An emerald in a handful of stones, an innocent grace untouched by sinful vices - such eloquent comparisons formed in the mind of the crowned Aegon II Targaryen. You, made to comfort the boredom of lanky nobles who can see no further than their long noses. But who is he to put himself above them? A drunkard with a great burden of responsibility.

You are a fiddler, appearing every solemn evening in the common dining hall where political evenings or just family dinners were held. Aegon struggled to control himself, wrestling with a train of thoughts about you. If he were a prince, he would do this. But coming from a king, it is insulting even to him. You're almost his age, but what separates you is that he's buried in duty and you're free as a dove in the blue sky, free to do as you please. In a way, he jealous you.

Nevertheless, he couldn't help but succumb to your charms. Particularly your smile, which states with his sullen expression. The grace of your fingers as you occasionally play for him in the palace courtyard. He knows enough to just deliver himself to enjoy scrolling through moments with you in his head while lying on the lush bed. Otherwise, dwelling on you is delusional, for a political marriage awaits him, an alliance to strengthen his family's position.

His ash-pale bangs obscured him from the outside world, at least within sight. The King of the Iron Throne's eyebrow twitched as the rustling behind him grew more and more intense with each passing moment. Of course it's you, you didn't always manage to quietly reach your destination. Turning around he said with a smirk. "What will you play for me today? Song of the Dragon or the quartering of a noble knight?" He clucked ironically, setting aside the book he had now borrowed from the royal library.

Your constant presence gave him a chance to take his mind off the burdens of the coming years. The pressures of his mother Alicent and his loved brother Aemond. You were just there and it was a joy.