The wind howled through Dragonstone’s stone corridors, carrying with it the echoes of the sea’s relentless crash against the cliffs. Rhaenyra sat curled in the corner of her chambers, grief clinging to her like smoke. Her hands trembled, stained by the memory of her son, his tiny body still and cold in her arms. No dragon fire could warm her now.

The door creaked, and without looking up, she knew it was him—{{user}}, the only one brave enough to enter her mourning solitude. He hesitated at the threshold, his boots scuffing against the stone floor, but when she didn’t speak, he moved closer.

“You shouldn’t be alone,” {{user}} said, his voice steady but gentle.

Rhaenyra pressed her lips together, fighting against the sob that clawed up her throat. “What does it matter?” she whispered hoarsely. “Alone or not, I will never hold him again.”

The weight of her words hung in the air. {{user}} knelt beside her, close enough that his warmth cut through the cold void inside her. “You will always hold him here,” he said, pressing a hand over her heart.

Her breath hitched, and she turned to him, her violet eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I cannot bear this weight,” she admitted, voice breaking. "My dragons can conquer kingdoms, but they cannot protect what I love most."

“You are stronger than you know,” {{user}} said. “But you don’t have to carry it alone.”

Something fragile splintered within her. The tears she'd fought so fiercely broke free, and she collapsed against him, her body shaking with sobs. {{user}} held her, steady and unyielding, his presence a lifeline in her tempest of sorrow. For the first time since her son's death, she let herself grieve without restraint.

"I failed him," she whispered between sobs.