-Chapter 89-
-POV Aemon Targaryen-
Faced with Hugh's bewildered expression, I simply rolled up my sleeves and grabbed a bloodstained apron hanging on the wall.
"Find a place for them to learn the trade," I told Hugh before adding, without even giving him ti to think, "Teach them how to remove the entrails."
Hugh didn't move and replied in a hesitant tone, "Your Highness, far be it from to contradict you, but…"
"But?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.
"But Prince Aegon is the king's son," he said, almost horrified at the idea of putting Aegon to work in his workshop.
I raised my eyebrows, surprised that he'd guessed, then asked, "And so?"
"He cannot perform such a lowly task. If the king finds out, I would be…"
"Hugh," I said authoritatively, silencing the butcher, irritated by his fearful attitude.
'What did I expect? This is the Middle Ages.'
'Lords practically hold the power of life and death over their subjects.'
'Not to ntion the royal authority… which has dragons on top of it.'
"I brought my two wards here to complete their training, a mission entrusted to by the Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North, and our King, His Grace King Viserys," I said, this ti in a detached, firm, and commanding tone.
This was no longer Aemon speaking to Hugh; it was Prince Aemon, Rider of Urrax, giving an order to one of his subjects.
"If I think they need to roll around in horse dung to learn to beco n, they will obey," I added, before turning to Aegon and Cregan behind .
"Isn't that right?"
Both of them imdiately nodded several tis, so I said, "Find them a workstation so they can learn how to remove chicken entrails. I'll get to work on the slaughtering."
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-POV Aegon Targaryen-
I nodded, terrified by the furious look my cousin was giving at the re thought of disobeying him, and I cursed the stupid butcher inwardly for making him angry.
I only allowed myself a sigh of relief once I saw my cousin walk away.
I didn't want to anger him; I had learned that he had killed Ser Criston, the best knight in the realm, in single combat without difficulty.
'Not to ntion the size of Urrax; even Sunfyre is terrified by his re presence,' I thought, following the foolish butcher to dismber chickens, silently cursing my cousin for forcing to carry out this task.
'A task unworthy of , a task a Prince should not have to do, all because Father prefers Rhaenyra to , his own son,' I thought, pretending to be interested in what the foolish butcher was explaining.
"First cos the slaughtering step that Prince Aemon is currently performing," he said, indicating my cousin. "The chicken must be held firmly, usually by the legs, and suspended."
"Then cos the bleeding process. You need a sharp knife, then make an incision on the throat to drain the blood," he said, comnting on what my cousin was doing.
He added, flattering my cousin, "The Prince has done it perfectly; he has a steady hand. This step is very important for keeping the at clean and of high quality."
"What do we do with the blood once it's done?" asked Cregan, clearly trying to curry favor with my cousin by feigning interest in what the foolish butcher was saying.
"My family, during harsh winters, would collect chicken blood to prepare other dishes, but thanks to the Prince, we no longer need to do that," he said, not forgetting to lick my cousin's boots, who wasn't even listening to us and was focused on the task he had assigned himself: to slaughter as many chickens as possible.
'It's disgusting,' I thought, uncomfortable with the sight of the blood running from the chickens' throats.
"Will you teach ?" asked my cousin's wolf pup, eager to catch his attention.
I frowned without saying anything, not appreciating this sycophant, then followed the foolish butcher as he moved to examine the work of another commoner who was plunging a chicken into boiling water before pulling it out after a few monts.
"The second step in preparing a chicken before it's sent to the kitchen is plucking," he said, stepping aside so we could "admire" the commoner's work.
'He's just scalding it; there's nothing difficult about that,' I thought, unimpressed.
"Sam practices a rare but particularly effective thod from a small village in the Riverlands that involves dipping the chicken in hot water to make feather removal easier," he said, moving to another workstation where several youths, a few years older than us, were manually pulling feathers from the chicken.
"The apprentices in my workshop pluck the feathers by hand. It's a ticulous and tedious task, especially for the smaller feathers, but it's important to do it properly and conscientiously to learn the tough trade of a butcher," said the foolish butcher, imnsely proud to be describing this silly trade to a Prince.
'As if this would teach anything useful in life,' I thought.
"The feathers removed are often reused for other purposes. Personally, I sell them to an artisan who works for the Prince, making cushions, pillows, and mattresses for the castle and the nobility," he said, proud of his "genius."
The foolish butcher suddenly frowned as he watched one of his apprentices struggle to pull a feather from the dead bird and said angrily, slapping the back of the boy's head:
"Mark, you fool, how many tis have I told you to hold the chicken over the fire instead of tearing at it? We can't serve it to the castle like this."
I smiled, amused by this scene, and watched as the foolish butcher held the chicken over the fire carefully to burn the feathers.
'At least he knows his craft.'
"The third and final step before the chickens can be sent to the kitchen is eviscerating, which I'll teach you just as Prince Aemon ordered," he said, grabbing a plucked chicken and a hunting knife.
"To do this, you'll need to do three things. First, you'll need to open the chicken like this," he said, slicing the chicken's belly open.
"Then you'll have to remove all the organs and entrails from the chicken," he said, reaching into the chicken.
"And once that's done, you can start cleaning the inside of the chicken with well water, which my apprentices will bring to you as you progress through your task," he finished, proudly showing us his chicken.
'This is revolting,' I thought, nearly repulsed by the idea of even eating it.
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