The throne room was heavy with the scent of smoke and steel, echoes of war lingering in the air. Aemma sat poised on the Iron Throne, her sapphire eye gleaming coldly beneath the shadow of the great hall. Before her stood Daeron, freshly returned from the Reach, just flew in on Tessarion to answer her call after King Aegon fell in the Battle of Rook's Rest

“You arrived, brother.” Her voice was steady, sharp as Valyrian steel. “Your new queen commends you for your bravery and effort in the war. I heard you even were knighted for your actions.”