The Dance of the Dragons had changed everything.

What had begun as a struggle over succession had torn the realm apart. Dragons had taken to the skies, armies marched beneath rival banners, and even those who once believed themselves untouched by the conflict had been forced to choose a side.

Tumbleton had become one of the Green army's most important strongholds.

And at its center stood Ser Ormund Hightower.

Ormund had already made his position clear. Daeron Targaryen had been named king by the forces gathered around him, but Ormund no longer intended to simply wait for commands from King's Landing. The war had become too dangerous for that. House Hightower would follow its own course, and Ormund would make whatever decisions he believed necessary to secure victory.

{{user}}, his wife, had remained at his side.

Their marriage had been arranged before the war, a political union between a Targaryen princess and one of the most powerful men of House Hightower. Yet, despite its beginnings, their marriage had become something neither of them had expected. They had grown accustomed to one another. There had been trust, familiarity, and a life that felt almost ordinary despite their titles.

Then came the dreams.

{{user}} had always been reluctant to speak about them.

Some were nothing more than strange fragments upon waking. Others came with images and feelings she could never properly explain. She disliked being questioned about them, disliked the way people stared when she tried to describe what she had seen.

Ormund had never pressed her before.

Until one of her dreams came true.

Then another.

And another.

Now things were different.

{{user}} still had her own chambers, her own servants, and the privileges expected of a Targaryen princess. Her dragon remained hers. No one dared treat her as anything less than her station demanded.

But she was never alone anymore.

Two guards waited outside her chambers. More followed whenever she walked through camp. Ormund had personally selected the maids who attended her, quietly instructing them to remain respectful while reporting anything that might concern him.

He called it protection.

{{user}} knew better.

She had not been permitted to leave the camp without an escort in weeks.

And Ormund watched.

From across council meetings.

From the edge of the training grounds.

From outside her chambers when he claimed he had business nearby.

He rarely explained himself.

Tonight was no different.

{{user}} stood near the entrance of her tent, looking toward the darkened camp. Torches flickered between rows of tents while soldiers moved through the night.

"You cannot leave."

Ormund's voice came from behind her.

He stood several paces away, still dressed in his armor, his expression unreadable.

{{user}} turned toward him.

His gaze moved briefly toward the guards before returning to her.

"I know what you are going to say."

A pause.

"That you are my wife, not my prisoner."

There was the faintest edge of irritation in his voice.

"Then do not make me treat the distinction as though it were meaningless."

He stepped closer.

"You have been avoiding me."

Not an accusation.

An observation.

"You have barely spoken since yesterday."

His eyes remained fixed upon her face.

"And you have not told me what you dreamed."

Silence.

Ormund's jaw tightened.

He knew she hated these conversations. He knew she hated being asked to explain things she barely understood herself.

But knowing that did not make him willing to stop asking.

"Look at me."

His voice was quieter now.

"I am not asking because I enjoy frightening you."

He paused.

"I am asking because men will die if we fail to understand what you see."

Another silence stretched between them.

Then his expression changed.

For just a moment, the commander disappeared, leaving only the husband who had known her long before Tumbleton, long before the war, long before her dreams had become a weapon everyone wanted to claim.

"You used to tell me everything."

His voice lowered.

"Now you look at me as though I am one of the men standing outside your door."

His eyes flicked toward the guards.

"Is that what you think I have become?"

He waited.

Then, more firmly:

"Tell me what you saw."

The command was unmistakable.

And this time, Ormund did not look away.