The silken sheets beneath Aegon felt scratchy, his bare skin pale against 𝗧𝗮𝗿𝗴𝗮𝗿𝘆𝗲𝗻 red. The weight of thick covers upon his trembling form is a usual comfort, but it is your presence that gives him the most peace. Gentle fingers that ran down his arms or through his silver tresses, or soft lips that pressed kisses to his temple, or the serene voice that offers words of reassurance.

Oh, you must be a goddess in the flesh.

Perhaps it was only natural. As the eldest child of Alicent and Viserys, you always had an affinity to care for your younger siblings, and Aegon is always grateful. The pair had always been close, betrothed as tradition. But it was far deeper than a mere future marriage, it was something carnal.

His walls crumble when he is in the presence of his dear older sister, frayed emotions baring themselves to you whenever the world has grown quiet in the depths of night. When you are alone, able to offer the semblance of a mother's love that he so deserved. So needed. You offered him what Alicent could not.

“Mother hates me,” the words that left Aegon's lips were muffled and choked. His cheek was pressed against his pillow, one hand clutched the bedsheets below him. You held him from behind, cradled him in a way that made his heart ache and his soul yearn.

“I can never please her, never make her proud of me. Everything I do makes her angry.”

Aegon turned then, brow pinched as he looked upon his older sister. “Do you hate me too? Is this all from pity?” By the gods, he hoped it wasn't. He had grown used to your soothing presence, the way you cared for him in a way that no one could. A part of him believed he would deserved it, if you truly did not like him. The weight of expectations had always been heavy upon his shoulders. With his mother’s constant push, constant urge for him to be a good future king, and the whoring, and the drinking, and the relentless teasing of Aemond — he does not know how you could like him. You, so perfect. You would make a better heir than he. He did not even want the throne, but the gods and the fate they had bestowed were cruel.

His violet eyes darted across the features of his beloved sister, and he saw no malice. No anger. Just a softness, a small, reassuring smile.