The Princess and the Red Dress /26 - AKOTSK - AU
TW: Trauma/PTSD, Alcohol Use, Physical Violence, mentions of incest
AU: Baelor has a daughter (instead of Matarys), Baelor does not die, Blackfyre rebellion is still thriving, Daeron x cousin/ Aerion x cousin (implied), Aerion is obsessed with her, Daeron is in love with her.
Summary: Baelor’s daughter was brought to court, leaving Summerhall and her cousins behind. On her way to Ashford, she was reminded that the realm remained shadowed by the Blackfyres. Neither black dragons nor red ones forget. Some only wait for their turn again.
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As they turned the corner towards the inner courtyard, Valyra noticed her uncles already waiting.
“Finally, you return.” Aerys shifted at the sight of the royal party entering the halls.
“Welcome back, brother.” Rhaegal embraced Baelor as the heir stood rigid.
“Thank you.” He patted the back of his brother; it was obvious which version of Rhaegal was currently present.
Valyra’s uncle, Rhaegal Targaryen, was rather unusual. Often swinging between anger and hatred, and love and kindness. The Mad Prince, they’d call him. Valyra never thought he was mad, just rather strange.
“My sweet niece." He turned towards Valyra. “I was appalled at the news of what befell you on the road to that tourney.” He wrapped an arm around her. “How are you?”
Valyra looked uncomfortable to say the least. “I am alright uncle, thank you for the concern.”
From behind them, Aerys – Baelor’s oldest brother spoke. “The King has granted you a day to rest. He expects the Hand at the next council on the morrow.”
All eyes found Aerys, and Baelor nodded his head. “Very well then. Maekar, you know your way around the Keep, find whichever place suits you and your sons.”
Valyra glanced towards her two cousins who were already following close behind.
“Cmon then.” Maekar shoved Daeron forward, breaking the eye contact between him and Valyra, and the three of them walked down the long corridor.
She forced her eyes away and back towards the older men. “How are Aelor and Aelora?”
Rhaegal smiled widely. “Rather well, although no babe on the way yet. You’ll see them at dinner, I suppose. Who knows where they have run off to now.”
Valyra physically recoiled at the mention of a child. She loves her cousins. Aelora had always been kind, and Aelor truly loved her. But they were twins, brother and sister, and even if born a Targaryen, Valyra couldn’t swallow down the idea of incestuous marriage. “I can not wait.” She shifted uncomfortably. “Father, could I be excused? I am rather tired.”
Baelor’s eye landed on her. “I suppose.”
Valyra bowed at her father and uncles and swiftly walked towards her own chambers.
As she got further away, she could still hear Aerys’s voice. “How does the Hair lose an eye over a simple tourney?”
“It’s a long story.” Baelor tried to defend.
Aerys scoffed. “Father is not pleased.”
Even though weeks had passed, the room was exactly as she had left it. Curtains slightly ajar, a dress lying neatly over her bed – one she’d chosen to wear upon her return. Her eyes found the empty cup on her table too, one last drink before she departed. Valyra’s nose met the rim; even time could not erase the strong smell of Dornish Red.
She stepped further inside, basking in the afternoon light that shimmered uninvited. She was different back then. Before she’d left, before all of it. Oh, if only she knew what was awaiting her back then.
Just across from her on the floor, she noticed the black sack lying discarded. The maids must have brought it in, the one she’d been clutching onto since Ashford.
She reached down, bringing it close to her before pulling out whatever was inside into the open.
The deep red was caught in the sunlight, and Valyra found herself shaking again as she held onto the ruined dress of her mother.
She couldn’t bring herself to burn it, to throw it away, to discard it like it was nothing. Her reflection in the mirror was already staring back as she placed the bloodied, ripped fabric across her frame.
Every stain, every rip, every part of it brought back memories in flashes. Good and bad.
“Valyra darling, could you bring me the ruby one?”
I exhaled, annoyed at my mother, “Which ruby one? You have many.” She was getting ready for some ball.
The maids stepped away, and my mother finally turned, laughing softly. “The ruby with the golden twisted chain.”
