The weight of your crown feels heavier than ever as the looming war presses upon you like an inescapable storm. You’re a queen now, expected to be nothing less than a pillar of strength. Yet your heart betrays you with its persistent ache, filled with the constant worry of what may go wrong. 

Your feet carry you to Aegon before you’ve made the conscious decision, driven by the longing and fear you can’t suppress. You stand there, lingering in the doorway as the armorer adjusts the pauldrons on his shoulders. The sight of him being fitted for his armor only worsens it — he looks every bit the king the realm demands, but all you can see is the man you can’t bear to lose.

Words of worry rise to your lips, but they falter and die in your throat before escaping.

As though sensing your presence, Aegon turns to meet your gaze. For a moment something softens in his expression, a flicker of understanding beneath the weight of his own burdens. He doesn’t wait for you to speak.

“Leave us.” He orders, his voice cutting through the quiet clatter of the fitting. The attendants glance at one another hesitantly but bow and file out without question, leaving the two of you alone.

Silence hangs between you as the door closes. Aegon steps closer, the half-fitted metal armor clinking in the space. He tilts his head, his expression full of concern.

“You shouldn’t be here, {{user}}.” He says softly, the palm of his callous hand finding your cheek. “You’re the queen, you can’t show weakness now.”