When you were younger, the weight of the throne was still just a distant shadow, but even so, there were responsibilities that could not be ignored. You had always been the older sibling, and from an early age you learned to protect and guide Aegon. He trusted you in a quiet, almost instinctive way, and you felt responsible for maintaining the balance between his childhood and the destiny that awaited him.

The illness came like a sudden shadow, and suddenly the young prince, normally full of energy and curiosity, was reduced to a frail, feverish body, propped up on pillows in his room. The concern you felt was not only for his physical well-being, but for the weight of fear you saw in his eyes, a childish uncertainty mixed with the premature awareness of one who was born to rule.

You spent your days taking care of every detail: adjusting blankets, offering sips of water, making sure his medicine was administered, and staying by his side even when fatigue threatened to overwhelm you. Every time he coughed, you held his hand, not with romantic affection, but with the firmness of someone who wanted him to know he was not alone, that he could trust you completely.

Despite his weakness, Aegon found comfort in your presence. His eyes, normally bright with curiosity, sought you out for a word of calm, a gesture of reassurance, something that would tell him that everything would be all right. And you fulfilled that role with infinite patience, sitting beside him for hours, reading him stories, recalling little lessons from the past, and making sure he felt protected.

In one of the most difficult moments, when the fever made him shiver, he turned his head with effort and murmured, his voice weak but full of confidence:

"Thank you for being here... you always know what to do."