I found myself reaching for the necklace, but when I looked at her again, I was stunned at the beauty of her dress.
She noticed. “Do you like it?”
I simply nodded as my mother reached out and took the jewellery out of my small fingers.
“It’s one of the first gowns your father gifted me when we got married. Said I lacked clothing of his house colour.” She chuckled. “Can you believe it?” The golden chain sat perfectly across her neck.
I couldn’t take my eyes away from my mother. “It’s beautiful.”
She stepped forward. “It’ll be yours one day. Or I suppose your own husband would shower you with just as beautiful gifts.”
I glanced at her. “H-husband?”
My mother laughed. “Well of course, child.” Her hand met my cheek. “You are a princess, one day you shall marry too. Have children of your own.”
Mother’s expression changed, and it scared me.
“Oh Valyra, my sweet, sweet Valyra. We all have a part to play in this world—”
I stood up quickly in protest. “I don’t want to marry! Boys are stupid. And I do not want children either, they cry–” The words spilt out of me fast.
Mother brought me into a hug. “Shh, it’s quite all right. It does not matter what you wish for. Your father will be King, and you–” She lifted my chin. “You, my beautiful daughter, are more important than you even know.”
I grasped onto my mother and cried into her dress.
Valyra’s breath had quickened before she even realised, and she tossed the old gown aside as if it burned.
The dress she had held onto was nothing like the one from her memory, but as she glanced at the ruined fabric, she thought – perhaps she could somehow mend it.
Across the Red Keep, Maekar walked quickly ahead of his sons.
“How old is Grandsire now anyway?” Aerion’s voice cut through the silence.
“The King is fifty-five years old.” There was annoyance in Maekar’s voice as he answered.
Aerion continued forward with his cane. “He’s been King for quite some time. Don’t you think it time for Uncle to take over soon?”
Maekar halted, and Daeron almost walked into him. Violet met violet as he stared at his younger son, and it was too obvious that their father was holding in anger.
Aerion waited, but no scolding came; his father only returned to walking as he spoke over his shoulder. “Take a bath, both of you, and dress well. I am not gonna have my sons further embarrass me at dinner. I expect you both to be on your best behaviour, if that’s even possible.” Maekar raised a brow in annoyance.
Daeron stopped abruptly. “What about Valyra?”
Maekar flashed him a look. “What about her?”
“Surely the matter with the Blackfyre’s is of utmost urgency. How can you stand around attending dinners and welcome back parties when she–” He stopped himself. “There are more important things…”
Aerion stood idle, resting his back against one of the walls, watching his father approach Daeron.
“I understand your concern for the well-being of your cousin. But there is a certain way things are done here. Valyra herself had to adapt, and I suggest you do too.” Maekar turned and continued forward. “I assure you, things are already being done.”
Aerion pushed off the wall and almost tripped trying to level with them. “What does that mean?”
His father let out a heavy breath. “It means, let men do their jobs, and you do yours.”
“And our job is what exactly?” Daeron questioned.
“Not being a further disappointment.”
The sun had already set much faster than Valyra expected. She tripped over nothing as she was getting dressed. Her earlier full pitcher now lay empty on her table.
She took note of her skin as the dress dropped over her head and down her body, the bruises had almost fully faded, barely any pain present now and yet she felt no different at all.
She wore that same dress she had picked the day before her departure, some vague attempt at forcing herself back into who she used to be, who she had to be.
“Cousin! Welcome back!” Aelor’s voice rang across the fairly empty dining hall.
“Valyra! Gods you look wonderful.” Aelora followed her twin out of their seat to greet her with excitement. She met them halfway, a small smile portrayed across her lips.
“I am glad to see you are both doing all right.”
“Alright? You were the one the Blackfyre’s attacked.” Aelor’s voice reached the servants, and a few flashed them curious looks.
Aelora reached for her hand. “Father told us. How are you doing?”
Valyra walked slowly towards a chair, and both of her cousins followed. “I am fine. Really, I think everyone is just exaggerating a little.” A laugh escaped her; it felt wrong.
