16 years later, King Viserys Targaryen was a shell of the man he once was. His health had steeply declined in recent years and his grip on the throne was loosening every day. After a rare gathering at dinner, one that saw his entire family together, Viserys sat with his brother, Daemon in the king’s bedroom where he could rest. “When did your boys become so venomous, brother?” Daemon asked from his bedside. “What…do you…mean?” a weary king questioned. “The way they ridiculed and belittled their nephews was rather harsh, even for me. Aegon is the clear instigator of it all but Aemond seems to have just as cutting of a tongue about him. They both seem to possess a mean spirit” Daemon explained.

“They are your nephews, Daemon…remember that” Viserys pointed out. “Their lineage isn’t lost on me, brother. Perhaps being raised in this castle, with the privilege they’ve born into has left them unsavory” “As I recall…you were afforded similar privilege” “Yes, but I didn’t mature into cruel twats either” Daemon countered. “They are young…some men take longer to age” “Perhaps…or perhaps I could intervene, advance their ‘aging’” Daemon added, more to himself than Viserys. “I could not…hear you” “It was nothing of importance. I think I will leave you now, so you can rest” Daemon added with a pat on his brother’s hand as the wheels in his strategic mind spun up an idea.

After receiving word that his uncle sought an audience with him, the 18 year old prince Aegon made his way to a part of the castle he’d never actually visited. “Daemon? Why have you chosen to meet in the dungeon of all places?” Aegon questioned as he looked around the nearly empty basement until his uncle appeared from around a corner, startling the young prince. “Is that why you wished to see me? To scare me?” Aegon spat, annoyed. “Perhaps I did not take you as so easily frightened” “…anyone would’ve been at least a little jumpy” “Right…” “So, what is this? Why did you request an audience with me?” Aegon pressed with palpable attitude, not interested in entertaining his uncle any longer than he had to.

“I’ve called you down here, dear nephew, to offer my help” Daemon started. “Help me? What with?” “Well, although it is unlikely given the chosen heir to the throne, you are next in line after Rhaenyra” “Yes, that is a known fact. What of it?” Aegon answered as if the meeting was a waste of his time, time he could be spending with a number of women in a brothel in the city. “I bring this to your attention because a king must be tough as Valyrian steel. He must be able to withstand unforgiving times, challenges that will test him in ways he would never have anticipated” Daemon laid out. “Who says I am not as tough as Valyrian steel? I am Targaryen, am I not? Do you wish to insult me, uncle??” Aegon challenged, cocky with an unending sense of superiority and youthful invulnerability.

“Your strength and ability to endure has yet to be tested, Aegon…and while you may not sit on the iron throne for decades to come, ensuring you are fit to wear the crown is something any heir should desire to prove” Daemon answered. “What if I do not wish to be king?” Aegon proposed, a question Daemon hadn’t expected. “…then at least prove to your father that you will not disappoint him if that time should come” Daemon suggested, manipulating his arrogant nephew with finesse. “…fine. If I wanted to prove my ability to rule, how would I do that?” Aegon asked after having been convinced he should entertain Daemon’s direction. “I’m willing to test you myself. It would be painless and private. Even if you failed, no one would be wise to it” “…I have never been one to shy away from a challenge and I do not intend to begin today” “Excellent.”

Aegon soon sat in a chair he’d only heard about, never actually laid eyes on. The wooden chair held his wrists on the horizontal arms by straps and his legs sat stretched out straight in front of him, held in place by more straps around his ankles and lower thighs. Despite having heard about the chair, he didn’t know that was what he’d been secured to, not until Daemon enlightened the young prince. “They call this chair ‘the roaster’” “The roaster!? You mean the chair that escaped prisoners are subjected to?? I will not be fucking roasted! Get me out of here!” Aegon demanded as he realized why he sat how he did, fearing he’d unknowingly agreed to the horrendous punishment. Prisoners who fled and were re-captured had their feet burned to prevent further escape and deter them from trying again.

