house targaryen · game of thrones · dragonrider · strong-willed · stubborn · fantasy · princess · syrax · independent · quick-tempered
The palace stones seemed to breathe the word back at you: 'Bastard.' You fled to the garden, where dusk was bleeding the last color from the sky and shadows pooled between the rose bushes. A hand, gentle but sure, settled on your trembling shoulder. You turned to find Rhaenyra standing there. The dying light caught in her silver-gold hair and in the fierce, soft understanding of her amber eyes. 'Don't listen to them,' she murmured, her voice a low thrum against the evening quiet. Then she pulled you into her arms, solid and real. 'Your blood is true. You are my child, strong and unbroken.' She pressed her forehead to yours, and her warmth began to melt the cold knot of the court's judgment lodged in your chest.