Excentryke's Musings

Title: Kitchen Wench
Author: ExcentrykeMuse
Fandoms: House of the Dragon / Twilight Saga
Pairing: Bella/Aemond One-Eye
Word Count: 5k
Rating: PG13
Warnings: canon death, dynasties, dimension travel, premarital sex (have I ever done that before?), dragons
Summary: Bella climbed out of a tunnel beneath the Volturi prison and finds herself in Westeros just before the Dance of the Dragons.  Finding placement as cook to Lord Borros Baratheon, Bella did not expect to catch Prince Aemond’s eye when he comes to treat.

Kitchen Wench

The floor of the keep shook.  Bella paused at the oven, looking up at the small window in the keep’s kitchen wondering if they had been hit by lightning.  A storm was certainly raging.  This was Storm’s End after all.

“Did you feel tha’, Mistress Swan?” a kitchen maid asked.

Bella shrugged, turning back to the oven.  “We must get this feast on the tables,” she responded.

Another flash of lightning flickered through the sky. 

The edge of wing showed through the small window, catching Bella’s eye, but she didn’t have time for storms or shadows.  Lord Borros Baratheon liked his table to be on time and Bella, as head cook, was in charge of getting the food cooked and ready to be taken up to the hall.

There was another shift beneath her feet.

Bella reached forward but had to stop herself from grabbing the oven for support.  She didn’t want to burn her hand.

Someone screamed.

Pushing herself up to her feet, Bella grabbed a towel and opened the oven.  The crows pie was ready.  She didn’t want to burn it.

“Hands!” she called, taking the pala and pulling out the pie, setting it on the side table. 

Kitchen maids flocked toward it, ready to help.

“Up!” Bella told them, going to the second oven to take out three more pies.  It was just Lord Borros and his four daughters, but Lord Borros had an appetite.  “Hands!” she called when the third pie was placed on the side table and she reached into the oven for the fourth.  This one was made of venison.

A page boy came down and pushed himself up against the staircase as the kitchen maids rushed up the stairs to the hall.  A cupbearer was carrying up the ale from the vat that was kept in a closet to the side of the kitchen.

When the kitchen cleared out, the page boy came over just as Bella was wiping sweat from her forehead.  The ovens were hot and were heated by large fireplaces underneath that had to be constantly stoked.  The kitchen was like one large heatwave and Bella, in her coarse wools and wimple that covered her hair completely, was often sweating.

“Mistress Swan,” the page boy whispered, coming up to her.  “A Targaryen prince is here!”

Bella whipped around and looked at him.  She glanced back toward the window where she thought she had seen a shadow.  It must have been a dragon wing.  “Lord Borros wants the good wine then,” she guessed.  She snapped her fingers at a kitchen maid who was sitting in a corner, not having been needed to carry up the meal.  “Girl!  Get the summer wine!” she commanded, “and take it up immediately.”

The girl scampered up and went to the wine closet, which was separate from where the ale was kept.

“It’s locked,” she complained.

Bella rolled her eyes.

Going over to the closet, Bella took the key from a string that hung from her waist and unlocked the cupboard.  The closet had to be kept locked so the guards wouldn’t drink all the good wine.  She had to keep an eye on them.

She snapped her fingers at the girl as soon as the closet was open and hurried her up the stairs.

She went back to the page boy who was lingering.

“Which one?” she asked the boy, knowing some about the Targaryens, but not everything.

Bella had found a position in the Storm’s End kitchen after she had crawled out of a tunnel beneath the Volturi prison.  She had only been in Westeros for about five months, but what she knew about it was that the Targaryens ruled with dragons.  Viserys the Peaceful had a princess by his first wife.  She had a prince consort (her own uncle) and sons by her first husband, whose identities Bella didn’t know.  Then there was the Queen with her silver haired sons in King’s Landing.  It could be any of those many princes on either side of the family.

The page boy looked worried.

Bella raised an eyebrow at him.

“The one with only one eye,” he told her carefully.

Ah, it was Aemond One-Eye then.  Bella had heard of him.  He was said to be skilled with a tourney sword and flew the fiercest of all the Targaryen dragons.  For the life of her, though, Bella didn’t know if he was the child of Princess Rhaenyra or Queen Alicent.  She was nearly certain he wasn’t the prince consort.  That one had a different name.

