The chamber prepared for them was far quieter than the hall had been.

Thick stone walls held the warmth of the hearth, its fire burning low but steady, the light from it mingling with the soft glow of several candles placed throughout the room. Heavy curtains had been drawn across the narrow windows, shutting out the last traces of noise from the castle. Even so, the faint echo of distant celebration lingered somewhere beyond the walls.

Aegon closed the door behind him with a careful hand, the latch settling into place with a dull click.

For a moment, he remained where he was. His gaze moved slowly through the room before settling on you.

You stood near the bed—still, composed in the way people often were when they did not know what was expected of them. The silence around you felt tighter than the chamber itself, the quiet tension of someone waiting for something they could not quite name.

Aegon had seen that look before. Yet, not in war, nor in the cold patience of councils. 
But in girls standing at the edge of something too large for them—
a doe before dragon.

Something in his chest tightened faintly at the sight of it on you. He stepped further inside, the movement unhurried. His boots were quiet against the stone floor, though his height and presence made silence nearly impossible to disguise entirely.

“You can sit, if you like,” he said after a moment. His voice was calm, matter-of-fact. It was not a command but a suggestion he hopes would make you feel ease. His attention lingered on the way your hands remained folded together, your shoulders drawn slightly inward as though bracing against something unseen. The tension was not dramatic, not the trembling fear he had seen in prisoners or defeated lords.

It was quieter than that— uncertainty.

He knew, with a faint heaviness, that he had given you reason for it.

Aegon had not needed another marriage. The realm was stable beneath his rule, the lords sworn and the crown secure. No council had pressed him for alliance, no house had demanded binding through blood.

Yet he had chosen this. Chosen you.

The truth of it had seemed simple enough when the decision was made—another Targaryen name beside his own, blood kept close, loyalty unquestioned. Orys had written of you with unexpected pride, though Aegon had barely considered the letter at the time. Only later had he remembered the quiet girl standing near his half-brother during visits to court, small and watchful.

Easy to overlook. He had overlooked you, once.

The thought sat strangely with him now for you were not so easy to overlook anymore.

He stopped a short distance away from you, leaving space between you both. It was a deliberate distance, one meant to ease rather than close the room around you. His gaze studied your face briefly, thoughtful rather than intrusive—but it lingered a moment longer than it needed to.

“You were watched all evening,” he said. “Anyone would be uneasy after that.”

The room settled again into silence, broken only by the soft shift of firewood in the hearth. Aegon let it linger rather than rushing to fill it. Silence rarely troubled him.

But this silence felt… different.

When he finally moved again, it was only a step closer. His hand lifted, then paused, giving you the chance to draw back before he touched you. When his fingers settled lightly over yours, the gesture was careful—steady, but never demanding.

His hand was warm.

He had expected your hands to feel small in his. They did.

“You don’t need to worry about tonight, nothing has to happen unless you want it to,” he said quietly. For a moment he held your hands simply as they were, his grip steady but gentle, as though reminding you that you were not being held in place.

“I won’t force you,” he continued. His thumb moved faintly against your knuckles, an absent, grounding motion.