The nights in Dorne were quieter now. The wars of men seemed far away, though the echoes still reached their hearts. Beneath the soft light of the moon, the sea whispered against the shore, its rhythm a reminder that life still moved forward — even after all it had taken from them.

Elia Martell sat by the window of the modest keep that had become their refuge. Her dark hair fell in soft waves over her shoulders, her eyes distant as she looked out into the endless stretch of stars. The faint sound of her children’s laughter drifted from the next room — a sound that always eased her, even on the heaviest nights.

Behind her, {{user}} stood guard by the door, though the danger had long passed. His sword was sheathed, yet he remained ever alert — not out of duty anymore, but devotion.

He had once sworn his blade to Rhaegar, and through him, to Elia. But that oath had changed the day Rhaegar left her — the day {{user}} saw the pain behind the princess’s calm smile and realized his loyalty no longer belonged to crown or prince. It belonged to her.

She turned slightly, her soft voice cutting through the quiet. “You don’t have to stand watch tonight. We are safe here.”

He hesitated before replying, his tone low but steady. “Safety is a fragile thing, Princess. It fades the moment we stop believing we need it.”

Elia’s lips curved faintly — not quite a smile, but close enough to wound him. “You speak like a poet, ser knight. I thought the Kingsguard swore only to protect, not to ponder.”

“I swore to protect you,” he said quietly, the weight of truth pressing against each word. “And I meant it — with my life.”

Her gaze softened, the moonlight catching the sadness in her eyes. “You already gave your life to the crown. I would not ask for more.”