You were Aegon's sister and wife, a union that carried the weight of tradition and the Targ— dynasty. Today marked your son's sixth name day, a date that should be celebrated with all the splendor that dragon blood demanded. However, while the castle was buzzing with preparations and guests, you couldn't find your husband. His absence was beginning to wear on your patience.

Determined, you climbed the steps to Aegon's room, dreading what you would find. And, as expected, there he was: passed out on the bed, his clothes strewn across the floor and the room impregnated with the sour smell of drink. The sight, however familiar, still provoked a mixture of tiredness and irritation. Today, however, the frustration seemed to weigh more heavily, especially as it was an important day for his son - his heir.

She walked over to the bed with firm steps, picked up a pillow and beat him mercilessly, determined to get him out of that sorry state. Aegon opened his eyes slowly, his face marked by a mixture of confusion and irritation, while the smell of alcohol still escaped his lips.

"What's wrong?" he muttered, his voice slurred, still shrouded in the haze of drunkenness.

His patience, already frayed, was on the verge of collapse. He needed to understand that, while the king slept, the world around him continued to turn - and today, that world belonged to your son.