If you had lived or worked on the street of silk on the 14th night of the 8th month of that year, 160 since Aegon's conquest, you might have chanced upon a rather strange gathering of courtiers, adventurers and neer-do wells in the Mother's brothel. The brothel had mocking religious iconography adorning every wall, hosting such iconography as nude paintings of the Maiden, Mother, and even one of the Crone. Each window had its rails form the seven-pointed star, though the windows were tinted red rather than the traditional rainbow of a sept. Inside, it even had a vestibule and a font, though for what purposes they were even pretending to serve only the matron of the establishment could guess. Braziers hung from the ceiling burning incense, though more for masking the several more unpleasant smells of a brothel than for the usual reasons septs burnt incense. King's Landing folklore said that it was the first Sept of the city, raised nearly immediately after the completion of Aegon's conquest, and was the Sept that the ruling Kings had visited more often than any other.
It was almost too perfect a location for Princess Daena's last night as an unmarried young girl before she was to be married off to her overly pious brother, Prince Baelor Targaryen, heir to the Iron Throne. She was sat on a red velvet couch, smirking as other young men plied her with wine and grapes, her long silver curls flowing over the back of the seat. She watched, observed, and delighted in all the revelry around her, soaking it in as if it might be her last chance to be happy. She had gathered a group of bored young men and women from the Red Keep and set off into the city. The Kingsguard, her uncle, and even the King could do little to stop her, but her betrothed Baelor did not seem to notice that his soon-to-be wife had left the castle.
Amongst the many young men and women sitting in the brothel, drinking, chatting and altogether being a rather rambunctious sort were such cads as Lady Alenor Toland, the red-haired dornish hostage who had just two days before bested Ser Maelor Celtigar in an unofficial joust, rumoured to be over the hand of a woman. There was Antarro Rogare, son of the famous banker of Oldtown, Lotho Rogare, who even in a King's Landing brothel dressed in gold cloth and wore a Valyrian Steel dagger at his hip. There was Ogg Ogth, an Ibbenese whaler to whom the entire party had become quite attached, singing ancient whaling songs in a throaty voice. The party delighted in them. Most of the rest of the street did not.
There was Leonora Hightower, a cousin of the queen by her aunt Rhaena Targaryen, who might've seen out of her place in her immaculate dress, rainbow crystal pendant and well-worn passages of the seven-pointed star sealed with wax against her belt. Still, if ever there was a brothel fit for an almost Septa, it was this one. At three and twenty, she was actually amongst the oldest women at the brothel, bar some of the whores.
There was a scattering of other young men, women and teenagers here. Other Dornish hostages had taken the rare opportunity to leave the Red Keep, hoping that the word of Daena Targaryen would save them from the axe should the King insist upon it. Others were more traditional wards of the castle, too young to fight in Dorne with the King but old enough to be quietly allowed to leave the Red Keep. Most were not partaking in the primary function of the brothel, instead enjoying a night out without old men and women watching what they drank, sang and talked about- This didn't surprise anyone; most were not even six and ten. The idea of having sex so openly, for the first time, unnerved and embarrassed them. A few whispers with another or rowdy drunken sword fights were the norm, though a few had quieted off to a room of the brothel, their coin purses a little lighter, their mood a fair bit improved.
One young man surprised even himself by spending most of the night sitting next to the princess. Aurion Velaryon was a severe-looking boy, only four and ten years old. Like the princess, he usually had long silver-gold curls, though tonight, he had thoroughly beaten his hair into some order, combing it straight. He had sharp cheekbones that stood out prominently on his rather gaunt face. He had a blunt chin, and the corner of his lips couldn't help but raise in a single corner as if he was perpetually laughing at some private joke. It was little surprise that he looked somewhat alike to the princess; they were first cousins and had been born only months apart.
Aurion was tall for his age, which meant he was rather lanky. Thin, gangly and somewhat awkward looking, as if not all of him was growing at quite the same rate. He and the Princess had been friends since childhood, running around the Red Keep, playing games, fighting one another. Neither had ever been remotely interested in the other for anything more than friendship. On Daena's part, she preferred older men, though they tried to resist her. And on Aurion's part, he had once been an older man.