They only sat around the table for a short while, chatting and drinking, before the rest of the family joined them. Both Aelor and Aelor greeted Baelor and Maekar as they entered.
Daeron took a seat next to Valyra, flashing her a small smile which she did not return. They had left things on bad terms, and it followed them all the way into the Red Keep.
Across the table, Aerion stumbled into his own seat.
“Cousin.” There was already anger in Aerion’s face the moment he’d heard Aelor address him. “I hear you are the reason Uncle Baelor returned from Ashford short of an eye.”
Aeron looked around the table once. “You heard wrong, I am afraid, I did not lay a hand on uncle.”
Beside Aelor, Aelora pulled on his sleeve, trying to hush him. He ignored it. “No, but you called for a Trial of Seven, did you not?”
Aerion lifted his goblet, and when an answer didn’t come, his cousin continued.
“Some things never change, I suppose. Still the same angry little boy from Summerhall.”
Aerion kissed his lips. He glanced at Valyra briefly as if checking she was still listening. “I could say the same. Two years and still your twin lacks a babe.” His eyes found Aelora. “Does he even know where to put it?”
Valyra rolled her eyes at the comment.
“Good Gods! What a thing to say…” Aelinor, Aerys’s wife, exclaimed, bringing a hand to her lips.
Just then, the food was brought out, somehow lessening the tension as the maids hurried around the table.
“Pay him no mind.” Valyra turned to her aunt. “He is bound to get bored eventually.”
Further down the table, she noticed her father’s good eye on her, almost analysing her every move, and the thought annoyed her.
“Is Grandsire going to be joining us?” Her question landed on Baelor.
“The King is rather busy.”
Valyra looked away, displeased. “Strange, I’d thought he would find the time, considering he wished for us all here, did he not?”
Suddenly, the table got too quiet.
“Come now, it's been years since so many of us shared a meal. It calls for a celebration!” Raegal clapped his hands, and music filled the hall.
That should have erased the tension in her body, dulled the anger boiling in her mind.
As if it were as easily done as it was said.
As if she didn’t hear her father’s words repeated as he watched her. ‘Tell me… I will not condemn you for it, I swear it.’
As if any of this was simple.
“Are you alright?” Daeron’s voice snapped her back to the table. The music suddenly sounded rather distant.
“Yes.” She lifted her fork, barely tasting the food at all.
He leaned slightly. “You disappeared there for a second.”
“I said I am fine.” She lifted her goblet only to realise it was already empty. “Stop looking at me like that, and pass me the wine.”
Daeron reached for the flagon, refilling her cup himself. But his eyes never left her, not when she had asked and not for the rest of the night either.
Aelor didn’t attempt to prod at Aerion again that evening, and to everyone’s surprise, Aerion sat in silence for the rest of it.
The older men spent most of dinner discussing general subjects of little interest, as if everyone had allowed themselves this one night without talks of war and rebellions.
The moment the desert was brought out, Valyra found herself thinking of Ser Duncan.
That one time he found her in the rain, when she’d used cake as an excuse for the vomit, when in fact it had been Aerion’s vile actions that caused her to be sick.
She glanced across the table once, and Aerion was already looking, so the sudden change probably didn’t go unnoticed by him. He tilted his head slightly, almost questioning. She brushed it aside.
Ser Duncan, Egg, she wondered where they were now. If they were safe, if they had enough food, enough shelter.
“Is something the matter? You are not eating.” Aelor questioned her.
She shook her head instantly, but it was Aelora who answered. “She does not fancy cake. Right, cousin?”
Valyra smiled softly, nodding. “Yes. I think I will retire for the night.” The scraping of the wooden chair against the tile brought everyone’s attention back to her.
Baelor did not object; it was indeed getting rather late.
From the seat next to her Daeron flashed his father a look. Almost asking, almost pleading for permission. Maekar’s gesture was small, but the second Daeron caught it, he stood alongside Valyra and followed her out of the hall.
“You don’t have to do that.”
“That. Following me around."
