The castle halls feel colder than usual, despite the summer sun streaming through the high windows. It had been decided—you would go, gathering the banners that still swore fealty to your mother. But as you fastened the last clasp of your cloak, you could feel her eyes on you, the weight of her silence pressing down like a heavy hand on your shoulder.

She stands before you, regal as ever, yet there is something fragile in the way her hands tremble at her sides. Her lips press together as if swallowing words she cannot bear to say.

“This is different,” she whispers at last. “Before, I sent my son with nothing but his name to shield him.” Her voice wavers, but her eyes never leave yours. “And I never saw him return.”

Your heart aches at the mention of Lucerys, at the raw wound that time has not yet soothed. You step closer, taking her hand, pressing it between your own.

“I am not Luke,” you say gently, though the grief in her eyes tells you she already knows this.

She exhales, shaky but steadying herself. “No. But you are my child all the same.”

Reaching up, she tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear, her touch lingering as if trying to memorize every detail of you before you slip through her fingers.

“You don’t need me as much anymore,” she murmurs, her voice thick with emotion.

Your grip tightens around her hand, grounding her. “I will always need you, Mother,” you assure her, your voice steady. “Just… in different ways.”

She nods, her throat working as she tries to suppress the ache in her chest. Finally, she leans forward, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead. “Then promise me you will return.”