The Things Inside | Chapter Two
Pairing: Aegon II Targaryen/Reader
Summary: A lost little puppy shows up at your doorstep, all bark and no bite. If he turned out to be a prince, that was neither here nor there. All youâre really sure of is that heâs the sweetest darned thing you ever did see.
Content warnings: Blood and gore, casual murder, head injury, likely innacurate geography and lore tidbits, Iâm trying, and the use of the nickname puppy, not for y/n, but for Aegon.
Word Count: 6.5k words
Read on AO3
It was a week later before you had time to blink, most of it spent in relative tedium. You toiled endlessly in the garden, uncaring of the rest of the farm as that wasnât where your expertise laid. Growing never appealed to you outside of it being what gave you your meals. A garden was enough to satiate you anyway, considering that all youâd ever had was âme, myself, and I.â It wasnât like you intended to stay here long enough to attend to harvest after harvest, or even a single harvest at that. For now, youâd let the fields run wild, leave âem alone to their own devices. The plants would either live or die, and neither outcome made you feel any specific type of way. What mattered to you was stocking up on the herbs in the garden for wherever you intended to go next. Your line of work tended to get you hurt more often than others.
With the handsaw and the stocks of wood in the barn, you replaced the front door better than youâd left it. That took the better part of the day, your new cat unwilling to leave you alone, much to your amusement. Little Mango had taken to you like bees to honey and that made you more happy than you cared to admit. The other animals on the farm liked you well enough too, though you tried not to get too attached to much else aside from Hazelnut, your first ever horse. Earlier in the day, you had rigged up a cart to her, with the other animals leashed by your side, ready to make the trek to civilization. Or, as close to one as you could get. Within the cottage, youâd found directions revealing that there was a small village some miles away to the east. There, youâd sell your livestock for a bit of coin.
Over time, it became glaringly obvious that you were very, very far from home. Or, as far as a different time period was, let alone another world entirely. While the written language was understandable enough, it was an old form of English that you had quite a bit of trouble parsing at first. Education in your mountain town hadnât been the best, but it got you by well enough to figure out what most of it meant after an hour or so. What little money you had found in the cottage was hardly recognizable as any that you knew of, nothing more than coins carved with care. No matter how much effort went into the coinâs etchings or moldings, none of it was uniform enough to be considered modern. The final nail in the coffin was a rudimentary map you had found in one of the desk drawers depicting a continent that you were certain didnât exist. You had hummed and studied it as best you could. Unfortunately, the quality left much to be desired and you promptly gave up.
Every one of your suspicions had been confirmed as soon as you arrived at that little village, too small to be considered much else. It couldnâtâve had a population more than a couple hundred, the houses obvious in the fact that they had been built by hand rather than a cookie-cutter contractor. Even in the deepest, most rural land, you doubted there was anything quite like this.
The road was mud, thick and goopy, no matter how well trod. If a home wasnât made of cobblestone, it was made of wood and logs, none bigger than a few rooms at most. A few people milled about, dressed in drab colors and threadbare clothes. Health seemed to be a distant apparition to these people, those you talked to were missing more teeth than the woman you killed had, and most were too skinny than what could be right. More of them had a hacking a lung rattling cough than those who werenât. In comparison, you were well cared for, which was ridiculous considering that most back home would know you as a holler boy just from looking at you. You were missing a molar or two, unwilling to shell out cash to a dentist for what you could take care of at home. Admittedly, your diet had left your bigger frame less filled out than other men due to your insistence to only eat meat if it came from one of your own, and your hair was greasier than those who had a shower to their name. All you really used was some soap and a hose, if not a bucket with some holes poked in.
