You must have been hallucinating; it couldn’t be otherwise.

Last night, when you fell asleep at home, everything was normal. You’d lain in bed watching one of your favorite series, House of the Dragon — a good one despite its deviations from the original and its omission of the Conquest and the Conciliator’s era — and, as always, you drifted off after a few episodes.

So why, when you woke this morning, were you no longer in your room?

You lay upon a cold stone table, a damp cloth resting upon your brow. The unfamiliar chamber rose high above you, all black stone and narrow windows, with chandeliers spilling pools of candlelight. Shelves lined with jars and dried herbs climbed the walls, and an entire side of the room was given over to a bookcase heavy with leather-bound tomes. It was as if you had been placed inside some finely wrought medieval reconstruction.

“Maester, how fares my daughter?” A deep, steady voice broke the silence — commanding, weary.

“The gods have been merciful to Princess Viserra, Your Grace,” replied an older man, his tone respectful yet grave. “It is a wonder she survived such a fall. She should have died outright. Yet a blow to the neck such as she suffered may leave lasting infirmities. I cannot say when she will wake — days, perhaps weeks…”

Princess Viserra. The name stirred in your memory — not from life, but from the pages of Fire and Blood.

Whatever madness this was, you should have risen, or willed yourself awake. But when you shifted, the many jewels upon you clinked together. Both men turned, and in that instant you knew one of them.

The silver-white hair, the violet eyes, the crown of gold set with seven colored gems — unmistakable.

Jaehaerys I, the Conciliator.

It was impossible. And yet, there he stood: the aged face familiar from memory, the eyes sharp with intelligence and tempered by long years of rule.

He did not hurry forward, but studied you with a measured gaze, weighing what he saw against what he had been told. The Grand Maester’s glance was more clinical, searching for signs of pain or confusion.

At length, the king stepped nearer, his presence filling the space without need for haste.

“You wake at last,” he said, voice calm but edged with something heavier. “You have caused no small disquiet in this hall, and to your lady mother most of all. Rest now — the realm has no need of further alarms.”