But white soon turned red, and a bastard girl was born in fire and blood, a babe who didn't burn.
or
In which a Targaryen slave was sold back to her family
Aegon T x Female oc x Aemond T
Helaena T x Female oc
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The birth of Allarria Targaryen was not within the beautiful stone walls of the keep. Her mother was not surrounded by ladies' maids in red, desperate to wipe the sweat from her forehead and hold her hand as she made painful screams, tears falling from her eyes as her dark brown hair stuck to her forehead. She had screamed for hours; they said it was for a night and a day. They also said that it could be heard by the guards standing at the gates of the Keep. It had almost certainly scared away many-a-customer.
She lay centre stage, sat where she had danced not only hours earlier, letting out loud screams once again and yet still; there were men who sat around the ground floor, some holding mugs of beer, some grasping tightly on their cup of wine as their eyes remained glued o the woman birthing her child. Even as a whore, it just had to be a spectacle. Still had to make money. Make up for the hours lost when her boss could no longer charge for her services. Luckily for him, and unfortunately for her, everything was a perversion, and therefore, everything had a price. This one seemed to cost just a little bit more than the usual. This one cost more because it was a sacrifice. They were paying to watch her pain, to watch her scream. To watch her die.
When the babe finally came out, she was bright red in her entirety, from the wisps of hair that sat on her round head to her tiny little toes on her feet. They could barely see the tint of her skin it was just. Red. Even as the dark-skinned whore held the baby in her arms as she lay silently, not even breathing out a cry staring into the woman's eyes. The woman herself stopped breathing, just for a moment, for the girl's eyes could not leave hers. The woman's hazel eyes could not leave the bright purple of the babes, who stared right back.
There may have been many a bastard born in the slums of the capital; it was inevitable. The high lords had sex down here just as much as a whore did. But this was different. There had never been a Targaryen bastard born with purple eyes. They may have had white hair, but they had never had purple eyes. Every Targaryen bastard had brown eyes, blue eyes, green eyes, even hazel eyes. But they were never purple. And here she was, the bastard of a whore with bright purple eyes.
That was when she stood up, babe in arms and made her way to the basin that sat behind the bar, washing her in the midst of dirty bottles and glasses. As her bare bottom hit the cold water, the cries started. They were loud, and even as the blood was washed off her face, the redness never died down, remaining bright as big tear drops fell down her face, splashing into the freezing water below.
Whilst annoying and sending all but one man out of the room, it woke her mother up, whose cries matched the screams of her daughter. Screaming nothing but "Give me my baby!" In between loud childish sobs, but when the woman turned around with a babe swaddled in a white cloth that matched the hair on her head and carried the babe back to centre stage, she stopped at the feet of her friend's vagina. The friend she had known for years since she was a child herself was still bleeding. There was a lot of blood. Too much blood, and this scared her. She went to hand the baby to her mother but was intercepted by her boss.
"A Targaryen babe!" He exclaimed. How could he not be happy? They could all see the gold coins in his eyes. All he seemed to do was picture just how much money he could make from this. He could sell her to the crown, to her family? But that would be one lump sum of gold. If he kept her, how much would someone pay to fuck a Targaryen whore?
A lot, he would wager.
He ignored the loud cries of both the babe in his arms and the slowly quieting wails of her mama. She was paling, getting weaker, and all the while begging for her child. Yet when she finally held her babe in her arms, they went limp. The child fell from her arms to the floor, letting out another loud wail as she did.
It was Merys who picked her up, slowly bouncing her, whispering quiet words of comfort to her, begging to stop her crying before their master got mad, whispering in her native tongue.
"She needs a name." He said, staring into the deep abyss that was the eyes of the newborn babe. "Allris. That shall be her name."
"What about Ria, should she not have some say in the naming of her daughter." Though slightly accented, it was clear that all around understood her as their backs straightened at the sight of one of their own openly disobeying their master.
"She may have had a say. But Ria is dead, so she now gets no say." His voice held no emotion but anger at the sight of something he owned disobeying him.
"What of Allarria, for her mother. We must give her something of her mother."
It was a good idea, but a reward for disobeying. It wouldn't stand. "Alright, I shall name her Allarria." At her smile, his own grin grew. "And in exchange, I shall have twenty on your back."
Meris flinched, the hairs standing up on her dark skin before offering a short nod and taking the babe from his hands and walking away. She whispered to the babe in her mother tongue as she did so, "You may be the daughter of a whore, the daughter of Ria. But you are also a Targeryan, the daughter of the most powerful house in the world. The most powerful dragon riders in the world and you shall be one of them. I will make sure of it."
Allarria's mother had not lived long after the birth of her only daughter, instead sacrificing her to the arms of her childhood best friend and the most vicious man she had ever met. A vicious man who had the future of a dynasty in his grasp. Perhaps he had lost his best whore, his moneymaker. But he had gained something much more precious and much more valuable,