That didnât mean that, in comparison to these folks, you werenât the picture of health, maybe even of beauty. You were watched with no small amount of caution, made even worse once you got to talking with that accent of yours. It seemed everyone here was English in some way, your distinctly American manner of speech othering you in a way that you couldnât say that you were unused to. Even back home, people had their own opinions on hillbillies, their prejudice apparently soon as they heard that accent slip from your lips. Classism was an insidious little beast, another one of humanity's great sins, though it seemed these people believed you to be upper crust and foreign rather than native and common. Honestly, youâdâve preferred to be considered poor ratherân some hoity-toity snob.
âYouâll be sellinâ all of them?â The man perched on a bench in one of the merchant stalls asked, a single eyebrow raised. Behind him were stables full of animals, for sale or for holding, there were no labels back there. You assumed the man knew off the top of his head. âHorse, too?â
Shaking your head, you gave him a small smile and patted your horse on the snout. âAh, nah, sir. Hazelnutâs mine.â
For some reason, he sat a little taller and regarded you with a severity that you found yourself offended by. There would be no point in allowing his once over to make you blanch because you knew that, if it came to blows, you would be the one who came out alive. He sniffed and looked at you with disdain. âIâm no knight, boy. Whatâs your accent? Where are you from?â
âYou wouldnât know it if I told you.â With a final grin, you held out your hand for your payment. Your livestock were already in his pen but the man had yet to hand over the coin he had promised. As much as youâd rather not make a scene, your temper was frayed and you werenât sure if you could hold back if this kept up. âCâmon, now. Yâall got my stock, payment is due.â
âDornish?â The man continued his rather rude inquiries, though he put the sack of coin in your hand causing your hackles to lower. He sniffed and sat back with his arms crossed. âIâve never heard an accent like yours. From Essos, maybe. Never seen one of them before.â
You shook your head and slipped the coin into one of your newfound cloaks, one that you hadnât taken ribbons from to dress your wounds. âAinât never heard of those places, neither. Iâm from farther, I reckon. Keep safe.â
All of the response you got was a shooing motion and an annoyed chuff. With your horseâs reins in hand, you led her off and away from the man. There was an urge to take his throat out itching beneath your skin, but you held steadfast. This was a small town, likely tight-knit. Even if you caught him alone, heâd be missed and all eyesâd turn to the newcomer with the strange accent. At the very least, the people who youâd killed a week ago lived far enough away and were â <i>hopefully</i> â ornery enough that they didnât come into town often. You hummed and limped to another stall to browse their wares with your newfound coin.
Everywhere you went, you were met with rudeness and barely concealed suspicion. Thankfully, that didnât stop no one from taking your money, and with your rucksack full of everything you wanted, you hopped back into the cart, drawn by Hazelnut, and returned to the cottage. As you traveled, you took stock of your inventory to try and figure out how youâd be spending your night. Traveling by horse took a lot longer than by car. What was only a few miles took several hours to get to, which left you with enough time to let your mind run free with plans.
First, youâd need a way to continue making money. There was still that dairy cow on the farm and you could always sell her milkâ pasteurized, of course, a particular treatment those around wouldnât be privy to. Your garden was self sufficient and enough to feed you until the winter, possibly longer if you started canning now. Of course, while you had no real intention of tending to the fields, youâd take what you could of the harvest. Sell that, or what have you.
Most of your moneyâd be made the same way youâd gathered it back home. Killing and robbing travelers, or your moonshine. Despite the medieval setting, you had stumbled upon some stores of corn, likely a crop that Addam and his wife grew the past season. While you much preferred using sugar for the cleaner taste, corn made a much more traditional spirit and was what you had started with when you began distilling. You knew how to brew a jar that could knock even the strongest alcoholic on their ass, a skill you could use to your advantage here. Killinâ would take more caution that youâd employed in some time considering the dwindling population nearby, so, for now, youâd begun fermenting. Legality didnât matter much to you â never did, once you got in the habit of murder everything felt like small potatoes after â and you doubted there was no regulation âround here like there was back home. You were golden as long as you had buyers.