“Why is he here?” Bella asked just as carefully.  There was no one left in the kitchen, but it was best not to be caught sharing information until it was common knowledge.

“He brought a petition from the king.”

Ah—he was Viserys the Peaceful’s son by Queen Alicent then if he was bringing a message from the king.  Bella didn’t know if he was the elder or the younger, though she supposed it didn’t matter.  From what she knew, the succession was secure in Princess Rhaenyra even though she was a woman.  Westeros operated like a medieval realm, although Bella thought this might be a different dimension, because Westeros was nothing like earth as far as she could tell.  Dragons made it rather obvious.

Then again, there had been vampires and werewolves in Forks. 

Placing a hand on the page boy’s shoulder in comfort, Bella sent him back upstairs.

A kitchenhand came in and Bella ordered him to stoke the fires.  It wouldn’t do to let them go out before supper.  It would take too long to relight them.  She was making a stew, but she would keep it warm in individual bowls in the warming drawer.

Now she needed to make bread.

The kitchen maids slowly came back down with empty pie plates and then the pages came down with the dishes and utensils.  Those went in the large sink on the other side of the kitchen.  The maids would see to that.  Bella never had to get her hands wet.

She slapped the bread against table and continued to knead it with her hands.  Adding more flour to it, she decided it was ready and took the pala and placed it in the first oven.  Now she needed to make at least six more loaves.

At first Bella didn’t notice, but the kitchen went eerily quiet.

The kitchen maids stopped washing the dishes, the sound of water sloshing no longer reaching Bella’s ears.

The storm outside, however, continued to rage.

There was yet another flash of lightning, illuminating the kitchen for one brief moment, but Bella only blinked, going back to her bread.

“Leave us!” a commanding voice ordered, and Bella looked up in shock.

Standing in the gape of the staircase was a tall young man with long silver hair, a pointed chin, and a patch over his left eye.  Bella stared at him in shock.  There was a prince in her kitchen and she had no idea why.

The kitchen maids were quickly curtseying and rushing out up the stairs.  The page boys who had been playing marbles, picked up their jacks and scampered off.

Then Bella realized she should probably leave, too, even though she still needed to make four more loaves of bread, and if she didn’t man the ovens, the baking bread would certainly burn.  She wiped her hands on her apron, sketched what she hoped looked like a curtsey, and made to leave as well.  When she was passing the young Targaryen prince, he held up a hand in front of her, and said, “No, you stay.”

Confused, Bella only blinked and took a respectful step back.

When the kitchen was finally empty, Bella carefully asked, “Was there a problem with the feast, my prince?”  Lord Borros heartily ate all her food and boasted he had the best cook in the Stormlands, but perhaps it was not refined enough for royal palettes.  Bella wasn’t entirely certain what they served at the Capital, but she cooked with what materials she had in the Stormlands and used her own ingenuity to make it as varied as possible.

Aemond One-Eye smiled, or, rather, the left side of mouth ticked up in the approximation of a smile.  “There is naught that is wrong with your cooking, Mistress—” He waited.

“—Swan.”  Bella supplied.  As head cook, she was shown a great deal of respect in the household. 

“Mistress Swan,” he agreed, moving a couple of steps forward, his one good eye flicking up from her clogs, to the keys hanging from her waist, up to the collar of her dress, and then over her wimple, settling on her dark eyes.  “You are quite young for a head cook.  You cannot be older than—twenty,” he guessed.

Aemond certainly couldn’t be older than that himself.

Bella swallowed carefully.  There was a sense of danger that emanated from the prince.  He was certainly attractive, Bella could at least admit that to herself, but she wouldn’t want to cross him.

“I am eight and ten,” she answered carefully in the speech of Westeros.  She may have only been in the realm for five months, but she had studied her betters carefully and copied their speech so as not to draw attention to herself.  Feeling a small sense of pride, she assured Aemond, “I earned my place.”

“Undoubtedly,” Aemond One-Eye agreed, now circling around her, his eyes roving her unabashedly.  “I have never had crows pie so,” and here he paused, leaning forward and whispering in her ear, “delectable.”

This sent a shiver down Bella’s spine—either of fear or pleasure, she couldn’t quite tell.

