you're out of touch, i'm out of time | aegon ii targaryen

i. this is going to sound crazy

You've always been too nice. You're aware of this unfortunate fact, though you staunchly refuse to admit it's a weakness. Has this trait left you without necessities from time to time because you gave them to someone who needed them more? Yes, but you sleep better at night knowing that that homeless girl had sturdy new shoes, even if you had to walk home barefoot. You can always handle a bit of discomfort if it means improving someone's day marginally. It's not as though you're without any sense of self preservation– you know when to say no, or when to walk away. When someone is out for their own self interest, or just plain dangerous.

You're smart about it. Mostly. Sometimes, though, your sympathy gene takes over, and you approach the danger because you feel there's more beneath the surface. So far, it hasn't put you in any troubling positions. Still, first time for everything. And as you stand on the edge of the pavement, toes of your shoes swinging down into the gutter as you sway back and forth, you wonder if you're about to break your successful streak.

There's a man in the busy city street, raving and desperately trying to get someone's attention. Usually, he's the type you'd regretfully ignore for your own safety, but he seems different. He doesn't seem like the usual King's Landing crackheads. He's dressed too nice, for starters. Strange, yes, but still nice. In fact, it looks to be better quality than anything you own. And he's young– which isn't uncommon in this situation, but it always makes your heart ache when they're young.

He looks desperate, terrified, and as another person ducks their head and walks past him, you feel yourself moving toward him. You don't know why. Maybe because you know if you leave now, you'll not sleep tonight for the sheer guilt of passing him by. He spots you making your way over and turns to you, seeming to hope against hope that you're going to acknowledge him.

"Hi," you say in a calm, even voice. It's a tone you've gotten quite good at. You're not professionally trained by any means, but these things generally come with the territory. "Let's get you out of the road, okay? You could get hurt."

"What the fuck are those things?" He demands of you as a car stops to let you take him across. You wave your thanks to the driver, who looks mildly disgruntled, and take the young man gently by the arms to get him onto the pavement. "Where are the horses?"

You know he must be confused, so you're gentle with him. "There's no horses," you say, still holding his arms as he finally looks away from the disappearing car and into your eyes. He looks so deeply afraid, but you notice he does take a moment to look you over. You let him, trying to see the best in him and hoping it's just curiosity. It doesn't matter right now anyway, you tell yourself. "Are you okay?"

"No!" He snaps. "Course I'm not bloody okay! Where am I?!"

"You're in King's Landing," you say. "Let's get you somewhere quiet, okay? Are you hungry?"

"This," he laughs in disbelief, looking around. "Is not King's Landing, I know what King's Landing looks like!"

"Okay," you nod. "I believe you. Let's go sit down, I'll buy you something to eat."

The man looks at you with what you think is an offended scowl, but the offer of food does seem to intrigue him. "And wine?"

"No," you say, and he deflates.

He scratches at his chin, but nods in agreement. "Yes, fine."

You smile, a bit of relief easing the worry in your ribs. Sometimes people won't cooperate, or they'll turn you away when you say you won't buy them booze or give them money outright. This young man seems to be content enough without wine, so you wave your hand and lead him down the road toward the nearest fast food joint.