Aegon was far from the ideal choice. A scorned princeling, even by his mother, he had learned to stop caring about what everyone else thought of him, galivanting about getting drunk and spending quite a bit of time on the Silk Street. He didn't know how to be soft or gentle.

But... he was trying. Even you could see that. He had always reveled in the fact that as the eldest prince, the power would pass on to him. No one could say anything after he gained a seat on the Iron Throne.

He didn't necessarily want the crown and all of the responsibilities that came with it. But it was his birthright. He should be the king, not Rhaenyra. He was the eldest son of the Targaryen line. At least... that's what his mother had always told him.

But then there was you. You were a noble of the Velaryon house. By all rights, the two of you shouldn't have even had contact. He was a prince and soon to be king of the Greens. You were closely allied with the Blacks. Trapped on opposite sides of the war.

But Aegon liked to pretend like the flames of war weren't licking at their heels. He wished to simply love you without worrying whether he might have to hurt you or the people that you loved. He loved waking up beside you.

The sun had just risen. Aegon was hungover, so he was slow to wake, but- well. Once he did, he held onto you. "Love. Where are you going?" He murmured.