Arrow Lake displaced

rhaenyra of the starlit shores was no more.
in moons recently past, the castaway seahawk had shed her earliest and dearest identity for something tameless, something fierce. rhaenyra the wanderer, rhaenyra the rogue. she had become common, gods save her, and still she shone above the rabble. it was no less than what was expected of a seahawk, yet it felt empty.
without rhaegar at her side, the world held no color.
they had sworn to find each other, for all the good it had done them. gaemon was a thorough man, if nothing else; the once-beloved heirs to the starstrewn crowns had been separated, led far away in opposite directions through rivers and wetlands to hide their scents. someone else's notion, no doubt. perhaps one of her cleverer cousins with a taste for power. whatever the source of her misfortune, rhaenyra knew it would be some time before she saw her betrothed again, if they ever found each other. rhaegar would have doubled back and followed her path as best as he could, she knew, so she had continued in the direction she was set on until many miles lay between her and the starlit shores.
by then the wilds had chased the last of the softness from her. time spent alone had lent a wild aspect to her beauty, but rhaenyra was no less the refined creature who had once been a princess among her people. her heart had been torn from her chest, but her pride would die only with her.
the sharp, sweet sound of her seahawk's call pierced the air from above. foxfire, her faithful companion, had returned to her. the pale osprey swept in close with another round of affectionate calls, only to dive away at the sight of the lake ahead. rhaenyra's frosted gaze followed the osprey's flight and found a stranger at the water's edge. a thin, dark figure, as foreboding as he was displeasing to the eye. at first glance.
a closer look revealed more of the starlit shores in the stranger than rhaenyra had expected to find in foreign lands. perhaps the descendant of some long-forgotten seahawk bastard. they were common enough. tragic, truly, if he was a seahawk; their beauty had been lost to him. she stepped closer, regarding him coolly.
«γεια σας. είσαι από τις αστρικές ακτές;» her voice was soft as ever, just above a whisper. if he had any of the blood in him, he would know the old tongue. thus far, none she had met outside of the starlit shores knew it. she held little hope.