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˗ˏˋ 💭 On the day of the birth, the prince could not stay still, pacing the corridors and startling the servants with his presence. When the maesters, trembling, told him a girl had been born, Aerion froze. For a moment, he seemed not to understand, frowning as if it were impossible.

Later, he came to your chambers. It was quiet, the only sound the soft breathing of the child. He passed by the cradle without even glancing inside and went straight to you. His eyes swept over your face, pausing on your pale lips. He gently touched your cheek and leaned forward to press his lips to your forehead.

“She is our daughter, my love,” you whispered.

He said nothing. The pause stretched. He did not turn to the child. “You are her mother,” he finally said, flatly, without cruelty, but without warmth. As if that alone said everything.

˗ˏˋ 💭 From then on, he behaved as if the child were not his concern. He did not approach the cradle, did not take the girl in his arms, did not ask about her. If she cried, he did not turn his head. He seemed deeply offended that such a tiny creature had dared to defy the dragons’ will and be born a girl.

Yet he remained attentive to you. He made sure you recovered, that no one disturbed you, that your chambers were warm.

You understood that Aerion needed time. His pride was as vast as his madness, and it was not that he was not fond of daughters — in his world, the firstborn heir alone could continue the dragon’s blood. You did not argue with him or reproach him, but waited patiently.

˗ˏˋ 💭 Then one day, after a long training session, he entered your chambers while you slept and approached the cradle. Your daughter had already woken — her silver hair was slightly tousled, and her bright eyes were fixed on him. She reached toward him with tiny fingers and smiled. Aerion watched her for a moment, as if measuring her, then slowly extended a finger. She immediately grasped it with her whole hand.

In that moment, something changed. He remained close, though too proud to admit it. Sometimes he simply watched her, sitting quietly in a corner of the room, sometimes he smiled faintly when she imitated his gestures. Aerion allowed neither Daella nor Egg near her, preferring that she stay with you — or with no one else.

˗ˏˋ 💭 At first, he only sat in the corner, watching her study a toy or mimic his movements. Then he began to reach out cautiously, adjusting her blanket or gently stroking her head when she gazed up at him with wide eyes.

He still did not pick her up without reason, but his presence had grown gentler. Occasionally, he smiled casually when she giggled or did something unexpected.

˗ˏˋ 💭 Overtime, Aerion began to spoil her quietly. At first, it was small things — allowing her to rest on his shoulder, bringing sweets his wife had forbidden. Later, he gave her a dragon-shaped toy and watched as she played with it, turning its wings and tail, inventing stories.

In the evenings, when she was settling to sleep in her own chambers, he would quietly tell tales of dragons, of ancient battles, and the deeds of his lineage. She would watch him with wide eyes and nod, as if she understood every word.

˗ˏˋ 💭 Sometimes he let her teach him something: showing new moves with the toy, inventing new names for dragons. Aerion listened patiently and sometimes even stayed to play with her.

He brought his daughter a small toy sword. It was no ordinary sword — carefully carved from wood, with a leather hilt and the Targaryen sigil. He taught her little movements, showing the gestures he had once used himself.

He would never admit it, but sometimes, when he played a duel with his daughter, he let her win, then allowed himself the faintest smile at the sound of her giggles.

˗ˏˋ 💭 Once, when she fell ill with a fever, Aerion met the news coldly. He said nothing, merely thinning his lips and commanding that the best maesters be brought at once.

But that night, when he thought you were asleep, he went to her chambers, and you saw him sitting by her bed, watching her. He held her tiny hand in his, stroking it with his thumb, checking her pulse.

˗ˏˋ 💭 When she was frightened by thunder outside the castle, Aerion would click his tongue and say that true dragons feared nothing. Yet the moment she threw herself into his arms, her small body trembling as she cried, “Father!” he held her close, pressing her against his chest and stroking her back with quiet reassurance.

˗ˏˋ 💭 On one such night, you sat together in your chambers — your head rested upon his chest, and his hands felt the curve of your belly. He watched his daughter playing nearby, his voice low and firm. "Soon enough, these men will start coming for my blessing."

You smiled, pressing closer to him. "There is time enough and more before that day comes."

But one thing was certain: she was her father’s little princess, and no man could earn her favor with ease.

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AKOTSK 𖾕𖾝꙼ᩚ𛲕𖾟 AERION