Within your rucksack, what had been considered trash was taken by you as a treasure. Old horseshoes, nails, and scrap that you could use at your discretion. You had no illusions of setting yourself up with electricity, nothing in regards to anything of that magnitude. All you really wanted was a drill and a nail gun, two items you could reverse engineer from the mechanics of your handsaw. Before youâd gone out, you took it apart, laying out its insides in a neat row. Once you returned home, youâd compare the motor to what youâd gathered. From your estimations, you could build what you wanted no problem. Itâd be nice to have more of your tools at your disposal, less for construction, more for enjoyment.
Hazelnut whinnied and you jerked your head up to see that you were home now. Ahead of you, the sun hung low in the horizon, not yet sunset, but getting there rather soon. You took care stepping out of the cart so as not to put too much pressure on your injured leg. Taking Hazelnutâs reins and unhooking her from the cart to house her at her stable, you gave her a small kiss on the snout. As a thank you, an apple was pulled from your rucksack. She ate it with vigor.
Mango meowed, muffled by the rat in her mouth, pattering over to drop it at your feet. You gave her a skritch between the ears, picking her up under your arm before she could get to eating. Something much better laid in your rucksack. To your surprise, she hardly squirmed. Instead, Mango dug her claws into your cloak in an attempt to scale you so she could rub her face against yours. It all made you smile, her untainted affection enough to make your heart swell.
Animals were untouched by evil, you believed that to be truer than nothinâ else there was. Humanity was cruel, but animals were the last innocence there was left. Your duty was to tend to that loyally. Even the most rotten of beasts could hardly conceptualize the pain they had wrought, quite unlike their masters who were capable of unfathomable cruelty.
You were not exempt from that. Being human was what had made you the way you were. In a better world, you were some predator animal, lunching on his prey with wild abandon. Instead, you were a man, sick in the head, and human to your core. One day, youâd pay for that crime, though it wouldnât be your own blade thatâd bring you to justice.
Once inside, you set Mango down on the kitchen floor, smiling as she purred and weaved between your calves. From your rucksack, you pulled out a medium sized fish, unwrapping the paper that kept its juice from staining your sackâs insides. With a cleaver, you chopped off its head, taking great care to butcher it with perfect precision. Its offal was swept off to the side, to be disposed of in the garden. The rest was sliced into bite sized cubes for Mango to feast upon. As soon as youâd fixed it in the same wooden bowl youâd filled full of brain, you set it on the floor, allowing her to eat. Loud, open mouthed purrs rumbled from Mangoâs little body as she gorged herself. With a final, satisfied pat, you exited into a nearby room where your disassembled handsaw sat, ready to be put back together at will. An empty notebook full of your own doodled diagrams of what you wanted to craft laid open beside it.
Piece by piece, you puzzled the handsaw back together, only to take it apart again. You hummed, examining the motor and drew up a few possible ways that you could cobble one together for a drill. Rather than a bit, you could melt some scrap metal into a handmade mold to increase the pain itâd cause. Already, ideas ran wild through your skull, a giggle escaping from behind your lips. You held up a rusty nail and examined it under the light, a softened wonder in your gaze as you imagined how it would feel, spinning in the flesh of your shoulder.
A frantic knock at the door made you startle. You set aside the nail, confusion inching your eyebrows together until they were met in the middle. Who could it be all the way out here, at this hour, no less? Maybe one of the villagers decided to follow you home. It was a shame that you hadnât been able to put your handsaw back together quite yet. Another knock came, both hurried and insistent, continuing for several seconds longer than was polite. You plucked your cleaver from where it was buried in the cutting board as you made your way to answer the door.
The pounding continued, even as you turned the knob, causing the perpetrator to stumble past the threshold and into the cottage. Your intruder was smaller than you, almost dainty, barely paying you any mind considering that they were far more focused on closing the door behind them. Alcohol was what you smelled first, followed by the sourness of vomit and the metallic stench of blood. Your gaze was pulled to the intruder's feet where a few drops of red were smeared onto the floorboards when they turned around.
