Chapter Text
Dried hair smelling of the sea. His linen was crippled and parched from the sun. The last cotton drapes he had worn wrapped his parent like a swaddled baby.
Aerion knelt by her side. Staring at her face that is a pallor of death. Her brown and striped silver hair frames her small delicate features. Death made her so unrecognizable.
Unknown and a bastard, such as himself. He had been searching for Aletheia since yesterday. Disappeared from her bed in their small rundown flat. Fearing for her life if she had been taken. She is a woman in her late 30s, a mother, a friend, and a sister to him. She had no close relatives to seek aid and console with.
She had been taking care of him since he was a swaddled babe. When his own blood mother couldn’t care for him longer on the Street of Silk. Born in one of the low-end brothels, Aletheia is never quite sure where his mother worked or came from. She had described her as a slender woman, short in stature with Dornish features and sandy or golden hair. There is no doubt that his father is a nobleman of Valyrian descent— notably the Targaryens who held the realm.
He didn’t seem to have carried much of her looks as Aletheia told him. Her blood did not even try but possibly, in Aletheia’s teasing manner, his stature and subtle curls on his short hair could be from her.
His silver-gold hair and deep violet eyes showed it all. Like any other Valyrian descent bastards that resided in Flea Bottom. He had seen them in fighting pits and brothels the most. Personally, he only knew a few outside of such dangerous occupations— routine encounters with laborers, innkeepers, sailors, apprentices, and cooks.
Varying ranges of hair tones, but it is obvious they all came from Valyrian noble families. Velaryons, Celtigars, and Rogares that intermarriage with the Targaryens. Tide by blood, but they are still strangers.
Aerion had been sitting in silence since the sun had set. He needed to stock fish for the coming winter. Though it did not snow like the north, the weather is cold and food becomes scarce. A routine Aletheia had made when he became of age.
He never got any fish, but he did find Aletheia. Drifting near the shore, he wasted no effort to get to her before the waves brought her back into the dark sea.
Spitting out the putrid water that came from her decaying corpse. Tears came without warning, and suddenly air no longer mattered when the waves began to rise.
Pulling her out of the waters. She is nothing but bone from her neck to toe with some flesh still hanging. Her face remained untouched.
Aerion threw up whatever was left in his stomach. The salt fish had soured his throat and he could still taste the murky fluid from her. Tears burned his eyes and skin.
Nothing is left of her. He wept till he could no longer breathe and his eyes became dry. Now she lies smaller than before, wrapped in his cloth for what little clothing she has.
The sun had reached its peak. He knew nothing else on what to do. They had very little for a proper burial. Passerby would come and comfort him for the time they had. Suggesting it would be best to let the sea take her again.
He carries her to the boat, paddling furthest from the shore so the waves would not wash her back up.
They now smell of sea and sun. Taking one last boat ride. “Release the mother,” Aletheia would say when they get a catch that is with an egg or a female sex. “Release the mother, Aerion. She’ll feed us more in the morrow.”
Aerion carefully sets her down on the face of the sea. Watching her body slowly sink into the dark. The white of the cotton wrapped around her disappears from the sunlight.
He felt lonelier and more stranded than ever. The flat is silent, nobody to call for him to eat or have a simple conversation with. No one to pet his hair to assure him of his troubles.
No mother or sister to cling to. There is no warmth in their small home, but the familiar cold that comes after death.
He’ll be unable to maintain this flat now that he is just one. His mind races with what the next will be. Buy a stub to set sail to Essos for better opportunities or worse. He learned what is sought in Lys. Noblemen would pay high for Valyrian escorts.
It is not his ideal plan. For the predicament he is in, Aerion needed out of crowded and infested Flea Bottom.
They didn’t have enough to make the journey. He took what was left of Aletheia’s and his own, it was only enough to cover for two weeks of meals. Not for the sea and Essos just yet.
A knock came upon the door, almost urgent and loud. He feared it might be neighbors looking for Aletheia to vent to or complain to. Taking a deep breath, his hand held onto the latch and handle. When he opened the door, the lobby attendant held out letters. Likely from the landlord for next month’s rent and another that had a prestigious seal. “That’s for Aletheia,” the attendant handed. Not bothering to question if she is here before handing off the letters. They said their unfriendly goodbyes before knocking on the next door.
He sets the letter from the landlord aside, flipping the other letter with an unknown sigil in wax. It is no noble house or anything he recognizes. Snapping the wax in half and unfolds the letter. Reading Aletheia’s name above, she had been accepted position as a servant of the Red Keep. She is to bring this letter in person to a certain location to accept the position. Therefore she will be housed and trained on the duties that are expected.
Aerion could see the joy on her face if she were still here. Knowing the pay would cover two months of the flat in full. He sat on the floor with the letter set in front of him. Rereading her written name over and over.