“I simply wish to accompany you back to your chambers.”
“Or you think I am going to run off in search of more Milk of the Poppy?” She turned a corner, still speaking over her shoulder, still not looking at him.
Daeron exhaled. “So I worry. Is that so wrong?”
She stopped just outside her room. “Well, you have nothing to worry about. I am—“
“Seven hells, if I have to hear you say you are fine one more time, I am going to lose it.” He almost chuckled.
Valyra pushed open the door and froze. Her handmaidens were inside, changing her linen, preparing her a bath.
“What are you doing?” She questioned them with slight worry in her voice.
“Princess. Welcome back. There is a bath ready for you and fresh clothes—“
Daeron looked at her; she was genuinely angry, and he couldn’t understand why. The maids stood still, stopping at once what they were doing.
“I never asked you to do this. Get out! All of you.”
“Lyra… cmon.” Daeron was met with her cold stare, and he knew not to intervene further.
“As you wish.” One of the girls said, and they all hurried out of the room.
“And don’t bother coming back in the morning.” She shouted at them as they finally left.
The door shut behind them.
She turned away. “Nothing. I don’t need them.” He could hear the slight trembling in her voice.
“Alright, perhaps there was a better way of telling them that?”
Valyra snapped her head towards him. “You wished to escort me. I am back at my chambers now. You can leave.”
Daeron stepped closer. “How long are you going to be angry with me?”
“You spoke of things I shared with you in private to Aerion. Do you even know what you’ve done?”
“I am sorry. I truly am, but I promise I will not tell another soul.”
“You idiot. You might not, but what do you think he would do with that type of information?”
Daeron froze at her words. “He hasn’t told anyone.”
“Yet.” She added. “He hasn’t told anyone yet. The second, it might benefit him Daemon Blackfyre will be his best asset.”
He paused; she wasn’t wrong, and yet Daeron didn’t retreat this time. “Or you can just come out and tell your father.”
She scoffed and turned away, dismissing the idea instantly.
“I am serious. How long are you planning to keep this a secret? Baelor is the Hand of the King. He needs to know these things. He needs to know of any attempts made by the enemy to communicate with you.”
“That’s not for you to decide.”
“Fine.” He stepped back towards the door, defeated. “But you must understand the longer you wait, the worse it will be when they do find out.”
“Not if they never find out.”
“The message was for me. Not for father, or the Hand, or the King — me.”
Daeron didn't speak at first, waiting to see if she’d take back her words or correct them. She didn’t.
“You are actually serious. Why are you protecting them? You don’t really believe what he said, right? Because that would be insane.”
“I am not protecting anyone.”
“The people who hurt you have no remorse for you, Valyra.”
“Don’t you think I know that?”
“I don’t know!” Valyra paced around the room once before halting. “I don’t know, alright? Now please, leave.”
Daeron hesitated only for a second. The internal conflict was obvious in her eyes, and yet he felt compelled to defend himself.
“For someone who wanted me here, you surely ask me to leave often.” He didn’t wait for a reply, just slammed the door shut behind him as he left.
Valyra was left in the silence of her own room once again. She poured herself another drink and stripped, taking advantage of the already warm bath the maids had prepared for her. As she slipped under the water, her body took in the familiar warmth and yet the thoughts never stopped circling.
Why was she so angry at the handmaidens? Was she afraid of what they might think if they saw the remnants of the assault upon her body?
She glanced around the room.
Or perhaps it was what Aerion had said to her that one time. How did the Blackfyres know about her journey to Ashford? Were there spies within these walls?
The question was stupid when she thought about it. Of course, there were spies everywhere; perhaps a better question would be who would side with the bastards and betray House Targaryen… either way, she did not want people prying about her quarters without her presence.
Her eyes landed on the sack concealing the red dress again. Tomorrow she’ll have someone look at it; she’d already decided to preserve what little things she had left over from her late mother.
By the third goblet, the water had turned from steaming to tepid, and Valyra found herself collapsing onto her bed. She was worried she might not sleep that night either, but once her body met the plump mattress, slumber came to her almost instantly.
