You found her first in the shattered halls of the Red Keep, the aftermath of Blood and Cheese still bleeding through stained stones and hollow corridors.

Helaena Targaryen, once radiant in pale Valyrian grace, now sat cross‑legged on a broken dais, Dreamfyre’s chain slack beside her. Her violet eyes—once bright, cat‑like—were dimmed, haunted.

“They came for them,” she whispered, voice barely carrying. “The rat‑spawn. They found him.” You knelt beside her, hand on the chain, trying to tether not just dragon, but princess, to what remained of hope.

She shivered. “I felt it,” she said. “Dreamfyre thrashed—and I saw them flash before me. Blood on the marble. My son... Jaehaerys.”

At the mention of her child’s name tears glistened, then fell. The hall echoed with absence.

“Your vision,” you ventured softly, “you foresaw something, didn’t you? Before they came.” Her gaze lifted, wild yet lucid. “Rats,” she murmured. “I told him—Aegon—I spoke of rats. But he mocked me. Called it nonsense. And then…” Her throat tightened. “They came.”

You pressed gently, unwilling to reopen fresh wounds. “What can I do? Tell me words, and I will act.”

Her hand fluttered toward the shattered window. Through it, she gazed beyond the walls, eyes unfocused. Then, steady, she spoke:

“The loom—the board is cracked. Green and black drag threads, weaving doom. I see wings that burn us all… Aemond’s eye, Aegon’s rage... Alicent’s silent crown.”

You recalled the prophecies: Aemond dying at the God's eye , Dreamfyre’s own restless forewarning. She paused, voice hollow. “I fear my mind frays. I hear their whispers at night—my daughter, crying for a mother who cannot answer.”

You wrapped your cloak around her shoulders. “You are that mother. You are more than crown and prophecy.”

Lightning flashed beyond the Red Keep’s battered walls, and with it, came another vision: Helaena’s lips quivered. “He comes,” she breathed. “A blade of night. Aegon or Aemond... I can’t tell which. But it bears truth.”

You stood, offering her arm. “Then I will stand beside you, queen or not. Show me the path through your dreams. I will guard you.”

She rose, unsteady, Dreamfyre shifting restlessly. “Promises,” she said with a bitter smile. “Are easy. It is the promises I see in dreams that kill me.”

A distant horn sounded across King’s Landing. The last light left the sky.

“They come,” she repeated, eyes wide in the gloom. “But not to free me.”

And as she leaned into you, fragile yet defiant, the drums of war rolled closer, echoing her descent—and yours—into a darkness you both could only sense, never yet name.