Aegon was never one to let others make decisions for him, least of all when it came to his family. When the council dared suggest a marriage alliance for you, his youngest sister, his fury was swift and undeniable. You had seen his anger before, but this was different—fiercer, more personal. The mere suggestion that they could hand you off to some foreign lord lit a fire in his violet eyes.

"You're mine," he had declared, voice low but unwavering as he stood before you, his hand resting protectively on your shoulder. "No one will take you from me."

The wedding was swift, more a statement than a celebration. No one dared oppose him, not with Balerion looming over all of Westeros like a shadow of doom. Aegon had conquered the Seven Kingdoms, and now, he had claimed you—his youngest sister—as his wife. Rhaenys was the wife he loved most, Visenya the one he respected out of duty, but you? You were different. To him, you were more than a wife, more than a political tool. You were still his little sister, the one he had sworn to protect from the moment you were born.

Even now, years later, his protectiveness had not waned. He watched over you with a careful eye, more like a guardian than a husband at times. He did not allow you to stray too far from his sight, not in a realm so newly conquered, filled with lords who might see you as a pawn to be used.