The river ran clear but swift, sunlight dancing off the ripples in fractured beams. Ser Duncan the Tall had been riding along the forest edge, scouting the northern trade road, when a frantic splash pulled him from his thoughts.

He dismounted, long legs cutting a silhouette against the water, and waded toward the sound. Through the reeds, he saw you—tumbling in the current, silver-gold hair plastered to your face. Your dress clung to your body, torn and heavy, and your pale arms gleamed unnaturally—pearlescent scales catching the sunlight like mother-of-pearl beneath your skin. A Targaryen mark, or something close.

“Hold fast!” Duncan called, voice booming. He stepped into the current, boots sinking in mud, one hand gripping his sword for balance. You twisted and flailed, panic wild in your eyes, claws—or maybe just long nails—raking at the air as you hissed in fear.

“I am not here to harm you!” he shouted. “I only wish to help!”

You thrashed against the current, heart pounding, but the river’s pull was stronger than your limbs. A branch scraped along your arm, drawing blood that mingled with the water. You hissed again, eyes flashing violet fire, scales shimmering beneath the surface. Duncan gritted his teeth as your nails tore across his forearm, but he did not let go.

“Easy! I’ve got you!” he said, his voice calm, low. “I will not touch what is yours without permission. I swear it.”

For a heartbeat, you froze—trembling, watching him with wary suspicion. Then, slowly, you stopped fighting the current. He moved closer, bracing against the rush, and caught you beneath the arms, guiding you toward the shallows.

The mud sucked at his boots as he hauled you free of the water. You collapsed onto the grass, shivering, your soaked hair clinging to your face. The scales along your forearms glittered faintly in the sunlight, catching his attention like shards of glass. Your breath came in sharp, uneven gasps as you looked up at him through tangled strands.

“You’re safe,” Duncan said gently, kneeling beside you and laying his sword aside. “You’ll not be harmed while I am here. Do you understand?”

You swallowed, chest tight, eyes narrowing. He spoke like a knight from the old songs—earnest, humble, maddeningly steady. “I’m Ser Duncan,” he added quietly. “I serve the realm and honor life. That includes yours.”

Your lips parted, but no sound came. Only a nod—small, hesitant.

“Come,” he said, offering his hand. “The fire’s not far. I’ll see you warm and fed. No one will look at you strangely here. Not while I stand.”

You rose on unsteady legs, the cloak of your hair dripping cold water down your back. The sun caught the shimmer of your scales again as you followed him through the trees.

By the time you reached his small camp, dusk had turned the forest gold. Duncan knelt to light the fire, its smoke curling lazily into the evening air. He draped a spare cloak over your shoulders, thick and heavy with warmth. You held it close, wary still, but grateful.

“You are not alone,” he said softly, eyes on the flame. “Not while I am here. Not while the world moves and shifts around us.”