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carnivorousladybug · 11 months

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You Owe Me a Debt: Chap 4

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Author's Note: This is definitely not a parody. You should take everything in this fanfic 100% seriously. This story is true to canon. It really happened. Trust me, I was there.

Story Summary: As the second son of King Visery's second wife, Aemond Targaryen is given only a small allowance. The measly funds were nowhere near enough to pay for the prince's daily necessities, such as his 16-step Olaplex haircare routine. The young prince is secretly forced to live on credit and he must count every last cent he spends. One day, someone steals his money, leaving Aemond penniless and angry. Will he be able to get his money back or will his broke ass be humiliated in front of court for not being able to pay his Klarnax installments for his sapphire?

Pairings: Aemond Targaryen x Visenya Targaryen (Rhaenyra's Daughter) but ironically.

Rating: PG 13

Chapter 4: The Drag Queen Vhagar

Words: 3.931k

Warnings: Communism, violent Gold Cloaks, someone gets stabbed.

The girl grinned — a haughty smile that made her uncannily similar to someone he knew, though he couldn’t pinpoint exactly who it was. Aemond stared at her in bewilderment.

“My name is Visenya Targaryen, daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen, Princess of Dragonstone, and Prince Consort Daemon Targaryen,” she said proudly with her chin up, as if she were speaking in front of a royal court and not to a young man in puke-stained clothes beside a giant garbage bin at the back of a theme park's visitor center. There was a hint of amusement in her eyes. “I didn’t fancy seeing you here, Kepus. It is wonderful to finally meet you. I’d shake your hand, but I don’t want to get vomit on me.”

She had a rather fast way of speaking and Aemond had to take a moment to process her words. Trying to salvage the last shred of dignity within him, he stood up and quickly composed himself into the cool, confident demeanor that he had trained himself to possess.

“Apologies, Niece. I did not know my half-sister had a daughter,” said the prince.

“Well, technically, she doesn’t. Not yet, at least,” said Visenya. Aemond gave her a quizzical look. She continued, leaning towards him to whisper as if she were sharing a secret, “I’m not supposed to have been born yet.”

“Then how are you here?”

“Because the fandom likes me and there’s quite a lot of people who ship us.”

“They— what?”

“They ship us. In fandom language, it means that they think we’d make a cute couple. It also means that they write fanfics about us making babies together.”

Every word that came out of her mouth caught him off guard and he was sure he was gaping like a fish out of water.

“Does that mean— do we get— married?” Aemond stammered.

“Oh, no no no. Not in this universe, anyway. My mother won’t give birth to me until Viserys dies, and I was stillborn so I never actually even lived. Plus, I’m not your type. You like wet nurses who are twice your age and have a name that sounds similar to your mother’s.”

“I do not,” protested Aemond, emphasizing the not.

Visenya grinned as if she knew something he didn’t. They’ve only just met and yet she was starting to get on his nerves.

“What brings you to King’s Landing, Princess?” Aemond asked, his tone laced with the slightest tinge of irritation.

The princess offered a small, impish grin. “I’m on official family business. King Viserys has summoned everyone. He is rewriting the order of succession and he wants to make you his heir.”

There was a moment of silence as Aemond’s eye widened in shock before narrowing in suspicion. Visenya burst into laughter.

“You should’ve seen your face—” she wheezed, a hand clutching her stomach.

“I do not have time for your games,” he snarled. Any hint of warmth in his tone was now gone. “If you came here to mock me, I suggest you leave.”

“Apologies, Uncle. I meant no harm. The truth is that I ran away,” Visenya confessed. She blew out a breath. “I… got tired of Dragonstone. I’m not supposed to be here. I snuck out.”

He studied her for a moment, reading her expression. Aemond had lived at court his whole life and he has spent years reading faces. He could see a thin layer of guilt settle over his niece’s eyes as she talked. But behind that was something fiery. It was a fervor, a determination, a certain stubbornness to get what one wanted — or to die trying. It was the same expression he saw on himself this morning when he snuck out of the Keep.

“Hm. That explains the peasant clothes,” he said finally.

“They’re actually Recession core clothes.”

