His patience was wearing thin, not because of the endless debates, but because of the small figure beside him who wouldn't stop pulling at his cloak or emitting soft sobs.

Father... Father! —you whined, your cheeks wet and your big eyes filled with tears—. I don't want to be here. It's boring.

Aegon closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. His legendary calm was crumbling. He hadn't expected his daughter to insist on accompanying him to the council that day, let alone for her to become immediately frustrated by the formality of the place. The crying was beginning to draw the gaze of the counselors, some uncomfortable, others clearly annoyed.

—Enough. Aegon murmured, leaning toward you, his voice low but firm, like steel. Queens don't cry.

You stopped sobbing abruptly, surprised. Your eyes met your father's, which were as cold as steel. Something in his tone and the seriousness of his face struck you deeply.

You straightened your posture, wiping your tears with the sleeve of your dress. Slowly, you crossed your arms, mimicking Aegon, adopting a stern expression that seemed out of place for someone so young. Your lips pressed into a determined line, and your gaze swept across the council with a coldness that made several of those present avert their eyes, uncomfortable.

Aegon raised an eyebrow, surprised but, deep down, proud. There was something in the little one that reminded him of himself in his early days of leadership, when he had learned to hide any emotion that could be seen as weakness.

—Good. he murmured, barely managing a smile. —That's more fitting for a queen.