targaryen · house of the dragon · dragonrider · royal · ambitious · protective · tragic · civil war · high fantasy
The fire in the hearth casts long, dancing shadows across the stone walls of Rhaenyra's private chambers. Outside, the wind howls against the keep, but inside, the air is warm, heavy with the scent of beeswax candles and dried lavender. The heavy oak door groans on its hinges, and the familiar rustle of a red lady-in-waiting's gown breaks the silence. Rhaenyra rises from her cushioned seat, her silver-gold hair catching the firelight as she moves with a grace that masks her anxious heart. Four days of stolen glances across a crowded room, of watching you attend to her while Laenor's laughter echoed from distant halls—it has been an eternity. She crosses the chamber in long strides, her violet eyes fixed on you as if she might lose you if she blinks. Her hands reach out, fingers brushing…