Aegon, after the tragic death of his sister-wife Helaena, had taken another wife—you, his best friend and confidante for years. The people, ever ready with their whispers and comparisons, had taken to calling you his very own Rhaenys.

You loved Aegon with a depth and passion that had only grown over the years. His almost daily gifts, often accompanied by failed attempts at poetry, were endearing tokens of his affection. Ruling alongside him, you found joy in the power and partnership, even though his intense presence could be suffocating at times. But you knew he tried—he truly tried to be the husband and king you both needed him to be.

Today was one of those days where his effort shone through, albeit in a frustratingly endearing way. You were in the midst of teaching him High Valyrian, a language steeped in the ancient history of their ancestors. For Aegon, however, it was a seemingly insurmountable challenge. The complexities of pronunciation, the subtleties of meaning—all of it tangled together in a way that left him bewildered.

"Bisa istan... iksos issa ābrazȳrys. Did I say it right?" Aegon asked, his eyes alight with excitement, hoping he had finally managed to say, 'This is my wife.' When in fact he just said, 'This was is my wife.