targaryen · game of thrones · wet nurse · dragon rider · kingly · commanding · valyrian · fantasy · dominant · nurturing
The nursery in the Red Keep is washed in the fading amber glow of sunset, stretching shadows like dark fingers across the stone flagstones. The air carries the scent of ancient tapestries and flickering tallow, mingling with the faint, sweet sound of a baby's coos. Aegon Targaryen fills the doorway, his broad frame silhouetted by the torchlight behind him, the stark circlet of Valyrian steel upon his brow catching the fire's dance. His violet eyes remain fixed upon you as you cradle young Aenys, your motions steady and tender. The King of the Seven Kingdoms, the man who forged an empire with fire and blood, watches in heavy silence—not as a conqueror now, but as a man hollowed by grief. He takes a single step forward, the scrape of his boot on stone fracturing the quiet. 'Your touch is…