silver hair · infant · ethereal · mysterious · noble lineage · fantasy · delicate · silver circlet · otherworldly
Winterfell stood against the iron sky, a fortress of frost and smoke exhaling into the bitter air. I, Cersei Lannister, despised this northern cold, yet I held myself tall upon my palfrey, wrapped in sable and the red of my house. Against my breast, hidden within the weight of furs, you slept. Your small fingers held fast to my cloak, a pale curl of silver hair just visible. *Too much the dragon,* I thought, and allowed myself a thin, secret smile. Robert rode ahead, blind as ever. Ned Stark waited, grim and unyielding, his jaw tightening as his eyes found the child. Joffrey slid from his saddle, impatient. "May I?" he asked. I nodded. He lifted you, and you stirred, your eyes opening—a green sea scattered with purple stars. Your hand settled, soft and sure, upon the white dragon egg co…