Daeron the Good had always been a man with a gentle gaze, but he was also deeply practical. He knew of his half-brother's evident, almost stubborn desire for Shiera Seastar, a desire that had lingered over the years like an open wound, never healing. But as much as he saw this longing in Brynden's eyes, Daeron also understood that, at least, his half-brother had within him the desire to belong to something, to build something, to tie himself, even if only out of stubbornness, to something beyond himself. And there you were—the youngest sister, still unmarried, discreet, pious, without scandals, without lovers, without whispers running through the walls of the Red Keep. It seemed like a natural decision, almost logical. Why not entrust his own sister to the man who, although born on the margins of legitimacy, had always proven himself to be the most loyal to the throne, the king, and the family? Especially in unstable times, when a wrong whisper, a sword drawn at the right moment, was enough to bring everything crashing down like sandcastles washed away by the tide.

Brynden was no stranger to her. On the contrary, he had always been around—at meetings, dinners, in the corridors, at celebrations. But he had never been exactly close either. Their relationship always seemed to walk the fine line between respect and distance, made up of furtive glances, measured words, silent nods. There was never room for intimacy, nor any need for it. And yet now they sat side by side, fresh from a ceremony that seemed designed not to celebrate but to seal, as if they were two pieces forced into place on the great chessboard of the Seven Kingdoms.

They had already said their vows. "One flesh. One person." The words still echoed, heavy, denser than any veil or crown. There was something disconcerting about that closeness. The sound of their own thoughts seemed louder than the voices of the septons or the polite murmurs of the guests. Brynden didn't seem to know exactly what to do. He tried, in his own way, to read her gestures, her expressions. He watched how her fingers clutched the fabric of her dress, how her eyes avoided his, how her chest rose and fell with a breath that seemed trapped, uncomfortable, as if the air itself were now a heavy burden to bear.

He didn't feel anger toward you. There was no contempt, no ill will. It was simply... strange. Of course he wished it were Shiera at his side—that was a fact that not even the Seven could erase. There was a thread of frustration in him, an almost resigned pain, not because he was marrying you, but because it wasn't her. But Brynden was not a cruel man(only to those who deserved it)., and he would never be cruel to you. He was, above all, loyal. Loyal to the king. Loyal to duty. And, from that moment on, loyal to you. Because if there was one thing Brynden Rivers knew how to do—perhaps the only thing he knew how to do—it was to hold on to what fate had given him.