The rain was coming down hard, but he didn’t care. It was nice to finally feel something again, to have even an ounce of life breathed back into him somehow. He could see his breath on the air as he shivered, wrapped in his cloak while he walked aimlessly down the cobblestone streets. Being out in this weather was a surefire way to get ill, but anything was better than being holed up in the castle any longer with Father screaming at him. And besides, getting ill wasn’t going to matter anyway.


    “You’re pathetic! Get a hold of yourself. Do you think your mother would be proud to see her son wasting away in bed like a fragile maiden? Get. Up.”


    But Mother had been proud. Far more proud than Aleksander. And the King’s words had only fanned the angry, grief-stricken flames flickering inside him. So get up he did, and stormed out of the castle without another word.


    He had no idea where he was going. The only times he’d been outside the inner circle were with Lydia, accompanied by Ser Donal of course for protection. But he had been very young then, and any memories floating around in his head were foggy and vague. There was a bookstore, although he would not be able to tell anyone the name. It was her favorite place to visit and acquire more stacks of tomes for her impressively large library.


    There was nary a soul to be seen outside at the moment. As he walked, his body quaked in the cold, but he welcomed it. At first it had stung, but now numbness seeped into his limbs. He only hoped it would numb his mind and his heart too.


    Something told him to look up, and as he did, he spotted a quaint little wooden building with a sign hanging that read Tarin’s Tales. His feet shuffled him inside as much warmer, drier air greeted him, along with the smell of aging paper. An old woman sat by the counter reading a book, not even glancing up to acknowledge him. Hesitantly, he made his way over to a shelf labeled Fantasies and Epics and began to peruse. Finding a title that seemed interesting enough, he plucked it from the shelf and took it to the old woman.


    “Uhm, how much?” he asked quietly.


    Finally, she looked up, her cloudy eyes scanning him for a moment. “5 copper.”


    He placed a silver piece of coin on the counter, as he did not own any copper, and nodded towards her in thanks before exiting the store, clocking her surprised expression.


    A much larger establishment neighbored the little bookstore, with a well-painted sign that read The Dragon’s Nest. It was certainly clever marketing, he gave them that. The tavern seemed quiet enough inside, as it was only approaching mid-afternoon and most common folk worked until sundown. His stomach growled, and with a sigh, he opened the door.


    He was not too surprised to see there were currently no customers, which he was thankful for. The place was lit comfortably with various candles and a nice fire burning to keep the large room warm. No one seemed to be working the bar at the moment, so he snuck into a rounded booth in the corner and cracked open the book. He needed a distraction, any kind of distraction. And some peace.


    He was unsure how much time had passed: a few minutes, a few hours? Much to his relief, the book he had purchased was indeed an entertaining one. He had become lost in it until his stomach grumbled audibly once again, this time more insistent. He gently bent the corner of the page he was on and began to close the book.


    The front door burst open forcefully with the cold wind as a large figure suddenly came storming into the establishment.


    “Goddamnit, Jonathan, how many times do I have to tell you to relock the door until it’s time to open?!”


    A rather large young man, not too different from his age, slammed the door closed and proceeded to fumble with a set of keys, his hands slick from the rain. Water dripped from the ends of his wavy dark-brown-almost-black hair, the underneath distinctly more curly as it had not gotten as soaked. He cursed more under his breath as he turned the lock.


    “What it’s not like anyone’s gonna come in here and rob the place!” a muffled voice shouted from an unseen location behind the bar, presumably the kitchen.


    He sank back as far as he could into the booth, blue eyes wide as he quickly realized his mistake.


    The dark-haired man shoved the keys in his pocket and turned to walk towards the direction of this Jonathan''s voice. “You and I both know it would be my arse if something were to happen. For the love of Christ, just please remember to lock the fucking door so I don’t get fired.”


    A much slighter man appeared from around the wall behind the bar, wielding a cutting knife. “Look, I’ll remember to do it for you. You’re the only person who helps get us business around here anyway,” he teased with a flourish of the blade, motioning to the other man.


    That elicited an eye roll. “Just get back in the kitchen and don’t talk to me again.”


    Jonathan obeyed and disappeared. With a heavy sigh and a shake of the head, the man began to aggressively wipe down the bar, clearly irritated and in a foul mood. Obscured by the shadows, he somehow managed to remain hidden, as the man evidently was distracted by his own troubles. Frozen, he was unsure what to do, so he just sat for a moment and observed.


    The first thing he noticed about the young man was that he clearly was not first and foremost a barkeep. He was large and muscular, especially in the arms, and rather tan. A lumberer maybe? Or a smith? As his hair began to dry, it grew frizzy and tight with curls. He had a strong jaw and a sharp face. By all accounts he was indeed quite handsome. He understood now what Jonathan had meant by his comment.


    As he was deliberating on what to do, his stomach growled again. Quite loudly.


    The man quickly glanced up and spotted him in the corner. He froze a moment before beginning to reach for something under the bar.


    He stood quickly and put his hands up. “I-I’m so sorry, I hadn’t realized you weren’t technically open yet.”


    The barkeep stopped and slowly sat up, hands empty. “No, it’s all right. The door was open, after all,” he pointed out with a raised voice, tossing his head back towards the kitchen with an accusatory tone.Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    His heart was racing, and there was a dry lump forming in his throat.


