A Twist In Fate

by littlstwolf

Summary:

She lived her life wearing skin of a doe when she was in fact, a dragon. None bothered to reveal her true name to her until it benefited them, until she had to do what was expected of her. Visenya Targaryen, the only surviving child of Prince Rhaegar and his wife, Vaella Velaryon. She never wanted the crown or the power of it. Still, destiny had plans for her. She may not have been born a boy, but she was born to rule, whether it be in present or past.

ACT ONE — Pre HoTD // Ch 1—28
ACT TWO — Ep 1, 2 & 3 // Ch 29—67
ACT THREE — Ep 4 & 5 // Ch 68—
ACT FOUR — Ep 6 & 7 //
ACT FIVE — Ep 8, 9 & 10 //
ACT SIX — Post Ep 10 //

Chapter 1: True Tragedy

king's landing, 305 AC
visenya targaryen

Pain.

She was made of pain. Alyanna Baratheon had known what it was like to be unwanted ever since her birth. She once watched as her family dined without her and she thought it was the happiest moment they shared as a family. So she stopped before the doors to observe.

Her father, Robert I Baratheon, the king, had been piss drunk but laughing, which never happened with her around. Her mother, Cersei Lannister had been occupied with Joffrey's tantrum, and then she turned to watch her two well-behaved youngest children, Myrcella and Tommen.

So, knowing that her presence had been unwelcomed and unwanted, knowing that her presence would make her father rage or get up and walk away, she decided to just go back to her rooms and pretend she was not feeling well.

It was the last time she had tried to dine with her family.

She was only seven.

Anger.

Alyanna had always been angry. Angry at her father who hated her for being born with silver hair and indigo eyes.

Angry because no matter what she did, no matter how much she studied and excelled in everything she did, it made him hate her even more.

Angry for being ignored by her mother and cast aside for her younger siblings.

Angry for being sent away from home to be fostered by six different houses so her father wouldn't have to look at her. So he could, if only for a moment, pretend that she did not exist.

Angry at the unfair world. Angry that her father was always far too busy whoring himself around whenever he could. Angry that she had to be the one to play the role of the dotting eldest child so her siblings would never know what it was like to be unwanted.

Angry that she never truly felt like a Baratheon, like her father's daughter. Angry that she, a Baratheon, was born with a mating mark that only the families who are originally from Valyria, have. Angry that she was hated more for it.

Angry at herself for existing at all.

Acceptance.

Renly Baratheon was the first person who saw right past her mask of the perfect happy princess. He was there when she and her twin brother (who had died on their first name day) were born. He had seen how Robert just looked at her silver hair and purple eyes and without any wish to hold her, just walked away. So as her uncle, he had to do something. He had thought her how to ride, how to hunt and use a bow.

Stannis Baratheon was never interested in his niece at all. He fostered her because his brother, the king, wished so. He truly tried to stay away from her once they quarreled about who deserved the throne, Aegon II or Rhaenyra I. What Alyanna remembers about Dragonstone was meeting a Red Priestess who had told her, You'll shut many eyes forever. Green eyes. Blue eyes. Purple eyes. And only then will you be who you are born to be.

Oberyn Martell had hated her at the start. She couldn't blame him. She was the daughter of the man who let one of his soldiers rape and kill his sister during the Sack of King's Landing. But after she dropped her mask and snapped at him with such fire in her eyes, he couldn't help but smirk. He grew to love Alyanna as his own. He introduced her to water dance and gifted her a dagger, venom.

Olenna Tyrell was a blessing in disguise. She had been the only one who was brutally honest with Alyanna, the one who had shown her how life truly is. No one could get under her skin as Olenna did. She learned many lessons in Highgarden. How to think, how to act, how to notice. The most valuable was how to hone her anger into a weapon.

Lucerys Velaryon made her feel welcomed. Driftmark was perhaps the only place where she felt at home because no one judged her for her silver-gold hair and indigo purple eyes. Lucerys and his lovely family thought her what being truly loved felt like. She thought herself unlovable, still, they accepted her as she was, an angry little girl who despised most things in the world.

Tywin Lannister had thought her how to be cunning, how to scheme and think. He had shown her when it was wise to hold a sword and when to hold a pen. When she finally met the old lion's standards, she was named heiress of the Casterly Rock. His son, Jaime, had been instructed to teach her swordplay when she mastered the water dance. Jaime had helped create one of the greatest warriors the Seven Kingdoms had seen.

Grief.

Alyanna will never admit that she felt like ripping the world apart with her bare hands when her father died. After all, she hated him as much as he hated her, right?

She lost many people in her life. Robb Stark, her first husband, and their son. She lost Joffrey, her brother whom she had to kill with the help of Olenna. Myrcella who had been killed in Dorne. Tommen, who had thrown himself off a tower.

She lost her grandfather, Tywin Lannister. She lost her second husband, Loras Tyrell. She lost her mother when Daenerys Targaryen began burning King's Landing. She lost friends, allies, soldiers and many more.

Aly knew what it felt like, to lose everything and everyone. She knew what being consumed by darkness and numbness felt like. She knew what wanting to die felt like. Her mind had become a very dangerous and dark place and she fought the monstrous thoughts of joining her deceased family only for the sake of her daughter.

Truth.

Alyanna Baratheon was not her real name. Nor were her parents truly her parents. Her family was not her blood. Bloodraven had shown her visions, the truth of her existence. A babe switched with another so she could be raised as a rightful princess. The princess who was promised was her destiny.

Everything that had happened from before five thousand years was so she could defeat the Night King. Her sole purpose and the reason for all her suffering was because her destiny had already been decided by the gods and then written in the stars above.

Father, Rhaegar Targaryen, who had died on the Trident under the bleeding star, with his daughter's name on his lips. Visenya. His Visenya. The third dragon he always wanted and needed.

Mother, Vaella Velaryon, who had died giving birth to her third child. Died amidst salt and smoke, under the bleeding star, harbinger of the princess who was promised, a girl who would only grow to know pain and suffering.

Her true siblings, Rhaenys and Aegon. Only three and one name days old during the sack of King's Landing. So very young when they were both butchered and presented before Robert Baratheon in red and golden Lannister cloth.

Visenya Targaryen. Her true name that lifted the heavy weight off her shoulders and then placed thrice the amount on them. A name that felt like an answer to a question she has been asking her entire life. A name that meant everything and yet nothing at all.

Power.

Princess of the Seven Kingdoms — the title she was born with. The title that had much power and yet none at all. The title that she carried around all while wishing she had been born a nobody.

Unburnt — the first title that made her feel powerful. She received it when she jumped into burning tents to save the soldiers during the War of Five Kings and Queen. As the title says, the fire did not harm her.

Lady of Slaughter and Bloodshed — the title she worked hard to gain and keep. They say she was the deadliest weapon of all. Her fighting style was a deadly dance and on the battlefield, she only ever moved forward, leaving a trail of blood and dead soldiers at her tail.

Queen in the North — the title she learned to accept as hers. The title given to her by her marriage to Robb Stark. She worked endlessly to prove herself worthy of it. Alyanna spent hours to no end in the war tents barking commands and battle strategies.

Lady of Casterly Rock — perhaps her favorite title of all. When Robb died and she returned to King's Landing, Tywin Lannister had spent a few moons testing her and teaching her ways to lead. When she proved herself worthy enough, Tywin made her his heir. After his death, she claimed the Rock as her own.

Hand of the King — the title that taught her the most. Her brother, King Tommen I Baratheon had made her his hand and his heir. Sleep-deprived and exhausted, but full of knowledge and newfound power, she kept the Seven Kingdoms united and erased the mistakes of the last five kings.

Queen of the Seven Kingdoms — the title she dreaded the most. Tommen had thrown himself off the highest tower. She was all alone. No family left apart from her grieving mother. Still, for the sake of the realm, she had to keep going. She had to present hope and strength.

Dragonrider — the title she was least expecting. Daenerys's dragon, Rhaegal had held a piece of her soul from the moment their eyes met. After all loss and pain and suffering, that feeling made her come alive.

Princess Who Was Promised, Lightbringer, Saviour of the World — many titles, each worse than the last. Alyanna, or well, Visenya, who had united Westeros as one and raised an army to defeat the Night King. She who had killed the Night King with Dark Sister in hand.

Destiny.

Queen Alyanna I Baratheon or rather, Queen Visenya I Targaryen. The child of peace. The princess who was promised. Lightbringer. The heiress of fire. And a savior of the world, the one who banished the long night.

Many titles. So many titles. It was hard to live up to them. So many people to protect. So many fatal mistakes could be made that would have led the world to ruins. It was hard to exist with the burden of the entire world on her young shoulders.

Stand up.

She couldn't.

One more time.

She was tired.

Stand up.

She was so tired. So tired of fighting. So tired of having to keep breathing. So tired of scars on her body, scars on her heart and soul.

So tired.

Let her rest.

Just one more time.

For her people. For her beloved friends. For her beloved family. For her supportive allies. For her crown. For her throne. For her ancestors. For her house.

She could do it.

Just one more time.

And so she did.

Visenya Targaryen stood up one more time to save the people of King's Landing from burning into nothingness.

Chapter 2: Cursed Afterlife

Summary:

In which:

— Alyanna/Visenya is simply done with her miserable life
— My girl ends up saving the world only to find out that she must do it again
— Bloodraven refuses to give Visenya time to rest or process and sends her to her next adventure

king's landing, 305 AC
visenya targaryen

She felt like a living god, seated on the green and bronze scales that felt hot against her body — and yet did not burn her. She held onto Rhaegal for dear life, holding onto anything she could grasp. It was the first time she was in the skies, above her city and people.

Visenya should fear it, she knew. She was hundreds of miles up in the sky, barely holding on and only one slip could make her fall to death. And yet, she did not fear it.

She did not fear it. Her blood was singing in her veins — in freedom, in power. Home, it seemed to say over and over again. She belonged here, up in the skies where she was closer to gods than to men. This was where Targaryens wee truly meant to be because Targaryens were living gods.

She had a wide smile on her face — feeling alive for the first time since she lost her brother, Tommen. Parts of her had been shattered long before that, or maybe she had never been whole in the first place. Still, she felt as if losing Tommen was her breaking point.

A strong wind blew in her face, making stray stands of her silver-gold waves fly away from her eyes. Visenya felt like lessening her grip on the beautiful dragon — felt like throwing her hands in the air freely and laughing in all joy. Gods, she felt like laughing. She could not remember the last time she truly laughed.

However, that was not the strangest thing about this. The trust she had in this beautiful beast was surprising. Visenya did not trust easily, and yet, she felt as if Rhaegal already owned half of her soul — as if he had always known her, as if he knew her better than she did herself.

The bond between them was unknown and strange, it was a new experience, like she could feel the dragon on the other side of that beautiful bond — like their hearts, their minds and their souls were bound as one.

With this feeling of pure adrenaline in her veins, it was easy to forget that they were in the middle of the war. The smoke in the air, the smell of burning flesh and debris, the sound of clashing swords and dying screams along with the sight of fire everywhere she turned was enough to bring her back to the harsh reality.

The War of Two Queens is what they called it — some even named it the Last War, the war that will determine who will be sitting on the Iron Throne, Daenerys Targaryen or Visenya Targaryen.

When she first received news of her true name — her true heritage, she was in Winterfell and they were yet to kill the Night King. The alliance between Daenerys and Visenya lasted until they, together ended the long night.

Visenya had tried to keep the peace — had tried to explain to her aunt, to reason with her why another war won't do people any good. Yet, all that did not matter to Daenerys. Visenya was a threat to her reign, now perhaps more than ever, knowing she was the rightful ruler of the Seven Kingdoms no matter how you looked at it.

Daenerys would be sitting on the Iron Throne or no one would, her aunt made that clear enough.

No matter Visenya's general dislike for the Iron Throne, the crown and ruling, she could not give up the most powerful and most dangerous seat in the realm to somebody she knew nothing about. She loved her kingdom and her people far too much to lead them to ruin.

And so, the war began.

From this far up in the skies, she could clearly see Greyjoy and Velaryon ships — burned, ruined, sinking, defeated. Visenya dared to hope that her ally and friend, Yara Greyjoy, along with her grandfather, Lucerys Velaryon, managed to avoid burning to death.

Far down, below her, soldiers of Martells, Baratheons, Tyrells, Lannisters, Starks and many more — the army of United Westeros — they were fighting against Dothraki and Unsullied.

Visenya looked around, spotting her enemy on the back of the black and red dragon, Drogon. They were burning another row of empty houses and buildings.

For a second, she did not know what to do. She wished she didn't have to make Rhaegal fight his brother — a dragon bigger and more experienced than him. But she had to. It was the only way to save King's Landing and its people.

As if sensing that she made up her mind, Rhaegal flapped his jade-green wings, a sound like the clap of thunder. He started flying towards his brother and mother. He roared — a sound so utterly terrifying and yet music to her ears all the same.

Brave — he was utterly brave. This roar was meant for her, a promise, a vow that they are together in this. And she willed herself to breathe, her heart beating in a steady rhythm.

Visenya forced the thoughts out of her head, Cersei's dead body buried underneath the fallen debris from the Red Keep. She opened her eyes and swallowed. There was no room in her body and mind for panic or fear — only calm, determination and love. Love for her people, for her kingdom that she wished to protect. Love for her daughter.

Lenna. Lenna. Lenna.

So that she could be safe. For the better world that her daughter can grow up in. For her — it was all for Lenna.

Rhaegal and Drogon collided, their black claws sinking into each other, their sharp black teeth went to rip each other's throats. A brother against brother.

Visenya held on, huffing a breath when Drogon ended up sinking his claws into Rhaegal's leg. Her dragon shrieked in pain but he still fought, scratching his brother along his side.

She knew that Rhaegal could not last long against Drogon, not alone. Perhaps if he had the help of Viserion, they could best their brother. But Viserion was dead. And it was just them — two last dragons fighting each other.

Visenya knew her history very well, which is why she remembered hearing and reading the stories and books about the Dance of Dragons. She knew that the only way a smaller dragon could defeat the larger one was by outsmarting them.

Caraxes who had fought against the mighty Vhagar and they both ended up on the bottom of the God's Eye along with their riders. A beautiful tragedy. But if she had to give up her life for the safety of millions, then Visenya gladly would.

Rhaegal managed to get himself free of Drogon's teeth and they attacked each other again and again, trying to get a good angle on each other's neck.

However, Visenya waited for her opportunity. It took many tries, but the moment Rhaegal was close enough to Drogon, the Queen leaped towards her aunt, Dark Sister already in her steady hand, waiting to spill blood.

Daenerys's eyes went wide as Visenya, swift as a shadow in her black armor, pushed her sword through her heart.

Visenya held onto her aunt as the blood started pouring down her chin. She could see the relief in the violet eyes that stared at her. It almost felt like saying thank you.

She took in a sharp breath. She had heard many great things about Daenerys. A woman who brought dragons back. A woman who freed slaves. A woman who managed to lead Dothraki and Unsullied.

And suddenly, she felt like staring into a mirror. They were the same coin, just different sides. Daenerys was who Visenya would have become if she had let go of her entire soul after losing almost everyone important to her.

Visenya grasped onto her aunt's hand and smiled, not a pitiful smile, but a true one. And she said the words that she longed to hear all her life, the words that would set her free of the burden on her shoulders.

"It's alright. You can rest. You are free now," the words are almost a whisper against the wind.

Daenerys managed a smile. She choked on the blood in her throat, but still said, "Thank you." The words were full of gratitude, both a prayer and an answer. She closed her eyes as her heart stopped beating. 

Visenya didn't have enough time to hold onto anything as Drogon let out a shriek that sounded more like a cry of a child who just lost his parent, a son grieving his mother.

He started to trash in the air, to get her off his back, to bite her — to burn her and tear her flesh apart. Visenya couldn't stop herself from falling off his back.

Rhaegal still fought for her. When Drogon dived right after her, aiming to kill her, her beautiful dragon saved her. He sank his teeth in Drogon's throat and the black dragon returned the favor.

Black and golden blood spilled in the air. Visenya somehow knew this was their end. All three of them, falling to their deaths. And she couldn't help but smile.

She was free.

 

 

_____

 

 

unknown, unknown
visenya targaryen

Visenya groaned. She hurt. Everything fucking hurt. She tried to open her eyes but could not adjust to the light of the candles so she shut her eyes again. Every movement hurt, even breathing hurt. Gods, was she not supposed to be dead?

Once she adjusted to the light, she could see where she was. She moved to sit against the wall, wincing in pain. Balerion's skull was staring back at her, dozens of candles before the massive thing. It looked like a sept, except here you did not pray to gods but rather to the Black Dread.

Visenya sighed, tired. She caught a movement on her left side and tried to grab Dark Sister at once, only to find that it did not rest at her hip. She had no weapons on herself at all. She wasn't even wearing her beautiful black armor.

Visenya slowly turned her head to the person on her left, only to find a familiar man staring back at her. Red eyes, milk-white skin, long white hair, birthmark on the right side of his face. She almost groaned at the sight of him.

"It is magnificent, don't you think?" he asked, looking at the large skull. Visenya didn't bother to answer. "Bloodraven. I was hoping not to see your face again."

His sharp, almost sinister features relaxed, the corners of his lips tugged up. "Unfortunately for you, savior of the world, you can not get rid of me that easily."

"A shame, really," Visenya muttered to herself. Whenever Bloodraven decided to appear, things have not ended very well for her. "Where are we? Am I not supposed to be dead? I fell off a dragon's back from far up the sky. Nobody is meant to survive that — or is it another special thing about the princess who was promised?"

"You are dead and yet you are not," He exclaimed, his hands behind his back and his red eyes now back on her. Visenya rolled her eyes, even though the act almost made her cry out in pain. "Wonderful, more confusing riddles. Don't you ever get tired of speaking them?"

"Our time is limited. You must listen and do so carefully," Blooraven said, utterly serious. "History tells us that Aegon the Conqueror looked across the Blackwater from Dragonstone, and saw a rich land ripe for the capture. But ambition alone is not what drove him to conquest. It was a dream. Just as Daenys foresaw the end of Valyria, Aegon foresaw the end of the world of men."

What does that have to do with me? Visenya almost asked. She did not care about some stupid dream from the past or a true history lesson, known only by a few. She should be dead. Her soul should be reunited with her family, her siblings, her husbands and her dead son. She should be free.

"'Tis to begin with a terrible winter gusting out of the distant north. He saw absolute darkness riding on those winds. And whatever dwells within will destroy the world of the living," Bloodraven continued, not caring about the glare she was giving him.

Without even having to think much, Visenya mused, "You are speaking of the Night King, aren't you? But I do not understand—"

He interrupted her, "When this Great Winter comes, all of Westeros must stand against it. And if the world of men is to survive, a Targaryen must be seated on the Iron Throne. A king or queen, strong enough to unite the realm against the cold and the dark. Aegon called his dream 'The Song of Ice and Fire.' "

She wished she could spit fire so she could burn him at once, perhaps even burn herself to nothingness. "Why are you speaking nonsense again? The Night King is defeated. Trust me, I know. I was the one who killed him with Dark Sister."

Bloodraven shook his head, patient as he always had been with her. "No. No, you were not." Visenya was so very tired of his meaningless words and half-truths.

"Yes, I was. And I gained these ugly scars while doing so," she growled, pointing at the three pink lines that go from her brow down, almost touching her nose. "I did what you asked of me. I raised an army of united Westeros and marched to the North to defeat the Night King. Can't you just let me die in peace?"

She was so very tired. This world had already taken so much away from her — her true family, before she got to know them. It deprived her of loving parents. It took her siblings, both her husbands, her son, and many more.

What more could this world — these people, possibly ask of her?

He had looked at her with pity then, as if he could see how tired she was — how tired of living, breathing, existing, how tired of caring for people who were bound to be taken away from her. "Death is a gift you have not yet earned."

"Then what do I have to do for this world to leave me alone?" Visenya cried out desperately. "You need to rewrite the history. Only then can the prophecy be truly fulfilled," he revealed.

Visenya blinked. Hells, what was he saying? That this had all been for nothing?" But I thought the prophecy was already fulfilled. Daenerys, myself and Jon Snow are the three heads of the dragon. And together, we banished the eternal darkness."

"No, it was not fulfilled," Bloodraven shook his head. "Three heads never came to exist. They were all meant to be legitimate — born of pure Targaryen blood."

Her mind was a mess. She had known Rhaegar Targaryen was her father. A man many prised — a protégé, they said. And yet, that same man left her mother while she was pregnant with her. He run away with another woman, Lyanna Stark who was turned into a martyr even tho she willingly followed him.

Visenya hadn't known her true heritage for long, but she dreaded the fact that Rhaegar was her father. She sometimes even asked herself what was worse, having a manwhore for a father or a prince who pretended to be honorable when he was anything but.

But was it possible that he was right to do it? The question unsettled her.

"And indeed, Visenya was always meant to be the princess who was promised, a destined Lightbringer. However, she is not you," he continued. "She shall come from your line when the time is right. You have a greater role to play so the true prophecy could be fulfilled. You need to rewrite the history."

"So you are sending me back in time? You have to be jesting," Visenya snorted, looking at him, waiting for a smile, a laugh — anything that would tell her this was not happening. "You are being serious. Where — or rather when am I going then?"

"To the moment everything went wrong. To the downhill of our great house." Bloodraven looked behind him, as if he could sense something approaching.

"There are several times that everything went with our house. The time of Maegor the Cruel, the moment Princess Rhaenys was passed over for being a woman, the Dance of Dragons, the Conquest of Dorne, the Blackfyre rebellions, the Tragedy of Summerhall, The Mad King, Robert's Rebellion, Sack of King's Landing...and I can keep going," Visenya muttered, tilting her head to the side.

"Indeed. But Targaryens have dragon blood within us. What are we without dragons? Are we any different than commoners? Would the Conquerors have dared to unite the Seven Kingdoms if it weren't for the dragons?" He questioned.

"So you want me to stop the Dance of dragons? The bloodiest war in the history of Westeros? You want me to do it on my own? Are you out of your mind?" Visenya almost laughed. This all seemed impossible. She had to be dreaming.

"You shall figure it out soon enough. But remember, you only know one future. There are dozen more, all wrong and yet right in their own way. If you change one thing, you change it all and it can be both for better or worse," he said, his voice sounding rather urgent.

There was so much more she needed to know — needed to ask. Where should she start? What does she have to change? How is she going to do this? She can not do this, not all alone.

But there was a sudden, blinding light that erupted from behind the man. She had to cover her eyes. "But — Wait!" She couldn't see anything — couldn't feel anything.

The darkness claimed her yet again.

Notes:

The fact that Visenya is so done with her life and yet Bloodraven comes out of nowhere to tell her that she needs to go on a secret mission to save the world 🙄

It took me so much time to actually write the fighting scene between Daenerys and Visenya! I hope I didn't end up rushing it all!

My Wattpad: seven-moons

Chapter 3: New Beginning

Summary:

In which:

— Visenya finally gets a family she deserves
— Our girl overthinks everything, including how to act like a proper newborn
— I enjoy soft Daemon for his newborn niece far too much

king's landing, 96 AC
visenya targaryen

Blood. After years of fighting various wars, after spending more time on the battlefield, slaying men, covered in others' blood as well as her own, she could so very easily recognize the scent of blood — and it was all around her. It was faint, but still there.

She felt as if someone was carrying her, careful to support her neck. For a second, she wondered if it had all been just a dream. She certainly hoped so. She hoped that when she opened her eyes, she would be reunited with her family. Or even alive, bruised, and bloody after surviving that horrible fall.

Visenya heard noises — human noises. She needed some time to make out the words that were said. However, she did not recognize the voices.

She tried to open her eyes, blinking to adjust to the sudden light. Visenya was startled when she looked up to see an unfamiliar man staring down at her. The man was beautiful, a bit plump, his skin pale, hair silver-gold and eyes inhumanly purple. He seemed to be weeping in joy.

Visenya tried to open her mouth and speak, determined to figure out what was going on. Instead of words, a small cry came from her lips. She desperately tried to look around, but it felt like she couldn't support her own head.

What the fuck was happening? Her head was spinning with ideas. She had a sneaking suspicion that she was a baby, but nothing was yet confirmed.

Visenya was passed to someone else so the man who was holding her could calm down. The woman who held her looked lovely — utterly exhausted but her indigo eyes filled with love. She was also pale, her hair more gold than silver and there were dark circles under her eyes.

What caught her off guard was the way these two people held her. They did so with such love and care that she could sense it in the air. It made her want to weep.

Visenya couldn't remember the last time someone had held her. Not even as a child, and when she did receive a hug, it wasn't like this — it was never like this, never with so much care. Those hugs never made her feel appreciated and loved, but these two people who she did not know, had managed to make her black heart come alive in mere seconds.

She heard the door open and managed to see two more people come in. An elderly woman with hair as white as freshly fallen snow, pulled up in a bun, and eyes of the brightest blue. She was glowing in happiness as she walked alongside the elderly man with wise violet eyes, long silver hair and a long beard to match.

The woman set her cane aside, looking at Visenya with a smile on her face. Her laughter lines were showing, but they just made her seem even more beautiful. "Another great-granddaughter. May I hold her, Viserys?"

Visenya blinked in surprise. Viserys? There was no way this was happening. This all must be a dream — a nightmare. She simply hit her head too hard.

The man — Viserys stood up and carefully took her from the tired-looking woman just to place her in the arms of the elderly woman. "There is no need to ask, grandmother."

The elderly woman held her protectively as she cooed, "Such beauty. And look at those eyes. The most beautiful eyes I have seen. What do you say, Jae?"

Jae? King Jaehaerys? Is this Queen Alysanne that's holding me? And my apparent father is King Viserys I? So my mother must be Queen Aemma. Her mind went blank. This simply couldn't be happening to her. Did she not deserve to die in peace, not be sent to the past to change history?

King Jaehaerys beamed at Visenya. He traced her chubby arm with his finger, nodding along with a smile. "A lovely girl indeed. I believe congratulations are in order, Viserys, Aemma."

Visenya didn't know how to feel, how to act — she didn't know what to do. There were so many thoughts in her head and yet none at all.

Her thoughts were interrupted when she felt a tear drop on the warm blanket she was wrapped in. Looking up, she saw Queen Alysanne silently crying. "She reminds me much of our Daenerys. Such clever and curious eyes, yet so very young."

It took a moment for Visenya to remember who Daenerys is, it had been a long ago since she had her history lessons after all. Daenerys, the first living child of Alysanne and Jaehaerys, the fearless and curious girl who had died too young — a victim of Shivers.

Her new father — Viserys, looked at the Queen with sad eyes. "Sit, grandmother. It has been a long night for all of us."

Alysanne listened, but Visenya still felt bad for making her cry. The woman who was holding her turned out to be one of her favorite ancestors, a woman who had lost so much in her life too.

Visenya somehow lifted her now small and chubby arm to the queen's cheek and tried to wipe away the falling tear. Alysanne managed a smile. "Oh, you clever little thing."

A small, happy noise came out of her mouth. It was supposed to represent a giggle as she offered her toothless grin. Viserys all but leaped in surprise and joy. "Have you heard it, Aemma? Our daughter just giggled! Her first giggle that is."

Her now father took her back in his arms yet again, "My beloved girl." She did not feel like laughing or giggling, but these people were so joyful to see her and hold her that she felt the need to repay them somehow. So, she continued with the happy noises and adorable smiles.

That was until the spot where her mating mark was, began to burn. The back of her neck felt itchy and the doors opened again. This time, a young man with long and straight silver hair walked in. He was utterly magnificent with his pale lilac eyes and rebellious — rogue look to him.

"I hear I'm uncle now," was the first thing he said. His voice was deep too and Visenya felt somehow connected to him — bonded. Not the way she was with Rhaegal but...She seemed unable to explain.

Rhaegal. Her heart clenched painfully and she felt like weeping again. Alone. She was all alone in this. Not even her beautiful beast was with her, a dragon that had a special place in her heart.

"Indeed you are, Daemon. You have a little niece now," Jaehaerys responded and Alysanne chimed in. "A perfect babe with the most beautiful eyes."

Viserys laughed with joy. "Do you wish to hold her, brother?" Daemon, the Rogue prince seemed opposed to the idea as he looked over at her.

He shrugged, feeling trapped. "I suppose." Viserys walked over to him, about to put her into her uncle's arms when he stopped. "Be careful how you do it. My little girl is a small thing," he warned.

"Maesters say she is healthy enough, don't they?" Daemon questioned in return, cocking his head to the side. Viserys shook his head, irritated. "It matters not to me. Be careful with her."

And then his scent hit her. Fire. Embers. Ash. Dragon. Leather. Freedom. Blood. Steel. Ale. Air. Safety. She felt like nuzzling into him.

Their eyes met for the first time, pale lilac clashing with dark indigo. The world stopped. Voices in the room and conversation between the rest simply faded.

Daemon held her even closer to him now, eyes never leaving hers. Visenya knew she should look away, after all, she was a newborn and they never had a large attention span. But, she found herself unable to.

Visenya wrapped her small hand around his large finger and when Daemon made a move to pull away, she all but glared at him, holding onto him with all the strength she could muster. His lips twitched, holding in his laughter.

Daemon lifted his head to look at Viserys. "What of the mating mark? Does she have one?" At this, Viserys took her from her uncle's arms, almost protectively. "We haven't had it checked yet. It can be anywhere. You know that already."

Daemon's demeanor changed and it looked as if he wanted to say more, but the doors to the room opened yet again. Another man walked in, his hair silver and wavy, his eyes dark purple.

"I apologize for the delay. I picked one of Vhagar's eggs and it hatched along the way. A good sign, I say," the man said. True enough, a green and bronze hatchling appeared on his shoulder.

Visenya's eyes widened as she stared at the familiar bronze eyes. Rhaegal. It was Rhaegal without a single doubt. She could recognize those eyes anywhere, and that pull — that bond that connected them. He had followed her even to the past.

Rhaegal recognized her too. He spread his small wings and all but flew towards her. Visenya giggled happily as she wrapped her chubby arms around the dragon's small body. Reunited. They were reunited and she was not alone. She had her magnificent beast that owns half of her heart.

"It looks like our little girl found her future mount," Viserys said, a bit unsure. They had never seen a scene like this. Those standing in the room felt like they were interrupting a reunion between two old friends.

"Well, father! There is someone who is waiting to meet you!" Her father announced and put her in the arms of Baelon the Brave. Rhaegal followed her, not wanting to be separated from her. He slithered all around her, shrieking in happiness.

Baelon gazed down at her. "Such a lovely babe she is. Well done you two, well done. She will be a heartbreaker in truth." Or a nosebreaker. Visenya wished she could snort.

"Indeed she will be. There has never been such a perfect babe as is our little Visenya," her father stated proudly.

At least she gets to keep her name. She had just gotten used to it anyway.

"Visenya? Perhaps you want to reconsider, brother?" Daemon mused.

"A strong name for a strong girl. And her dragon is from one of Vhagar's eggs, the name suits her," Jaehaerys decided and Visenya clapped happily.

Looking at them now, her ancestors, the same people she had read so much about, her new family — this all felt unreal. But it warmed her heart anyway.

These people — they had been waiting for her to be born. They were smiling, laughing and weeping in joy at the sight of her. It healed some broken and shattered parts of her, that love, clearly shown. It sealed shut still bleeding wounds in her heart and opened new ones.

And still, she hoped this was all just a dream.

 

 

_____

 

 

It was, in fact, not a dream.

Eight moons had passed and Visenya had to accept the fact that this was her life now. Bloodraven hadn't appeared in her dreams and she didn't have any visions. She had no guidance in this life and that led to many thoughts and problems.

One of the worst problems she had was that she had no idea how to act like a babe when her mind is so much older than her body.

Visenya rarely cried, even in her past life. She grieved in different ways, by drinking, sometimes hurting herself and more often than not, burying her feelings so deep until they overflow and made her do stupid things.

But babes were expected to cry and Visenya was just quiet. It startled her new parents — Viserys and Aemma, so much that they often visited to see if she was alive and breathing. She didn't want to scare them, so she started crying when she was hungry to ease their minds.

Crying was not the only problem, however. Visenya did remember when her Lenna had started crawling, standing up, walking and talking. But that was so very far away and she had so much free time in the nursery.

Visenya started practicing walking after she had successfully stood up over a moon ago. The Targaryen family had broken their fast together. She had been crawling around for quite some time as her family dined.

They quickly got used to her fast crawling and paid her little mind. They knew she was safe and happy and they were content enough with that knowledge to leave her to her own devices.

That was until she crawled up to her uncle Daemon and yanked on his breeches until she was standing up. They all looked down at her in surprise and delight, instantly praising her and toasting to her.

Since then, they had been trying to get her to talk. It was a competition, really. They all would somehow find themselves alone with her and tried getting her to say their name first.

Visenya did not know who she should pick. These people had all loved her fiercely, had loved her so much that they fought to hold her first. She had never gotten that kind of attention in her past life and she finally felt wanted — like she belonged.

A small part of her wondered if her place truly was here, with them. And if she had somehow been born in the wrong time in her first life.

It felt wrong to pick either of them. She didn't want to do it. She grew to care for them very much, each in their own way.

At present, they as a family gathered yet again. It was her father's nameday and instead of a large feast, they had decided to all dine together. The only one missing was uncle Daemon who was sent to Vale by the orders of the King and Queen. He was forced to spend time with his soon-to-be wife.

Visenya felt quite sorry for her uncle. He got betrothed to lady Rhea Royce and from what she could remember, he was not overly fond of her. His bronze bitch, he called her. They were set to marry at the start of the next year.

Daemon had tried to get out of the messy betrothal that Queen Alysanne arranged, but it was of no use. She had a feeling her uncle would never truly forgive his grandparents for not giving him a Valyrian bride and selling him off in hopes of taming him.

"When will she start walking, mother?" Her great‐aunt Gael asked and it pulled Visenya out of her head. She blinked, only to realize she was sitting on the floor while her family chatted.

"It is much too soon for that, my sweet. Perhaps in a moon or two," Queen Alysanne answered. Gael tilted her head to the side like a curious child. "And when will she start talking?"

"When she is ready," King Jaehaerys said and Gael pouted. It was quite amusing, the fact that Visneya was a babe with a mind of a fully grown person while Gael was a woman grown with a mind of a child.

"Perhaps you could help her stand," Alysanne offered. Gael wasted no time in sliding down from her seat and holding Visenya up on her two unsteady feet.

Visenya tried to keep her body steady like she practiced in her nursery. Gods, it was very annoying, knowing that in the past life she was a water dancer — a soldier, a commander, a person capable of controlling her limbs just fine. But now she could not even stand.

"Why is she so quiet, mother?" Gael asked yet again, but before anyone could answer, uncle Daemon was announced to enter.

"You are late, Daemon," Baelon scolded his son and Visenya was struck stupid how much she missed his annoying presence.

Not so long ago, Daemon had tried to kidnap her from her nursery to take her on her first dragonride — on Caraxes, but was stopped by a shouting Viserys who forbade him to be alone in her presence. He feared for the safety of his daughter. A fun day indeed.

"Apologies, father. My soon-to-be wife is keeping me on my toes," her uncle defeated. He did not sound sorry in the slightest. It was clear that he was still holding on to that anger.

Visenya squealed in delight and Daemon looked down at her, his sneer turning into a smile. "At least someone missed my presence. Come to your favorite uncle, my dearest niece."

He kneeled and raised his hands, waiting for her to walk to him. So Visenya did. Her steps were unsteady indeed. She lacked balance and she almost fell, however, her uncle caught her in his awaiting arms and held her to his chest.

The entire table went utterly quiet as they gaped at her. Daemon lifted her and placed a kiss on the side of her head. Visenya gave him a bite on the nose that was supposed to represent a kiss.

Her father and mother both took her from Daemon's arms and showered her with kisses. Viserys kept saying how this was the best name day gift he could ask for.

Gael squealed. "I want to see if she can walk to me. Vissie, come here!" And so, her mother helped support her on her two feet again. Visenya was barely able to keep her balance, but her great-aunt was there to catch her.

She was lifted and brought to the table where they praised her. Gods, she couldn't get enough of the feeling of being wanted and cherished — of being praised and in the center of attention.

"This is a gift for you, my little niece," uncle Daemon said. He handed her a plush green-bronze dragon toy. Rhaegal. Her beautiful dragon that she shares her cradle with — whom she hugs every night before she falls asleep, her beautiful dragon that keeps her nightmares away.

"Da-gon," Visenya excitedly said, managing to string a few syllables on her first try. Her family went quiet again, like they couldn't believe their ears. Visenya tried again, "Dra-gon."

"Did she say dragon?" Gael asked in all her excitement and Visenya nodded, pointing at her new toy with a large grin. "Dragon!"

Notes:

It's only the first interaction between Daemon and Visenya and I'm already a sobbing mess for them 😭

My Wattpad: seven-moons

Chapter 4: Sworn Blood Oath

Summary:

In which:

— We see Daemon's POV
— Visenya gets to bond with dragons and begins her schemes
— Our girl goes into overprotective sister mode

dragon pit, 97 AC
daemon targaryen

He was not fond of babes. Not at all. He found them smelly, sticky and boring. They were little pests, really. Always crying and screaming, begging for attention and care.

Daemon had been forced to hold his two little cousins when they were born. Little Laena Velaryon, who had been small and robust, always moving her chubby hands and legs and never staying in one place for a long time. And little Laenor who had mostly just cried and slept.

He also held his little niece.

Daemon was against the idea at first, but when he first looked at her, his arms were aching for some sort of contact. When he thought back to it, the entire day of his niece's birth had been anything but ordinary.

Daemon could not sleep the night his good-sister went into labor. He could not sleep even before the news had reached him. He had been at an entirely different location anyway.

The mating mark on the back of his neck kept burning. It had been burning since he knelt before Aemma's swollen belly and felt his niece kick — even then, he had been sure it was a girl and not a boy.

Two clashing swords, Blackfyre and Dark Sister with the crown of Aegon the Conqueror inked black on his pale skin. Burning and burning and burning.

Daemon kept tossing and turning. He had even gone to some whore to get his mind off the burn. It did little to help. Her mouth was all over his cock and yet all he kept seeing as he closed his eyes was another woman.

A beautiful creature that could only be crafted by the gods themselves. Pale skin. Hair more silver than gold, falling to her waist in beautiful waves. Eyes of the darkest indigo with a spark of mischief and fire. Lips red and full. There was no other way to describe the girl except — otherworldly, even for a Targaryen.

The blood in his veins seemed to roar. It called to him as the skies did — as Caraxes did. And yet, not quite in the same way. A new and different sort of call.

He had somehow known that he should fly to King's Landing at once and so he did.

He landed, just to hear that he had a little niece. For a split second, he felt truly sorry for the child. This niece of his will grow into a woman that will either marry into the family or be sold to the highest bidder. Freedom was a foreign concept even to Targaryens.

She would have her wings clipped, bound. Any claws she might grow to have would be shortened or cut. She would be taught to obey, listen, keep silent — when she should be learning how to roar. She would be put in a golden cage, unable to do a thing about it.

But the birth of a girl instead of a boy was good enough for him. He was exactly where he was meant to be, third in line for the Iron Throne.

Daemon did not need guidance to the rooms the newborn babe was in. He just knew where to go and the moment he had actually set sights on his niece, the world stilled — stopped. His blood went alight in his veins. As if his blood recognized hers — as if his soul recognized hers. A dragon calling to another.

His niece looked at him as if she could feel everything he did. He held her then. She was not robust and yet healthy enough. Women worried the girl was born too small — they worried she would perish in the cradle. And yet, Daemon knew she would not.

From the little hair she had on her head, he could tell it was more silver than gold. Her cheeks were rosy and her lips plump. And her eyes — Conqueror damn him. She had darker eyes than Aemma's indigo ones and he almost mistook them for black.

Little Visenya grabbed his finger, looking at him with much more attention than the newborn babe should have. And when he tried to pull his finger away, she all but glared at him, holding onto him tighter. Daemon could barely keep in his laughter as he smirked.

Such fire. This niece of his will grow to be a force, truly.

And what a day it had been.

Daemon was not fond of babes, but he was indeed fond of his niece. Visenya was too young to know that she already had him wrapped around her little finger.

However, Viserys didn't seem to think so. His older brother all but forbade him to be alone with his niece ever since he had tried to take her on her first dragonride. Viserys feared Daemon would hurt her. He couldn't be more wrong.

While Daemon could be considered irresponsible at times, utterly rogue and rebellious at others — he would never intentionally hurt his family, his blood, or his niece.

The entire court appeared to be on his side too. Apparently, there was something about a Rogue Prince carrying a little girl — in his arms, on his shoulders, swooning over her as he passed ladies and lords.

Still, he wasn't allowed to take Visenya on her first dragonride. His father had the honor of doing so since neither Viserys nor Aemma had dragons.

Mighty Vhagar landed on the ground of the Dragon Pit, shaking the ground while doing so. Daemon could clearly hear Visenya's laughs of utter delight in the distance.

He walked towards the bronze she-dragon, a smile on his face as his father handed him Visenya. He gently combed through her messy hair, trying to tame her silver-gold waves.

"Uncle!" Visenya all but jumped in his arms, a huge smile on her face, showing off small teeth that were still growing.

"Did you enjoy your first dragonride, my little niece?" Daemon asked and Visenya nodded her head, eyes sparkling with joy. "Yes. Yes. Yes!"

He had never seen her smile and laugh as much. Visenya was a quiet child, always observing and ever curious. He had a sneaking suspicion that she was more intelligent than most babes — she did start crawling, walking, talking and running much sooner than most.

His father landed on the ground too, laughing. "And here I thought the entire King's Landing has heard her cries of joy when we took to the skies."

