I like to think that I had choices in life, but if I dwell on it too hard, I realize that perhaps rather ruefully I had none. I was born in the Targaryen court during the reign of King Vyseris the First. I was told that I was one of his bastards, however my dark features bore no resemblance to the ruling class. Instead, fortunately, or unfortunately as some may state, I took after my mother. She was I confess a beauty in her day, one of the chambermaids of Queen Rhenenyra. Dark of skin, ebony of hair, and possessed of inquisitive eyes of raven’s black.
Bastard or not she loved me, even after her fall from grace she held me with no ill will. She got me the job of spit boy when I was barely more than a child. I would work in the kitchens, doing as my title suggested, turning the spit so the roast pig was always perfect for a few coppers a week. At least in this employ, I was never cold in winter, and I remained fed. I guess that is what my mother had hoped, her last gift to me. She died later that year of a pestilence that swept the poorer parts of the city, hitting Flea Bottom especially hard.
I knew what she had resorted to, to survive, after the Queen had banished her from the court. She did well for a time in Flea Bottom, but sadly my hours were long, and I toiled in the kitchens most days and rarely got to visit her. When I did though, she loved to hear of all the castle intrigues. I didn’t have that many to report though, my work as it was rarely afforded me any juicy gossip, and I really didn’t brush shoulders with any of the royalty.
After Mother died I had no more excuses to leave the Red Keep. For a time as many will I wallowed in melancholy over the loss of her. I had no other siblings to share my grief with, and being male it would have been unseemly to do so. So I applied myself to my work and thought of little else.
The year passed, and I was one day surprised by the castle Chamberlain. I think all were in the kitchen that day. It was rare a man of his rank would venture here. I could see the staff, each at the pretense of hard work, but all ears ready to catch any juicy gossip. Gossip that could make the rounds of the castle in as little as a couple of hours.
I bowed deeply before the man. He was portly, dressed in fine velvet in the Targaryen colors, red and black. Featuring embellishments of the red three-headed dragon. Symbol of the King’s rule. He wore a heavy gold chain across his breast, and I remember well his boots, as that is where I cast my eyes. They were black and shining, without a speck of dust nor mud, proof of his high station.
“Your hard work has been noticed Tanel.”
It was rare to hear my name spoken. I had always just been 'boy.' Yet I was a boy no longer, I was now a young man. I nodded but did not speak.
“I have a promotion for you, from today you are to assist the Master of feasts, with the tablecloths and candles.”
“Yes, my Lord Chamberlain.”
And with that pronouncement, I had a new life.
*****
I found myself in better quarters, with fancier attire, and the pay was better too. I spent most of my days polishing silver and gold ware, folding tablecloths, and lighting or extinguishing candles. This work appealed to me, it was far more varied than my last employ, and I came into contact with many of the most comely serving maids.
Life wasn't so bad. I took great care not to become involved with any court intrigues. Minding my own business, and saving my coin so that I may have a better tomorrow. From time to time I would encounter members of the royal family during my work. My eyes would be respectfully downcast of course. That was if you didn’t count me gazing as much as I could on their royal personages through my lowered eyelashes. We all did it, it was not just me.
My life remained uncomplicated, and very much pain-free, until that one fateful day we were all preparing a name-day feast for the Prince Aemond. He was a little older than I, and as I often heard very much for expressing himself at court. It was obvious to all that there were tensions between him and his elder sibling the Crown Prince Agon. They were two very different young men. Agon seemed to live for a light-hearted, good time, he didn’t apply himself to the idea that he would be sovereign one day.
Yet his younger brother Aemond was all business. Serious, sharp, and brutal. I had often wondered if claiming the largest dragon in Westeros had added to his deep-rooted confidence, or was it losing his eye? The way he moved and spoke belied cruelty. None wished to be singled out by him. However it was his name day, and we must do our best to make it perfect, and memorable.
I remember that day well. I was setting the candlesticks in their places on the long table. I was lost in my thoughts when I felt warm breath on my neck and a voice at my ear.
“You are wasted here.”
I turned to momentarily look into a singular, intense, pale blue eye, and in horror realizing who had spoken to me I lowered my eyes to the floor. I couldn’t think, and I could barely move.