“Relax…no one is being roasted. Actually, this chair serves a different purpose today. Have you ever heard of ‘The Curse of Laughter’?” Daemon questioned like a man in charge, a man who was letting his plan known at his own pace. “…no. What is that?? You think a curse will help me become a better king?? You’ve taken too many falls on the battlefield” Aegon added, alluding to his uncle’s seemingly fractured thinking. “It is not an actual curse…and nephew, you should know that it was my enemies who fell, never me” Daemon answered before positioning himself at the end of the leg extension of the chair, earning Aegon’s curious attention as his boots began being unlaced.

“What are you doing!? Surely, my boots will not fit your feet” Aegon questioned, his tone still spiced with a bit of arrogance, getting a soft laugh from Daemon as the boots were pulled off one after another. “You may soon wish I was just a mere boot thief” the older Targaryen answered as the stocking feet sat before him, naïve to why they’d been exposed until Daemon’s long fingers started at the toes and began wiggling down both royal soles. “WhoAoAhAhASttoOPthtAAT!” “Stop what?” “AhOhtTICcKKLLIinNGGMmEE! IiCCoOmMaHANnDDiIIT!” “You would be wise to accept that your commands are not so powerful down here, not during The Curse of Laughter” Daemon explained, happy to deflate Aegon’s entitlement and sense of power. “AaGGhH! NnOoOHO!! GgeEHettWWAaYY!” Aegon shouted with feisty outbursts as his feet writhed in place and his smile that usually reserved for mischief, was forced wide with laughter.

“The Curse of Laughter is a Targaryen punishment of sorts…one I myself have personal experience with. You, dear nephew, could benefit from its humbling effect” Daemon laid out as he scratched away at the thinly protected feet, focusing his attention on no spot in particular and realizing every inch of Aegon’s soles seemed to be supremely sensitive. “FFuuUUCCKKYyOouUU! LLLEEhEHetTmMEeEGGOOO AATToOOnNCCEEAHA!!” “Is that what the best education in King’s Landing has taught you? Simple-minded insults?” Daemon teased as Aegon rocked in the chair and fought the straps keeping him subject to The Curse of Laughter. “EENNoOOUuAhaGGH!! TTthIiISSiIiSAhAhAAA IiDDiIioOoTTiICCcAHA!!” “You’re right…keeping your stockings on is rather idiotic. What was I thinking?” Daemon answered as if he was following Aegon’s suggestion. “NO! That’s not what I said, you twat! You will leave me and my stockings alone!” Aegon protested as if he was talking to someone who cared about his stature, someone who didn’t share his title and power. Daemon took the toe of the right stockings in his hands and with one pull, ripped them open, revealing Aegon’s meaty toes. “This is madness! HELP! Someone help the prince!” Aegon shouted toward the entry as the sound of his stockings ripping echoed through the dungeon again, this time exposing his other foot, leaving both pale feet now totally bare and completely at Daemon’s mercy.

In truth, Aegon had only a minimal idea of how ticklish he was before now. No one had really tickled him other than by accident, primarily when his hand maidens would try and scrub his feet during a bath, something which he put a stop to years ago. However, despite his lack of knowledge of his own sensitivities, they were proving so far to be severe, severe enough to make the spoiled prince fear just how terrible Daemon’s employment of the curse would truly become.

With Aegon’s ripped stockings pushed down to his ankles, Daemon wasted no time ravaging his helpless bare feet. “AAhAHAHA!! ANNoOOAOAOAH!! YYOOUUUAhHAABbAAsSTTAARRDdD!!” Aegon erupted into the wildest laughter Daemon had ever heard from a man. His light hair flew back and forth and his mouth stretched as wide as it could with roaring laughter, like a gushing river of hysteria as the short nails wrecked his buttery soles. If Daemon thought he could’ve been heard over the insane laughter, he would’ve teased his nephew more, commenting how incredibly soft his feet were. In truth, there was no real reason for a prince’s feet to be rough or tough. He’d endured no manual labor or ever went without shoes. But, what set Aegon’s feet apart from other princely soles was the care he took with his feet, using his own mixture he’d had created for him every night before bed to ensure his soles and toes were as soft as could be, as if he never walked on them at all. Something about thinking he had the best feet in King’s Landing inflated his ego but now, it seemed those nights spent lathering his feet in the special cream had also made them far more sensitive than they normally were.