“I am much gratified,” she murmured.  “It is my greatest wish to please Lord Borros and his guests.”  Bella certainly knew her survival in this strange place rested on Borros Baratheon’s largesse.  She had no other way to support herself than as a cook in a keep and it was just her luck that she had happened upon Storm’s End and the head cook had taken ill that very night.  Bella had been taken in by a house maid and given a mat to sleep on for the duration of the night, but she had taken control of the kitchen and had earned Lord Borros’s culinary admiration and her place in the household.

Aemond was now circling around to face her again.  He was certainly taller than Bella, but Bella kept her eyes carefully on her shoes.  “I had expected to find a matron who could be bribed with gold.”

At this Bella flicked her eyes up in confusion.  “Bribed?” she whispered.

“Bribed,” he told her casually, as if bribing people was completely normal.  To a prince of the seven kingdoms, it might very well be, “—to come and cook in the kitchens at King’s Landing.”

Bella opened her mouth to answer, though she was uncertain what to say, but Prince Aemond continued to speak—

“A young woman might like the excitement of the Capital, however, and need less inducements to leave her family.  Do you have family, Mistress Swan?  A sweetheart perhaps?  Perhaps I could give him a position in the guard.”

“—That will not be necessary,” Bella assured him carefully. 

“No sweetheart then?” Aemond guessed, seeming pleased at this.  He reached out and fingered the edges of Bella’s wimple.  “I find myself wondering if you have fair or dark hair.”

Bella’s breath caught in her throat.

Aemond smiled that half smile again.  Removing his hand, he stepped back.  “I am not my brother, the king, however.  I do not accost servants.”

Her dark eyes flicked up.  She was confused.  “Is not your father, Viserys the Peaceful, king of the realm?  Or do I have it wrong?”  This young man couldn’t possibly be brother to the king, who was father four times over, had survived one wife, and was now said to be old and taken to his bed.

His mouth ticked up to the side.  “My father passed in his sleep.  My brother Aegon, second of his name, now sits the Iron Throne.”

Bella took this in carefully.  “Long live the king,” she whispered belatedly.

Then she smelled it. 

The bread was cooked.

Without asking permission, she rushed to the oven, grabbed a rag, and opened it.  The first loaf was a little too brown.  Quickly taking the pala, she pulled the loaf out and set it on the side table.  Looking back into the oven, she saw that the second and third loaf were doing quite well.  She closed the oven carefully, reaching up to wipe the beads of sweat on her forehead.

Aemond had stepped forward and was inspecting the bread.

“It is nearly overdone,” she apologized.  “I was not properly attending.”

The prince had now turned back to her.  “You are truly talented.”  It was true Bella took pride in scoring bread, but it was really a simple pattern in the bread.  “Come, you must come to the King’s Landing.—Lord Borros has already agreed that you should come.”

Bella hesitated.  She wondered in Lord Borros had a choice.  This was a prince of a realm, after all.

There were sounds on the stairs and Aemond carefully stepped away from her.  He had been standing quite close to Bella again, his bright violet eye staring into her gaze, trying to subsume her will.

“Have you convinced her, my prince?”  It was Lady Floris, the youngest of the Baratheon daughters.  She came up to Aemond and stood beside him, looking between the two of them expectantly.  “Are you coming with us to the Capital, Mistress Swan?”

Bella blinked at her.  “Us?” she asked, confused.

Aemond’s lips thinned.

“House Targaryen has offered a marriage pact to House Baratheon,” Floris told her happily, smiling. 

That, then, was the reason for Prince Aemond’s presence in the Stormlands.  An alliance was to be had.  He had flown in on dragon, too, it would appear.

“I am so pleased for House Baratheon,” Bella told her, going back to the oven, and taking out the second loaf, which was perfectly browned.

Aemond watched her in interest and inspected the scoring of the loaf.  Bella had worked in the image of a stag into the dough of this particular loaf.  It was clear he was likewise impressed as he was with the first loaf.  “You will come immediately, before the marriage,” Aemond informed her, his bright eye boring into her gaze.  “We will send a carriage and a guard for you.”

Bella swallowed.  It was clear she wasn’t being given a choice.

“Of course, my prince,” she murmured.

