Aegon Targaryen, would-be ruler of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros, strode from the tent into the cold night air. He was in a dangerous mood. The negotiations with the northmen were taking longer than he would have liked, and the atmosphere was becoming heated. Part of him wanted to scream threats at the northern lords, to have the stiff-necked fools fed to Balerion, but he knew he could not afford to act like a tyrant, not if he wanted to avoid war and bring the North into his kingdom peacefully. The latest news from his sisters was that more lords were coming to his banner with every passing day, but their armies were still heavily outnumbered by the combined might of the Westerosi, and the long leagues of the North were more than even Vhagar or Meraxes' wings could cover in a short time. For the safety of the men he had brought to the North, he had to keep his temper in check.
Seeking solitude, Aegon strode beyond the picket line and walked a little way into the snow-muffled woods. Night lay heavily over the wolfswood, and the previous day's snow still drifted up against the trunks of the trees. Frost-rimed twigs glistened in the moonlight.
Aegon sighed as he began to piss, his urine steaming in the freezing northern air. He'd drunk too much wine at the negotiations, and with so many men in the war tent the atmosphere had become stuffy and warm. The cold, crisp air, and his emptying bladder, both made him feel more clear-headed. He watched the rime of frost on his chosen tree dissolve with some satisfaction.
"Good evening, your Grace."
Aegon turned to see a young woman watching him. She was wrapped in a fur-trimmed coat, but her hood was down to keep her features clear. She was pale-skinned like all northern women, with hair as dark as a raven's shadow and eyes the blue of a frozen pool. Everything about her, from her voice to her clothing, told Aegon she was a noblewoman.
"Good evening my lady," Aegon replied. "You seem to have caught me at a disadvantage."
"Perhaps that was my intent," the noblewoman replied. "Northern nights are cold without a man to warm your bed."
"Are you not married?" Aegon asked, raising an eyebrow as the woman walked towards him, her light boots crunching the snow.
"I am," she replied. "My lord husband awaits your return in the war tent. I am grateful to you for drawing him away for so long. He is a tiresome man, and more than twice my years."
"More than any woman of your beauty should be made to endure," Aegon sympathised.
"It is our lot," the woman replied, and Aegon did not know if she was referring to noblewomen, or all women. "In any case, I am resolved to take my pleasures where I can."
