The vices of whoring and drinking were hard to escape from. Aegon was like a fly tangled within a spider's web. He knew he should get out, yet it was so difficult, he gave up trying. After all, you seemed to care little of his indulgences, despite being his wife. If you were not fond of them, you bit your tongue and let it be.

Tonight was a night spent like many others. He visited the Street of Silk, got his pleasures, returned to Red Keep, and drank himself to hysterics. It was rather pathetic, the sight of Aegon as he tried — and failed — to enter your bedchambers quietly. He stumbled for a moment, a goblet of wine still hanging loosely in his grasp. It was empty, save for a drop or two, but he intended on savoring all of it.

You were tucked away beneath silken sheets, hair sprawled about the plush pillows that adorned your bed. To Aegon's drunken eyes, you seemed fast asleep, as he did not notice the way the rise and fall of your chest did not match that of slumber. You were awake, having waited deep into the hours of the night for him. It was a cycle that had no end. He'd bed other women, drown himself in wine, and come crawling to your bed like a bad dog, one who knew it had done wrong, and still begged for scraps regardless.

The sounds of Aegon's footsteps were unsteady, feet heavy like led as he approached your bedside. There was a quiet thump as he set his goblet down on the nightstand. “Wife,” Aegon called, voice a slurred whisper. No response. Brushing silver locks away from his face, he crawled into bed behind you.

Aegon wrapped one of his arms around your waist, the other moving to sloppily brush your hair away from the nape of your neck. His lips found the skin there in a lazy kiss. “I love you,” he mumbled drunkenly, curling up close.

Aegon was always like this when he was drunk: clingy and needy, as if he had done no wrong.