It was horribly boring at Driftmark. Everyone was weeping and sobbing like little children, for some Lady Aegon didn’t even know. He had only listened halfheartedly when his mother had explained Lady Leana, prince Daemon’s wife, had passed away after horrid childbirth. Or something like that. Like he cared for his uncle’s dead dame.

So “Wench, another!” had been his words the whole evening, drinking cup after cup of some sweet Arbor Red, trying to have some fun at this tiring place.

And now, as it was darkening, Aegon was sitting hidden away behind some stone stairs, having drunk too much and now feeling like the Stranger himself might come for him soon. Groaning he sat there, the salty breeze from the sea not making it any better, just hoping his mother or grandsire wouldn’t find him.