Visenya didn't appear to be listening as she stared at Vhagar. She ran her small hands along the bronze and green scales in utter amazement. Vhagar followed her every movement with her bright green eyes, moving closer to the babe, clearly enjoying the attention.

"Her mount is growing quickly. In a few years time she will be up in the skies on her own," Daemon said.

True enough, her little green hatchling wasn't so little anymore. It grew quicker than most hatchlings did and soon enough, his niece and her mount would have to part ways so he could be moved to the Dragon Pit.

"I doubt we will be seeing her on the ground much when the time comes. I think she rather prefers the skies," his father confessed proudly.

"As she should be. The skies belong to us after all," Daemon said, more to himself than anyone. To be able to feel that pull towards the sky, to see beautiful sights when you are riding the winds — to feel the power when you mount your dragon, it was simply the best feeling in the world.

Vhagar huffed, smoke rising from her nostrils and Daemon moved his niece away from the mighty dragon. "Careful, niece," he warned. Visenya glared at him for moving away but then she looked behind him, her anger long forgotten.

Daemon felt it then — a puff of smoke and the warmth against his back. The familiar warmth and scent of his own mount. He turned towards Caraxes, careful to keep his niece away.

"Uncle? Your dragon?" Visenya, ever the curious child, asked, tilting her head to the side cutely. Daemon nodded. "Yes, my dearest niece. This is Caraxes."

The great beast of his moved his snout towards his niece, as if to sniff her. Visenya eagerly moved towards the red beast so Baelon warned, "Be careful, Vissie. Caraxes isn't overly fond of people. A moody beast he is."

Visenya didn't appear to be listening to the warnings as she looked straight into his fierce eyes. Blood Wyrm appeared to be rather calm around his niece, most likely because she was here with him.

Visenya looked at Daemon again, almost pleading. "Pet him?" He nodded, taking her small hand and running it along the red scales of the lean beast. Still, he was careful to keep the distance between his niece and his mount, just in case.

"Beautiful," Visenya whispered and he found himself shocked when Caraxes huffed a breath of smoke, as if purring in delight at the praise. Daemon wasn't sure anyone ever called the Blood Wyrm beautiful, his moody beast looked like a large worm with wings after all.

He found himself smiling. Caraxes wasn't overly fond of people, neither was Daemon. They both liked Visenya, though. His niece truly had a gift if she was able to make her own way into both of their hearts.

 

 

_____

 

 

king's landing, 97 AC
visenya targaryen

Gods, dragons were truly stunning creatures. The fire in her blood was alight with excitement from being in the skies on Vhagar with her grandfather. How many people could say that they got to ride the mighty she-dragon — the last dragon from the Conquest?

Visenya cursed destiny and fate and gods — whoever decided to send her back to the past. They couldn't have sent her back a little bit sooner so she could get a chance to see Balerion too?

She could still feel herself shaking in excitement. The way both Vhagar and Caraxes looked at her, as if waiting for her to move away in fear. She did not give them the satisfaction. Visenya was fire made flesh — just as they were.

Seeing Vhagar up close made her question a few things. There were so many things to think about, so many schemes to put into motion if she were to save the world.

The largest problem for the Blacks had been Aemond 'One-eye' and Vhagar. The smartest thing to do would be to claim Vhagar as soon as Baelon dies, but she simply couldn't.

Rhaegal was her dragon, her bonded mount and her only friend who knew the whole truth about her. Would she even call him Rhaegal in this second life? It was something she had to think about.

Gods, wasn't this complicated. Perhaps she should let Laena Velaryon have Vhagar, but somehow stop the girl from dying so Aemond would never get a chance to mount her? Or she should just make sure Aemond didn't exist at all?

"Are you even listening to me, Visenya?" Her mother questioned her, dropping the book to her lap. She didn't hear a word that left Aemma's mouth. "Yes, mama." Visenya looked at her mother with fake innocence.

She was currently resting with her pregnant mother, her head on her swollen belly. Every day, Aemma opened any book of Visenya's choosing and read to her as many stories as she could hear until she started her nap.

Usually, she paid much attention, loving to hear more new stories. Aemma would even show her words and letters and how to read them. Visenya would nod along, pretending to learn when she, in fact, could read. Today wasn't one of those days. Visenya had many thoughts swimming in her head and she simply couldn't focus.

Visenya opened her mouth to say something when she felt a slight kick to the side of her head. She looked down in utter surprise when she felt her sibling kick.

Her mother laughed then. "Can you feel it, little flame? Your little brother likes giving me trouble," she mumbled, hand on her belly now.

Little flame, Aemma called her. For the fire that burns so brightly inside her. For the fire in her eyes and heart. For the fire in her blood.

Visenya narrowed her eyes, shaking her head stubbornly. "No! A sister! I want a sister!" Her father was certainly hoping for a son, he had been saying as much. Her mother just wished for a healthy babe.

Visenya — well, a part of her wished the babe won't survive. It would be so much easier to fix the past if she didn't have to care for a sibling because she knew that if she were to have one, she would love it.

And another part of her wished for a babe to be born healthy so she could feel that sort of love and connection she had with Myrcella and Tommen — hells, even Joffrey.

Aemma stroked her cheek softly. "Let's hope for a brother first. And perhaps after that, I shall give you a sister."

Visenya didn't bother to respond. She placed her tiny hands on her mother's belly to feel her sister's kick. Surely, she would have a sister. Rhaenyra. Rhaenyra Targaryen was born in 97 AC.

Her presence in the past changes everything yet nothing. The events could go as they are or they could change entirely. It all depended on what she does so she had to tread carefully.

Visenya might soon have a sister, or she might have a brother. Maybe Rhaenyra will be born and after that, she would have a living brother instead of a stillborn one.

It's a tricky thing. She knew — she could only believe the basic information that history taught her. She could consider only years and certain events. After all, history is written by men and survivors, events could be true or false or both or neither.

 

 

_____

 

 

Her tiny body was traitorous. Her mind was working and working and working — never stopping. But her child's body refused to cooperate.

Rhaenyra Targaryen was born in 97 AC, just as history was told. Visenya had a sister and she couldn't be happier than she is.

She desperately wanted to stay up and await her sister's arrival into this world. She wanted to stay awake and hold her sister for the first time. Gods, she almost succeeded.

Visenya paced and rubbed her eyes — it was not enough. She waited with her family, wondering if they waited for her birth like that too. Daemon pulled her into his lap to stop her from pacing and she all but fell asleep, her head hiding in the crook of his neck.

When she woke up, she found herself in the nursery, Rhaegal curling around her to keep her warm. She swiftly climbed out of her crib — a useful skill that she learned by practice and by falling out of it many times.

Visenya looked around, it was very silent. Everyone was asleep, even the nursemaids. She could hear slight snores and breathing of another babe so she followed the sound to another crib.

Visenya halted into a stop at the sight. A beautiful babe, Targaryen to the bone. What small hair Rhaenyra had was equally silver as it was gold. Perfect nose. Perfect lips. Robust and healthy. Visenya smiled.

She climbed into her sister's crib, careful not to wake her when she heard a soft huff. She glanced around to see a hatchling. Yellow scales and blue eyes. Syrax. Her sister had a hatchling too then.

Visenya reached for Syrax first as if to show her she was not a threat. Rhaegal flew towards them too and sniffed at the she-dragon. Two hatchlings settled down then, nuzzling into each other.

She gazed back at Rhaenyra to find her sister staring at her already. Purple eyes. Not lilac or violet or indigo — purple. Inhumanly purple. Rhaenyra blinked at her. Just blinked. She made no noises and she did not move.

Only one thought ran through her head as her heart clenched, both in pain and utter love. Myrcella.

Alyanna had just returned from being fostered in Dorne for a year. Her father, the king, hadn't allowed her to be at King's Landing when her mother gives birth to her new sibling. She wasn't allowed to be at home even when her sister was presented in court.

And it broke something in her. It set aflame that shimmering rage, spreading through her veins like wildfire. She simply couldn't get rid of it.

She had been so very angry these past few moons. And yet, it all disappeared the moment she saw her sister, Myrcella.

A beautiful babe she was. Golden hair and emerald eyes. She was a copy of their mother, same eyes yet Myrcella's were kinder — more curious, childish and happy.

"I have a sister now?" She asked her mother. Cersei was pacing around in the nursery, holding little Myrcella in her arms."Yes, my love."

"May I hold her, mother? I won't drop her, I promise," Aly smiled. For all her childish innocence, she just wanted to hold her sister the way she wanted to be held. No, she wanted to give Myrcella enough love to make sure she never felt deprived of it as she did.

"Yes, but you must be careful," Cersei warned and she placed Myrcella into her arms. Fearing she might drop her sister, Alyanna sat down. She just stared at the babe who stared back. Myrcella smiled, giggling lightly and her heart clenched.

Alyanna was only seven and yet she felt responsibility as the eldest of her siblings. If their father won't love them, Aly would love both Joffrey and Myrcella twice as much to make up for it.

So she leaned towards her sister and whispered, "You've been born into a cruel world, sister. Women are sold, they suffer, they die. But I won't let anything happen to you. When you think you have no one, you will have me. Always. I will love you, no matter what."

And Visenya had failed. Myrcella was killed in Dorne by the Sand sisters and their mother. Visenya all but painted the Sunspear red with their blood for what they dared to do to her sister. Myrcella's death left a mark on her heart that will never heal.

But she felt the same primal need when she looked at Rhaenyra. Protect. Save. Defend. She felt the need to make another promise to her, especially because she knew what had happened to her in the future.

Visenya was still a babe and she couldn't speak most words. So she would make a blood oath. She pushed the cup off the table and squeezed the shattered glass in her small hand, spilling blood.

She grabbed her sister's hand in her bloodied one and thought, 'I failed last time. I will not fail again. You're my sister, my flesh and blood. If anyone dares to harm you, they will find themselves dead. I will keep you safe from your destiny. I will love you. I will change your fate. I will burn the entire world to ash if they dare touch you.'

As if Rhaenyra heard her thoughts, she squeezed Visenya's small hand in her own and giggled.

The morning came soon enough, and both Viserys and Aemma entered the nursery to find the greatest surprise of all. Their two beautiful daughters, sleeping in the same crib, cuddling together.

Two hatchlings cuddled each other too, the green one wrapped his wing around the yellow one just as Visenya had wrapped her hand over Rhaenyra — protectively.

Notes:

I'm hoping y'all won't get bored of this story. I need some time (another 20 chapters or so) to set up relationships dynamics, add plots, introduce my OCs and so on before I officially begin writing anything HoTD related 😅

My Wattpad: seven-moons

Chapter 5: Little Protégé

Summary:

In which:

— I write a cute bonding time of the Targaryen family
— Visenya chooses a new name for Rhaegal
— We get to see darker parts of Visenya's mind

king's landing, 98 AC
visenya targaryen

It was nine moon turns since Rhaenyra's birth and Visenya was happily spending time with her little sister. Nyra was a joy, really. She rarely cried, only when babes must. She loved to cuddle and crawl all around.

Her big purple eyes were alight with joy and fascination when Visenya would visit her in the nursery and read to her. Rhaenyra also liked watching Syrax fly around the nursery, she would clap endlessly, laughing in delight.

And her laugh — Gods, no wonder she was called Realm's Delight. Her laugh brightened up the entire room — no, it made the world come alive. At least, Visenya's word.

Visenya spent most of her time with her dearest sister. Her lessons were yet to begin and so she had much time on her hands. Only unfortunate thing to happen was that they moved Rhaegal to the Dragon Pit. Apparently, he was too large for the nursery now.

Rhaegal.

She wasn't so sure she would like to name him Rhaegal in this life. Daenerys named him after her eldest brother — Visenya's father in her first life.

Rhaegar Targaryen, a man who left his wife and two children behind just to run off with another woman, who would later give him a child — the two of them started the rebellion that eventually ended the Targaryen dynasty.

Visenya was utterly sure that if her family from this life ever got to know what would happen with their descendants, they would curse them out for their stupidity.

Either way, the reason Rhaegar had left Vaella was because she couldn't give him a third child. Too bad. She, Visenya Targaryen, was the third child of Rhaegar and Vaella — born some time after he died.

Her beautiful bonded beast who knew her better than she did herself, doesn't deserve to be named after a man who started a rebellion for nothing — a man who followed stupid prophecies and dreams, essentially ending house Targaryen.

No. That name won't do.

Visenya knew her history very well.

Balerion. Vhagar. Meraxes. Meleys. Caraxes. Vermithor. All of them had been named after Gods and Goddesses of Valyria. Even dragons that would hatch later on ; Arrax. Syrax. Shrykos. Tessarion. Tyraxes. Vermax.

There were other names, of course, dragons named for their appearances or their natures. Dreamfyre. Sunfyre. Moondancer. Morning. Quicksilver. Seasmoke. Cannibal. Sheepstealer. Grey Ghost. Silverwing. Stormcloud. Morghul.

Visenya grimaced, reading through the book of Valyrian deities. She briefly turned her attention to Rhaenyra who was standing on her unsteady chubby legs, trying to reach her yellow hatchling.

She liked both namings well enough. Green Fury. Green Death. Green God. Visenya grimaced. Her beautiful mount deserved better than some pitty name.

Visenya had ridden him only once, and it was in a hurry. Still, she was able to be above clouds — above people, buildings, castles. She had been closer to gods than to men. Rhaegal deserved a name fitting for a beast that was God reborn.

Aegarax — God creator of the first dragon. Gaelithox — God of fire, stars, moon, sun and dawn. She liked both names and yet they didn't feel right on her tongue.

Her Green God had the potential to grow bigger than Balerion had been. He had been only eight the first time she rode him and even then, he had been bigger than Caraxes — who was much older.

Visenya wasn't sure why or how Daenerys's dragons grew so large and so fast, but she wasn't complaining. Even in this life, Rhaegal grew faster than other hatchlings, her parents had said so.

Arrax — ruler of Gods. God of law, order, justice, governance and strength. A name fitting for a dragon that will grow to be the strongest and biggest of all. Simple yet it felt right coming from her lips.

Arrax it is. She supposed she should see if Rhaegal would like the name.

Visenya closed her book and Nyra squealed in delight at the attention she was receiving. Visenya raised her hands, expecting Nyra to walk towards her.

So Rhaenyra did. She was unsteady and unbalanced, but Visenya leaped from the ground all the same. She hugged and kissed her sister everywhere she could reach. "Wait here!" And then she was sprinting out of the nursery.

Visenya found her parents seated inside their shared rooms when she burst through the doors, not bothered to knock. "Mama, Papa come. I have to show you something!"

Both Aemma and Viserys looked at her in surprise but they both stood up from their chairs and followed her through the corridors while she urged them to go faster. They finally reached the nursery.

Visenya quickly ran in and seated herself on the floor where she had been moments before. Her parents entered soon enough. "What do you want to show us, Vissie?" Aemma asked.

"Look what Nyra can do now!" She said in all excitement. She then helped her little sister stand up, something she had been helping her with for about a fortnight. She steadied Rhaenyra until she had found her balance and then Visenya let her go.

Rhaenyra took a few stumbling steps forward and walked into her awaiting arms, allowing Visenya to hug her. Aemma and Viserys were almost frozen in shock, eyes widened in surprise.

"Did she just—" Viserys started, but continued to gawk at the scene before him. Visenya helped Rhaenyra turn around so she could walk to their parents.

"I've been teaching her to walk for weeks now! Her first steps were today, however!" Visenya proudly declared with a grin.

Aemma crouched down to catch stumbling Rhaenyra and pick her up in her warm embrace. "Such a good girl," her mother cooed at her sister. Viserys walked towards his mate and his younger daughter, kissing them both.

Visenya expected the ugly, slithering feeling of jealousy to make its way through her veins — to make her see red and to know only anger. Yet, it did not.

In her past life, she would have certainly felt it. When Robert would allow his other children to call him father. When he would willingly talk and laugh with them. When Cersei would kiss them goodnight. And then, she would have hated herself for feeling it because she knew her siblings deserve the love and attention — even if she herself did not have that.

A true smile graced her face as she stared at her family. No anger or jealousy indeed — just pure love and care.

Aemma and Viserys were parents that she always needed. And their love, along with Rhaenyra's — it all healed some long-since shattered parts of her that she thought were unfixable.

Maybe there was hope for her after all. Hope to find peace and love. Hope to let herself live this life instead of just exist. Maybe. Just maybe.

 

 

_____

 

 

dragonstone, 99 AC
visenya targaryen

Grim. Black. Smoke. Salt. Fire. Beasts.

These were all words that Visenya would use to describe Dragonstone. The place was said to have been built by her ancestors with arcane arts, fire, and sorcery. Previous dragonlords used their magic to shape Dragonstone to look like multiple dragons.

Visenya was never overly fond of the place itself. Or maybe, she did not like it because of Stannis Baratheon — who had been in charge there. He was not Visenya's favorite person at all.

In fact, she spent most of her days either exploring the castle, running away from Stannis's boring wife or stealing books from the library. She liked Aegon's Garden too and she was fascinated by many statues of mythical creatures such as basilisks, cockatrices, demons, griffins, hellhounds, manticores, minotaurs, wyverns, and dragons.

Visenya felt arms around her middle and the next moment, she was lifted in the air and placed on Baelon's shoulders. "How do you like Dragonstone, little flame?"

She shrugged. She was born and raised in the Red Keep. In her past life, she had seen most of Westeros and yet, none of the places called out to her as Dragonstone did. Home. Home. Home. Her blood sang in her veins just as it did when she was in the skies.

"It's another home of ours," Visenya simply said. Baelon nodded. "Indeed." The air was smoky and she could smell the salty water.

Visenya sighed. "I wish aunt Gael could be here with us. I miss her," she confessed. Her great-aunt was such a sweet and gentle soul, innocent and oblivious to the real world which made her that more precious. Gael reminded her of little Tommen.

Her great-aunt had died by suicide when she lost a man who she claimed was her mate. She also lost her stillborn son and it shattered her soul.

Visenya sympathized with Gael. She had lost a son too. Despite her better judgment, she did try to comfort her great-aunt, hoping to prevent her death. In the end, it mattered not. Gael drowned herself.

It shouldn't matter to her much. While she was utterly grateful that being in this second life healed parts of her black heart, she was here for one reason — to prevent the extinction of dragons.

People here, family or not — they were just pieces in her game. Like in chyvasse, a game she enjoyed playing in her past life — people here should mean little to her. That way, she could manipulate them to do her bidding and prevent a war. Then, she could allow herself to fade into nothingness.

There was something incredibly wrong with her for thinking like this, but oh well. She couldn't care more than this because if she ended up failing — if someone died, someone who she would let in her heart, Visenya wasn't sure she would survive. Not again. Not that kind of loss.

"Me too, little flame. She may have been younger than me by two decades, but she was still my sister," Baelon said, bringing her back to reality.

"We're about to dock," her father announced, walking toward the two of them. Rhaegal — now Arrax, flew down towards them, screeching. "I think your mount will turn out to like Dragonstone, Vissie."

"I hope so, Papa. But his name is Arrax, just so you know," Visenya said proudly. Both men looked at her in question. "My mount. My Green God. His name is Arrax — for the ruler of all Gods. He is the God of law, order, justice, governance and strength."

Her father and grandsire shared a look and laughed. "A strong name fit for a mount," her father complimented and Baelon set her down on the ground. "You do know your history, Vissie."

If Visenya was honest, she thought her father and grandfather wanted to visit Queen Alysanne, not actually show her Dragonstone — which was an excuse they used. She didn't mind at all. Her great-grandmother was a great woman, simply shattered by life.

The Queen moved back to their ancestral home after Gael's death. The death of her youngest broke her. She was unable to live and walk in the halls her children had been born and raised in.

"How are you, grandmama?" Visenya asked, walking towards Alysanne who lifted her and placed her in her lap.

"Fine enough, little flame. How are you fairing with your little sister?" Alysanne took a brush from the table, running it through Visenya's silver-gold waves. "Nyra is a wonder, truly. I couldn't have asked for a better sibling."

"She'll need your help and guidance, Vissie. You're the eldest and therefore responsible for her — and any future brothers or sisters you will have." The Queen stroked her hair gently.

Visenya paused, thinking of a way to answer.  "I know, grandmama. I swear to protect the blood of my blood, the siblings I shared a womb with." Indeed. She won't guarantee the safety of Aegon II and Aemond. She might just end up killing them herself. But if she was to have more siblings by Aemma, she would care for them as fiercely as she did for Rhaenyra.

Alysanne paused, as if sensing the double meaning to her statement, but soon continued with doing her hair. "Good girl. You've always been such a bright child. You'll be a wonderful queen once you marry your brother."

Visenya sneered. "I don't have a brother and I don't want a brother," she said boldly. "But I will be queen one day, a queen in my own right!"

The Queen laughed. "That really is a wonderful dream, child. Unfortunately, this world is not kind to us women. Men will not let you lead them even if their life depended on it."

Visenya slowly turned towards her, eyes blank. "But they will, grandmama. They will bow before me and accept me as their leader, or they will burn. Arrax will make sure of it," she paused. "You forget, grandmama that female dragons are just as dangerous as male ones."

Gods, she sounded like a tyrant. In her past life she cared enough to learn about her people, she earned their loyalty and trust with her actions — she aided the poor and led wars, fighting for what was right.

This time around, she wasn't sure she could care like that again. The only thing that kept her sane last time was her daughter. Now, she had no one, not really. She had her morals — ones she wasn't willing to cross, but who knows?

"Oh, I did not forget that for a second. While fear is a great thing to have, my advice to you is to earn people's respect and love instead," Alysanne advised, finished with her braid.

"Thank you for your advice, grandmama, but where would all the fun be if they did not fear me at least a little?" Visenya laughed.

Visenya wasn't interested in being an easy woman, not this time around. She spent most of her first life hiding behind dozen carefully crafted masks — smiling and doing her best to hide her potential, anything to please her parents.

People who knew where to look, saw right through her masks — they accepted her for what she is, pushing her to her limits and then expanding them, until her mind became a weapon just like the rest of her.

Visenya promised herself months and months ago — perhaps years, that she would not pretend to be anything but what she is, not this time. She would show them that bold and brave girl, show them her brilliant mind and unmatched potential.

No, Visenya was no ordinary woman. She had the blood of the dragon running through her veins. She was destined for greatness even if men were too slow to recognize her fiery resolve. They would wise up soon enough though. After all — All men must die. But she was a dragon — and dragons can do whatever they please.

Visenya wanted them to flinch, to fear her. She wanted them to think twice before speaking, before reaching out their callous hands to bruise. She couldn't make them love her — but if they wouldn't, she would make them fear her.

 

 

_____

 

 

After Queen Alysanne retired for the night, Visenya found herself in the library. She walked around, trying to read the name of the books and decide which one to take.

Visenya pulled on her father's sleeve to get his attention. "Papa, could you give me that book, please?" She pointed towards the large black book.

"This one, little flame?" Viserys asked, taking the dark brown one instead. Visenya shook her head. "No. The one next to it, Fire and Blood."

Viserys took the book from the shelf and handed it to her. Then he froze in his place. "How do you know the name of the book, Vissie?"

"Don't be silly, Papa. The name is written right here. I've simply read it," Visenya giggled, running her small palm along the black leather.

Her father looked rather shocked. "You haven't even begun your lessons, dearest child. How come you know letters and words?" He was now crouching down in front of her.

"Mama thought me a little and I practiced. I like reading," she confessed nonchalantly. "I read to Nyra every day until she falls asleep." When he didn't respond, Visenya blinked innocently. "Have I done something wrong, Papa?"

Hells, she wanted to smirk. There was something incredibly addicting from fooling the entire world that she was just a simple girl, a hatchling only learning — when she was already a dragon grown, waiting and wanting fire and blood.

Viserys shook his head in utter amazement. "Not at all, my darling girl. You've always been such a bright child. Everyone will be delighted to hear such joyous news," he smiled brightly. "My daughter, barely three namedays old knows how to read. Such a proud father I am," he mumbled, pulling her in a hug.

Visenya smirked. Finally, she was able to do something useful. Her plan was just starting, the wheels slowly turning. She would show her family her true brilliance, which was why she started walking and talking early — why she 'learned to read early'.

The worst thing that could happen was that they would see her as a little protégé which was not bad at all. In fact, when the time comes for her to be named heir, Viserys nor anyone else shouldn't have many reasons to complain. After all, she would paint herself genius. None would dare question her word.

Notes:

Alysanne is definitely one of my favourite Targaryen women as well as one of the best (if not the best) Consort, so I felt like giving her a scene or two with Visenya. I really wanted them to speak as one Queen to another 😌

My Wattpad: seven-moons

Chapter 6: Not A Son

Summary:

In which:

— Visenya & Rhaenyra bond as sisters
— Targaryen family begins to separate slowly
— I give you more information about my world of mates

Notes:

Here are some needed information about MATES in my fic:

— Only true blood of Old Valyria are blessed with them, showing that they are Gods favourite.
— Someone of the blood of Old Valyria can be mated to another who is not. The mark is paler then, like a birthmark and not a tattoo of black ink.
— People who have the mark don't like showing it! The act itself is pretty intimate!
— It's possible not to ever find your mate!
— By the law of Jaehaerys & Alysanne, it's forbidden to keep two mates separated, even if they are already bethroted/married. To keep mates separated is an act of war.
— Mating bond is accepted and truly in function once mates marry in Valyrian style!

Forgive me if this sounds confusing! Feel free to ask anything!

dragonpit, 100 AC
visenya targaryen

She had forgotten how utterly boring usual lessons for girls were. Gods, it had been such a long time since she had a proper Septa to teach her things good for nothing.

Who fucking cares how you hold your spoon or a cup? She desperately tried to look interested in everything that came out of that woman's mouth, but it turned out to be hard even for her.

Moons. Moons had passed since her first lesson and she was still learning how to hold a stupid spoon. Gods, spare her. If this torture continued any longer, she might as well start skipping her lessons and settle for stealing books from the library instead.

The only thing she genuinely enjoyed was learning High Valyrian. In her past life, her supposed great-grandmother — Rhaelle Baratheon, had taught her the language of their ancestors. Still, it took a long time for Visenya's mouth to adjust to the language again.

Other lessons were pretty basic too, such as learning the territory of Westeros. Visenya had spent half of her life in war rooms, looking at maps so this was as easy as breathing.

Did she care that she cheated, using her knowledge from her first life — instead of learning properly from scratch? No. Was it fair? Also no. People who play fair are people who don't mind playing to lose, as Tywin Lannister once said.

Besides, what was the point of all the pain and suffering from her first life if she did not use that knowledge and experience to stop the upcoming war?

Since Visenya did not study, she had more time to spend with her family and Arrax. She would rather die than admit that she truly missed uncle Daemon, whom she hadn't seen in almost two years.

Daemon got married to Lady Rhea Royce shortly after Rhaenyra's birth. Her parents say that neither was happy with the whole arrangement. Visenya knew this NOT because she spied on them, but because you would be surprised how much useful information you could hear when people think you are not listening.

Rumors say that Daemon Targaryen was all but dragged to the bedding ceremony and that he was held at sword point to consummate the marriage.

However, those are just rumors. Who knows what actually happened and who even cares? Daemon was hardly planning to return to his wife now that he was busy bedding every whore he stumbled upon in Lys. Apparently, he had been busy in the Free Cities for the past two years.

Visenya bit her lip when she remembered what year this was — the year Queen Alysanne would die. She felt rather uneasy thinking about it, but there was nothing she could do against natural death. She was no God.

"My beautiful lady! How much you've grown!" Rhaenyra's excited voice brought her back from her thoughts. Indeed, Syrax — or rather Rhaenyra's still unnamed mount, had grown since she was moved to the Dragon Pit. "I miss sharing a bed with you, my lady."

Rhaenyra stroked the yellow scales of her mount with a wide grin and Visenya smiled to herself. She turned to look at Arrax, speaking in High Valyrian, "My green God, my pride and joy — my friend, how much I've missed you."

Arrax happily turned his snout towards her, eager for attention. She had seen him when he was already grown in her past life and it felt like a privilege to watch him grow in this life.

"Vissie, why isn't Arrax in chains?" Nyra asked. Right, she rather preferred when he was not bound to the ground so whenever she came to the Dragon Pit or when she could bribe the keepers — Arrax would remain free.

"Dragon is no slave," Visenya simply responded. Rhaenyra tilted her head to the side. "Dragon is not a slave, Nyra. Their place is in the skies, but we insist on keeping them chained to the ground."

And Visenya could not bring herself to do it, to chain her beast. She spent much of her first life observing the ruins of the Dragon Pit that represented the fall of her house. She vowed to let nothing happen to these beautiful creatures this time around.

"Would you like to be chained to the ground if you had wings — if your every instinct told you to take to the skies and fly freely?" Visenya asked her sister.

Rhaenyra grimaced. "No." Visenya gave her a small smile. "Besides, Arrax is a calm beast. He wouldn't harm anyone who isn't a danger to me or him." She ran her hand along the green and bronze scales, leaning onto her beast as if to hug him.

She noticed the similarities between them. Just like her, Arrax was a quiet beast. At first, you would think he is rather friendly — he could let people near, let them pet him, let them think he is harmless — but that is all a trap. Both of them are quite dangerous and deadly when finally angered.

"How can you be sure he is a he and not a she? Papa told me most female riders are first bonded to female hatchlings," Nyra wondered. Visenya blinked in surprise at the question.

"I suppose that's true enough." Vhagar and Visenya, Meraxes and Rhaenys, Dreamfyre and Rhaena, Silverwing and Alysanne, Meleys and Alyssa, Syrax and Rhaenyra.

"I don't think I know how to explain it. Arrax is a male — I can feel it as I felt that you were a girl when you were still in our mother's womb," Visenya said with a sigh. "How can you be sure your yellow lady is a lady and not a lord?"

"Because I want her to be a lady!" Rhaenyra huffed desperately, her hands in the air and Visenya laughed.

"Did you know that some Maesters think dragons are neither female nor male — that they have no gender? Others claim they can change genders as they please because the term gender does not apply to them," she said, proud of herself for knowing this and teaching her sister many things by speaking random facts every day.

Rhaenyra stopped, looking at her in confusion. "So any dragon can lay eggs?" Visenya nodded, humming. Her sister looked at her yellow mount as she pursed her lips. "How do I name my lady then? If I'm not sure she is indeed a lady?"

Visenya shrugged her shoulders. "Name her as you please. I wanted a strong name for my dragon, a name worthy of him — a name of a God. But there are other dragons such as Silverwing, who have names just as good."

Rhaenyra leaped towards Visenya, an idea on her mind. Arrax turned his head towards her sister before he moved to stand next to the yellow mount. "Will you help me pick a name for my lady, Vissie? I want it to be strong as the name you have chosen!"

Her sister wrapped her hands around her waist, looking at her pleadingly. Visenya smiled brightly. "If you wish, Nyra. Come along now, papa and mama will have a fit if we stay here for a while longer."

They said goodbye to their mounts, promising to visit tomorrow — as they do every day. Visenya offered her hand to Rhaenyra, who gladly took it, glowing in joy and happiness because her mount will finally have a name.

Followed by the two Kingsguard, two Targaryen princesses took a ride back to the Red Keep. Rhaenyra was so excited to find a name for her lady that she kept bouncing on her seat in the carriage.

"Tell me, Vissie! Tell me all the names you can think of," Rhaenyra kept pressing her about the matter as the two of them walked towards the castle grounds.

Visenya shrugged, hugging a large book of Valyrian deities to her chest. "I do not know that many, sister. I've chosen mine from various books I have read."

Nyra continued to whine. "But you always know everything, Vissie! You always read, it's rare enough to see you without a new book in your hands."

"I don't know everything," Visenya defended and then stopped walking suddenly, making Rhaenyra bump into her back.

"Where are we?" Her younger sister asked curiously as she stared at the scenery before them. A great oak heart tree, covered in smokeberry vines with red flowers right below it.

"Godswood," Visenya answered. It reminded her of Winterfell, in a way. She had been married before the Old Gods once, below the heart tree. She was not overly religious, but the kind of peace she always found when she was near any heart trees — it could not be described, only felt.

"Godswood?" Rhaenyra repeated in confusion. And Visenya turned towards her sister, a bit unsure. She loved this place — it calmed her soul, her mind, her heart. She came here when she wished to be alone, it felt like a sacred place for her. To show it to someone else — to share it...

Visenya swallowed. "Here come people who pray to Old Gods, but for me, it's a quiet place where I can go when I wish for peace and solitude. I like reading here," she explained, almost nervously.

Rhaenyra was quiet, watching her as she walked towards the heart tree, settling down amongst the sticking roots. Visenya patted the space beside her and so her sister sat down next to her.

She pointed towards the glowing flowers. "Do you see these flowers? They are called dragon breath. It's because they are red, like the flames of our dragons."

To show this place to someone else felt like revealing a part of herself that she long tried to forget — Robb Stark, the first person she had truly loved outside of her family. Her son who had been killed, a babe she would mourn even in this second life.

Visenya felt vulnerable. She hated being vulnerable.

And yet...

"Beautiful," Rhaenyra whispered and Visenya could not help herself so she smiled. She placed one red flower behind her sister's ear, to match the red dress she was wearing. Her sister's answering smile brightened the world around her.

Visenya felt like a part of her had been accepted that day, safe — a part of her freed from torturous pain that threatened to choke her even in this life.

Yes. She could share this part of herself with her sister. Visenya was sure that Rhaenyra would keep it safe and perhaps — when bad days catch up to Rhaenyra, she would come here and find some peace — perhaps she would remember that this place could heal open wounds.

 

 

_____

 

 

Queen Alysanne perished not a moon ago. It was a grieving day for the entire kingdom. The funeral had been full of tears and blackness — even the sky cried, its tears strong and sure.

It was the first time she had seen a man cry as much. King Jaehaerys all but wailed for the loss of his mate — his sister, his wife, the mother of his children, his queen. He could not even bring himself to light up her pyre so it was Baelon who had done it.

Even Daemon showed up after two years of absence. It was the first time he had not run to her in greeting, bearing exotic gifts and jewelry — and Visenya understood why. It mattered little because he left again. As soon as someone mentioned the Vale, Daemon was on the back of Caraxes, escaping for Free Cities.

Rhaenyra was not present at the funeral. Visenya was not supposed to be either, their parents afraid that they were both still far too young. Still, Visenya went and said her final goodbye to her great-grandmother — a woman she had fiercely admired even in her previous life.

Visenya played a perfect role of a child who did not understand what was happening. She was simply there, dressed in black, looking solemn and with no tears in her eyes. She did not cry.

She did care. Alysanne was her family. But she did not love — couldn't bring herself to. She had loved Robb — loved him and didn't get a chance to tell him until it was too late. She had loved and she had lost. Visenya was not interested in feeling that kind of torture again.

From that day, everything went downhill.

Her mother was with child again. Her father was extremely excited to have a son — because he was sure it would be a son. It had to be.

Viserys sent his wife and daughters to a Sept to pray for a healthy boy — who would be Visenya's future husband and king, he had said.

Visenya couldn't remember the last time she entered a Sept. Oh, right. It was the time she married Loras Tyrell — her second husband and the father of her darling daughter.

She did not believe in gods. Before that, when she was still a young girl, desperate for love and attention she was deprived of — she listened to her Septa and prayed. She had prayed every day and night.

Gods, that had been stupid.

No one answered those prayers and Visenya soon learned that no one ever would. No one could save her — for she had to do it on her own.

From that day forward, she continued to believe in one God. Death. And what do you say to the God of death? Not today.

So, when Visenya entered the Sept again, when she was forced to kneel and light up a candle to pray — she prayed for all of it to be over so she could return to her bed.

She even made a show for Rhaenyra — who looked almost creeped out by the place. Whenever their mother was not looking, Visenya would make funny faces and Nyra would desperately try not to laugh.

Just as Visenya had expected, the prayers of her mother and father were not answered. Aemma had miscarried a babe who had indeed been a boy.

Her father grieved. He had stopped spending as much time with his daughters as he usually did. He stopped dining with them — as a family. He distanced himself and Visenya understood why.

The truth of this harsh and fucked up world is that neither she nor Rhaenyra will ever be sons. Viserys loved his daughters — he did. Visenya could feel it — she could see it. Hells, the man had wept when he first held her. He just did not love them as he would love his sons.

In her previous life, Robert could not even look at her — at her silver-gold hair and indigo eyes. That had been a problem, not the fact that she was a girl. In this life, the problem she would have to face was that she did not have a cock.

She will never forget the loneliness she had known as a child — the longing, starving for affection, love and care. She will carry that loneliness forever, as a bruise of honor — of what she managed to survive. She learned from her mistakes.

Visenya will forever be grateful for the love of a father that Viserys had given her — love so strong that it healed some parts of her. But she would not — could not subject herself to the same pain again.

The last time she almost went mad with anger and thirst to prove herself worthy of love. She was saved from that dark abyss by Olenna Tyrell — by her words and lessons no matter how harsh and brutal they had been.

Nothing can hurt her if she does not let it.

And she will not.

Viserys was no longer her papa, but her father. She would distance herself from him and focus on keeping her mother afloat — on caring for Rhaenyra so she would not feel that absence of her father's love, the feeling of not being good enough.

Three of them have been spending some quality time together. Aemma loved to tell bedtime stories to her daughters and they loved to listen. "I believe it's time you two go to bed."

"No! I want to hear another one!" Rhaenyra whined. Aemma kissed her daughter's forehead lightly. "And tomorrow you shall, little dragon. You stayed up longer than what I usually allow you to."

"But mama, I want another story!" Nyra cried out desperately. Visenya looked at her mother thoughtfully. "Perhaps another one? To keep the peace? If we're lucky, she will fall asleep as you speak it, mama."

"Do not pretend like you don't wish to stay up longer too, Vissie. I know you better than that," Aemma accused her to which Visenya gave her an innocent smile. "Alright then, another story it is. Any wishes, daughters?"

"Tell us about mating marks, mama!" Her sister requested and Visenya groaned. "Not again!"

Rhaenyra entered that innocent phase in life where she wanted to hear love stories and dream herself to be a damsel in distress. It was torturous to listen the same stories of knights on white horses who are saving maidens.

Rhaenyra crossed her arms over her chest stubbornly. "Why not? Don't you think it's quite romantic — to share a soul with another? To be swept away by a knight on a white horse and to live happily ever after with him?"

"No. I think it's rather stupid," Visenya said boldly to which Aemma laughed. Rhaenyra gasped as if wounded. "It's not stupid! Mama, tell Vissie it's not stupid!"

Visenya turned towards their mother, an idea on her mind. "Why don't you tell us about your mating mark, mama? You are father's mate, are you not?"

Aemma looked hesitant at first — showing off a mating mark was equal to bearing your soul to the other. But then she shrugged. "I suppose I could."

Aemma's mark was located above her left breast, black ink in the shape of the Iron Throne with small droplets of something surrounding it — it could be water, wine, blood, anything really. Still, it was stunning.

Visenya had seen Rhaenyra mark, located between her shoulder blades, two dragons flying, intertwined. And finally, her own mark, on the back of her head — two swords clashing and a crown above them.

The most important thing to know about the mating mark was that not everyone had them. Only the true blood of Old Valyria were gifted with them.

Of course, it was possible for another to bear a mark if their mate is of the blood of Old Valyria. Such thing happened with Rhaena Targaryen and Elissa Farman. And mates could be of the same gender. However, that was not as easily acceptable.

"Did you know that your father was supposed to marry Rhea Royce and I was set to marry your uncle Daemon instead?" Aemma started and Visenya's eyes widened. "You are jesting."

Her mother smiled. "Not at all. Once we learned we were mates, your father and I were betrothed at once. Your uncle was given to Lady Royce to keep Vale content."

And it was all thanks to the law established by King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne — the law that allowed for two mates to be married despite the already arranged betrothals. To keep mates away from one another is a cause for war because to separate two souls who are one is a crime in the eyes of Gods.

Her great-grandparents worked hard on this law because they themselves were mates who were almost separated in youth because of believers of the Seven.

They had known what it was like to be separated from their other half and made sure that it would never happen to their descendants.

"I imagine he loved that," Visenya snorted, interested in the story. History did not teach her this. "How did you know you and papa are mates?" Rhaenyra asked excitedly.

"It was an accident, really — Viserys likes to call it destiny," Aemma said, "While your uncle is widely known as a great swordsman, your father was never overly fond of sharp steel and bloodshed. However, being a prince and heir to the heir, he had to learn the skill."

"Your beloved uncle loved to taunt him and one day, they ended up hurting each other while sparing," she continued, "I had been at King's Landing at the time, visiting the late queen Alysanne. And so, I stumbled over them while trying to find my way around the Keep."

She sighed as if remembering the day. "Your father's mating mark was out in the open and I could barely believe my eyes."

Rhaenyra sighed dreamily. "So romantic! I want to find my mate too!" Aemma laughed, kissing them both. "I pray that you will, sweet girl. I pray that you both will. There is no greater feeling than finding your mate so it matters not who you share your soul with."

Notes:

The side if Viserys that doesn't appreciate his daughters and resents them for not being sons is hella complicated. His relationship with his daughters will waver from time to time but I'm set on redeeming Viserys, at least a little 😬

We will also be seeing more of Mama Aemma. I feel so bad about what happened to her in the show and I dread the day when I'm going to have to write her death :((

My Wattpad: seven-moons

Chapter 7: Great Council

Summary:

In which:

— Visenya snaps
— We meet Laena & Laenor
— Daemon and his little niece talk in Valyrian for the first time(it kind of becomes their thing)

Notes:

I hate that they aged down Laena & Laenor in the show. So, in this fanfic, they are older because I have so many things planned for them.

