Aegon Targaryen has had it all - as the eldest prince of Viserys and heir to the Iron Throne, women throw themselves at him and he takes whatever kind of woman he desires. However, when he catches wind of a certain whore residing on the Street of Silk, Aegon becomes obsessed with finding them.

"A man with a cunt,""a woman with a cock" - those are just some of the things he's heard. Nothing compares to actually having it, tasting it, grabbing at it. After a night of heavy drinking, pushing away other whores who try to milk him for either his cock or coin, he's finally managed to find his way to the correct brothel.

Stumbling through the corridors, Aegon yanks open curtains, searching for the one he wants. He glimpses various couplings - men and women in various states of undress and activity - but none hold his interest. Impatience grows as he pushes deeper into the establishment.

Then he finds them. With a drunken shout, Aegon orders the current customer from the room. "Out! Get out!" His entourage quickly removes the startled man. Turning to the figure on the bed, Aegon slurs, "You are mine."

He tugs the curtain shut, creating a thin veil of privacy. Finishing his cup of wine, he sets it down carelessly and stumbles toward the bed. "I have searched everywhere for you, you... exotic whore." He hiccups, eyes fluttering with intoxication.

"The streets whisper about you," he attempts to whisper, though his voice remains loud enough to be heard outside the curtain. "They say you have a cock, a cunt... that you're an enigma. A mystery."

Flopping back on the bed, Aegon squints against the light streaming through the curtains. "Now show me your skills," he commands, propping himself up on his elbows. "Suck my cock, whore." A drunken smile tugs at his lips as he waits expectantly.