“What?”

Visenya waved his question away. “Why were you in a Vhagar costume?”

Aemond pressed his lips together. “You saw nothing.”

“Well, right now I can see that you need something new to wear,” said his niece, gesturing at his soiled tunic. “Wait here, I’ll be back.”

Visenya came back five minutes later carrying a bag with a Journey into Old Valyria logo.

"I got something from the gift shop for you," she said. Visenya stretched out her hand and offered the bag to Aemond. He accepted it from her and dug around its contents.

Aemond took out a bright, neon green T-shirt with a picture of Vhagar printed on the front. The words "THE DRAGON QUEEN VHAGAR" was written in a large comic sans font, except the last two words of “dragon” was nearly faded so instead it looked like it said “THE DRAG QUEEN VHAGAR.”

It looked atrocious.

“You brought me a Vhagar T-shirt,” he said in monotone, trying to conceal his feelings towards it. “And… a wig?” He held up a straight black haired wig. It was as long as his real hair and had sleek strands that had a plastic shine to them.

“Well I’m not walking around with a guy who looks like he’s a part of the Westerosi mafia,” Visenya said, putting her hands on her hips. “You can keep the sunglasses, but that cloak has got to go. Plus, you’ve got some puke on it too.” She pointed to a spot at the hem of his cloak. “The wig will cover your hair in its place.”

“I am not wearing this wig.”

“If you want, I can get a wig for myself too so we can be twinsies.”

“No. I’m not wearing this wig.”

“You will if you don’t want people to recognize you while you’re wearing a The Drag Queen Vhagar T-shirt,” said Visenya. “Actually, that would be kind of hilarious. Westeros Today would have a field day. By the way, is it true that you’re an outfit repeater—”

“Turn around,” Aemond snapped.

“What?”

“I’m going to change.”

The princess turned her back as Aemond began changing out of his tunic. He tossed the dirty shirt into the garbage bin.

“I never took you for a shy one, Kepas,” she said, her back still turned. She kicked around some of the pebbles at her feet. “What are you hiding under there that requires my eyes adverted? Tits?”

“You and Aegon would get along well.”

“Oh. Thank you.”

“That was not a compliment.”

After he finished changing, Aemond let Visenya know that she could turn. When she saw his new look, the princess gave him a smile so wide that it kind of scared him.

“Ooo la la!” She sang. “You look so vampy. Like one of the Volturi guys from Twilight. Aro. Well, Aro if he was a highlighter.”

“I told you not to mock me,” Aemond grumbled.

“I wasn’t,” said Visenya. “I think Aro is hot.”

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At Visenya’s request, they stopped at the gift shop before they left. She picked out a jet-black wig identical to Aemond’s and went into the privy to put it on. When she came back out, her uncle was standing rigidly in front of a shelf full of dragon figurines.

“How do I look?” she asked. Visenya twirled dramatically in front of him, the long ebony locks flying outwards.

“Ridiculous,” he replied. With the sunglasses, she couldn’t read the expression in his eye, but she did see the corners of his mouth turn up slightly.

Visenya paid for her wig and they made their exit, the gift shop door swinging shut behind them. The warmth of the bright afternoon hit her face as the noises of the squealing children and the mechanical whirs of the park rides enveloped them once more.

Aemond walked along silently beside her. Her uncle was not a man of many words, Visenya discovered.

"You still haven't told me why you were in the Vhagar costume," said Visenya, tilting her head up at him.

Silence.

Visenya tried again. “Do you come here often?” She gestured towards the rides around them.

Silence.

She decided to change tactics. “Where did you buy that sapphire behind those shades?” Visenya asked. “It’s very pretty, by the way. It suits you.”

Silence.

Well, okay, she thought. Point taken. No talking.

She didn't say a word for the rest of the way towards the park exits. But before leaving for good, she and Aemond stopped by at a Subway inside the park near the ticket stations. Visenya bought sandwiches for both of them and they quickly refueled, gobbling up the food in minutes.

