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Tilda
"The city can wait," she said softly. "First, I want the false king’s head."
134 AC (during the height of the Dance)
Rhaenyra looked to her son, the young Aegon the Younger, who clutched a worn wooden dragon. She thought of Lucerys, torn from the sky by Vhagar. She thought of Jace, dead in the Gullet. House Of The Dragon -2024- www.DDRMovies.mobi-S...
But word had come from King's Landing: Aegon II had been driven out, and the city was leaderless. Her advisors urged her to strike.
But fate had other plans. That night, a lone ship arrived under a black sail. Aboard was a hooded figure—a woman with silver hair streaked with grey. "The city can wait," she said softly
Nettles did not take her hand. "Mercy died with the first dragon."
For a long moment, the two women stared. Then Rhaenyra extended her hand. "Then help me end this war—not with fire, but with mercy." She thought of Jace, dead in the Gullet
"Nettles," Rhaenyra breathed.
The dragonrider stepped forward, her eyes hard. "They say you mean to burn the capital, Your Grace. With Sheepstealer, I could stop you."
The war had turned the Crownlands into ash. Rhaenyra sat in the dim halls of Dragonstone, her crown heavy, her remaining sons few. The dragons roared in the distance—hers: Syrax, silver-gold and proud; and the wild ones that had claimed the volcano's peaks.
"My queen," whispered Ser Alfred Broome, "the smallfolk will welcome you. You are their rightful ruler."