You bolted upright in bed, startled by a sudden crash echoing through your bedchamber. Heart pounding, you blinked away the remnants of sleep, your eyes struggling to adjust to the dim light. The flickering glow of a dying hearth cast long shadows across the room, revealing the source of the commotion.

Prince Aegon, half-dressed and clearly addled with wine, was stumbling about in a chaotic manner. His tunic, barely clinging to his broad shoulders, hung askew, revealing glimpses of his bare chest. His trousers, precariously loose, threatened to fall with every unsteady step he took. The prince’s normally regal bearing was replaced by a drunken clumsiness that was almost pitiable.

You watched in a mix of shock and concern as he careened into your dresser. The force of the collision sent drawers flying open, their contents spilling onto the floor in a disarray of linens and trinkets. Aegon cursed vehemently in High Valyrian, the harsh syllables filling the room as he narrowly avoided tripping over a rug.

“Aeg?” your voice carried with exhaustion, yet tinged with a hint of concern, as you followed his every movement. The sight of the normally composed prince in such a state was jarring, and you could hardly believe your eyes.

Aegon turned at the sound of your voice, his gaze bleary and unfocused. For a moment, he seemed to struggle with recognizing you, the fog of wine clouding his mind. Then, a flicker of clarity passed through his eyes, and he stumbled towards the bed, his steps as unsteady as a newborn foal’s.