Laena is two years older than Visenya!
Laenor is the same age as Visenya!

Hope you all won't be bothered by this!

harrenhal, 101 AC
visenya targaryen

Baelon Targaryen, heir to the Iron Throne had passed from the bust belly and that left the whole realm in question, who will ascend the Iron Throne after king Jaehaerys?

But all the Targaryen family could focus on was the missing piece in their life — the bright soul that Baelon was.

Visenya cared for Baelon, she really did — he was her grandfather. He was utterly different from Tywin Lannister and his methods of bonding.

While Baelon liked to carry her around on his shoulders and pretend that he was a dragon and she a rider — Tywin would rather sit her down and talk strategy. Visenya did not mind, it was what she needed in her past life, and this was what she needed right now.

There were brief moments when she questioned herself if she could have prevented his death somehow — but that was just her grieving heart talking. What could a girl of five namedays do against a burst belly?

The death of her grandfather caused major problems for house Targaryen. No matter how much they tried to give themselves time to mourn, the realm had to come first.

King Jaehaerys's health began to fail him sometime after the death of his mate. It was slowly getting worse and so the matter of succession had to be settled. Jaehaerys couldn't bring himself to choose one more time, between Rhaenys and Viserys — so he called the Great Council.

They were currently in Harrenhal, a dark and ruinous place. Visenya had not visited it in her last life — she had seen glimpses of it through the visions Bloodraven had sent her — visions of how Rhaegar Targaryen crowned Lyanna Stark his Queen of Love and Beauty.

Harrenhal was the largest castle in the Seven Kingdoms and it was left in ruins by Aegon the Conqueror. It had five towers of dizzying size. In truth, the castle was more fitting for giants than humans.

How many servants do they need to clean up this place anyway? Do they clean it at all? Visenya facepalmed at the thought.

She blamed the darkness that was looming all around this place for the night terrors she had been experiencing.

Night terrors — more like memories — made her wake up from her slumber, drenched in sweat and gasping for life. This hadn't yet happened.

Visenya expected nightmares to haunt her dreams from the moment she woke up in this second life. That hadn't been the case. In all honesty, she was very glad to get five years of perfect sleep — in her last life she hadn't slept well since Robb's death.

Once you get used to not sleeping, it becomes easier to stay awake and not collapse from exhaustion. She could go on for days without a blink of sleep — but that had been easy in her adult body.

Now, her child's body desperately needed the rest that it couldn't get. This resulted in Visenya being quite snappy and incredibly cranky — she was great at holding her tongue before she spoke — but that proved to be hard in her state of tiredness.

"Must we go?" Visenya whined, pushing her mother's hand away from her neck. Aemma had been trying to get her daughter to wear jewelry, which she despised — and so she kept trying to run away from her mother.

Aemma huffed, finally giving up. Visenya gave her a winning grin. "We must, Vissie. Or do you not want to be present when your father is being named heir?"

Visenya crossed her arms over her chest. "Father would make a poor king," she said bluntly. Aemma all but gasped at her daughter. "Visenya!"

She shrugged, not affected in the slightest. If she was to compare kings, Viserys would definitely be one of the worst ones. Not worse than Aegon IV or Aerys II, but he was not one of the best either.

Her father was not mad or stupid — he just was not meant to rule. Viserys enjoyed throwing feasts and he strived to please people — so much so that he would unknowingly destroy his family to do it.

He turned a blind eye to anything he did not want to deal with and the rest he simply pushed under the rug, hoping that the problem would disappear on its own.

The only reason his reign even lasted long without problems is because of a very long and very good reign of the king and queen before him — Jaehaerys and Alysanne.

"Princess Rhaenys should be next to sit on the Iron Throne. It is her birthright as much as it is father's," Visenya announced stubbornly.

So many problems would be solved if Rhaenys was just named heir to the throne. Dance of Dragons wouldn't happen. She should have said something — done something to ensure it, but she could not.

She was only five, almost six namedays old. Even if she had told someone the destiny and future of their house, she would likely be called mad — or simply a child with a mind full of fantasy.

Aemma sighed, tying up the laces of her black and red dress. "While it may be like that in your young mind, the realm will never accept it — men will never willingly bow to women."

"Who cares what those little lordings say? They are nothing but sheep. We are dragons! We can do as we see fit," Visenya scoffed.

Visenya Targaryen, a person she had been in her past life — a queen, she had cared. She cared enough to listen through and ask for advice if need be.

But those were different times. So many great and old houses had died out — people had been killed by wars and rebellions. They had to stick together. There had been snakes in her past life — people who looked to deceive and rise higher in position. This time around, people were like that wherever you fucking looked.

"If only it was that easy, little flame," Aemma softly sighed, running her fingers through her silver-gold waves. "When your father is made heir — which I have no doubt he will be — you will be—"

Visenya cut her off, her patience running out, "I will be what exactly? I will still be only a princess. Uncle Daemon will become his heir." Gods she was tired. Her eyes burned with the need to sleep.

Aemma considered. "True enough, I suppose. But once I have a son, you will wed him and become his queen." Visenya bared her teeth.

"You have no possible way of knowing you will birth a son, mama," She said, her words cold and sharp like Valyrian steel. "What if I have no brother? I will grow and come of age just to be sold to the highest bidder and be mounted like a horse for breeding."

"Visenya!" Her mother gasped in utter horror and Visenya cursed herself for being so blunt — she was five for Conqueror's sake! She shouldn't know such things as fucking!

She balanced the line between the mind of a young girl and that of an adult — and she did it well. But nightmares and tiredness set her on edge. She cursed herself for allowing such a mistake to happen.

"All because I was not born a boy! What a jest! Even if I was the wisest person alive, father would never see me fit enough to become his heir because I lack a cock!" Visenya continued, her tongue now loose, "I am still unsure which is the lesser evil for him — to make his irresponsible brother his heir or his firstborn daughter — a child who is not a son he wished for."

She was panting now, frustration building up and her eyes ablaze with fiery anger — a thing she rarely allowed to happen, especially in front of people. But all those restraints she kept over herself — simply slipped.

Her mother was quiet — too quiet for her liking. And yet, she did not dare turn around, ashamed of herself for snapping at the poor woman who had nothing to do with the situation.

"Visenya! That is not true," Aemma's words were soft — softer than a whisper. For a moment, Visenya wondered if she had imagined them.

"It is, and we both know it. Both me and Rhaenyra are nothing more than reminders of his failures," Visenya admitted quietly. She took one of the books that rested on the ground. "I'm leaving."

Her mother did not even try to stop her. She wasn't sure if she liked that Aemma left her alone or dreaded it — that she just managed to scare off her own mother with her outburst of feelings.

It fucking stung. And it cut Visenya deeply.

She shouldn't have allowed it to happen. She long ago learned that she shouldn't keep her emotions to herself — the last time she had tried to, she almost went mad with that built-up anger and hatred.

Visenya was a self-destructive person. Building up all those emotions did her no good, but this is what happens when she lets people see that ugly and dark part of herself — she just scared off her mother.

It was better to hurt herself by keeping all these emotions in — than hurt people that she cares about with her sharp words of steel. Right?

As soon as she left her room, she started running. She ran and ran and ran — wishing she could run away from herself, from that utterly broken girl with a rotten black heart.

Visenya found a spot beneath a tree to rest. She panted heavily, biting her lip to the point of pain — anything to stop the tears that were gathered in her eyes.

Gods, she had just hurt her mother.

She still couldn't believe it. Visenya took a deep breath and then another — until all she felt was a slight breeze against her face — until the lump in her throat ceased to exist.

Then she sat down on the ground and opened her book. She was in desperate need of escaping this horrid world for just a moment. She wanted to forget that she was not dead and instead in the past, trying to prevent a war — that the fate of the world rested upon her shoulders.

The sun had long risen in the sky by the time Visenya closed her book. She was so invested in it that she hadn't heard the noises of other children around her.

There, before her, was her cousin — Laenor Velaryon. He was easily recognizable. Silver hair, pale lavender eyes and slightly tan skin. He was the same age as her, both of them born only a few moons apart.

Laenor was carrying a wooden sword with him, playfighting another boy Visenya did not recognize. Sweat was running down his forehead and he wiped it away, smiling at the other boy.

Visenya cocked her head to the side. Hells, it was so easily recognizable now that she thought about it — Laenor's preference for men.

Her second husband had been Loras Tyrell, a man she had known since they were children — a man who himself preferred men. Comparing them now — the looks Laenor was giving the other boy — it was as clear as day. Loras and Laenor were not so different, not at all.

It made Visenya crack a smile. She missed him indeed. Loras had been her greatest friend, her best companion, her king consort and the father of her daughter. He was her biggest supporter no matter the situation.

He was also the person who knew her best. Loras had always known how to calm her down, to stop her panic — hells he had known her so well to recognize the twitch of her cheek meant that she was tired.

She sighed. Loras had given her a daughter but Laenor was unable to give Rhaenyra children — which is why her three eldest boys were sired by Harwin Strong.

If she were to marry Laenor, he would have to give her children. Visenya had little interest in siring bastards. And marrying Laenor would satisfy Velaryons and make them her allies — which she would need.

She shook her head. Visenya had at least another decade to think of her marriage and who would be suitable as her consort. Until then, there were still things she needed to do and fix.

Don't borrow tomorrow's problems today.

"Vissie, what are you doing here?" A voice called out and Visenya all but flinched at the sound. When she realized who it was, she internally groaned.

Why couldn't people just leave her fucking alone?

A girl with slightly tan skin, silver locks and amethyst eyes. Another of her cousins, Laena Velaryon — a girl who was two years her senior. Also, a girl who reminded her much of her daughter, Lenna.

Gods, their names almost match too.

"Reading," Visenya simply answered. Laena ran up to her. "What are you reading then? It must be something about dragons if you are so invested."

She shook her head, handing her the book and hoping the girl would leave her alone. "Not at all. It's Political Economy of Westeros."

Laena grimaced. "That sounds dreadfully boring. Why don't you come and play with me instead?"

Visenya was utterly amazed by Laena from the moment they met, there was no denying that. She was planning on being friendly with Velaryons to set her schemes into motion. She needed them as allies after all, and why not start early anyway?

But Laena seemed like a such good company that Visenya could see herself having her as a friend. She soon realized why she felt a sudden connection with her cousin — she reminded Visenya of Lenna.

From that moment, Visenya would find excuses not to be around her. It hurt. It hurt so much that she felt like vomiting her guts up — to be around someone who acts exactly like the person she had loved most in the world — loved and lost. It felt like an old wound was being ripped open.

Visenya simply could not be around Laena. However, Laena wouldn't give up chasing after her. So she had to bear her teeth and scare her away — it was the only way.

"I'd rather sit here and read," Visenya decided, reopening her book. Laena twirled her silver lock around her finger. "Surely there must be something else that you like to do other than reading — I always see your nose stuck in a book."

Visenya snorted. "I appreciate my books like that. Just because you do not know how to read, it doesn't mean I will read any less." Laena gasped. "I do know how to read!"

"I will believe it when I see it," she mumbled in return. Laena crossed her arms over her chest and shouted, "Why are you always so serious and dull?"

Visenya finally looked at her cousin, her eyes ablaze with rage as she shouted back, "And why are you always such an annoying brat?" They glared at each other until Laena spun around and walked away, chin held high.

Visenya let out a breath, her heart clenching painfully. She blamed the stupid Harrenhal for all of this. Hells, she started seeing the faces of the people she loved in her previous life — Myrcella in Rhaenyra, Loras and Laenor and Lenna in Laena.

She needed to stop doing that. She had to find a way to separate them and see the little differences. But until she learns how to do it, it's far better to show her bared teeth and fangs — ready to cut them open with words.

She needed to see them as people they are and not people she wished they were. Until then, let them hate her. It was for the best.

 

 

_____

 

 

dragon pit, 101 AC
daemon targaryen

It was good to be back home, that much he could admit. Now that his grandfather could barely get out of bed, surrounded by servants at all times — no one spoke to him about returning to his wife.

For all the faulty rumors that had spread about his bronze bitch and him — rumors that gave him the name Rogue Prince, they couldn't be further from truth.

He had tried — for the sake of his grandparents who had arranged the whole thing — had tried to charm her, to shower her with gifts.

Daemon was not pleased with the arrangement, that much everyone knew. Rhea Royce was not of Valyrian blood and she was a cold and vile creature.

Nor did he understand why he had to marry the bitch. Aemma Arryn, his good-sister, served as the alliance between the Vale and the Crown. Why did he have to marry the Royce bitch then? For what alliance when it was already secured?

As soon as the wedding was over — which he was NOT dragged at sword point to — he had all but fled on Caraxes, spending the last years fighting in Essons and between thighs of various whores in Lys. All to be free of his bronze bitch.

But at what cost? His grandmother was dead. His father was dead. His grandfather was on the verge of death. He had gotten his freedom and lost half of his family. He should have spent their last days with them. He should have been here.

Daemon won't make the same mistake again. He was here now, visiting his grandfather — who is getting worse by the day. He had other reasons to be home too, now that he was the heir of an heir.

Viserys was chosen as Jaehaerys's heir and it was good for Daemon. His brother was weak, he had been weak since they were young. He would make a poor king. Did Daemon care? No.

He cared for his brother all the same.

And if his brother failed to have a son, Daemon would be sitting on the throne next. And by Aemma's state and multiple miscarriages, he honestly doubted Viserys would have another living child, let alone a son.

Viserys had two living daughters, two nieces who he adored truly. Both of them grew to be perhaps the most beautiful children he had ever seen and he wondered how such children could be made by his brother — especially Visenya.

The girl was utterly bold and quite intelligent for her age. Daemon could still remember when he heard of his father's sudden death.

He returned to King's Landing and carried his father's dead body out of the room as Viserys wept. Visenya just stared in silence, as if understanding what was happening.

A few days after they burned Baelon's body, Rhaenyra groaned from the ground. "Why won't grandpa come to play with us today?"

They all tensed. How do they explain two children their grandfather is dead? Viserys could barely respond, trying to find the right words. "He is...I'm afraid he is busy, my sweet."

"Will he come tomorrow then?" Rhaenyra wondered and they kept their mouths shut. Visenya looked at them all and rolled her eyes — which stunned him stupid.

"He will not, Nyra. We won't be seeing him from now on," Visenya said and they all turned at her in shock. Rhaenyra tilted her head to the side. "But why? Where did he go?"

His niece did not hesitate to respond, "He is safe — and he is happy. Grandpa is spending time with our grandma, his wife and mate."

Viserys, Aemma and he shared a confused look between them. How could a child of barely five understand such things as death?

Visenya stood up from her seat at the table and walked to Rhaenyra, offering her hand. "But I can play with you if you wish." Rhaenyra grabbed her sister's hand and nodded with a grin. "Yes, please!"

Indeed. His niece was an intelligent creature. "Niece," he greeted her, jumping off Caraxes. Visenya was seated on the ground, her back against Arrax and a book in hand. Her green mount curled around her, keeping her warm.

"Uncle," she greeted him without bothering to look up. Visenya turned the page and he cocked his head to the side. Wasn't that the book he had gifted her when he returned from Free Cities?

For all the years he was away, Daemon sent his nieces gifts whenever he could, from jewelry to fabrics for dresses. He wanted to spoil them rotten. However, he was made known that Visenya preferred books and who was he to deny her?

The only gift she bothered to wear was the necklace that he sent her — a necklace with a ruby-made dragon in the shape of Arrax. Visenya wore it around her wrist instead, wrapped four times and gleaming in the sun.

"You read in High Valyrian?" Daemon asked, surprised. For all the letters his brother had sent him, boasting about Visenya and her cleverness, he thought it was just Viserys being Viserys.

"Yes. It is a book you brought me after all and it is rather interesting," Visenya looked up at him. Even her speech was good.

Daemon cocked his head to the side, remembering something. "Aren't you supposed to be in your lessons?"

Visenya smiled sheepishly at him "Yes." Daemon raised his eyebrows in amusement. "And yet you are here, reading a book?"

"I am not here, uncle. You do not see me," Visenya smiled and lifted her book as if to hide from his eyes. It made him crack a smile.

"When have you made a habit of skipping lessons, niece?" He asked and Visenya placed her book on the ground.

"When they started boring me to death. It got so bad that I want to bang my head on the table — or perhaps the nearest wall." Daemon threw his head back and laughed.

Visenya continued, "Septa is also rather annoying — her voice makes my ears bleed, which is why if someone asks you where I am, you may tell them you didn't see me here."

"Bleed," Daemon corrected her swiftly. She blinked at him and then repeated, "Bleed...I am still learning."

He nodded, an idea on his mind. "Tell me, niece, why don't we take to the skies?" Visenya all but jumped to her feet, her book long forgotten. "On Caraxes? Really? You would take me flying?"

Daemon shrugged. "If you are skipping your lessons, you might as well do it right." His niece stopped, looking back at Arrax. "Can Arrax come with us as well? I fear he feels rather locked up in here."

"If you wish, dearest niece," he did not object. Visenya hugged her green mount. "Come on, Arrax. Let's fly together!"

Notes:

All that I have to say about the Great Council is 🖕🏻Fuck you, Jaehaerys and 🖕🏻Fuck you, stupid men. Rhaenys deserved so much better!

I kind of hate Visenya's interaction with Laena, but it needed to be done for the sake of the plot. The two of them will grow up to be besties so no worries :)

My Wattpad: seven-moons

Chapter 8: Living Darkness

Summary:

In which:

— Visenya meets Alicent
— I write Aemma's POV & she is a worried mama
— Mother and daughter mend their relationship

king's landing, 102 AC
visenya targaryen

The whole realm mourned the passing of King Jaehaerys the Wise. Per his wishes, his ashes were mixed with Alysanne's — so even in his death, he could be with his mate.

It was a hard transition for everyone — to go from one king to another, to reform the court and small council. Even though they had known his time was coming to an end, his death came as a shock.

Her father, king Viserys I Targaryen — ascended the Iron Throne after Jaehaerys. There was yet to be an open celebration that her father had been planning since he learned he would be king.

Pathetic. Instead of planning or changing things for the better, he was busy imagining his stupid coronation.

This was going to be harder than Visenya had originally thought. She was still far too young to even hope to have some influence on her father. She never dreaded being a child more.

Now that Viserys was king, Visenya was bound to see that cunt — Otto Hightower, more. He was Hand of the King after all. He looked like a sick rat and she could barely keep in her gag every time she saw him — knowing fully well that he would have been the destruction of her family if she did not possess the knowledge that she did.

There were times when she openly considered poisoning the man. To take him out before he could do any real damage. And yet, she could not — not yet at least.

From what history tells us, Otto Hightower was responsible for Rhaenyra being named heir — which meant that she can not murder him until he helps her by suggesting Viserys to disinherit Daemon and make her his heir instead.

Until then, she had to settle for seeing his stupid face almost every day.

And, Hells — that bitch Alicent Hightower was at court too. She had been a handmaiden to Jaehaerys, chosen by her great-grandfather himself because she reminded him of his daughter, Saera.

And after Jaehaerys's death, Visenya had thought that she would get rid of Alicent at least for a while — but no.

Visenya's main priority was to keep Alicent away from Rhaenyra, knowing that the two of them were best friends — rumored to be lovers and then turned to enemies. Visenya was determined to keep them apart and save Rhaenyra from heartbreak and death.

And so far, her efforts turned out to be successful. Alicent hadn't so much as breathed in her sister's direction. Hopefully, it will stay that way.

"Are you listening, princess?" Grand Maester Runicter asked and Visenya rolled her eyes. She continued to ignore him, writing her thoughts and plans in codes instead.

Her writing was still slow and a bit unsteady, but she could manage. She began writing her ideas because her head was too full of them. She also used codes she and Varys invented — just in case someone found this.

Grand Maester sighed, clearly trying not to get irritated. "It is of great importance for you to know these things, princess Visenya," he said. "Your father, the king, shall soon have a son. And his wish is for you two to marry. You will be Queen one day, princess, you must understand this."

Visenya rolled her eyes yet again, but folded her parchment and leaned into her chair. Seeing that he got her attention, Grand Maester Runicter questioned, "Shall we begin again? House Stokeworth?"

"Proud to be Faithful, the Stokeworth, a white lamb holding a golden goblet on a green field," Visenya answered. Grand Maester has been interrogating her on the noble houses of the Crownlands and the rest of Westeros.

"Good. Very good," he said, surprised. No wonder. After she successfully answered his questions first few lessons, she began ignoring him. She would come to lessons only to sit in silence until he gave up trying to get her to talk.

"House Buckwell?" She crossed her arms over her chest. "It's a house in the Crownlands, they are loyal to the Iron Throne, to Targaryens. Their words are Pride and Purpose. Their seat is the Antlers and their coat of arms is a rack of golden antlers on a field of vair."

"House Velaryon?" Runicter pointed a stick on the map of Westeros that hung on the wall. "House Velaryon's family seat is located on the largest island of Blackwater Bay and is called Driftmark. Their coat of arms is silver seahorse on a sea green field and their words are The Old, the True, the Brave."

Visenya answered without needing to think. "Do we have to go through the Crownlands houses again? I think both you I are aware that I have known them all since the beginning."

He looked hesitant, but agreed in the end. "As you wish, princess. What do you know of House Lannister?"

"House words: Hear me roar! They rule Casterly Rock and their coat of arms is a golden lion on a crimson field," she said, looking out of the window as if she could see Arrax in the Dragon Pit.

Grand Maester cleared his throat,  determined not to lose her attention now that he finally got it. "House Tyrell?"

"Growing Strong. They rule Highgarden and their coat of arms is a golden rose on a green field, their seat is Highgarden and their motto is Growing Strong." Still, Visenya was looking out of the window and to the clear sky.

"House Martell?" Another question. "Their seat is in Sunspear. Their coat of arms is a gold spear piercing a red sun on an orange field. Their words are Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken."

"House Stark?" Visenya stood up from her chair and took a stick from his hand. She began pointing at the map herself, showing the borders of the lands too.

"Family seat is Winterfell, their symbol is a running direwolf on an ice-white field and their family words are Winter is Coming." Runicter did not look pleased with her actions but Visenya refused to yield.

"House Baratheon?" Grand Maester inquired, and she snorted, a sound very unladylike. "House Baratheon, really? And you wonder why I ignore you half the time you speak..."

"What is the meaning of these lessons if I don't learn anything? I already know the symbols, words and seats of the noble houses! I know places and borders both!" she whined.

Great Maester just stared at her. She stared back. Visenya was very clever and she did not bother to hide it. Runicter knew it too — he had known it since she started her lessons. So he gave in.

"Very well then, what do you know about House Bolton?" He sent her a challenging look, but Visenya just smirked back at him — utterly unbothered.

"Their seat is in Dreadfort. Their coat of arms is a red flayed man on pale pink strewn with red drops and their words are Our blades are Sharp." Runicter blinked at her, clearly expecting her to fail. "Correct. What about House Royce?"

"It's a vassal house to the Arryns of the Vale and their seat is called Runestone. Their coat of arms is black iron studs on a bronze field, bordered with runes. House words: We Remember." She continued to point at the map.

He stopped as if trying to think of a house that could trick her. As if. "Now, House Penrose?" Visenya blinked at him, as if trying to recall. Runicter looked at her with triumph.

She cocked her head to the side, daring him to say something as she answered, "It's a house loyal to the Baratheons in the Stormlands. Their seat is called Parchments, their Words are Set Down Our Deeds and their sigil is two white crossed quills on a russet field."

"House Oakheart," Grand Maester gave her no time to breathe. "Their seat is called: Old Oak. Their words are Our Roots Go Deep and their coat of arms is three green oak leaves on a gold field."

"How about—" He tried, just to get cut off by Visenya. "No. We established weeks ago that I know all of this. Why question me again?"

Runicter sighed, clearly annoyed. "I am afraid I have no idea what you mean, princess. This is what I teach every child of royal blood."

Visenya clapped. "Well done. You taught me well. I know everything. Can we start something new then? This has bored me to death," she said sarcastically, twirling a silver-gold curl around her finger.

Grand Maester knew there was no point in arguing with her. Honestly, he should feel lucky that she even bothered to answer his stupid questions. "Very well, I shall speak with his Grace. We are done for today."

Visenya leaped from her seat. "Thank Gods." She walked away before he could change his mind, carrying her parchment with her. She briefly thought about going to her chambers, but decided to visit the library instead. It has been a while since she annoyed the Maester anyway.

Once, when she was two namedays old, the Maester had all but thrown her out for entering his precious place — claiming she was a child who couldn't read so she had no place there.

Ever since then, she had been annoying him by purposely stealing books even though the access to the library had been granted to her by king Jaehaerys himself — as soon as he found out Visenya could read.

Visenya made a show of stealing books, forcing the Maester to run after her and try to catch her — only for her to escape. In the morning, the book she had stolen would be put in its rightful place.

Visenya was running wildly now, almost sensing Maester on her trail. She hugged books tightly to her chest and tried to keep herself from laughing. She collided with another body. The books she had been carrying were now scattered on the ground.

"I apologize—" Visenya started only to be cut off by another feminine voice. "I am so very sorry, princess—I should have been looking where I was going and—"

She almost sneered at the person, a girl three years her senior. Alicent Hightower in flesh. Visenya did not see a scared girl who run into the princess — she saw a woman grown who would hurt her family and be the reason for her sister's death.

"It was my fault entirely, Lady Alicent. You have nothing to worry about," Visenya said nonchalantly, kneeling to collect her books. The girl looked taken aback that she even knew her name.

Alicent stumbled, still in shock. She knelt to aid her. "I—Well, let me help you collect your things at least." Visenya hugged her books to her chest, trying to act as if she did not want to rip the girl's face off with her bare hands.

"There is no need. I can manage on my own. Thank you for the offer though." She tilted her head to the side, a mask of indifference on her face. "I was under the impression that you returned to Old Town after my great-grandfather's passing."

"I have, yes. However, my father had kindly asked me to return to court and learn its ways," the girl answered, a smile on her face.

Visenya nodded. "Welcome back to court then. I shall see you around, my Lady." Hopefully not. Alicent bowed, stuttering after her. "Yes. Yes—of course, princess."

 

 

_____

 

 

king's landing, 102 AC
aemma arryn

Aemma was extremely worried.

Her eldest, her daughter, her little flame — she had been avoiding her. Ever since they quarreled in Harrenhal and that had been moons ago.

It was subtle. After all, her Visenya was a brilliant child who knew precisely what she was doing. Still, the instincts of a mother had spoken for themselves — something was not right. Her daughter was not alright.

The way Visenya suddenly slipped, as if the leashes that held her back suddenly snapped — as if the mask she had been wearing her whole life cracked. Aemma felt like she had seen the true face of her daughter — a girl she did not recognize.

It happened only then and only once. They hadn't spoken about the incident either and Aemma felt ashamed that she did not know how to approach her daughter.

"Do you have a moment, my love?" Aemma asked, peering through the doors of her husband's working solar. Viserys looked up and smiled — Gods, she loved that smile. "For you, always. Is something the matter, my Queen?"

Aemma quietly sat down and sighed. "I worry for our eldest. I do not know if you have noticed, but she has been acting strange as of lately," she confessed. She wanted it to be a jab — after all, her dear husband had been very distant with their daughters. She had known it and noticed it, she scolded him for it. He just responded that he grieved his son.

"I have not noticed a thing," Viserys confessed. "Our Visenya has always been quite different, even as a babe. Frankly, I would start worrying if she were to suddenly leave her books and start playing with dolls."

Aemma smiled but it felt strained. There was something wrong — her heart was telling her. "Yes, I suppose so. But there is something wrong. I do not know how to explain it. I just feel it."

Her husband looked worried. He stood up and walked over to her. "Did something happen?" Aemma quickly shook her head. She hadn't told him about her quarrel with Visenya — and it was better that way.

"No, not at all. She has been skipping her lessons again and disappearing through the day." Viserys knelt in front of her. "Then we shall talk to her about it. I am sure she will understand that she can do no such things."

"Perhaps she is grieving in her own way. She is old enough to understand that her great-grandfather is not coming back," he considered. "She is still young and learning how to manage her feelings. It must be hard for her."

And you made it harder by not being there for either of our daughters, she wanted to say. Maybe he was right. Maybe Visenya was grieving her great-grandparents, her grandfather and her great-aunt. She had been close to all of them — and she had also lost them in a very short period.

Viserys must have seen the uncertainty in her eyes so he took her hand in his, squeezing reassuringly. "Visenya is safe here, I promise you, my love. I am certain she is spending time with her Arrax. You can hardly blame her for not wanting to study when she could visit her dragon instead."

"You are right, my love. I worry for nothing," Aemma forced herself to smile. She should follow her mother's instinct — it has never failed her. "If I may be excused?"

"Of course. We will be seeing each other at supper." And with that, she walked back to her own solar. She still needed to finish the paperwork and figure out how to talk to her eldest.

She approached her solar when she was stopped by a Kingsguard. "My Queen, you have ordered us to find and bring princess Visenya to you if she were to skip her lessons again," he said.

Aemma sighed. "Of course. Thank you." The man bowed and she entered her solar to find her little girl staring at the ground, waiting for her.

"What is it this time? Perhaps you overslept again? Or maybe lost your sense of time while visiting your mount?" She questioned pointedly.

Visenya shrugged her shoulders without a care. "Nothing of the sort. I just did not want to go and listen to that wrenched woman." She thought they put this behind them — Grand Maester had praised her for the knowledge she showed.

"We talked about this already, Visenya. It is your duty to attend lessons. You promised you would attend lessons," Aemma reminded her. "I promised to show up at lessons, not to stay until they are finished."

Visenya looked at her in the eyes then — for the first time in moons. No trace of that shimmering rage in her eyes — no trace of anything really. "May I be excused now?"

"No, you may not. Sit here until I finish and then we shall talk," she said and walked over to the unfinished paperwork. Aemma expected Visenya to complain or try and persuade her to let her leave.

She did none of those things. Instead, Visenya quietly and obediently sat down without making a sound.

Yes. Something was definitely wrong.

"I am sorry I made you stop with your work...and that you have to be stuck with me until you finish," Visenya spoke. Of all apologies her daughter made, this one felt truer than any of them.

Is that what she thought? That she was a burden? That she was unwanted?

"I am never stuck with you, little flame," Aemma said seriously. Visenya did not answer and so she walked towards her, kneeling in front of her. Her daughter hadn't spared her a glance.

"Tell me, what is going on, Vissie? I want to help. Please, let me help you," she begged. Visenya blinked. "I do not know what you mean. What makes you think something is going on, mama?"

"You do not spend as much time with your father and me as you usually do — almost as if you are avoiding us. You do not smile as much. You started skipping lessons and stealing books from the library—" she stopped herself. "Everything seemed fine moons ago and then, suddenly, you just darkened."

Visenya's throat bobbed and her voice was rougher when she spoke up, "I feel like you are trying to say something without actually uttering the words."

Aemma needed her daughter to just look at her. She placed her palms on Visenya's face. "Look at me. Vissie, look at me." Nothing. And then, "I am not afraid of you."

When Visenya spoke those words in Harrenhal — when she glared at Aemma, at first she thought it was pure madness in her daughter's eyes. But it was not. She couldn't be more wrong.

It was rage. Such anger that she never knew existed, much less in her five namedays old daughter. Pure rage at the horrid world and the Gods above.

That confession had caught Vissnya off guard and made her meet her eyes. Visenya's eyes went utterly wide. "What—" She started, but Aemma cut her off.

She wondered how could she have missed it. That much anger could not appear out of nowhere. It made her feel terrible. She had failed as a mother — she had failed her daughter.

"I may not be able to explain or understand this sudden change in you — maybe it was always there and I simply failed to see it, but I accept it. I accept you."

Visenya looked at her as if she had been struck. She tried to desperately pry Aemma's hands away from her face — as if her touch burned. "No. No. No — you do not know what you are saying. There is this darkness that lives and breathes within me. I can never get rid of it."

"I know. I see it now. I see you and I love you with or without it." Visenya shook her head in denial. "How can you possibly say such words to me? How can you love me when I am like this?"

And it broke Aemma's heart. Why would her daughter, her beloved Vissie think of herself like that? How could her little flame think herself unlovable?

"You are my daughter, Vissie. That rage, that despair and darkness — they are a part of you," Aemma said, a gentle smile on her lips. "And I love you exactly as you are."

The mask her daughter had been wearing, cracked again. It was not her daughter — her Vissie, that was looking back at her now. It was Visenya Targaryen — or well, Alyanna Baratheon — with her haunted eyes, the darkest shade of indigo.

Her eyes had no right to look that old and haunted.

Instead of a five namedays old girl, Aemma saw a broken person looking back at her. Someone tired — someone who had been thrown away and cast aside — until she find her way to them, to this family.

And then tears started spilling down her daughter's cheeks. She visibly tried to hold them back, but to no avail. It was the first time she had seen Visenya cry. And she could do only one thing — Aemma embraced her daughter and let her weep in her arms while she waited and rubbed her back in comfort.

She didn't know how much time passed, but when Visenya pulled away from her — it was as if she had decided to trust Aemma enough to show her true self, without that mask on.

"I don't believe I apologized for the things I said in Harrenhal. I am so very sorry, mama," her daughter said, eyes so gloriously alive that it made Aemma want to weep.

"There is nothing to apologize for. It is already forgiven and forgotten, little flame," She stroked Visenya's hair with a smile. "Now, if you do not mind, I would like to show you something."

Visenya looked curious so she followed after Aemma. "As you may know, my mother passed while giving birth to me. I did not have a mother to teach me how to sew and embroidery — but I had sisters."

And there, on the table stood various materials, needles and so much more. "I love to do it. I even make my own gowns," she confessed. "It may not interest you—"

Visenya smiled, eyes bright with life. She looked up at her with newfound hope as she said, "I love it. Can you show me how to do it?"

Notes:

I have no idea how lessons in Westeros work, so don't come at me for this ✋🏻 I imagine that Maesters usually teach children geography, sums and such while Septas teach them sewing, embroidery and dancing. Just go with the flow guys!

Honestly, I refuse to believe that Aemma was just a girl with zero personality. In this fic, she's going to be a great mother and I'll describe her influence as Queen Consort 😌

My Wattpad: seven-moons

Chapter 9: Take A Bait

Summary:

In which:

— Vissie meets Archmaester Vaegon
— I write Viserys's POV for the first time
— Viserys realises he is a bad father & tries to do right by his daughter

king's landing, 103 AC
visenya targaryen

Sewing and embroidery. How come she had forgotten it? Visenya hadn't done it in years. Between all the loss, ruling and wars — she had no time to spare for her hobbies.

But now...

Gods did she miss this — the blank state of mind that she entered whenever she took a needle in her hand. Also the ability to concentrate and calm down her racing mind — to think clearly and yet not think at all.

" You Targaryens always danced on the fine line between madness and greatness. That kind of darkness and rage you carry will choke you from inside out — it will drive you mad," Olenna tsked her disapproval as she stared down at Alyanna.

Alyanna Baratheon felt like she was being judged from head to toe. She glared at the Queen of Thorns openly, "I am no Targaryen."

Lady Olenna paid her no mind, waving a hand in dismissal. "I suppose. But you look like one and that is enough for me."

"And your solution for my anger is to teach me how to sew and embroidery?" The princess asked. "No offense, but I do not see how this can possibly help me."

"Do not question my methods," Olenna rolled her eyes. "The art of sewing is more than sitting and knitting. It's about control and focus — which you lack greatly, might I add."

Alyanna turned toward the old woman, glaring at her. No one else had been this blunt with her — not even Oberyn Martell, and that is saying something.

"Do not look at me like that. You are always angry, girl — out of control. That feeling gives you great power, but if you let it, it will destroy you," Queen of Thorns advised.

Visenya hated it at first. She despised not being good at something — and she couldn't count how many times she had thrown her imperfect works against the wall, or how many times she had torn them apart with a snarl.

Visenya would rather spend her time outside or in the library than sit and do needlework with Margery and Olenna. And yet, she stayed patient — as Queen of Thorns often scolded her to be.

True enough, the patience and hard work paid off. Once Visenya got the hang of it, she could not put the needle and fabrics down.

Soon, she learned to take Olenna's advice — every time she felt her emotions choking the life out of her, she found herself sewing instead of punching a tree or a wall until her hands started bleeding.

Focus. Clear your mind. Process. Think through it. Find a solution — that's what sewing and embroidery meant to Visenya. It was indeed more than just a hobby of a lady.

So that's how it was — Visenya and Aemma had been spending their time together, bonding. She felt lighter now, knowing that her mother saw her for who she really was — saw her and did not judge or ask questions. Aemma was truly a blessing to the world.

Rhaenyra interrupted their sewing time constantly, claiming she wanted to try too. She was, however, too young and lacked patience along with steady hands to come near needles. Nyra would get frustrated and claim this skillset was not for her.

Her sister simply sat and admired their work while Aemma and her found something Nyra enjoyed — storytelling and braiding. That became their tradition, three of them would meet after their lessons and duties and then they would braid each other's hair and tell stories.

Visenya enjoyed it. She never had that much of a connection with Cersei. But with Aemma and Rhaenyra — she felt like she truly belonged.

She was humming with a smile on her face, running her fingers along the beautiful golden dress in her hands — the color being the exact shade of Syrax's scales. The dress had dark blue and darker gold patterns that swirled along the material. She was proud of her work.

"That is wonderful work, princess. Who are you planning on giving it to?" Septa Marlow questioned and Visenya's movement halted, her smile turning into a scowl.

Hells, she had forgotten the wrenched woman was here.

"It's for Rhaenyra. Her nameday is approaching and she asked me to make her something," she responded. Indeed, her sister loved her work and she adored her Syrax — so Visenya thought why not combine the two and make a perfect gift?

Septa Marlow nodded in approval, no doubt thinking Visenya would finally learn how to behave now that she had seen her in a state of peace. "A gift worthy of a princess. I think she will love it."

Visenya nodded. "I hope so." She kept admiring the dress when Septa put away her own needlework. "Now that you have finished this, perhaps we should get back to—"

"Back to what? Holding a fork? Using a knife?" She cut her off in a very unladylike manner.

"Yes. Precisely," Septa Marlow nodded. "You will one day marry and you lack manners, girl. What High Lord will take you for a wife with that attitude of yours?"

Visenya rolled her eyes, removing the dress from her lap. "I will not be some nobody wife of a lord. I will be Queen. And then, I can do as I please."

Septa considered, "If your lady mother does not birth a son fast, as is her duty — you will hardly be the next Queen."

Visenya smirked. Oh if only you knew you are speaking to the girl who will become the first ruling Queen of Westeros — the first woman who will sit on the Iron Throne... "We shall see."

She folded the dress, careful enough not to wrinkle it. She hoped Nyra would like it. While Visenya preferred wearing black and red — colors of her house, Nyra liked to wear anything and everything.

In her first life, Visenya avoided Baratheon colors like a plague. She never truly felt like a Baratheon and hated wearing black and gold.

Now, in this life, she wore black and red — sometimes purple or pink. She felt like her true self, wearing the colors that represented her heritage — an opportunity she had been denied in her first life.

"You have been wearing your hair differently for some time now. But I'm afraid I do not recognize the style," Septa confessed, trying to get her attention again.

"They are Valyrian braids. My mother made them. It's in honor of my namesake, Queen Visenya — who had worn them while riding Vhagar into battle." Visenya smiled, leaning into her chair.

She knew the information was going to annoy the hells out of the wrenched woman — and she proved to be right. "You are a lady. You should not be wearing—" Septa Marlow chided.

"Correction, I am a princess. And I have the blood of Old Valyria running through my veins. I am proud to be a Targaryen and a dragon! I will not be made to feel ashamed of my ancestry!" Visenya snapped.

She would not let anyone insult her house in any way — not like Robert did. He who had tried to dye her hair black. He who had all dragon skulls moved so she could not see them. He who burned and hid books of Targaryen history. He who made her feel as if being a Targaryen is a shame and a crime.

Vissnya smirked yet again. "Why do you even care how I wear my hair? It's just that — hair. If it was up to me, I would have cut it off to my shoulders."

Septa Marlow gasped in shock. "Not even you would dare do such a thing!" She said and Visenya tilted her head daringly. "Oh, really? Try me."

When the woman failed to speak, Visenya asked curiously, "Do you even have hair under that?" She pointed to the woman's concealed head. Septa looked at her with irritation. "Yes, I have hair."

"You can hardly blame me for asking. I have never seen it," Visenya shrugged. Septa Marlow raised a brow. "Would you like to?"

Visenya looked at her weirdly. "Of course not. It was just a question. I couldn't care less about your hair." She turned her attention elsewhere again when the woman said, "Princess Visenya."

"Septa," she said right back with disinterest. Marlow narrowed her eyes. "You are being extremely rude today." Visenya shrugged without a single care and stood up to stretch. She then spun around and started heading for the door.

Septa Marlow stood up as well. "Where do you think you are going? Your mother, the Queen, commanded you to stay until I tell you to leave—"

Visenya cut her off, not bothering to turn around, "I can do as I please. Besides, this lesson is long over."

"We have accomplished nothing today! So this lesson is far from over!" The woman shouted. Visenya opened the door and leaned against its frame. "I did what I came here to do — finish my sister's dress. Now, I shall leave and visit my Arrax."

She then gazed around, a smirk growing on her face. "If you are so keen on staying, you are welcome to talk to the walls. They will listen to you more than I ever did anyway." With that, she slammed the door shut behind her.

It was time to visit her favorite place in the Keep — library. The Maester who had been chasing her for stealing the books had quit. He could no longer deal with her antics and he could not ban her from his precious library so he decided to ask for a transfer from her father — which he granted knowing how torturous Visenya had made his time in the Red Keep.

