Lady Snow // Aemond Targaryen Fanfic

Part Two - Mistress Brothel

"Madame!" A young girl calls out from the front room, echoing throughout the halls to the mistresses chambers, finding herself sipping on a gold goblet of red Tyroshi wine, laced of silk satin, face covered in a golden laced mask to hide her identity.

"Madame," the young girl called once more, standing at the door way of the mistresses rooms, finding her lounging upon the red satin sofa, being served red grapes with maids taking care of her every need, as she laid so beautifully as a mortal goddess had been sent from the gods to radiate her beauty to all the mortal men and women of the realm, for the North was in need of life in the light of its darkness.

"Yes my dear," the mistress answered, sucking in another red grape, slowly allowing the juices to flow throughout her mouth slowly, savouring every last taste of the single grape, knowing it may be the last one for a while due to the winters becoming colder, and the Targaryens at the brink of war.

"He's here," the young girl cried with glee, for she was just a child of one and three, grown up in the world of prostitution, she was ready to finally lay with a man, but her maidenhead would cost a golden dragon, no man may have her unless the mistress agree's to her price, she watched this girl grow up like a sister, she would only allow her if she was comfortable and the man was suitable.

" Tell him I will be at his pleasure in a minute,"the mistress told the young girl of blonde locks, an innocent face of a baby. "Yes madame!" She gleed out, almost as if skipping out of the room, thinking this man would be the man to take her maidenhead, but the mistress loved her girls as if her own daughters and sisters, she found it always difficult to watch their innocence fade away each time they lay with a man for a few gold coins, but they were left to her as orphans to hope for a somewhat good life, she just wished she could provide them more than this life of tasteless sex and endless pain.

The mistress, began to make her way towards the front of the brothel, her raven brown hair tied up in an intricate bun, tightening her gold mask upon her eyes, hiding most of her identity. Her satin cream slippers gently scraping the wooden floors as she peeled the silk curtain from her body, stepping infront of the man that the North had been awaiting.

Prince Aemond Targaryen, she uttered under her breathe for herself to only hear.

"We have been expecting you your grace," the mistress spoke bowing slightly as she kept her eyes upon the prince who's slender body towered over her, his silver locks shimmering as the northern sun gleamed upon it, "How do we owe the pleasure?" She asked as her body straightened, her hands clasped in front of her, swaying closer in front of the Targaryen prince, following his eyes upon her.

"And you are?" He spoke softly, keeping his eyes on the young girl below him. "The mistress, your grace—" she stopped inches in front of him, "—of this establishment," peeling his hand from his side, glancing at his radiant skin, the softness that his hands, nothing of the sort that was rumoured of Targaryen's, their skin told to be full of scales, kissing it gently. 

Confused by the women intentions, for she was far to young by her body, cleavage that boldly clinched against her very thin silk creamed gown, to be the mistress of the brothel. "You are far to young," he peeled his hand gently out of hers back to his side, her hands clasped together once more, both peering into each others eyes. "Your grace, I am old enough to understand why you are here. So either pay or leave," the mistress changing her tone towards the Prince.

"How much is it to have a night with you?" He smirked, looking her up and down, inching closer to her. "You honour me your grace," she chuckled, "but I am far too expensive for any man alive to afford."

Beginning to turn away from the prince, pouring herself a glass of wine into the golden goblet upon the table against the wall, "I believe I can afford you," the prince answered behind her, as the mistress slowly poured her wine till it nearly touched the top. "And how so?" The mistress asked curiously, turning back towards the prince, whoms arms held tightly behind his back, his black leather hugging his body in all the right places, it was not hard for any women to notice.

"Let yourself find out," he whispered, beginning to slowly reach his hands behind the mistresses face, his slender fingers trickling her hair, grasping a piece of the lace holding her mask upon her face, but before the mask could become undone, she pushed the prince away from herself forcefully, Aemond stumbling backwards.

"I know you are the prince! But I am no whore your grace. If you touch me once more, I will personally remove your other eye myself," she fumed, her breathe heavy, as he stared at her, adjusting his pants that slowly began to rise up, both quiet for a few seconds until Aemond by the door spoke up, "What do you think Cregan Stark will do with a whore whom offends the Brother of the King?" He smirked at the mistress whom smirked right back.

"I'm not too sure, your grace. Maybe you should find out--" she shot back at him, "And while you're at it, tell him his sister was displeased at the Brother of the King, calling her a whore." Aemond's face immediately dropped to dull shock, his smirk immediately left from his face. He began to slowly inch towards her, "My lady I—" he spoke softly, yet the mistress snapped back, "Now do you want a girl to please you or not?" She questioned intently, staring into his eyes, his body standing tall over her, but she stood confidently towards him.

"No my lady—" he spoke softly, with sadness to his tone due to disrespecting her, "—I will take my leave, my apologies" nodding before opening the door towards the streets of Winterfell, leaving the Mistress of the Brothel, Sara Snow, bastard sister of Cregan Stark, in her own midst.