The Wild Dragon

Chapter 14 - Crowned

By the time Alaera had finished her dealings and delivered the orphan to Sorelle's care, the sun had already ascended the sky. Next she went to the docks in search of the right ship to take her charges to the intended destination. Normally, she would have waited, searched some more. She was certain there were more silver blond haired children in the slums her brother so frequently visited, but she had a feeling of impending doom that made her quicken her plans.

She had promised that young mother, Rose, security for her and her newborn so she would deliver them and her newest charge into safety. She knew some of the ship owners that often made trips to Dragonstone and found one she trusted enough. It took several hours for it all to be settled, for the young mother with her baby and the little four year old girl whose freedom she had paid for last night to be packed and delivered to the ship. Alaera watched it sail away and hoped the raven she had already sent to her friends had reached its destination on Dragonstone.

In between her travels, she had met three wonderful women, all meant to be mothers, but all lacking that which they deeply desired. All three had known loss, either of the child they had born or of the partner they would have built a family with. One had simply been unable all her life. Meeting Alaera Targaryen had meant a chance for them all, as the Princess knew of children in need of care, safety and love but also had the means to ensure that. And so a home and school for orphans had been built on Dragonstone, under the shadow of the castle, close to the village where other children with similar features grew and played.

Not all the children in this ever-growing house had silver-blond hair and lavender eyes, but every couple of years Alaera would find such children in the slums of King's Landing or in the brothels on the Street of Silk and bring them there. Apart from the three women and the husbands of two of them, no one knew the true identity of their benefactor, but a silver haired young woman would sometimes visit with gifts for the children. Every once in a while one of them would recognise her from some long forgotten memory of another place, maybe cold and dirty, maybe dangerous, from which she had pulled them out of. They called her "the good aunt" and nothing made Alaera happier than being trampled down under their happy hugs.

The Princess made her way back to the Keep with heavy steps, hiding her face and hair under the hood of her dark coat. It had been irresponsible of her to go alone to a brothel known to cater to the most disgusting wishes, run by a man of no morals. The White Worm had laid the way for her, and had long tried to buy the little girl with golden-white hair and amethyst eyes, but the owner knew well how much a Targaryen looking whore would bring him in just a few years. Looking at the silent girl, Alaera wondered if she wasn't already late, if they had not already hurt her.

She had lost patience with Mysaria's negotiations and would have gone alone to conclude the trade, but for White Worm's insistence to take one of her people with her. Rushing into it had been a mistake but luckily her companion had spirited the little girl out just as the owner realized he had a real life Targaryen look alike alone in his den, which might bring him faster the coin he was losing with the girl. Alaera had lost two of her dearest knives in the fight that ensued, but had not left unscathed: a purple collar was already obvious around her neck and a couple of her ribs were probably cracked on her right side. Her head, which had been bumped against a wall hard enough to make her almost lose consciousness, still hurt and made her dizzy every once in a while. The scraped hands and knees didn't even count. She was alive. He was not anymore.

Reaching her room through the catacombs, Alaera noticed nothing had been moved since she'd left it the night before. There was no fresh water or a bath waiting for her. The red dress she had worn last evening was still on the armchair where she'd thrown it in her rush to leave Aemond's presence.

It took a lot of effort and pain to disrobe. Everything seemed to hurt. She found a big purple bruise on her right thigh. It matched the ribs, she thought. Must have been the time he had pushed against the wall. She would lie to say it was the first beating she had received in her life, but at least she knew what to do about it. She cleaned as best she could with the cold water in the basin, spread ointments on her wounds and then left some wet cloths on the balcony, hoping they'd be cooler later to be applied where her flesh was already swollen.