When they got out, Visenya was shocked to find that there was quite a commotion. The streets were packed with people, many of them carrying solid red flags and chanting. She couldn’t make out the words, but there was a powerful force to the crowd as they surged forward, carrying her along with them like a current. Before she knew it, she and Aemond were part of the vast herd, all heading in the same direction with determined faces and fists raised in the air. The noise of their shouts were deafening.

Visenya struggled to keep her balance as the crowd pushed her around and she yelped, stumbling. Aemond reached for her hand, pulling her close to his side.

“What’s going on?” Visenya shouted, her eyes darting around frantically.

“I don’t know,” he yelled, his face serious. “But I intend to find out.”

They pushed their way towards a crowded square, Visenya following her uncle’s lead. She stared around in awe.

There were hundreds of people, a sea of red flags gleaming in the late afternoon sun, and a cacophony of chants, all rising in unison. It was a sight to behold. There was something raw and unrestrained about the energy of the crowd… Everything about the scene was unlike anything she had ever seen before. It was both frightening and exhilarating, and she felt adrenaline surging through her veins.

Despite Aemond’s reserved demeanor, Visenya could tell that he was distressed by the tight grip he had on her hand.

In the midst of the chaos, the sound of a megaphone reverberated through the air as a burly man stepped on top of a soapbox at the center of the square. He was a tall, muscular man dressed in leathers with a sword strapped to his side. Long, brown hair fell loosely around a stern face, a deep scar across one side of his cheek. He seemed to be around middle-aged. Visenya wondered if he were a sellsword. There was a sense of power and command about him that she could not ignore, a sense that if he were to speak, all would pause and listen.

“Comrades!” his voice boomed.

The crowd fell silent. Visenya looked up at her uncle, trying to catch his eye, but he was staring intently ahead at the speaker. Aemond’s forehead was creased and his lips were set in a grim line.

The man’s voice was firm and determined as he addressed the crowd gathered before him.

“We live in a city of great wealth and power,” said the man. There was something about his accent that seemed Northern. “King’s Landing is the biggest city in all of Westeros, the very beating heart of the continent, the home of our Targaryen dragonlords. We live in a city rich with history, trade, and culture. But we also live in a city where too many are suffering.”

He looked around at the faces in the crowd, a mix of anger and desperation on their faces.

“We see our brothers dying of disease, lost and alone in the bowels of Flea Bottom. We see our sisters, selling their dignity, just to provide for their infants. We see our children going to bed each night with hunger pains while those who have the power to help choose to turn a blind eye.”

The man’s voice rose. “The lords will tell you that they have your best interests at heart, but they only seek to maintain their own wealth and power. Do not be fooled by their lies!

“It is we, the workers, who create the wealth of the kingdom with our labor. And yet, it is the nobles who live in luxury while us smallfolk struggle to make ends meet. Well, I say to that, no more!” A cheer went up.

“We will not stand idly and watch as our fellow citizens suffer. All people, nobility or not, have the right to a decent life. The time for change is upon us! We must rise up and overthrow this oppressive system and establish a worker’s paradise. One where the fruits of our labor will be shared equally among all. One where the power will belong to the people, and not to the few!

“We shall not rest until our demands are met. We shall not yield until justice is served. For the people of King’s Landing, for the future of Westeros, for the future of our families and the generations to come, we are here to say that ENOUGH IS ENOUGH!”

The crowd erupted into a thunderous cheer as the man lifted his fist in the air.

Enough is enough! the people cried. Enough is enough!

Aemond leaned in towards Visenya's ear. "We need to leave. Now."

And then all hell broke loose.

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Aemond saw a dozen Gold Cloaks surrounding the square. Just as he pulled Visenya with him to make a run for it, one of the guards punched someone at the edge of the crowd and a brawl began. The sounds of metal clashing against bone echoed around the square as the people screamed and pushed.

Aemond sprinted onto a narrow road, Visenya following close behind him. The two zigzagged their way through the maze-like streets, trying to put as much distance between them and the trouble in the square as possible.

"Oi! You two! Stop right there!"

Aemond dared to glance back. Two of the Gold Cloaks were hot on their heels. Aemond felt blood rush to his head, his heart pounding. He cursed Visenya for getting him a ludicrously conspicuous T-shirt.