The following morning, Valyra had awoken early. As per her instructions, no handmaidens came to her, and once dressed, she decided to go out for a walk to the gardens. She did not like King’s Landing much, but the place did have its charm in some places.
Aerion was not aware of any of this. In fact, he managed to hide his true intention well enough that he’d taken the corridor leading up to her room by accident while on a walk around the castle.
He hopped lightly on one leg, clutching the head of the cane as he walked a few steps ahead of the guard that was assigned to follow him around. Part of the deal of him being here – constant watch, reports of his every movement to Baelor, no talking to Valyra without his permission – all of those he’d agreed to, all of those were stupid chains designed to control him.
Aerion was never the one to get controlled; he did the controlling.
As they turned the corner, he noticed her door was slightly ajar, and an almost inaudible shuffling sound came from inside.
Aerion stopped, and so did the guard, not questioning the prince in the process. In fact, the man might as well have no tongue, for he had not uttered a word to the prince all morning. The head of the wooden stick met the door as Aerion pushed it open wider. He’d expected to see her there and was rather disappointed when he did not.
Inside was a simple-looking boy. A peasant, perhaps, and he had his hands grasping at something that looked like Valyra’s clothing. The boy did not notice the prince or the taller man standing behind him until Aerion knocked over a small vase on purpose, and the shattering startled him.
“M-m-my P-prince.” The fear was real within the boy; Aerion cared little for it.
“Who are you? What are you doing here?” Aerion stepped closer, analysing him.
He lowered his head, as if afraid to look at Aerion in the eyes. “I-I can not say, my prince. Forgive me.”
“You can not say?” Aerion tilted his head. “I am your prince, and I command you to tell me what business you have in here.” He took two large strides and yanked the fabric from the timid boy, glancing at it. “Are you a thief? Stealing is a crime for which you pay with your hand. Stealing from a princess will have you lose both. Speak!”
Aerion’s shout jolted the boy, but to his surprise, he stood his ground. “I can not, I swore it.”
Aerion exhaled, almost bored. “Very well then.”
In a flash, Valyra’s clothing was tossed aside, and Aerion grabbed onto the boy’s collar with his free hand, forcing him to his knees. “I guess I will have to beat it out of you.”
It had been a beautiful sunny morning, and Valyra genuinely felt calmer in the gardens than she had in weeks. She’d often come here, watching over the edge at the bay below. Soon it was time for her to return; she walked the corridors alone while servants and guards bowed as she passed, and she greeted each with a warm smile.
Just as she’d approach her room, her heart sank at the sound of screaming and shouting. She ran and quickly froze at the sight in front of her.
“I.. I am sorry…forgive me, my prince…”
Aerion was beating a poor boy with his cane as he held him close with one hand. The boy was on his knees, bloodied and bruised.
“You’r sorry? That’s not an answer. I am still waiting.” He hit him again, hard across the side, and the boy’s scream made even Valyra wince.
“Aerion!” She shouted, and he stopped mid-strike, stick high in the air. “What in the Seven Hells are you doing?” She walked forward, concern written all over her face.
Aerion lowered the cane but yanked the boy up to his feet.
“I caught him rummaging through your things.” He eyed her dress on the floor, and Valyra actually felt sick.
Aerion’s brows furrowed as if he did not understand. “He’s a thief! A spy for all we know.”
Valyra swallowed down before she looked at him again. “I asked him to do that.”
The boy lifted his head and looked at her, surprised.
Valyra only stared at Aerion, even more determined than before. “Get your hand off of him. Now!”
A moment passed before Aerion shoved the boy aside.
Valyra opened her mouth as if to apologise, but the boy had already dashed out of the room and away from the abuse he’d just suffered.
Aerion studied her. “I do not understand. What could you possibly need from someone like him?”
She closed her eyes, almost thoughtful, before the answer came. “His mother mends fabrics down at Flee Bottom.”
“What does that have to do with…” But he found himself glancing at the clothing on the floor again as he watched her pick it up carefully.
