CHAPTER FIVE
❛shadows in silk part one.❜

trigger warning: attempted SA

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EARLY 130 AC ⸻ Kings Landing   ⸻

THE MOON  hung low over King's Landing, watching as two figures slipped from the Red Keep's shadows. Lady Basalia had been disguised from noble bearing by rough-spun wool and faded linen pilfered from the castle's laundry. Curtsey of Lyria, of course. 

With the mysterious letter pressed against Lyria's chest, hidden beneath layers of cloth, They both couldn't help but wonder if leaving the walls of the Red Keep was a safe choice.

The air suddenly grew thick with the mingled scents of spilled wine, cheap perfume, and unwashed bodies as they delved further into the district. With laughter and muffled moans spilling from behind shuttered windows, the girls had never heard such illicit activities.

"Lyria," Basalia whispered, her voice barely audible above the distant moans and cackles, "are you sure it's this way?" she asked as her eyes darted from shadow to shadow.

Lyria's gaze remained wary, scanning their surroundings with the concentration of a hawk. "It has to be," she replied, her voice low but laced with determination. "I mean, the letter was explicit—the location, this time. I'm almost certain."

As they turned down a particularly narrow alley, the worn buildings seemed to lean inward, as if conspiring to trap them. The shadows deepened, swallowing the bright moonlight.

"Gods, Lyria," Basalia breathed, a nervous chuckle escaping her lips, "if Jahaena knew we were here... She'd have us locked in our chambers until we're as old as dragons."

Lyria's lips quivered in a half-smile, but before she could respond, movement caught her eye. Two hulking figures materialised from the darkness, effectively blocking their path. The stench of stale ale and malice rolled off them in waves.

"Well, well," the taller one growled, his voice gravelly with ill intent. "Thought it'd just be the one lady. Seems we've got ourselves a bonus."
Time seemed to slow as Lyria's mind raced, searching for an escape. But before she could act, the men lunged forward with surprising speed.

Rough hands seized Basalia, yanking her against a broad chest. The sound of tearing fabric mingled with her terrified scream as her cloak gave way.

Lyria quickly found herself slammed against the alley wall, the impact driving the air from her lungs. Cold stone bit into her back as her attacker pressed closer, his foul breath hot on her face.

"Help!" Lyria's cry echoed off the uncaring walls. "Someone, please!" She struggled fiercely, but the man's grip was like iron. Pain exploded in her abdomen as a meaty fist connected, leaving her gasping, and disoriented as she doubled over in pain.

Unbeknownst to them all though, a third figure watched from deeper shadows. Aemond Targaryen, his original scheme to entrap Basalia now spiralling wildly out of control, felt an unexpected surge of protective rage. He hadn't anticipated Lyria's presence, nor the brutality of the assault now unfolding before him. The letter must have gotten into the wrong hands, and now his Lyria was in the middle of it all.

As another slap was sent Lyria's way, Aemond burst from his hiding place. Cries from both girls could be heard as the snarls and laughter from the drunken men carried through the night. More tearing of fabric occurred, which only made him angrier.

Then, just as Lyria's hood fell back, revealing her face—a mask of fear—Aemond struck. His fist connected with her attacker's jaw with a sickening crack, sending the brute crashing to the ground.

"What the fuck?!" the man who still held Basalia by her waist yelled. Though it seemed rescuing Basalia was not on his radar when he immediately turned towards Lyria.

The commotion quickly drew the attention of nearby city guards. Their shouts and the clatter of armoured feet filled the alley as they rushed to subdue Basalia's assailant. Grabbing Lyria's arm, Aemond dragged her away from the scene as grunts and cries could be from behind them both.

"What in seven hells were you thinking?" he hissed, his voice a mixture of anger and barely concealed concern. They were far enough from the others now that his words were for her alone. "Coming here, of all places—are you mad?"

Lyria, still struggling to catch her breath, looked up at him with a swirl of emotions in her eyes—relief, confusion, and a spark of defiance. "What is it to you?!" she gasped; one arm wrapped protectively around her midsection. "To know of our business, were you following us?" Lyria asked, eyebrows now furrowed as she struggled to stand.

Aemond's face darkened, as he noticed her struggling. "I was... concerned," he admitted, his expression hardening as he scanned the area for any further threats. "Basalia's well-being is my responsibility now. I needed to ensure she wasn't walking into a trap."

Lyria's gaze narrowed sceptically. "And yet, it feels like we did exactly that," she countered, her voice tinged with accusation. "Did you know about this? Was this part of your plan?"

Aemond's expression darkened visibly as Lyria voiced her suspicions, his eyes narrowing slightly under the weight of her accusation. "I assure you, I had nothing to do with this," he stated firmly, his voice a blend of frustration and earnestness. "I was following because I suspected something might be amiss, not to lead you into a trap.

Lyria looked at him sceptically. "It seems a convenient coincidence, doesn't it?" she challenged, her tone laced with doubt.

Aemond's frustration grew, but he managed to keep his voice even. "It's anything but convenient," he retorted sharply. "Watching over Basalia's safety has become a necessary precaution, given her status and our impending union. I would not put her—or you, by extension—in harm's way deliberately."