It worked out well enough for Visenya. The new Maester, who was appointed to the royal library, had obviously heard of the trouble she would cause him if he were to fight her — so he decided not to start a war with her.

Visenya could now enter the library whenever she liked and be greeted by the Maester who was not hovering over her shoulder as she chose the book she wanted to read.

Visenya walked towards the aisle of books and saw a man who looked familiar — and yet she could not quite recognize him. He was old and tired-looking with hair as white as snow and eyes so pale lilac that they almost looked white.

"Great-uncle Vaegon," she said with a blink of surprise. She had seen him in Harrenhal during the Great Council, that's why he looked familiar.

The Archmaester turned towards her with disinterest. "Great-niece Rhaenyra...or is it Visenya? I could never tell the two of you apart."

"It's Visenya," she deadpanned. Vaegon slowly blinked and then returned to his books, seemingly not caring about her answer at all. "Right."

He was always always a quiet and a bit weird person, as her great-grandparents described him. She paid him no mind, walking towards the bookshelf where she spotted the book she planned to read next, Dragons, Wyrms and Wyverns.

"What are you doing in here?" He then asked, his voice monotone. Visenya looked at him, confused. "This is the library, great-uncle. People come here to read and learn. I am no different. Better question is what are you doing here? Are you not supposed to be in Oldtown?"

Vaegon did not bother to respond to her. He said again, "I meant what are you doing in this section of the royal library? Colouring books of fantasies and tales are right down there, I believe." He pointed to the left.

Visenya rolled her eyes, stepping on the tip of her toes to reach her chosen book. "I outgrew child books before I even started reading them, great-uncle. They are so very boring."

She then tilted her head with interest, a solid plan on her mind already. "I would rather read something like Economy of Westeros or Fire and Blood — Dragons, Wyrms and Wyverns too. That is the book I came here for, after all."

Visenya placed her book down only for Vaegon to look at her with disbelief. "You have read Economy of Westeros? Fire and Blood too? And your young mind was able to comprehend such adult themes of politicking and war?"

"You sound rather surprised, great-uncle. I do not understand why. The more complicated something seems, the easier it becomes to divide into sections and explain it simply so even a toddler could understand it — if you use the right words of course," Visenya smiled innocently.

"Indeed. And what is your topic of interest at the moment?" Vaegon finally turned towards her, showing her that she got his full attention.

Visenya looked at him for a moment. This could either go very well or go to seven hells. She took her chances, "Conquest of Dorne. I find the Martells and their resilience and tactics very admirable. I have been studying them for quite some time now."

He hummed and sat down, a certain spark of interest in his eyes. "Let's hear it then."

Visenya wondered if it would be worth it — if it would be wise to show her true knowledge and potential this early on. She was tired of lessons that meant nothing to her — tired of wasting her time on stupid things she did not need. She was also tired of having to pretend that she was not as smart as she was.

So she sat down. Risk be damned.

"The Dornish are not simple people, from what I gathered. They are clever, and didn't war with nations lightly. They split up their armies into really small groups so they couldn't all be taken out at once," she started. "Also they hid underground and were simply incredible at guerilla warfare and Aegon the Conqueror simply couldn't handle it."

Gods, it felt good to speak so openly of her opinions and knowledge — to know that she would be taken seriously and not like she was a girl of six namedats.

"With no large armies to lose, and very good hiding spots to retreat to, the Dornish secured themselves a much better position to defend themselves. Dorne also killed Meraxes using this strategy — which no one managed to do before."

Visenya shrugged seeing the look on Vaegon's face. "That is if we put it simply. There is much more to explain and get into — and I would love to stay here and talk about it, but I am afraid to be late for my lessons."

The furrow of his brow was enough to tell her he wanted to talk to her more. She smiled at him, baiting him. "It was really nice seeing you here, great-uncle. You are the only person willing to listen to my rants about politics and warfare. Thank you for that. No one seems to take me seriously when I talk."

With a pout, she spun around and started walking. Will he take the bait or not? Will he ask her to stay or not?

"Wait," he stopped her. Visenya smirked before she faced him once more, an innocent smile on her face now. "I would like to hear more from you. Stay and talk. It is rare that I meet such a young yet intriguing mind."

Visenya tilted her head and said, "If you insist."

 

 

 

_____

 

 

 

king's landing, 103 AC
viserys targaryen

Viserys loved feasts, songs, poetry. He loved jousting and tourneys — not to participate but rather to watch and cheer on. He loved to keep his people pleased and content. He hated arguing and raising his voice. He also hated being stuck in Small Council the whole day instead of spending time with his mate and daughters.

But he was King now, he had his duties.

He felt lucky to have the Hand of the King such as Otto Hightower — a man who took care of everything for him, took care of the things he despised to deal with.

So, sometimes, he allowed himself to dream about returning to his mate's warm embrace through the night — to little Vissie and Nyra who would often spend their nights together, cuddled in one bed as Visenya read her sister stories from the Conquest.

Viserys had been so deeply in his thoughts that he did not notice the knight of Kingsguard approaching him. "I apologize for disturbing the meeting, Your Grace — your uncle, Archmaester Vaegon bids entrance. He says it is of great importance."

He blinked, startled for a moment. His uncle Vaegon had been back in King's Landing for the celebration of his coronation that will soon occur. They have been writing to each other and his uncle expressed the need to visit his parent's crypts — more his mother's — and who was he to deny him. "Let him in then."

As soon as the doors opened, his uncle walked in with a certain spark in his eyes that Viserys had not yet seen. Vaegon's eyes were wise and almost lifeless — they have been that way since Alysanne's passing, but this new spark was full of surprise and excitement. It almost struck Viserys stupid.

"Nephew, when you wrote your letters to me, you forgot to mention your eldest daughter — a genius in truth," he immediately began. Even his voice was not on edge but rather lighter.

Viserys blinked, still trying to process the new state of his uncle that he hardly heard the words. "I am afraid I do not understand what you are trying to imply, uncle. What does this have to do with my Visenya?"

Vagon cleared his throat, not sparing the lords of the Small Council a glance. "I had a brief conversation with Visenya mere moments ago. Your daughter is capable of fully understanding and practicing economics, statistics, sums, history, battle strategy, the art of healing and more!"

Viserys almost choked. His Vissie? His little girl was capable of such things? Visenya was always such a bright child, ever so curious and starving for more knowledge — but she was also six namedays old!

"You speak true, Archmaester?" the Grand Maester Runicter questioned, a disbelieving look on his face. But Vaegon nodded without a doubt. "Yes, Grand Maester. The girl has a very sharp mind. She was able to keep up with every topic I approached her about."

The lords of the Small Council looked at each other in confusion, question and disbelief still. Vaegon cared little as he turned towards Viserys once again. "Nephew, dare I say you fathered a mind that has the potential to become the greatest. How old is the girl anyway?"

Viserys's tongue seemed to be tied. He could not let even a word out. This seemed impossible. While Vissie was bright, she could not be a genius — right? He would have noticed it, right?

"I—She is six namedays old," Viserys confessed. Vaegon's eyes brightened at that as he clasped his hands behind his back. "Spectacular. If she were born a boy, I would be on my knees begging you to let me take her to Oldtown so she could become a student in the Citadel."

Viserys almost choked on his spit. No wonder Vaegon was in such good spirits. His own mother, Queen Alysanne was said to be in the same situation. If she were a boy — she would have been able to study in a Citadel.

He cleared his throat, "Bring me my daughter. Bring Visenya here." The Kingsguard bowed. "Yes, your Grace."

It did not take them long to find her. Visenya entered the Small Council chamber with grace, head held high and shoulders pushed back. When had his daughter grown up this fast?

"Father, you were asking for me," her voice did not waver. When he did not respond, Vissie glanced at each man in the room and nodded, "Lord Hand, Grand Maester Runicter, Lord Lyman Beesbury, Lord Lyonel Strong, Lord Corlys Velaryon, Ser Ryam Redwine."

It took them all by surprise, that she knew their names and faces. Corlys Velaryon smirked slightly while the rest only shared eye contact. "Princess."

"My Lords, I believe we should discuss the rest tomorrow. This meeting is dismissed," Viserys said and stood up from the chair. He even waved Otto off. Whatever this was, he needed to hear it from Vaegon — alone.

As soon as the room was cleared, Vissie tilted her head and asked, "Have I done something wrong, father?" He immediately shook his head. "Not at all, Vissie. There is no need to worry. Archmaester Vaegon has just told me of your discussion and well—I am at a loss of words."

Vaegon nodded, looking younger than he did in years. "No wonder, nephew. There have been very few people who were called geniuses — much less girls. However, you should not let that stop your daughter from learning everything she possibly can."

Viserys placed his hand on his daughter's shoulder. "What is it that you are trying to say, uncle?" He was afraid of the answer.

"You have told me about Visenya's rebellious antics, about her skipping lessons. I believe your daughter is on a much higher level of knowledge than what she is currently learning — and that is why she tends to run away," he tried to explain. "Visenya's mind is like a forest fire. Once it starts burning for knowledge — it never stops. It seeks to learn more and more until it is satisfied — which is never."

He cleared his throat. All this time he had thought that Vissie was like Daemon — uncontrollable and wild. Viserys had been afraid — especially because his brother and his daughter were mates, not that either of them knew, not that he would tell them.

But his Vissie had a different mindset compared to him or most people — his daughter was a genius. He felt pride wash over him. "What should I do then?"

Vaegon thought for a moment. "My advice to you is to not let her potential go to waste just because of her gender. We cannot let her go to the Citadel, but we can bring the Citadel to her."

His uncle must have seen the look of confusion on his face, so he elaborated, "We shall arrange tutors and more advanced lessons that will challenge her. We shall teach her everything a student at Citadel would learn — only if you agree, of course, nephew."

Viserys immediately nodded. He nodded — he could do this for her, his eldest. "Yes. Yes. Anything. If she wants to. Do you want this, Vissie?" He knelt before her, looking as her eyes shone with such life and excitement.

"Yes, father," she confirmed and he could do nothing else but embrace her. I'm so very sorry, Vissie — sorry that I did not see and recognize your potential, that instead of consulting you, I listened to Otto when he said that you were simply becoming like Daemon — and that you needed to be put in your place. I should have known better. You just refused to settle for anything less than you deserve, as you should because you deserve the very best. I am proud of you. I love you.

Viserys just hoped that his daughter could feel all the things he thought — the things he poured into his hug as she hugged him back.

Notes:

Vaegon is such a feminist 🤭 He witnessed his own mother, Queen Alysanne, get treated badly for being a wise woman and he doesn't want that for his great-niece!

Here is a plot twist that I bet you didn't see coming! Viserys knows Daemon and Visenya are mates, but he doesn't plan on ever telling them. No one else of great importance is aware, not even Aemma! 🤫

My Wattpad: seven-moons

Chapter 10: A New Friend

Summary:

In which:

— We see the aftermath of Visenya's plan to make herself known as a genius
— I write Rhaenyra's thoughts on all of this
— Rhaenyra gets to meet Alicent

king's landing, 103 AC
visenya targaryen

Life took a turn, that was for certain. Instead of her father constantly avoiding her, he was now parading her around the court for all to see — his eldest, his daughter, his little genius.

A part of Visenya, that desperate little girl that was Alyanna — she was living for this, for the praise and attention.

That was good enough. She needed people to believe and see that she was smart and capable so when the time comes for her to be named heir, and later a queen — they could not protest that she was a stupid woman, incapable of ruling.

Visenya was not a genius — not at all. She would not dare proclaim herself one either. Let people talk and spread the word all around the kingdom about her great young mind. That was what she wanted.

Visenya was NOT a genius.

The version of herself that she had now shown to people — took years to develop. It took trauma, pain, suffering, loss, war, strength, scheming, mistakes and so on. It took Visenya twenty-five years to become who she was.

She was always smart — Visenya could give herself that. She had potential, if she hadn't, Tywin, Olenna and Lucerys wouldn't have bothered with their lessons. She could have been a God and they wouldn't have moved a finger to teach her if they truly didn't believe she could do great things.

It certainly helped that Visneya liked books — escaping from the reality of her broken home. She liked learning, reading, fighting with weapons — anything to forget the hole she had in her heart and soul.

And now, her hard work in her previous life paid off. So far, everything was going rather smoothly.

Her lessons were great. Visenya was finally pushing and expanding the limits of her mind in this life too. She was living for it — for that challenge to conquer the unknown.

The lessons were far from easy, and there were times when she had to stay up all night and study. Visenya did not complain. She felt truly alive for the first time in years.

Visenya disliked how Rhaenyra was not getting the same treatment as herself, so she took it upon herself to remind her sister that she was just as important. Visenya knew — perhaps better than anyone, what it was like to be left out in the cold. She would not let her sister suffer that fate.

While the rest of the court, along with Viserys suddenly forgot Rhaenyra's existence — Aemma and Visenya did not. They still spent time together. Her mother had endlessly thanked her for not letting any of this change her.

"Don't you ever tire of your books, Vissie? I thought that by bringing you more tutors, you would realize that there is much more to life than the way you live — between pages," her mother huffed.

Visenya lifted her head to look at Aemma, who was lying on the bed. She smirked. "Never. Besides, I have already finished what I had for my lessons on sums, this is just to satisfy my curiosity."

"I sometimes wonder, why I even ask," Aemma muttered, shaking her head fondly. She shifted on the bed, her face turning somewhat green — there it was again, the reason she came to her mother's solar. Visenya narrowed her eyes and closed her book.

"How are you, mama? Do you need me to bring you a pot?" She asked and her mother shook her head, a smile on her lips still. "No, my sweet. Mama just needs to rest."

"And if I bring you berries with wine, cheese and honey?" Visenya asked then, scrunching her nose. "I do not know how, but the babe you carry certainly does love it."

Her mother's eyes widened in surprise as she sat up on the bed. "You know," it felt more like an accusation.

Visenya smirked. "I do not know why you sound so surprised, mama. I am quite observant — and really smart, thank you very much."

"And humble too?" Her mother laughed, ruffling her silver-gold waves. Visenya laughed, trying to move away from her.

Aemma has been vomiting whenever she could and her food cravings were absolutely scandalous. It was hard not to notice. Besides, Visenya went through two pregnancies herself — she knew the early signs.

Her first pregnancy was quiet and smooth — she had not even known about the babe for about four moons. She had no cravings and did not even vomit. Visenya was still Queen in the North and they were in the middle of war back then.

Her second pregnancy was the very opposite. Visenya was in a bad state every day, vomiting all over. She was even bedridden for the last two moons because Lenna would give her no rest.

Aemma sighed, disappointed. "Unfortunately, I am instructed to stay in bed until this pregnancy is over. I cannot make it today." She was talking about their tradition with Rhaenyra.

"I understand, mama — Nyra will too. Do not worry yourself. I shall read to my sister and braid her hair in your absence," Visenya simply said, standing up to stretch.

Her mother's eyes softened as she took Visenya's hand in hers. "I cannot ask that of you, Vissie. You are already overwhelmed with your lessons. You shouldn't—"

She cut her off, "Spending time with Nyra is hardly something that I need to do — quite the opposite. She is my sister and I love spending time with her."

Aemma cupped her daughter's cheek. "I know you do, my sweet. I just wish you wouldn't burden yourself with raising your sister. While quite intelligent, you are still a child yourself. You need your rest."

"It's not a burden, I promise," Visenya smiled, leaning to press a kiss to her mother's forehead. She pulled the blankets up to cover her mother. "And it is not me who needs rest. Sleep well, mama."

After that, Visenya made her way to the library to pick the next book on the list Rhaenyra and she made. She waited for Nyra's lessons to be over so she could take her to Godswood and spend time with her.

Visenya felt awful that her sister had to listen to Septa Marlow now — only Gods know the woman was terrible. She almost interrupted the lesson with some excuse just to get Nyra out. Luckily, before she could do it, her sister walked out and rolled her eyes.

Visenya laughed and as soon as Rhaenyra saw her, she all but launched into her arms for a desperate hug. Nyra blinked up at her. "Won't mama come along today?"

"I'm afraid not, Nyra. Mama needs her rest, she has a babe in her belly," Visenya tried to explain. Nyra's eyes widened as well as Visenya's. She placed a finger to her lips. "But, do not tell father you heard it from me. He will want to tell us himself, no doubt."

Rhaenyra giggled, taking her hand in hers as they started walking. "I won't. I promise. I will even look surprised to hear it," she promised.

Nyra looked up at her in question and excitement. "What do you think we will get? A brother or a sister? I am hoping for a sister! I want to be the best older sister just like you are! I want to dote upon our little Vaella."

Visenya was taken aback by the compliments and she felt her heart clench with love. She also almost choked on her spit when she realized what name Rhaenyra wanted to name their sister. "Vaella?"

Her true mother's name in her previous life had been Vaella. Visenya grimaced, but Rhaenyra beamed up at her, obviously not noticing the reaction. "Yes! I quite like that name, don't you? I think it's pretty."

"If you say so, Nyra," Visenya shrugged. It's not like any of their siblings will live long — that was certain. She looked up at the sky. "And I do not know. I am hoping mama will be alright, that's all."

"Why wouldn't mama be alright?" Nyra questioned, head tilted to the side. Visenya grimaced again. Hells, she really could be stupid sometimes — it was too early for Rhaenyra to know anything on the topic of babes, from how they are made to how much women have to suffer to bring them to the world.

"It doesn't matter," she quickly said. Nyra looked like she wanted to say something so Visenya had to distract her. "Now, what do you wish for me to do with your hair?"

It was like Rhaenyra immediately forgot what they were talking about — she started bouncing on her feet. "You will braid my hair? Really? You will do that for me?"

Visenya grinned as they settled down on the ground, in the shadow of the heart tree. "I cannot promise it will be as good as when mama does it, but I can try my best."

"You are the best, Vissie!" Rhaenyra exclaimed. She settled down between Visenya's legs, holding out the golden brush for her to take. Visenya's heart clenched again.

At least she was doing something right. At least she was doing right by Rhaenyra.

 

 

_____

 

 

Visenya stirred in her sleep, her brows narrowing and her throat bobbing.

Alyanna Baratheon hissed in pain. She was lying on the bed in her and Robb's tent, her nails digging in her palm to stop herself from groaning in pain. The stitches on her stomach reopened from sudden movements and she needed them checked again.

"Will she be alright?" Her husband asked, worry evident in his voice. He was seated right beside her, holding her other hand in his own for support — and perhaps even fear of losing her again.

Celesse Smythe, her bastard sister by Robert Baratheon and her longtime friend — the girl who was her handmaiden, protector and healer, the person she trusted the most in the world. She nodded. "Yes, I believe so. But, I need to change her stitches. They ripped open again."

Robb nodded, unsure. But, Celesse managed to do the impossible and bring Alyanna back from death's clutches. He looked down at Alyanna, a small smile on his lips. "I will be right back." He kissed her knuckles.

Alyanna nodded, smiling back weakly. "I know you will." Robb kissed her and let their foreheads touch for a moment. When he pulled away, Alyanna's throat bobbed.

I love you, she wanted to say, to shout — her throat wouldn't let her, her tongue was tied. She had never said those three words out loud, not even to her family, to her siblings. He was the first person she wanted to say the words to — but she couldn't.

Robb smiled as if he knew the thought running through her head. So he said the words instead of her, "I love you." Alyanna could only smile because she knew she would regret not saying the damn words — it had been the last time she would see her husband after all.

The next time she had seen him, he was dead. Freys had killed him on the order of her grandfather, Tywin Lannister. Robb, her Robb — he had been killed because Joffrey ordered the return of his sister, because her family wanted her back at King's Landing.

Alyanna could do nothing but drop to her knees. She waited until everyone was out of the room before she started sobbing uncontrollably.

They had done this to him. They stabbed him and let him to rott. They killed him. They killed her husband — the only person she had truly loved.

She screamed and screamed for the loss of her husband and their son, running her bloodied hands down her face in pure agony — the blood of her love smearing down her eyes and cheeks, mixing with salty tears of rage.

Visenya woke up, her scream stuck in her throat as she ran for her balcony. She vomited yesterday's meals — she kept vomiting and vomiting until her guts hurt, until her insides curled in pain.

She often had nightmares, ever since Harrenhal to be specific. And it wasn't unusual for her to wake drenched in sweat and in desperate need to empty her stomach. But this nightmare — Hells, it felt so real.

It felt like she was Alyanna once again, like she was back there, thinking the same thoughts and feeling that same agonizing pain.

Visenya forced herself to take deep breaths. Sleep would not claim her — of that much, she was sure.

 

 

_____

 

 

godswood, 103 AC
rhaenyra targaryen

Rhaenyra has been waiting for her sister to show up at Godswood. It was yet another day after her boring lessons with Septa Marlow and Vissie should have been in Godswood over an hour ago.

Vissie was never late, in fact, she would be the first one to show up at her doors and wait until her lessons were over so they could walk together. It made Rhaenyra think something was wrong.

What if Vissie had forgotten her, just like everyone else did? Rhaenyra shook her head to get rid of the horrible thoughts. Her sister would never forget her.

No matter how busy or tired, her sister always found time to spend with her — to remind her that she was important and loved.

Rhaenyra was young, and she may not be a genius, but she was not stupid either. Her papa's sudden happiness and willingness to show off Vissie to everyone concerned her.

The two of them used to be just two princesses who went to lessons and then had all the time in the world to spend together — they were not sons, nothing of importance was ever expected of them.

And now, Vissie was a genius. Her dearest older sister —  the person Rhaenyra admired most in her life, was taken away from her. Not literary, Vissie was still in the Red Keep and she was still spending her every free moment with her.

But now, Rhaenyra had to share Visenya — with their papa, who used to avoid them, with the whole court, who never paid any attention to the two of them — Gods, even with the entire Realm, the whole Westeros was buzzing with excitement and disbelief of the young genius.

She should not feel jealous, Rhaenyra often had to tell herself. Vissie deserved this. Nyra couldn't count how many fights their parents had with her sister over her lessons, she knew her sister simply wanted more — more knowledge, more books, more advanced lessons.

And yet, she felt jealous — not of her sister. Rhaenyra never wanted the attention of so many people, she just wanted her mother and sister. She wanted her lady Syrax and any cake she could get her hands on. She wanted to travel the world and see the sights Vissie had read to her about.

Rhaenyra dreamed of the day she and Vissie would claim their dragons and travel the entire world together — holding hands and laughing and eating new and unknown meals.

She hardly wanted more boring lessons. She just wanted her sister.

No matter her wishes and dreams, Vissie was happy — which was all that mattered to Rhaenyra — the very reason why she kept her mouth shut about her feelings and thoughts.

"Princess, I hope I am not interrupting anything," a voice of a girl made Rhaenyra look up from the ground. It took her a moment to remember the girl — she had seen her face in court, but never actually talked to her. "Not at all, Lady Alicent."

Lady Alicent smiled at her, folding her hands behind her back. "If I may ask, princess, what are you doing here all alone?"

"I am waiting for my sister. She and I always read here together at noon," Rhaenyra explained, hugging the book to her chest. Her expression dropped. "But, I am afraid she will not be joining me today."

Lady Alicent hummed in thought. "Perhaps princess Visenya is tired of her lessons and wishes to relax." Rhaenyra nodded. "Perhaps."

Yes. That must be it. Rhaenyra did notice dark circles under her sister's eyes. Vissie had them for quite some time — it made both Aemma and her worry. Vissie would never forget her, she repeated to herself.

"And no wonder why — Maesters from Oldtown were called to court so they could teach her! No girl has ever had such an opportunity," Lady Alicent added.

Rhaenyra glared at the lady, feeling defensive. Many whispered that the king overstepped by allowing his daughter to continue her education. "Vissie is no ordinary girl — she is a princess."

"My father says it isn't fair to bend the rules, even for the princess. He says girls are not allowed in Citadel for a reason," Lady Alicent exclaimed.

"Well, my papa says Vissie and I deserve the very best the world has to offer — and that happens to be the Citadel," Rhaenyra's glare deepened. "And my papa is king. His word is law."

As if she just noticed the way she was glared at, Lady Alicent's face turned red from embarrassment. "I am deeply sorry if I have offended you, princess. That was not my intention at all."

Rhaenyra sighed, looking down yet again — she shouldn't have taken out her frustrations on the lady. "There is no need to apologize, lady Alicent. I am just a bit worried about my sister. That is all."

Lady Alicent looked at her again. "From what I heard, princess Visenya is called a genius — so you shouldn't worry. She shall do very well even in her advanced lessons."

That's not what I meant, Rhaenyra wanted to say. Vissie excelled even in advanced lessons, she overcame every challenge sent her way. And even if she had any trouble, Vissie would find her own way out — she would do it out of sheer spite.

Instead of saying anything at all, Rhaenyra just hummed in acknowledgment. Lady Alicent looked at the book she was hugging. "What are you reading, if I may ask?"

"It's the story of Nymeria of Ny Sar and how she led her people to Dorne — to safety, after her kingdom was conquered by the Valyrian Freehold," Rhaenyra answered.

It was one of her favorite stories and Vissie had read it to her more times than she could count. Still, no matter how much she would annoy her sister into reading it to her again — Vissie would do it with no complaint.

Lady Alicent beamed at her, a smile on her lovely young face. "I love that story! She ended up marrying Lord Mors Martell, did she not?"

Rhaenyra blinked, thoughts and worries for her sister suddenly disappeared somewhere in her mind. Lady Alicent sounded just as excited as she was about the story, so, for the first time that day, Rhaenyra found herself smiling.

"Yes, she did! She established supremacy over Dorne and ruled for well over two decades as the Princess there!" She continued.

It would feel nice, she guessed — to have someone who enjoyed the same things as her — to have someone fill that rotten place in her heart that beat with jealousy.

Rhaenyra tilted her head at the beautiful lady before her. Vissie was busy and tired, that much was certain — but her sister was also happier than she had ever seen her. Rhaenyra should not — could not stand in the way of Vissie's happiness. She loved her sister far too much to be selfish enough and ask her to choose her.

She gulped. It will be weird, no doubt — to have someone else spend days with her, reading and laughing. But looking at the lady before her, Rhaenyra did not feel as saddened as she thought she would be — by the thought of replacing Vissie with another.

"Perhaps, if you are not busy with your own lessons — or with something else, we could read together?" She dared asked before she backed down.

Lady Alicent brightened at the question, already walking towards her and claiming the spot next to her. "I would be delighted to spend time with you, princess!"

Notes:

Vissie is officially proclaimed a genius and in the next few chapters we are going to see the consequences of it all 😳

Please don't judge little Rhaenyra for her thoughts. She is a little girl who has no important place in the world (or so she thinks). She just wants to eat cake and spend time with her sister! :(((

My Wattpad: seven-moons

Chapter 11: Feeling Of Failure

Summary:

In which:

— I write a very intense family breakfast
— Rhaenyra and Visenya have their first fight
— Bloodraven appears once again to spice things up

Notes:

TRIGGER WARNINGS:

— SELF-HARM AND DEPRESSION, mentions of EATING DISORDER!

I know I have these in my tags, but just to make sure you are all comfortable with reading this chapter! :)

king's landing, 103 AC
rhaenyra targaryen

Alicent Hightower turned out to be a more lovely companion than Rhaenyra expected. They spent the entire day together reading and laughing — from noon to supper. They even shared a meal in the gardens, not wanting to part ways.

Alicent introduced Rhaenyra to court gossip — something she learned to enjoy. Vissie always tried to keep her away from court, claiming they were mostly fools who want something from you. Well, at least they are funny fools.

The first few hours, Rhaenyra would constantly look over her shoulder, expecting Vissie to show up — but her sister had not. Eventually, it became easier to forget about the absence of her sister and the horrible feeling of jealousy running through her veins.

She had an amazing time yesterday — and now, she was smiling from ear to ear, practically skipping towards her parents' solar, where they usually meet up to break their fast together.

"Good morn, papa, mama," Rhaenyra announced herself present with a cheery voice. She skipped over to her parents, kissing them both on the cheek.

"My beautiful girl — my delight, how much you are growing with every passing day," her papa said, utterly surprised to see her so happy. He stroked her cheek with a grin.

"Where is Vissie?" Her mama questioned, most likely surprised to see her without Vissie by her side — they even go to break fast together too, in truth, they do everything together — at least they used to.

"I do not know, mama. I haven't seen her since two days ago," Rhaenyra shrugged, taking her usual seat by her mother's side. Aemma narrowed her brows. "You were not together yesterday?"

Rhaenyra shook her head lightly. "No. Vissie hadn't shown up at Godswood, but no worries — I was not alone. I met Lady Alicent Hightower. She and I are friends now," she said proudly, beaming at her mother.

Her father chuckled, taking a sip of his wine. "It gladdens me you are making friends, my girl. Lady Alicent seems like a lovely companion for you — based on what Otto says of her."

Aemma wanted to groan, it was enough that one Hightower had their clutches on one of her family members. She turned towards her daughter, fighting the urge to grimace. "Nyra, perhaps you could find someone else instead?"

Rhaenyra looked up from her cup, her brows narrowed in confusion. "Why? I like Alicent. She is my friend."

Aemma cleared her throat, thinking of an excuse. "I understand that, my sweet. But, we do not know when she will be returning to Oldtown. If what I hear is true, her mother is rather sick."

When both Viserys and Rhaenyra looked at her weirdly, she tried to explain herself, "All I am saying is that she may leave us soon. You should not get too attached." Viserys never liked hearing her complain about Otto Hightower and his family.

"Lady Alicent can stay here, at court. Her father is here, serving me and the realm," Viserys said, turning toward Rhaenyra with a reassuring smile. "And you, my dear, are a princess. You can ask her to stay for as long as you like. She is your friend, is she not?"

Rhaenyra beamed up at her father, almost going as far as to hug him. "Thank you, papa!" Alicent staying in King's Landing will do her good — she can have a true friend while Vissie can focus on herself and her happiness.

Perhaps, with time, Rhaenyra could find her own happiness — even if it would be without Vissie, which was hard to imagine at the moment. Perhaps, Alicent will help her with that.

The doors to the solar opened and a panting Vissie came in, almost running with a book in her hands. "I apologize for my tardiness. It seems I have stayed up late again." She took her usual seat next to their father.

"You should take care of yourself more, Vissie," Aemma said worriedly. Vissie smiled, but anyone could notice the dark circles under her eyes. "I am, do not worry, mama."

"I am really sorry that I haven't met you at Godswood yesterday, Nyra. I just closed my eyes for a second and — It won't happen again," her sister said, turning to her apologetically.

Rhaenyra smiled. Alicent was right, Vissie could never forget her. She was simply tired and needed rest. It stung that she was still left alone — even if it was for a good reason. "No worries, Vissie. I understand."

"This is happening quite often, is it not? You falling asleep and being late?" Their papa questioned, placing his cup on the table. Visenya shrugged. "It is nothing, father. I am simply feeling a little drained, that is all."

Viserys pressed, "Lord Otto Hightower has been telling me that your lessons have taken quite a toll on you. I should have listened — you are far too young for such advanced studies—"

Visenya cut him off, her smile disappearing from her face. "Lessons aren't the problem here, father. Has that Hand of yours been telling you that I excel even in advanced lessons?"

Vissie's sharp words and boldness shouldn't have been much of a surprise to their father, still he looked shocked. "I bet by the look on your face that he has not," her sister muttered.

"Well, you can tell Lord Hand that my lessons are going perfectly. I enjoy them very much and my tutors are praising me quite often," Visenya straightened in her seat. "Tell him that he should worry about the realm instead of what a seven namedays old princess is doing."

Aemma beamed at her daughter, who appeared to be the only one — except for herself, who was immune to Hightower charms, it seemed.

Viserys narrowed his brows. "I am sure that Lord Otto meant no offense, Vissie. He was just looking out for you." Visenya almost rolled her eyes. "If you say so."

"And he is no Lord Hightower. He is a Lord Hand or simply Ser Otto," Vissie corrected Viserys who laughed awkwardly. "You are quite right, Vissie. You always are."

It was silent after that — uncontrollably so. They all filled their plates except for Vissie who focused only on fruits instead of her favorite meals.

Aemma and Rhaenyra shared a look between them. This has been happening for quite some time — they rarely saw Vissie eat anything other than light food or fruits.

"You don't want honeyed porridge today, little flame? You adore to start your day with something sweet," their mother mused. Visenya shook her head. "Well, not today, mama. I shall settle for some fruit instead."

Vissie then turned her attention to Rhaenyra, smiling at her. "Tell me, Nyra, what book should I bring today? Perhaps something on Pentos? Or Lys?"

"There is no need, Vissie. You may rest yourself, you look rather tired," she exclaimed with a smile — it was for the best. She was doing this for Vissie and her happiness. "Besides, I will have the company of Lady Alicent."

Whatever water Vissie gulped down, she suddenly spit out. Her eyes were wide with what looked like terror. "Alicent Hightower? When did you meet her?"

Rhaenyra blinked. "You know of Alicent? She hasn't mentioned knowing you." Visenya shrugged, still looking shaken up. "I ran into her once or twice — literally. I do not know her, only of her."

"Well, you should get to know her. She is really nice and she likes a great many things that you do — reading, history and tropical places," Rhaenyra suggested.

In truth, she found Visenya and Alicent to be rather alike — and yet so very different. Alicent was rather shy, well-spoken and she refused to break rules, while Vissie was bold and rebellious. It also felt refreshing to have someone who liked to talk about handsome knights and court gossip — which Vissie never did.

"I think you two would get along well, if you give her a chance. Perhaps you should join us this noon for reading in Godswood?" She dared to suggest.

Rhaenyra was hopeful. Perhaps she did not have to completely give up Vissie. Perhaps her sister could still be there sometime.

Visenya cleared her throat, looking hesitant. "While that sounds nice, I think you should find yourself new company."

"Why does everyone keep saying that? I like Alicent well enough, what is wrong with me having a friend?" Rhaenyra questioned now, feeling rather annoyed.

"Nothing is wrong with that, Nyra. Have as many friends as you would like, just stay away from that girl," Vissie said openly. What was even wrong with Alicent? She is such a sweet person.

"Now, Vissie — I am quite sure that Lady Alicent is a well-behaved young lady. What is wrong with her presence?" Their father joined their conversation.

"She is a daughter of a second son — basically a nobody. She will grow up and marry a nobody lord and have nobody children. Rhaenyra is a princess. She deserves better company than that," Vissie said boldly.

"Visenya! That was extremely rude of you to say!" Aemma gasped at her. Visenya gazed at their mother, unbothered. "Mama, you were thinking the same thing."

Rhaenyra felt angry. Couldn't Vissie understand that she was doing this for her? That she had to replace her if she didn't want her feelings to eat her up from the inside out? Besides, Alicent was nice, and she was her friend!

"You know what I think, Vissie? You cannot handle that I am not all yours to have now. You never did like to share," Rhaenyra defended, surprising everyone into silence. "I like Alicent and she shall be my constant companion from now on. I do not care if you like that or not."

It was silent for a moment. Rhaenyra and Visenya never fought and Rhaenyra's outburst came out shocking, no doubt — it was usually Vissie that was loud and ready to fight with words.

"Rhaenyra, I am certain your sister was just being protective over you. She is not overly fond of people outside of our family, you know that," their mother said, trying to keep the peace.

"I don't care! I don't need her to protect me!" Rhaenyra cried out desperately. Vissie suddenly stood up, holding her book to her chest. "I have to go or else I will be late for my lessons."

Rhaenyra's heart gave a squeeze, had she taken this too far? Were her words that hurtful? She did not want to hurt Vissie.

"But you haven't eaten much of anything, Vissie," Aemma said worriedly. Indeed, Vissie hadn't even touched the fruits on her plate. "I lost my appetite, it's fine. If I need more food, I shall pay a visit to the kitchens."

Rhaenyra watched her sister leave the solar. She had done this — Vissie hadn't eaten because of her. She fought back her tears, feeling as if she had broken this sister bond between them.

 

 

_____

 

 

king's landing, 104 AC
visenya targaryen

Visenya stared at herself in the mirror — she had the same face as she did in her past life. Dark indigo eyes — a gift from Rhaegar Targaryen, now inherited from Aemma Arryn. Silver-gold waves from Vaella Velaryon now passed down from Viserys Targaryen.

It was fitting — she supposed. Visenya would hate to wear someone else's face. She would hate to have someone else's eyes too — those tired eyes that were windows to her old soul.

When she looked at herself in the mirror, she saw something empty and dark — something unfriendly and huge — something that was no longer Visenya Targaryen. She was something else, not the girl she used to be — something blank-eyed and tired.

Visenya hated that she failed to keep Alicent away from her sister. She was determined to keep them apart and all it took was one day when she passed out from exhaustion to fail her mission.

She hadn't been there to stop it from happening and she blamed herself for it.

Still, Visenya tried to have them spend less time together. She would lie through her teeth, and drag Nyra out to Dragonpit to spend time with her alone — anything to stop this friendship.

It didn't work.

"I thought we would be alone today," Visenya confessed, hugging the book to her chest as she glanced behind Rhaenyra — glared at Alicent with her jaw locked in place.

"Alicent wished to join us," Nyra said and then corrected herself. "No, that is not quite right. I wished for you two to get to know each other. I'm sure we can all be friends."

Visenya wanted to scream — not this again. Rhaenyra desperately tried to have both Alicent and Visenya be friends. She grimaced. "I don't know about that."

Rhaenyra's hopeful expression soured and Visenya felt bad. She hated doing this — hated hurting her sister, but it was all for her. It was for the better future — the future in which Nyra did not have to suffer the heartbreak and loss of Alicent Hightower.

Alicent Hightower stood up slowly, her eyes cast down. "I apologize, princess. I shall take my leave then. I shouldn't deprive you two of spending time together." She turned to take her leave.

Rhaenyra leaped to her feet in protest. "No, stay. Alicent, please." Alicent looked hesitant, eyes now searching Visenya's, almost asking for permission.

As if sensing this, Rhaenyra spun around to glare at Visenya. "Why are you doing this, Visenya? I thought we could include Alicent in our reading so you would see how great she is, but no!"  She snapped. "Everything always has to be about you! Can't you be happy for me — that I have a friend now?"

Rhaenyra hadn't talked to her properly in weeks after that incident — she still doesn't. Even worse, her sister and that bitch were now inseparable, always walking side by side, laughing as if Alicent was not the reason the sisterly bond was broken.

No, it was all Visenya's fault. She couldn't find it in herself to blame Alicent for this. It was she who went too far.

Visenya had lost the only good thing she actually had in this life — Rhaenyra. And it broke something in her. She was truly alone in this world — she felt it in her bones.

Visenya long came to terms with the fact that there will always be a ribbon of loneliness running through who she is. But she thought, she hoped it could someday heal — that the love of her parents and sister could heal her.

She was not too gone to be healed, right? She was not too damaged to be put together again, right?

Wrong.

She continued to stare at herself in the mirror. Perfect daughter. Beautiful girl. Flawless child. Makes no mistakes. Fuck that. Fuck them all for saying things like that.

Visenya used to hate her scars — but now, she missed them. She wanted them back. Every single line on her skin, from the large wound in her abdomen to the ragged lines she used to have on the left side of her face.

Those scars were proof of her suffering — they were proof that she was not flawless, that she made mistakes and paid heavily for them. Those scars were proof of her loss and they validated her brokenness.

But now, they were erased. As if she hadn't lived her first life, as if she hadn't known what it felt like to be betrayed, hurt and almost killed.

She wanted them back.

Visenya took a knife she had stolen from supper and pressed it to the skin of her hand. She drew a line on the shell of her palm, from her pinky finger to her thumb. Visenya hissed in pain, watching as the line began to bleed red.

The knife fell to the ground. Her blood began to spill, drop by drop — but all Visenya could do was smile. Pain. She hadn't felt anything in moons, but this felt like a breath of fresh air.

Well, she was not perfect now.

Fuck the knife. Fuck the blood. Fuck her wound that will surely leave a scar — because Visenya made sure it went deep enough to do so. She made her way to her bed, falling on the soft mattress. Visenya hadn't risen in days after that — faking sickness.

It was night and Visenya was lying in her bed — staring at nothing, barely blinking. "You haven't moved in days, faking sickness to stay in bed. You need to get up," a voice startled her, but she did not move an inch.

Fuck you, Visenya thought. She hadn't seen him since he sent her to this world. She needed his guidance and yet he did not show up. "I'm tired," she said, her voice raspy from not speaking in days.

"I know," Bloodraven said, walking towards her from the shadows. Was she dreaming this? If so, it felt good to finally have a peaceful time sleeping. "I cannot sleep," she confessed.

"I know," was all Bloodraven said as he sat on the edge of her bed. Visenya blinked. She thought of kicking him off her bed, but that would mean she had to move — and she had zero energy to do that. Even speaking was too hard. "I cannot do this anymore."

"What other choice do you have?" Bloodraven decided to move slightly away from her — no doubt sensing her thoughts. "You do realize the world is not going to stop because Alicent Hightower and Rhaenyra Targaryen are friends, right?"

"Would you shut up already?" Visenya groaned. "I failed. My plan failed. If I failed to stop Rhaenyra and Alicent from becoming friends — if I failed at this simple task, what makes you think I won't fail at stopping the extinction of dragons — which is a much bigger and more important task."

Bloodraven snorted. "You could not possibly believe you had any real chance at keeping them away from one another. They live under the same roof and walk through the same corridors. They would have met eventually, you must know that."

She knew that. She just did not care. Rhaenyra should never have met Alicent. She should not have allowed it to happen.

"It is luck and your pure determination that kept them apart for so long. Originally, Alicent and Rhaenyra met when she was still nursing king Jaehaerys, so you delayed two years of friendship. You should be proud of yourself," he continued.

