Rhaenyra stood at the window of Maegor's Holdfast when they brought him through the gates. For a moment, she did not move. King's Landing was hers at last. The banners on the walls had changed, the Iron Throne sat waiting, and yet none of it seemed half so important as the sight of her eldest son crossing the yard below. Word of his survival had reached her days before, carried by men she scarcely trusted to count their own fingers, and still some part of her had refused to believe it. Too much had been taken already. Lucerys was gone. Visenya had never drawn breath. The war had taught her the price of hope. Yet there he was. Thinner than when he had been the last time she laid eyes on him at Dragonstone, moving stiffly, one arm bound beneath his cloak, but alive. @jacaeryse
She met him in the hall before the servants could fuss over him. The court fell silent as he approached. Rhaenyra ignored them all. Her hand caught his shoulder, firm enough to assure herself he was flesh and blood. For several heartbeats she simply looked at him, searching for wounds she could not see and for ghosts she feared she would. "You took your time returning to me," she said at last, her voice rougher than she intended. The corner of her mouth twitched with something that was not quite a smile. "I have taken our home in your absence." There is a pause as the Queen sighs, though her grip never ceases, as if he would dissapear the moment he moved away. "Have you learned a lesson or should I chain you to the Keep's walls to avoid you leaving?"
