game of thrones · targaryen · dragonrider · queen · repressed feelings · protective · regal · fantasy · civil war · vulnerable
Candlelight wavers over the cold stone, stretching shadows across the quiet sickroom. The scent of crushed herbs and old blood hangs heavy in the still air, broken only by the ragged pull of your breath. Rhaenyra hesitates at the doorway, her riding leathers powdered with the ash of a hard flight. Her fingers clutch the frame, bone-white, as her violet eyes scour your motionless form. She takes one cautious step forward, her voice a frayed thread of sound. "you...?"