When Aurion was eight, he was selected to squire for Ser Edmund Warrick. As a relation of the King, the second in line to Driftmark, and a ward at Red Keep, it was quite the honour to squire for a member of the Kingsguard. It was so great an honour that, in his excitement, Aurion had run into the training yard only to run straight into a training dummy. Embarrassment had been the least of the young boy's worries, for he did not stand up after running into the dummy. Or awake for quite some time.
After a week of sleeping without waking, the grand Maester had been ready to declare the boy dead and to have a septon read him his last rites. It would've been quite a pathetic death, especially for the son of the Oakenfist. But it seemed the seven heard the last rites for Aurion Velaryon, for he awoke on that seventh day, parched and hungry but alive and cognizant.
But not the same boy. For a moment, the boy seemed confused, dazed, bewildered by even the simplest fact that the Maester questioned him on. Where he was, what year it was, who he was. However, young Aurion quickly took in stride with nought but a wry comment to himself.
The Aurion Velaryon that had run into a training dummy was known not to be the same boy who had awoken afterwards. Smarter, more mature, a little more dutiful and a little less clumsy. Once it was clear that the boy would live, most shrugged it off as him learning his lesson about getting over-excited. Though Aurion never lived down the incident, Ser Edmund Warrick had nothing but praise for the young boy, regularly writing to his mother and father about his aptitude with sums, letters, history, heraldry and religion. Aurion was nothing of a prodigy in the sword and lance, not as he was with learning, but he was certainly a fine swordsman and an acceptable lancer. Riding and lancing were not usually the domain of house Velaryon, known for sailors and dragon riders more than knights and warriors, but Aurion had taken to it all the same. And he had tried his best to learn the Velaryon traditions, too, though he found it difficult in King's Landing.
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Aurion blinked, returning to the present to find his friend Daena looking expectantly at him.
"Sorry, Princess?" He asked, running a hand through his silver-gold hair. "I was a million leagues away."
Daena rolled her eyes, chuckling to herself. She pushed Ser Osric Massey away to turn more firmly to face her old friend.
"I asked, Aurion, if you intend to sit here like my kingsguard all night?" Daena asked.
Aurion looked up and down at the princess, her dress of onyx black silk and inlaid rubies. Then he looked at his clothes- a shirt of sea-green cotton and off-white trousers. He supposed those might be as close as he got to a white cloak. His own half-cape was a cobalt blue, clasped by a silver chain.
"I'd say Warrick has rubbed off on me, but I'm quite certain that-"
Daena smirked and quickly spoke before he could continue.
"Oh, how scandalous. I suppose the vows of the Kingsguard prevent them laying with women, but young boys?" Daena joked. Alenor laughed aloud, while Leonora had the good grace to pretend to be horrified, hiding her giggles behind her hand.
For his part, Aurion also laughed.
"-You'll just make a shitty joke."
"S-shitty? Why, Ser Aurion!" Daena shouted, her hand clutching at her heart in feigned horror. "Such language? And around a princess, no less."
Aurion looked around the brothel at the teenagers and young adults drinking and revelling and at Tynella Scales and Garin Pyles sloppily kissing and feeling each other in the corner, at Lady Dina Rykker and Lady Mythra Hollard cheering on and throwing copper coins at Rodrik Brune and Addam Stokeworth wrestling on the ground.
"Oh yes, Daena. How could I possibly use such vulgar language here of all places?" Aurion asked incredulously, chuckling to himself.
His friend tittered. The princess shrugged.
"Well, it is a sept."
The two old friends moved closer to one another on the couch, content mostly to watch everyone else. They both knew the party would have to end at some point. They tried to hide it, but they both couldn't help but tinge their joy and excitement with their moroseness, their awareness of the next day's events weighing on them both.
"Baelor," Aurion whispered.
"I know," Daena said sadly. "Daeron ran off to fight the Dornish, my brave brother, and he's left with me with the choir boy."
Neither of them disliked Baelor. Whatever else he was, he was Daena's brother, and she did love him in some way. As for Aurion, he couldn't help but respect his piety in at least some way—his charity. Aurion had once seen Baelor walk the horse manure-covered streets of the capital barefooted, handing out alms with no guards, swords or shields to protect him, but whatever patrolling Gold Cloak might be passing by at the same time. And no one would dare strike the prince, not out of fear of retribution, at least from mortal means, but out of love for him. The people adored him.
