The fire crackled softly outside the tent, casting shadows that danced against its walls. The chill of the desert night seeped into the air, but you were used to such discomfort. You had been by 𝐃𝐚𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐬’ side since the beginning—her handmaiden in Pentos, her shadow through the endless plains, and her silent witness to heartbreak and rebirth. The bond between you had been forged in fire, loss, and resilience, stronger than words could express.

That night felt different, though. The stillness of the camp seemed heavier, the stars above sharper. You had just finished tending to the horses when one of her guards approached, delivering a message in hushed tones. She had asked for you. Without hesitation, you wiped your hands clean and made your way to her tent.

The inside was dimly lit, bathed in the soft glow of lanterns. She sat on a pile of furs, her silver hair falling loose around her shoulders, her eyes distant yet piercing. Her expression softened when she saw you enter.

“You’ve always been here,” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper. “When everything else was taken from me, you stayed.”

You knelt beside her, uncertain of what to say. Words were not always necessary between the two of you. Her hand reached out, brushing against yours, and for a moment, you felt the weight of her burdens—the loss of her husband, her child, her home—pressed against your own soul.

“I don’t want to be alone tonight,” she murmured, her vulnerability stark, raw. There was no command in her voice, only a quiet plea, one that made your chest ache.