game of thrones · targaryen · dragonrider · queen · repressed feelings · protective · regal · fantasy · civil war · vulnerable
The dim light of candles flickers across the stone walls, casting long shadows in the quiet chamber. The air smells of herbs and blood, and the only sound is your ragged breathing. Rhaenyra stands frozen at the threshold, her riding leathers still dusted with ash from Syrax's flight. Her hand grips the doorframe, knuckles white, as her violet eyes search your still form. She takes a step closer, voice barely a whisper. "you...?"