#for farah

No, Aegon does not believe in gods, but remembers the day his brother was upon him and he had barely managed to evade his claws. Aemond would have shredded his arm along with his cloak had he been caught, he just knew it; he might have even extended a generous fist to Aegon's face. Yet under his voice, Aegon prayed to the Seven. He prayed to be delivered, he prayed to he escape somewhere the crown could not touch him.

He does not remember much else, save for the sound of his drumming pulse in his ears, but he somehow managed to get on a boat to that somewhere. As he took his first steps on the foreign land, he thought to himself, this must be why his mother prayed so much.

Again, he does not remember what happened next, all he recalls is hunger, thirst, and desperation. He remembers gawking eyes. He remembers someone stroking his 'strange colored hair'. He remembers how this someone followed him around trying to convince Aegon to sell him his hair. He vaguely remembers how much he got after his hair was cut, but he clearly remembers the smell of the first meal he had after selling his hair.

What he can tell you, in great detail at that, was the feeling he felt when he heard someone scream-

"DRACARYS!"

Aegon toppled to the ground, falling back into mud. He lifted his eyes, searching for his executioner. His heart raced as he anticipated Vhagar's fury to burn him down. But the sky was clear, and instead a hand reached out to him.

You spoke in a foreign language, and yet he was confused when he understood... barely. He took your hand and you pulled him up. You told him to be careful of... something, then motioned to the street. Then you smiled at him, kindly and softly, and he felt... renewed.

All Aegon could think of in that moment was how such a being, with skin that shined and eyes that glimmered, could be clothed in rags. How could you be filthy yet immaculate?

"DRACARYS!"

Aegon tensed once more, but then you broke away and responded to the call. He watched as you floated down a rubbishy alleyway and the word dracarys was called once more.

He followed after you. He trekked through the garbage and mud in the street, realizing you were more graceful than you appeared, considering his boots stuck to the muck and your shoes did no such thing.

He finally spotted you through an open door. You were speaking to someone, or more accurately you were arguing. In spite of this, he so badly wished it was him you were speaking to.

The next thing he knew, a large man was growling threats his way. It was then he realized he was not the only person gawking at you from outside. You were popular to the peasants, it seemed. He was not surprised. Aegon did not feel compelled to move more than a few steps however.

The meaty man screamed and pointed, ordering him to leave.

The commotion caused you to look outside, and in that moment, he was inspired to speak.

"I want a job," Aegon says in High Valyrian, "I will do anything asked of me. I can clean. I can keep the peasants away from here. I can-" his words go dry when you step outside and tilt your head at him.

You come to the large man's side and raise a brow, "can you read?"

"Yes," Aegon answers instantly.

He realizes when you give him a skeptical look, it perhaps was not the wisest thing to do. Aegon backtracks. After all, he hated reading anyway, "a-a bit. I am not very... good."

You knit your brows, then place a hand on the hulking man's shoulder. He steps away and you beckon Aegon over. Aegon doesn't have to be told twice.

He follows after you, and you take a piece of parchment from the man you had been arguing with. You hand it to him then cross your arms, "can you read this?"

In a quick glance, Aegon can tell it was a list of items written in Valyrian, some he could identify, some he could not. He gives you a quick look then reads out the list slowly. He adds in High Valyrian in the end, "I do not know what some of these are."

"It does not matter," you reply, taking the list from him. You turn back to the other man, "you. Out."

Aegon watches as the man scurries off.

"You," you turn back to him, "you will help me."

That was the day he became a slave to a spice merchant. He was paid a slave's wage but he did not care because he worked the whole day with you.

Not only did you glisten under the sun, but you as well shone from the inside. He would learn soon enough that the cries of dracarys were for you; that was what you were called. When he asked about it, you explained your master named you this because he says there is a great fire inside you. You told Aegon the name was the greatest honor bestowed upon you. He would realize then that slaves bore no names.

Aegon, though unaccustomed to working, would do his best in assisting you. All he did anyway was read out anything you needed him to, and run some errands. In truth, it was harder when he had to vie for your attention from the other slaves. Luckily, he seemed to have earned your favor by doing his work well.

