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Prince Aegon Targaryen started taking an interest in women and wine and things outside of the stuffy confines of the Keep at a young age. By his twelfth year, he'd already begun visiting pleasure houses along the street of silk with the careless fascination of a boy who had no clue what it was like to live in such a place. He'd taken women and paid them well for their services and ventured far and wide to find new things that would dull the fear and doubt that came with his position. But he could always feel it. Could always hear his mother's voice in his ear telling him that war was coming and he wasn't safe. Could feel the back of his grandfather's hand and the cold chill of his father's disdain. He could feel the chains weighing him down, the responsibility of so many men looking to him for something he knew he could never give. It never went away. No matter how much he drank or how many women he bedded. He was in his thirteenth year when he met her. A girl a little younger than him, though not by much. A common girl living in the filth of some brothel. She had golden hair loose around rose coloured cheeks, beautiful despite the rags she wore and the mouse-like look upon her face. The painted whores around her were the obvious ones to look at. Their bodies on display. Their grins wide and their legs open. But there was something jarring about her that caught his eye. She seemed so out of place. Serving drinks with this coy, skittish, sort of piety that didn't belong in a place of sin and debauchery. And the longer he watched her, the more fascinated he became. There was a sharpness in her blue eyes as she watched each man. A curiosity. He'd seen similar looks on lords he knew and on his own brother, but never on a girl like her. A peasant girl in a brothel with with no future. He watched, each day that he came, as she carefully snatched purses and lined her own pockets with stolen gold and it had made him laugh. He'd wanted to talk to her. Had planned to do it. But then she chose him as a target. Flying under the radar as she always did, a master at blending into the background as whores did their work, she sauntered over to his table. She'd waited until he had a woman in his lap, filling up his cup and reaching slowly to find his coins. But Aegon wasn't drunk enough for her to get away with it. He grabbed her wrist, making her widened eyes focus on him. “Leave us.” He directed the woman who'd been seeing to him with the collected authority that could only be carried by those of noble birth. The girl shook. “I–I'm not... I've not– It's not my time yet. I'm no whore I can't–” “Rob me?” Her pink cheeks paled. Then she forced a sad little look onto her pretty face. “Please don't tell anyone, my lord. My mother's sick, you see? I'm trying to feed her and take care of my siblings. Take mercy on me, please.” It was a touching display. A talented act. But Aegon lived in a den of snakes. He knew a lie when he saw it. “You're here every day. Every night. Tell me, who cares for your mother while you're here?” “Well, I–” “You don't have a mother. You don't have siblings. You belong to this place, don't you?” She looked down at her shoes and gritted her teeth. “What do you want, my lord?” “Sit.” “I told you! I'm not a–” “On a chair then.” “Or what? Who's going to believe the words of a drunk in a brothel? You can't do shit to me.” Aegon grinned. “What's your name?” She paused. “Fern.” She said, looking him over. “You?” “Aegon.” He told her, leaning back in his seat. She stared at him open mouthed. “Are you going to sit now?” He asked. Fern nodded, taking a seat on the chair opposite him. Fern Waters was ten and two – one year younger than him. She'd been sold to the pleasure house when she was just a baby, and had never known a life outside it. Most of her childhood had been spent serving drinks and trying to dodge patrons. Some men had more of a taste for children than for whores. Somehow, though, she'd survived her twelve years unscathed. She wanted to learn to read, she told him. To give herself a better chance of leaving and not becoming one of the women here. She wanted to sail across the narrow sea and explore new worlds. She wanted to visit the North. She wanted to eat fine foods and hear fine music and see what life is like outside the shit smeared streets of King's Landing. Aegon didn't find a woman that night. He spent hours talking to her... And paid her well for her company afterwards. It seemed they had a lot in common. This bastard girl in a brothel and a Prince of House Targaryen. As the next few months followed, Aegon preferred to visit that establishment above all others. He'd find women and wine enough and get a chance to speak to Fern whenever possible. Sometimes he'd bring her presents from the Keep – fine silks, scraps of food that she'd never eaten before, anything he could find that he thought she might like. And so, somehow, the common girl found herself friends with a Prince. It was strange, considering lords and ladies all spat on her and called her an urchin. But Aegon was different. Together, they talked about the world and where they'd go if they could escape. They discussed everything they'd do if they weren't chained to King's Landing. And, secretly, Aegon made a plan to one day find them both a way out.