    “I uhm… I was wondering if you all had any food? I haven’t eaten all day. My own fault.”


    The young man quickly seemed to relax as he assumed a far more hospitable air about him. It was then that he noticed his eyes: a striking green, like emeralds.


    “Yes, actually. Our cook should have some batches of stew made shortly if you don’t mind waiting a minute. I could get you a drink and some bread in the meantime if you’d like,” he offered politely.


    “That would be wonderful, thank you,” he answered shyly, hesitantly approaching the bar as he took a seat upon a wooden stool.


    The man could sense his nervousness and gave him a small smile as he turned to grab a mug, filling it with ale. “I’m Percy, by the way. If you ever find your way here again, I’m sure I’ll be working.”


    The twitch of a smile played at the corner of his own lips as he accepted the mug and took a sip. A short silence fell over the two, and he looked back up to see Percy staring expectantly.


    “Oh, uh, the ale is very good,” he commented.


    Percy suddenly laughed, stirring a tightness in his stomach. “Well I’m glad to hear it. But I was actually more looking to hear what your name is?”


    His pale face grew red. “Oh, sorry… I-I’m Aryn.”


    “That’s a very unique name. Isn’t that one of the princes’ names?” he asked casually as began wiping out cups.


    “Uhm, yes. Yes, it is,” he confirmed quickly, paying extra attention to his own mug.


    “And your parents thought to name you after him?” he questioned skeptically, confused.


    There was another brief pause as Aryn’s eyes darted about the counter.


    “No, I uh… I am him, actually,” he said quietly, almost too quiet to hear over the rain.


    Not too quiet for Percy to hear, though, as the young man suddenly seemed indisposed.


    “Oh. Oh. Wow, I uh…” He quickly put down the mug he was cleaning and proceeded to bow awkwardly. “It is an absolute pleasure to meet you, Your Highness.”


    Aryn’s face burned. “Please, don’t call me that. It’s just Aryn,” he begged.


    A big smile formed on Percy’s face as he proceeded to sit back up. There was something in that smile that stirred his heart. It was warm and playful and inviting.


    “Oh, well thank God. I’m not very good at all of that courtly bullshit, as you can very well see,” he pointed out playfully.


    “Obviously. Your mouth is foul,” Aryn teased back, taking a sip of ale as he glanced at Percy over his mug.


    That got a laugh out of the young man. “Sorry. Get it honest from my old man.”


    The prince chuckled softly. “It’s all right. I find it quite amusing actually.”


    Suddenly Jonathan appeared from the kitchen carrying a steaming bowl. “Here you are.”


    “Thank you very much,” Aryn said before carefully spooning some of the liquid into his mouth.


    Percy watched and waited impatiently. “Well? Did Jonathan make it like he always does or is it edible?”


    He snorted and covered his mouth, not expecting the joke.


    “It’s great actually,” he commented after he recovered.


    “Good. You hear that, Jon? You didn’t fuck it up this time!” he shouted back into the kitchen.


    “Fuck you, Percy.”


    The man chuckled and shook his head with a grin. “We get along great, if you couldn’t tell.”


    Aryn smiled back sheepishly and continued to eat. “What are friends for if not to insult each other?”


    Percy cocked his head and braced himself against the bar with his hands. “See I knew I liked you for some reason. A man of sound logic and wisdom.”


    “Well this is perfect. I’ll teach you all my logic and wisdom, and in return you’ll teach me every swear word known to man.”


    He laughed again. “Deal.”


    Aryn finished his food and drink as he watched Percy work, prepping the bar for customers. It was about that time that he decidedly needed to get heading back. The sun would be setting soon, and he did not wish to traverse the city alone in the dark. God forbid he’d leave this world not of his own terms today.


    “Unfortunately I should be heading back,” he announced, standing from the stool.


    Percy glanced back over and almost looked sad. “Going so soon? The night hasn’t even started.”


    “I know but I really shouldn’t be out this late on my own. Thank you again for your hospitality–”


    “Wait, you should come back tomorrow night. It’s payday for most folks tomorrow and the taverns get crazy. It’s a fun time, you should come join everyone,” he proposed hopefully. “I’ll be here,” he added with a smirk.


    He couldn’t help but smirk back. “I… don’t do good in crowds.”


    “Well how about this. I’ll be sure to save a room for you, and if it gets to be too much, you can just head up there for the night,” he offered.


    This caught Aryn off guard. He hadn’t questioned his discomfort at all, like most everyone else. Just simply offered a solution.


    “Oh. Well, I suppose that would work, yes,” he agreed quietly.


    “And then you wouldn’t have to worry about getting back home either. You could just stay here and go back in the morning. What do you say?” There was an eagerness in Percy’s voice as he stared expectantly at him with those green eyes.


    He hesitated a moment, thinking, conflicted. He supposed one more day wouldn’t hurt… “Alright, fine. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow night then, Percy.”


    “See you tomorrow night, Your Highness,” he teased, giving him a wink.


    Aryn chuckled and shook his head before exiting the tavern, a strange fluttering feeling in his stomach, mixed with, dare he say, a tiny ember of hope again.