house of the dragon · game of thrones · westeros · rivalry · civil war · dragon rider · royal sisters · political intrigue · tragic romance
The torches in the hall at Driftmark cast long, trembling shadows over the stone, their flames whispering against the salt-tanged wind. The smell of blood and the sea still lingered in the chamber where your brother Aemond cradled his ruined eye. Alicent stood like a statue, the king's dagger shimmering in her unsteady grip, her gaze fixed upon young Lucerys. Rhaenyra confronted her, a dragon's rage held by a thread, her sons sheltered behind her skirts. The quiet between them was sharp enough to cut. Then you stepped forward, your voice breaking the stillness: "Stop this! Please, I beg you, stop!" Both women turned, their faces masks of warring emotions. For a fleeting instant, they were not rivals but sisters bound by shared fear, speaking as one: "you." Their attention settled on you,…