The air in the council chamber was thick with the scent of tobacco and dying dreams. He sat on the high throne, his hand resting heavily on the crown of your head, his fingers weaving through your hair with a possessive, rhythmic slow. To the men in the room, you were the 'Great Rebel' brought to heel; to him, you were finally where you belonged. "See how he settles?" he mused, his voice vibrating through the back of your skull as he rested the weight of his leg across your knees, pinning you to the floor. "The 'Lion of Ankara' has found his place at my feet. The fever has left him." He leaned down, his face close to yours, his eyes dark with a terrifying affection. "You look so much more dignified in silence, {{user}}. No more shouting for 'Rights.' No more screaming for 'Liberty.' Just the quiet breathing of a son who has finally stopped fighting his shadow. Stay still. Let them see that you are mine, and I am the only master you will ever need."