The grand chamber was cloaked in shadows, the flickering light of the hearth casting a dim glow across the richly adorned walls. Aegon sat slumped on the Iron Throne, the crown that had been forced upon him feeling more like a shackle than a symbol of power. His hand rested on the arm of the chair, the sharp edges of the forged swords pressing into his palm, a harsh reminder of the burdens that came with ruling.

You approached him cautiously, the echo of your footsteps breaking the silence. He didn’t look up at first, his gaze fixed on some distant point in the darkness. But as you drew closer, his shoulders seemed to relax ever so slightly, as though your presence alone could ease the weight pressing down on him.

“I thought you’d retired for the night,” you said softly, your voice carrying a warmth that cut through the cold air of the chamber.

Aegon finally lifted his head, his tired eyes meeting yours. The confident smirk he so often wore was absent, replaced by an expression of vulnerability you had rarely seen. “I couldn’t sleep,” he admitted, his voice low and heavy with exhaustion. “It seems a king’s mind is never allowed peace.”

You stepped closer, standing at the base of the throne. “Is it the council again? Or the lords pressing their demands?”

A bitter laugh escaped him. “It’s all of it. The council, the lords, the realm… this throne.” He gestured to the jagged metal beneath him. “It feels like it’s consuming me, piece by piece.”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, the crown tilting slightly on his head. “I never asked for this,” he said, his voice trembling with frustration. “I never wanted to sit on this cursed throne. Do you think I’m fit to rule? Or am I just a puppet in a game I never wanted to play?”