They ran past a bakery with bags of flour stacked on a wagon at the storefront. Thinking fast, Aemond took out a dagger he had hidden in his boot and slashed the flour sacks. With a sudden burst of energy, he pushed the bags onto the street behind them. Powdery dust exploded in the air as he took Visenya’s hand and continued to run down the streets.

Aemond heard the guards' footsteps stop as they let out a howl. The men started coughing and hacking flour out of their lungs.

Once he and Visenya had put behind a safe distance, Aemond slowed down and led them into a narrow deserted alleyway off the street. The sun was setting now and long shadows were growing on the buildings and cobblestones. He leaned against the cold stone wall of the alley, catching his breath, his heart racing a mile per minute.

To his surprise, Visenya was laughing, her chest heaving as the sound escaped her. The light from the burning lamps on the road casted a warm glow on her face, and he saw that her cheeks were flushed from the exertion of the chase, her eyes shining with amusement.

"That was fun," she said.

"Fun? We could've gotten killed," Aemond said.

"But we didn't."

Aemond didn’t say anything to that. He took a few moments for his breathing to return to normal. They stayed in a comfortable silence for a while, hidden in the darkness of the alley, as they watched the people passing up and down in the street.

"That was a Communist rally," he said after a while. Visenya looked at him, waiting for him to go on. "I had heard rumors of such gatherings occuring in King’s Landing but I never thought they existed in such a scale."

"They seem extraordinary," the princess said. “Did you see how that man was commanding the crowd? He—”

"The Communists are a threat to our way of life," Aemond snapped. “The highest treason against the crown. They want to pull us down to their level and have everyone live on scraps. If they had their way, there would be chaos everywhere. The Red Keep, sacked. Our dragons, killed. A complete dismantling of the system. Westeros would disintegrate into total anarchy.”

“He seem to have meant well, though,” Visenya said meekly.

“Meant well?”

Aemond felt his anger boiling. Visenya stayed silent, watching him intently with keen eyes. He clenched his fists, then unclenched them — a habit he had developed when he felt frustration.

“It is not only the nobility who are at stake,” said Aemond. “The Communists spread poison into the ears of the smallfolk as well. You heard what the man said back there. He was urging them to rebel. The Communists have been organizing strikes around the city, and it has only made poverty worse. The common people cannot afford to simply not work.”

“I’m just saying, he did make some good points,” Visenya shrugged.

“You’re simply saying that because you think he’s handsome.”

“I do not,” said Visenya, emphasizing the not. “The things he said about the small folks… Them starving, working their arses off, and getting nothing in return—”

“The smallfolks are lucky to have a job. They don’t need Communists ruining their livelihoods. The gods know it’s hard enough to even find a job in this city.”

“What would you know about jobs, Uncle?” she quipped. There was a bite in her tone.

“I know a lot more than you do,” He growled.

His niece opened her mouth to say something but suddenly paused. She shut her mouth again, realization dawning on her.

“You had been working,” she said. It wasn’t question and her voice didn’t hold any of the prior edge it had. She said it as a simple statement. “Journey into King’s Landing. The Vhagar costume. It was your job.”

If Aemond wasn’t drowning in a wave of utter humiliation, he would’ve admired his niece for her quick wit. Instead, he turned his head, opting to stare out into the street. He didn’t say a word to her, but he supposed there was much communicated within his silence.

Aemond counted the seconds until his anger calmed down and he turned to his niece once more.

“You will say nothing about it,” the prince said firmly. "If I hear that you’ve uttered a single word…” he trailed off. There was nothing he could threaten her with. She was Rhaenyra’s daughter, and that meant she was higher than him in status. At least, while Viserys was still alive.

But the princess nodded. “Your secret is safe with me, Kepas,” she said. Visenya’s eyes met his with an intensity.

“May I ask you a question?” she said.

“Hm.”

“Why do you have a job?”

Aemond’s expression grew stern, for she added hastily. “I meant no offense. You’re a prince of Westeros. Your father is King Viserys the first. You don’t have to work—”

“—And yet I do,” the prince lamented. “I was born the second son, but I am even less than that. I am the only second born male child in this entire realm who is not even a spare.”