His voice held a hint of a nasal to it, far more posh than the villagers. âBarricade the door!â
Not a request, rather a command. Rude, if not adorable coming from a man that you could pick up by the head. Rather than obey, you took him in with a slow, confused blink.
You had read Lord of the Rings in middle school, taken by the otherworldly beauty of the elves within the pages, though unable to truly conceptualize it. Here and now, staring at this befuddled man when you failed to obey, you understood now. Silver-white hair, though ragged, hung in loose waves just at his jaw. His bone structure was both square and doll-like, an imperial delicateness to it that made you wonder if he was made of porcelain. Purposefully widened eyes met yours as he held the door closed with his weight, palms flat against the wood, his irises a shade of purple that you were certain was alien.
He growled, a genuinely animal sound and gasped out the demand from before punctuated by pushes of his palms against the wood. âBarricade the fucking door!â
Above his head, you lifted your hand to hook the latch and grinned. You tossed the cleaver across the room, uncaring and far more taken with the man in front of you. To your surprise, he hardly paid the weapon any mind, fixated on your rudimentary lock. His side was bleeding, though he was unwilling to release the door to put pressure on the wound. Within his silver strands, there were clumped pieces stained red, thankfully dried rather than wet. When all you did was stand there, he gave you a bewildered sort of glare. Slowly, he enunciated every word like one would to a child, âCan you understand what I am saying?â
âLookit you, sweet puppy, youâre hurt.â Carefully, you encircled his wrists with your fingers and pried him from the door. His jaw fell agape as if youâd gone insane. He didnât pull away, though, more afraid of whatever laid outside than he was of you.
âPuppy?â His lips twitched downward, feet seemingly moving of their own accord as you led him to the bedroom. With his jaw working, even his confusion looked adorable, his eyes wide and round, no matter how much he tried to narrow them. âHave you gone mad? Do you know who I am?â He cast a glance behind you at the door, then at you, thinking for a moment before he decided heâd rather a mad man than whatever waited outside.
âNah. Am I sâpossed to?â Now that he was sitting on the bed, his hand was pressed on his leaking wound to try and staunch the flow of blood. The more you talked, your accent anything but unnoticeable, the more his features twisted. His lips were parted and his head gave a little twitch as he studied you. âSomeone cominâ after you? Looks like they got you on the head. Let me check, puppy?â
âPuâ If you do not know who I am, then what are you doing in the Crownlands?â Humor at your expense made him snort. âYou must be a foreigner, but even a foreigner would never dare to call me that.â
Ignoring his rudeness, you found yourself taken by the softness of his hair as you prodded at his scalp. There was a cut at the top of his head and he sucked in a breath through his teeth when you brushed the pad of your finger against it. âNot bleedinâ no more. Lucky, lucky you, sometimes cuts like these bleed âtill thereâs no more left in you.â
He swatted you away and gestured to the cut on his side. âDo not focus on what has stopped bleeding and focus on my gushing wound. Agh, I feel dizzy.â
âBlood loss, puppy, needâta fill you full of red meat and water after this.â You stepped away to find a pair of scissors to cut away his clothes around the cut. It was hard not to nick him with how much he flinched, but you held fast until you could see how deep it went. No stitches. That was good. All you had to do was patch him up.
