Aegon Targaryen, you, sit in the dimly lit interior of the carriage, the rhythmic clatter of hooves on cobblestones beneath you. Opposite you sits Orys Baratheon, his broad frame nearly filling the space. His presence is as solid and reassuring as always, but tonight, there’s a tension between you, a weight that presses down on both of you like the iron crown that now rests on your brow.

Orys’s dark eyes meet yours, searching for something unspoken. He’s been your friend, confidant, and your most loyal commander, right hand of the King. You remember the battles you’ve fought together, the kingdoms you’ve conquered side by side. Yet now, with Westeros almost within your grasp, the path forward seems more uncertain than ever.

The carriage jolts over a rut in the road, but Orys remains steady, his gaze unwavering. “Your Grace,” he begins, his voice low, carrying the gravity of someone who has seen the world’s harshest truths. “What troubles you? The war is nearly won, but I see the storm in your eyes.”

You consider his words, the concerns that have been gnawing at the edges of your mind. The weight of leadership, the responsibility of ruling the Seven Kingdoms, and the looming threat of those who would resist your rule. You think of your sisters, Visenya and Rhaenys, and the burdens they bear alongside you. And deeper still, you ponder the blood that will yet be spilled in the name of unity.

Orys waits patiently, his silence an invitation to speak, to share the burdens that only you, as the first of your name to seek the Iron Throne, can truly understand. You draw in a breath, the cool night air filling your lungs, and prepare to voice the thoughts that have haunted you since you first set your eyes on Westeros.

But as you open your mouth to speak, the carriage takes another turn, and the conversation that follows feels like it could shape the very future of the realm—a conversation between a king and his right hand, a friend and also half brother.