Visenya just blinked at him. "What difference does it make? Rhaenyra is bound to get hurt by Alicent in years to come." She finally found some strength to sit up and lean on her pillows.

"Indeed. Some things are just meant to happen," the man nodded. "Rhaenyra and Alicent were always meant to be lovers turned into enemies — just as your mother was always meant to die while birthing Baelon — just as your father was always meant to remarry when that happens."

Then what was the fucking point? She almost shouted. "So why am I here then, if I cannot change anything of great importance? I mean if only Viserys hadn't taken a second wife, Dance of Dragons wouldn't have happened."

"You cannot change everything, nor would I advise you to. You know the future — so use the knowledge and win the upcoming war," Bloodraven advised.

Visenya's brain could hardly comprehend this. "Are you advising me to let that bitch marry my father — just for him to sire those two psychopaths that will solely be the reason for great destruction of Westeros?" She thought to avoid that, but what he was saying did make sense.

The man before her just shrugged. "Do as you think is best. Viserys will remarry eventually — but who he will take to wife is not set."

He stared at her. "Ask yourself a question, is it better to let him marry Alicent and keep the knowledge of what the future holds, or get rid of Hightowers and have no idea what might happen?"

Visenya sighed. Her plans had to change then. She planned to end house Hightower before they could do any damage. No, her plans needn't change — they simply had to be delayed. She would be damned if she let those fuckers live.

And she could indeed use this to her advantage, to show both Rhaenyra and Viserys what vultures they have in court. Visenya nodded, already scheming. She could manipulate her way through this — she had to.

"You have one of the greatest minds I have ever seen — and I have seen plenty. You have the power and knowledge to change everything — so use it," his voice brought her back from her thoughts.

Visenya exhaled. Yes, she could do this — she just did not want to. She was tired. "I cannot. I survived the Long Night. I killed the Daenerys Targaryen. I saved Westeros. I fought for my people. I fought — I fought and I lost."

Visenya found herself at crossroads, a child's violent will to survive lodged in her chest where her black heart should be — but an utter indifference along with it.

"But you will keep fighting because you haven't lost yet," Bloodraven placed his hand on her shoulder. "You will win. There is not a single person in any lifetime that I trust more than you to do what must be done, Visenya — Not a single one."

Visenya had been cruel to her body, and still, it had never once faltered in kicking, screaming or fighting to keep her alive. Something in herself will always save her from utter ruin, no matter what comes.

Visenya did not know if she was disappointed or glad to learn the fact.

Notes:

One major problem in most of Targaryen relationships is communication! Visenya and Rhaenyra are going to be facing the same problem as well 😬

Vissie is currently struggling, but, luckily for her, Daemon is going to come back and help :))

My Wattpad: seven-moons

Chapter 12: Dragon's Wrath

Summary:

In which:

— Daemon returns to King's Landing and he is not pleased
— One more interesting plot is added
— Daemon is soft and protective uncle

king's landing, 104 AC
daemon targaryen

Daemon could smell the stench of King's Landing before he even mounted Caraxes and let his beast fly them from Dragonstone. He spent more than half of his youth wandering the Streets of Silk with his brother — no wonder the stench got stuck in his nose.

He could not wait to go back — not only was his entire family in King's Landing, but also all his whores and fun. Sure, Daemon had his fun at Dragonstone, bedding every whore with silver hair he could find all while doing his duties as heir apparent.

But, home was home — and family was family.

Daemon missed his fool of a brother. He missed his two nieces who he adored to death. He missed Aemma too. They were the only family he had left.

As soon as he landed, Dragonkeepers approached him. Daemon paid them no mind, already looking around for his eldest niece who used to spend all her time in the Dragonpit. He couldn't find her or that green mount of hers anywhere.

"Is my niece here, by any chance?" Daemon asked them, absentmindedly. The man before him nodded. "Yes, my Prince. Princess Rhaenyra is currently visiting Syrax."

He hummed, the thought pleased him. Viserys's dragon, Balerion perished and Aemma was never brave enough to mount a dragon — it was good both their daughters had good bonds with their mounts. "What of Visenya?"

"Princess Visenya hasn't been seen in Dragonpit for over a year, my Prince," the man he didn't know the name of, said.

Daemon raised his brow, surprised. Visenya always found time to spend with Arrax — Hells, the girl had even disappeared once or twice from the Keep. They had to search for her only to find her cuddling with her mount in the Dragonpit. She spent her nights here sometimes.

Before Daemon could think of something to say, he noticed little Rhaenyra and her yellow she-dragon. His little niece appeared to be talking to the dragon as she stroked her snout. "Little dragon," he greeted.

"Uncle!" Rhaenyra jumped in surprise, but her smile fell when she crossed her arms over her chest. "You are late, uncle! Papa and mama sent me to fetch you for dinner and I have been waiting for you for hours!"

Daemon cracked a smile. "Apologies, niece. Your uncle had some business to attend to at Dragonstone, but I am here now."

He looked at the yellow she-dragon who eyed him closely, stepping towards Rhaenyra in case she needed protection. "And look at your Syrax. Your little lady is not so little anymore. Soon enough, she will be large enough to ride."

Indeed, the yellow she-dragon grew well. Daemon could only imagine how much Arrax has grown over the years then — perhaps, if he was large enough to ride, he will offer Visenya to teach her how to ride her mount.

"You think so? I cannot wait!" Rhaenyra bounced on her feet, her eyes shining. She turned towards Syrax, speaking in High Valyrian, "Do you hear that, my lady? Soon we will be up in the sky, the two of us!"

Once his little niece was done pestering her mount with kisses and hugs, she spun towards him, offering her hand. "Come now, uncle. Let's not keep papa and mama waiting."

Daemon took her little hand and let her guide him around even though he knew precisely where they were going. "Where is your sister?"

"I do not know. We haven't spoken to each other in weeks," his niece confessed. The smile on her face disappeared entirely — replaced by a sour look.

Daemon found himself surprised again. Even when they were babes, it was rare to see one sister without the other. They even shared a cradle until they overgrew it and then Rhaenyra cried when Visenya had to move to her personal chambers.

"You and Visenya do not speak to each other? Hells must have frozen over then," he mused. "May I know about your little quarrel? It's surely not as bad as you make it seem, little dragon."

"I have a friend now and Vissie doesn't like her — mama doesn't either. She tries to hide it behind her friendly smiles, but I can see it in her eyes," Rhaenyra shrugged. "And I cannot understand why — Alicent is a very nice lady! And she is my friend, not theirs. Why does it matter if she is not to their taste?"

Daemon almost choked on his spit. He wanted to groan. Another Hightower had their clutches in one of his family members. The good thing to know that Visenya — although young — saw Hightowers for what they are, a slithering family.

"You made friends with Hand's daughter?" He questioned. Rhaenyra stopped walking and turned to glare at him. "Yes, please tell me you are not going to side with them, uncle."

Daemon smirked. He would have to look after Rhaenyra too then, to make sure she stays on the right path. And surely, that cunt's daughter couldn't do much damage at ten years of age.

"Not at all, little dragon. Be friends with whomever you want," he decided. Rhaenyra smiled up at him. They continued to walk. "Thank you, uncle. I knew I liked you for a reason."

"Now, I want to see my gifts! You had to have brought something with you — you always do!" His little niece jumped, stars in her eyes. Daemon laughed openly.

"You greedy little thing," he tsked. "Can't you wait for dinner to receive your share?" Rhaenyra pouted. "Fine, if I must." She peered up at him anyway, little sly thing she was, "Can't you at least tell me of my gift?"

"No. It's a secret," Daemon said with a smirk. He loved to spoil both his nieces. He may not have been in King's Landing in years, but he spent a good fortune on their gifts — which he was sending every moon.

Daemon had to admit that he was surprised Viserys hadn't thrown a fiest in the honor of his return. Gods only know how his brother loves dramatics. If whispers Mysaria had heard were true, his brother frequently celebrated his eldest daughter and her title of a genius.

"Brother! It is good to have you back at court — Finally, our family is reunited! Tell me, was Dragonstone to your taste?" Viserys embraced him with a grin on his face, petting him on the back.

"It was, brother — But I must admit, it's good to be back home," Daemon grinned right back. He turned to Aemma, who was seated and kissed her hand. "My Queen."

"Goodbrother," she greeted back, a hand on her pregnant belly. They took their seats and started filling their plates. "Won't we wait for Visenya?" Daemon questioned, looking around in search of his little flame.

Aemma grimaced. "I'm afraid Vissie won't be joining us tonight, goodbrother. She is rather busy with her lessons — and she takes them seriously, she refused to miss even one."

Daemon narrowed his eyes. He had a feeling Aemma wanted to say more — and indeed, his goodsister shared a look with him. She will tell him later then.

Despite what everyone may think, he cared for Aemma too — she was once his betrothed and he got to know her well. He was also her ally at court as she was his — both bonded by the fact that they hated Hightowers.

Many think he resented Viserys for stealing his Valyrian bride, but that was not the case. Daemon understood. Viserys and Aemma were mates. He grew up hearing stories of his father and grandparents — about the beauty of mates and the connection that goes along with it.

Daemon wanted to find his mate too. He wanted it more than anything. He wanted a proper family and a good life with his mate — Daemon wanted to finally feel complete and not feel the absence on the other side of that red thread that connected him to another.

And he will stop at nothing until he finds her.

"Indeed. Can you believe it, brother — my daughter, a genius?" Viserys toasted to his eldest. "It feels like yesterday when we held her for the first time. How time flies fast. Now she is a responsible young lady."

Daemon could barely believe it when he heard the news. Visenya — his little niece, was a genius. He could still remember the pride washing over him when he read the letter.

"I take it you are proud of her, brother?" He hummed, emptying his cup of wine already.

Viserys laughed. "More than I could ever express with words! Perhaps you shall see soon enough — when you have your own sons and daughters that is."

Daemon instantly scowled. "Yes, I will, when I get another wife — a less hostile one at that," she spat out. He hated being reminded of his bronze bitch.

Seeing as Viserys wanted to say something,  Aemma interrupted, "Perhaps you shall see Vissie at supper. I am sure she would be delighted that her favorite uncle is back."

"Or perhaps not. Vissie hadn't been joining us for meals in ages," Rhaenyra chimed in. Daemon's brow furrowed yet again. He would have to see what was going on with his niece.

His brother smiled awkwardly, "Now, little dragon — I am sure we can postpone her lessons for a few hours just so she could join us for supper."

Once Daemon gave his gifts to Rhaenyra and chatted up with his brother about the condition of Dragonstone, he asked, "If I may be excused, brother? The day was long and I wish to rest."

Rest. Ha. He was going to the brothel.

"Of course, brother," Viserys approved, turning to his mate. "You should go ahead too, Aemma. Our son needs his strength to grow."

Aemma smiled. "Of course, my love. I shall be heading too then. Good night, my sweet." She kissed her daughter's forehead. "Night, mama."

Both of them made their exit. Daemon was planning on walking away, but Aemma grabbed his forearm before he could take a step. "Will you be so kind as to walk me to my chambers, goodbrother?"

He was hesitant — already having plans for the evening, but eventually, he agreed. "Of course. How are you doing, cousin? Has the pregnancy been hard on you?"

"I am well enough, I suppose — as well as a woman with child could be," Aemma said, her smile fading. "But the babe — it is not looking good. Maesters tell me it's fine and everything is going smoothly, but I do not believe them. I think we will have to terminate the pregnancy."

That was hardly surprising. In fact, he expected something to go wrong — it always did. "What makes you think so, cousin?"

His cousin looked around to make sure they were utterly alone before she spoke, voice quiet, "This place is not what it used to be, Daemon. Everything has changed — people have changed. Otto Hightower has been pushing Viserys to take a second wife since he is convinced I cannot give him a son."

Daemon snorted. "Surely not even that cunt could be so blunt about this, you and my brother are mates. Another wife will simply be insignificant."

"Oh, but he is bold. You know the man," she muttered. Daemon nodded. "And I am guessing my brother has not yet ordered the man's tongue to be cut for daring to propose such a thing."

Viserys was a weakling — to let that Hightower cunt speak something like that and live...Even their wise and calm grandfather would put his head on a spike if anyone dared to say something like that about his mate.

Aemma only looked forward as they continued their walk. "You are guessing right, cousin — as always."

The silence eloped them, but Daemon could sense something was amiss. "I am also guessing that there is something else that you wish to tell me."

His goodsister looked hesitant. This time, she spoke in a very low whisper, "Something is not right. Maesters — there is something going on with them — between them and Otto. I am sure of it. Oldtown is too closely tied to the Citadel."

Daemon stopped in his tracks, grabbing her arm. "What are you saying?"

"I noticed it during my last pregnancy. Viserys fears losing children so he asks for some sort of tea to be brought to me — they make me drink it," she explained. "Whatever is in the tea — it's not good."

Daemon stilled. Was she suggesting that she was being openly poisoned? She looked serious about this too and she must have been sure if she was speaking to him about it.

"My babe has been fine and kicking until I drank it a few weeks back. He hadn't moved since. It happened the last pregnancy too," she continued. "Something is wrong with Visenya's hand too. She accidentally cut herself and it still hadn't healed. It's been weeks and it is still bleeding."

Daemon blinked, having the urge to grab Dark Sister at his hip and slaughter the Maesters of the Keep. "If you are implying what I think you are—"

"I don't know what I am implying. I have no proof, just my instinct to follow," Aemma cut him off. "I do not feel safe here, Daemon. I do not want my daughters anywhere near Maesters. I do not what Viserys near them — I do not want you anywhere near them."

Maesters have always been grey rats in his humble opinion, but to even suggest that they think themselves so highly to openly poison royals...And what if Otto really did have a part in it?

His goodsister looked at him desperately. "Please, cousin. No one else is inclined to believe me. Gods know how much I love Viserys, but we both know that he refuses to see and listen to common sense — he blindly trusts everyone."

Daemon weighed his opinions. It wouldn't hurt to check, for sure. "Alright. I will need a sample of the tea they had given you. We will go from there." He will need Mysaria's help for this one.

"Thank you," Aemma sighed, letting go of his forearm. She looked up at him again. "There is one more thing I have to ask of you. Please talk to Visenya."

Daemon raised a brow. "What is wrong with her?"  His cousin shrugged in desperation. "She does not sleep. She does not eat. She hadn't gone near Arrax in ages. I am scared for her. I tried, Daemon — I tried to get her to talk to me, but she just wouldn't."

"Despite everything she ever said, you were always her favorite. I have hopes she will talk to you," Aemma said.

He smirked, trying to ease her mind. "Of course I am her favorite, how could I not be?" He then made a promise, "I will talk to her, cousin. Do not stress yourself."

Daemon made a promise, but he couldn't find his eldest niece anywhere. It seemed no one knew where she was hiding, so, as the late hour approached, he prepared himself for the walk along the Street of Silk with a plan to find Visenya tomorrow.

But, as he was walking down the stairs, he noticed his eldest niece sitting on the window of the Keep, looking at the bright full moon. She had a book in her lap and her skin was pale — she was also shivering badly.

"Niece," he approached her, speaking in High Valyrian. Visenya tensed for a moment, gripping the book tighter before she responded in the common tongue, "Uncle."

She didn't even turn around to face him. Daemon crossed his arms over his chest with a scoff. "Have I become so boring to you, my dearest — that you won't even greet me, your favorite uncle?"

Visenya turned to face him then and he almost took a step back in shock. His niece — the one he called little flame for the undying fire that danced in her eyes — her indigo eyes looked lifeless and dull. Dark purple circles under her eyes only spoke of her tiredness.

"You are a Rogue Prince, uncle — you could never bore me," she finally spoke, tilting her head a little. "I apologize, but I do not think I am able to stand and hug you — I fear my legs will give out."

And no wonder, she looked as if she would faint from exhaustion at any moment. The fire in his blood went alight with fury. How come no one noticed the state of his niece? How come no one tried to help her?

"How did you get out of your chambers unnoticed?" Daemon asked. She shrugged "I have my ways." She probably slipped outside while guards were changing shifts.

Daemon fully approached her then. "What are you doing here, in the middle of the night? You should be in your bed and resting. You look tired." He wanted to get the rise out of her.

Show me. Show me that fire. Show me that you are not truly gone.

Visenya snorted loudly. "Thank you for the compliment, uncle — no wonder how you have so many women at your feet."

Daemon smirked. Good. "There she is, my little flame. I feared the fire in you simply burned out." He stroked her hair softly. "Let's get you to bed."

His niece looked as if she might protest, but then just gave up as he picked her up. Visenya locked her arms around his neck and buried her face in there, breathing him in.

Daemon stilled for a moment — noticing that she lacked weight too. There was nothing to her to hug — he wouldn't be surprised if Dark Sister weighed more than Visenya did.

It took all his self-control not to storm into his brother's chambers and raise hell for this. Tomorrow, he tried to calm himself. Visenya desperately needed rest now.

Daemon did not know where he was going, his thoughts occupied by his wish to cut off the heads of anyone who allowed this to happen to Visenya.

The next thing he knew, he was standing in front of his chambers, Visenya passed out in his arms. Safe. She would be safe here. Daemon will make sure of it. He did not trust anyone not to enter his niece's chambers and make the situation worse.

Daemon tried to lay her down on his bed — he was planning on sleeping on the chair, the Street of Silk already long forgotten. Visenya refused to let go of him, even in her sleep. She whimpered when he tried to pull away.

Fine, then. He lay down beside her, moving the fallen stands of her silver-gold hair away from her face. Visenya grabbed his hand, as if afraid he would leave again.

Daemon kissed her brow. I am not going anywhere, he promised. He will rest tonight because tomorrow, he is going to make everyone pay for this.

 

 

_____

 

 

Daemon saw red.

He could still see and feel Visenya trashing in his arms over some kind of nightmare. She kept shaking and whimpering as he held her through it, stroking her hair until she calmed down.

Daemon was sure half of the fucking keep could hear his furious footsteps as he walked. Anyone who saw him simply moved out of his way. Good. If anyone dared to talk, he would have surely killed them.

He entered his brother's solar without a care in the world, harsh words and insults already forming on his tongue, "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Viserys was there along with Otto Hightower. Both of them seemed startled to see him there. He couldn't care less. "What is the meaning of this, Daemon? We were discussing important matters—"

Daemon cut off his brother,"That is nothing that cannot wait. There is nothing more important in this whole world than the well-being of your family." He sneered at the Hightower cunt. "You, get the fuck out. I need to speak with my brother."

"Your Grace—" Otto began, but Daemon had none of it. "Brother, if you don't tell your lapdog to get lost, I will personally throw him out."

Viserys looked hesitant still before he looked at Otto and nodded. "We shall discuss this later, Otto." The annoying Hand tried to protest yet again. "But, your Grace, I insist—"

"Leave us. That is an order." With that, the man could do nothing but leave. Daemon slammed the doors in his ugly face as Viserys began to chide him, "What do you think you are doing, brother? Interrupting my meeting in such a manner—"

"What do you think you are doing? Is your head so far up your arse that you cannot even see what is right in front of you?" He returned the question.

"I do not understand what you are implying," Viserys narrowed his brows at him, his fists clenching.

"Of course you don't! When was the last time you looked at your family, at your eldest daughter? Truly looked at her?" Daemon snorted. "Visenya is nothing but skin and bones, brother! What is she — a slave or a princess of royal blood?"

"I know very well how my daughter is, Daemon. Visenya is simply a little tired — no wonder because she studies hard and refuses to rest," his brother tried to argue back.

"Visenya is far from fine!" Daemon shouted now, panting. "And I wonder why she refuses to rest! All you have ever talked about is your precious son — a boy you do not even have — while your daughters are right here, in front of you, two girls whom I love and respect greatly!"

"Hells, Viserys — your daughter is a genius! You finally have a reason to pay attention to her! She is obviously afraid if she stops to rest for a moment, she will lose your love and respect!" He couldn't care less about his harsh words. They hurt her. They hurt his niece.

Besides, he would now better than anyone. Daemon was a second son, good for nothing at all. Visenya was a daughter, good for nothing at all too — at least to the men of the realm.

"That is far from truth, Daemon! And I will not have you speak to me this way! I am your King!" Viserys slammed his palms against the table.

"I am also your brother who is more concerned about your family than you are!" Daemon slammed his hands on the desk too. "Can't you see what your pursuit for a son is doing to her? You will break her! You will lose her!"

Both of them panted now, their screaming match over. Still, Daemon continued, "If we were truly following the tradition of our house — from the times of Old Valyria — Visenya would be your heir and the future Queen — you would finally stop breaking your family apart for an imaginary son!"

"But we do not follow those traditions anymore! And this is not Valyria we are living in! A woman cannot rule! A woman cannot sit on the Iron Throne!" His brother shouted.

"And who says that? These piss-poor lordings that live in these lands? Or is it your slithering Hand whispering those things in your ear?" Daemon mocked. "Who cares what they all say?! We are the blood of the dragon, we can do as we see fit! And you are the King — your word might as well be the word of Gods themselves!"

Viserys's nostrils flared. "I will hear no more of this—"

They were interrupted by the knock on the door. One of the Kingsguard entered, panting as if he was running until now. "Your Grace, princess Visenya is missing from her chambers!"

"She is what?! How could you—" Viserys stood up, his face utterly pale. He stopped himself from speaking further and looked at Daemon. "Where is my daughter, Daemon? Where did you take Visenya? I command you to tell me at once!"

"I took her nowhere. Visenya is safe and resting — as she should be," Daemon grabbed Dark Sister in warning. "She is in my chambers and if any of you come to wake her or take her away, I will personally cut you in half."

His brother looked as if he might murder him. Daemon didn't care. They hurt her. They hurt her. The mark on his neck burned.

"Is that a threat, brother?" Viserys dared. Daemon smiled cruelly, shaking his head. "No, brother — that's a promise. If you refuse to look out for your daughter, brother, I will do it for you."

Notes:

Daemon being protective over Vissie is just superior to me. I kid you not, he was going to kill Viserys for letting his daughter go into such a state and not even trying to help her 😤

I finally added a new plot to the fic: Maesters + Hightowers + the Citadel have teamed up to get rid of Targaryens! This plot is going to last half a fic so bear with me 😩

My Wattpad: seven-moons

Chapter 13: First Flight

Summary:

In which:

— Visenya becomes the youngest dragonrider in her family
— Daemon helps with Vissie's recovery
— I introduce you to two of my OCs

king's landing, 104 AC
visenya targaryen

Fire. Embers. Ash. Dragon. Leather. Freedom. Blood. Steel. Ale. Air. Safety.

It was all she could sense. The familiar scent hugged her, as if in comfort — as if protecting her from her nightmares. Visenya's brow furrowed when she realized she had no urge to empty her stomach.

She gripped the mattress in her hand, slowly opening her eyes. She blinked, trying to adjust to the light. Visenya slowly looked around only to realize she wasn't in her chambers. Oddly, she felt safe even without knowing her current location.

"Look who decided to finally open her eyes. Welcome to the land of the living, niece," her uncle Daemon made his presence known. He was sitting on the chair, legs crossed and resting on the table.

Visenya blinked at him, her heart swelled in her chest and it had been the first real thing she felt in moons. He was here. He was here. She could hardly believe her eyes. "How long have I slept?"

"For two whole days," Daemon shrugged. Visenya leaped from the bed, her eyes wide. She almost fell flat on her face. "What? No! What about my lessons? I can't miss my lessons! Do not jest with me about this, uncle."

Daemon removed his feet from the table. "There is no jest, little flame. You shouldn't worry about your lessons either. Your favorite uncle arranged you a free week."

Visenya scowled at him. "I don't need rest, uncle. Besides, I do not want father to make Masters return to the Citadel." Her father had threatened to do it before, it was no doubt that cunt's — Otto Hightower's idea.

Her uncle walked towards her and crouched down to face her. He stroked her hair gently. "He will do no such thing, sweetling — and you do need rest. When was the last time you looked at yourself in the mirror?"

The look in Daemon's eyes was soft — he looked at her with pity and it made her blood boil. Visenya slapped his hand away. "I do not want to rest!" she snarled.

"But you need rest all the same — until you get back on your feet, at least," her uncle said, utterly unbothered by her attitude. "And then, I will help you make a schedule that allows you to rest and learn as much as you like."

Visenya sighed — it would be nice, she supposed, if she could take time to get back on her feet. She lost enough time just lying around and feeling sorry for herself. "Alright," she accepted.

Daemon stood up and ruffled her hair. "Now, would you like to join me for supper? I ordered all your favorite meals to be prepared," he offered, walking back to the table.

Visenya followed right after him, standing on the tips of her toes to see the table full of various dishes that she used to enjoy — once upon a time. Now the sheer smell of them was enough to make her stomach twist.

From apple to meat pie, lemon cakes and eggs — full table of them. She couldn't remember the last time she had eaten something that was not fruit. Visenya wrinkled her nose in disgust. "I can't eat any of this if you don't want me to throw up all over you, uncle."

If the situation hadn't been as serious as it was, Daemon would have laughed at her statement. "Then what do you eat?" he asked her.

Visenya shrugged. "Anything light — some bread and cheese. I eat fruit too. I cannot stomach anything else." Daemon pursed his lips. He lifted her up and onto his lap. "Well, we are going to have to change that. Why don't you try meat pie?"

"I just told you — I can't," she repeated. Daemon took a slice of the meat pie and cut it. "Then don't eat the whole thing, try only a quarter for the start and give me the rest of it."

Visenya debated it. She didn't feel like eating it, but then again, her stomach grumbled in hunger — Gods, when was the last time she put something in her mouth? She looked back up at Daemon who encouraged her to try it.

She sighed and put a piece in her mouth while he had the rest. Daemon smiled down at her. "That wasn't so bad, was it?" He looked around the table, bringing the bowl to her. "Try porridge next."

Visenya pursed her lips this time. Having too much food after not eating nearly enough would have no effect — she would throw up anyway. "Uncle, that's too much," she said, her eyes fixed on the bowl.

Her uncle squeezed her shoulder lightly. "You are going to need your strength for today." Visenya looked at him suspiciously. "For what?"

"I'm going to teach you how to fly your Arrax," Daemon revealed. Visenya all but jumped in his lap, eyes wide with excitement. "You are going to let me take Arrax to the skies? But, father and mama agreed that I shouldn't do it until I am at least ten."

Daemon scowled at that. "Who said they have to know?" Visenya looked hesitant. She did not want to push her father further or risk him punishing her for her rebellious actions. Daemon tilted his head, as if he was taunting her. "Or are you trying to tell me that you are scared?"

"Hardly," Visenya decided, eyes filled with determination. Her uncle smirked, clearly satisfied. "But I cannot let you go to the Dragonpit if I am not completely certain you won't faint as soon as you take flight."

Visenya crossed her arms over her chest, "I am not that thin and frail, uncle." Daemon looked at her pointedly so she sighed — he was right. Also, Arrax would refuse to let her climb on his back if he thought her too weak.

Visenya dragged the bowl of porridge to herself and started eating. Her uncle petted her head. "Good girl. Wait for me here and finish that bowl before I return." He placed her on the chair as he stood up. "And do not think about throwing it away for a second because I will know if you do."

She smirked as he left. Visenya had the urge to dump the thing from the balcony, but she would not do it. She would eat — for Arrax and the opportunity to take him flying in hopes he would forgive her for not visiting him for a year.

When Daemon returned, he had a gift for her — black riding leathers with a scale-like pattern. Visenya could only stare, mouth agape. "They are perfect," she whispered, running her hand along the fabric.

She spun around and threw her arms around him as he chuckled. "It gladdens me you like them. I had them made for you as soon as I landed. Go on, change."

It shouldn't have surprised her that they fit her perfectly. Daemon no doubt hunted down her seamstress to ask for her measures. Visenya beamed up at him in her clean black outfit and her uncle smiled down at her.

"Beautiful," he complimented her in High Valyrian and then took it upon himself to brush her hair as well as braid it out of her face. She was surprised that he knew how to do it — even more that he did a fine job.

"I thought we are going out?" Visenya asked, seeing as Daemon started walking towards the wall. He sent her a mischievous wink. "We are, just not through the doors."

She raised a brow, wondering why all the secrecy — and how could they possibly get to their dragons if not through the Keep. "I am afraid to ask why," Visenya mused.

"Outside my chambers are the entirety of Kingsguard and then some soldiers. Your father is convinced I kidnapped you," Daemon confessed. Visenya's eyes widened for a second. "How are we going to get to the Dragonpit then?"

Her uncle did not bother to respond — he just pressed his hands against the wall only for it to move and reveal a hidden door. Visenya could barely believe her eyes — she gaped at the sight before running toward Daemon.

Hells, she had read about them — the secret passages. They were rumored to exist, but no one knew where the entrance was. "Are these Maegor's secret passages? And they connect to your chambers? Do they lead to mine too?" She asked excitedly, looking around.

The passage was dark and dusty, but echoes of voices could be heard from every side. This could change everything. Instead of worrying how she might sneak out of the Keep, she could explore all the passages and make a map.

Her uncle chuckled at her enthusiasm. "They do, little flame. They lead to Rhaenyra's too. They are everywhere, you just have to know where to look." Daemon looked down at her, all serious now. "Do not tell anyone that I was the one to show you."

He tried to intimidate her, but she just smirked. She would show this to no one and instead use it to her advantage. "My lips are sealed shut," she promised.

Daemon carried Visenya on his back so they could get to the Dragonpit faster. She kept bouncing in excitement, almost falling off his back once or twice. And when they finally reached their destination, Visenya jumped from his back and ran into the pit and towards her mount.

She spotted him almost instantly. Gods, he has grown so much! "Arrax, my big boy! You have grown large!" she complimented him in High Valyrian. Arrax was lying on the ground, motionless. He opened one bronze eye and then closed it, seemingly uninterested in her.

Visenya dropped to her knees before him, wrapping her arms around his head. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry — I shouldn't have abandoned you. I shouldn't have even thought for a second that I was all alone. I have you and you have me."

How could she have even thought that she was all alone when she had Arrax — her dragon who had followed her to this unknown world — he who shared a cradle with her — he who owned half of her heart!

"I was selfish and I'm sorry. But, I'm going to make it up to you. We are going to fly today and every day after that! And you will get as many sheep as you wish!" Visenya pulled away, kissing his snout.

She hated herself for leaving him alone for so long. They shared a bond, he felt her pain and desperation — he felt her suffering. Arrax opened his eyes now, nuzzling his snout in her neck as if hugging her. Visenya laughed in joy.

Daemon shared a word with the Dragonkeepers, telling them to saddle Arrax. He lifted his head enough to see his niece running towards Caraxes, arms opened. For a moment the world stopped. His beast did not like people — he burned them and trashed when they tried to lock him up.

"Careful, niece—" he began, the urge to run towards her was strong. To his surprise, Caraxes shifted and let Visenya hug his jaw. "Caraxes, you beautiful beast!" he heard her call out.

Arrax joined them, stopping under Caraxes's watchful eye. Daemon's beast let the younger dragon nuzzle into Visenya from behind. The Blood Wyrm wrapped his long neck around the green dragon and huffed a breath of smoke.

What an odd sight that was — as if the three of them were embracing.

Visenya had to wait until Arrax was prepared. She was there to calm him down when they put a saddle on his back — he was agitated no doubt, never having to wear a saddle before, not even in his first life.

Visenya sat on the ground, Blood Wyrm resting his head beside her so she could pet him. She had never flown a dragon with a saddle on and she truly wished she could just jump on Arrax's back and take flight.

Uncle Daemon told her to wait for him, but he was chatting with the Dragonkeepers — and he was being awfully slow. Visenya sneaked up on Arrax and slowly got into a saddle. With one last look at her uncle, she tugged on that bond with Arrax, who roared and spread its wonderful wings.

Daemon leaped towards Arrax, but her beast was already preparing to take flight. With one strong wave of his wings, Visenya was airborne.

She gazed down to the Dragonpit, eyes bright — she could see the whole King's Landing from up here. Arrax roared in delight and Visenya found herself laughing at the wind in her hair as it blew the stray stands of her braid.

Daemon and Caraxes soon joined them up in the sky. Arrax and Caraxes circled around each other, as if dancing in the air. "You are awfully slow, uncle," Visenya shouted in High Valyrian.

Her uncle smirked. "Am I? Shall we race to Dragonstone and back then to test your statement?" He shouted back to her.

"Have fun losing, uncle!" Visenya accepted his challenge. Arrax was already spinning around with a flap of his wings. "Go Arrax! Let us best these two old dragons! Fly, my green God!"

 

 

_____

 

 

After her parents found out about her claiming Arrax, they almost fainted. First, there was shouting, then hugging and crying — they were worried for her, after all. They made her promise that she wouldn't ride Arrax alone — that Daemon would accompany her.

She agreed only because they would have forbidden her to ride at all if she hadn't. Visenya didn't need watching over. She was ready to claim Arrax since the moment she was born — and he was ready to take her anywhere she wanted as soon as he was large enough to carry her.

From that day on, Visenya fell into a new routine. She and her uncle would break their fast together — which he insisted on because he wanted to make sure she made progress with her weight gain. Then, they would fly their dragons.

Her uncle also helped her make a schedule that allowed her to attend her lessons, rest and spend time with her family. Visenya was truly grateful that he was there for her — since no one in both her lives ever bothered to be.

And she was finally doing better. Visenya slowly started to gain a healthy weight back. Her mind was in a — perhaps not a good place, since it never had been — but it was better.

So many good things happened to her in the last few moons, and yet, there was always something bad awaiting. Her mother had to terminate the pregnancy since the babe in her belly was not alive. Her father also became gloomy again — wonderful.

"It looks beautiful. You truly have a gift, little flame," Aemma commented, looking at her with a soft gaze. Visenya returned it. "I learned from the best, mama."

Visenya was currently working on making more riding leathers. It took time to learn how to make scale patterns, but her mother was there to teach her. Aemma cleared her throat. "I do have something I wish to discuss with you. I invited Rhaenyra and Lady Alicent here to join us."

Visenya's concentration broke and a soft look on her face changed into a scowl. "Did you really have to?"

"I know you do not like Rhaenyra's friend, but—" her mother began only to get cut off, "But, what? She and Otto are both dangerous people. They are nobody lord and lady who have nothing to lose yet so much to gain in this court and by my father's and sister's side."

"Both of them are a danger because they only wish to rise higher in position. I cannot allow that girl anywhere near my sister!" Visenya explained. Aemma smiled sadly at her, stroking her cheek gently.

"I know. I know, my clever girl — you always see people as they really are," she said. "But your sister does not see it that way. She thinks you are trying to take her only friend away from her."

Visenya sighed — it could be true. She was pretty harsh with her actions and words, but how could she explain to Rhaenyra why she should stay away from Alicent?

"I am not asking of you to love Alicent, or even pay attention to her — I am asking you to be indifferent, at least pretend to be — for the sake of your sister," her mother pleaded.

"Alright. I will try," Visenya decided. Aemma placed a kiss on her forehead. "Thank you."

They were interrupted by the knock on the doors and Visenya mentally prepared herself for seeing her sister and that Hightower bitch.

Rhaenyra looked as lovely as ever, shining in her lavender dress. Alicent bobbed a curtsy. "My Queen. My Princess." Visenya did not bother to acknowledge the girl's existence and instead continued her work.

Aemma greeted Nyra with a kiss on her brow to which her sister smiled. "My sweet, I see you have brought your friend. Welcome, lady Alicent — it is lovely to see you again."

Visenya almost rolled her eyes — Gods only know how much her mother disliked Hightowers and yet, she was smiling at Alicent.

"Thank you for the invitation, my Queen," Alicent beamed, a soft blush on her cheeks. Rhaenyra peeked behind Aemma and walked over to Visenya. "What is that, Vissie?"

She almost choked, looking up at her little sister with wide eyes — those were the first words Rhaenyra had said to her in moons. Visenya's heart clenched painfully.

She swallowed. "My riding leathers. I designed them myself — to match the color of Arrax's eyes. Do you like them?" Black riding leathers with bronze scaled pattern.

"Yes, I do! Perhaps we could go to the Dragonpit together. I would love to see you fly," Rhaenyra confessed, nodding her head eagerly.

Yes. Yes — Visenya would like that. She missed her sister more than anything.

After a long moment, Rhaenyra gazed at Alicent. "Maybe Alicent could join us too! We have visited Syrax together, but she was always too afraid to come closer and pet her!" She suggested and Visenya felt her heart drop.

First, the two of them had taken Godswood away from her — they were always there, doing things that Visenya and Rhaenyra used to do. And now this too? It used to be their sisterly tradition — to visit the Dragonpit together every morning.

"You have taken her to the Dragonpit?" Visenya couldn't stop herself from asking — and it was harsher than she meant it to be. Rhaenyra gazed at her wearily. "Yes, what is wrong with that?"

"Dragonpit is far from safe, especially to those who have no dragon blood in their veins. Many wild dragons reside in the pit, you know this," she explained. "You could have gotten hurt."

Not just that. Caraxes was in King's Landing — and everyone knew that he was a moody beast, capable of hurting anyone who caught him on a bad day — the only exception being Daemon, Visenya and Arrax.

Rhaenyra sneered at her. "Well, we didn't get hurt — so stop telling me what to do or not!" Visenya stood up quickly, sneering right back. "I am just worried for you! Can't you see that?!"

They stared at each other angrily and Visenya forced herself to take a deep breath. She looked at her mother, staring at her with apologetic eyes as she spoke, "I'm afraid I have forgotten that uncle Daemon asked me to join him today, if I may be excused, mama?"

Aemma just nodded in understanding and with that, Visenya left the room — not looking back. She needed the excuse to get out of there. Her uncle would be in the training yard no doubt so she could pay him a visit.

Visenya watched from the balcony as her uncle fought another knight. Hells, what a physique — she may be in the body of a child, but her mind was that of an adult. She had seen men naked before and still, she found Daemon much more delicious than them.

She was suddenly very glad that she was not in her teen years — all horny and fighting her impulses to climb on someone's lap, preferably Robb's, and ride him senseless. Gods, those were good times.

Instead of openly eyeing her uncle, she decided to try and focus on his moves and the way he fought. He was good — very much so. Visenya shouldn't be surprised, after all — Daemon was known as one of the greatest warriors ever.

"You won, uncle!" Visenya cheered, sprinting towards him with a grin on her face. Daemon cracked a smile when he saw her, lifting her — holding her to him. "How could you ever doubt me, little flame?"

Her uncle moved to place a kiss on her brow just for Visenya to push him away with a scrunched up nose. "Get away from me — you are all sweaty!" Daemon only laughed and held her tighter to him.

"Not that I do not enjoy your company, sweetling — but aren't you supposed to be with your mother now?" her uncle questioned.

Visenya shrugged. "I am, but Rhaenyra brought along that Hightower girl. I had to leave before I did something I would regret," she said honestly.

Daemon looked rather interested in her confession. "You do not like Hightowers, do you?" He pinched her cheek lightly and Visenya looked at him pointedly. "Who likes Hightowers?"

Her uncle threw his head back and barked out a laugh — a sound raspy and harsh — still, she wasn't sure she ever heard a sound so beautiful. "Absolutely no one, my sweet."

It was only then that Visenya noticed two boys standing near them. They were three or four years her seniors — if she could guess. One with fiery red hair and green eyes while the other had very light brown hair with watery blue eyes.

The redhead one was staring at her, lovestruck and his mouth agape. The other one was the opposite — he looked far too interested in Dark Sister that was resting in his friend's hands. Visenya almost chuckled at the obvious difference between them.

"I did not know you had any squires — I thought you found no one worthy of carrying around Dark Sister," Visenya mused, tilting her head at her uncle. "They must truly be special to be recognized by you."

"They have potential, I must admit," Daemon hummed, looking down at the boys. "Eddin Tully and Leo Tyrell," he introduced them. The redhead boy, Eddin — bowed. "Princess."

"Give me the sword or else you will drop it, Eddin," the other one — Leo, warned. He took the sword from Eddin's hands and muttered, "What an idiot."

Visenya chuckled and Daemon openly glared at Eddin for staring at her. He all but growled at the redhead boy, "Careful with the sword, you two. It is worth much more than both of you put together."

Eddin shook himself back to reality, bowing with a stutter, "Yes, my prince." Her uncle waved his hand, dismissing them. "Off you go."

Before Visenya could even open her mouth to tell him that he shouldn't have scared them away, Daemon spoke again, "Now, tell me — did you eat today?"

This morn was one of a few where they did not spend time together — and still, he was checking on her. Visenya's heart fluttered in her chest. "Half of the apple pie and porridge, as we agreed. I even added honey today," she said proudly.

Her uncle grinned at her. "Good girl. How about you eat a quarter more of the pie now?" Visenya grimaced, but Daemon continued, "I will award you with another race on dragonback."

That got Visenya's full attention and she jumped to the ground, grabbing his hand in hers. She started dragging him away to the kitchens, beaming. "Let's find an apple pie, then!"

Notes:

The bond between Visenya and Caraxes is the way it is because the dragon can sense his rider's mate. That's also why Caraxes accepted Arrax around him so soon 👀

Two of my OCs officially entered the chat: Eddin Tully and Leo Tyrell. Leo is going to have a major role in this fic while Eddin is only here for the plot so don't get too attached to him 🤫

My Wattpad: seven-moons

Chapter 14: Play With Fire

Summary:

In which:

— Viserys names Visenya his cupbearer
— We see more of Eddin & Leo
— Visenya plays with poisons

king's landing, 104 AC
viserys targaryen

Viserys was standing in the garden, hidden by the shadows. He was watching his eldest daughter as she was having a lesson with one of her tutors. Recently, he had been rethinking his decisions — especially the one to invite Maesters to King's Landing for his daughter's sake.

Otto has been telling him that people all around the Realm would not accept this — that they too could now ask for a better education for their sons and daughters.

