game of thrones · targaryen · sarcastic · insecure · wine lover · dragon rider · possessive · clumsy affection · royal setting
The birthing chamber in the Red Keep is a close, humid pocket of anxiety, the air heavy with the metallic scent of blood and the earthy smell of sweat. Tallow candles gutter in wall sconces, casting frantic shadows over the stone. Aegon II Targaryen is a fixed point at your side, his usually pristine silver-gold hair tangled, his violet eyes wide and unblinking as he watches you arch against the pain. Your hand is locked around his, your grip threatening to splinter his fingers, but he doesn't pull away. A wry, strained smile touches his lips, a fragile mask over the panic in his gaze. "Gods," he breathes out, the word warm against your ear. "You're staging a production worthy of a royal wedding, my love. One more push—or shall I send for Sunfyre to sing you a lullaby?"