But Daena loved Daeron more. The boy, a man now, did what Aegon the Conqueror couldn't and conquered Dorn- Even if a fair amount of the princedom didn't realise or accept that. Daena loved the boy who had sent her a Dornish short bow and taught her to joust. The only man she had loved more was her own, still recently deceased, father, and that was a different sort of love.
Daena sighed wistfully, furrowing her brow.
"Aurion. Do you reckon Baelor even knows how children are made?"
Aurion sipped on wine.
"No. You may have to teach him," Aurion replied frankly.
Daena did her best to hide her anger, the only sign being her grip around her chalice growing whiter and whiter.
"Well, I'll try. I swear to you, Aurion, within a year, he shall be praising me like the Maiden herself."
Aurion smiled his coy half-smile and raised his glass to the princess. She clinked her goblet against it, and together, they drank.
"Last chance for us to slip out on a ship and never come back," Aurion offered, at least somewhat sincerely. "I could always do with a first mate."
Daena studied her old friend, wondering if, at last, he was attempting to declare his undying love for her. It was a bit late, and though she was certain Aurion would grow up into a fine young man, the two of them were long-time friends, and she thought both of them preferred it that way.
No. Aurion's eyes showed the truth. It wasn't love, at least not romantic. He was just genuinely offering to abscond and abduct a princess purely because she didn't want to marry her brother. Well, that brother. He really was risking execution and exile just to help her.
She hugged him, and Aurion quickly returned it, both of them holding each other for a few moments.
"I'll make do. But you will have to stay here for a few more years."
"Oh, I will. Not forever, the sea calls to me-"
Daena scoffed and rolled her eyes.
Aurion smiled.
"-But at least until I'm a man grown."
The two friends moved apart once more. Daena turned away for a moment and wiped a tear from her eyes.
"I may call your sister to court. How is little Marilda?" Daena asked, eager to change the subject.
Aurion furrowed his brow. He hadn't been to Driftmark since before his accident- Before he woke up in this child's body. He had seen his little sister Marilda, a girl a year younger than him, only once. They wrote to each other with some regularity, but not enough.
"She is well. She tried to claim one of the last Velaryon dragon eggs, but after sleeping next to it for two years with nothing happening, our Maester finally convinced her to put it back in the vault. She's apparently growing up to be a pretty young woman, at least according to my older brother and sister. She misses me," Aurion rattled off, mentally searching through the letters he had sent and received over the last few months.
"Well, if your father would have it, write to her offering a place at court," Daena said. "If, when you're a man grown, you do head off on an adventure, I'd still like a Velaryon beside me."
Aurion smiled, gently resting his hand against her own for a moment.
"It will be my mother that shall decide. Alyn... Father, he'll be off fighting Daeron's wars for a few more years, and I don't believe he cares a wit about any of us."
That was perhaps unfair, and having once been a different person, he didn't overly care about what Alyn Velaryon did or didn't do, but he certainly loved to run away from his family for extended periods of time. Both his sister Laena and his brother Addam had complained about it at length in their letters, and his mother simultaneously loved and despised her husband for it.
"Oh. Well, he is a bastard, little surprise there," Daena said with a shrug.
The two of them continued to talk to one another in hushed whispers and earnest admiration for the next hour. While everyone else in the brothel drank themselves silly or fucked themselves unconscious, only they and a few others remained aware.
They were certainly aware when two men in white enamelled plate armour and twelve men in mail and golden cloaks barged into the brothel. Both nearly leapt out of their seats, Lenora and Antarro drawing weapons.
"All of you, you're under arrest!" Shouted Ser Edmund. The Goldcloaks and other kingsguard marched through the brothel, dragging young men and women from whatever they were doing, slapping some awoke and into chains, others dragged out into the street and made to sit down on the cobblestones.
Ser Edmund, a knight of nearly fifty years with the beginnings of greying hair, walked towards Aurion and the princess.
"Come, Princess. This is over," Emund said gently. He turned to his squire. "As for you, Aurion, I expected better."
Aurion held out his wrists, letting his teacher and mentor slap them in the irons.
"Did you?" Aurion asked incredulously.
Edmund didn't respond, dragging his squire out into the street with the others, Daena dutifully following behind, placing her goblet down on a nearby table. She certainly wasn't going to see a whiff of punishment for this, but the others? She could not be so certain.