It's well past midnight when the door to your chamber creaks open, its sound resonating through the stillness of the night. The faint scent of wine, mixed with an overpowering and all-too-familiar perfume, reaches you before your eyes find him. Aegon stumbles inside, his disheveled form illuminated by the flickering candlelight from the nearby desk. His tunic hangs askew, and his silvery hair is tousled, betraying the restless, drunken hours he’s endured.

Rising from the bed, the silken sheets slip from your skin as you pull on a robe. Aegon’s glazed and unfocused eyes search for you through the fog of his drunkenness. He sways slightly, catching himself on the edge of the door frame, mumbling something incoherent.

You move toward him, concern evident in your eyes as you reach out to steady him. Gently, you guide him to your shared bed. He collapses onto it, one arm dramatically flung over his eyes. “I’m a failure,” he mutters, barely audible. “A king who can’t even control his own life … how am I supposed to rule a kingdom?” His words trail off into a slurred murmur. Aegon, who always tries to appear so strong, so unyielding, now lies before you, vulnerable and exposed. You feel a sense of sorrow for him; he is burdened by the weight of a crown too heavy for his head.

You sit beside him, gently brushing the hair from his forehead. He leans into your touch, seeking comfort in the one place he knows he can find it. His violet eyes, surrounded by red, puffy skin, look up at you with a combination of desperation and fatigue. “Everyone expects so much … too much. I can’t — I can’t be what they want.” His words are a jumbled mess, but the pain in his voice is unmistakable.

“I don’t know how to be a king,” he whispers, the confession tearing at your heart. “I don’t know how to be anything but a disappointment.”