The man snorted while you studied him, genuine sarcasm dry on his tongue. âIâd rather some wine.â
Tskâing, you wagged your finger at him. âNeed your wits about you. You were beinâ followed, werenât you?â
âI can do as a please,â He sneered despite the anxiety that was slowly inching onto his expression. As he craned his neck to see the front door, a bit of him lifted on the bed. You pushed him back flat by his shoulders. âI doubt they were able to follow me⊠Iâm quick when I put my mind to it.â
With a hum, you stood and cocked your head to the side. âYou really think that your hunter would let such a handsome doe get away so easily?â
His pupils jerked from the front door to you, no small amount of warning in them. âSo I am a doe now to you, not even a stag, let alone a prince? If you were not my savior, I would have you hanged. The prospect grows ever tempting.â
âStags are majestic, doesâre pretty and so are princes. âSides, you got these big eyes, sir, and such a pretty purple, too. Canât fault a man for admirinâ.â Without waiting for a response, though you heard the man let out a bemused hum, you left the room to retrieve some supplies. A bucket full of water, a rag, and some herbs to make a poultice. When you returned, the man was snooping, digging through a nearby drawer, the letters from Addamâs son unfolded haphazardly on the desk. The only reason you werenât offended was because this wasnât yoursâ not really. Honestly, you werenât sure if you could stay mad at a man as cute as this one. âSniffinâ around, puppy?â
While his jump made it evident he was startled, he looked in no way apologetic. Rather than answer your question, his eyes trailed to your supplies and he gripped his side a little tighter. âNo leeches?â
âNow thatâs old fashioned. I got some herbs from the garden, theyâll keep infection from settinâ in.â You didnât gesture for him to sit, you simply stared until his skin visibly crawled and he had no choice but to obey. Nothing about his movements were dainty as he flopped back onto the bed, allowing his legs to kick straight out. He removed his hand, bracing it behind him instead.
âOn with it, then,â came his frustrated sigh. Under his breath, he added, âNever known a maester to look quite like you.â
You didnât grace the grumble with a response. Rather, you cleaned his cut with the rag and water, ignoring every hiss he made, oddly snake-like as you dabbed at his skin. He ran hotter than you expected, as if his blood was made of fire. Once the wound was clear, you took note of any inflammation. The herbs would help with that in the end. You popped several leaves in your mouth and began to chew before spitting the poultice into your hand. Only an inch away from touching him, he seemed to realize what youâd done and flinched away from you.
âMortar and pestle?â He insisted. You ignored him, holding his squirming body still as you rubbed the mixture into the wound. Another hiss left him, mingling with a strange chirping growl that was impossible to mistake for anything but disgust.
âSo prissy, you must be a prince,â You said with a laugh.
Another round of disbelief made his eyebrows merge, still angled away from you. âAre youâ Do you not know who I am? Everyone in the Seven Kingdoms knows who I am.â
Ah. So there were seven kingdoms, that was good to know. Maybe that meant there were seven kings, making your intruder-pup more likely to be a prince than he was before. Honestly, the more you looked at him, the more royal he looked. No one in the village looked as healthy and well-fed as he, only you matched that particular description, although he didnât seem to notice that. Maybe you had a real hound on your hands despite not knowing what to do with one. It was thankful that the Lord blessed you with patience, normally a man like this would make your stomach bubble, especially with so many snide remarks. Staring at him, you took in those pretty purple eyes, so big and wide, just like what you had dubbed him. He was so small, smaller still with that gash on his side, and you had never been one to kick a dog when it was down.
âI donât,â You answered honestly. Confusion made him purse his lips. âHavenât been around here for very long, just showed up âbout a week ago. Been a bit of a culture shock, in truth.â
â⊠Where⊠are you from?â The man started with a quick, almost bird-like of his head, more incredulous than genuine. There was no goodwill in the question, only a selfish sort of confusion that indicated that he cared very little for your personhood, merely from what could be gained. âAre those letters not from your brother?â
âI have no brothers or sisters,â You said with a shrug.
He looked even more befuddled as he rolled his head to take in the room. Slowly, as if you were the one who couldnât understand, he asked, âThis is⊠your house.â
âNah, told you I got here a week ago. Ainât my house, sir.â A laugh made you throw your head back as you reached to pat the pup on the head. Pulling back his lips, he jerked from your palm, eyeing the offending appendage with obvious dislike. All the honorific did was make him look positively befuddled.
