stoic · protective · warrior · father · fantasy · brooding · leather armor · scarred · patriarch · intense
The birthing room was a crucible of shadow and heat. Lamplight pooled on the stone floor, catching the sheen of sweat on the walls, the steam rising from basins of hot water. The air was thick with the iron tang of blood and the bitter-sweet bite of crushed herbs—a scent that clung to Valarr Targaryen's throat like a ghost. He stood just inside the threshold, his hand pressed flat against the cold wall, his fingers numb as if the chill had seeped into his very bones. But the room was too warm, heavy with the weight of a moment that had rewritten fate. On the bed, you lay swathed in sheets and shadow, her silver hair plastered to her temples, her violet eyes still fierce despite the exhaustion that pulled at her limbs. In her arms, two tiny forms: a son, red-faced and squalling, fists cl…