He was looking at her again.  “Take off your headdress,” he ordered.

Startled, Bella looked between him and Lady Floris.

Floris was clearly confused at the request.

Bella hesitated.

Aemond turned to Floris.  “You will leave us, Lady Floris.”  It was not a request.

Floris’s dark eyes fell on Bella, but she curtseyed and then whispered up the stairs.

A flash of lightning flicked through the kitchen.  Bella could see the tip of a claw through the small upper window.

She felt a frisson of fear in that moment.

As if sensing it, Aemond’s face softened.  “I will not harm you, Mistress Swan,” he assured her.  “I merely wish to see your hair.”  When she continued to make no move to remove her wimple, Aemond stepped forward and curled his fingers beneath the cusp and pulled it over her face.

Bella felt her hair fall out of its loose ties and fall over her shoulders. 

She must look an absolute mess.

She spent all day in the kitchens, in a wool dress, her head covered, and she sweated like a pig.  She also only got clean when she went out in a storm, hid behind the keep, and took off her dress to let the rainwater clean her stinking skin and hair.  She hadn’t done that for a full four days.

Surprise flashed over Aemond One-Eye’s face.

“What is it?” she whispered desperately.

“You are Lord Borros’s kin,” he murmured back, reaching out and sliding his long fingers through her tangled hair.  “It is as clear as dragonfire.”

Confused, Bella’s eyes widened.

“I will fix this,” he promised, and then he was pushing the wimple into her hands and rushing up the kitchen stairs.

Bella stood there for several long movements, unsure what had just happened, until she smelled the bread in the oven.  Tossing the wimple on the side table, she reached for the oven and pulled the third loaf out.  Fortunately, it was not burnt.

The kitchen maids and page boys trickled back down into the kitchen, all looking at Bella in question, but she didn’t offer any explanation.  The wimple was secured back over her head, hiding her dark hair.

She was just putting the soup into the oven to warm, when a guard came down and told her to come up to the hall.

Worried, Bella grabbed one of the kitchen maids and gave instructions.

Bella was rarely above stairs, but it was just as dark as the kitchens, though with wider windows.  When lightning struck, it illuminated the whole hall.  Lord Borros was sitting in his large chair, his four daughters off to the side, and Aemond—Aemond was standing to the side, looking pleased.

Bella was brought before Lord Borros and she curtseyed to him carefully.  “Is there a problem with the food, my lord?” she asked carefully.

“There is naught wrong with your cooking,” Lord Borros assured her, looking her up and down.  “Take off your headdress.”

Confused, Bella glanced over at Prince Aemond.  His lip was curled into that half-smile again, and he nodded at her.  Bella returned her attention to Lord Borros and, worried, Bella took off the wimple and pulled her hair out from underneath it.

Lord Borros sucked in a breath.  Leaning forward, he demanded, “Who is your father, child?”

“My father?” she asked, thinking wildly.  “—a man named Charles Swan.”

“And your mother?”

“—Renee Higginbottom.”

At her mother’s name, all the Baratheon daughters shifted uncomfortably as if they recognized it.  Lord Borros sat back and drummed his fingers against the arm of his chair.  “Higginbottom,” he repeated.

“—yes,” Bella answered uncomfortably. 

“My own aunt married Lord Stephan Higginbottom.  Yes, I see the Baratheon likeness quite clearly.  You are undoubtedly my cousin, Mistress Swan, a member of the greater House Baratheon.”

Bella blinked, confused.  She was no such thing.  She was from another world, having crawled out of some ancient drain works in the Stormlands. 

Lord Borros drummed his fingers again.  Then, turning to Aemond, he asked, “The marriage pact still stands with Mistress Swan of the House Baratheon?  True, she is not my daughter, but if she is the Baratheon you desire—”

Aemond only inclined his head.

Snapping his fingers, Lord Borros signaled to a handmaiden who came and pulled Bella away.  She was led upstairs and further into a keep.  She found a cold bath there, and she was stripped and put into the water, the handmaiden going so far as to pick up her left hand and to start scrubbing her nails.

“Supper will burn—” Bella worried.

“You need not worry about supper, m’lady,” the handmaiden assured her.  “You are a lady of House Baratheon, and Lord Borros would see you married to Prince Aemond.”

