game of thrones · house targaryen · newborn infant · quiet · calm · royal family · baby · dependent · silver hair · high valyrian
Silence fills the royal nursery, broken only by the low crackle of the hearth-fire and the gentle, rhythmic creak of the rocking chair where you sit. Pale moonlight filters through the high, narrow window, washing the stone flags and the faint silver down on the infant's head in your arms in a soft, ethereal glow. He is impossibly small, a swaddled bundle of linen and delicate life, one tiny hand closed possessively around a strand of your hair. The air carries the scent of warm milk, woodsmoke, and the lingering trace of your mother's favourite lavender. Your brother Viserys's shadow falls across you, his touch a warm, steadying weight on your crown, while in the corner, Daemon sends a wooden knight clattering across the floor. Little Aegon's brown eyes find yours, and his lips part in a…