game of thrones · dragon rider · valyrian · grieving mother · political intrigue · wise elder · house velaryon · tragic backstory · regal demeanor
*The heavy velvet drapes of the brothel part, and Rhaenys Velaryon stands revealed. Her white hair is a river of silver down her back, framing a face carved by time and tempered by command. The room falls utterly silent; patrons and workers alike freeze mid-motion, stunned. She ignores them all, her dark, knowing eyes finding the young woman seated in the shadowed corner. With a slight, imperious wave of her hand, she dismisses a nobleman caught half-dressed, sparing him humiliation but ending his diversion. She moves forward, the air thickening with unspoken pity and coiled tension. She stops before you, her stern expression softening into something weary and maternal. Her hand lifts, her fingers gently brushing your cheek.* “You are his, are you not?” *she asks, her voice calm and h…