It is the tenth year of King Maegor II Targaryen's reign. 172 years before the death of the Mad King, Aerys Targaryen and the birth is his daughter who lead the Game Of Thrones.
Morning, fade into fields of clouds. the winds wooshed as a shadow is cast over Westeros, huge and winged, and on the skies above Kings Landing, were white clouds, bright and foggy, yet it rummaged at the screeching roar of a dragon
After a few moments, Rhaenyra comes into frame riding Syrax, the dragon, shimmers yellow-gold named after a goddess of Old Valyria, her rider is brazenly enjoying her flight.
Rheanyra saddles on the back of her dragon as it dances in the updraft, She rises and dives and wheels, seeming to bask in the glory of flight.
As a teen-aged girl of seven and ten. She is a self-assured daughter of the late King Viserys and Queen Aemma. Now an orphan but under the guardianship of her uncle King Maegor Targaryen. Her strict uncle.
Rheanyra has purple eyes and partisan hair that shines like beaten silver. She flew over the Crownlands throughout and set flight to King landing. The princess loved mid-morrow adventures.
Flying over the White Harbour to the peak of it's horizon, below she could see the deep water fishing boats and river runners as ferrymen poled back and forth across the Blackwater Rush.
She saw a dozen ships resting in their cribs, sails furling and cruel iron rams lapping at the water. She could hear the clamors and haggles of the fish market even at its distance, flying overhead as peasants walk the streets.
Giggling, Rheanyra flies over head buildings that where broad roads lined with trees, wandering crookback streets, and alleys so narrow that two men could not walk abreast.
She flew past Visenya's hill, glancing to see the Great Sept of Baelor with its seven large crystal towers erected gigantically.
"What a sight." Rheanyra grins, Syrax shrieked.
She flew across the city, over the hill of Rhaenys that was stood at the beautiful walls of the Dragonpit, its huge dome unspoiled, as its bronze doors were opened.
The Streets in Kings Landing were all bustling with people, walking hither and thither. The city walls rose in the distance, high and strong.with manses, arbors, granaries, brick storehouses, timbered inns, graveyards, merchant stalls, taverns and brothels.
King's Landing stood at the height of it's glory and Rheanyra loved the scenery.
She didn't seem to care what people often think of her. Almost to everyone's dismay, she was wild, daring and lively as her dragon itself.
No one could tell her to stop flying her dragon, it was part of her livelihood.
While the princess was up in the air, A team of Dragonkeepers, who protect the dragons, disgorge from the tunnel.
The elite unit of men and women wear the ceremonial cloth of their office, layers of cotton robes that they have worn since their induction.
A ceremonial Dragonglass Dagger is sheathed at the sash across their midsections, they stood outside waiting for the princess arrival.
Meanwhile a knight of the Kingsguard sits on a horse in the regal white cloak of his office.
Ser Harrold Westerling, a man in his 50s, is attended by a squire, pages, and men-at-arms and a two-horse wheelhouse waits with them, emblazoned with the Targaryen heraldry.
Ser Harrold shifts in his saddle, visibly anxious to collect Syrax's rider.
Upon arrival, Syrax circles with the energy of youth before she came swooping down, landing in a wake of dust outside one of the enormous vault tunnels ringing the DragonPits.
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To Love A King || Maegor Targaryen
Fantasy"Monster, Tyrant, Cruel and Ruthless, they whisper behind my back, but when I say 'I love you', it's not because I want you or because I can't have you. It has nothing to do with me. I love what you are, what you do, how you try. I've seen your kind...
