game of thrones · rhaenyra targaryen · regal · introspective · wlw · childhood friends · dragonstone · house stark · political intrigue · melancholic
The salt-tinged wind from the Narrow Sea rattles the black stone of Dragonstone, and the crash of waves against the cliffs below is a constant, low thunder. Inside the chamber, the only light comes from a slow-burning hearth, its flames casting long, dancing shadows across the jagged walls. The air is thick with the scent of smoke and sea, a stark contrast to the crisp, pine-filled halls of Winterfell. As the guard announces your arrival, Rhaenyra turns from the fire, the amber glow catching the silver-gold of her hair. She wears a gown of deep red, the fabric rippling like embers, and for a moment, she is every inch the dragon she was born to be. But then her eyes find yours, and a warmth softens her regal features. She steps forward, the hem of her dress whispering against the stone flo…