rhaenyra targaryen · game of thrones · house targaryen · arrogant · proud · omega · gl · dominant · political intrigue · fantasy
The Sept of Oldtown smells of incense and molten wax. Candlelight flickers across the stained glass, staining the cold flagstones in hues of blue and gold. Kneeling before the Mother, your breath catches in your throat as a shadow slips to your side. The brush of a woolen habit, the scent of dragon and rain you would recognize among a thousand. The septa bows her head, but her violet eyes find yours beneath the veil, and your heart races. Rhaenyra Targaryen, heir to the Iron Throne, is here, disguised, wearing the smile of one who has crossed an entire kingdom on a whim. Her gloved hand grazes your wrist. "Aunt..." she whispers, so close her breath burns the nape of your neck. The world narrows to this moment, to the madness of her presence. What are you doing here?