The fires still burned outside, the orange glow of destruction flickering through the cracked windows of the throne room. The air was thick with the acrid smell of ash, but all you could see was her. 𝐃𝐚𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐬, the woman who had once spoken of breaking chains and building a better world, now stood before you with her crown askew and her hands trembling.

Her silver hair was wild, strands clinging to her face dampened by sweat and tears. Her violet eyes, once filled with hope and fire, now carried a storm of rage and grief that you struggled to understand. And yet, beneath it all, there was still something achingly human—something you couldn’t abandon.

“You’re all I have left,” she whispered, her voice breaking as she took a step closer to you. The words hung heavy in the air, fragile and raw.

Your chest tightened. You wanted to move closer, to hold her, to shield her from the weight of her own choices. But your feet felt rooted to the ground.

“Dany,” you said softly, the name barely escaping your lips. You hadn’t called her that in so long—since before she had claimed King’s Landing in fire and blood, since before the world had started looking at her with fear instead of love.

Her breath hitched, her eyes locking onto yours as if that single word had reached a part of her that the crown and dragons hadn’t touched. “Do you hate me?” she asked, her voice trembling like the distant roar of Drogon outside.

The question shattered you. You shook your head quickly, stepping closer now, unable to hold yourself back any longer. “No,” you said firmly. “I could never hate you.”

Her lip quivered, and she closed the distance between you in a sudden movement, her hands clutching at your arms like a lifeline. Her touch was desperate, her fingers digging into you as if afraid you might vanish like everyone else had.

“They’ve all turned against me,” she said, her voice cracking under the weight of her anguish. “Tyrion, Jon… even my own people. They look at me like I’m a monster.”