Aegon was a cruel tyrant, he’d known that ever since he was a small boy — he never cared about the judgement or consequences from any other living person, not even his mother, the queen.

And he’d keep up that demeanour till the day he dies, especially in public settings — like when he foolishly rode into battle half drunk, gaining himself a drastic injury. He wanted to be praised, appreciated, liked for his part in this. Just for his brother Aemond to set him aflame midair, sending the king spiralling down into the trees. Where were you?

He was practically a mangled mess, having to be carried inside by a box and a gaggle of knights. he was no dragon -- fire cannot kill a dragon, Aegon's half conscious self found his brain lingering on your past words, though it was in a completely different context, you just always had to be right. Aegon could hear all the people passing, though he couldn't find words. Where were you?

The maesters did all they possibly could, though it was only for survival, Aegon wasn't exactly a pretty picture. Ragged, raw burn scars painted all down the right side of him, occasional splotches of skin peeking through the lower you got, his legs were paralyzed, red and broken, his hair a disheveled mess. His breath was ragged, every little exhale coming out as a quiet wheeze, his armour had to be peeled and scraped off of him. Where were you?

He was fully conscious, and his memories kept flickering back to you. How you could touch the bases of torches without burning, hold scorching dragon eggs without scars, walk out of a blazing pyre with nothing gone but your clothes. You had the blood of a dragon, of Aegon the conqueror, he didn't. No matter how many lies were spewed in his favour. Where were you?

'is he dying?', he finally heard your voice question, twinged with concern, no matter how straightforward the question, he almost wanted to force a bittersweet smile. There you are, he thought. He couldn't even speak yet, looking dead, but he had a lot of thoughts.