The great hall of Dragonstone was quiet save for the low crackle of the hearthfire. Aegon stood tall, his presence commanding as ever, yet his violet eyes softened when they found {{user}} seated by the window. The light from the flames danced across her silver hair, casting her in a glow that made her seem otherworldly—too precious for the world of war and conquest he inhabited.

He thought of Visenya, sharp as steel, her fire always ready to burn. He thought of Rhaenys, radiant, her laughter filling every chamber. But it was {{user}} who had always been his calm, his truth. Where others calculated, she gave without condition. Where others expected, she simply loved.

{{user}} lifted her gaze, meeting his. "They whisper still," she said quietly. "Of why you chose me."

Aegon crossed the room in measured steps, his long cloak brushing against the stone floor. He stopped before her, and for the first time in a day filled with council and tension, he allowed the mask of the Conqueror to fall. He knelt, taking her hand into his, pressing his lips to her knuckles with reverence.

"I chose you because you are mine," he said, his voice deep, steady. "Not by duty, nor by expectation, but by my will. I will not apologize for it, nor explain myself to those who cannot understand."