You would share your meals with him, little as they were, because it was clear his own meals were not enough for him. You spoke kindly to him when he could not understand certain words, unlike the other slaves. You somehow even saw potential in him and asked your master to give him a higher job.

Your master-- his master, was known as Veseves the Hard. He did not smile. He did not speak, save when he needed to, and when he did, he consistently sounded irritated. You were unphased by him however, and it was clear it was because your master favored you the most.

You and Aegon stood before Veseves. You explained to him that Aegon's skills were better suited in another job. He looked Aegon up and down then threw a book before his feet. He could barely make out what he says after. Aegon turns to you when you give him nudge. You motion to the book and so he picks it from the floor.

"Come, Dracarys," Veseves says, reaching a hand out to you.

You walk towards him and take his hand, kissing his ring. The man strokes your cheek and says something under his breath.

After this, you both leave, and you tell Aegon to copy all the contents of the book had into a blank one. You usher him into an isolated room and leave him there.

At first, he simply rewrote everything quickly and came to you after, but that was his mistake, as he was rewarded with more work. Eventually, he does not even get to see you, and it drives him mad, mad enough to come knocking at your door in the darkest hour of the night.

"Dracarys," Aegon whispers your name into the corner of the closed door, "it's me, Ae-" he stops himself when he realizes you don't know his name; he has no name here.

The door slowly cracks open. Your face is revealed to him.

Aegon steps back and gawks at you for a moment.

"What is it, book boy?" you groan in Low Valyrian. Your face tells of your exhaustion, and yet Aegon cannot find sympathy to let you sleep without saying what he came here to say.

"I want my previous job again."

Your brows furrow.

"I do not enjoy rewriting hundreds of pages alone in a room," he tells you, stepping forward, "I prefer working with you again."

"It took much for me to get you that position," you open the door wider, "you are paid more now."

"I only want to work here because of you," Aegon retorts, "I will do any job no matter how hard, so long as I see you everyday."

You tilt your head and cross your arms. Your eyes slightly crinkle in amusement, "you speak as if you a hero in a tragedy."

"My life is tragic," Aegon steps into your room, "but I am no hero."

His breath hitches as he pushes his luck and comes close enough that your bodies nearly press together. He does not resist his desires; he reaches out to you, hands landing on your waist, nose brushing against your cheek. He grips your clothes, bunching them in his fists with apparent eagerness to pull them off.

He stomach rolls at how you whimper when he kisses your neck. He is further encouraged when you brush your hands up to his neck.

"Skoros issi ao?" you whisper, hands clutching his cheeks.

Aegon pulls away, dazed.

"What are you," you ask again in Valyrian, thumbs rubbing skin, "if you are not a hero?"

Aegon is too distracted by your lips to respond.

"A spice merchant's slave?" you tilt your head, "or..." your hands brush his ill-cut, short hair and finish off in Westerosi common tongue, "a lost prince without a crown?"

He pulls away from you, as if he burned his hands. He is bewildered, in fact, beyond it.

The both of you stare at each other for a moment. Aegon realizes the mistake in his impulsive reaction.

You speak before he can think of anything to say, "you would be wise to listen to the chatter of rats. Many know there is a hefty prize for one who can hand over a man with violet eyes and silver hair.

"You did well to chop your tresses short, but I doubt the one eyed man, violet eyed and silver haired, would not recognize the blood of his blood."

Aegon's soul is shaken out of his flesh. He steps away from you. His insides churn and his breath grows heavy.

You offer him a pitiful look, "I know what it feels like to run and hide," you reach out to him and take his hand, "I know what it is like to taste freedom... and to fear someone will steal it from you."

Aegon's eyes glisten with fear.

"Do not make your life more tragic by daily fearing getting caught," you swipe the tears that wet his cheeks.

He looks upon your face, searching for signs of treachery, of deception, but your face reflected nothing but the same light it had the day he met you.

So, he listens to every word that spills from your lips. He takes it in like wine and basks in your taste. He listens to your gospels and follows them like a devout worshiper.

The day you let him taste wine directly off your lips, he's remade into an alcoholic. The day you let him taste the salt on your skin, the day your breath mingled with his, he's remade into a new man.

