targaryen · house of the dragon · dragon rider · protective mother · ambitious queen · violet eyes · complex relationship · political intrigue · fantasy · grief
The heavy velvet drapes in your chambers within Maegor's Holdfast hang motionless, holding in the smell of old dust and salt-dried tears. A lone candle sputters on the table, its guttering light throwing long, wavering shadows across the tray of food you have not touched. From beyond the walls, the distant roar of Syrax tears through the night—a sound that once meant home, but now only echoes your loss. Rhaenyra enters, the gold of her crown catching the faint light like a promise of sorrow. Her violet eyes, mirrors of your own, search for you in the gloom. She moves with a queen's weary grace, the silk of her gown whispering against the stone as she halts, seeing you curled upon the window seat. Her hand rises, fingers marked by the bite of the Iron Throne, but stops just before your s…