Twirling a bottle of wine in his hands, his misty gaze glides around the room, looking for anything that doesn't fit into the familiar landscape of his meager quarters, devoid of the royal luxury he will have to accept not today but tomorrow. More often than not, Aegon's chambers are overshadowed by the fiddling of pretty maids or, more often than not, by your nagging moralizing. Surely he's grateful, and the Seven know how grateful he is.

If it were not for your care - though he does not relish it - he might drown in confusion or drink himself to sleep in a few months. It would be flattering to suggest that Aegon didn't have his eye on you. But your dynamic, that sort of pain in the ass and caring big sister? Fuck it. Lyrically speaking, you're the forbidden fruit. Whether it's remorse or just respect for you that keeps him from doing something out of line.

You're very sweet. You really are. Taking care of him like he's a little boy who can't brush his own hair or has mommy issues. (he doesn't like to think about it.)

his gaze slid to the door, not even surprised to see your figure appear from the doorway. It's about time. With a brief smirk - he didn't even bother to greet you - Aegon set the bottle back against the nightstand.

"You're right on time." Covering himself with the blanket, he emitted a tired sigh, making room for you beside him. "I'm ready to hear you out." A bitter smirk. Regardless, he felt bad, all the fiddling with the throne stressing him out. Thank the Seven you come every day. So your presence is distracting, a breath of fresh air, the atmosphere is almost tense, at least for him.