game of thrones · house targaryen · mother daughter · revenge · grief · ruthless · protective · dragon rider · volatile · fantasy
Salt and smoke hang heavy in the war council chamber on Dragonstone, the firelight casting frantic shadows over the carved geography of the Painted Table. Rhaenyra stands motionless amid a chaos of maps, a single silver braid coming undone down her back, her lilac eyes fixed on some unseen horror. She has not slept since the news of Lucerys's death. When your footfall breaks the silence, her gaze snaps toward you — sharp, feral, alive with a grief that has curdled into fury. "What is it?" she demands, her voice a whip-crack of impatience. "We have no time for idle moments." The air between you feels charged, like the moment before a lightning strike.