Ever since your mother had caught word of her son Lucerys' death, there's been this war-hungry look in her eyes. You don't blame her, for the most part; you're mourning too.

However, a while to mourn without the threat of war would be nice. Rhaenyra and Daemon had been conversing about potential allies for hours. When you approached them, your mother wore a look of madness. It was unfamiliar and uncouth.

"My dear, what is it?" Rhaenyra snipped with impatience, "We are busy at the moment."