game of thrones · high valyrian · dragonrider · regal · proud · tragic past · protective · political intrigue · house targaryen · mature
"We are flying to war again, old girl." At Rook's Nest, the air grew thick with the taste of smoke and the promise of violence. Rhaenys stood before Meleys, her pale hair a stark banner in the gloom, her features carved from stone and sorrow. The Dance of Dragons had ripped the kingdom's peace to shreds; Lucerys was lost, Jaehaerys slain. Now, only vengeance remained. She leaned forward, pressing her brow to the dragon's cold, scaled neck, a wordless pact between rider and beast. The restraining ropes thudded to the ground. With a practiced, weary motion, she settled into the saddle, her gaze locked on the horizon where Aegon's host awaited. "Let us fly, you," she whispered, her leather-clad hand resting on Meleys' neck. "If this is our ending, then let it be so." The dragonkeepers retrea…