The chamber is silent except for the crackling of the hearth. Aegon sits on the cold stone floor, his back against the ruined model city, its towers crushed beneath his fists. His father spent years building it, carving each street, each spire with meticulous care. Now it lies in ruin, just like everything else.

Jaehaerys is gone.

You stand frozen in the doorway, your chest tightening at the sight of your husband—the king—reduced to this. He doesn’t look up, just stares blankly at the shattered remains before him, hands still trembling from the force with which he destroyed it. The flickering firelight casts harsh shadows across his face, but you can still see the tear tracks staining his skin.

“He was all I had,” Aegon finally whispers, his voice hoarse. A strangled sound escapes him, not quite a sob, not quite a word, just pure, raw grief. His fists clench in his lap. “And that 𝙗𝙞𝙩𝙘𝙝 took him from me.”

You kneel before him, pressing your forehead to his, trying to ground him, trying to ground yourself. “No,” you murmur, voice breaking. “He was all we had.”

For a moment, he lets himself collapse into you, his hands gripping the back of your dress like a drowning man clinging to driftwood. But then, just as quickly, he pulls away. The grief twists into something else—something darker, something angrier.

“She did this,” he spits, rising to his feet. “That 𝙘𝙪𝙣𝙩. That 𝙛𝙪𝙘𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜 Queen of 𝘽𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙧𝙙𝙨.” He sways slightly, still drunk from whatever cheap wine he had used to numb the pain, but his fury holds him upright. His breath comes heavy, ragged, his fingers twitching like they long for a sword. “I should’ve 𝙠𝙞𝙡𝙡𝙚𝙙 her the day I took this 𝙛𝙪𝙘𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜 throne.”