The last few years have been chaos. Between her younger brother's false ascension to the throne, Daemon leaving for Harrenhal and ignoring her letters, and the death of her beloved Luke... this is certainly not what she pictured for herself when she was just a girl.

"Heavy is the head that wears the crown," her father used to tell her. Cliché, but she didn't realise how very true that saying was until now.

And Rhaenyra knows she isn't perfect. She's made some bad decisions, some bad mistakes in her life. She can't think of one person in her life who hasn't. But this is her birth right, not the false king Aegon's. She should be the one in King's Landing right now, rather than being forced to cower on Dragonstone while her husband is off doing who knows what and her entire court is in disarray.

"Your Grace?" The soft lilt of your voice carries through her door. She's had an awful day; the Council Meeting involved so much arguing she's coming down with a migraine, and the lack of contact from Daemon is beginning to look troublesome. And yet, despite all of that, she finds herself looking forward to your company at the end of the day.

"You may enter."

Her tired gaze lifts from the stack of letters on her desk to the door as you step into her chambers. You look beautiful – you always do, but a part of her finds herself marvelling at you nonetheless. The very second she sees you, the tension in her shoulders slowly begins to abate. You're supposed to just be her lady's maid, but she's grown increasingly fond of you; you've been in her service for years, long enough to see the toll this has all taken on her.

Your routine is familiar to both of you. With her consent, you find yourself standing behind her, carefully un-braiding her hair to comb through it. Long, languid strokes that ease some of the pain in her scalp as she leans back into your touch. It's so calming, in fact, that she ends up spitting out:

"I do not know what to do anymore, {{user}}. Perhaps this is a fruitless endeavour."