Valyra looked towards the guard who had just remained still this entire time. “You. You just stood there witnessing this and did nothing.”
The man bowed. “Forgive me, Princess, but the Hand assigned me specifically to watch over and report on Prince Aerion’s doings.”
Valyra chuckled with disbelief. “Are you going to be reporting on this then? That you stood idle as he assaulted an innocent.” She pointed towards the door. “Leave us.”
“Princess, I can not, the Hand…” The guard tried to protest.
“I am well aware of your duties, and I would happily face the consequences from my father. But he is not here right now, and I just gave you an order. I’d like to speak with my cousin alone.”
The guard glanced between Aerion and her before he bowed again and left the room.
The quiet that came felt strange right after such a commotion.
Aerion broke the silence. “I would hardly call him an innocent–”
“Is this your big plan?” She snapped at him. “Terrorise the whole castle until every living soul despises you.”
Aerion’s eyes landed on the dress again. “I do not care if they despise me.” He walked forward and yanked it out of her hands, studying it close up now.
“You are an idiot.” He said. “You actually kept it.” He traced the faint stains of blood on the fabric with his fingers.
Varyra shifted uncomfortably as she watched him analyse it. It felt wrong. It felt like he cared.
“What would you like me to do? Throw it away? Burn it?”
He met her eyes over the fabric. “Yes.”
“Well, I can not.” She reached out and took the dress back from him.
“So you thought you’d hire someone to fix it? Throw in some extra coin to keep it quiet? Is that it?”
“It’s ruined! It can not be fixed.” He insisted.
“You don’t know that! Alright? You don’t.” She faced him. “It has to be fixed; if it’s not, it means I lost another piece of her.”
Aerion knew exactly what she meant, and when he opened his mouth to speak, he was almost about to say something human. Something soft that might actually help her.
He felt disgusted with the thought and with himself. “You need to get rid of it.”
She flashed him another hostile look.
“So far, people are talking, but all they know is that you got ambushed. If someone stumbled upon this, the true threat would be bare for all to see.”
But Valyra did not look worried, and in return, that worried him.
“I do not care.” She said. “I am not getting rid of it.”
His hand turned into a fist at the sound of her stubbornness.
She froze. “Do not. You have no right to call me that.”
Aerion stood watching her in silence for a moment, and some part of him longed for her to see him as worthy.
She looked at him, surprised. “What?”
“No!” She hugged it closer to her chest. “You’ll just throw it in the fire.”
“It is the most logical thing to do, but no.” He stepped closer, and she stepped back, and somehow this reminded him of Ashford. “Give it to me. I will find a way to fix it, I swear it.”
“And I am supposed to trust you?”
“I am trying to help you.” He reached out, but she just pulled further back.
“Yes, like you helped me by smashing the poppy, or breaking that girl’s fingers. What was it you called it? Enacting our mutual will.” She laughed after she’d said it.
“It helped, didn’t it? You slept just fine without it.”
“I stayed up all night without it!” She corrected him. “Don’t assume you know what I am going through.” She stepped around him. “I don’t need your ‘help’.” She emphasised on the ‘help’, and Aerion scoffed, annoyed.
“You don’t need anyone’s help, right? That’s why you dismissed all your handmaidens, is it not?”
Valyra stood rigid. “How did you…”
“You’d only grant access to that boy to fetch your dress had you known no one else would be around.” He took another step towards her, slower this time, almost careful. “And one of your braids is twisted.” He reached towards her hair, and when she didn’t pull away, his fingers tucked the strand behind her ear.
The moment stretched, she did not retreat, and he did not push further. They simply remained like that, in the proximity of each other.
Her eyes lowered for a second. “Aerion…” Her voice was almost a whisper, and it undid something inside him.
He knew then with utmost certainty she felt it too, whatever this was between them.
He fought back the tug at his lips and forced himself to step away. “I should go. I am not supposed to be talking to you without your father’s permission.” Aerion pulled the dress free from her grasp, taking it with him, and this time she did not resist. She just stood there watching him wobble along with this cane until the door clicked shut.
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