Suddenly, amidst the boyishly frustrated laughter, footsteps entered the dungeon and Daemon’s gaze shifted to acknowledge them but Aegon was too caught up fighting his situation to notice until two new hands shot into his armpits from behind. “AAhahAHA!! WWWHhoOoGGOOOEESSSTTthHhEERREE?!!” fired out of the blonde bully with wild-eyed surprise, trying to look back around to see who was pawing away into his underarms. “That is an old friend of mine, an ex-employee actually” Daemon explained with a new smirk from seeing Aegon go even madder in the chair, hearing his laughter jump to new levels of ticklish disbelief. “Pleasure to meet a new prince” Zenos added near Aegon’s ear while Aegon’s arms yanked and jerked at the straps keeping them stuck to the chair, dying to close-off his pits from the concentrated tickling.

“NNOOOAoOhAOH!! GgEeTTAAWWAAYYyFFRROOMMmMMEE!! NNOOoWWAOAHA!!” “One prince’s orders do not always overrule another’s” Zenos answered, confirming that he was working at Daemon’s behest. “Zenos used to carry out The Curse of Laughter when it was required. He’s the best tickler in King’s Landing. I know firsthand” Daemon added before swiftly grabbing two of the fluffy kind of feathers that’d teased him years ago and promptly began pulling them between Aegon’s buttery toes. “AAAHAHAHA!! FFEEAAATThEERRSS?!!” The shock in his voice was enough to earn another grin from his uncle, but his reaction is what made it stay there, with Daemon quickly falling in sadistic love with Aegon’s shrieking laughter every time the semiplumes’ wrath claimed his royal toes.

The look of bewildered helplessness was a new expression on prince Aegon’s face, always so used to be in control or the one with the sharpest tongue in the room that asserted his superiority. Now, he was anything but superior. Daemon continued pulling the blasted feathers between the creamy toes over and over while Zenos began squeezing into his sides and hips behind the chair, ramping up the prince’s already roaring laughter until Aegon was breathlessly trying to reason with his uncle. “Sorry, you’ll have to speak up” Daemon added as if he planned on giving Aegon a moment of peace to actually speak any clearer. He needed to learn. He needed to be taken down a peg. Daemon intended to make sure that’s exactly what happened and mercy wouldn’t be part of it.

But, as Aegon filled the dungeon with desperate, cocky laughter like Daemon once had, the older Targaryen stood up from the pale feet. “aoHAOHAAYYoOuuUCCAAAnNNTT! AohAOHAAYYoOOOuUuCCAANnNNTT DDOooOTTHHIIIISS!!” Aegon shouted with fire in his eyes and the desire to beg for an ending on his tongue, only held back by how much it would hurt his pride. “Somewhere else in King’s Landing requires my presence but I trust that Zenos will keep up the good work in my absence” Daemon added before producing a sash from his pants and tying it around Aegon’s mouth, muffling the hurls of insults and threats that soon followed as Zenos moved to the side of the chair and sank into Aegon’s thighs with the kind of expertise no man in King’s Landing could stand, royal or not. “Oh, and Zenos, make sure to show the prince’s feet some extra attention. That’s his favorite” “Of course, my prince” Zenos answered as Aegon flashed his uncle another mixed look of horrified disbelief and vengeful rage. “NNoHMmPHMmpHmPHMMHHAAHAH!!” erupted even louder as Daemon left the dungeon, knowing that Aegon was in for a long night.

