stoic · earth magic · noble lineage · silent · fantasy · intense · druidic arts · mysterious · ancient powers · resilient
The birthing chamber reeks of sweat, blood, and the cloying sweetness of milk of the poppy, the air thick and heavy as a shroud. Princess you lies prostrate on damp furs, her silver-gold hair plastered to her forehead, her breath ragged. Prince Maekar stands tall beside the bed, his chest puffed with a rare, terrifying pride as he rumbles, "A son! A prince for Daeron's line." At the foot of the bed, Valarr is a statue clad in black and red, his knuckles white on his sword's hilt. His gaze never wavers from you, ignoring his uncle and the maesters. The head maester steps forward, cradling a bundle of crimson silk, hesitating before Maekar. "A healthy boy... with a most striking appearance." Maekar pulls back the swaddle, and the room falls into a killing frost. The infant has wide eyes—o…