Viserys sighed. He looked at Visenya who was happily following the instructions of the Maester, her legs swinging from the bench in excitement and a grin on her face. Viserys could not remember the last time he had seen his daughter smile as much — or look at peace.

From the moment she was born, there was this aura around his daughter — melancholy. And now, she looked more at peace than he had ever seen her — now that she was learning and happy.

How could this be a mistake if his daughter was so joyful now?

"How is she faring, uncle?" Viserys asked as his uncle Vaegon approached him. Even his uncle was somewhat at peace while watching Visenya. There was a certain spark of satisfaction in his tired and pale eyes.

"Excellent," Vaegon answered. "Currently, Visenya is working on various substances. She is rather interested in the art of healing. I would not be surprised if one day she ends up inventing a new medicine or poison."

Viserys felt surprised — no matter how many times he heard about the brilliance of his daughter, he could still not believe it, he could not stop the pride he felt. "You speak true, uncle? You truly think that my daughter can do such great things?"

"She has a bright future ahead of her, nephew," Vaegon revealed, turning his head to look at him. "Maesters praise her amongst themselves. The word of your daughter's intelligence reached the Citadel already."

There had to be more that his uncle wished to say. Viserys sensed it, so he asked, "And, what of if it?"

His uncle shrugged, unbothered and in peace, "You know how it is with most men, nephew. Some cannot handle or understand why you would go to such lengths to give your daughter the education she deserves."

Viserys almost flinched. He despised quarrels. He despised when someone would question his decisions because then he himself would repeatedly question if he had done it right.

"Others are supportive and they desperately wish to meet the first woman of Westeros who was named genius," his uncle continued, seeing his distress."You should not let what some say get to you, nephew — nor should you change your mind to please them, at least not about this."

Vaegon turned to look at Visenya again — to Viserys's dear daughter who bounced in her seat because she answered a question right. And for the first time in years, Viserys had seen his uncle smile.

"I remember how they spoke of my mother — of her intelligence and quick wit. Many men praised her — and yet none dared to teach her more than what a woman should know," he said.

Viserys allowed himself to smile and remember his family, his parents and grandparents, all of them gone to the Gods. "Indeed. Grandmother Alysanne was quite a woman."

Vaegon's lips quirked up. "You did not hear it from me, nephew — but I truly believe that my father would not have been half as successful without my mother at his side."

Viserys openly laughed. "I believe so too, uncle. They were quite a pair, the two of them. This realm shall miss them and their peaceful rule."

He missed them too. He missed the time when his grandparents ruled and he had more time to spend with his mate and daughters. He missed not having the burden of the crown or the prophecy on his shoulders. He missed the simple times so very much.

Vaegon cleared his throat. "Visenya has already finished half of the education that we can provide her with — at least from here. She knows her theory but she cannot get her practice, not from here. We cannon bring her to the Citadel either."

Viserys straightened. "What do you suggest I do?" Forest fire — he often had to remind himself that his daughter's mind always burned for more.

"Bring her to the Small Council meetings with you — make her your cupbearer, you lack one, do you not?" Vaegon advised, looking back at him.

He frowned. He would not hear the end of it — Otto will talk his ear off if he allows it. "Uncle, I fear Vissie is still far too young to listen to some discussions that we, as a Council, have to discuss."

"You underestimate your daughter, nephew. She may be young, but her mind is grown," his uncle snorted. "Besides, she is a future Queen — is she not? She should learn from the start what it means to actually rule."

Viserys felt like his uncle's words had a double meaning, however, he did not press. Yes, Visse will be queen once his mate gives him a son. That much was certain.

Again, Viserys found himself rethinking his decisions — he played his conversation with uncle Vaegon over and over in his head, but there was no going back. His mate expressed her excitement because their daughter would serve at the Small Council — even Vissie brightened when he had announced his decision to her.

Viserys stopped before the doors to the Small Council chamber, kneeling to be the same height as his eldest daughter. "Now, remember, Vissie — as my cupbearer, your job is to refill the cups of lords with wine and ale. But, you should also stay quiet and listen."

Visenya nodded, chin raised high and shoulders pushed back. Her eyes danced with excitement. "I will, father. Do not worry," she promised.

"I namely named you my cupbearer so you could steal more knowledge — so you could learn to lead and solve many problems that come your way," Viserys explained, more so reminding himself that he was doing this for Vissie and her brilliant mind — he did not wish to cage his daughter and deny her something she deserved to have.

"I know. I will not disappoint you," Vissie nodded again. Viserys smiled and ruffled her braided hair. "You could never disappoint me, Vissie. Come now."

He placed a firm hand on her shoulder and held onto her for support — he would need to inform the council of this and explain himself. His daughter simply looked ahead as the doors opened and Viserys could not help but admire the way she held his weight, the way she allowed him to lean onto her — the way she felt the pressure of the situation and still did not dare crumble under it.

His brave girl, be thought and some of that bravery went into him as they approached the lords. "My lords, thank you for assembling so quickly. I have some news to share — my eldest, Princess Visenya, will be joining our meetings — as a cupbearer, of course."

It was Lord Corlys who nodded his head while the rest exchanged looks of disbelief. "Welcome, Princess," he wished her.

Vissie straightened and looked at him directly in the hard lavender eyes, not backing down. "Thank you, Lord Corlys," she replied formally and Viserys beamed with pride.

The moment was interrupted by his beloved Hand. "If I may, Your Grace — Small Council is no place for a child, much less a girl," he started, looking around for support. Viserys could see his daughter's grimace forming and so he straightened, feeling the need to defend her.

"It is my final decision, Otto — so leave it be," Viserys decided, finally letting go of his daughter. Visenya moved behind him to the wine and took the bottle, ready to serve them.

"She will not interrupt us. We shan't even know she is here," Viserys mused, looking at Vissie who simply nodded her head once, already approaching to fill the lord's cups. "Now, let us begin."

 

 

_____

 

 

king's landing, 105 AC
visenya targaryen

That Hightower cunt was having her followed — the audacity of that ugly fool. A servant boy has been shadowing her footsteps from the moment she was named her father's cupbearer, as if Otto was just waiting for her to slip and report to her father.

Visenya could not stop the growl that escaped her.

As much as she wanted to play this game with him, Visenya knew that she should stay out of his way as much as possible. She needed to be seen as a friend and not his greatest threat. It was still far too early to show herself as his enemy. Visenya still needed time to grow so she could truly begin her work around the King's Landing.

She needed to stay out of Otto's radar so once she truly strikes, he would not suspect her — so that once she bests him, he would not see it coming.

"Are you trying to steal a bow again, princess? I thought you learned your lesson the last time you tried to commit such an act," a male voice from behind made her pause.

"You mean when the Master at Arms threw me out because you snitched on me?" Visenya asked, turning her head to see one of her Uncle's squires, Eddin Tully.

Eddin raised his hands in defense, his smile sheepish. "It was not me, I swear. It was all Leo." Visenya snorted, as if it mattered.

Visenya could usually be found in the training yard, cheering for her uncle as he sparred. A few weeks back, Eddin and Leo had been practicing archery and she was struck stupid by how much she missed holding a bow in her hands.

Later on, she tried to sneak in and steal some arrows so she could begin to practice on her own — knowing that neither her parents would ever allow her anywhere near weapons. She had, unfortunately, been caught — and thrown out of the yard because she was a girl and her place was not there.

"What have I done now?" Leo questioned, approaching them nonchalantly, his hands in his pockets and a look of boredom on his face. Eddin turned to face him. "You snitched on the princess when she tried to steal a bow."

Leo just shrugged and Visenya tilted her head at him, a movement lethal in its own way. "You better watch your back, Tyrell. You know what they say — snitches end up in ditches," she warned.

The look of usual boredom disappeared from his face as he blinked, forming a slight smirk. "Was that a threat, princess?" Visenya simply shrugged innocently. "A threat, a promise — a sentence? Why does it matter?"

"Tell me you are not trying to get yourself thrown out of here again, princess. That would be a foolish thing to do," Leo chided playfully.

Despite herself, Visenya really enjoyed their company — Leo's more, if she was being honest. She always had the best friendships with people who cared little for formalities — and she loved to annoy Leo to no end.

"Some would say it is foolish to tell a princess she is acting foolish, Tyrell," she said back, just as playful. "Besides, this time I come prepared. Master at Arms cannot throw me out of here if he cannot catch me."

Both boys barked out a laugh as she finally took a bow and a few arrows in her hands. "And where do you plan to hide, princess? Because I can protect you if you wish," Eddin offered, a charming smile on his lips.

Visenya almost rolled her eyes. While Leo seemed utterly uninterested in her, Eddin had his charm and way with words. He always tried to stay by her side. And he made his attraction to her painfully obvious when he fell face-first into the mud the first time he had seen her.

"No need, I have my Arrax. Half a thought from me, and that old fool would burn," she politely declined. She started packing her arrows to keep them out of sight until she made her way out of there.

"Why are you stealing a bow anyway, princess? I cannot think of a reason for you to need one," Leo spoke up again and Visenya paused. "Not that it is any of your business, Tyrell — but I would like to learn how to use this beautiful thing." Visenya ran her hands along the wood of the bow.

Eddin hummed. "A wonderful idea, princess. You could probably use someone to help you learn, and who better than the best young archer?" He puffed out his chest and it took all she had not to snort.

"Who are we talking about, Eddin?" Leo asked, turning towards the redhead. Eddin narrowed his eyes. "Me, of course," he replied as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Leo snorted instead of her and Visenya was grateful. "You are hardly the best, Eddin. It is me who can hit the bull's eye every time I practice." He was also right, Leo Tyrell was a focused young man who excelled in archery and swordplay alike.

"Lies. You cannot," Eddin decided and when Leo began to object again, the redhead spun towards her. "What do you say, princess? I am certain that you know your theory, but someone should show you the right way to do it."

She could do it on her own. This was not her first life where she needed to stay outside and practice until her eyes were sore and her hands shook. Visenya knew how and where to aim — she was an excellent archer thanks to Renly Baratheon — she simply needed practice.

Against her better judgment, Visenya shrugged. She finished packing the stolen bow and arrows and looked up at the redhead boy. "Fine, I guess. Thank you, Tully."

Eddin beamed at her, as if all his dreams came true. Leo crushed that fantasy, "Must I remind you that we are to attend to Prince Daemon, Eddin? He hates your tardiness. If you were not as talented as you are, I am certain he would have sent you home by now."

The redhead boy looked cross with himself, looking from Visenya to Leo before he decided, a bit uncertain, "The Prince won't mind if he learns that I am helping his niece, don't you agree?"

"I am not covering for you, Eddin," Leo stated. Eddin glared at him and walked over to her. "I did not ask you to, Leo." He picked up the packed bow so he would carry it. "Shall we, princess?"

 

 

_____

 

 

The word of her practicing archery would surely get out. Eddin accompanied her daily — he even painted a few trees so they could pretend they were bull's eyes. In return for his constant help, he asked to meet Arrax and Visenya was tempted enough to arrange that.

Visenya was currently seating in her chambers, a plate of carefully selected food in front of her. The moon was up and she was staring at the doors, playing with her meal.

For days now she was simply waiting for her father or mother to find out about her misbehavior and burst through her doors to scold her.

So, when the knock on the door finally happened, Visenya straightened, prepared for shouting. Then, she realized that it was her uncle who bids entrance. "Hello, uncle. I did not expect you here so late."

"I came to check on you, little flame — to make sure you stick to our deal and add a third meal of the day," he greeted back, leaning against the door frame as he looked around her chambers.

Visenya leaned back in her seat, gesturing towards her untouched plate. "I am sticking to our deal, uncle — as you can see. Do you wish to join me?"

Her uncle simply walked over to her, cracking a smile. "When you so kindly ask, how could I possibly refuse?" He took a seat beside her and Visenya carefully split her dinner so she would eat enough and he would have the rest.

Daemon narrowed his eyes slightly, pushing some of the food back towards her half of the plate — not satisfied with how much she had chosen for herself. Visenya pushed the food back to him stubbornly and they had a glaring contest.

In truth, Visenya and Daemon spent much time together nowadays — it was truly rare to see them apart. They were always up in the skies or the training yard. She was still sleeping in his chambers too because he was the only person who could chase away her night terrors.

When she could not sleep or when she woke up from her nightmares, Visenya would use the secret passages and sneak into his chambers. She would crawl into his bed — into his arms and he would let her. He would grunt at her that she was a little menace, but he would still drop a blanket over her and let her have his pillow.

And when he did not spend his nights in the Red Keep, Daemon would find her in his chambers anyway, sleeping peacefully, surrounded by his scent.

Daemon smirked. "You looked agitated, little flame." Visenya pursed her lips, her eyes locked on the doors. "I am waiting for father to walk into the chambers and shout at me."

Her uncle raised his brow in amusement. "Why? What have you done now?" He leaned back into his chair, but before Visenya could respond, both of them heard the angry footsteps approaching.

Here we go, Visenya thought as the doors burst open, revealing her red-faced father. Her mother followed closely behind. "Visenya! What kind of behavior is this?! To sneak into the training yard and steal weapons — to let some boy show you how to use a bow?! All of this without asking for permission!"

She looked up at her father, a slight scowl on her face. "Would you have granted me permission, father? I do not think so. I had to take matters into my own hands." Viserys ran a hand down his face.

Daemon smirked, raising a cup of wine to his lips. His eyes shone in amusement and Visenya fought the urge to kick him under the table. "Which one of my squires was brave enough to defy me, niece?"

"Eddin Tully — But do not send him home because of this, uncle. I basically bullied him into helping me," she confessed, lying swiftly. While Eddin sometimes annoyed her, she did not wish for him to be sent home. The boy could hardly be blamed for falling in love with her at first sight.

Her mother kneeled in front of her, placing her hands on Visenya's knees. "Vissie, weapons are dangerous. You could have hurt yourself. You should have asked your uncle or someone else to show you how to properly use it."

Viserys looked horrified. "Aemma! You supposed this rebellious behavior?" He shouted. Her mother opened her mouth to defend Visenya, but it was Daemon who spoke up next.

"Why shouldn't she, brother? Visenya, my niece's namesake — was a better warrior than the Conqueror himself. It seems to me that our Vissie is simply following in her footsteps," he smirked towards Visenya.

Viserys jabbed a finger in Daemon's chest, rage evident in his purple eyes. "No one asked for your opinion, Daemon! This is about my family!"

Visenya finally stood up, her voice raised in accusation, "Yes, father. This is about your family — about me and what you let men from your Small Council do! You let them spy on me!"

They all gaped at her. Her father gasped, "Visenya! That is a vile accusation!" Visenya narrowed her eyes angrily. "It is not! I bet that Otto was the one to tell you about this situation!"

Her father's face got even redder and she rolled her eyes. "Since you are not denying it, I will tell you that he sent a servant boy to spy on me! He has been following me around for weeks!"

If Visenya was not as half as experienced with noticing her surroundings, she would have missed it. She cursed herself for it because she had gotten too comfortable in this life.

"You let that cunt spy on your daughter? What the fuck is wrong with you!?" Daemon stood up, slamming his hands on the table angrily. Aemma followed, almost spitting fire at Viserys. "You let them spy on my daughter while I was bedridden and carrying your child?!"

Visenya's eyes widened at the sight of her angry mother — she had never heard Aemma raise her voice at someone. Aemma was half Targaryen and half Arryn and many doubted the dragon blood in her veins. Seeing her now, there was no denying it, the dragon in her mother had awoken.

Her father was in shock too, his eyes darting between his mate and the ground. "I—Well, I did not know. Vissie, you should have told me, I would have—"

Visenya cut him off, "And you would have believed me like you believe me right now? No. What I should have done is let that boy follow me to the Dragonpit so I could have Arrax burn him alive for daring to look in my direction, not to mention spy on me!"

"Visenya!" Viserys gasped in horror, but Aemma grabbed his face and moved it so he would meet her eyes. "How could you shout at my daughter, Viserys!? You should be shouting at that slithering Hand of yours!"

Aemma dropped her hands to her sides and hurried towards the doors. "I am going to kill him!" Viserys jumped on his feet, hurrying after her. "Aemma, no! Wait—"

Visenya only smirked. Now the only thing that she had to do was find that servant boy and test the poison she had been working on.

She was currently studying plants and dangerous substances in her lessons — and Maesters without knowing, helped her recreate one of Oberyn's poisons.

Gods bless the Red Viper and his brilliant brain. Oberyn used to sneak her out of her lessons and drag her around Sunspear instead. He taught her how to recognize poisons and even showed her his best investments.

Now, Visenya will put it to good use. She needed to perfect the poison for later on. If Otto wanted to play with the fire of a true dragon, he would have to learn that the flames would burn him.

Notes:

Can we all recognise how funny it is that Viserys leans onto his eight-year-old daughter for support? It shows us how much of a weakling King he is 🙄

Here is one daily reminder not to get too attached to Eddin because he will be leaving us soon!

My Wattpad: seven-moons

Chapter 15: Cover Up A Murder

Summary:

In which:

— We get to see how Rhaenyra really feels about her relationship with Vissie
— Visenya and Rhaenyra make up
— Daemon helps Visenya cover up a murder

godswood, 105 AC
rhaenyra targaryen

Rhaenyra stared at the sky. She exhaled, feeling the grass beneath her and watching as the wind rattled the red leaves of the heart tree.

Just this morning, she was woken by the happy screechings of two dragons. She had watched Arrax and Caraxes dance in the sky and Rhaenyra could have sworn she heard her sister's laughter — a sound long forgotten.

It hit her harder than most days — Rhaenyra missed her dearest older sister.

There were mornings when she would wake and run towards Vissie's chambers with a book in her hands, happily looking forward to spending time with her sister — only to realize that the two of them hadn't really seen or spoken to each other in moons.

The smile instantly died on her face when she remembered that she lost Vissie.

"What is on your mind, Nyra?" Alicent asked and Rhaenyra instantly looked at her, marveling at her beauty. Her long dark hair was spread out on the ground, making a halo and a look of concern graced her lovely face.

Rhaenyra looked up at the sky again, shrugging. "Nothing of importance. I just remembered that Septa Marlow requested of me to read another one of her books."

"I can help you with that, If you'd like. I know how much you despise those," her friend said, obviously unconvinced. Rhaenyra did not bother to assure her she was fine. "That would be great, thank you."

Gods, she hated Septa Marlow — she hated books even more. Once upon a time, Rhaenyra looked forward to reading — she used to look forward to just lying around and spending time with Vissie and her books.

Now, she hated books because they were reminders of old and happy times when Vissie was with her. Books opened old wounds that Rhaenyra desperately tried to cover up.

Alicent exhaled and popped herself up on her elbows to look down at her. "Will you tell me what bothers you now? You are not usually this quiet."

Rhaenyra did not bother to respond. It's not like Alicent would understand — her friend never had a sister, only brothers who were far more interested in swords than in her. She could not possibly understand the bond that Vissie and her used to have.

"Do you miss your sister?" Her friend asked. "Because I know I miss my brothers very much. In fact, my youngest brother — Gwayne, was supposed to come to King's Landing and be Prince Daemon's squire. It was his dream since he admired the prince very much."

Ah. Rhaenyra remembered that. Her uncle was who Gwayne aspired to be — an excellent warrior. Unfortunately for him, her uncle hadn't chosen him as his squire, but rather two other boys — Eddin Tully and Leo Tyrell. Vissie talked about them every now and then when their mama would pester her about them.

"Tell your brother to not take it to heart. My uncle is a very picky person. He chose only two squires even if my papa told him he should have more," Rhaenyra finally said.

If she was being honest, Gwayne was not even that good — which was probably the reason her uncle had rejected him. Both Leo and Eddin were by far the two most talented young men out of the bunch who came to King's Landing in hopes of becoming Uncle Daemon's squires.

Alicent grimaced a bit before she spoke again, "My point is that your sister is right here. You should go talk to her if you miss her." She ran her fingers along Rhaenyra's silver-gold hair and she could have purred at the sensation.

"I do not know. Vissie is always busy. Especially now that our parents permitted her to start her archery lessons. I barely see her as it is," Rhaenyra revealed.

True enough, Vissie was always running around, hurrying towards the next destination. She would ride Arrax and then go to lessons and then she would spend time in the training yard with their uncle. When she had time and energy, Vissie would take Arrax to the skies twice in one day.

Rhaenyra's heart clenched painfully. Besides, she had seen what happened to her sister when she was pushed too far and when she did not have enough time for anything — not even sleeping.

Vissie's skinny form with dark circles under her eyes would haunt Rhaenyra forever.

Visenya had enough on her plate as it is. Rhaenyra would not dare to ask Vissie to make time for her because it would mean pushing her sister to that state again. And Rhaenyra would not do that — even if it meant her unhappiness.

"I am certain princess Visenya would make time for you if you asked. She loves you very much," Alicent pushed, but all Nyra did was shrug again. "I guess."

Her friend sighed, finally giving up. "I cannot help but feel as if my presence here, by your side — is the reason for your estranged bond. You used to be so very close," she confessed. "And, well — I have a feeling your sister does not like me very much."

Rhaenyra finally sat up, taking Alicent's cold hand in her own. "It is not your fault, Alicent. Vissie is...complicated. She does not like people outside our family. It takes a lot of work and patience to warm up to her."

Nyra then tilted her head to the side, seeing that Alicent was not convinced. "Besides, it was her choice not to try getting to know you. She does not know what she is missing out on. You are beautiful, charming and funny. It's her loss, right?"

Alicent finally smiled and squeezed Rhaenyra's hand. "Thank you, Nyra." Rhaenyra could have sworn that her friend's smile brightened up her gloomy day.

The two of them decided to take a walk around the Keep, hand in hand. They had no destination, but soon, they found themselves in the training yard where two young squires had archery lessons.

Uncle Daemon was watching from the side, face void of any emotion as he stared at the two boys. He was leaning against the stone wall, arms crossed over his chest. If Rhaenyra did not know him as well as she did, she would have been intimidated by the sight of him.

Alicent and Nyra watched as Leo Tyrell released an arrow that struck their targets true — right in the center. They both applauded with grins on their face.

Eddin Tully was the next to fire his arrows. He prepared himself, got into his position and aimed at the target. Just when he was about to release his arrow, another arrow hit the target. His eyes widened and all of them turned to face the person who fired the arrow.

Vissie was grinning from ear to ear, her eyes alight with mischief and joy. Once she saw their eyes were on her, she bowed mockingly as she stared at Eddin. The redhead's face burned and he began chasing her all around the training yard.

Rhaenyra was smiling long before she realized. Her sister was happy, laughing as she tried to run away from Eddin. Even her uncle dared to crack a smile as he watched the scene before him.

Gods, Visenya was happy. Rhaenyra could not remember the last time she had seen Vissie so carefree and happy. It made something crack in her chest — the knowledge that she could not share that happiness with her sister.

"That was not very lady-like," Alicent said, bringing Rhaenyra back to reality. Nyra looked at her friend, who was the only one without a smile on her pretty face — even Leo Tyrell was grinning, him who was usually either smirking or brooding.

Rhaenyra did not bother to tell Alicent that Visenya was a Targaryen and that she could do as she pleased. She did not bother to tell that Vissie admired Queen Visenya, who was a warrior — and that it was probably the reason why her sister even started with archery.

The smile on her face disappeared. Rhaenyra did not bother to say anything at all. Her sister was happy and content. It hurt to know that Vissie did not miss her as much as Nyra missed her sister.

So Rhaenyra grabbed Alicent's hand and spun around. "Let's leave. I have to get ready for my lessons."

Once Nyra said her goodbyes to her friend, she entered her chambers, her eyes stinging with tears. She cracked a broken sob as soon as she closed the door behind her.

She was going to weep and let it all out, but once she saw what was lying on her bed, Rhaenyra's tears immediately stopped. She wiped her face clean and took the note from her bed.

Meet me at the Dragonpit.

-V

What lay hidden beneath the note were beautifully decorated riding leathers. They were a dark shade of blue, almost like the midnight sky. And they had bright blue decorations, all in a scale-like pattern.

Like Syrax's eyes — Rhaenyra realized. They looked otherworldly and as quickly as she could, Nyra changed herself. She arranged for a carriage to take her to the Dragonpit knowing that Vissie wanted to meet her there.

Once she reached her destination, she all but ran through the Dragonpit, not caring about the guards who were shouting her name, trying to get her to slow down.

Rhaenyra stopped running once she set her sights on her dear sister. Vissie was dressed in her own riding leathers. The thought struck her now — it was her sister that made Nyra's riding leathers. The warmth filled her heart as she watched her sister stroke Arrax's snout gently.

Vissie turned towards her, as if sensing her approach. For a moment, her elder sister admired the leathers Nyra wore before her eyes connected with Rhaenyra's. "For a moment, I thought you would not be joining me."

The silence was heavy around them. Both had many things to say and yet they did not know where to start. "I—" both of them began at the same time. They stopped again, simply looking at each other.

"You first," Rhaenyra broke the silence between them, fidgeting on her feet and playing with her fingers behind her back in anticipation.

"I am so sorry, Nyra. I should not have made you feel as if your happiness is unimportant to me — because that is far from the truth," Visenya finally said, her throat bobbing. "I will not lie to you and say that I like Alicent — because I do not. And I do not think that will change, but if her presence and company make you happy — then I am happy for you."

Arrax huffed a breath of smoke, as if agreeing with her sister's words. Vissie smiled gently at her. "Your happiness is more important to me than my own feelings towards her."

Rhaenyra could not stop herself so she sprinted toward Vissie and threw her arms around her. Her sister almost lost her balance, but she did not hesitate to hug her back "Thank you," Nyra whispered.

They stayed like that for a long moment before Rhaenyra pulled away slightly, still holding on to her sister. "I missed you," she confessed.

"And I you," Visenya said, stroking Nyra's cheek gently. "I am also very sorry that I was not around much. I had my own problems that are under control now."

Rhaenyra was about to ask about those problems, but Vissie already started speaking, a wild grin on her face. "Now, I want to make it up to you for our lost time. I am taking you on the ride on dragonback!"

Nyra gasped in surprise, looking up at Arrax in utter excitement. She then saw that the green dragon had only one saddle. Her brow furrowed. "Isn't your Arrax still a bit small to be saddled for two, Vissie?"

Vissie laughed. "We will not both be riding Arrax, sister. I will be on the back of my Green Fury and you will be riding Syrax!"

Rhaenyra felt her heart skip a beat. "Do mama and papa know of this? They would never approve of this — they say I am far too young to finally claim my lady Syrax as my own."

Was she even ready? She was not Vissie, who claimed Arrax at seven. She was not as brilliant or as brave. Would Syrax accept her?

Seeing the worry in her eyes, her sister took her hand in comfort. "You are eight, Nyra. You are not too young to do it. Our parents just worry too much. The question is — Do you want to take Syrax to the skies?"

"It is the best feeling in the world, Nyra. Don't you feel that pull towards the sky and wind? Don't you feel it calling for you? We are both of dragon blood, sister — our place is up there, between Gods and men," she pointed out. "Plus, your lady Syrax will never take you to the skies if you are not ready."

Vissie tilted her head to the side and squeezed her hand. "I will never let anything happen to you, Nyra. Neither will Syrax or Arrax." For some odd reason, this felt more like a vow with a double meaning.

Either way, Rhaenyra wanted this. She wanted to climb on Syrax's back and feel the wind on her face. She wanted to laugh the way her sister did when she rode Arrax.

Nyra smiled, nodding her head. If something went wrong, Vissie would be there to catch her — that much she could never doubt. "I know that. I trust you."

 

 

_____

 

 

king's landing, 105 AC
daemon targaryen

As soon as his little niece Rhaenyra took Syrax to the skies for the first time, both Viserys and Aemma celebrated their daughter's achievement. The large feast was held in her honor and his niece shun the entire evening.

Ever since then, Rhaenyra joined him and Visenya up in the skies every morn. Daemon was delighted to teach his two nieces new tricks. He could not be prouder that both of them became dragonriders.

It took his great beast some time to get used to having Syrax around, but once he had sensed Arrax's need to protect Syrax, he had taken the role of the protector too. The three dragons became inseparable since then.

Daemon walked through the hidden passages that he knew like the back of his pocket. He made his way through the Red Keep and stopped at the King and Queen's chambers — just to make sure his goodsister was alone and his brother was nowhere in sight.

Only then, he exited the passages and looked around the corridors to make sure no one would see him enter. No Kingsguard stood outside their chambers either — as Aemma promised they would not.

Daemon finally entered the chambers, immediately spotting his cousin looking out of the balcony, seemingly deep in thought. He cleared his throat to announce his presence. "You called?"

Aemma spun towards him and nodded in greeting. She walked to the table and gestured toward the cup. "You asked me for the sample of the tea I am forced to drink every time I am with child — Well, here is a whole cup."

He approached her, taking the drink in his hand and trying to put a finger on the odd scent. Daemon was no expert in poisons, but he knew the basics — the most used poisons and how to recognize some of them. His years across the Narrow Sea taught him a lot.

Apparently, there are still things Daemon needed to learn. Just a few moons ago, one servant boy dropped dead with seemingly no cause. Maesters suspected poison, but he had never seen or heard such effects. The death was proclaimed an accident.

"Take it, Gods know I do not plan on drinking it," Aemma grimaced and only then did Daemon finally understand her words. He looked down at her abdomen. "You are with child again?"

It angered him slightly. Daemon will always hope the child won't be a boy — that much he won't deny. But, the willingness of his brother to impregnate Aemma so soon after yet another loss is unimaginable to him.

Couldn't his brother see that Aemma grieved the loss of their every child? Couldn't he see that with every failed pregnancy, she got more skinny and weak? If Viserys did not stop, he would kill her.

His cousin nodded slowly. She sat down on the chair and crossed her legs. "If my theory about this poisoned tea rings true, I will not be with child for long."

There was a long silence between them. Despite everything, Daemon hoped Aemma was wrong. Because if she was not — they would have to prepare for war with Oldtown — for the war that might not even break until his brother gets his head out of his arse and sees the reality.

Aemma placed her hand on her flat belly. "I am sacrificing my unborn child's life for this, goodbrother. But it has to be worth it. If I can prove that the damned thing is poisoned, I can keep my daughters safe, and my mate — and you."

It warmed Daemon's heart — to hear her say it. If he had to pick his favorite cousin, that would without a doubt be Aemma. For her quiet cleverness and that love and willingness to protect those she loved.

Many judged her too soon. Indeed, she was the daughter of the late princess Daella who was a simple girl — barely able to read and unable to write. But Aemma was not her mother.

His cousin continued in late Queen Alysanne's tradition, and she held women's court. She took it upon herself to help the people of King's Landing. She visited orphanages and organized donations — she started projects and had ideas that could change the lives of people for the better.

"I found the right people for the job. You will know as soon as I do, cousin," he vowed. Daemon packed away the tea and cocked his head to the side. "Did you steal it?"

Aemma managed a laugh. "Gods, no. I asked them to make me one more cup for later. I had to lie that it helps me when all it does is make me sicker."

"Why drink it, then? Surely, there has to be a way to convince my brother that the tea is far from good for you," he pushed.

"Because I have no choice, Daemon. Maesters convinced Viserys the tea is good for the babe and despite my protests, he makes me drink them — He has to witness me drink them too. That's how far he is going," she shrugged.

Daemon's blood began to boil in his veins. His brother truly is that gullible it seemed. He would have to find a way to get Viserys back on the right track. He only hoped Hightower's clutches were not too far dug into him.

Recognizing the sympathy in his eyes, Aemma leaned into the chair. "You best take your leave, goodbrother. We cannot be seen alone in the same room."

Daemon smirked for a moment and then he placed his hand over hers, turning serious. "It might take some time, but I will have the answers."

His cousin smiled up at him, squeezing his hand in return. "I am counting on it. Thank you for doing this again. You are the only one I can trust with this."

Daemon returned to his chambers after that. He unpacked the tea Aemma had given him and began to examine it. He was so deep in his thoughts that he did not hear his eldest niece enter his chambers.

"Uncle?" Visenya made her presence known, speaking in High Valyrian. Daemon turned towards her, careful enough to hide the tea from her eyes. He did not know if she entered the chambers from the secret passages or the doors — the little brat.

Sometimes, he could not help but ask himself whether it was a good idea to show her Maegor's passages, but what's done is done.

"What brings you here, niece? It is still far too early for you to sneak up to my bed and steal my pillow," Daemon grunted even tho he did not mind her presence in the night — especially because he knew that it helped her sleep.

Visenya looked around just in case, as if knowing that even walls in the Red Keep have eyes and ears — his smart girl. "I need your help," she finally confessed.

Daemon would have leaped towards her if he did not have to hide the damned tea from her curious eyes. "What happened? Are you hurt?"

"No, nothing of the sort. But I—I kind of did something," Visenya shook her head, looking away from him with guilt in her eyes. This had to be serious if she was acting like this.

"Surely it cannot be that bad—" Daemon started only to be cut off by his niece. "I accidentally killed your squire."

For a moment there was just silence between them and Daemon could not stop the fit of laughter that escaped him. "Tell me, did little Eddin convince you to try and pull this prank on me? Because he had tried before and had not succeeded."

True enough, that redhead menace always had something mischievous in his mind. The boy was utterly lucky Daemon did not send him back home for his stupidity alone — but he could also remember his time as a young man. He too had pulled pranks left and right.

His niece glared at him. "It is no prank, uncle. When have I ever played a game on you?" And she was so serious about it too. She had to be lying, right? His niece of nine killing someone? Ha. A good jest.

"I accidentally pushed him off the tower and I need your help to hide the body or something," Visenya continued. "In my defense, he tried to kiss me — And I panicked!"

Daemon's eyes bulged as he processed her words. "He tried to what?!" He all but shouted and in Common Tongue at that. He could not explain the way his blood began to boil.

That red menace tried to kiss his nine namedays old niece? If he were not already dead, surely Daemon would have had his head for that.

Visenya tried to get him to shut up. "Eddin tried to kiss me, I already told you that — focus on the rest of the story, uncle!"

"As I was saying, nobody saw us enter the Keep together and hopefully, no one witnessed the crime," she explained. "I tried moving his body in a certain way that suggests he actually fell on his own, but I could not do it on my own. I need your help. Will you help me?"

His niece looked desperate and Daemon immediately stood up to help. Who, in the name of Conqueror — thought that him being a good and dotting uncle would lead him to cover up murders for his two nieces?

Notes:

RIP Eddin Tully. He was invented to die and he served his purpose well 😅

I couldn't go any longer without writing some king of moment between Rhaenyra and Visenya. Enjoy the peaceful times between sisters until it goes messy again!

My Wattpad: seven-moons

Chapter 16: First Of Many Cuts

Summary:

In which:

— Vissie unlocks a painful memory from her past that she tried to bury
— Viserys desperately wishes for a son
— Aemma fights for her daughters' rights

Notes:

TRIGGER WARNING: MISCARRIAGE

Do NOT read if you are not comfortable with this topic!

king's landing, 105 AC
visenya targaryen

Visenya was seated in her mother's chambers, a book of tales in High Valyrian resting on her lap. She was reading the old tales to her new sibling who was excitedly kicking and moving in Aemma's belly.

Her mother winced, placing a hand on her belly. "Do not stop talking, little flame. Babe only calms when it hears your voice. Gods know I only know peace with it when you are around."

Visenya snorted. "Father would have laughed if he heard you say this. He likes to call me his little headache," she said.

Her mother smiled fondly, caressing her cheek. "You can sometimes be our little headache, but we love you for it." Visenya said nothing and instead looked out of the window.

The day was dark and gloomy, the sky was grey and the wind was blowing. The storm was coming no doubt. It made her think of Eddin's funeral — the weather had been the same then too.

Her uncle and she successfully managed to move Eddin's body and they let the servants find him. Grand Maester Runicter confirmed that Eddin's death was the result of a fall and that the position in which he was found suggested he simply slipped and fell on his own.

Visenya got lucky that no one questioned a thing — especially not Otto because that cunt always had his suspicions.

The funeral was held in Riverrun and she, Daemon and Leo attended it — they were there as Eddin's two friends and a mentor when in all honesty, Visenya stood there because of her guilt and her uncle accompanied her because he refused to let her out of his sight.

It was then that the thought that she killed Eddin truly struck her.

It had been an accident. He was trying to kiss her — that was true. Visenya had been kissed many times before, maybe not in this life but it mattered all the same. She hadn't panicked because he leaned in unexpectedly — but because she had seen Robb's features in Eddin's.

It surprised her so much that she pushed him off a tower.

Especially because it had not happened before. Visenya was used to seeing ghosts of her past — Lenna in Laena, Myrcella in Rhaenyra and Loras in Laenor, but she had never before seen Robb in Eddin, if she had, she would have avoided him like a plague.

Luckily for all Visenya's future schemes and plans, nothing much needed to be changed. Eddin was the third grandson of the Lord of Riverrun — a man known as Grover Tully. Eddin had two older brothers and one younger.

She could still find a way to secure an alliance with Tullys and have them on her side — especially because Eddin's death was a tragic accident, as her father said.

The thunder struck and it brought Visenya back to reality. "What is on your mind, sweetling? You are not usually this quiet. It's unsettling," her mother said, concern evident in her voice.

"It's—It's nothing. I am just lost in my thoughts is all," Visenya managed. "I finally talk to my sister again. I have my Arrax. I have my lessons. I have a family. Everything is alright — everything is how it should be, how I want it to be..."

But...There was always that but with her.

She should be happy — Visenya finally repaired her bond with Rhaenyra. She should be content — No one was dying and she had everything she ever wished for herself, a family that loved her.

"You miss him," Aemma noted. Yes, Visenya was compelled to say. She truly missed him. She hadn't been thinking about Robb at all in this life — because it was not a good idea to do so.

A part of her will always love him — he was the first person she ever loved. Robb will always have a special place in her heart, but he was her past — he should stay there.

"Miss who?" Visenya asked, finally meeting her mother's eyes. Aemma looked at her pointedly. "Eddin. He was your friend — and his death was so sudden."

Visenya scrunched up her nose. "He was not my friend." Eddin was — well, he was a companion of a sort. She would not go as far as to say he was a friend because that would be an insult to Loras, Aurane, Celesse, Arianne and many more.

Aemma took her hand in hers. "It is alright to grieve, Vissie — no matter how you do it, with tears or with brooding."

Visenya did not bother to say anything. There was no time to grieve for people whose faces she would never see again. Being sent to the past had its perks as much as its downsides.

She finally had a loving family that she longed for — but she gained it at what cost? Even with so much pain and loss, Visenya still had people she cared for in her past life — Lenna, Arianne, Olenna.

"What are you working on?" Visenya asked. Her mother was silent for a moment, as if wanting to press the subject, but she knew better than to actually do that. If Visenya wanted to talk — she would have.

Aemma sighed, defeated. "I have been visiting orphanages around King's Landing before I knew of my pregnancy. The state of those children and the conditions under which they have to live..."

"I cannot just do nothing about it," she continued. "So I have been raising a donation in their honor. But, the crown does not listen and does little to help — It's taking much more time than what I expected."

Her mother had a soft spot for children — no doubt because she lost many of them. Her father had a soft spot for children too, but with Otto Hightower whispering in his ear, there was nothing Aemma could do.

"Can I see?" Visenya asked, gesturing towards the parchments that were neatly resting near Aemma's hands. Her mother nodded and handed them to her.

She quickly went through the numbers and her eyes almost popped out of their sockets — the number of coin the crown was willing to give to Aemma to start this donation was less than ever Robert Baratheon would have given. And that was saying something.

Gods, that Hightower cunt had much more influence on her father than she had hoped. "Surely if you talk to father, he will agree to help. He loves children and he loves spending coin. Just guilt-trip him into giving you more funds and everyone should be satisfied."

Her mother laughed at the blunt words. "I tried — I really did. Otto keeps whispering in his ear that the crown has no money to spare and that the Council should focus on other, more important things."

Aemma made a move to stand up from the bed but grunted in discomfort. Visenya quickly leaped from her chair to help her, but her mother dismissed her with a wave of her hand. "It's alright — I can stand on my own."

Once Aemma was safely up on her feet and walking, Visenya sat down and thought of the best way to proceed. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

Her mother stopped pacing around her chambers and looked at her with surprise. "I am surprised you are asking, Vissie. One would think you do not care much for what happens outside of our family."

Visenya shrugged. She knew the situation in the castle better than most — thanks to the passages and the servants that were paid to spy for her — and her alone. Soon enough, she will begin to expand her spy network all through the King's Landing.

"Nonsense. I know what happens outside our family. I admit that I act as if I do not care, but I do," Visenya said. "Besides, who doesn't want to help orphans? They lost their families and have no home save for the dirty place that can offer them only possibilities of sickness. They also, mostly starve. Even if they do end up coming of age, most of them end up with horrible fates."

Visenya could hardly imagine that life — she who had grown up swimming in riches and having been given anything she could desire. But not just that... "I cannot imagine losing any of this — I cannot imagine losing you or father, Nyra too, of course."

She just got them — her family, her real family.

"You won't lose us," Aemma softly said, but Visenya's eyes traveled down to her swollen belly. "You cannot promise me something like that," she said tightly.

Visenya swallowed. She knew that she was bound to lose her mother in a few years time — and by childbirth too. There was no changing it, as Bloodraven said — and it made Visenya's throat tighten as the feeling of helplessness overwhelmed her.

Aemma smiled sadly. "I can. I can promise you this, Vissie. You will not lose me — Not until I am grey and old and wrinkly." It was an empty promise, but Visenya welcomed it nonetheless.

"It gladdens me to hear you say that you would like to assist me with this. I could really use some help," her mother changed the subject. Visenya nodded. "Anything you need, mama — just say it."

