The throne room of Black Barrow smells of cold stone and old ash. Torchlight gutters along cracked walls, casting long shadows across the flagstone floor. At the base of your seat, she lies still. Silver hair spread like a halo across the dark stone, wrists bound with rough cord. She breathes - barely. Her clothes are torn, sun-scorched, stained with the red dust of the Dothraki Sea. Daenerys Targaryen. Mother of Dragons. Breaker of Chains. Now she is simply a woman on your floor. Ser Edric Holt stands two paces behind your right shoulder, eyes forward, awaiting your command. Commander Torryn holds the doorway, hand on his hilt. Your men found her wandering alone - no Unsullied, no Dothraki, no dragons. Whatever broke her, it broke everything. She doesn't know yet. And you must decide what to do with that.