Capítulo 271: Chapter 271: A Fallen Targaryen
"Everyone, calm down," Rhaegar commanded, his voice steady and authoritative.
He removed his hood, revealing a handsome face and a composed demeanor. The slave traders, recognizing his Valyrian features and noble bearing, hesitated and did not dare approach.
"Stay quiet and let me handle this," Rhaegar continued, his tone brooking no argument.
The slaves exchanged glances, then stepped back, forming a circle around the two figures at the center. They assumed this man must be wealthy and might buy the slave girl.
Rhaegar took a moment to examine Daella, who was kneeling at his feet. Her slightly curly hair, bright white skin, and delicate figure evoked a protective instinct in him. She wore only two rags to cover herself, highlighting her vulnerability.
Her face, beautiful and reminiscent of Rhaenyra's, captivated him. The tear-shaped tattoos on her cheeks marked her as a prostitute, and Rhaegar frowned in displeasure.
"Who gave you that name, and how do you know who I am?" he demanded.
Daella's name was not common, especially among Valyrians. It was a variation of an ancient Targaryen name, indicating she knew more than a typical prostitute should.
"My lord, my name comes from my mother, and many of my kin have shared it," Daella replied, her eyes tearful. She knew the young man before her was her only hope.
She pointed to a button on Rhaegar's black robe, trembling as she spoke, "On your button, there's the symbol of the three-headed red dragon."
Rhaegar loosened his collar and looked down, seeing the Targaryen emblem. His distinctive clothing had given him away.
Realizing there was more to Daella than met the eye, Rhaegar crouched down, looked directly into her blue eyes, and repeated his question, "Why should I help you?"
Daella's white face was bruised, and her large eyes showed unease. She trembled as she answered, "I may share the same blood as you."
She retracted her neck, anticipating scolding or a beating. Her status was too low to claim kinship with any lord.
Rhaegar was taken aback, his eyes clouding over in thought. After a moment of silence, he stood up and pulled a bulging bag of money from his sleeve.
The slave traders caught it eagerly, their eyes widening at the sight of the gleaming gold coins inside.
"Take the money and leave!" Rhaegar ordered, his voice firm.
Whether Daella's claim was true or not, her origin couldn't be discussed in public. She had asked for his help, and he wouldn't let the slave traderstake her.
One of the traders bit a gold coin to confirm its authenticity, then smiled obsequiously. "She's yours, my lord."
Securing the money bag, he scanned the area and quickly departed. In a free-trade city-state, money was paramount.
Rhaegar ignored him and took Daella's hand from her with a quick stride. "Come with me!" he ordered coldly.
"Yes, my lord," Daella replied overjoyed. She straightened the rags that covered her and followed him closely.
...
Rhaegar found a tavern with decent surroundings and chose a secluded corner by the window. Draping a cloak over Daella, he asked plainly, "Whose bastard daughter are you?"
Daella, who appeared to be around his age, pulled the cloak tightly around her small frame. She lowered her head and replied timidly, "I am no one's bastard daughter. My mother was a whore and didn't know who my father was."
"Your blood comes from your mother?" Rhaegar inquired, a hint of curiosity in his voice.
Daella nodded, her voice barely audible. "Yes, my blood comes from my mother, and her blood came from my grandmother."
"Your grandmother?" Rhaegar echoed, intrigued and a bit incredulous. It was rare for Targaryen traits to persist so strongly through the generations, especially in someone of Daella's background.
Daella seemed to shrink further into herself, trembling as she continued. "You might have heard of my grandmother. Her name was Saera..." She hesitated before whispering the rest of the name, "Saera Targaryen."
...
That night, Rhaegar crossed the Long Bridge and found himself amidst the bustling brothels of the east side, stopping in front of a large establishment with a constant flow of customers.
"Is this the place?" Rhaegar asked, pointing at the brothel.
Daella, clad in black robes with her long silver-blonde hair hidden under a hood, nodded with certainty. "This is it. I grew up here. I wouldn't mistake it."
"Lead the way," Rhaegar instructed, his eyes reflecting a mix of emotions as he followed her into the brothel.
The brothel was a sprawling, three-story building adorned with seductive oil paintings and carvings. The pungent smell of perfume hit Rhaegar as soon as they entered, mingling with the sight of prostitutes and their eager clients. Lustful noises echoed from the surrounding rooms.
Daella led the way, and though the prostitutes glanced at her in surprise, they didn't approach her. Rhaegar followed her to the third floor, where the sounds of lust gave way to the sounds of music.
