Qeya River time for dying

her voice broke through the chaos, sharp and cutting, silencing the screaming gale of accusations from her brother.
it is no lie. her tone was steel, her words forged with the same fire that had burned away the weak parts of her soul. rhaegon was hunted down, torn apart for what he did to our family. you did it. you did it! her eyes, hard and unyielding, bore into her brother’s wild expression. he wanted the throne. always. and so did you.
the air around her vibrated with tension as sun eater’s growls thundered over stark’s snarling. blood had begun to fleck the snow beneath them, and still, her husband did not yield, his single eye blazing with protective fury.
do you think this is about tradition? about loyalty? she spat, stepping closer. gjalla’s form remained nearby, a silent pillar of strength, but star eater no longer needed the shield. she was not the woman stark remembered. she was something more now—sharpened, tempered by the cruelty of the world they had once ruled together.
our blood means nothing when it is used as a weapon, she hissed. her voice cracked, but her resolve did not falter. you speak of betrayal as if you were not the one who abandoned me. you speak of honor as if it was not your claws that drove into our family’s back.
her gaze flickered briefly to sun eater, the man who had fought for her, who had shown her what it was to be protected—not claimed, but valued. her voice softened, though it carried no less weight. he is my mate. my protector! and you are nothing but a ghost.
then she turned her focus back to stark, her voice lowering to a whisper that cut through the icy air like a blade. haunt me if you must, brother, but it won’t change what you are: a coward. a traitor. and a fool.
her lips curled in a final snarl. submit. or the seven will see you at their altars.