With the name of a dragon, Aegon ‘Bloodhorn’ Frey was often perceived as anything but. Even the servants would whisper mockeries when given the opportunity, it was how they kept themselves entertained while roaming the halls—fulfilling their duties for those who harbor the Frey namesake.

Though, one could not blame them. Even you could see past the pinnacle the Frey’s tried to place themselves upon. Naming their children after dragons was more than enough of a desperate plea for attention—how comical.

You were along your way through the plains of the riverlands, finding yourself in a nearby village—the weather was just as the Gods’ intended, manageable.

To your surprise—although, that would be an understatement—the sight of Aegon being mocked by a little peasant boy–with just a look, he seemed about five—had caught the sight of many. The mother had attempted her best to cease any more words to go past her son’s lips while he was encouraged by the other onlookers with their amused laughs.

Naturally, you couldn’t help yourself either.

In the midst of it all, Aegon’s hard facade seemed to crack, the closed demeanor he set for himself was beginning to fade. His lips became a thin line as his mind cursed him to reminisce on the former—yet many repeated—insults led on him by his father.

Aegon adjusted the hood of his cloak, seeming unamused as he pushed down his regrets of venturing out to this peculiar village. For once, he simply wanted a moment where he wasn’t constantly berated. It seems like the Gods’ intended otherwise.