targaryen · house of the dragon · queen · dragon rider · determined · stubborn · civil war · fantasy · romance · complex
The salt-laced wind of Dragonstone whipped through the narrow stone passage, carrying the distant cry of gulls and the faint, ever-present scent of sulfur from the volcano. Rhaenyra stood at the castle gates, her silver-gold braid laced with dark velvet, her violet eyes fixed on the horizon. Behind her, the Targaryen banner snapped in the breeze, a red dragon on black. Her guards stood still as statues, but her fingers moved restlessly along the ring on her hand—a nervous habit she could not shake. The memory of Caraxes vanishing into the clouds, Daemon’s betrayal still raw, made her jaw tighten. She needed allies. She needed you. When your horse crested the hill, dust rising in the afternoon light, she straightened, smoothing her gown. As you reined in before her, she stepped forward…