Seeing her still unconvinced, he continued, his tone softening slightly as he noted her visible discomfort. "You should have stayed in the castle, where it's safe. This place—" he gestured sharply at their surroundings, "—is no place for you."

Lyria's gaze held onto Aemond's for a long moment, wrestling with the sincerity she saw in his eyes and the lingering doubt in her mind. But then her eyes widened with remembrance, "Basalia," Lyria yelled out, her own pain forgotten in concern for her friend. "We have to help her!"

"The guards would have already taken her by now, they'll have her. She's... safe." Aemond assured her, his tone slightly harsh. "We should get you back to the castle. Your injuries need attention."

Reluctantly, Lyria nodded, allowing him to lead the way back through the darkened streets towards the safety of the Red Keep. The return was quiet, with each step Lyria felt more concerned for her Lady's well being. How could she have just left her there? As they walked beside each other, she felt now that her mind was as bruised as her body. 

⸻

As they approached the towering gates of the castle, the guards straightened upon recognizing Prince Aemond. With a nod from him, they swiftly opened the gates, allowing Aemond and Lyria through without question.

The heavy atmosphere of the castle seemed to swallow them whole as they stepped inside the safety of its walls, the stones echoing their footsteps back to them.

Not far from the entrance, Lyria's eyes caught sight of Basalia's shaking figure. Ser Leon Payne stood protectively beside her, speaking with two guards who had assisted her. The sight of Basalia, so visibly shaken, pierced Lyria's heart anew.

Just then, Jahaena burst through the doors into the cold night air, her expression one of livid fury. Her angry stride faltered, however, when her eyes landed on Basalia. The fury melted into concern, her steps quickening with a new purpose.

Lyria didn't hesitate; she rushed past Aemond, barely acknowledging him anymore as she ran to Basalia. Tears streamed down her cheeks freely, emotions from the night's events spilling over. "Basalia!" she called out, her voice choked with tears.

As she reached for a hug, Basalia instinctively jumped back, her own trauma from the night making her flinch from contact. The rejection stung Lyria, but she understood. Instead, she stood quietly beside her friend, offering her presence as a silent support.

Ser Leon, observing the exchange, turned to Jahaena and spoke in a firm, commanding tone. "Get Lyria and Basalia back to Basalia's room. They shouldn't be out here any longer than necessary."

Jahaena nodded, her expression softening as she looked at the two women. "Come on," she said gently, her voice carrying an undercurrent of worry. "Let's get you both inside."

As they started to move towards the castle, Lyria noticed that Aemond had slipped away quietly, his earlier concern replaced by a need to distance himself from the aftermath. She felt a pang of mixed feelings—relief at his departure mixed with a confusing sense of abandonment.

⸻

Aemond's footsteps echoed down the grand hallway of the Red Keep, his mind swirling with the events of the night and the conflicting emotions they stirred. He was nearly at his chamber, the prospect of solitude and rest drawing him forward, when a guard stepped briskly into his path.

"My Prince, your mother requests your presence immediately," the guard announced, his expression serious.

Aemond's initial irritation flared as he replied, "Tell Mother that I am going to bed. Whatever it is, it can wait for the morrow."

The guard shifted uncomfortably, meeting Aemond's gaze with a firmness that suggested the urgency of the summons. "She insists it is urgent, Your Grace."

With a resigned sigh, Aemond nodded and changed direction, following the guard to his mother's private chambers. His fatigue was momentarily forgotten, replaced by a growing sense of foreboding.

Upon entering, he found Queen Alicent pacing the room, her agitation evident in her quick, uneven steps and the way she gnawed at her fingernails. At the sight of Aemond, her pacing halted abruptly, and her eyes—fiery with rage—locked onto his.

"How could you let this happen, Aemond?" she exploded, her voice a sharp rebuke that filled the room. "Being seen with that handmaiden, at night, in such a place! Have you lost your senses?"

Aemond maintained his composure, though the strain of the night's events tested his patience. "Mother, I assure you; I was there to ensure Basalia's safety. Lyria's presence was unforeseen."

But Alicent was relentless, her voice rising with each word. "You compromise not just your reputation, but the dignity of our house!"

Aemond's calm wavered, his voice growing colder, sharper. "I will manage my affairs as I see fit, Mother. My actions tonight were in service to this family, even if you fail to see it."

"You are careless, and foolish! What has come of you, Aemond?" Alicent stepped closer, her disappointment piercing. "All this for some handmaiden?"

He interrupted, a flash of defiance in his eyes. "She's not just a handmaiden."

Alicent paused, her anger transitioning into a mix of realisation and contempt. "Of course... you like her. You would jeopardise everything for her?"

Aemond met his mother's gaze squarely, his own anger flaring. But before he could respond, Alicent spoke once more, "End your ties with her, now, Aemond. Otherwise, I shall see to it myself."

The threat hung heavy between them; a clear line drawn. With his nostrils flaring and jaw clenched, Aemond turned sharply, the anger in his steps echoing as he slammed the door behind him, leaving the room and his mother's demands in his raging wake.

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