I like to think that I had choices in life, but if I dwell on it too hard, I realize that perhaps rather ruefully I had none. I was born in the Targaryen court during the reign of King Vyseris the First. I was told that I was one of his bastards, however my dark features bore no resemblance to the ruling class. Instead, fortunately, or unfortunately as some may state, I took after my mother. She was I confess a beauty in her day, one of the chambermaids of Queen Rhenenyra. Dark of skin, ebony of hair, and possessed of inquisitive eyes of raven's black.
Bastard or not she loved me, even after her fall from grace she held me with no ill will. She got me the job of spit boy when I was barely more than a child. I would work in the kitchens, doing as my title suggested, turning the spit so the roast pig was always perfect for a few coppers a week. At least in this employ, I was never cold in winter, and I remained fed. I guess that is what my mother had hoped, her last gift to me. She died later that year of a pestilence that swept the poorer parts of the city, hitting Flea Bottom especially hard.
I knew what she had resorted to, to survive, after the Queen had banished her from the court. She did well for a time in Flea Bottom, but sadly my hours were long, and I toiled in the kitchens most days and rarely got to visit her. When I did though, she loved to hear of all the castle intrigues. I didn't have that many to report though, my work as it was rarely afforded me any juicy gossip, and I really didn't brush shoulders with any of the royalty.
After Mother died I had no more excuses to leave the Red Keep. For a time as many will I wallowed in melancholy over the loss of her. I had no other siblings to share my grief with, and being male it would have been unseemly to do so. So I applied myself to my work and thought of little else.
The year passed, and I was one day surprised by the castle Chamberlain. I think all were in the kitchen that day. It was rare a man of his rank would venture here. I could see the staff, each at the pretense of hard work, but all ears ready to catch any juicy gossip. Gossip that could make the rounds of the castle in as little as a couple of hours.
I bowed deeply before the man. He was portly, dressed in fine velvet in the Targaryen colors, red and black. Featuring embellishments of the red three-headed dragon. Symbol of the King's rule. He wore a heavy gold chain across his breast, and I remember well his boots, as that is where I cast my eyes. They were black and shining, without a speck of dust nor mud, proof of his high station.
"Your hard work has been noticed Tanel."
It was rare to hear my name spoken. I had always just been 'boy.' Yet I was a boy no longer, I was now a young man. I nodded but did not speak.
"I have a promotion for you, from today you are to assist the Master of feasts, with the tablecloths and candles."
"Yes, my Lord Chamberlain."
And with that pronouncement, I had a new life.
*****
I found myself in better quarters, with fancier attire, and the pay was better too. I spent most of my days polishing silver and gold ware, folding tablecloths, and lighting or extinguishing candles. This work appealed to me, it was far more varied than my last employ, and I came into contact with many of the most comely serving maids.
Life wasn't so bad. I took great care not to become involved with any court intrigues. Minding my own business, and saving my coin so that I may have a better tomorrow. From time to time I would encounter members of the royal family during my work. My eyes would be respectfully downcast of course. That was if you didn't count me gazing as much as I could on their royal personages through my lowered eyelashes. We all did it, it was not just me.
My life remained uncomplicated, and very much pain-free, until that one fateful day we were all preparing a name-day feast for the Prince Aemond. He was a little older than I, and as I often heard very much for expressing himself at court. It was obvious to all that there were tensions between him and his elder sibling the Crown Prince Agon. They were two very different young men. Agon seemed to live for a light-hearted, good time, he didn't apply himself to the idea that he would be sovereign one day.
Yet his younger brother Aemond was all business. Serious, sharp, and brutal. I had often wondered if claiming the largest dragon in Westeros had added to his deep-rooted confidence, or was it losing his eye? The way he moved and spoke belied cruelty. None wished to be singled out by him. However it was his name day, and we must do our best to make it perfect, and memorable.
I remember that day well. I was setting the candlesticks in their places on the long table. I was lost in my thoughts when I felt warm breath on my neck and a voice at my ear.
"You are wasted here."
I turned to momentarily look into a singular, intense, pale blue eye, and in horror realizing who had spoken to me I lowered my eyes to the floor. I couldn't think, and I could barely move.
The Prince chuckled at my frightened response. His thin lips curved in his trademark cruel smile.
"If you want to make more gold boy, I have a proposition for you. I will send word."
*****
Well life went on, and as the weeks passed I began to relax.
Those words were just words after all.
I was happy in my current life, simple as it was.
I was carrying a heavy load of linen to the Laundress, I often did this for the girls. When a well-dressed man passed me in the hallway and slipped me a note. The gesture was subtle. I took it without stopping, but I did turn momentarily to look back at him. He was well dressed, and I felt I recognized him but I could not be certain. One of the inner court perhaps. I felt a feeling of cold wash over me, so far I had been spared involvement in any court scheming and of that I was glad. I could never forget what happened to mother. I determined I would not befall a similar fate. I clutched the slip of paper in my hand and did not look at it until I had deposited my burden, and could find somewhere to read it where I would be unobserved.
'Meet me in the cellar near the dragons.' That was all it said. The handwriting was fine, educated, perhaps from the prince himself.
I was careful to dispose of the note in the flame of a nearby candle. Once all traces of it were gone I made my way to the rendezvous. I didn't really wish to go I confess. Yet I could not refuse a direct summons without possible reprisal. I knew the castle well. In my childhood, before the idea of station set in, I played with all the other children, nobility and servant alike. We often ran and played in those tunnels beneath the keep. So there was no confusion as to the location of the meeting.
Fortunately, I didn't have to make any excuses, as not a soul spoke to me as I made my way to the entrance, to the tunnels outside facing the sea. I had not traversed these in years, as there was no incentive now that I was grown, but as I did so familiar childhood memories flooded back into my mind. This place had remained unchanged a comfort of a sort as I revisited good memories of my youth. Unsure what this day would bring.
He was there waiting, tall, proud, and athletic, his graceful long fingers rested atop the hilt of his sword in an attitude of easy readiness. His straight trademark Targaryen white hair was tightly bound in a ponytail, perfectly coiffured. I bowed low and cast my dark eyes to the floor. My heart was thumping in my breast, and my hands were clammy. I was not sure if I should speak or not, so I didn't.
"Good you came, your name?" He asked imperiously.
