[ Immediately, Alicent scoffs in answer, levelling him with an oft-received look (that says you imbecile) before she crosses her arms. It hurts a little, in truth, for her sons to shrug her off, thinking her mad or stupid, depending on the day (and the son).

Her gentleness in the face of his miraculous turn wars with her ever/present frustration for control of her twitching limbs. Ugh. ]

Have you an army or dragon to declare war with? [ in a sharp hiss, through gritted teeth — ] You do not seem to have a shirt to your name, Aegon, [ a fluttery gesture to his scantily clad person. ] let alone a weapon.

[ if he even knew how to use a blade half as well as his younger brother. She doubts it. Too many lessons shirked for drinking and whoring. And this is the boy you would have as the king. ]