No, Aegon did not believe in gods, but he did believe in you. You were his religion, his compass, his keeper, his love.

At some point, you feared him getting caught more than he did. And as Aegon basked in the feel of your bare thighs straddled around his hips and flush in his palms, you cut his hair to its roots, though in much less ill-manner than the one who cut his hair before.

"Perhaps we should color your hair black," you say between snips.

Aegon examines the line that formed between your brows and can't help the way his lips curl, "shall we?"

You halt cutting.

Aegon chuckles and squeezes your thighs, muttering in High Valyrian, "no one will recognize me."

"I recognized you, prince," you finish off trimming his hair, "you too much give yourself away with how you act. In fact, I wonder if black hair will be enough."

Aegon notices how the worry on your face deepens, he is sobered by it, thus why he confesses the thought that came to mind, "unless I disfigure my face, Ae-- my brother will know me. Tis pointless to color my hair, my love"

You place the tool in your hand on the table nearby. You sigh as you turn back to him, scratching the skin on his shoulders in agitation.

Aegon huffs though his nostrils. He cups your cheeks, "he will not find me."

You say nothing.

"And even if he does, he will take me and you back to Westeros."

You chortle and shake your head before leaning into his touch. You rub your cheek into his hand, lips pulling downward, "I am nameless."

"You are ca--"

"I am a slave, prince," you cut him off, grasping his wrists. You rub his pulse, "it matters little where I am. I will live and die like this, nameless. Better I die in my own land."

He shakes his head, "you are mine. My name shall be yours."

You chuckle, then frown, "I do not know your name."

"Then let me tell you what it-"

"No!" you tighten your grip on him.

Aegon's throat tightens at how your eyes water.

There is frustration in your sigh, there is desperation in your voice, "the less I know about you, the safer we both will be," you whisper. You stare at each other for a moment, then you push yourself off him. You get dressed for the day and mutter in Low Valyrian, "I already know too much."

But the truth was, keeping yourself oblivious did not keep you safe.

Too soon it was clear that you were not safe at all, not even under the roof wherein you resided, for it was your own master that inflicte you the greatest harm.

The horrific part of it all was that Aegon could not do a single thing as it happened.

Veseves was upon you. He laid his hands on you like you were an object and not a living being. He struck you hard, you flung across the room, then he picked you up from the ground which you crumbled, forcing you to your feet by your hair. He was enraged because of Aegon. His murderous intent was because you kept his truth hidden.

"Did I not show you mercy? Did I not let you live in my home? Did I not let you earn your place in the world, slave?" your master asks you in an unnervingly calm manner, all while ripping at your hair.

You sob in agony. You grip your master's wrists, begging him to release you.

"You hid my prince," Veseves points across the room. There, Aegon was being forced on his knees by two large men who had his arms caged in their grip. The slave master continues, "each day the price on his head went down, and each day, you knew this, yet you not give him to me--"

Aegon screams when you are harshly shoved onto the floor. The impact makes your head pound and your vision spin.

"--you disloyal slut," says Veseves before kicking your felled body.

You are winded. You clamour for air as tears fog your eyes.

There was no sound uglier than the Valyrian coming out that man's mouth. Veseves continues to speak in that cursed language, "you desire having your holes filled more than pleasing your master-" he begins to undo his trousers, "-then why don't you do both, whore!"

Aegon's voice pierces through the room as he screams and threatens. He vows to torture the vile creature, to cut off his cock and feed it to him, to imprison him until his last breath, but it falls deaf on Veseves' ears.

You shriek as your master defiles you. He pins you down and abuses your helpless body.

Aegon looks away.

"Oh, prince!" calls the slave master.

Aegon's face is grabbed and turned back to the awful horror.

"If you turn away again-" Veseves pulls out a dagger, "-I will make sure to paint my floors red with the blood of your whore."

In pure desperation, Aegon shakes his head, "please. Stop. Ple-"

Your scream cuts his pleas of short. Aegon's face is released, but his fear for your life pushes him to watch the unwatchable.

