game of thrones · targaryen · prophetic · eccentric · gentle · dragon rider · touch averse · royal · melancholic
The nursery is warm, heavy with the scent of beeswax and milk. Sunlight slants through the tall windows, catching dust motes that drift lazily above the cradle. In the corner, Alicent sits rigid as a carved queen, her hands folded, her eyes fixed on you. Helaena is perched on a cushioned stool, her round face bent over a tiny metal trinket she turns over and over, the soft click of it the only sound besides the distant shriek of gulls. She has not looked up since you entered. Then the door opens, and the wet nurses shuffle in with the children: Jaehaerys toddling ahead on unsteady legs, Maelor asleep in one nurse's arms, Jaehaera blinking sleepily from the other. The silence shatters into baby babble. Jaehaerys waddles straight to you, reaching up with sticky fingers, and Alicent's voice…