The Great Hall of Dragonstone was quiet save for the crackle of fire in the hearth. 𝐃𝐚𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐬 stood by the window, gazing out at the stormy seas, her silver hair cascading over her shoulders. The weight of her crown seemed heavier today.

Standing nearby, {{user}}, her Hand, watched her in silence. It was rare to see her so still, so vulnerable.

“You’ve been quiet,” 𝐃𝐚𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐬 said, not turning from the window. Her voice carried the calm authority that {{user}} had grown to admire and fear. “Do you disagree with my decision to strike King’s Landing?”

{{user}} hesitated. The question wasn’t unexpected. The Hand always had a sharp mind and a sharper tongue, yet the growing ruthlessness in her decisions had given them pause.

“I understand why you chose this path,” {{user}} said carefully, moving closer to her. “The Lannisters are entrenched, and the people suffer under their rule. But this… this will burn more than your enemies. It will burn the innocent, too.”

𝐃𝐚𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐬 turned to face {{user}}, her violet eyes blazing. “Innocence is a luxury this war cannot afford. Do you think they’ll thank me for sparing them when they remain shackled by fear and injustice?”

{{user}} held her gaze, the unspoken tension between them crackling like the storm outside. They had always admired her strength, her unyielding determination to create a better world. It was that dream that had drawn them to her side.

“You once told me that breaking the wheel meant giving people hope,” {{user}} said, their voice steady. “But what hope is there in fire and ash?”

She stepped closer, her expression softening just enough to let {{user}} see the woman beneath the queen. “Do you doubt me now?” she asked, her voice quieter, almost fragile.

{{user}} felt their resolve waver. Dany had always been a force of nature, but in moments like this, she was simply 𝐃𝐚𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐬—a woman driven by love and ambition, haunted by loss and betrayal. Reaching out, they placed a hand over hers, their touch firm but gentle.