âPrince,â He corrected with a quick wag of his wrist, pointing his finger at you. âI am a prince. Son of Viserys Targaryen. You speak to Aegon Targaryen.â He let out a chuckle, genuine this time. âA knight? Knight of his chambers, perhaps.â
His name was said in a way that seemed to indicate that this should explain everything to you. When all you did was blink, he blew air from his lips, looking about the room as if he was on one of those pranking programs. âSeven kingdoms anâ one prince? Doubt that. Iâm sure youâre a dime a dozen.â
âDime a doâ What are youâ? Am I still drunk?â Aegon let out a huff and slapped his palms on his thighs. As one would a child, he spoke slowly and precisely in a way that could only be taken as condescending. All you really thought was that he was sort of cute. âThere are seven kingdoms, each held by a liege lord, and all bending the knee to one king, my father, Viserys Targaryen. How do youâ How do you not know this, really?â
A thunderous wail on the door cut off your response and Aegonâs face fell from incredulity to terror. âI was kidnapped from Kingâs Landing while I wasâ Doesnât matter.â He pointed at the front door, and without shame, he dropped to his knees to crawl under the bed. âProtect me and you will be rewarded. Handsomely.â
You looked down at him, eyes alight with mirth. âSaid you werenât no pup, but here you are on your hands and knees.â Anger flashed across his expression only to give way to a grimace when the fist pounded against the door again.
âRewarded,â He reiterated. âHandsomely.â
âStay here,â Unable to believe what you were about to say, you snorted. How European. âMy prince.â
His puppydog eyes narrowed, but he said nothing else as you softly shut the door behind you. It was time to greet some fellow hunters. You grinned. This was sure to be fun.
The pounding on the door continued, even as you pulled it open to reveal your ever present grin. Outside were three men, each with a blade, and every one of them more rugged than the last. They stank of filth, hair stringy with grease and teeth so rotten you could almost see them crumble when the man knocking clenched them. With Addamâs sword, you plunged forward your arm to bury it in the knocking manâs gut, all before anyone had time to blink. He sputtered, blood and spit covering your bare hand as you angled the blade up with a twist. Quick, you pulled back to draw the blade from his belly and the sick plop of his entrails hitting the floor made your smile widen. He wasnât dead yet, but he would be by the time you would be done. The groans of the damned would be your choir as you made quick work of his friends.
The one in the back let out an exclamation preoccupied by his own ever looming mortality, âSeven hells!â
Meanwhile, his remaining friend was the kind to let adrenaline guide him rather than cause him to freeze. His knuckles crunched into your nasal ridge, your vision going black for a moment. Stumbling back a few paces, you could taste your own blood on your lips. It only invigorated you, even as the room spun.
âFucking cunt!â
Another blow came, this time snapping your head to the side. The noise that left you was somewhere between a wheeze and a laugh that, for some reason, seemed to chill your assailant to the bone. Thinking better of it, he unsheathed his blade, fumbling for a moment to hold it steady. That was more than enough time to swing your own sword into the side of his skull. It didnât sink in all the way, about five inches, a little less than halfway into his face. You let out another laugh and released the sword to focus on the one remaining man. He was younger than the others, frozen as you headed for him, wiping the blood from your bruised nose with your sleeve.
âNo, no, please.â You were used to begging, and even if you werenât, itâd never phased you before. âI have money, I haveâ!â
Uppercut to the ribs, bringing his head low enough for you to grab him by the hair on the back of his head. Though the world was still spinning and your vision still a bit fuzzy, you had enough spatial awareness to find the cobblestone wall of the cottage, right by the door. It was, after all, right in front of you. There was a crunch â his nose, not his skull, that didnât cave so easily. You reared back, strings of blood and snot connecting him to the stone, then slammed him forward once more. Again and again and again until whatever was left of him was nothing but a stain beside the front door.
