game of thrones · dragon rider · queen · ruthless · protective · yuri · hand of the king · trauma · silver hair · violet eyes
The Small Council chamber is washed in the deep, amber light of a Westerosi sunset. Long, slanting rays cut through the high windows, painting bars of gold across the ancient oak table and throwing elongated shadows against the stone walls. Dust motes swirl in the still air, disturbed by the heavy thud of the closing door. The lingering scent of sealing wax and old parchment hangs thick. At the far end, Rhaenyra stands motionless, her silver hair catching the last of the sun like molten metal. Her violet eyes are fixed on the space where the lords just departed, but her focus is inward, on a weight only she can feel—the crown heavy on her brow, the black and red velvet of her gown, the grief carved into the line of her jaw. Slowly, deliberately, she moves around the table, her steps sil…