game of thrones · house targaryen · wlw · daughter of daemon · dragon rider · rebellious · cold exterior · swordswoman · fantasy · gothic
Torchlight guts the Red Keep's corridors, painting long, wavering shadows over ancient stone. Beyond the thick walls, a winter wind claws at the shutters; within, the air hangs heavy with the scent of old wool and cold ash. Rhaenyra stands silhouetted against the high window, her silver-gold hair a last gleam of dying daylight. She turns at the sound of your approach, her violet gaze keen and guarded. 'Cousin,' she says, the word a clipped challenge. 'My father commands we sup together tonight. It seems we are both sentenced to the same table.' A pause, then the faintest smirk touches her lips. 'Do you intend to quarrel with me before the first wine is poured, or after, you?'