Chapter 47
Chapter 47
Young Griff, whose blue hair secretly hid the identity of Aegon ‘Targaryen’ even from himself, didn’t know what to do.
When had his life turned into such a mess, he wouldn’t mind asking…
He knew Griff wasn’t his father. No matter what the old man implied in public. He knew. Even before the old man said anything. Even before Griff began comparing him to someone called Rhae. Especially when he became older and more alike apparently.
Young Griff didn’t know how, but he just knew things. Somehow.
Especially when he was being lied to, or something was left unsaid. Sometimes he even had Dreams. Dragon Dreams. But then again, many people in Essos had Dragon blood in their veins. The fact that some boy out there woke his up hardly matters at all.
But no matter what, he never told anyone. Not even Griff. His ‘father’. Because it wasn’t right.
And lately the Dreams have become persistent. Urgent. Like warning bells…
He had almost even made up his mind. To ignore that strange ‘feeling’. To tell Griff everything. But he didn’t. And that was the right thing to do. He just didn’t know it at the time.
He always knew Griff loved him. And he was right. But where he thought more along the lines of familial love, his ‘father’ definitely thought of something else. So waking up in the middle of the night with a body on top of him, touching him and whispering things he would rather scrub from his mind was definitely a wake-up call.
That time, he was lucky.
For Griff was so in his cups, that he found the strength to push him off. Something he would have never managed had the man actually been sober. Sending him flying against the wall had the added bonus of his ‘father’ failing to remember anything the next day, believing himself to be a ‘victim’ of a bar fight.
But whether his ‘father’ truly forgot or pretended to was of little consequence. Because Young Griff wasn’t an idiot. Because while drunk, the man spoke of ‘feelings’ he usually had the sense not to act upon. The last thing he needs is for the man he called ‘father’ to make up his mind and decide to act while prepared and sober.
Young Griff thought that sleeping with a dagger was only an excessive precaution. And while hopefully not needed for protection from his ‘father’, he would still like the means to be always on-hand. Because who knows what kind of perverts are out there?
But he was wrong.
And now, he is covered head-to-toe in the blood of whom for the longest time seemed to be his only living relative. A ‘relative’ whose body is breathing its last breaths upon the floor.
But he doesn’t regret it.
Not. A. Single. Bit.
Because being pushed face-down onto his bed? Having his mouth shut by the hands that raised him to stifle any screams? Being touched and pinched and slapped in places no one should be touched unwilling?
That is something he could not forgive.
Would never forgive.
But he is safe.
For now.
Until someone realizes he is now alone, that is. Alone. Without any protection. From the ‘predators’ or the Slavers.
The last thing he wants is for some monster wearing a human face to continue what his ‘father’ started. Especially on a permanent basis in some brothel.
He isn’t a naïve child.
He knows better than to believe in the best.
Especially as the marks of his previous trusting foolishness cover his body in blaring spots of purple and red. Purple marks in the shape of hand-prints. Bite marks on his shoulders and collarbones...
Hopefully the last ones in his life, to be administered to him against his will.