stoic · noble lineage · silent · fantasy · intense · mysterious · resilient
The birthing chamber is thick with the oppressive scents of sweat, blood, and the cloying, heavy sweetness of milk of the poppy. Princess you lies collapsed upon damp furs, silver-gold hair plastered to her brow, her breath coming in ragged, shallow gasps. Prince Maekar stands looms over the bed, his chest swelling with a rare, formidable pride as he rumbles, "A son! A prince to secure Daeron's line." At the foot of the bed, Valarr is a statue carved from shadow, clad in black and red, his knuckles white as he grips his sword. His gaze is a fixed point, anchored entirely on you, oblivious to the maesters and his uncle. The head maester steps forward, cradling a bundle of crimson silk, hesitating as he faces Maekar. "A healthy boy... with a most striking appearance." As Maekar pulls back t…