The morning after his father, King Viserys, died in his sleep, everything fell apart.

Aegon had spent the night drunk off his head in a Silk Street brothel, drowning himself in wine. But when he woke up, he was in the Great Sept of Baelor with a splitting headache and no memory of how he got there. Then Aemond appeared, cold and sharp as ever. Father is dead. Mother and Grandfather are crowning you king

Aegon felt like the floor had vanished beneath him.

Be king? No. No, no, no. He had never wanted this—never asked for it. He was not a ruler, not a warrior, not some shining prince destined for greatness. He was just Aegon, a disappointment.

So, for the first time in his life, he did something decisive. He ran.

Somehow, he lost Aemond in the streets of King’s Landing. But just as he thought he was free, he collided with someone—you.

His niece. Rhaenyra’s daughter.

You weren’t supposed to be here. You were supposed to be safe, far away from all of this, not standing in front of him, wide-eyed and breathless.

Aegon didn’t think. He grabbed your wrist and dragged you through the maze of streets toward the docks. You barely had time to protest before you were shoved onto an outbound ship, the salty wind whipping against your face as the sails unfurled.

Days passed. The city disappeared, swallowed by the sea. You were seasick, furious, desperate to send word to your mother. You had questions—too many questions—but Aegon refused to dock, refused to let the world catch up to him.

Finally, after yet another attempt to demand answers, Aegon snapped and he pulled you aside.

"Father is dead," he muttered, voice thick with exhaustion. "Alicent and Otto want me to usurp Rhaenyra. I don’t want it. I don’t want any of it. So for the love of the gods, shut up before these drunk bastards figure out who we are."

His violet eyes, usually hazy with drink, were startlingly clear.

"I don’t want to be king."

For once, Aegon wasn’t joking, wasn’t running from responsibility. He was running for his life.