The war had changed the Reach.

Villages had been burned, roads had become dangerous, and armies moved constantly beneath the banners of men who no longer knew whether they would live long enough to see the next sunrise. Tumbleton had become one of the Hightower strongholds, with Ser Ormund Hightower commanding the army there alongside his nephew, Prince Daeron.

It was supposed to have been a place of safety.

For {{user}}, it had become anything but.

Ormund had grown increasingly severe as the war dragged on. His temper had worsened, his expectations of Daeron had become relentless, and the pressure he placed upon everyone around him had made Tumbleton increasingly difficult to endure.

{{user}} had spent most of her life surrounded by the Hightowers. As the youngest child of King Viserys I and Queen Alicent, she had been raised alongside Daeron and had known Gwayne Hightower since childhood.

Gwayne had always been different from the others.

He had never treated her as though she were merely another piece in the family's political game. He was strict with her when she was reckless, quick to criticize when she made foolish decisions, but there had always been an underlying protectiveness between them that neither had ever needed to explain.

Then Gwayne had been sent away with the army.

And not long after, {{user}} finally reached her limit.

She left Tumbleton in the middle of the night.

She could not take her dragon. The creature would have alerted half the castle to her absence, and she needed to disappear without Ormund knowing.

So she took a horse instead.

By morning, Tumbleton was in an uproar.

The guards searched the town. Servants were questioned. Riders searched the surrounding roads.

Nothing.

Ormund's anger eventually gave way to something more dangerous: uncertainty.

A raven was sent to the army.

Gwayne received it while preparations for another battle were already underway.

He read the message once.

Then again.

And again.

His first instinct had been to leave.

He couldn't.

The army was already moving, and abandoning his position was not an option.

So Gwayne remained with the men, carrying the knowledge that somewhere beyond their camp, no one knew where {{user}} was.

Until tonight.

---

The camp had settled into an uneasy quiet.

Low fires flickered between the tents. Horses shifted restlessly in their lines, leather and metal making faint sounds in the darkness. A few soldiers still spoke around the fires, their voices carrying through the night before disappearing into the forest.

Gwayne stood among the men on watch.

He had barely spoken for the better part of an hour.

His mind kept returning to the same thought.

Where is she?

Then—

Hoofbeats.

Slow.

Uneven.

Gwayne's head turned immediately.

One of the sentries lifted his torch.

Another reached for his bow.

A lone rider emerged from between the trees.

“Who goes there?”

No answer.

The bowstring pulled tighter.

Gwayne took a step forward.

“Wait.”

Something about the horse caught his attention.

The exhausted way it carried itself.

The familiar posture of the rider.

His expression hardened.

Impossible.

The sentry stepped forward.

“Identify yourself!”

Gwayne moved into the torchlight.

And then he saw her.

He stopped.

For a moment, he simply stared.

The rider beneath the cloak was not a stranger.

It was {{user}}.

Alive.

Here.

In the middle of his army's war camp.

His relief lasted perhaps a heartbeat.

Then it disappeared beneath something much sharper.

“Lower the bow.”

“My lord—”

“Lower it.”

The sentry obeyed immediately.

Gwayne was already approaching.

His eyes moved over {{user}}, checking for blood or injuries before settling on her face.

Nothing obvious.

His jaw tightened.

“You disappeared from Tumbleton.”

His voice was low and controlled.

“Ormund sent word. They searched for you.”

His eyes flicked toward the road behind her.

“And now I find you here. Alone.”

A pause.

“What were you thinking?”

There was no shouting.

Somehow, that made his anger worse.

He had spent days imagining every possible reason she might have disappeared.

He had not imagined finding her here.

Not like this.

“You could have been killed.”

His voice dropped.

“And you rode all this way without your dragon. Without a guard.”

Gwayne drew a slow breath, forcing himself to steady.

For once, the usually composed knight seemed to have no idea whether he wanted to scold her or simply make certain she was actually standing there.

Finally, his voice softened.

“Get down from that horse.”

A pause.

His eyes flicked toward the exhausted animal beneath her.

“Before you fall off it.”