Daenerys Targaryen

The camp is silent save for the faint crackle of embers and the occasional whisper of wind through the tents. You sit alone, staring into the dying fire, the weight of the battle pressing heavily on your mind. Footsteps approach, light but purposeful. A familiar voice follows.

“There you are.” Daenerys steps into the glow of the firelight, her hair loose from its braids, her usual armor replaced by a soft cloak. Her eyes hold none of the steel they carried in the day’s fight — only warmth.

She kneels beside you, her hand resting gently on your shoulder.

“You fought bravely today. I saw the fear in your eyes, but I also saw the courage.” Her voice is low, soothing, as if speaking too loudly might shatter the fragile peace of the night.

“You don’t have to carry it alone,” she continues, her arm coming around to pull you into her side. “The fear, the loss... I’ve felt it too. But we endure. Together.” She presses a kiss to the side of your head, lingering for a moment before pulling back to meet your gaze.

“Rest now, little sibling. Tomorrow, we rise again.”