Gasping laughter made it hard to breathe. You let his limp body crumple and threw your hands into the air. âWoo!â
Drunk from the kill, you stumbled back into the house, nearly tripping on the still twitching man you had disemboweled, giggling all the way back to the bedroom. You stood in front of the closed door, debating on whether or not you should enter, before deciding to call through the wood. âSafe to come out, puppy! Took careâa all your problems, but I made a bit of a mess doinâ it. Stay in there or come on out, up to you. Donât expect you to stay long if you do, though!â
It was quiet for a moment before his response came, âI think I will remain in here!â
âSuit yourself!â Another giddy little giggle left you, the world spinning in the opposite direction that you turned in. You teetered to the left, then to the right, the last thing you felt being your eyes rolling back into your head when the world went dark.
Two head injuries in such a short period of time. Not good, indeed.
You didnât know how long you were out for when you felt a bit of pressure poking at your side. Slowly, through a blurry haze and a throbbing against your nasal ridge, you saw Aegon kicking at you, his expression entirely at a loss. He had been looking at you earlier, you were almost certain, but right now, he was staring at the mess in the living room. A gag made him double over, his hand over his mouth. Thankfully, nothing came up considering you were right in the splash zone.
ââLlo, my puppy-prince,â You said, your accent thicker than usual. That got him to tear his gaze from the bodies and back to you. Relief was not in his expression, though he did seem pleased to not be left alone with four bodies.
âWhy do youâ stop calling me that.â Licking his lips, he glanced back into the front room, seemingly unable to remove his gaze. âDid you⊠do all of that? Three armed men?â
There was something left out and you couldnât begin to fill in the blanks given how hard your face pounded. âWas fun, my prince. Was real fun. One got a lick in, but it felt good, so âm not mad âbout it.â
âFelt good?â Aegon turned back to you, his nose scrunched in judgement. âAnd here I thought that I was the whore-mongering pervert.â
You heaved yourself to your feet and gave Aegon a self-indulgent pat on the head. This time, he didnât swat you away, but he still looked at you like you had lost your mind. âGonna go bury âem in the garden. Feed the plants full.â
âNo,â Aegon stressed. âYou will return me to Kingâs Landing where, I must reiterate, you will be rewarded.â He pursed his lips and twitched his head. âHandsomely.â
Instead of responding, you passed him by to grab the disemboweled man by the ankles and begin dragging him through the house, toward the back door. Aegon retched again, but didnât return to the bedroom, a look of rapt fascination on his face as the corpse left behind a trail of blood and entrails. He pattered after you into the garden. âAre you deaf or intentionally slow? Or are you simply pretending that you donât hear me? I was kidnapped.â
âIs that whatâs got you in such a hurry?â The spade hadnât been put away from your last kill, simply sticking upright in the dirt, awaiting the next. You found an empty spot and began to dig a trench anew. Enough for three corpses.
âNo, I am not safe in some smallfolk farm, I must return to Kingâs Landing where I wonât beââ
âKidnapped?â You offered between slices of your spade into the soft earth. Aegon paused and you could feel his stare burn into the back of your head. It made you chuckle. ââm not ready to leave here yet, my prince. I could, if you really wanted me to, but why do I get the feelinâ that youâd rather not go back just yet.â
There was a pause. âWhat gives you that impression?â
âI just think itâs odd is all. A prince kidnapped from the castle walls, or maybe youâere out ân about. The question is why.â Pausing, you waited for a response, and when none came, you continued, âIâll take care of you, like I would any limpinâ pup that showed up at my door. Iâd already killed for you, I could do it again.â
Aegon took a few steps forward, eyes searching your face. âWhy would I want to stay in some shit shack when I have a castle to live in?â
âYouâd be missed?â
âWhat?â
That strangle in his voice made you laugh. Nail on the head, it seemed. This puppy was lonelier than you were. âMake âem wonder where you went. Worry their little olâ hearts out. Mourn for their prince who might never return. Then, when you come trottinâ back, theyâllâve really missed you.â
He swallowed audibly. âWhat makes you think that theyâd miss me?â
âIâd miss you when you were gone, I reckon.â You stopped digging to face him, watching his fists clench and unclench at his sides. âIâd always be thinkinâ about the prince I killed for. You got a cute look about you, like one of them poor creatures youâd see at the pound. Like youâd been kicked a coupleâa times.â
No one had ever wanted to keep you around after they found out what you found enjoyment in. Prince Aegon wanted to reward you. Whether heâd continue to once he got to know you was still up in the air. There was no denying that youâd be more than a little hurt if he turned his nose up at you after all of this nonsense, even if you wouldnât particularly blame him. It would be nice, after all this time, to have a friend, and a cute one to boot. Easy on the eyes, this was the first time that you understood that particular saying.