In silence with an empty stomach that only water could tame for now. His ears are ringing because of it. Thinking of all the possible things that could go wrong. Yet desperation is making him courageous.
But his voice would be a giveaway. Added that they would not allow a Valyrian descendant to take work near the nobles.
Removing his clothes, he stared at himself in the small broken mirror. The room had turned gold by the hour. Rummaging through Aletheia’s clothes, she wore layers above her dress. Enough to hide his figure. Staring at himself from afar with the small mirror placed high on a table to get a better look. Perhaps he would be easily mistaken for a woman. Albeit one who has not reached her later years yet.
Doubt came to his mind. Maybe he is not. Worrying if they needed to strip him before entering. Would they examine him like sheep? See his anatomy.
Desperation again came gnawing at him. He dresses back into his clothes and leaves to get dye. Brown from Tyrosh isn’t the most sought-after color.
He didn’t recognize himself when he finally browned his silver-gold hair. Down to his brows. It stained his skin and nails but it was subtle to miss. Wrapping his head with a kerchief, leaving a sliver of strands poking out on his forehead.
Regret and fear overcame him. His chest was heavy now that he needed to dress and pack. To leave the flat behind and all the remaining that is personal. He took what meant the most to him. Her clothes are to be his shield if he is taken into the castle. Taking a few of his own then finally the letter.
The lobby attendants didn’t bat an eye or question him as he left. He intends to come back if it does not end well for him. If taken in without being strictly stripped, the long vacancy would be a telltale sign for the landlord.
Keeping his voice low and soft as he crosses streets. None questioned much to his relief, greeting him like any lady who boards from the low and middle class of King’s Landing.
A long walk. He had walked these streets before with Aletheia and sometimes alone to get finer things. Such as fresh fruits and clothing. Good rods, and often acquired copper and silver they would trade for coins in smith shops.
Already out of breath, he sat under a tree, eating an apple that had been dropped from a wheeling wagon. Grabbing what he could before the rest of the people hogged it all.
Watching the sunset on the horizon. Making its final appearance like a head above water. He tears up once more, but they did not fall so much like before. A single tear burned the corner of his eye. He can already feel his face puffy and dry.
“The letter,” the steward demanded once he made it on location. He was at the gate when a soldier spotted him, Aerion quickly answered what he came here for. The location was still part of the Red Keep, but at the side and obscured from sight as the letter directed.
The steward skimmed through the letter and gave him constant glances. “You are not much of a talker. I’m starting to regret not meeting with you before you sent an application,” the steward remarked in a not-so-pleasant tone. Giving Aerion one final look, seemingly willing to give him the position. “You’re pretty, you’ll do.” The steward beckons him to follow with his belongings in tow.
“You’ll start in the scullery, more beds are being made and used for visiting Lords of the council,” she explained as they walked through the stone halls. “We are just below the keep, but above the lowest level where the head of Balerion sits. Often the King and his brothers would go down there to pay their respects, do not enter unless instructed to do so. Regardless if the chamber is empty. Soon you’ll be trained in the kitchens and floors. This will all take about a month for you to get familiarize of this large castle.”
Servants in their uniforms passed by him with sometimes friendly smiles. Others passed without giving a warning as they bumped into his shoulder. “You’ll start tomorrow in the scullery under another’s supervision. For now…” she opens a door to a rather small room. “This will be your room.”
He steps inside, placing his belongings at the foot of the bed. There is a small gated window overlooking the sea. His heart ceased racing.
“Someone will come to wake you early morning. Be quick in dressing,” the steward instructed as another servant walked to her side, handing two uniform dresses and a new kerchief to wear. “Where are you from girl?” she questioned.
“Flea Bottom,” Aerion answered keeping his voice soft.
“Your hair. Remove the kerchief,” she demanded.
He slid it off, revealing the short brown hair beneath. The steward gives a satisfied nod. “You are a slight girl. We shall feed you more than what Flea Bottom could give you. Do you have a family?”
Aerion shook his head. Trying to keep himself still from weeping.
“Alright,” she replied. “So I expect that you’ll be with us for years to come.”
Aerion could only nod. Feeling more tense again. Fondling with his fingers, hiding them under the long sleeves.
“For someone who lives in Flea Bottom, you can read.”
“My mother didn’t start in Flea Bottom.”
“So hard times came to her. Your father?”
“They are both dead,” Aerion answered.
“I have no doubt with your reading capabilities that you’ll be in a much better position than this,” she gestured to the room. “Who would hire a servant who came from Flea Bottom and can read? Is that believable? Even for a slight girl like you.”
He couldn’t tell if it was a compliment from her tone. She didn’t seem friendly or anything. Strict nonetheless as long as they did their duties and are on time with proper procedures. Which she emphasized a lot in the following days of scullery work, cleaning privy chambers, and on the floors.