The Prince chuckled at my frightened response. His thin lips curved in his trademark cruel smile.
“If you want to make more gold boy, I have a proposition for you. I will send word.”
*****
Well life went on, and as the weeks passed I began to relax. Those words were just words after all. I was happy in my current life, simple as it was.
I was carrying a heavy load of linen to the Laundress, I often did this for the girls. When a well-dressed man passed me in the hallway and slipped me a note. The gesture was subtle. I took it without stopping, but I did turn momentarily to look back at him. He was well dressed, and I felt I recognized him but I could not be certain. One of the inner court perhaps. I felt a feeling of cold wash over me, so far I had been spared involvement in any court scheming and of that I was glad. I could never forget what happened to mother. I determined I would not befall a similar fate. I clutched the slip of paper in my hand and did not look at it until I had deposited my burden, and could find somewhere to read it where I would be unobserved.
‘Meet me in the cellar near the dragons.’ That was all it said. The handwriting was fine, educated, perhaps from the prince himself.
I was careful to dispose of the note in the flame of a nearby candle. Once all traces of it were gone I made my way to the rendezvous. I didn’t really wish to go I confess. Yet I could not refuse a direct summons without possible reprisal. I knew the castle well. In my childhood, before the idea of station set in, I played with all the other children, nobility and servant alike. We often ran and played in those tunnels beneath the keep. So there was no confusion as to the location of the meeting.
Fortunately, I didn’t have to make any excuses, as not a soul spoke to me as I made my way to the entrance, to the tunnels outside facing the sea. I had not traversed these in years, as there was no incentive now that I was grown, but as I did so familiar childhood memories flooded back into my mind. This place had remained unchanged a comfort of a sort as I revisited good memories of my youth. Unsure what this day would bring.
He was there waiting, tall, proud, and athletic, his graceful long fingers rested atop the hilt of his sword in an attitude of easy readiness. His straight trademark Targaryen white hair was tightly bound in a ponytail, perfectly coiffured. I bowed low and cast my dark eyes to the floor. My heart was thumping in my breast, and my hands were clammy. I was not sure if I should speak or not, so I didn’t.
“Good you came, your name?” He asked imperiously.
“Tanel Basri, your Grace.”
“Yes, Dornish I see.”
“Yes your Grace, my mother was from Dorn.” I was glad today that I bore no resemblance to a Targaryan.
“Your father?”
“I did not know him your Grace.”
Another derisive chuckle that unnerved me. “Well Tanel, I have proposition for you?”
I nodded but still did not look up. I had to admit I was afraid to. The prince had a reputation for cruelty, and I knew it was not unfounded. All I could hope was that I pleased whatever fancy he had, and he would duly move on, and I could return to my duties.
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“I wish you to be a new member of my chamber staff, you please me.”
It was strange that he would ask me to be a valet in of all places this one. My hair prickled, and I again felt that wave of cold wash over me, and an uncomfortable twisting in my gut. My first instinct was to refuse, but I was too afraid to. It seemed as though finally, I had been caught in the spider’s web.
I looked up and swallowed hard. He again had that self-satisfied look on his handsome face. They say he wore a priceless sapphire in his empty eye socket, but I had only seen him with his eye patch. I wondered but briefly, if he wore it for others or himself?
I realized then to my sense of growing fear, that there was King’s Guard stationed at the intersecting corridors. Ensuring this meeting was private. Had I somehow displeased him on his name day? I was frantically searching for reasons that he may have for some displeasure with my performance. I could not think of any.
“Take off your shirt.”
I looked into that expressionless eye and glimpsed the abyss. I glanced away as though I had been stung. Then I meekly complied. My shirt fell with a flop to the cold flagstones.
“Good, strong, unblemished,” was his comment, as I stood there vulnerable and shirtless before him.
He clicked his finger, and a guard sallied forth holding a long, black-plaited whip. He handed it to the Prince and departed.
“I guess it is only fair I explain what I want of you Tanel.”
I felt the butt of the whip poke me in the right shoulder, as he walked behind me, his boots making little sound on the floor. He moved like an accomplished swordsman.
“You see I have this terrible anger Tanel. Sometimes it needs to be channeled, at least that's what my mother says. So I have decided to take her advice. That is where you come in.”
