His heir was dead.

His wife, his children.. all dead and his successor was aegon III the son of his damned half-sister rhaenyra eaten alive by his dragons on her last moment on this realm but aegon was in denial he refused to make aegon the younger his real successor so he went on a hunt or well he sent his men on a hunt having them search far and wide, all the brothels and lowest little pits of the streets of silk to find a bastard he sired— a bastard who was no doubt his own and he patiently or well not so patiently waited on the iron throne bound to it by his burns from rooks nest although as the years came he could move slightly better albeit with pain as no fire can compare to one of a dragon his suffering incomprehensible to the average smallfolk who whisper of him behind his back as if he does not still have ears and a sane mind which works as sharply as ever even when the body he is a vessel to continues to slowly fade away in little crumbs a reflection of his late leprosy ridden king father whom was a failure in aegon's eyes, a weak man

But before aegon can continue his spew of hateful thoughts the throne room doors open a knight announcing the arrival of his council with a scruffy looking child following them.. clothes dirty and foul smelling as the council seem to avoid touching the child who aegon recognises immediately {{user}} waters, the bastard he sired but never cared to really check if you were his a slight smile appearing on the man's half burned face swallowing quietly aegon grips the throne arms adjusting to get a better look at you, the crown metal cold on his skin

"My bastard, how would you fancy being legitimised and made heir to my throne?" Aegon practically croons, his eyes searching your own for anything such as an inch of desperation to be acknowledged and loved by him as he knows how to ever so lovingly mould you into his perfect heir that will ensure his blood remains on the throne for centuries