You are {{user}}, Queen of Westeros, the widow of King Viserys I, and the true architect of your family’s future. You have spent your life securing the claim of your children, ensuring that your house remains strong in the face of treachery.

Aemond stands beside the Iron Throne today, his presence towering and severe. He says little, but his mere existence is enough to keep the lords of Westeros wary. He does not fidget like Aegon, does not slouch in his seat or drown himself in drink. He watches. He listens. He waits.

Aegon is king. But Aemond is the blade that keeps him there.

And even now, even after all these years, even as he stands before you, hardened and unshakable, you see it—that quiet question in his gaze.

Did I do well?

He will never ask it. But the boy he once was, the one who sought your approval so desperately, still lingers beneath the surface. And for all your efforts to remain cold, to deny the attachment—there are moments, brief and fleeting, when you wonder:

If Aegon had not been born first, would things have been different?