I didn’t like where this conversation was going at all. However, there was no way I could see to extract myself. Nothing short of the King’s orders was going to save me from my current situation. So I nodded and let the Prince do as he will.
“Kneel,” he instructed.
I had little time to regard his boots before he let the first lash fly. My world went dark for a moment, the sudden pain intense beyond measure. The black-coiled serpent wrapped its loving embrace about my shoulders drawing tiny beads of blood.
I took a deep breath to steady myself. The caress of the next one was already across my back. I closed my eyes and willed myself to silence.
The third strike wrapped around my lower back and stomach, and a red weal instantly appeared on my coffee-colored flesh. Though the cellar was far from warm, beads of sweat were already forming on my brow.
“Oh yes,” he said, “you will do finely. Consider yourself employed."
The sting of the lash was fading however I had noticed something very peculiar. I was in fact aroused by what had just happened. I didn’t have any sexual feelings for men. I had always directed my passions toward women, and I had boasted my fair share of the castle maids in my bed. This though was different, and somehow more powerful. Was it because of who he was, or was it something else? I didn’t understand.
The next thing I knew was the bright sound of a gold coin tossed to the flagstones before me. I didn’t really wish to get up, as I had a raging erection from the beating. I was ashamed and didn’t want him to see.
“From today you attend me in my rooms.” With that he was gone, followed by his retinue of White-cloaks.
And that is how I became Prince Aemond’s whipping boy.
*****
From that day the kitchens, candles, and tablecloths were a thing of my past. I learned to be a valet to the Prince. I wore fine clothes, ate the best food, and got to bathe regularly. The prince had two valets, his elder brother had more, but he was not the heir to the crown. This was of course the junior appointment. Mostly I repaired clothing, maintained his Grace’s armor and uniforms, and polished his boots until they shone, and for a time I lulled myself into a sense of safety, that the Prince would not collect that which he had spoken of. To that end, I worked to be the most indispensable valet ever.
One gray day, which was unusual in King’s Landing, mostly the climate here was sunny and pleasant. I had been sitting by the window repairing a leather tunic of the Prince’s to see by the best light. I looked up as the Prince stormed in, the other valet had been folding garments and placing them in the ornate chest of drawers, and the page, a boy no more than ten had been sweeping and dusting.
We all stopped what we were doing. Prince Aemond appeared angered, his usually neat platinum hair was strewn in an unruly fashion about his face. He threw his sword down with a loud metallic clatter.
“Out! Out, all of you!” He shouted in his cruel, commanding voice.
We all rose and made haste for the door.
“But not you.”
That cold blue eye was looking right at me. I swear my stomach flipped about sickeningly in my gut, and my mouth went dry.
“Lose your shirt.”
With that proclamation, I knew that my duty to him was as discussed all those weeks ago in the cellar. I knelt, closed my eyes, and waited. I was expecting the caress of the long whip, but today I felt a loud thud of a riding crop across my upper shoulders. The blow was unexpectedly heavy and winded me. I almost lost my balance and fought to stay upright mastering the pain.
He hit me again, and I could already feel myself becoming aroused, as this strange feeling took hold of me. The blows were hard, much harder than I had thought they would be. The Prince was not a muscular man, yet he was rangy and strong. I guess one had to be to command a great dragon. He hit me with all he had. I meanwhile, was fighting a war on two fronts. Trying to absorb the Prince’s anger with as much dignity as I could muster, and stifling my burgeoning erection that threatened to erupt at any moment.
Somehow I maintained control, and after he was done he sat on his bed, bloodied crop still in his back gloved hand. I noted it was dripping blood, my blood, onto the floor, and all I could think about was I needed to clean it up. However, I didn’t move. My back was burning and raw, and I could feel blood seeping from the welts in places where he had split the skin. I sat still while my own desire abated, I wonder if he knew?
“My last whipping boy had to retire.” He said suddenly out of the blue. That one cold eye on me. He was a difficult man to look directly at. I had always thought that he cast a far finer figure as a potential King than his elder brother did. It was a treasonous thought, one I would never give vent to.
