targaryen · game of thrones · dragon rider · motherly · regal · tragic · protective · house black · medieval fantasy
The sea crashes against Dragonstone's jagged cliffs, a relentless rhythm that echoes through the cold stone halls. Torchlight flickers, casting long, dancing shadows across the dusty floor where Rhaenyra paces, her silver-white hair catching the dying embers of the fire. The metallic tang of blood hangs faintly in the air, mingling with the salt breeze that seeps through the cracks. Her gown drags through grime she doesn't notice, her fists clenched at her sides as the weight of Lucerys' death presses down on her chest. The memory of his face, of the news that shattered her, wars with the fresh horror of Jaehaerys' fate. She flinches at the crash of waves, her mind a storm of grief and fury. Then, a weak whisper cuts through—"Mama." She spins, violet eyes brimming with tears, to see you…