Crow

"It is clear Your Grace" Otto scoffed "I know you have your suspicions but it has never been more obvious" Otto said as he shook his head. Both the hand and King were speaking in the King's chambers.

"What? That the boy is Daemon's bastard?" Viserys said in disbelief as he shook his head in denial. "I've told you Otto, he is not Daemons"

"Do you remember your brother's whore?" Otto asked, Viserys nodding, he of course remembered, Daemon had stolen his own deceased son's dragon egg and threatened to marry her. His fists clenched at the memory, the slight. 

"That same whore, years ago, came to me with the same story Your Grace, children being kidnapped and killed all over the city" Otto explained, The King nodding along.

"I looked into it, I found nothing, and while my eyes were turned and my focus shifted, your brother was made commander of the Goldcloaks" Otto explained, Viserys sighed, Otto's hatred of Daemon truly blinded the man. 

"So you think this is a ploy? A plot for Daemon to have some sort of control of the Goldcloaks?" Viserys said as he shook his head, his eyes lingering on the large model of Valyria "Don't be so foolish" 

"If Daemon had a son, he would have fought the Seven themselves to claim him" Viserys explained, he knew his brother, and his brother was undoubtedly protective. "They would be in the Stepstones together now, he'd have made sure the boy was legitimised, I can say with certainty, that the boy isn't Daemons, this is not a ploy" 

Otto sighed, his jaw clenching "Your Grace, I just warn you, you can be blind when it comes to your brother." he said, giving up on convincing the man. Viserys shook his head.

"I will have men look into it" Viserys said, his eyes shooting to the corner of his large chambers. "Leave me" he commanded, Otto leaving, a hint of hesitation in his stride. 

Viserys walked past the model of Old Valyria, his steps steady and focused as his eyes flicked to a portrait. 

Baelon the Brave stared at him, a younger Daemon and Viserys stood in front of the Prince. But Viserys' eyes were focused on his deceased fathers face, his brows furrowed. 

The familiar handsome features almost exactly mirrored the bastard boy, Aerion.

—-

Raymund Kidwell, second-born son of Darin Kidwell, was racing through the castle, each hurried step echoing with a mix of urgency and dread. His breath came in sharp gasps, heart pounding like a war drum against his ribcage. He had to reach his chambers before it was too late.

His fingers fumbled in the pouch at his hip, counting the coins with frantic precision. Just enough to get him out of this cursed city—away from the shadows closing in around him. 

The name "Skinstealer" slithered through his mind, icy tendrils wrapping around his spine. That boy's piercing gaze haunted him, as if he could see right through Raymund's carefully constructed facade.

Drawing closer to his door, he could feel the walls closing in. He fished the keys from his pocket, hands slick with sweat. He forced himself to breathe deeply, but it felt like inhaling fire. 

With a shaky breath, he pushed the door open and stepped inside, quickly locking it behind him with a clatter that reverberated in the silence of the room.

His familiar chambers, once a refuge, now felt like a trap. He eyed the chest at the foot of his bed desperately, he only had to leave the city until the boy was dealt with. 

He hurried to the chest, adrenaline surging through him, urging him to act faster. The weight of his choices pressed down, and he could almost hear the ticking clock of his potential doom.

A crow cawed.

Raymund's heart nearly leapt out of his chest as his head snapped to the left. A crow perched atop his wardrobe, its beady eyes fixated on him, unblinking and predatory. He swallowed hard, fingers trembling as he fought to quell the rising tide of panic.

The crow cawed again, a harsh, mocking sound that echoed in his ears, driving him to a frenzied pace as he shoved clothes into his satchel, each item a desperate attempt to escape the chaos closing in around him.

He heard the shifting of fabric.

Raymund's head whipped to the side, his mind spinning as he saw the figure looming in the corner, shadows wrapped around his shoulders like a cloak.

The man stepped forward, his movements fluid yet predatory, like a wolf closing in on its prey. The faint light flickered over his sharp features, casting ominous shadows across his face—eyes narrowed, purple and piercing. Raymund's stomach lurched.

Aerion Rivers, The Skinstealer.

The bastard's steps were deliberate, soundless, yet each one thundered in Raymund's ears as if heralding his end. Raymund's pulse raced, blood roaring in his ears as he took a faltering step back. 

His eyes darted wildly to the locked door, desperate hope blooming in his chest. Maybe he could scream. Maybe a guard would hear.

But Aerion raised a single finger to his lips, a silent command for Raymund to keep quiet. That cold gesture silenced him more than any blade could have. Raymund swallowed thickly, terror choking him, making his throat burn as he struggled to breathe.

The crow let out a sharp, mocking caw from its perch. Raymund flinched violently, snapping his gaze toward the bird—its black eyes watching with what felt like malicious glee.

In that split second, Aerion lunged.

Raymund's world spun. He didn't even register the fist until it was smashing into the side of his face with a sickening crack. His jaw exploded with pain, and he crumpled to the floor like a ragdoll, gasping as the air was knocked from his lungs. Blood filled his mouth, the coppery taste making him gag.