Pulling you from your thoughts, he let out a scoff.
âWell, thatâs a wonderful way to endear yourself to me. Insults,â Aegon said sarcastically. Yet, he didnât leave. He stayed standing in your garden, staring at you, and occasionally at the corpse by your feet.
âWill you stay?â
A beat passed in silence. Aegon looked at you, then the shovel, the corpse, the cottage, then, at the horizon. He placed both hands against his face and scrubbed at his eyes with either an annoyed or a resigned sigh. âI cannot make the journey myself, not without a guard, and I have no coin to buy any sell-sword around. Not that thereâd be men of much use near here.â Allowing his arms to flop by his sides, his jaw worked in sheer disbelief. âSave for you, I guess. Missed, itâll be, then!â
âIâll make supper after I finish cleaninâ.â Aegon didnât respond, fixated on his own frustration.
So quietly, you almost didnât hear it over the scuff of dirt, he grumbled, âTheyâll be glad to be rid of me. At least the whores will miss me, not mother, and certainly not father.â
After he spoke, you felt his eyes on you, checking to see if you heard him. You pretended that you didnât. His stare seared a hole into the back of your head for nearly a minute when he let out another breath. âIâll be helping myself to the wine if itâs not yours. Dig until your back breaks.â
With a twitch of his lips betraying the joke, he headed back inside. You turned back to your trench, knowing what would come next. The stench was always rough to people who werenât used to it. Barely a second passed before he was retching into the grass. âIt smells wretched in there!â
âThatâd be the bile, my prince. Wouldnât mind the company,â You offered.
Aegon plopped himself on a nearby stone bench with his elbow on his knee and his chin in his palm, pouting like a child. It endeared you far more than youâd like to admit. âIt seems that I have no other choice. Enjoy me to your heartâs content.â
To be quite honest, you intended to. For the first time in your life, there was a presence of another rather than what was merely you and a corpse. To your surprise, it made the kill even sweeter.
You hoped Aegon would ask you to kill again. Maybe next time he could watch. Would he be disgusted, or would he be fascinated?
In truth, you knew which that you hoped for.
A/N: Iâve had this written for weeks now and Iâm so excited to post this. Chapter three is also already written and Iâll post it probably on Tuesday, but after that, updates will probably be weekly-ish. My schedule tends to be I work weds-fri ans then Iâm off sat-tues and I use those days to write! Occasionally, I will write at work, if I can get away with it.
I hope I wrote Aegon in character. Like⊠hope and fucking pray that I did. Writing a character for the first time is always the most stressful thing ever because youâre trying to find the Groove for the character and itâs like⊠does this work? Is this good? Am I capturing his âismsâ correctly? I sure hope I am. Iâm having a lot of fun writing Y/Nâs inner monologue too, theyâre genuinely so very odd. Their contradictions make for a lot of fun. Someone who is emotionally intelligent, but also just⊠is a murderer, is super fun to write.
Idk, idk, just let me know what you think in the comments!!! Itâd be much appreciated and mean the world to me! I love comments, yay!
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Divider by @/sister-lucifer













