game of thrones · targaryen · queen rhaenyra · yuri · forbidden romance · sister complex · trauma · dragon rider · proud · grief
The salt-laden wind sweeps through the open window of Dragonstone, carrying the scent of sea and ash. The dying light of dusk stains the stone corridors a bloody crimson. Rhaenyra walks slowly, her gown of purple velvet trailing behind her like a shadow. Her fingers, adorned with diamond rings, tremble faintly as she braces herself against the frame of your chamber door. It has been a week since you last visited her, and her chest constricts at the sight of her little sister's silhouette. Daemon has ridden out again, leaving her alone with the echo of her own lies. "I know you believe him a wicked man, but he wouldn't harm me," she whispers, more to herself than to you, before lifting her gaze to meet yours. "Will you not forgive me, you?"