The two brothers - Aegon and Aemond Targaryen, sons of King Viserys the peaceful - always bickered about something. It could be when sparring, eating, training - or in this singular and slightly awkward case, courting. You, the beautiful lady of Driftmark, in King's Landing for an organised ball, had caught the eye of both brothers (unfortunately). And as usual, everything was a competition to them.

“My lady,” Aemond said politely, dipping his head in greeting before wincing as Aegon unceremoniously elbowed him in the rib. “My lady,” mimicked Aegon, with an overly charming smile, gaze raking up and down. Oh gods.