*Sometime after Aegon ascended the throne and was named king*

King Aegon was just as distasteful as Prince Aegon. Only now, his incompetence showed more, along with his immaturity and unfitness for the role becoming more evident by the day. However, whatever mistakes or poor decisions Aegon made were soon overshadowed by the death of his son, a cruel tragedy that befell the castle and made Aegon’s questionable choices even less predictable. “Where were you that night, Ser Criston?? Where were you when my son was killed?!” Aegon charged at his Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. “I was asleep, your grace. I put someone else on duty” “You are the Lord Commander! You are supposed to be the best protector of them all and yet, when you are most needed, you are nowhere to be found!” Aegon raged. “I am sorry, your grace. Had I known we were at risk of such an attack, I would have taken measures to pr-“ “Silence! I do not believe you, Ser Criston…I suspect deceit, perhaps even betrayal” “Your grace, I-“ “I said silence!” Aegon interrupted, shutting Criston Cole up and tightening his jaw with frustration. It was at this point, amidst Aegon’s distress and anger and need to blame someone for what’d happened, that the memory of his night in the dungeon arose, seemingly out of nowhere, but it didn’t leave King Aegon. In fact, the thought of Zenos and Daemon, what they’d subjected him to, sent a shiver of ticklish aversion down his back and inspired an idea that for some reason seemed to fit his newfound appetite for punishment. If he couldn’t hold the right party responsible, he could take out his anger on someone else, someone who had sworn to protect him and more importantly, obey his every word.

“Ser Criston Cole…I sentence you to The Curse of Laughter until you admit to your true whereabouts the night my son was killed” Aegon announced with sudden certainty. Ser Criston’s handsome features grew tight with confused frustration, “The Curse of Laughter? What…what is that? I’ve spoken no lies today, truly!” “I am uninterested in petty attempts to change my mind. You will report to the dungeon tonight by sun down and await my presence” “…yes, your grace” Criston Cole obliged with no more of an answer to his fate than moments earlier but defying Aegon could end with his beheading. Whatever would happen in the dungeon, he was sure he could endure it. He was the toughest knight in King’s Landing.

As the sun fell below the skyline, Ser Criston stood in the dungeon of the castle, one of the only rooms he’d never visited. Anticipation gripped his neck from just above his armor and his usual iron face couldn’t help but loosen a little with anxiety until the door opened and Aegon arrived, making Criston’s posture straighten and his expression solidify again. “Your grace” “Ser Criston…I know you have been loyal to me but I cannot help but suspect traitorous activity among us. I know that you once served Rhaenyra and therefore the idea of you still holding some love for her and being involved in what happened is possible, however unlikely” “Your grace, I assure you I-“ “I did not ask for a response, Ser Criston” “Yes, your grace” Criston withdrew, his temper beginning to boil at the newfound treatment he was receiving.

“Take off your armor” Aegon instructed, earning a questioning look from Criston. “Take it off!” Aegon shouted this time, convincing his sworn protector to begin pulling away the layers of the armor until he was in more common clothing. “Now, the rest of your clothes” Aegon added, further throwing Criston as the stallion of a man obliged, peeling off his shirt and trousers until he was only in a pair of short stockings and his manhood sat in the open. “Now, stand against the wall and shackle yourself to it” “Your grace…this isn’-“ “Now!” Aegon demanded, getting a sigh of obedience from the naked knight before he reached out and shackled one wrist to the chain attached to the wall and Aegon secured the other, leaving him standing in a Y shape against the wall.

“You may enter now” Aegon announced and two of the knights Aegon had added to the guard made their way into the dungeon, two oafs compared to Cirsten, but just as obedient. “Place Ser Criston’s legs in the stocks” Aegon instructed and Criston watched with mounting anticipation as his legs were grabbed and put in the wooden stocks, locking his ankles in place so that he now hung against the wall. “You may leave us now. Tell the others to come down” Aegon instructed and Ser Criston’s charming eyes struggled to hide his fear, his mind racing with possibilities. Aegon may have not been clever or wise but he had a devious streak. What would he do to him?