“I am sorry that it troubles you, but you are still a prince and you will be brother to the future queen. Surely, you do not need to—”

“The future queen who cares not for her siblings? The future queen who hogs all the funds set aside for the royal family for only her and her brood? The future queen who sits comfortably at her seat in Dragonstone while her siblings are counting each coin they spend while being buried knee-deep in debts? You mean that selfish, future queen?”

“I will not allow you to talk about my mother that way.”

“I will talk about my half-sister as I wish,” Aemond snapped.

“Then I bid you farewell, Uncle,” Visenya said coldly. “Have a safe trip back to the Red Keep.”

The princess stormed out of the alley without looking back.

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The further Visenya walked, the narrower the street got, and the shabbier the buildings around her became. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. She felt a chill run down her spine despite the warm summer night.

It was getting darker and darker and too late to turn back. Visenya knew she needed to get off the streets quickly.

She stopped at the first inn she saw. It was an old, seedy building with a door that creaked too loud when she pushed it open.

Visenya stepped into a dim room, lit with only a single oil lamp that was perched on the bar counter. A man — which she could only guess was the innkeeper — sat behind it, his eyes glassy and unfocused. He was a sorry sight, with rumpled clothes and red-veined eyes. The bar was almost empty, save for a sleeping drunk at a table in the corner, snoring loudly with his head under a blanket. The air hung heavy with the scent of ale and sweat.

The innkeeper grunted as she approached the bar.

“A room, please,” Visenya said quickly, wanting to get it over with.

“Name?”

She wondered if the man would even remember her tomorrow. “Visenya.”

“Vagina?”

“Visenya.”

“Lasagna?”

“Sue. My name is Sue.”

“Alright, Stew. This here’s your key,” he tossed a brass key towards her. “Up the stairs, third room to the left.”

Visenya started towards the stairs, which were located at the far end of the room. She was only a couple feet away from the railing when she felt a large hand grasp her shoulder.

“Say, miss, whatcha doing wandering around here alone?” Visenya flinched at the foul stench of the innkeeper’s breath as he leaned in to speak. His grip on her shoulder was like iron, and she struggled to pull free. “Pretty thing like you shouldn’t be alone.”

“Get your hands off me, or I’ll have your head, you filth,” she snarled, fury flaring in her eyes.

The innkeeper laughed, his laughter sounding like the rasp of a dying animal. “This whore thinks she’s a princess.” There was a dangerous edge to his voice, and Visenya knew she had to get away fast.

A sharp voice cut through the air. “Step away from her.”

Aemond. Still keeping a fierce grip on her, the innkeeper turned towards the direction of her uncle. The man hesitated at first, and then he burst out laughing.

“I am not a fan of the City Watch but I think we need to summon the Fashion Watch for that hideous shirt,” he sniggered. Aemond, wearing his neon green The Drag Queen Vhagar tee, was unamused. The innkeeper continued. “Is this your whore? I must say, she’s a weird bitch too—”

Visenya didn’t let the innkeeper finish. Seizing the opportunity the distraction gave her, she elbowed him in the stomach and broke free from his grasp. However, before she could escape, the innkeeper reached out and pulled her hair with a vicious yank, hoping to drag her back to him. Instead, he snatched her wig off, revealing her silver locks.

The innkeeper froze, clutching the black wig. “What in the world?” he gasped. “A Targaryen? But—”

Suddenly, the man gasped as blood gushed out of his mouth. He staggered off balance and started to fall forward. Visenya jumped out of the way and towards Aemond’s open arms as the innkeeper hit the floor, face first, with a loud thump. There was a stab wound at his back, a dark crimson stain in his tunic.

Behind the space where the innkeeper had stood was a young man with roughly cut shoulder-length white hair, a bloody dagger in his hand.

“Hello, Brother,” he said, nodding at Aemond. He turned to Visenya and grinned. “Hello, Stew.”

Chapter 5: Coming Soon

Author's Note: Aegon to the rescue! This chapter was chaotic to write. Thank you for reading :)

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