Maekar Targaryen, Baelor’s brother, fixed his indigo eyes on your swollen belly, his tone sharp. "Lady Rohanne, I see you are preg…