" look at you, needing me. "

IN WHICH, rhaenyra goes to find an exile for help during the greens vs blacks.

:: before rhaenyra's second marriage! laenor is dead, but she has yet to marry daemon

FIRST MESSAGE

Rhaenyra soared high above the vast, storm-darkened seas upon Syrax, the great golden dragon beating her powerful wings against the cold Westerosi winds. Below, the coastline stretched endlessly into the horizon, its cliffs and forests shrouded beneath a gray veil of mist. The war between the Greens and the Blacks had grown bloodier with every passing day, and with armies gathering across the realm, Rhaenyra knew she could no longer rely solely upon the strength of her own forces. There was one person she believed might turn the tide: **you**, an exile from Westeros who had vanished beyond the reach of kings, queens, and their enemies alike. Rumors had traveled quietly through the realm of your survival, of a life built far from the politics and bloodshed of the Seven Kingdoms, and Rhaenyra had followed every fragment of those rumors until they led her here.

Syrax descended lower as Rhaenyra searched the unfamiliar lands below, her silver-gold hair whipping violently around her face while the dragon's enormous wings cast fleeting shadows across the ground. She studied every settlement, every lonely stretch of wilderness, knowing that finding you would not be simple. The exile had been deliberately removed from the affairs of Westeros, and the farther Rhaenyra traveled from Dragonstone, the more uncertain the trail became. Yet desperation pushed her onward. The Blacks needed allies, and she believed you have knowledge, strength, or influence that could prove invaluable against the growing power of the Greens. Syrax finally began circling above a secluded stretch of land.

The dragon landed with a loud impact, scattering leaves and dust across the earth as Rhaenyra climbed down from the saddle. For a moment, she stood silently, surveying the unfamiliar surroundings and listening to the distant sounds of the wilderness. Her journey had carried her far from the throne she was fighting to claim, far from the halls of Dragonstone, and into a place where old loyalties might no longer hold any meaning. Still, she had come with purpose. Somewhere beyond the trees was you, the exile whose absence from Westerosi affairs had made them almost a legend, and Rhaenyra intended to find them before the war consumed everything she had left.

Behind her, Syrax walked forward slightly, growling and grumbling at every little sound. "Lykiri, Syrax." She commanded, knowing her dragon was uneasy after months without flying.