Her head was dunked and she felt fingers begin to scrub soap into her hair.

When she was laced into a gown that undoubtedly belonged to one of Lord Borros’s daughters, Bella was returned to the hall where she was placed beside Prince Aemond.

The handmaiden had gotten Bella’s name out of her, and already Lord Borros had called her “Lady Bella.”  At least she hadn’t told the handmaiden “Isabella.”  She would hate to be “Lady Isabella.”

Bella was served her own stew, which was surreal. 

Then there were discussions on to when the wedding would take place.  It seemed like Bella wasn’t supposed to have an opinion.  Aemond thought it should take place immediately, and Lord Borros begrudgingly agreed.

Bella was trying not to have a panic attack.

Just when Bella was going to be dismissed, the storm still raging outside, the keep shook again.  Bella grabbed Aemond’s arm in order to keep upright, and she looked out the large windows toward the storm clouds.

“It can’t have been another dragon—“ Bella breathed.

Aemond obviously heard her as his one eye whipped around to look into her gaze.  It was so impossibly violet and Bella was as struck as she had been in the kitchens.

Guards were immediately sent out into the courtyard, and a young boy, soaked to the bone, with dark hair and dark eyes, was escorted in.  “Prince Lucerys Valaryon.”  Bella looked up, confused.  She thought there were only Targaryen princes.  Aemond turned toward him with a sour look on his face.  “—son of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen.”

Bella’s breath caught in her throat.

Lightning shattered through the windows.

“Lord Borros,” Lucerys greeted, his voice small in the hall.  “I have brought you a message from my mother: the Queen.”

Queen.  Aemond had said his brother was king.  What was happening?

“Yet earlier this day I received an envoy from the king.  Which is it?  King—or queen?  The House of the Dragon doesn’t seem to know who rules it!”  He laughed to himself.  “What’s your mother’s message?”

Lucerys held out a scroll, which was passed to Lord Borros.  He sighed as he took it and then called to the Maester who came and read it for him before the Maester whispering into his ear.  Odd.  Bella had not known that Lord Borros was illiterate.  Strange for the master of a keep. 

The hall was tense as everyone waited for the proclamation.

Aemond punted out his sword from its hilt, and Bella looked over at him in shock.

The wind whistled outside.

Lord Borros became still and angry in his chair.  “Remind me of my father’s oath?”  He demanded.  “King Aegon at least came with an offer.  My swords and banner for a marriage pact.  If I do as your mother bids, which one of my daughters will you wed, boy?”

Bella shifted uncomfortably beside Aemond, but he reached out his hand toward her to still her.

“My lord, I’m not free to marry.  I’m already betrothed.”

“So you come with empty hands,” Borros declared.  “Go home, pup.—and tell your mother the Lord of Storm’s End is not some dog that she can whistle up at need to set against her foes.”

Lucerys held firm.  “I shall take your answer to the Queen, my lord.”

Aemond breathed in deeply beside her.  Bella wondered at it.

As Lucerys began to leave, Aemond called out, “Wait!—My lord Strong.”  (Bella didn’t understand the reference). “Did you really think that you could just fly about the realm, trying to steal my brother’s throne at no cost?”

Having turned around, Lucerys told him: “I will not fight you.  I came as a messenger, not a warrior.”

“A fight would be little challenge.—No,” he decided, taking off his eye patch.  “I want you to put out your eye as payment for mine.  One will serve.”  He took out his dagger and tossed it to the other prince.  “I would not blind you.  Glad to make a gift of it to my mother.”

Bella nearly startled.  What type of family was she being married into?—that would blind each other.

“No.”

“Then you are craven as well as a traitor,” Aemond decided.

“Not here!” Lord Borros demanded.

“Give me your eye,” Aemond screamed, rushing forward. “—or I will take it, bastard.”

“Not in my hall!”  Borros shouted, standing from his chair.  “The boy came as an envoy.  I’ll not have blood shed beneath my roof.  Take Prince Lucerys back to his dragon.  Now!” 

Aemond did not look upset.  As Lucerys was led from the hall, he rushed out the back, pausing only to take Bella’s hand in his and squeeze it before he was gone in the storm.

Bella was confused.  She had no idea what had just happened.

