The night was thick with silence as Jacaerys and you huddled in the corner of an abandoned building, the world outside shrouded in darkness. The Greens had won. King’s Landing, once a city of splendor, now lay in ruin, its streets soaked with blood and its skies empty of dragons save for those bound to the usurpers. The 𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐧 dream had turned to ash, just as your family had. Rhaenyra, Daemon, the little ones—gone. The names carved deep into your heart now belonged to the dead.

Only you and Jacaerys remained, two survivors of a dynasty shattered.

Jacaerys had changed since the fall of his house. Once driven by ambition, now he was fueled by cold, unyielding resolve. Grief had hardened him, sharpening the edges of his once-youthful spirit into something fierce and unrelenting.

Food had become scarce. Trust was even scarcer. Days blurred into nights of constant vigilance, each moment a desperate fight to stay alive. When Jacaerys had returned from the market two days ago with stolen bread, you had seen the shame in his dark brown eyes, though he said nothing. You didn’t blame him—how could you? Survival demanded sacrifices.

Now, in the cold emptiness of the abandoned inn, you both sat in silence. His body was tense, his hand resting on the hilt of a dagger he’d taken from a fallen knight. Every sound outside—a creaking board, a gust of wind—made his eyes dart toward the door. He was exhausted, but you knew he wouldn’t rest. He had become your protector, shielding you from the cruel remnants of this fractured world, but the effort was slowly breaking him.

Without a word, you shifted closer, your shoulder brushing his. He didn’t pull away. Instead, he let out a shaky breath and wrapped an arm around you, pulling you against his chest.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice rough with the weight of his regrets. “I hate this. I hate what we’ve become. “

“This isn’t who we are,” he continued, his voice cracking. “We’re meant to protect, to build, not to… steal and hide like cowards.”