The girls with long experiences already are the only ones who get to be close to nobles. Be in the same room or hall as them. There is a whole etiquette section that their steward alone teaches them.
Aerion is not prepared for that. He had no reason to even want to be close to the nobles and clean their private chambers and offices. But the pay is much higher from what he heard.
He did not rush, he didn’t have a good reason to. Days made him reevaluate his plans on going to Lys to be a well-paid escort. He would end up like his blood mother… Aletheia did not groom him to be one. She never spoke ill of the profession, but she saw the troubles that came with it.
Finding some peace under the Red Keep, hiding his sex— he can stay quiet for long till he is ready to leave for some place else. Venturing out of King’s Landing is not what Aletheia gave him. No prior experiences in any realm but here.
He listened to knights speak of their travels. From victory to defeat, violence to death. Aerion felt lost again. Unable to ask the rest of the servants and maids who ran throughout the halls.
The silver-gold of his hair began to show from his roots. He held off on cleaning his floor for four days till he had gotten enough for new dye. Coloring his hair in private by nightfall. He is not the only one to do the same. Another girl whose hair is like his, dyes her strands black.
“Lyseni bastard?” she whispered to him.
He nods, making himself too concentrated to speak.
“We all need to work. Don’t we?” she smiled before finally letting the dye sit for a few hours till rinse.
Aerion gave a smile, watching the girl wrap her head to do some errands while it sat.
He is glad they don’t question his quietness. The only time he does is with the steward who brought him in.
Aerion followed her example from washing their hair on some occasions to keep the dye vibrant. He learned that hair grows fast when you are constantly active. Every fortnight he dyes his roots, making sure to be generous with the dye that he had left.
The steward did not question him when she took notice of some loose silver strands. As long as he stayed behind walls, there would be no problems. Age would be a reason if there were troubles. They all would pepper in age. Even he knew once he grew to be old his silver-gold hair would not be the same. His hair will grey and be coarse like theirs.
⌞ ⌝
He sat under the same tree to watch the sunsets. No grass ever grows from where he sat. Just dirt and stones to hold the growing roots. The tree is not dead, but it hardly grows anything. It is dry like his hands from the scullery. The bark chips and children sometimes climb on it. Keepers would trim its loose branches and heavy boughs that threatened to fall if the weather got too strong.
The tree is bare, but it sufficed for shade and for others to sleep under. It is odd to see it in the middle of the stony streets where flats and shop towers over it. Trees are a rare find, but it did not mean they do not exist to grow here.
He never left the gates of King’s Landing. The furthest he ever left was on a small boat to ship, he doubts that would count. If he wanted to see more trees, he’d just walk right out.
Aerion doesn’t know where to go just yet if he does. Coming back in would be a lot harder than it is going out. He does not have anything to prove himself, only someone could vouch for him if he needed to be back in.
A whole two days off to collect himself. Eat fresh fruits and honeyed figs. He wore heavy clothes today because of the cold coming from the sea. Aletheia’s clothes are meant for such weather as this in Flea Bottom. She would need no blanket when she needed to sleep in some cheap inn. “It is safe,” she would say. “I keep my coins beneath the layers of skirts.”
“You look fed,” a man approached in all black and red. From the fabrics and embroidery, Aerion knew him to be a noble man. Pepper has bearded and short hair. He is old, but not old enough to need a cane or a maester with him at all times.
He smiled, with crow's feet forming at his dark eyes. Unable to tell the color of them. Aerion tensed and remained cautious as the nobleman neared. “I see you around sometimes,” he continued. “Here,” he had grapes in hand still in their veins. A small batch but it was enough. Handing it over to Aerion, who took it hesitantly.
It is sweet and it gushes in his mouth. Green and firm as he rolled one between his fingers before putting another in his mouth.
“What is your name?” he asked softly.
“Aer-“ Aerion spoke before pausing. He clears his throat before answering again. “Aletheia.”
“Aletheia,” the noble man repeated like it were a delicate name that needed to be whispered. “Do you have a preferred name?”
Aerion shook his head, knowing the nobleman had caught that mishap.
“I see you sometimes in the halls. You were not hard to miss at times. A new one, the steward told me.”
Aerion stood up hastily in realization. Stuffing the small batch of grapes in his pocket beneath the skirts. “I’m sorry, m’Lord,” he apologized softly. Unable to remember the protocol briefly before giving a small bow.
“It is all right,” Baelor assured. “You are in no trouble. I merely saw you alone that is all. Thought I’d give you something as a welcoming offer.” He beckons Aerion closer, to which he immediately follows.
Tensing as he stood near the King. His heart raced at the sight of him. Tall and kinder in features, but there is some intimidation beneath his skin. One that can easily command a room into silence.
He looks up to his eyes, noticing the mismatch between them. Violet and brown. The King himself is also observing him.
Aerion lowered his gaze, the one crucial feature that he had forgotten. His own deep violet eyes.