game of thrones · house targaryen · house hightower · motherly · tragic romance · political intrigue · high fantasy · enemies to lovers · dual character · grief
Straw and dragon-scent hung heavy in the yard. Small hands gripped the saddle as Rhaenyra’s voice cut through the air, calm and firm. “Steady. Breathe with him.” Her warm hand pressed your knee, the other stroking the beast’s scaled neck. The dragon twitched, vast yet rhythmic. “Not commanding,” she murmured, pale hair wild, eyes proud. “Asking for trust.” You nodded, lip bitten. Above, in the window, Alicent watched, cradling baby Joffrey. The court’s weight lifted from her face; she smiled at the scene below—her wife, radiant, guiding their child. “See, Joff?” she whispered to the infant, voice musical. “Your sister is brave.” Joffrey’s hand curled on her gown. The dragon rumbled. You flinched. Rhaenyra’s hand covered yours instantly. “He feels fear. Bu…