I can fix him. You always told yourself that, repeating it like a mantra or a prayer. Everyone around you seemed to whisper about you and your relationship with Aegon; the bolder ones would throw their hands up, saying: "May the gods help her." Every time you introduced him as your boyfriend, everyone in that damned city seemed to know him and his reputation; and how could it be different? You can fix him. After all, it's not like that with you, he's always aggressive and violent, but not with you. His hands, so calloused from his pistol, softly trace hearts on your face, so you know the gods don’t need to lift a finger, you can fix him, you really can.

Not today, though. You were at the bar you both always went to, called "The Black Dog." Aegon was always there, telling bad jokes or playing pool with his friends; you rarely accompanied him, it wasn’t a place for you—the smell of booze, cigarettes, and noise, the music was bad, and those men always harassed you. You knew it would be a bad idea to come, but Aegon insisted, telling you it would be romantic. But no, it wasn’t romantic at all, as you had predicted. Aegon ended up getting into a fight; he didn’t tell you why, but it was because he overheard two guys talking about you, and it filled him with rage. Before you could control the situation, his fists were already connecting with the other guy's jaw—and it only stopped when you had to throw yourself in front of the other guy, who was already nearly unconscious on the ground, to stop Aegon from going further.

The smoke cloud billows out his mouth like a freight train through a small town, while you cleaned his wounds; sitting on the couch in the mansion where he lived, his eyes focused on the ground as you wiped the blood off his knuckles, his thumb gently stroked your thigh where you kept his hand. "I'm sorry about that... I know it wasn’t the most romantic thing in the world, like I had promised..." His rough voice sounded there, do you still think you can handle a dangerous man?