As they moved down the corridor, a door opened, and a middle-aged man with silver-blonde hair stepped out. Daella froze at the sight of him, halting in her tracks.
The man approached them, scrutinizing Daella before speaking in a mocking tone. "I heard someone report you were back. Quite surprising."
His gaze shifted to Rhaegar. "Kid, you bought Daella?"
Rhaegar lifted his head, removing his hood to reveal his face. "I'm looking for a woman named Saera. I heard she was here."
"Of course she's here. She's my mother and the madam of this brothel," the middle-aged man replied, noticing Rhaegar's long silver-gold hair and purple eyes.
"Take me to her," Rhaegar's voice turned cold, his patience waning.
"She hasn't taken clients in a long time, even if you are young and handsome," the man refused, his tone firm.
"Uncle, my lord is from Westeros," Daella interjected, her voice trembling.
The man's face changed slightly, the mention of Westeros stirring memories of his travels across the ocean. He took a serious look at Rhaegar, quickly piecing things together.
Pure Valyrian descent, from Westeros... he must be a member of that family.
Flustered, the man hurriedly said, "Please, come with me. Mother is resting in her room."
He turned and walked briskly down the corridor. Rhaegar, deepening his breath, followed closely behind.
Entering the room, Rhaegar noticed the white walls adorned with various ornaments. A velvet bed, surrounded by a circle of light gauze, was placed by the window. On either side of the bed knelt two young male slaves, naked and toned.
"Geddel, who is it?" a lazy woman's voice called out from behind the veil, revealing a figure lying on the bed.
"Mother, a man with dragon blood is here," the middle-aged man, Geddel, announced hesitantly from the doorway.
"Dragon blood? Targaryen!" the woman's voice rose abruptly as she sat up from her bed, pulling back the curtains from the inside to reveal her face.
Rhaegar remained silent, his gaze fixed on her.
Half-sitting on the bed was a woman in her forties or fifties, with long silver-gold hair and purple eyes. Her skin was very white, and she had taken good care of herself, still showing traces of the beauty she once possessed.
The woman's expression was a mix of disgust, nostalgia, and indifference as she noticed the young man in the room.
After a moment of silence, she pulled a thin quilt over her bare thighs and asked flatly, "Whose child are you?"
"If I remember correctly, there were only two male heirs left in Targaryen, Viserys and Daemon. The boy in front of me must be the heir of one of them," she mused.
"My father was Viserys, King on the Iron Throne," Rhaegar responded, his heart twisting. "My name is Rhaegar, Aunt Saera."
Yes, the brothel madam before him was none other than his great-aunt, Saera. A pure-blooded Targaryen. Saera, the ninth child and fifth daughter of his great-grandfather, Jaehaerys the First.
Rhaegar knew well the history of his great-grandfather's twelve children, and Saera was the one who had angered and broken his heart the most.
Saera had been a stubborn and rebellious child, often playing pranks on her siblings and courtiers. She was ostracized by her sisters, including Rhaegar's grandmother, Alyssa, and his great-aunt, Daella.
As an adult, Saera surrounded herself with multiple female and male companions, engaging in scandalous relationships. She even lost her virginity to one of her three male companions and had relationships with all three.
When the truth was revealed, Jaehaerys imprisoned her companions and even sentenced one to death in a trial by combat. In his anger, Jaehaerys banished Saera to Oldtown, placing her under the care of her sister, Septa Maegelle.
After enduring a series of strict punishments, Saera could no longer stand the nuns' beatings and ran away. She found a ship in Oldtown and sailed to Lys, where she worked in a brothel, posing as a young girl new to the trade for the pleasure of clients.
It took half a year for the news to reach King's Landing. Jaehaerys was furious and no longer recognized her as his daughter, leading to a severe quarrel with Queen Alysanne.
From that point on, Saera became a true whore. A few years before 99 AC, she left Lys and came to Volantis, where she opened her own brothel.
During the Great Council of 101 AC, Jaehaerys, who had lost his heirs, sent for his remaining daughter to be brought back to King's Landing. Saera refused, stating that she had her own kingdom in Volantis and did not need the Iron Throne.
She had three bastards from different fathers, all of whom she sent to Westeros to participate in the Great Council. Naturally, none of them were chosen; no one would fancy a bastard born of a whore.
Saera straightened her silver hair, looking a little frazzled, and asked irritably, "Why did you come to see me?"
It had been many years since she had contacted any of her relatives. Seeing Rhaegar brought back memories of the past.
(Word count: 1,676)
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