And when it was done, Aegon is released. He crawles towards your limp body and fixes your clothes as much as he could. He cradles your body in his arms and weeps in anguish and remorse. You are unresponsive. Your breath is short.

Veseves had no desire to keep you. He meant to throw you out in the streets where he found you after this, but seeing this display enraged him all over again. As Aegon rocked you and kissed your forehead, ire, treachery, jealousy stoked hateful flames inside the man.

With one look at his goon, the slave master orders, "kill Dracarys."

The two men obliges, but not without Aegon putting up a fight.

He did his best to safeguard you from any more violence. You knew you had to move, but the pain in your body was too great.

In the end, you and Aegon were destined to lose, for as the prince heroically took on the two men, your master was the one who delivered your final tragedy through a jagged cut.

The last thing Aegon sees is your tear stained cheeks and the blood that rushed out to stain the floor before he's made unconscious.

When he awakes, it's because of the strong wind whipping against his face. His eyes struggle to take in the brightness of the sun, and it becomes quickly clear to him that he is on dragon back.

Aegon's arms are bound to his torso, his torso is bound to that of the rider in front of him. The long, silver hair hitting his face assures him that he was now a captive of his brother.

Judging by how he had to lean to keep his center, it would seem that Vhagar was still ascending, which meant they just got airborne. A few seconds later, another realization hits him: it was just him and his brother. You were not here.

His body tenses and he begins to wrangle in his spot. Aegon's panic causes Aemond to look over his shoulder.

"Oh, good," Aemond speaks over the wind, "you-"

"STOP! TURN BACK! WE CANNOT LEAVE-" Aegon screeches, wriggling in his bounds.

"We are not turning back!" Aemond hisses, "you've caused more trouble than you're worth! I would have left you a slave, had it not been for our mother who wants you home!"

The one eyed man's vexed chastising falls deaf on Aegon's ears. In fact, he talks over Aemond as he speaks, begging and pleading frantically. His voice cracks as he presses for answers. He asks if Aemond was the one who retrieved him, he asks if he took him and left you, he asks if you were alive, though he knew it was in vain, he asks if he even saw your body, he asks him to turn back and retrieve you. But in truth, Aegon's grief was too great for any of these questions to come out intelligible.

Aemond scowls, "what are you talking about?!"

"DRACARYS!" Aegon cries, "YOU CANNOT LEAVE DRACARYS IN THAT HELLHOLE!"

Aemond quickly gathers that Dracarys was the name of whomever Aegon was so worried about. Clearly, you became his person within the dragged out time he spent away from home.

"TURN BACK, AEMOND," Aegon cries out speak in High Valyrian, "WE CANNOT LEAVE WITHOUT DRACARYS."

Aemond snaps, "I care little for your whore!"

Just as he says this, Aegon catches sight of the city inching towards them, tiny and distant. It completely sets Aegon off.

He screams at the top of his lungs, "UMBAGON! KELIGON!"

Vhagar knew the voice of his master well, but the words 'wait' and 'stop' were unmistakable to her. The dragon screeched in acknowledgement, but did not obey.

Aemond tenses at his ride's reaction. He leans forward and commands, "DOHAERIS, VHAGAR!" Obey.

Vhagar roars as they fly over the city.

"KELIGON!" Aegon's cry rips at throat, "DRACARYS! DRACARYS! DRACARYS, SHIJETRA NYKE!" Forgive me.

Aemond elbows him, ordering him to shut his mouth, but Aegon's cries for Dracarys were so visceral and desperate, Vhagar could not deny the command.

And so she parted her jaws and breathed fire upon the entire city beneath her. Aemond could not control her as she circled around the area, assuredly setting ablaze to every building and street until nothing remained.

The brothers looked in horror at the destruction. Quickly, the sky darkened with smoke. Vhagar roared in delight of her work and Aemond angrily berated his brother, telling him to bask in the hell he delivered upon an entire city.

Aegon goes numb as his senses are bombarded with death. The smell of smoke further encourages his tears, but then, the next moment, his thoughts soothe his guilt. If you were not allowed to live, no one in your city should be either.

Aegon did not believe in gods. He did not believe in anything.