Before he could react, Aerion was on him, a savage grip tearing him to his feet by the collar of his tunic. Raymund's head lolled uselessly, eyes blurred, the world spinning wildly around him. He barely had time to gasp before he was slammed back against the stone wall with bone-jarring force.

His ribs crunched on impact. He screamed—an animalistic, guttural sound that tore from his throat. The agony that shot through his body was blinding, like a hot poker being driven into his side. Raymund tried to raise his arms in defence, but Aerion was relentless. 

His fist was released again, this time driving into Raymund's stomach with brutal precision. The air rushed out of his lungs, and he doubled over, wheezing, vision going black at the edges.

Raymund crumpled to his knees, his body wracked with pain, each breath dragging jagged edges through his ribs. His chest heaved, blood dripping from his lips onto the fine Pentoshi rug beneath him. He gritted his teeth against the searing ache in his side, but no amount of willpower could dull it.

"You know something," Aerion's voice cut through the haze of agony, low and lethal.

Raymund's head jerked up, meeting the bastard's cold, calculating gaze. His heart hammered wildly, terror clinging to his bones like a second skin. 

"I-I—" Raymund's voice faltered, throat dry as sand.

Aerion pulled a dagger from beneath his cloak with a fluid motion, the sound of steel sliding free sending a fresh wave of panic surging through Raymund. 

"They're not here," Aerion said softly, as if he knew why Raymund wouldn't answer, his voice carrying a chilling finality. "But I am."

The knight knelt across from him, eyes never leaving Raymund's face. His presence was suffocating, the air in the room thickening with impending violence.

"So tell me, what are you hiding" 

Raymund's gaze flicked toward the dagger, seeing his own warped reflection staring back at him from the blade. His breath hitched. He could feel the walls of his world closing in, the dark secret he carried weighing heavier than ever.

"Fighting pits," Raymund croaked, voice barely a whisper. He could feel his hands trembling uncontrollably, but he couldn't stop it.

Aerion's expression didn't shift, but his eyes darkened. "What?" he demanded, his voice sharp as the dagger in his hand, cutting through the silence like a blade through flesh.

"Fighting pits, for—for the kids" Raymund repeated, his voice cracking as his gaze darted away, avoiding the bastard's unrelenting stare. His words hung in the air, like a foul stench neither of them could ignore.

Aerion blinked, disbelief rippling across his features. He took a slow, measured breath, bile rising in his throat as the implication settled in. "You…you make the children fight?"

Raymund couldn't hold Aerion's gaze any longer, shame pressing down on him like a weight he couldn't bear. "I don't—I don't run them," he muttered, his voice small, pathetic. "I just…watch."

The silence that followed was suffocating. Aerion's grip on the dagger tightened, his knuckles whitening. Raymund could feel the judgement, the disgust rolling off the knight in waves. His chest tightened with the fear of what would come next.

"Where?" Aerion's voice was cold now, no longer seeking understanding but demanding obedience. The temperature in the room seemed to drop, the edges of the dagger gleaming in Aerion's hand like a viper's fangs ready to strike.

Raymund clenched his jaw, his mind spinning. He was already dead. If he spoke, they'd find him, rip him apart piece by piece. But if he didn't…

His eyes flicked up to Aerion, a deepening dread tightening its grip around his throat. "I—I can't," Raymund stammered, his breath hitching as he realised the gravity of his situation.

Aerion leaned in, the tip of the dagger pressing lightly against Raymund's throat, just enough for him to feel its bite. "You can," Aerion whispered, his voice sending chills down Raymund's spine. "And you will."

Raymund swallowed hard, feeling the cold metal against his skin. The room spun as panic crashed through him, sweat dripping down his brow. He was trapped, cornered like an animal.

"Where?" Aerion's voice was a deadly hiss now, filled with a dark promise.

Raymund's heart pounded wildly, each beat slamming against his ribcage like a hammer. He was a dead man walking. But in this moment, staring into the abyss of Aerion's eyes, he knew the choice had already been made for him.

"Aegon's Bridge," Raymund muttered, his voice hollow and defeated. "Underneath…there's an entrance. Walk down there and…you'll find them." Each word dragged from him like it physically pained him to speak, the weight of his betrayal sinking in.

Aerion's eyes narrowed, taking in every detail, the gears in his mind turning as he locked the information away. "Good." He rose smoothly, his presence still looming over Raymund like a shadow. 

"The crow will be watching," Aerion said, his voice cold. Raymund's gaze flicked nervously to the black bird, still perched atop the wardrobe, its eyes glinting in the dim light.

"If you even think about telling someone else…" Aerion's voice lowered to a lethal whisper, his expression hardening as he stepped closer, "…he'll tear your scalp from your skull with his talons."

Raymund swallowed hard, his body frozen in place as the weight of Aerion's words sank in, the unspoken threat hanging thick in the air. He didn't need to look at the crow again to feel its beady eyes trained on him, a silent sentinel ready to carry out its master's bidding.

—-

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