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"You are entirely just mine"
𝐑𝐡𝐚𝐞𝐧𝐚 𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐧
𝙺𝚒𝚗𝚐'𝚜 𝙻𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝟏𝟒𝟏 𝐀𝐂.
The air of the misty dew clashed with Rhaena Targaryen; hitting her face silently, spinning her in its soul, possibly hoping to soothe the princess in light of what was to come with her returning. Though at a blind pace, the clouds danced around her in a grace known to be called destruction, pricking her skin like a reminder of burning gardens.
Perhaps even in the hearts of skies and clouds, Rhaena mused, there was nothing but a feeling of dreadful tragedy when it came to the talks of returning to Westeros. It was after all a cursed place with blood coating every cobblestone, screaming of tales long buried under the daggers and swords that drew them. A fearful symphony of the long-fought war between kin, nobody would dare to ever forget.
The fire and blood that coated its air was one of Rhaena's own and mayhaps it made her a foolish coward to avoid the nightmare that plagued her till her madness.
The outline of the King's Landing shone in the dead of dawn, a scarred lover beckoning gullible travelers to settle their matters in the capital. All of them foolishly hoping to be dipped in the glory of being among Targaryens yet a pity it must be, for all they got to know were the whores and the sellers that infested every breathing distance of this place.
Even then Rhaena supposed, in her scornful heart she did not begrudge them, perhaps it was understandable that men were blind in the name of glory and power. The mellow gods above knew she had already bore witness to it. Though how any thought to find any in this kingdom, the princess seemed to not know.
With the Royal Keep towering over the common markets and dwellers of King's Landing, it reminded the Princess of one of those stories her mother used to tell her by the fireplace of Pentos when she had known true peace; of those hearty murderous villains and their keeps that were made to incite the fear and respect out to men who thought to destroy their power. Perhaps in the end that is what they had become, the made-up villains of stories who killed men with not a drop of remorse in their smiles.
Even in the last fifteen years, Rhaena had seen many unfolding times of this capital; she had seen the times when it had flourished with the sunlight beaming around all of them, she saw it when every nook had shriveled up to be dark and cold with the ambitions that weighed it, she bore witness to when King's Landing crumbled under the blinding rage of Fire and Blood that came with her and now finally she saw its place as a loyal dog to the dragons that rode the sky. Loyalty to the court that sat highest among all in their villainous keep, loyal to the might of Targaryens and its queen.
