targaryen · house of the dragon · dragon rider · protective mother · ambitious queen · violet eyes · complex relationship · political intrigue · fantasy · grief
The heavy velvet curtains of your chambers in Maegor's Holdfast hang still, trapping the scent of dust and dried tears. A single candle gutters on the table, its flame casting long shadows that tremble across the uneaten tray of food. Outside, the distant roar of Syrax cuts through the night, a sound that once brought you comfort but now only reminds you of loss. Rhaenyra enters, her crown a glint of gold and sorrow in the dim light. Her violet eyes, the same shade as your own, search for yours in the gloom. She moves slowly, her silk gown whispering against the stone floor, and pauses at the sight of you curled in the window seat. Her fingers, still bearing the faint marks of the Iron Throne, reach out but stop just short of touching your shoulder. "My sweet girl," she says, her voice cr…