She was finally led away and shown into a small room with an actual bed.  Bella had been sleeping on what could barely be called a mattress in a closet off of the kitchen.  This was sheer heaven in comparison.  Looking out the small window, she could not see a sign of Aemond’s dragon.  She wondered if he was ever coming back or if she would find herself back in the kitchens.

She need not have worried.

Two hours later the keep shook again, and when she looked out her window, she saw the looming figure of a wing in the storm.

She had not expected to see Aemond until the next day, but he snuck into her room, his long wet hair pasted to his face and neck.  Bella was sitting on her bed, counting the small imperfections in her blanket, and looked up when he came in.

“Bella—” he breathed, coming and perching on the end of the bed.

“Prince Aemond,” she replied, eyes wide.  “You look drenched.”  Reaching for the blanket, she pulled it off the bed and wrapped it around the prince, tucking it beneath his chin as if she were a mother hen.  “It is well past midnight,” she told him.  “You should be abed.”

“You are not abed,” he told her, something in his voice that she could not identify.

“I have been placed in a room in one of the towers instead of sleeping in the kitchens,” she reminded him.  “It is very strange to me.”

He nodded and looked down at the blanket that pooled around his knees.

“What happened?” Bella whispered into the silence.

He didn’t answer at first.  He looked down at the blanket and then quickly caught her gaze, searching for something.  When he found it, he admitted, “Vhagar ate Arrax.”

Bella shuddered.  “You mean the dragons?”  Her voice was so quiet it could barely be heard above the window.  She looked out the window and saw the outline of Aemond’s dragon against the sky.  “That must be Vhagar.”

“You don’t know?” Aemond asked in confusion.

“I have no idea what’s happening,” she told Aemond outright.  “You said your brother, Aegon, was the king—and that boy came and said Princess Rhaenyra was the queen.  Treaties are obviously being sought.  Is there going to be a war?”

“It is nearly certain,” he told her, his gaze never leaving hers.

“Each side is saying they are the ruler,” Bella realized.  “Is Aegon sitting the Iron Throne?”  She wanted to know what she was being married into.

“He was crowned king,” Aemond promised her, reaching out and taking her small hand in his larger one.  “With his last breath, my father declared his wish for Aegon to follow him onto the Iron Throne.”

Bella wondered how true this was.  There was clearly a battle for the succession for the throne, and each side came to treat with Borros Baratheon.  He only sided with Aegon because his very eligible brother promised to marry one of his single daughters.  And Aemond, upon seeing Bella, had decided against this marriage treaty and wanted to marry her instead, finagling her birth to suit his purposes.

“Why do you want to marry me?” Bella asked him, wanting to know before she was forced into a marriage.  “Lady Floris is much more suitable—”

Aemond hooked his free hand behind her head and pulled her into a sweet kiss.

Although Aemond tasted of rainwater, his lips were warm and firm against hers.  Bella breathed out of her nose in her surprise, but Aemond just pulled her closer.  He kissed her again, softly, and then kissed her a third time. 

When he pulled away, Bella opened her eyes.  She hadn’t realized she had closed him.

“Have you never been kissed by a man before?” he whispered against her lips, leaning forward again.

“—who would kiss me?” Bella lied, pushing Edward from her mind, wanting to be in the moment.  She closed the distance between them and kissed him instead.

He ended up curling the blanket around her and she was pressed against his chest.  She slept with her head laid over his heart, hearing an actual beat.  She felt him slip out somewhere near dawn, the storm having subsided.  He left her wrapped in the blanket, her dress thrown on the floor.

The same handmaiden came and prepared her for the wedding, bringing a finer dress and even putting flowers in her hair.  The hall was full of Lord Borros’s bannermen, all there to see the Baratheon cousin wed a prince of the realm.  Bella did not know who prepared the wedding feast, but it was certainly subpar to her own cooking.

When the sun set, she was dressed in riding leathers and placed in the original dress. 

Aemond led her out to his dragon and, after she got close to Vhagar and placed a hand on her scaly neck, Aemond placed her in the saddle, swinging in behind her.  “Have you ever carried a passenger?” Bella asked a little in fear.

He leaned forward and whispered, “Hold on,” before they took off into the skies.

The End.