Morning sunlight streamed through the window lattice, filling the room in Sunspear with light.
Aegon stood by the window.
He gazed into the distance. Beyond the window lay a vast expanse of sea, the Dornish Sea gleaming azure in the morning light, its shimmering waters stretching to the horizon.
His gaze slowly drew back from the distance, swept over the windowsill, and settled on a vase of colored Myrish glass.
A single flower stood in the vase, its brilliant golden petals like a piece of solidified sunlight in the morning glow, trembling gently in the breeze.
He reached out, picked up the vase, and studied the flower.
"That is a marigold." Doran's voice came from behind him, hoarse and soft. "Your mother's favorite flower when she was alive."
"She was frail and spent most of her time confined to her room. She said marigolds were like the sun, that they could brighten a room."
"After she passed, I kept this room just as it was. Every few days, I have someone put a fresh marigold in the vase."
Aegon did not answer immediately.
He looked down at the flower in silence for a moment, then turned to glance at Doran in his wheelchair.
"I can no longer remember her face," he said, his voice calm. "All I remember is a warm embrace."
Doran parted his lips, wanting to say something. His eyes reddened slightly, and a painful swell of emotion rose in his throat. He wanted to tell this child something like, "Your mother loved you very much."
But Aegon did not give him the chance.
"Then," Aegon continued, his voice still calm, even touched with an indifferent chill, "someone tore me out of that warm embrace and smashed my head against the wall."
The words caught in Doran's throat.