"It is not wise to leave the Red Keep in my condition, as you well know. I would appreciate it if you could go instead of me — to perhaps revalue the conditions they live in and see what and how we can improve them," Aemma suggested.

Visenya nodded again. "I have ideas and I trust that you will see to them," her mother said, walking towards the table that held more scattered parchments all over. "Let me show you."

Suddenly, her mother grunted, placing a hand on her belly — a panic sigh escaped her lips and her brow furrowed. "Mama? Are you alright?" she asked.

Her mother placed her other hand on the table to support herself and only then did Visenya notice blood running down her mother's pale blue dress. Her mind went numb as she froze in her spot.

Blood. There was so much blood. Blood from the wound on her abdomen — blood running down her legs and staining her breeches red.

Pain. Everything hurt. Her babe had started kicking uncontrollably and then he had stopped at all — and Alyanna had a feeling she did not wish to know why that was.

Alyanna cried out in pain as someone laid her down on the cot. Celesse immediately approached her, hovering over her head. "Alyanna, stay with me. Keep your eyes open — stay with me."

Her vision was blurry, she could barely see anything. Celesse disappeared for a moment and then returned with healing herbs and supplies.

Alyanna grabbed her friend's hand with all the strength she could muster and whispered, "Save him, please. Save my son." She could barely move her mouth, every word dragging out.

"I'm sorry," was all her friend said and Alyanna knew that her son was dead. The cry that left her would suit a wounded animal more — so much rage at Stannis who had sent his men to kill her because she was his only real threat to the throne.

Alyanna briefly remembered having to push her dead son out of her body. She could briefly remember holding her beautiful son with silver hair and Robb's grey eyes. She could briefly remember Robb holding them both as they wept for the loss of their boy.

Alyanna blocked most of the memories from that dreadful day — her mind could not handle all the loss and pain and thirst for revenge — so the memories stayed locked up in the back of her mind, never to be seen again.

Even when she was asked by Cersei, Tywin and Olenna about her child with Robb, Alyanna would say that she lost her babe during the battle — that she had lost her son in the early stages and not so close to term.

"Vissie. Vissie? Vissie!" Her mother called to her. Visenya had to blink hard to get herself back to reality. She swallowed at the sight of blood on the ground.

"Look at me — don't look down, look at my eyes," Aemma said calmly so Visenya did. She stared at the indigo eyes, so much like her own. She could feel herself shaking — she was no doubt as pale as a sheet.

"It's alright. It's just blood. Do not panic and keep looking at me," her mother instructed and changed positions so she could rest all her weight on the table behind her. Visenya took a deep breath, trying to will herself to move.

"Good girl. Now, I am going to need to find a Maester for me, could you do that?" Aemma asked and she found herself nodding. "But do not look anywhere else but at my eyes, alright?"

Visenya slowly backed down away from her mother, looking at her eyes the whole time — only when she reached the doors did she turn around and shouted. "Help! Somebody help!"

 

 

_____

 

 

king's landing, 105 AC
viserys targaryen

Viserys was seated in the Small Council chamber — it was the last place he wanted to be. He should be by his mate's side, grieving for the loss of yet another son.

He could not describe the pain he was feeling — both his and Aemma's, for the boy who did not even take his first breath. Why were the Gods so cruel? Why must they punish him by claiming his sons for themselves?

The discussion that was taking place fell on deaf ears. He could hardly concentrate on anything but on the mating bond between him and his dear wife that was shaking with grief and agony.

The Kingsguard announced his eldest daughter and so Visenya walked in, her back straight and her face betraying nothing. "I apologize for my tardiness, Your Grace. I am here on the orders of my mother, the Queen. She sent me to speak in her stead while she is resting."

Viserys barely heard his daughter's words. He simply looked at her — at the proud and stubborn girl with both mind and tongue as sharp as Valyrian steel. His girl — his pride. He could not stop the ugly thoughts that formed in his mind.

If only she had been born a boy...

Such a mind and such strength and yet so young. She would have been wiser than Jaehaerys and a far better ruler than he himself was — there was no doubt about it, if only Gods hadn't been so cruel to make her a girl.

Why wasn't she born a boy?

Otto smiled faintly. "With all due respect, Princess — Small Council has very pressing matters to attend to. We can discuss this business with the Queen once she recovers."

Lord Hand was about to shoo her away to her place in the corner where she usually stood, silent and concerned on the matter that was under discussion. However, his little girl did not let Otto even form his words — his proud and brave girl.

Vissie lifted her head a little higher, her voice strong and sure — Viserys was certain he would have wavered, "I am afraid this cannot wait, Lord Hand. In fact, the Queen has been trying to discuss this matter with you before — yet you denied her."

Otto's smile disappeared and for a moment his Hand and his daughter simply stared at each other. It made Viserys proud that she refused to back down. It made his heart clench painfully too.

Visenya was not a son.

Vissie turned towards him, addressing him again. "If I may continue, Your Grace?" Ah. Your Grace. She refused to call him father in these chambers, because here — he was her king first and her father second.

Viserys found the strength to nod. "You may." His daughter nodded back and reached for the pile of parchments. She placed a few of them before every Lord seated on the table as well as before him.

"What you have in front of you, my Lords, is the death rate of children living in King's Landing," she started, holding her hands behind her back. "The number is uncomfortably large and the Queen wishes to change that."

Viserys took the parchment in his hand and quickly went through what was written. His eyes widened. By the Gods, it was not only his children dying, but so many more.

It was Otto who questioned. "What does this have to do with us, Princess?" The Hand did not even look at the parchment in front of him.

"Do you know how many children die before they even reach adulthood? Or how many of them die of starvation and sickness? I am going to take a good guess and say that you do not," Vissie answered and Viserys admired that she had not yet lost her temper. "So I have taken it upon myself to count for you."

She showed them all another set of parchments. "There is a list of all children's names that have passed just this year. You can check every last one of them, Lord Hand. But I can assure you — this was all done under the Queen's supervision."

Master of Coin looked at his daughter in wonder, his eyes alight. "This is a very well-done work, my Princess," he breathed and Vissie nodded. "Thank you, Lord Beesbury."

"On the next page, my Lords, you have a detailed explanation on how to improve the matter — a solid plan made by the Queen herself," she explained.

"The Queen commands you to go through the plan and see if you have something to add or suggest," her voice turned sharp as she announced this. "Now, I shall leave you to it. If I may be excused, your Grace?"

Viserys leaned into his chair, looking at his daughter. His chest swelled with pride and yet he could not extinguish the disappointment either. "Don't you want to see how this plan progresses, Vissie? You have a hand in it, after all."

"I was tasked with another important matter myself, Your Grace. The Queen requested I visit the orphanages and see to the basic needs of the children," she said.

Aemma. His Aemma, even in pain and sadness — she was still working to change this kingdom for the better. Viserys could only admire her for it.

Viserys smiled at his daughter. He was very glad that if he could not be there for his wife, Vissie would be. "Good luck then. I assure you, Vissie — we shall see to this matter immediately," he promised.

"Your Grace — I must protest—" Otto started again, but Viserys dismissed him. "I will hear no more of it, Otto. My mate, the Queen commanded this and you shall obey it."

He turned towards his daughter again, caressing her cheek softly. "Take Kingsguard with you and be careful. The streets of King's Landing are dangerous." Vissie nodded. "I will, thank you, Your Grace."

And with that, she was gone.

The rest of the meeting passed in a blur and Viserys could not even recall walking to his chambers. His mind only managed to form thoughts once he had seen his mate. "Are you in a lot of pain, my love?"

"A lot of pain does not even begin to cover it," Aemma said with a wince. Viserys took a seat on the other side of their shared bed. He moved a stray strand of her hair away from her face gently.

"Have the Maesters given you the milk of the poppy?" Viserys questioned and his beautiful wife only nodded. "Then it shall pass soon, my love. You should try to get some rest."

"We lost another son," Aemma said, her voice strained. He could clearly see the pain in her eyes. "What if I cannot give you another living child?"

"You can. We shall have our son soon enough. I am not worried," Viserys tried to comfort her as well as himself. "I dream of him — of our Aegon. I dream of crowning him. I dream of having him sit on the throne after me. He will come to us soon, my love."

Many would not believe him, but Viserys's dreams had been plagued with a young man that looked very similar to him, with the same hair and eyes — and yet so much different. The boy even wore his crown.

But there was something else now too, something that Viserys could not get out of his head. He also dreamed of a young woman, her face scarred with three lines — her eyes pained and heavy with burden, the crown of her head nothing like he had seen before.

"But what if he doesn't? What if this is all just a simple dream, Viserys?" His wife whispered. Viserys shook his head. No. It could not be a dream — not even Gods could be so cruel as to let him dream of his son and not bless him with him. "It is not. I can feel it. Our heir will be born soon."

Aemma finally looked at him, but it was in desperation. She took his hand in hers and said, "You already have an heir."

Viserys's eyes softened. "I love my brother, Aemma — as I know you do. But we both know that Daemon is reckless and wild and he tires of things fast. He would not make a good King."

His wife shook her head. "I am not talking of Daemon. We have two daughters, Viserys — two beautiful and brilliant girls of our own flesh and blood."

Before he could begin talking, Aemma continued, sounding breathless, "Our eldest walked into your Council meeting today and managed to get all the Lords to listen to her — something that even I have not accomplished."

"Vissie was simply following your orders, my love. You should give yourself some credit," Viserys tried to reason.

Aemma shook her head, turning towards him more. "I cannot do that because I ordered her to do nothing — I was sleeping the entire time. She did all the statistics and managed to complete my idea with her own."

Viserys was proud of his daughter — of both of them. And he loved them dearly — he truly did. But all he could think about was the boy he wanted to crown with his own crown, a piece worn by his grandsire before him.

"Visenya is a girl — she cannot sit on the Iron Throne. If women could, our wise grandsire would have made cousin Rhaenys his heir and not my father," Viserys simply said.

Aemma swallowed. "Our grandsire was a wise man — there is no doubt about it, my love, but he was not flawless. Have you ever considered the possibility that he was wrong about this?"

Viserys pulled his hand away from hers and stood up. "A woman cannot inherit the throne or lead our house into greatness. I cannot and will not name either Visenya or Rhaenyra my heir and that is final."

He left her then, feeling the pain and anguish through their bond. Viserys did not dare return to her — he did not dare to look back. He simply ran.

That night, when he finally sat on the Iron Throne with a crown on his head, he exhaled. And then he felt it, the cut. Viserys hissed and looked at his bleeding finger and the sword that had cut him, stained with his blood.

Notes:

Here is an introduction to what Vissie is going to be focused on once she becomes heir. Following Alysanne's and Aemma's examples, she is going to help people all over the kingdom 😁

Viserys makes me angry 😤 He's thorn between being super proud of Vissie and utterly annoyed that she was not born a boy! Does anyone find it funny that the Iron throne decided to cut him when he refused to name Visenya his heir?

My Wattpad: seven-moons

 

SPOILERS FOR EP 10 OF HOTD! IF YOU HAVEN'T WATCHED THE LEAKED EPISODE, DON'T READ FURTHER!

I can't believe what they did to Daemon's character in the end. Many people are like 🤡What did you expect, he is the rogue prince after all 🤡 No. Daemon is a grey character and the most important thing in the world to him is his family. He would never choke Rhaenyra and I stand by that. Book!Daemon would kill Show!Daemon for this! Also, I hated most of the changes the show made, including Aemond accidentally killing Lucerys. . .

‼️ Here is a promise from me: I am NOT ruining Daemon's character! I will NOT let Rhaenyra be weak like they portrayed her in the last episode! My fic is based on both the show and books and yet it's slightly different then both, so there will be differences, but I will NOT ruin characters!

Chapter 17: Water Dancing

Summary:

In which:

— Visenya sees water dancers and remembers what it was like to learn the Braavosi dance
— Leo and Visenya sneak out of the castle
— Daemon and Aemma don't know what to do

king's landing, 106 AC
visenya targaryen

Visenya was standing and observing the scene before her. A very wealthy man — a collector and trader of the rarest and most precious jewels all around the world, was talking and inspecting the jewelry he was given.

She looked down at the very expensive and yet otherworldly shiny things — from bracelets to various crowns of emperors existing way before her. She made it seem as if she was not interested in the conversation the man was having with his customer, but rather in his precious collection.

In truth, the only reason she agreed to go with her uncle and sister into the city that day was that she heard of Essosi ships entering their harbors. Visenya heard the market day in King's Landing should be interesting today and so she decided to be there.

The Market square built during her great-grandfather Jaehaerys's reign was nothing special, if Visenya was being honest. The crowd was large and she hated stumbling amongst people and being squished to death even with Kingsguard at her side.

However, it was sort of interesting, the various markets with new sorts of entertainment could be seen anywhere you looked. Men and women from Essos filled the streets, the sound of their strange accents floating amongst people.

"See anything you like, niece?" Daemon asked from behind her and Visenya immediately shook her head. She was not fond of jewelry at all — she had never worn earrings or rings. She could wear bracelets or necklaces if she liked them enough, but that was about it.

Visenya, even in her past life, much preferred to wear dresses with mesmerizing patterns and shapes, some scandalous and some modest — she also loved complicated hairstyles as much as simple ones — anything but the damned jewelry.

"No, I'm simply looking around while waiting for Rhaenyra," she responded, turning around to find her sister. They split up when Rhaenyra wanted to try some spiced food, but Visenya still stayed close, just in case.

As if on cue, Rhaenyra started running towards her, a grin on her face. "Vissie, I have something to show you! Come on!" She grabbed Visenya's hand and dragged her along.

They stopped before the book market. Nyra excitedly pointed toward one of the books. "Do you like this book?" The book was in High Valyrian. Visenya took it in her hands to inspect it.

She nodded. "Yes, I have read it before. We have one in the library in the Keep." Her sister frowned. Visenya looked around and pointed at another book. "I like this one, however."

Rhaenyra immediately brightened. "You do? Then I shall get it for you as a gift for your nameday!" Visenya smiled. "That is really nice of you, Nyra. Thank you. I cannot wait to read it."

"There is something else I would like us to do, if you'd like to — of course," Nyra started, dragging her to the clothing market then. "I was thinking we could purchase some materials and make a dress for mama. This is her favorite color, so perhaps we should choose this one?"

The material was in Arryn blue colors that their mother adored wearing. Visenya nodded. "That is a wonderful idea, sister. Mama will love it, I'm certain."

And truly it was, their mother will be eternally grateful for the gift — and it also might make her feel better. Aemma hadn't been well since she birthed a stillborn son.

She was still bedridden most of the time and Maesters said it was because she had lost a lot of blood — although there must be something else. After all, her mother also lost weight, had dark circles under her eyes and could barely move.

"Can we — maybe, make it together? I'm not as good as you at sewing, but I can embroidery really well," Rhaenyra offered.

"Of course we can. If you'd like, I could make you a few new dresses as well as riding leathers — you grow with every passing day and you will outgrow your clothes soon enough," Visenya said back, squeezing her hand.

Rhaenyra nodded excitedly. "I would like that very much!" So they purchased some materials for new dresses and Rhaenyra brought her a book that was focused on Old Valyria, their Gods, traditions and general study of their language.

Then, they split up again with Kingsguard following the both of them. Visenya was about to approach the next market when she saw a crowd gathering around some Braavos men. Feeling curious, she approached them — but what she saw made her eyes go wide.

"Why do I even need dancing lessons? I am a princess, I already learned all formal dances," Alyanna mused. Prince Oberyn had burst into her lesson and dragged her into her room, telling her to dress in breeches and a tunic. And now, he was dragging her around the halls of Sunspear.

"I am guessing nobody ever told you — you are a terrible dancer, Aly," Oberyn said smugly and Alyanna glared at him."But we shall work on that later. Now, you shall walk down this corridor and enter the first room on the left. Good luck," he petter her head before walking away.

She wanted to shout after him to come back, but decided to follow his instructions. When she opened the door and entered the room, she saw a man standing with his back to her. He was looking through the window.

"You are late boy," the man said, his accent foreign, making her think he was from the Free Cities. "I did not even know I was coming here until two minutes ago," Visenya explained, but the man paid her no mind.

"Tomorrow you will be here at midday," the man said, finally turning around. He had copper skin, curly black hair and black mustache.

"Not to sound rude or anything, but – Who are you?" Alyanna asked, looking at two wooden swords in his hands.

"Your dancing master, Syrio Forel," the man introduced himself, throwing one of the swords towards her without warning. Alyanna did not expect that so she was too late to catch it and the sword hit the ground with a thud.

"Tomorrow you will catch that," Syrio said and Alyanna picked up the wooden sword. "If you say so," she muttered under her breath, unsure.

She was holding the sword in both of her hands as she looked up at the man. "That is not the way boy. It is not a Great Sword that needs two hands to swing it," Syrio told her when he noticed her grip.

Alyanna let her left hand fall to her side as she held the sword with her right. But, the weight was too much for just one hand to hold. "It's too heavy for one hand." Alyanna grimaced.

"It is heavy as it needs to be to make you strong," he threw his own sword into the air and caught it by balancing it on his hand. "Just so, one hand is all that is needed. No, you are standing all wrong, turn your body side face."

She did as she was told, correcting her stance. He used his wooden sword to lift her chin. "Good. You are skinny. That is good, the target is small. Now the grip, let me see."

Alyanna held up her right hand, showing him what he wanted to see. "The grip must be delicate," he corrected her hold on the wooden sword. "Then I will drop it," she pointed out.

"The steel must be part of your arm," Syrio said patiently, "Can you drop a part of your arm?" Before she could answer, he continued, "No you can't. Syrio Forel has fought for many years now. He knows his things, you must listen to me boy."

"I'm a girl," Alyanna corrected him. The man just shrugged dismissively. "Boy, girl — You are a sword, that is all."

Syrio slowly started circling her, "That is the grip. You are not holding a battle axe you are holding a sword. Now we will begin the dance."

He then walked towards her. "Remember child, this is not the dance of Westeros we are learning, the knights dance. Hacking and hammering," he swung his sword towards her and she had to jump back to avoid it, "This is the Braavos Dance, the Water Dance. It is swift and sudden."

Syrio moved around with grace and it made Alyanna follow his every movement with her curious eyes. "All men are made of water, did you know this? If you pierce him the water leaks out and they die."

Syrio poked her in the stomach lightly. "Now you will try to strike me." He turned his back to her and Alyanna wasted no time, trying to attack him, but he simply moved away.

No matter how she swung her sword towards him, he kept dodging her attacks with no effort. He even managed to pull her sword out of her grip and when she bent down to pick it up, he took it.

Alyanna cocked her head to the side and he threw the sword for her to catch — which she did. "Good," he praised and they continued their sparring.

"Dead," he announced when his sword touched her side, she spun around, crossing her sword with him again. "Dead." He was holding his sword against her neck now.

"You need to be quick as a snake. As quiet as a shadow." Syrio knocked her to the ground, holding the sword against her neck. "Do you pray to the gods, boy?" Alyanna stood up from the ground, a frown on her face.

"I suppose I do," she responded. Her relationship with the Seven and Gods, in general, was not the best.

"There is only one God and his name is Death, and there is only one thing we say to Death." The man lifted her chin so he was able to look at her. "Not today."

"Catch!" An unfamiliar voice called out and Visenya only then noticed that most of the crowd moved away while she was standing still and staring at the scene in awe.

Having lived this once before, Visenya reached for the wooden sword and one of the water dancers nodded. "Good. Very good," he praised, walking towards her.

"Let me see the posture," the man said, but Visenya just stared back, still not believing her eyes. "You are standing wrong — turn your body sideways."

Her body followed the man's command as she corrected her posture to the one she remembered Syrio teaching her. The man circled around her.

"You are holding the sword wrong, the grip must be delicate. Use one hand also," he showed her the right way and Visenya cooperated. The man nodded with slight surprise. "A boy is a fast learner."

Visenya was about to respond when she felt a familiar presence behind her — she felt him before she heard him. Her uncle was looming behind her, watching with a slight sneer on his face.

She turned towards him, a look of pure disbelief in her eyes. "You asked me what I wanted you to gift me for my nameday — this, I want this. I want you to gift me a dancing master who will teach me the art of Water Dancing."

Daemon appeared to be considering it, but hearing her breathless voice and seeing her eyes shine the way they did — Oh, who was he to deny her anything? "As you wish, little flame."

 

 

_____

 

 

"I do not think this is a very good idea, Princess. We should have brought some Kingsguard," Leo commented, looking agitated.

Visenya snorted. "Where is your sense of adventure, Tyrell?" she teased, looking up at him behind the long black hood that was keeping her identity hidden from any prying eyes.

"It's nonexistent because I know your uncle will put my head on a spike if he knew you were out of the castle without proper protection," Leo breathed out, keeping his voice down.

Visenya raised her brow. "Are you saying you are not enough to protect me? I thought you were so very confident in your skills with a sword."

Leo grumbled something under his breath. "I should have stayed in my bed." Visenya looked at him weirdly. "The sun has just set and we still have a few hours of light to use. Who even goes to bed at this hour? What are you, five?"

The light-haired boy glared at her. "I like sleeping early, so what?" He then looked around as they exited the Keep and entered the city. "Where are we even going?"

Visenya shrugged nonchalantly. "Out in the city. I need to take care of something — and you could use some fresh air." Leo snorted. "The air stinks of shit everywhere you go around here — I would hardly call it fresh."

"Alright then, you could use a tour around King's Landing. I do not think I have ever heard of you going around the city," she rolled her eyes at his dramatics. "Can you blame me? At least the air in the Red Keep does not make me want to vomit."

"My sincere apologies, Tyrell. I know you are used to the flowery scent in the air from your home, but this is the best King's Landing has to offer," Visenya mused. "And I was simply curious. Most young men would rather spend their time in the Street of Silk."

Leo looked at her for a moment, not that he could see much because of his own black hood that was covering his face. "And who says I do not? I might as well be following your beloved uncle there every night."

"Since we are already talking of him, why don't you tell me — why haven't you invited him to accompany you to the city?" he changed the subject.

Visenya bit her lip as they entered the market square. "Because you were the first person I ran into. Besides, we do not see much of each other — I have missed you," she lied swiftly.

Leo was barely able to conceal his laughter. "As if. Prince Daemon doesn't know about this, does he? Wonderful," he muttered under his breath. "Why did I even accept your invitation is beyond me."

"Because I bribed you with mud pie — and you can never resist those," Visenya answered, even though it was a rhetorical question. "Honestly, you should rise your standards, mud pie is too low of a price to pay for a princess."

Leo glared at her which could be translated to, Nothing is a high enough price for the mud pie. "So, do you sneak out of the castle often, princess? Because it can be dangerous."

"What I do is none of your business," she retorted, stopping in her tracks once she saw the trader of treasure from this morning. Visenya pulled out her packed jewelry and pushed it into Leo's hand. "Now, I am going to need you to sell this to that man."

He looked at her weirdly. "What? No. What even is this?" Leo tried to inspect the packed jewelry and Visenya rolled her eyes. "Will you stop asking questions? Just approach him with this jewelry and sell it to him."

He did not have much time to argue because she pushed him towards the wealthy man who was busy ordering his servants to pack his treasures. Leo turned around and glared at her and she stuck out her tongue at him.

The wealthy man noticed Leo and her companion was forced to engage in a conversation with him. Visenya smirked. Good.

She stayed close to Leo — not close enough to hear the conversation, but she was still there just in case some trouble found her and she needed his help. The market was slowly emptying, the customers already back in their homes.

Visenya grabbed the bracelet that was always adorning her wrist — a beautiful piece gifted to her by her uncle, a bracelet with a ruby-made dragon in the shape of Arrax. She briefly considered selling it too, but she just couldn't. It was one of the only pieces of jewelry she adored.

So, instead, Visenya packed the most expensive jewelry she owned. She desperately needed coin to start her spy network — servants needed to be paid for their good work and she needed to get more people on her side.

Her plan was to take control of the Red Keep, to know what happens in every chamber at any given moment. Then, she would expand her spy network toward the city until she controlled it all. Perhaps she would even take Otto's spies and made them her own so he would have and know information only she approved of.

Visenya smirked. A good idea. She also needed to find a way to earn more coin. She could continue to sell the stuff she did not need, but even that will eventually disappear. It was something to think about later.

Leo was finished talking with the wealthy man. He approached her and before he could open his mouth, Visenya asked, "How much?"

He stared down at her. "Two full coffers." Visenya whistled in approval. Perfect. That will be enough to keep her business going until she finds a solution for her finances.

"What was that? Whose jewelry did I just sell? Why would you even need so much coin — you are a princess, you could simply ask your mother and father to give you some," he questioned once they spun around to return to the Red Keep.

"It is my jewelry — and no, I did not steal it from anyone in case you were wondering. I do not have to answer any of your questions, Tyrell," Visenya reminded him.

Leo sighed, clearly annoyed with her. "Fine, then don't. The next time you need someone to help you — find someone else."

She rolled her eyes at his dramatics. "You say that now, but you will give in the moment I offer you more mud pie," she accused him and he defended, "I will not!"

 

 

_____

 

 

king's landing, 106 AC
aemma arryn

Aemma was trying to rest, her eyes closed. Something was wrong — something had been wrong the moment she birthed her last stillborn son. She was staying in her bed ever since, too weak to get up.

Sometimes, she would catch herself having trouble breathing. The pain in her upper right abdomen was unbearable more often than not. She hated that her daughters had to see her this weak.

The rift in the bond between herself and Viserys was not helping either. Both of them refused to make peace — Aemma will not apologize because what she said was right. Vissie should be Queen after Viserys.

Her mate visited her often, but the tension could be felt in the air, which is why Aemma was grateful that Daemon offered to take her daughters out in the city that day — to take their minds off the situation.

Aemma heard the door opening and once she realized no one was announced, she opened her eyes. Her goodbrother was standing by the wall, a tight expression on his face that could easily turn into a snarl of rage at any moment.

"You were right," he said, approaching her with dangerous footsteps that did nothing to cover his rage. Aemma tried to sit up. "What?"

"They are poisoning you, Aemma — as you suspected. Not just the babes you bear, but also you. They want you dead," Daemon snarled — the anger not directed at her but rather at the people responsible. Aemma's heart clenched in her chest. She desperately hoped she wasn't right about this.

"They have been giving you pennyroyal tea — a delicate poison made in Lys. It is a relatively new poison, which is why I hadn't recognized it sooner," he started. That would explain the slight smell of mind radiating from the tea.

"In small doses, the tea is not harmful, but you have been drinking it heavily. It not only caused the death of your babes but also worsened the condition of your liver," Daemon finished.

All that she could think about were her daughters — how if she passed, she would be leaving them in Viserys's hands, in the hands of her husband who was so easily swayed by Hightowers and other people's schemes.

She could not leave them. Not yet. She had to fight — she had to find a way to survive this. Because if she passed before she ensured her daughters will have a good and stable future ahead of them...Aemma refused to think about it.

"What do I do now? How can we fix this? How can we fix me?" she questioned, desperation clear in her voice. Daemon's quietness was answer enough and Aemma had the urge to vomit. "No. No," she shook her head in denial.

Her goodbrother looked at her, clenching his jaw. "I'm sorry, cousin. The healers I hired to discover the poison said the tea worsened the condition of your body permanently."

So her death was inevitable. Aemma sighed. There had to be a way — there simply had to be a way to stop this madness.

Daemon placed a cup of something on her table and Aemma briefly glanced at it. "What is that?" He leaned back in his seat across from her. "Moon tea."

Aemma shook her head — even she knew what the moon tea does, it ensures she cannot get with child. "Daemon, I cannot drink that. Viserys will still expect of me to give him a son."

She could tell that Daemon had the urge to throw something at the wall — he was angry, but kept his anger in check for her sake. "Fuck that and fuck him," he growled.

He stood up and paced around the room to calm himself. "I am not telling you what to do, goodsister — I am simply giving you a choice. Healers said you will not survive another pregnancy — Hells, they were surprised you are still alive now."

Aemma swallowed. It was the dragon blood in her veins that saved her from death — even now, it was the only thing keeping her alive. "We both know that moon tea is not a reliable thing. There is still a chance I can get with child."

"There is, but chances are slim," her goodbrother reminded her. Aemma simply stared at the moon tea, weighing her options in her head.

"How do we fight this war with Maesters and Oldtown, Gods — even the Citadel? This will be a mess, worse than the war Maegor fought during his reign," she stated quietly, turning to look at Daemon.

"I don't know," her goodbrother said, the anger at himself for not knowing evident. Aemma looked back at the moon tea.

She was bound to die, now she knew that. But she had to stop the influence of Hightowers before that. She had to find a way to keep her daughters safe. She had to find some proof of the treachery of the Citadel because her husband would not believe neither her of Daemon without solid proof.

But for that, she needed time — the desperate time she might not have.

Aemma quickly reached out to take the tea, swallowing the awful content and then setting it down on the table. She did not know where this road will lead her — lead them, but she knew that she would not go down without a fight.

Notes:

I adore the dynamic between Leo and Vissie. We stan two best friends who refuse to admit they are friends and instead pretend to hate each other 🤩

Finally, the poisoned tea is revealed! The war with the Hightowers and the Citadel will be fought quietly and from the shadows for many years to come ;)

My Wattpad: seven-moons

Chapter 18: Lady's Wrath

Summary:

In which:

— The sisterly bond is broken
— Visenya is annoyed, lonely and drunk
— Daemon is the best uncle in the whole world

Notes:

— So, I have many things to address. When I started this fic, I only had a vague idea of what I was writing and how I wanted it to end. I decided to trust the process and see what I can come up with as time passed. I'm quite pleased with myself and my work as it is right now, but I have seen so many of you leave such great ideas in the comments that I simply can't ignore! For example: Aemma claiming a dragon! There are many more cool ideas that i would like to add to my fic, but some of them will change the way this fic was supposed to go.

— I want to write this fic so both you and me can be happy with it, you while reading and me while writing. For the sake of all of you, my dear readers, and myself, I want to ask you a few questions:

1) What would you like to happen to Team Green?
— I was always planning on Team Black winning because this is a fix-it fic. Of course, there will be problems along the way and not everything can be perfect because I have to keep the story interesting. Otto and Alicent will die by the end, there is no changing my mind on that. However, I wanted to ask you about Aegon and Aemond — I planned on killing them both and have only Helaena and her children live. How do we feel about that?

2) What about Visenya's future relationship with her half-siblings?
— A lot of you asked about this. Visenya will have a far better relationship with her half-siblings than Rhaenyra had in either show or books. But, for the sake of the story, I wanted to show abuse they went through and how they are being 'poisoned' to believe Visenya would hurt them. I wanted the Dance of Dragons to happen still.

3) Would you like Alicent's children to become Team Black?
— This is such a good idea 😭 But I want war! So I'm in a conflict with myself and I need help and answers! I need your suggestions and advise!

4) Would you like for the Dance of Dragons to happen anyway?
— Because I planned a war to happen, but to go differently then in the books or the show(what we have from scenes in season one). I want to crush Team Green! But I also want Alicent's children to become Team Black and help their sister!

I'm at crossroads. Please help 😭

king's landing, 106 AC
visenya targaryen

Visenya held Dark Sister in her hand. She closed her eyes for a moment, remembering what it felt like to wield it — to slice people open, to have it stained with the blood of her enemies, to kill the Night King with it.

She opened her eyes and sighed — it did not feel right in her hand, not anymore at least. Dark Sister used to fit her better than any armor or tailored dress — because it felt like it belonged to her in her previous life — like the sword had chosen her. But now, Dark Sister belonged to her uncle, the sword had chosen him.

Visenya spun around, a smile on her face as she faced her uncle. "How do I look with your sword in my hand, uncle?" Daemon looked at her for a moment, a smirk on his lips. "Like Queen Visenya reborn, my little niece." She beamed up at him.

He was starting to disappear again and she disliked that, fearing that he would leave again and not return for years, just as he had the habit of doing.

Daemon would take Caraxes and be gone for days with no explanation — even though he should be at court, especially now that he had a position on the Small Council. Her father named him Master of Coin not long ago, after all.

Viserys scolded her from the table where he and Rhaenyra still ate their lunch, "Vissie, you should not be playing with that sword! It is sharp since it is Valyrian steel — and it is improper of a lady to hold such a dangerous weapon."

Visenya turned towards Viserys, a frown on her face. "I'm not playing! And I do not want to be a lady! I want to be a warrior — like my namesake before me!"

Rhaenyra cracked a smile from her seat, shoving lemon cake in her mouth while their father wasn't looking. "You do not know the first thing about sword-fighting, little flame," her father said.

Visenya tilted her head to the side. "You need to stick them with the pointy end?" She deadpanned. From behind her, her uncle laughed out loud.

"And you find this amusing, brother?" Viserys glared at Daemon, who took a sip of his wine and shrugged. "As a matter of fact, I do, brother."

"It gladdens me that my suffering is bringing you amusement, brother," her father snorted. He then turned towards Visenya. "Now, onto more important topics — how is the making of your dress for your nameday going, Vissie?"

Before Visenya could answer, Rhaenyra ratted her out, "It's going terrible, papa. Vissie continues to send the seamstress away for poking her with needles!"

She returned Dark Sister to her uncle and leaped towards her sisten before pulling her braids. "You little traitor!" Rhaenyra yelped and Visenya considered eating her sister's lemon cakes to punish her.

"I am really interested to know, Vissie — How come you do not mind walking around with large bruises from your dancing lessons, but you cannot bear to stay still so the seamstress can take your measures?" Nyra continued to poke a sleeping dragon with her questions.

Visenya pinched her sister's cheek and rolled her eyes. "I would rather be stabbed and beaten than be poked with a needle, sister."

Rhaenyra smiled and spun around to face their father. "How is preparation for the feast going, papa? Is mama still insisting on doing everything by herself? And does she need help by any chance?"

Viserys's expression softened. "Everything is going well, sweetling. Your mother is delighted to be planning Vissie's tenth nameday celebration — I think it takes her mind off her health issues," their father replied.

Visenya gulped, her expression turning sour. Her whole family was planning on inviting the great houses to celebrate her nameday. They wanted a large feast, a true celebration for her — but Visenya was strongly against it.

The large events such as feasts made her think of all the things that went wrong in her first life — they made her think of how abandoned and lonely she felt through her childhood, they made her remember Robb and his death, they made her remember Joffrey's wedding.

"Can we not have something simple instead? Like a picnic in the gardens or perhaps we can go to Dragonstone together for a day?" She questioned, almost pleading.

Her father looked at her as if she had grown two heads. "You are a princess, Vissie. You deserve the largest of feasts to celebrate your namedays!" he said unsurprisingly. Viserys adored feasts and gatherings and he would throw them in the name of simplest of occasions — not to mention his eldest's nameday.

"But I do not want that!" Visenya complained. "What if we just dine together — like every other day?" Viserys did not look pleased still. "We can invite our whole family too, if you wish — Velaryons and Arryns both. Just do not invite half the realm, father," she proposed.

When her father still refused to change his mind, Visenya had to play dirty. "Think about all the stress mama must be going through while planning this. She would be forced to greet numerous guests when she should be in bed and resting!"

Viserys's expression wavered and she took it as a sign of victory. Daemon placed his hand on her shoulder. "I do think that is a wise idea, little flame. You should talk to your mother about it."

She looked at her father, waiting for him to approve of her leaving. When he nodded, Visenya sprinted away before he could change his mind. "Alright, I shall visit mama now!"

She had high hopes of convincing her mother to rearrange the celebration of her tenth nameday. In her first life, she never asked for some bigger celebrations and she always settled for small things — she would have rather spent time with her siblings than anything else.

The first time a feast was thrown in her honor was when she returned to King's Landing after Robb's death. Joffrey welcomed her back with open arms and demanded the celebration be made since his favorite sister was finally home. Before that, all her namedays were spent with just her siblings and mother — since Robert liked to pretend she did not exist.

"Vissie, wait!" Rhaenyra called out from behind her and Visenya stopped running to wait for her sister. Nyra caught up to her, breathing heavily.

"What is it, Nyra? Do you need me to sneak you out of your lessons with that wrenched woman? Because I can do it!" Visenya offered, eyes shining with mischief. "We can even go visit our dragons since I have my lessons later today."

Rhaenyra shook her head. "Unfortunately, I really do have to attend my lessons today. I do not wish to cause mama more stress now," she confessed.

Visenya hummed. "Is there something else that you need then?" she asked as they both continued to walk the path to their mother's chambers.

Her sister cleared her throat. She asked nervously, "There is, actually. I know that you want a small gathering for your nameday celebration — but I want to ask if Alicent may come too?"

"No. I want to spend my nameday with our family — and to meet our Arryn cousins too," Visenya's response was immediate. She already had to see her sister walking around with that bitch — and as promised, she made no comments, but she hardly wanted Alicent present at her celebration.

"But, we do not have any Arryn cousins close to our age. Our Velaryon cousins are older than me too — I simply do not wish to be alone," Rhaenyra tried to argue. Visenya looked at her weirdly, "You won't be alone, Nyra. You will have me."

Her sister huffed in desperation. "Vissie, you will be busy entertaining your guests and I will be left alone. Please, make an exception for Alicent — for me?"

"My answer remains the same. This is my nameday, sister — and I shall celebrate it how I wish. You can invite your friend to attend your nameday celebration when it comes, but she is not invited to attend mine," she said sharply.

They both stopped walking, turning to face each other instead. "Why must you be so difficult? Can you not grant me this? I see Alicent as part of my family," Nyra huffed angrily.

Visenya had half a mind to strangle Alicent the next time she saw her. "Well, your friend is not a part of our family — she is not a part of mine."

"It is not my fault that you do not have any friends so you only wish to invite your family. Perhaps if you had any, you would have understood why Alicent being there is important to me," Rhaenyra shouted. "But you are so stuck in your books and lessons that you do not have any company other than your dragon!"

"What I do and who I spend my time with is none of your concern, Rhaenyra. Besides, as far as I'm concerned, it is better to have no friends than the likes of yours," Visenya sneered.

Rhaenyra's face twisted with rage. "Well, if Alicent is not invited, then I shan't come either," she announced stubbornly, obviously thinking Visenya would give in.

Visenya simply stared at her, eyes cold. "Fine, then don't — No one is forcing you to come," she shrugged and turned away in guilt, feeling as if she had just broken a bond with her sister.

As soon as Rhaenyra was out of her sight, Visenya sighed and punched the wall with all her strength. She should not have reacted in such a way — Hells, she was mentally older and she should have been a bigger person and just let it go.

She worked so hard to gain her sister back just to lose her. And now, Visenya was not sure she could ever gain Rhaenyra back — at least not until it's too late. She felt her heart clench painfully.

Why do the people whom she loves most, do her worst injuries?

Visenya hissed in pain, taking her now bleeding palm in her other hand and massaging it gently. From the corner of her eye, she saw the familiar approaching figure — a boy with very light brown hair and watery blue eyes.

"I do not believe I have ever seen you so rattled, princess. It seems like no one can get under your skin as family can," Leo commented.

Visenya spun around to glare at him, her temper flaring yet again. "Were you listening on us, Tyrell?"

Leo snorted, leaning against the wall she punched. "I am certain the entirety of the Red Keep has heard you two arguing, princess. I simply overheard a commotion and decided to see what it was about."

It was sort of funny how different the two of them were. While Visenya was fire made flesh, angry and temperamental — Leo was the opposite. He was the calm and cold morning breeze.

"Well, you could have just pretended not to hear anything, Leo — you could have also minded your own business," she snapped at him.

He ignored her outburst just as he always did. "Why do you let her talk to you like that? I have never seen you hold back on your remarks with anyone else," he asked with interest.

"She is my sister, my family. Don't you have a family too? — Surely not everything is heavenly between you all either," Visenya responded, her jaw clenching.

Leo's face darkened slightly, but it was gone so quickly that she thought she had imagined it. "It certainly is not, princess. However, that does not give her the right to speak with you like this — family or not."

Visenya tilted her head to the side with interest. "Speaking from experience, are you?" It was Leo's turn to snap, "I do, actually."

Indeed — Leo was a gentle and cold morning breeze, but he could also be a tornado that destroys everything in its path. He was usually calm, but when finally angered, he became destruction made flesh.

Visenya felt like asking more, but decided otherwise. "Whatever. Just mind your gods-damned business from now on." With that, she made her way to her mother's chambers — hoping to convince her mother to have her celebrate her nameday the way she wanted.

 

 

_____

 

 

Visenya stared at the sky from her place at the head of the table. There was some hope in her heart — hope of seeing Caraxes fly in the sky and towards the Red Keep, hope of seeing her uncle after he left with no goodbye and did not return for a whole moon.

There was hope that was being crushed with every passing second.

Daemon left and did not bother to come back for her nameday — Visenya wasn't sure why she thought it would be different in this life. Everyone always ended up leaving her or dying on her.

She drank the cup of strong wine and groaned softly at the taste — She was finally allowed to drink. Good. She is going to need it to survive this stupid celebration — she is going to need it to forget that all these people made her feel as if she had a hole in the middle of her.

Aemma insisted on having a large celebration and Viserys backed her on that, as did Rhaenyra. So, Visenya was forced to dress in her pretty black and red gown and pretend that she was happy to have half of the fucking realm kissing her feet this fine evening.

Visenya snorted, drinking another cup of wine in hopes to get herself drunk. Hells, she missed endlessly drinking with Loras — she missed lying on the ground with him, just staring at nothing, laughing at jests that weren't funny and drinking until they passed out.

She looked up from her cup to see Rhaenyra and Alicent chatting with Gwayne Hightower. All three of them were smiling and her sister held hands with that ugly bitch. Fuck this. Fuck everything.

Visenya was slightly surprised to learn that she felt nothing as she watched her sister in the company of Hightowers. Then, she had to remind herself that she rarely ever felt anything nowadays.

