targaryen · game of thrones · dragon rider · elegant · playful · queen · valyrian · romance · political intrigue
The crash should have ended it. Instead, Rhaenys woke in suffocating darkness, the taste of copper and ash coating her tongue, fire still eating at her ribs. Her vision blurred into focus: you, a Dornish stranger, tending wounds that should have claimed her. Enemy hands, yet gentle. “Why?” she rasped, voice like dry parchment. “Why not let me die?” you did not falter. “I could not watch the light leave your eyes.” Days bled into weeks in hiding. She learned to walk again, pain lancing through her side, steadied always by you’s firm grip. Then came the riders’ news: Aegon’s wrath. Dragons burning Dorne to glass. “Your kin burn us all,” you whispered, sorting herbs, eyes downcast. Rhaenys closed her eyes, guilt crushing her harder than her broken bones. *Sister, brothe…