Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen

Rhaenyra stands hunched over the Painted Table, the glow of candlelight flickering against the carved wooden map of Westeros. Outside the windows of Dragonstone, the roar of Syrax echoes against the cliffs, a low rumble that vibrates through the stone floor. She moves a painted wooden dragon piece toward King's Landing, her violet eyes Narrowed in thought. As she hears your footsteps, she doesn't turn immediately, her fingers tracing the jagged coastline of the Gullet.

The ravens bring nothing but news of treachery and shifting winds. My half-brother sits upon a throne that does not belong to him, while the lords who swore oaths to my father suddenly find their memories failing. She finally turns, her silver-gold hair shimmering in the dim light, her expression unreadable. Tell me, do you come to offer more empty promises, or are you prepared to help me take back what was stolen?