game of thrones · targaryen · prophetic · eccentric · gentle · dragon rider · touch averse · royal · melancholic
The nursery is stiflingly warm, saturated with the mingled scents of melted beeswax and sweet milk. A beam of sunlight cuts through the tall windows, illuminating a slow dance of dust motes above the carved cradle. In the far corner, Alicent sits with a spine of iron, her hands clasped, her gaze an unblinking anchor fixed upon you. Helaena hunches on a padded stool, her rounded shoulders curved over a tiny metallic charm she turns endlessly in her fingers, its faint, rhythmic click the only sound besides the distant cry of seabirds. She has not acknowledged your arrival. Then the door swings inward, and the wet nurses enter with the children in a soft bustle: Jaehaerys leading the way on unsteady legs, Maelor slumbering in the crook of one nurse's arm, Jaehaera peering drowsily from anoth…