Ser Criston awaited men of brutality or ones skilled in causing pain, but the men who walked into the dungeon looked nothing like the kind he’d imagined. They looked very common, handsome mostly, but common. “Men, this is Ser Criston. I believe he is withholding a truth that I wish to extract from him. I am tasking you with that extraction by carrying out an old Targaryen punishment: The Curse of Laughter” Aegon explained, reminding Criston that he’d already been told that, seemingly haven forgotten his mysterious punishment had a name until now. But it didn’t tell him what it actually was.

“I know you are men used to providing pleasure to those who provide you with payment to do so but tonight I am tasking you with providing laughter instead. I have supplied you with feathers of various degrees but you may use whatever you deem adequate to tickle Ser Criston into surrendering the truth. Make him tell me what I wish to know and your payment will be as handsome as Ser Criston himself. I shall return in the morning” Aegon laid out, finally answering Criston’s curiosity and sparking unique panic in his head knight, a reaction he couldn’t fully hide as the five male prostitutes surrounded Criston. “No! This is absurd! Your grace! King Aegon!” Criston called out with an almost growl to his voice, obviously angry at his situation. “You boys have fun” Aegon added as the sinister part of him enjoyed shaking the toughest knight at his service.  

“No! NO! NoOoaoA! NnOAOHA!! Leave me alOohOoNNEEAohA!!” the hyper-masculine knight protested until the group of strangers provoked the first stream of laughter, a confirmation to the just out of sight king that Ser Criston Cole was indeed ticklish enough for The Curse of Laughter. Criston’s warm, almost husky laughter spilled out harder than he could control as two of the men stood at his sides with their skilled tongues lapping away at his hairy armpits with ravenous enthusiasm. Criston tried to pull himself up by the shackles but the tickling undermined his strength too much, forcing him to leave his underarms unprotected as the pair of men licked his sweaty armpits in every direction. But they quickly went after his upper body at the same time with their free hands, one of them wiggling between his ribs and playing in his bellybutton while the other tickled his juicy nipples and squeezed into his hip, creating an unruly barrage of sensations Ser Criston had no chance of toughing his way through.

A third man stood next to his stretched-out legs, armed with two feathers. One was fixed at his hanging balls, swishing and teasing the sack while the other feather trailed up and down his naked thighs and even under his knees for a twisted combination, coaxing out higher-pitched shrieks every so often that really stoked Criston’s temper. The last two men devoted their full focus to his tan feet. After removing his stockings and exposing his smooth soles and lean toes, they delivered mirrored attacks nothing short of diabolical. Criston’s surprisingly satin toes sat in their mouths been nibbled and slurped like the finest treats of King’s Landing, wrecking the powerful knight with nothing but their mouths and teeth. In addition to that, they used one hand to hold his feet steady and the other two zig-zag and swirl all over his rosy soles with feather tips, like they were each scribing a new language designed to tickle Ser Criston into madness. From the sounds of delirious laughter and eventual begging that came through the dungeon door that evening, it seemed that was exactly what happened.

When King Aegon returned to the dungeon the next morning, Ser Criston, the mightiest of his knights, was a broken man. There wasn’t a part of him that hadn’t endured a tongue content to tickle him for hours on end, that hadn’t been dominated by a feather or two, or ten. His sculpted body sat sweaty with exhaustion and as the men finally pulled away from him at the king’s arrival, Criston sat defeated, catching his breath like he hoped he could regain the bit of sanity that’d been tickled out of him as well. “Well, Ser Criston…are you prepared to tell me the truth now?” Aegon questioned, rather pleased with himself for thinking of the torture, the very one that he’d been subjected to. “I…already…told you” he answered, giving Aegon pause.

“Perhaps you are telling the truth...or perhaps you have proven yourself as knightly as you seem, besting The Curse of Laughter. Men of pleasure, you may leave now. Your payment is waiting above. I will decide for myself if my Lord Commander is actually being honest or not” Aegon decided as the men began to leave and the determined king picked out a feather from the collection, now eyeing the stocked feet with the feather twirling between his fingers. “I’m aware that one may not actually be able to put a curse on another but I intend to employee The Curse of Laughter until I have no doubt of your honesty, Ser Criston. I do hope you still have laughter left in you. I plan on taking the rest of it.”