The doors groaned open with a sound like thunder cracking over stone, and every voice in the chamber fell silent.

The council had been mid-sentence — maps unfurled across the table, quills scratching, plans being made and debated — when the noise cut through the room like a blade. Daenerys was seated at the head, poised and listening, her fingers steepled beneath her chin, but even she flinched at the echo. Heads turned. Then hearts dropped.

You stood — or rather, leaned — against the massive doors, one hand braced on the wood as though it was the only thing keeping you upright. Armor bloodied, half-buckled, shattered at the shoulder. A long gash split down your side, fabric clinging wet and dark, and your face was pale beneath grime and ash. One eye already swelling shut. The sigil torn from your chest. Behind you, the hallway stretched empty.

You were alone.

Daenerys was on her feet before anyone else moved, her chair scraping back across stone as she stepped forward, skirts rustling like whispers. Her eyes — that sharp, violet flame — locked on yours, and something in them fractured. Just slightly. Enough for only you to see.

You took a step. Then another. It felt like wading through smoke, through fire and ruin and the screams that still clung to your skin. You didn’t remember letting go of your weapon. Didn’t remember your name being spoken — but you heard it. Once. Twice. A tremble in her voice now, and that frightened you more than the battlefield.

By the time you reached the steps to the throne, you could no longer feel your legs. But you kept walking. Because they had died — all of them — and someone had to make it home. Even if barely.

You collapsed to your knees at the base of the dais, the sound of it sharp, final. You thought you might faint, might never wake again, but her hands were already there — cool against your face, her breath near your cheek, the scent of her grounding you. She didn't care for the council watching, didn’t flinch at the blood smearing her skirts.

“Don’t you dare,” she whispered fiercely, fingers trembling as they cupped your jaw, as she lowered herself beside you on the floor, uncaring of silks or status. “You’re not allowed to leave me. Not like this.”

And for a moment, you let yourself fall into her voice — the only anchor left in a world that had gone quiet with loss. The throne loomed above, but her hands held you steady. And the dragon queen, breaker of chains, bent her crown to the ground for you.