Led By Fiery Passion (currently being revised)

Part 78

Aegon

Aegon clenched his fists on the bed, every muscle in his body tense with pain and frustration. "AGHH, be a little more gentle!" he seethed as Maester Orwyle carefully peeled back the gauze covering the burns that marred his skin.

"Apologies, your grace." Orwyle replied without inflection. In one swift motion, he yanked the bandage away, causing Aegon to cry out, the sound raw and desperate.

"WHAT DID I TELL YOU!" Aegon shouted, gritting his teeth as fresh waves of pain crashed over him. In the shadowed corner of the room, Ser Cole and Ser Arryk exchanged grim looks, their expressions betraying a mix of sympathy and discomfort. Despite the chaos around him, Maester Orwyle remained unfazed, methodically applying a new layer of ointment to the angry wounds. "Better to rip off the bandage than to tug at it lightly, I always say." he added nonchalantly.

"Ha! Liar," Aegon muttered under his breath, struggling to contain the ire bubbling up inside him. Shaking his head, he decided to divert his frustration. "What news do we have?" His gaze fixated on the maester's hands, though he directed the question to Ser Cole.

"Ahem," Ser Cole cleared his throat and stepped forward, a serious look in his eye. "Your Grace, I've already informed you of the latest news—"

"I was draining in the of poppy, so if it isn't too much trouble, Ser Cole, I'd fucking like to be awake and aware of what you're saying next time!" Aegon shot back, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he hurled a nearby cup, then a book, each clatter echoing his simmering rage.

"Of course, Your Grace, my apologies!" Ser Cole replied, his voice steady but edged with concern. "Baela Targaryen arrived the day after Daeron, Your Grace along with your grandsire Otto who currently residing in his old chambers, with a guard posted outside his door."

Aegon turned sharply to face Ser Cole, his eyes blazing with frustration. "Very well! Bring her to me. Bring me Baela Targaryen!" His command hung in the air like a thunderclap. Ser Arryk, standing at attention, gave a curt bow before swiftly exiting the room.

"Your Grace," Maester Orwyle interjected gently, "please try to hold still while I examine your neck." Aegon scoffed, his gaze shifting to the window as if the outside world could distract him from the pain. There was an unsettling satisfaction in the meticulous care Maester Orwyle took as he wrapped the burns in fresh cloth and gauze, each movement deliberate and measured.

"All finished, Your Grace." The maester's voice was soothing, yet Aegon felt no comfort. "Just remember to keep still; if the boils burst, it could lead to infection and even more discomfort."

Aegon's lip curled into a sneer, sarcasm lacing his words. "Clearly, I'm no fool!"

As Maester Orwyle finished and bowed before exiting quietly, Ser Cole stepped forward, the weight of the moment pressing down on them.

"Can we trust her—Baela?" Ser Cole's voice was low, edged with suspicion. "You did kill her grandmother, and a letter arrived just before she stepped through those doors. Word is she paid a visit to Hightower first." His eyes stayed fixed on Aegon, sharp and unyielding.

Before Aegon could answer, the chamber doors swung open. Arryk returned, ushering Baela forward. The firelight caught in her dark hair, her stride measured and sure, her chin lifted with defiance. She halted just beyond Aegon's bed, her gaze cool and unflinching.

Baela arched an eyebrow, her posture defiant even as she spoke. "Is my travel itinerary of such great interest to the king?" A hint of sarcasm lingered in her words, but there was also a glimmer of amusement in her eyes.

Aegon shifted uncomfortably in his bed, the fresh wrappings around his burns pulling at his skin. He pressed onward, determined not to show weakness. "If you have nothing to hide, then answer the question." he replied, his voice steady but tinged with an edge of authority.