*****
From that moment I realized my true value to the Prince. As his Father the King weakened, and eventually died, and his elder brother ascended the throne. Chaos gripped the kingdom. Prince Aemond’s moods became ever darker, and I bore the brunt of his pain with whatever object was close at hand. One day after a particular strenuous beating with his Grace’s belt, and he did not spare me the belt buckle. I was torn and bloody. He brought to my attention a red leather-covered box embossed in gold filigree.
“I had this made especially for you.” He said as he opened it. He took the lengthy and sinuous whip out of its case and I shivered. It was extremely thin, almost delicate. I was sure it would deliciously cut when wielded with precision. Just looking at it in his hands as he presented it to me caused my body to respond. He knew too of my secret, perhaps he had sensed my erotic ties to physical pain in me from the first. Even before I had known. The release after such an event was so powerful. More powerful than any a woman could bring. I became in a way a slave to him, desiring his pain even if it slowly disfigured me.
The whip glinted in the half-light as he ran it over his black leather gloves. I saw it snag for a moment, and the prince withdrew his hand sharply in-taking his breath. It had cut him, and it was then I realized what it was he was trying to demonstrate to me. The whip was inset with sharp pieces of steel. The penultimate masochists fantasy.
“Let me call the Meister, your Grace,” I insisted, breaking the tension in the room.
*****
The box sat there unopened for many months. An unspoken treatise between us. As I performed my duties I would constantly find myself looking at it. Imagining a scene between us intense and dark, then having to find an excuse to go and relieve myself of my growing tension.
*****
The Prince burned Sharp Point today on Vhagar. None knew why. Perhaps he was just angry, and he destroyed the town because he could? The entire court was abuzz with a multitude of theories. In a terrible fury, Prince Aemond came to his rooms shortly after, and I knew this evening would be memorable.
My flesh was no longer clean, but riven with a multitude of tiny white scars. Although my task to attend the Prince to the outside observer might seem easy, it was not. Pain, salves, and Meister’s visits were my lot. Yet I bore his pain and inwardly desired it. So I write this ode to you my Prince, my rendition of that night…
I lay face down on the cold flagstone floor, the floor impregnated with my own blood, from events of torture I have endured, both past and present. This day is different though, and marks a turning point in our relationship, as at last, you, my Grace, strive to give to me your servant, the ultimate expression of love.
The pain is intense I am sick with it, it is so pure and defined, I fight to stay coherent, to stay here in this place. It would be so easy, all too easy to close my eyes and stop, and let the blackness take me, take me away. Now I have reached this pinnacle of my testing, the ultimate expression of love.
My blood runs in red rivers over my torn flesh and drips sluggishly onto the floor, the cuts are many and deep in places, and I shake as I attempt to control my fear and pain. You have witnessed this many times before and marvel at my resolve and self-control. But this day is different as you have at last applied at my insistent behest, the ultimate expression of love.
Only a few minutes before, when I had been healthy and whole, you, my Grace had shown it to me, the whip of my heart’s desire, as you had on many occasions before. I was drawn to it like a moth to a flame, and unbeknownst to me in my morbid fascination your hands shook as you opened the box for me to sight its magnificence, as you prepared yourself to administer, despite your misgivings the ultimate expression of love.
I had looked on it long and lovingly, coiled like a deadly serpent, filled with shining promise of doom, you, my Prince almost seemed not to exist, as my eyes caressed, and my flesh prepared to taste after what had seemed an eternity, the ultimate expression of love.
You did not chain me this time, you did not flinch, as you took the deadly razor-whip from its box, knowing what it might cost, knowing we may never be the same. As you willed the spirit of the Seven to possess you and grant you the true desire, and the strength to inflict on me your servant, the ultimate expression of love.
The much longed-for event, was over in just minutes, minutes of pure ecstatic pleasure and agony entwined, as the blades tore my flesh cutting deep, tearing at our souls, scarring us both forever. I collapsed to the cool of the floor, a relief in stark contrast to the heat of my pain, in my mind the only thought was, can I survive the test. The test you have crafted.
You throw the whip from you savagely, seeing its damage, harshly to the floor. In your mind, the only thought is, can you survive what it is you have done to your trusting and loving servant. This for us both, the ultimate expression of love.
The urge towards love, pushed to its limit, is an urge towards death.
I am forever yours Tanel.