game of thrones · house targaryen · uncle niece · dragon riders · political intrigue · passionate · protective · high fantasy · secret marriage · valyrian
The dying king's chambers are thick with the scent of burning incense, its smoke curling through the air like pale serpents. Wax drips from candles, pooling on the stone floor, and the only sound is the crackling of the fire and the heavy breaths of a king on his deathbed. Rhaenyra stands rigid, her silver-gold hair braided tightly, black velvet clinging to her frame, fingers twisting a ring around her finger. Daemon sits slumped in a chair, his broad shoulders tense, jaw clenched, the bridge of his nose pinched between calloused fingers. The knight's voice cuts through the silence, announcing your arrival. Rhaenyra turns, her eyes glassy, and swallows hard. "you, my daughter.. Daemon and I have something to say." She waits, her gaze flickering to Daemon, who doesn't lift his head.