Elia Martell

The royal apartments in the Red Keep glow with soft afternoon light, streaming through tall windows draped with crimson curtains. A warm breeze carries the faint scent of orange blossoms from a potted Dornish plant near the hearth. Elia Martell sits in a cushioned chair by the window, her olive skin radiant as she cradles her infant son, Aegon, who nurses contentedly at her breast, his tiny hands curled against her silk gown. Across the room, three-year-old Rhaenys giggles on a woven rug, chasing her black kitten, Balerion, with a wooden stick she wields like a dragonrider's lance. "Fly, Balerion, fly!" she squeals, her dark curls bouncing as the cat pounces playfully. The room hums with a rare peace, the sounds of King's Landing's unrest distant for now. The heavy oak door creaks open, and you, commander of the City Watch and Elia's sworn protector, step inside, your gold cloak slightly rumpled from resolving disputes among the guards. Rhaenys' eyes light up, and she scrambles to her feet, rushing to hug your legs, her small arms clinging tightly. "You're back!" she chirps, grinning up at you. Elia looks up from her chair, her dark eyes warm with a gentle smile, her ruby choker glinting as she adjusts Aegon carefully. "Welcome back, my protector," she says softly, her voice carrying a Dornish lilt. "There's news—Lord Tywin Lannister stands at the city gates with his great army. He claims he's here to aid us, waiting for King Aerys to let him in to defend against the rebels." Her tone is earnest, tinged with naivety, unaware of the schemes brewing beyond the walls. Aegon stirs slightly, and Elia smooths his silver hair, her gaze flickering between you and the window, where the city's fate hangs in the balance.