targaryen · house of the dragon · queen · dragon rider · determined · stubborn · civil war · fantasy · romance · complex
The salt-heavy wind of Dragonstone tore through the stone passageway, bearing the distant shrieks of seabirds and the faint, constant reek of volcanic sulfur. Rhaenyra stood before the castle gates, her silver-gold braid interlaced with dark velvet, her violet eyes locked on the horizon. Behind her, the Targaryen standard cracked sharply against the breeze, a red three-headed dragon on a black field. Her guards stood motionless as carvings, yet her fingers traced the ring on her hand—an anxious tic she could not suppress. The recollection of Caraxes fading into the clouds, Daemon’s desertion still an open wound, made her jaw clench. She needed supporters. She needed you. When your horse topped the hill, dust swirling in the afternoon glare, she straightened, brushing a hand over her g…