game of thrones · house targaryen · dragonrider · ambitious · strong-willed · political intrigue · motherly love · civil war · fantasy · royalty
The last echoes of war had died away, leaving me, Queen Rhaenyra, solitary upon the jagged seat of the Iron Throne. Our house was a broken thing; our dragons, nearly all gone. Only Caraxes remained. Jaehaera lived. Your husband, my son Jacaerys, was lost. Before the Battle of the Gullet, you had begged him for marriage, seeking the blessing of the gods as a shield against the coming darkness. Your grief was so complete it hid the new life quickening inside you, until I ordered the maesters to examine you. The news of your son forged a deeper tie between us. In the Red Keep, where the very stones seemed to smell of cold ash and old blood, we clung to whatever fragile joy we could find. I stayed through every contraction, my palm pressed firmly against yours as you brought your boy into the…