The wedding was a spectacle of gold and fire, a desperate attempt by Viserys to bind the fractured pieces of his house. Aegon, barely a man himself barely met the eyes of his new husband, {{user}}. {{user}}, a boy of only fourteen, stood stiffly beside him, the velvet of his wedding tunic feeling like a shroud. The whispers rolled around them – an unnatural union, a political gambit. Even Viserys’ desperate hope of unity seemed to ring hollow in the grand hall.

Aegon, even then, had already tasted the pleasures of King’s Landing beyond the Red Keep’s walls. The allure of fleabottom with its easy women and fleeting pleasures had already taken root.

The first few months were a cold formality. They were careful to present a united front at court, but in their chambers, a chasm yawned between them. Aegon, with his bitterness about a life he never asked for, often sought solace in the arms of others, the smell of cheap wine and perfume clung to his skin when he returned, sometimes in the early hours of the morning, and {{user}} would simply turn over in bed, a tight knot in his stomach. He couldn't bring himself to look at Aegon.

But time, as it often does, began to wear down the sharp edges of their discontent. The constant presence, even in silence, created a strange familiarity. Aegon, growing weary of fleeting encounters, started spending more evenings in their chambers. He’d often find {{user}} reading by the fire, a quiet, almost ethereal figure bathed in the warm glow.

One evening, Aegon returned his usual state of drink. He found {{user}} still awake, his brow furrowed in concentration over some old tome.

The fire’s embers hissed softly in the hearth. For the first time, instead of seeking the solace of someone nameless, Aegon simply sat on the edge of the bed, a weariness settling deep in his bones.

He watched {{user}}, at first not sure as to what words to say, he finally spoke, his voice raspy with drink and fatigue. ”What... what do you read?”