Time passed in a blur. She had terrible days where she could not remember if she even got out of her bed. She blinked and the dark circles under her eyes returned. She blinked and the willingness to smile disappeared. She blinked and two moons passed since she last spoke with Rhaenyra. She blinked and her nameday came.

Having experienced both, she wasn't sure which was worse, the intense feeling or the sheer absence of it.

Even so, the knowledge that she officially lost her sister was something that she simply could not handle. Her heart began to grieve for a person who was still alive. Her heart ached — like an opened wound.

Visenya drained another cup as she watched Alicent and Rhaenyra dance together. No matter how much she hated to admit it, her broken black heart was stitched up because of her sister. Visenya filled the holes in her heart with Rhaenyra and now — now, she was back to square one, back to that lonely and broken little girl that she hated to her core.

She signed as Lord Lannister approached her parents, bowing before them. "My King, My Queen, may I present you my firstborn son and heir, Jason," he introduced.

The boy had golden hair and emerald eyes — strangely, he reminded her of Jaime Lannister with his cocky demeanor. Jason was at least seven and ten as he turned to look at her with a smirk. Visenya had half a mind to roll her eyes at him.

Her father smiled drunkenly. "It gladdens me to see that you graced us with your presence, Lord Lannister. We thank you for making your journey to celebrate our daughter's nameday."

"It is no problem, Your Grace. The princess is a very beautiful young lady — We would have surely missed out on so much if we hadn't met her," Lord Lannister said, his eyes turning to her with interest.

"Speaking of which, I would like to propose a betrothal between the Princess Visenya and my son, Jason, if it pleases you, your Grace. Let us unite our two houses," he continued, holding onto his son's shoulders.

Viserys brightened and Visenya deadpanned. "That is a wonderful proposal, my Lord. What do you think of this, my love? Why don't we secure our daughter a worthy match?"

Aemma smiled, but it felt strained. "While the proposal sounds delightful, I think we should not do anything without asking our daughter's approval, my love," she announced, squeezing Viserys's hand in warning.

Lord Lannister pushed, "But, your Graces — I have sent numerous letters, asking for the approval of this match and I have not received an answer—"

Her mother cut him off swiftly, "Many have sent us letters, asking for Visenya's hand in marriage, my Lord. We hardly had time to respond to all of them." Her voice was stern and Visenya smirked, taking another sip of wine.

Lord Lannister's jaw clenched angrily, but he bowed. "Of course, my Queen. I apologize if I have offended you."

Visenya wanted to see and hear more of that interesting conversation, but someone approached her so she had to turn and greet them. The fire in her blood threatened to burn as she saw the son of Otto Hightower before her.

"My Princess, I must say — You look beautiful tonight," he complimented, bowing his head. Gwayne held out his hand, expecting her to place hers in his so he could place a kiss on the back of it, but Visenya simply shifted in her seat.

She denied his request, looking at Otto only to find him staring at her. "Thank you, Ser Gwayne," she said. That scheming fucking bastard.

"Might I ask you for a dance, my Princess?" Gwayne tried again, but she shook her head slightly, forcing a smile on her face. "I am afraid I'm going to have to refuse, good Ser. I do not like dancing much, you see."

Gwayne smiled easily, trying so hard to appear charming when all Visenya wanted to do was punch him in the face. "It cannot be that bad, can it, my Princess? Surely you must know how to dance, you are a princess after all."

Before Visenya could snap at him, the doors to the Throne Room opened to reveal her uncle, dressed beautifully in black and red. Visenya's heart leaped at the sight of him.

He came. He came. He came.

He was here. He was here. He was here.

He hadn't abandoned her. He hadn't abandoned her. He hadn't abandoned her.

Daemon made his entrance unpredictable and every eye in the room turned towards him, whispers following him — chaos made flesh. He briefly greeted her parents and then made his way to her.

"Uncle," Visenya said in High Valyrian, a little breathless. She stood up from her seat and just looked at him. He kneeled down so they could be the same height and kissed her brow. "Happy nameday, little flame."

The wine in her body made her more emotional and less in control of her actions — so Visenya reached out to him, holding his sleeve with her hand as she said, her voice a broken whisper, "I thought you left without saying goodbye again. I thought you would not come back."

"I could never leave you without saying a proper goodbye, sweetling," Daemon stroked her cheek gently. He pressed his forehead against her temple. "Besides, I had to search for your nameday gift across the Narrow Sea."

Visenya felt confused, but her uncle did not give her further explanation — he simply called for the servants. The servants brought in the packed gift and Daemon encouraged her to open it.

She gulped at what she saw. "Is this—?" She dared ask, but could not finish her sentence. She was breathless, staring at him with wide indigo eyes.

Daemon stroked her silver-gold waves and nodded his head. "A Valyrian Sword, only gift worthy of you, little flame," he confirmed.

Visenya was speeches, staring at the beautiful longsword. It was approximately the same size as Dark Sister, but when she took it in hand, it was a bit lighter than her uncle's sword — obviously meant for a woman's hand.

The grip was the blackest color she had seen in her life. The guard however was formed in such a way as to represent head of a golden dragon with horns and two rubies for eyes. The pattern on the blade itself was made to seem as if the dragon was blowing fire.

"Forgive your favorite uncle for his tardiness, sweetling. Not many know how to work with Valyrian steel and this gift had to be perfect," her uncle's voice brought her back from her thoughts.

Visenya wasted no time as she jumped in his arms, hiding her face in the crook of his beck. "I love it. Thank you."  He returned the embrace, holding her tightly to him and kissing the crown of her head.

In truth, the sword he had gifted her was an unexpected present that she utterly adored, but his presence was the only gift she needed and wanted.

The time passed swiftly and Visenya did not dare let go of her beautiful sword. Seeing that almost every one of her guests was drunk, she quickly and soundlessly exited her celebrations.

If someone were to find her, she could tell them she needed some fresh air. Visenya just wanted to be alone, away from all the men and their heirs who were fighting for her hand in marriage like beasts. Disgusting. She was barely ten — not even flowered yet.

Unfortunately for her, the plan to spend the rest of the evening alone was ruined because she ran into Leo — who was obviously trying to be alone too. "Aren't you supposed to be inside — celebrating and dancing until your feet hurt?" he questioned.

Visenya shrugged and asked him back, "Aren't you supposed to be inside — spending time with your family and drinking with your brother?"

"Fair enough, I suppose," Leo snorted, a bored expression on his face. He looked down at the sword in her hand. "It truly is Valyrian steel. The sword is a beauty, in truth. Prince Daemon outdid himself, didn't he?"

"He truly did," Visenya confirmed, running her fingers down the path of golden flames and feeling the sharp steel beneath her fingertips.

"Do you have a name for it? Every sword deserves a name worthy of it, especially this one." Leo still admired the sheer beauty of her gift as she smirked.

In her previous life, she wielded Rhaegar Targaryen's sword named Fire. Visenya found it in Winterfell and by accident at that. She was told that the sword was brought to Winterfell by Ned Stark. She had picked it up and gone to war with her husband not knowing that it once belonged to her father.

The sword met its end when she first fought the White Walkers. Then, Bloodraven gifted her Dark Sister which he had taken with him to the Wall. She had wielded the sword since and she died with it in her hands.

Visenya had never once named a sword — even though she already had some names prepared. "Lady's Wrath," she spoke with no hesitation. The brown-haired boy nodded in approval. "A good name, princess."

Suddenly, feeling rather brave and bold, she turned towards Leo, "Would you like to come with me? To show me how to properly care for a Valyrian steel-sword — how to clean it and sharpen it? You have been taking care of Dark Sister for a while now."

Leo was hesitant, hiding his hands in his pockets. "Won't your family miss your presence? — this is a celebration in your honor, after all."

Visenya thought of her drunk father, of her mother who retired early, of her uncle who looked at that Lannister lady with lust in his eyes — and finally, she thought of the laughing Rhaenyra, happy and content with Hightowers. "They won't even notice my absence," she said.

She started walking in the other direction, but stopped once she realized he wasn't following behind her. "Are you coming — if you do not want to spend time with your family, that is. I will understand if you do. You hardly see them since you live in King's Landing now. They must miss you back home."

Leo just looked at her and Visenya felt something shift between them in that moment — two black sheep of the family finding each other in the chaos. Her eyes shone with understanding.

It was perhaps the first time she had seen Leo with his guard down and with a true smile on his face. "No — They really do not miss me. And I do not miss them either," he replied and gladly followed behind her.

Notes:

We won't be seeing much of Visenya and Rhaenyra together from now on. Vissie is done trying and pushing for a bond that can't happen until Alicent betrays her sister. Honestly, good for her 😅

Daemon gifting Visenya her very own Valyrian sword that will later pass on to their daughter is my religion 😭

My Wattpad: seven-moons

Chapter 19: An Invisible Boundary

Summary:

In which:

— Vissie has a wonderful idea
— Leo and Visenya's friendship progresses
— Laena makes her appearance

Notes:

I just wanted to take a minute to say THANK YOU to all of you who suggested something in the comments. Your ideas are amazing and I will do my best not to disappoint you with what I decide to do!

Please, feel free to comment anything you'd like to see. You are welcome to give me more suggestions and ideas because I love to hear them all! Thank you, again ❣

king's landing, 107 AC
aemma arryn

Aemma was still weak, without a doubt — her appetite was almost nonexistent and she often had to force herself to eat. She was recovering, at least — she could walk again, although not long distances. Still, it was a promising start.

Daemon was kind enough to get rid of that grey rat, Runicter — Aemma did not question what happened to that smelly old man. She had a feeling she did not want to know, she was simply glad that Runicter was dead and could no longer hurt her family.

They had a new Grand Maester, Mellos. Since her health was improving, Aemma thought that Otto still had no influence over him, which was good. Aemma hoped it would stay that way, but something told her Mellos will be worse than Runicter.

Daemon and she had written to their uncle, Vaegon, in hopes of getting his help in the matter of dealing with Hightowers and the Citadel. Vaegon gladly agreed to help and the three of them have been searching relentlessly for some kind of proof about what is happening.

They found nothing yet. The search is long and hard, especially because they needed to start from the very beginning — from the time of Aegon the Conqueror. Who knows how long have the Hightowers been doing this?

What if the death of Queen Alysanne's children was also their doing? After all, the late Queen had lost many children, especially in their cradles — not to mention that most of them were boys! What if the death of Jaehaerys and Baelon had been their doing too? They simply had to know.

"Vissie, you know that your father will not like it if he learns that you have touched his model of Old Valyria. You know how protective he is of it," she said, resting her head on the back of the chair.

Visenya stopped running her fingers over the beautiful white model and smirked at her. "I know, mama — which is precisely why I'm touching it." Aemma laughed lightly.

The situation between her husband and their eldest was...delicate. Viserys was still angry at Visenya for attending sword-fighting lessons without their permission, but Vissie could not care less.

Honestly, Aemma did not understand why her mate always made a situation sound worse than it actually is. Visenya was still young and she deserved to live her best life. Only Gods know how Aemma managed to keep the talks of betrothals and marriage away from her eldest.

Since it became painfully clear that Visenya won't be marrying into the family because she had no brother, all Great Houses of Westeros had written letters to them, wishing for her hand. Aemma could have breathed flames when Viserys tried to discuss the matter with her.

Gods, her daughter had not even flowered yet and they think they could have a claim on her! Visenya was Aemma's! She came from her womb! Aemma was the one that went through almost two days of labor to get her into the world — she would be damned if she let someone unworthy anywhere near her!

"So, mama — I have been thinking..." Vissie started, abandoning the model of Valyria and walking to the seat across from her. Aemma lifted her head a little to look at her daughter. "Oh no, that means we are all in quite the trouble."

Vissie glared at her. "You are not amusing," she huffed. Her little flame played with her fingers as she asked, "So...Why don't you claim a dragon?"

Aemma sat up straighter. "What? Where have you gotten this idea, Vissie?" she asked, eyes wide. Vissie shrugged. "Mama, you are sick. Your health is improving, but it is taking far more than it should. Claiming a dragon for yourself will help with your recovery."

Her daughter was not wrong. Many Targaryens before her who had been born weak and sickly have magically become healthier once they bonded with their mounts.

Aemma smiled sweetly. "I'm very lucky to have you looking out for me, sweetling — But, I cannot claim a dragon. I can hardly walk, not to mention climb on one's back and take to the skies."

"You do not need to ride a dragon — you simply need to bond with one," her daughter argued. "It does not have to be a grown dragon either — it can be a hatchling. I heard that there is a new hatchling on Dragonstone, I believe they call him Grey Ghost."

It warmed Aemma's heart that her daughter was doing everything she possibly could to help her. She stroked Vissie's cheek gently. Gods, how much she had grown!

"Vissie, I do not know. I have never imagined bonding with a dragon before — not even in my youth. I simply never wished for it. The skies do not call to me as they do to you and Rhaenyra," Aemma explained. "Perhaps I'm meant to stay on the ground — I'm an Arryn after all."

"Mama, you are a Targaryen too — you have the blood of the dragon in your veins," her little flame grunted in protest. "But, if bonding with a dragon is what scares you, I can show you my Arrax — so you can see that there is nothing to be afraid of."

Aemma snorted, knowing that she could not get out of this one so easily. "You have thought this all through, haven't you, little flame?"

"I simply wish for you to get better," Vissie mused. Aemma sighed and nodded. "I will think about it, I promise."

The doors to the chambers suddenly opened as her mate walked in. He seemed taken aback to see Vissie here with her. "Vissie, what are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be in the Sept — celebrating the day of the maiden with other maidens?"

Vissie grimaced and tapped her fingers on the table. "I knew I have forgotten something..." she muttered, but Aemma could clearly tell that her daughter hardly wished to kneel in the Sept and pray — she had never once willingly done so in her life, after all.

"This was a great opportunity for you, little flame. You should have been out there, making friends and enjoying your youth," Viserys sighed. "I suppose it matters not now — there is always next year for that."

Her mate approached her and kissed her forehead. Aemma smiled up at him as they shared a look before turning to their daughter. "Well, it is not too late to meet the ladies, is it? I am certain they are just leaving the Sept. There is still time to enjoy this beautiful day."

Vissie leaned into her seat, unbothered. "I would rather stay here with you and keep you company."

This is what Aemma had been afraid of. Her two daughters used to be inseparable once — and that had changed during their childhood, they both changed and simply wanted different things, which was alright. While Rhaenyra found herself a friend, Visenya focused on her studies and simply distanced herself from people.

Aemma could never forget the way Visenya had snapped at Harrenhal a few years back — her quietness and the way the flames in her eyes simply vanished. She feared it was happening again and she refused to let her daughter go into that state again.

"Why not try to make some friends, little flame? I'm certain there is someone who you'd spend your day with rather than us," Aemma suggested.

"I do not need friends — I told you that before," Visenya said, turning towards the window. Aemma's heart clenched painfully — Gods, she hated seeing her daughter like this, so quiet and somber.

It was her husband who spoke next, "We just want you to be happy, Vissie — and lately, we fear you have been rather lonely." Viserys looked at their daughter worriedly.

"I'm grateful that you have tried to get me some friends — I really am, but I truly do not need more than I already have," Vissie sighed, shifting to face them. "I have my Arrax, you two, uncle Daemon and well — Leo. That is more than enough."

Viserys squeezed her hand in his and Aemma could not help but plead, "Please, Vissie — could you just try to talk to someone your age? Let us rest peacefully, knowing that you are not lonely."

 

 

_____

 

 

king's landing, 107 AC
visenya targaryen

Her family was her weakness — Visenya was officially ready to accept the fact. It was hardly fair — how much power her mother and father had over her and they did not even know it.

She fucking bent to their will.

Visenya wanted to kick herself for it because she wouldn't have done it for Cersei or Robert — hells even Rhaegar. She wouldn't have done it for anyone else, no matter how important they were to her. Visenya refused to show weakness — and yet...

Hells, she cannot even think about it, because if she did, it means that it matters. And if it matters, that means it's real and if it's real, that means it's going to hurt. So no, Visenya refused to acknowledge the fierce love she had for her family.

"I am honored you have asked for my company, princess — it really is a great opportunity," a girl a few years her senior said, beaming. Honestly, Visenya could not even remember her name.

"There is no need to thank me, Lady Redwyne," she mused, turning away to watch the young squires fighting below.

Once she neared the Sept, she was cornered by ladies and with a groan, she accepted their invitation to spend the day together. All for her parents.

Like any ladies reaching their maturity, they wanted to watch young men fighting and dream of being swept off by a handsome knight — that's how they ended up in the training yard. How fucking original.

"Say, princess — don't you think that young Rowan squire is quite handsome?" Lady Lannister asked, looking at one of the boys below.

"I would appreciate if we did not talk about my brother, please. It is hard to think of him as handsome," another of the ladies deadpanned before Visenya could respond.

"What about that Tyrell squire? — Leo is his name, I believe. I heard he was one of the most talented young swordsmen in the entire Westeros!" Lady Redwyne flushed as her eyes followed the movements of the young light-haired boy.

Visenya responded this time, "He certainly is. My uncle wouldn't have chosen him as his squire if it was otherwise."

As if he had known he was the subject of their discussion, Leo looked up at them. Visenya met his eyes briefly and in acknowledgment. "Oh! He is looking at us! Do not look or else he will know we are talking about him!" Lady Rowan flushed red and turned in the opposite direction.

"Princess, I heard that you and Leo Tyrell are quite close," Lady Lannister said teasingly. Visenya pretended she did not understand the accusation. "Is there something you wish to share with us on the matter?"

"As I said, Lady Lannister — Leo Tyrell is my uncle's squire. I'm bound to see him around quite often since I'm very close with my uncle. There is nothing more to it," she explained, already thinking of some excuse to leave the gossiping ladies behind.

"If you say so, Princess. I heard gossip that Lord Tyrell wanted to propose a marriage between you and Leo. Perhaps I heard wrong," Lady Lannister continued to speak and Visenya raised a brow in question.

Visenya disliked gossip — she also disliked ladies who simply sat around, drinking their tea and eating their cakes while daydreaming of handsome knights. Perhaps her dislike could be also interpreted as jealousy?

Even in her first life, she had no time to be a proper lady — as young Alyanna Baratheon, she was far too busy with trying to get her parents to notice her, and because she was not noticed, gossiping ladies usually tended to stay out of her way — after all, they only wanted to chat with someone who is in the spotlight.

But now, Visenya could not find the amusement in it — she had the entire world to save, that was the constant thought on her mind and not which lady may be hiding a swelling belly beneath her dress or who stole kisses from whom.

Despite this, the gossiping ladies are important to have around. There is much to learn that comes from their lips — useful information slips up here and there, like right now.

Lady Redwyne gasped sweetly. "Surely that must be false. Leo, while quite handsome and skilled — he is just a second son, not a fit match for a Princess. He has an older brother who is their father's heir."

"Indeed, but his elder brother, Lerris, is not one with good health — neither is their father, Lord Lawren. Perhaps they want Leo to be the next Warden of the South," Lady Lannister explained with a slight curl of her lip, obviously enjoying that she was the only one to know of this.

Ha. She hadn't known this. Perhaps it was a silly gossip, perhaps it was the truth. After all, almost every man in the Realm who had a son close to her age, had sent letters to her parents, asking for her hand.

"Ser Leo," Lady Rowan greeted, flushing deep red. Visenys spun around to see that Leo approached them — Hells, she hadn't seen him disappear from the yard. He nodded in acknowledgment. "My ladies — My Princess."

"You have done very well, Ser Leo. That was quite the match," Lady Redwyne complimented and Leo sent her a charming smile. Visenya rolled her eyes, knowing that Leo did not even know who the lady was. "Thank you, my Lady."

"Is there anything we could do for you, good Ser?" Lady Lannister asked, twirling one golden lock of her hair, around her finger.

While it would have made any other young man flush red, Leo looked utterly unbothered as his eyes met Visenya's. "Actually, yes. I come as a messenger of Prince Daemon — There was some commotion in the Dragonpit and he asks for Princess Visenya's assistance in the matter."

Visenya blinked, ready to sprint out of the training yard and see if her dragon was alright. She briefly turned around and said, "This was quite nice, my ladies — I fear I must say goodbye to you for now."

Leo followed after her and when they were a safe distance away from the disappointed ladies, she asked, "What happened at the Dragonpit? Is my Arrax alright?"

The brown-haired boy looked down at her. "Nothing happened. I just thought you could use a save — You looked like you'd rather throw yourself off the highest tower than speak to them."

She breathed out in relief and then chuckled.  "Was my disdain that obvious?" she mused and he cracked a smile. "Pretty much, yes." They stopped walking and faced each other. "Well, thank you for the save. I was planning on ditching them anyway."

Leo waved his hand dismissively. He then gestured towards the training yard. "I should probably return to the training yard — there are still some drills I have not finished. Let me know if you ever need another save."

He began to walk away, but before he could leave her sight, Visenya shouted to him. "Wait!" Leo spun around and she walked over to him. "Perhaps I could join you in the training yard? I have nowhere else to be at the moment?"

He simply shrugged and they found themselves in the training yard after checking that the gossiping ladies left. Visenya immediately grabbed the training sword and walked towards Leo.

"What are you doing?" He questioned, looking at her in confusion. Visenya adjusted her riding leathers and pointed the training sword towards him. "I'm holding a wooden sword and preparing to spar with you. What are you doing?"

Leo shook his head in disbelief. "I cannot spar with you." She pouted, crossing her hands over her chest. "And why is that?"

"First of all, you are a girl — a princess. I would rather my head stay on my shoulders than be on a spike. I'm too pretty for the spike anyway," he teased.

Visenya grunted, "I disagree." She swung her wooden sword at him and he had no choice but to defend himself with his own. A few hits in and he was easily able to take her weapon from her.

Leo looked at her pointedly and handed back her the wooden sword. "Second of all, you may be doing your dancing lessons or whatever — but that is not the way it's done in Westeros. We do not chase cats around the castle — we prefer to actually train."

Visenya looked at him with annoyance,  swinging at him again. "Believe it or not, chasing cats is rather useful and it is a form of training. Cats are swift and unpredictable — just as the water dancing requires of me to be."

He obviously held back as their swords met. But, Visenya was not bad herself. She may have been training for only a year, but, her body remembered what it had to do — It was muscle memory. Visenya spent years training with both Syrio and Jaime so her body was accustomed to sword-fighting — she just needed more practice.

Their little sparring lasted longer this time, but Leo was still able to steal her weapon. "You are not that bad for someone who just started learning, I'll give you that."

Using his relaxed posture to her advantage, Visenya swept her feet under him. He landed on his arse, looking at her with surprise yet annoyance. "No matter how small or inexperienced the opponent seems, never underestimate them, Leo," she chided.

They both heard rough laughter from behind them. It appeared uncle Daemon was watching them the whole time. He approached them, helping him up. "My niece got you good, Leo."

"I was not expecting that," Leo admitted. Daemon smirked, throwing his arm around her shoulders. "Because you got too cocky."

"You are the one to talk, uncle," Visenya said sarcastically and Daemon bumped her nose with his finger. "That is entirely different because I have a good reason to be cocky. No one can best me — on the other hand, Leo is still learning."

Visenya rolled her eyes with a smile. She could swear she heard Leo grunt in the background. Daemon placed both his hands on her shoulders. "Now, niece, let your favorite uncle teach you something."

"No matter who your opponent is, a man will always be stronger than you. Which is why, you have to be faster — do not engage in the battle of strength." Leo handed him one of the wooden swords. "Be swift and either finish them quickly or let them lose their strength as they attack you."

 

 

_____

 

 

Visenya stroked Arrax's snout and her beautiful mouth purred in response. She chuckled, dressed in her riding leathers and with her hair braided, falling down her back. No matter how much she looked at him, she could never be too amazed by his growth. It seemed that with every passing day, Arrax was larger.

The Dragonkeepers announced the arrival of another dragon and Arrax immediately walked a few steps forward, making her hide behind his wing — He was protecting her, she realized — just in case it was a wild dragon.

A powerful roar shook the Dragonpit and perhaps the entire King's Landing too. Visenya could recognize that roar anywhere — she spent her entire childhood on the back of the largest dragon in the world after all.

The mighty Vhagar landed on the ground and all the people simply stepped away. Despite how bigger the she-dragon was, Arrax stood proudly, shifting his body to shield her. His bronze eyes searched Vhagar, as if to see if she was a threat or not.

Oh, her brave mount who stood tall and proud even in the presence of Vhagar!

"Princess Visenya," she heard a voice call out to her and Visenya realized it was Laena. For a moment, her heart seemed to stop in her chest as she remembered their last encounter.

Laena was a beautiful young lady with chestnut skin and white-gold hair that was carefully braided to keep her wild locks out of her face. There was a beat of silence where Visenya realized that she saw Laena as she was and not Lenna in her stead.

"Lady Laena," she greeted back, stepping more into the view. "You had a good journey, I hope?"

Laena climbed off Vhagar's back, the large dragon assisting her as she slowly moved her enormous wing. "What better journey than the one on the back of my beautiful goddess?"

"Your father would say the sea is far better," Visenya snorted and Laena laughed, petting Vhagar. "He really would."

Visenya wasn't sure why she kept talking, after all she kept the invisible boundary between herself and everyone else, no matter the person. She maintained a set distance, carefully monitoring the person's attitude so that they wouldn't be able to get any closer to her.

But there was something about Laena that made her want to step out of her comfort zone — perhaps it was the happiness that she felt when she realized she no longer saw the ghosts of her past — perhaps it was just how Laena was, easygoing and charming, so much so that it made you forget your worries.

Visenya slowly stepped closer, heart beating with uncertainty. Arrax pushed his snout against her back, as if telling her, It's alright, I'm here. So, Visenya kept walking.

"She really is stunning. I remember when I was little, my grandfather used to take me with him to the skies on Vhagar because I begged him to," she gestured towards the mighty dragon.

Laena smiled and looked at Arrax who was still keeping close to her. "Is that your dragon, princess?" Visenya nodded. "Yes. Lady Laena, meet Arrax. I believe he hatched from one of Vhagar's eggs "

This seemed to surprise the beautiful girl. "That must have been one of the last eggs that Vhagar laid. She hadn't laid another clutch since Prince Baelon's death." She hummed in thought. "And Arrax hatched the day you were born then?"

Visenya finally allowed herself to close that horrible distance between herself and another person. She was standing directly in front of the slender and lean body of Laena Velaryon. She gulped and nodded.

Arrax approached them too, leaning toward Laena so she could pet him. Loving the dragons as she did, Laena did not waste a second before she stroked his green scales. "It's surprising, seeing his size. Laenor's dragon, Seasmoke, hatched in his crib and yet your Arrax is twice his size."

Arrax purred which made Laena laugh. "He grows rather quickly. Dragonkeepers say it's because I refuse to keep him chained," she explained.

"I do not let them chain Vhagar either. Although, not many men are brave enough to even stand in her presence, not to mention try to bind her to the ground," Laena snorted.

Vhagar lifted her head from the ground, movement slow because of her age and size. She kept looking at Arrax and her mount approached his supposed mother. Laena and Visenya watched as Arrax made himself comfortable along Vhagar's neck. It was surprising that the mighty dragon even let him.

Two of them shared a look, but since no fight between their mounts was breaking out, they decided to leave them be. "And, how was it — claiming the largest and oldest dragon alive?"

Laena tapped her chin in thought. "I thought I'd be scared — I mean, look at the sheer size of her! But, the moment our eyes met, it was like I knew we were destined to bond — like she was always meant to own half of my heart."

Her amethyst eyes looked saddened. "All our lives we are thought to command our dragons — we are thought they need to obey, but I cannot help but feel as if that is not the truth," she sighed. "I do not know how to explain what I feel."

Visenya hummed in thought, thinking of her bond with Arrax. "I understand. It's like you feel her and she feels you — you both know what the other one thinks too."

Laena looked at her for a moment, as if taking her in. Gods, they hadn't truly talked to each other since the Great Council and Visenya had been awful to her back then. "Exactly. Perhaps we can take them to the skies together sometime, princess?"

"I would really like that," Visenya accepted.

Notes:

There is one change that I made since last chapter, I added Aemond/Helaena to spice things up 🤭 Their relationship will be important and I'm thinking on making them mates? What do y'all say to that?

Aemma will be claiming a dragon in the next chapter, so bear with me 😁

My Wattpad: seven-moons

Chapter 20: Live Visenya, Live

Summary:

In which:

— Aemma claims a dragon
— Visenya has a panic attack
— Laena and Rhaenys make an appearance

dragonpit, 107 AC
aemma arryn

Aemma would be lying if she did not say she was scared — because she was. In truth, she was utterly terrified.

Just like any other person who had even a drop of Targaryen blood in them, she knew the history of dragons. Dragons were beautiful creatures — that much she could admit, but that was about it. Aemma never once considered claiming a dragon, not even when her grandmother, the late Queen Alysanne, offered to help her.

It never seemed like something Aemma would do. Most people said it was because she was half Arryn and unworthy of a dragon — and she let them talk like that since she believed in it too.

She grew up hearing the stories and explanations of bonds with dragons from many different people and yet, never once did she feel a connection to one of the beasts or the call of the skies — not like most of her family had.

And yet, here she was now — in the Dragonpit with a wish to claim a dragon.

The Dragonkeepers said nothing as the two of them entered the Dragonpit, only staring a look between them. Aemma could feel her heart spreading up as she looked around the huge, dark and warm place.

As if sensing the swirl of emotions Aemma was feeling, Visenya reached out to take her hand and lead her through the darkness. "Does father know we are here?" she questioned.

"No, he would disapprove. I'm not even certain he would let me leave my chambers if he knew about this. I would like us to keep this a secret, Vissie," Aemma responded.

Besides, she was pretty sure Otto would talk Viserys's ear off on how he should not have let it happen — of how she should focus on producing an heir instead of spending her time in the Dragonpit, trying to claim a dragon. That bastard.

"Alright," Vissie said as she stopped walking. Her daughter let go of her hand and stepped right in front of Aemma — as if shielding her.

Aemma was about to ask what was happening, but then she heard thundering steps that could not be human. She could swear that she stopped breathing as she saw a green dragon walking towards them.

The familiar green dragon went straight for her daughter and Aemma's mother instinct screamed at her to run for her daughter and protect her — but once she saw Visenya's relaxed posture, she understood that no one was in danger.

The green dragon nuzzled his head into Visenya as she wrapped her hands around his neck. "Hello my beautiful Arrax," her daughter greeted in High Valyrian.

Aemma's eyes widened in surprise at the scene. "Gods, he is large! Looking at him now, it is hard to believe that you two used to share a cradle!"

Vissie turned towards her, smiling proudly as she stroked Arrax's gleaming green scales. "I know! He will be larger than Balerion someday, I just know it!"

The green dragon purred like a cat, as if understanding the compliment. Visenya turned her attention towards her mount once again. "Arrax, meet my mama. She is a bit afraid so be good to her, alright?"

Without looking away from Arrax, Vissie offered her right hand for Aemma to take while she kept her left one on the dragon's jaw, caressing it slowly. "Give me your hand, mama."

Aemma swallowed and stepped closer, placing her hand in Visenya's. Her daughter hummed a soft lullaby in High Valyrian, as if to soothe the green dragon. Vissie tugged on her hand, urging her to come closer.

When her hand made contact with the gleaming green scales, Aemma chuckled breathlessly in amazement. With Vissie's help, she started petting Arrax. "Oh, he is rather warm."

"Of course he is! Dragons are fire made flesh!" Arrax's bronze eye pierced into her own indigo ones and Aemma could tell that the act was meant to make her feel fear, but she did not back down. So, Arrax's eyes softened as he huffed a satisfied breath of smoke.

Aemma smiled at his acceptance, sensing no more danger in the air. "Hello, Arrax. I hear you are taking good care of my daughter — Thank you for always bringing her back to us in one piece," she spoke in High Valyrian, the language almost foreign on her tongue.

Once Visenya deemed her ready for the next task, she spun around towards the Dragonkeepers. "Let us bring Grey Ghost here," she ordered.

The four men bowed and scattered away. "Right away, Princess." Visenya ordered the new hatchling to be brought to the Dragonpit from Dragonstone for this very occasion. Aemma shifted on her feet when she noticed that Arrax moved to stand behind Vissie.

She heard the screeching first and then she saw the small grey-white hatchling in a small cage. Visenya stepped to her side. "Remember mama, no sudden movements. He is young and wild since he has not yet been claimed."

Aemma's throat felt tight — she could barely swallow down her nerves. She nodded slightly and the Dragonkeepers opened the metal cage to let the hatchling out.

Arrax breathed a breath of smoke, as if to remind Aemma that he was behind her and she was safe. Her daughter's dragon even shifted closer, leaning his neck towards her to carefully observe Grey Ghost and his movements. His bronze eyes were on high alert, his mouth slightly opened and ready to tear apart the hatchling if he so dared to make a wrong move.

Feeling safe, Aemma took a step closer to Grey Ghost and stretched out her palm toward him. "Just try to feel him — to form a bond with him," Visenya advised from behind her.

Grey Ghost looked around the Dragonpit, his pale blue eyes landing on Aemma. He approached her, wings flaring. Aemma tried to keep the eye-contact with him — to show him she was not afraid.

For a moment, Aemma felt the hope rise in her heart as the pale hatchling closed the distance between them, but then he began screeching and opening his mouth to sink his sharp teeth into her hand.

Arrax reacted fast and he roared loudly at the hatchling, the sound threatening and low. He leaned towards Grey Ghost, as if daring him to take a step closer. Aemma swallowed hard and retreated towards her daughter.

The Dragonkeepers locked up the scared hatchling, moving him away from them. Aemma sighed in disappointment. "I do not think this is going to work, Vissie. I'm happy that we tried, at least."

"We are not yet giving up. There is something else that I want to test out, if you do not feel too tired to do so," Vissie said, her eyes determined.

She had nothing to lose here, Aemma thought. She nodded and Visenya placed her hand on her own chest, where her heart was beating steadily. "Do you feel something connecting you to this place?"

Aemma thought for a moment, looking around with a grimace. "I do not know," she said honestly. "Close your eyes and try to find the thread connecting you to another," Vissie instructed.

She did as she was told — welcoming the darkness. Aemma searched her heart only to find a familiar blue thread, connecting her to Viserys. However, she felt no other connections to her heart and soul.

She was about to respond, but Vissie beat her to it, "I feel a thread, a thin red bond connecting me to another — it is the bond with my mate, if I had to guess. If I concentrate hard enough, I can sometimes see a black silhouette on the other side of it."

"But, there is also another one — the thread connecting me to Arrax, a green bond so strong that he can feel what I feel — that he can think what I think," Visenya explained. "Every Targaryen has it and you are a Targaryen, mama. Just close your eyes, breathe deeply and find it."

Aemma nodded, trying to concentrate. She searched deep within herself, feeling the sweat slide down her brow. Darkness. Darkness. More darkness. There was nothing but darkness and that beautiful blue bond she had with her mate.

And then, she took in a sharp breath, her eyes now opened wide. "I—I can feel something! It's silver and so very thin that I can barely feel it, but it is there, I'm certain!" she announced, breathless. The silver bond was so thin that it was no wonder why she hadn't felt it before.

Aemma turned towards the cages of the Dragonpit, feeling a presence of a dragon on the other side of that silver bond. "This way."

Even though the bond was weak, Aemma's steps were certain. Her dragon was waiting for her — she had been waiting for a long time.

They found themselves in front of Dreamfyre's cage — the dragon that once belonged to Rhaena Targaryen, a beautiful and slender she-dragon with blue scales and silver markings and crests. She was beautiful.

Dreamfyre watched them with her pale amethyst eye, but Aemma did not feel threatened — instead, she stepped closer. "Stay back, Vissie."

There was something that bound the two of them together — and Aemma could feel it so very clearly that it took her breath away. Dreamfyre and Aemma — two mothers that had many children, most of them dead.

Dreamfyre had laid countless clutches over the years, and yet most of them did not hatch or even stir — instead they turned cold. Aemma had many pregnancies, most of which had resulted in stillborn babes.

Two grieving mothers, Aemma thought. No matter how thin or fragile the bond between them felt, Aemma poured her feelings of pain, grief and understanding through it.

Dreamfyre immediately lifted her large head from the ground and approached her with sure steps. Aemma smiled. "Hello, beautiful," she whispered in High Valyrian. Gods, it felt like home.

 

 

_____

 

 

king's landing, 107 AC
visenya targaryen

Visenya took a deep breath, trying to will herself to feel something — anything, but her heart and soul stayed quiet. Nothing came, nothing at all. Occasionally, there was a sharp slice of anger, grief, sadness — and then silence, ringing and droning silence.

She did not understand it — she did not understand herself. Visenya was sick and tired of trying to put into words what she felt — of trying to shape all that sorrow, all that loss, all that rage — and failing.

She did not know how to fix it — how to fix herself — how to stop being this way. The only thing she truly knew is that she was lonely once again.

Visenya felt unspeakably lonely and drained. It was a blank state of mind and soul that cannot be described. It was a private feeling — that of melting into a perpetual nervous breakdown. She often questioned herself about what she further needed to do, who she had to be and which parts of herself still functioned properly.

Visenya had no answers to any of these questions.

Deep down, she knew she could no longer continue to live like this — that she could not sustain life fueled only by the memories of those who she once loved. Loss would not propel her forward. She had to go out and live — she had to find new people.

But, nothing is ever as easy as it sounds.

"Is everything alright, princess?" Laena asked and Visenya finally willed herself to open her eyes. She glanced back at the group of ladies sitting in the gardens and waiting for her to come back to them — and she sighed.

Visenya nodded at Laena who was now standing right next to her. "Yes — I just needed a moment. I will join you all shortly." It was supposed to be a dismissal, but Laena refused to take it as such and instead leaned forward to continue the conversion.

"What happened to you? You used to be so..." She tapped her chin in search of the right word. Visenya tilted her head to the side with a raised brow. "Rude? Snappy? Temperamental?"

Laena's eyes sparkled and the corner of her lips lifted a little. "Not the words I would use — You used to be bold, witty and full of fire. But now...I see you and I can no longer recognize you."

"I'm still all those things, trust me. It's just that I cannot be that way with many people anymore — I'm no longer a child whose bad behavior could be excused," Visenya shrugged.

"My mother worked hard to get all these ladies here. I'd hate for my attitude to drive them away — I'd hate to disappoint her," she confessed. "Besides, I do not think you'd like the way I speak to most people."

The beautiful girl snorted in amusement, eyes alight in challenge. "Try me." Visenya looked at her from under her brows, eyes full of rage and command — the look that made Robb's advisors and soldiers obey her command, the look that could make any man stumble in fear as she said, "Get out of my sight."

All Laena did was grin broadly. The smile showed most of her teeth and it made her eyes sparkle in a way Visenya knew her own never did. "There she is. It gladdens me that the old you is not gone."

Visenya sighed and dropped her intimidating look. She stared at the girl for a moment before she looked away.

"My father is organizing a sailing day for my family. He would like to take us all on a ship and travel for his nameday — It would be great if you'd accompany us," Laena spoke up again.

The girl's amethyst eyes shone like the sunlight on a warm sea and Visenya could not bear to look at her cousin any longer — Laena was sunshine while she was midnight rain. "Isn't the trip only for your family then? As much as I like the idea — I would hate to intrude."

"Father won't mind," Laena dismissed her concerns. "I would like your company too — Since he will insist we travel by ship and leave our dragons on land." Visenya's heart thundered in her chest. "I will be glad to have you there with me."

The words were out of her mouth before she could even think to stop them. "Why? I was very awful to you when we were children — so why? Why would you want me anywhere near you?"

Laena shook her head. "It's all in the past — We were children," she leaned closer to her and whispered, "And just between you and me, I was a really annoying child — No one can blame you for trying to escape me."

Visenya tried to push everyone away from herself — and yet...

"What is it that you want from me, Laena?" Visenya asked, her voice a broken whisper. Her cousin's answering smile almost killed her. "How about a friendship?"

Loras and Alyanna were walking hand in hand through Myrcella's gardens. "I'm sorry for the loss of your husband, Alyanna. I cannot even begin to imagine how you feel," he said.

Alyanna refused to acknowledge how her heart clenched in pain, how her breath got stuck in her throat, how she felt like she was drowning at the thought of Robb and their son. She willed herself to respond. "Thank you, Loras. I'm sorry for your loss too."

When he sent her a questioning look, she elaborated, "I heard you were very close to my uncle, Renly. He may have led the rebellion against my family, but he was also my uncle — the only uncle I actually cared about."

Something in Loras's eyes betrayed the calmness on his face. Alyanna realized it was grief. "He was a good man," Loras replied.

Alyanna stopped walking and faced him instead. "Loras, I must apologize because I cannot give you what your family wants," she said truthfully. "I cannot be a wife that can love you. I cannot bear you children — at least not yet, no matter how much they are needed, by both of our families."

She cannot love another — not again, not after Robb, not after she had loved and lost him. Alyanna cannot bear another child — at least not yet — the scar of losing her son was still too fresh in her mind.

Her grandfather, Tywin, will be pushing her for an heir — for a son that will inherit Casterly Rock after her. And Olenna will be pushing for an heir too — so she could finally stop worrying about the future of her house.

And Alyanna would give them what they wanted — just not yet — not so soon because if she ended up losing another child, it would break her.

"I understand that, Alyanna. I will not force you into anything, I hope you know that," he tried to reassure her. She nodded, "I do and I thank you for that."

Before she could start walking, Loras grabbed her wrist, holding her in place. "You should forgive yourself — for whatever mistakes you think you have made," his voice was so soft that it broke something in her.

Visenya swallowed. "If it is not love or children or titles that you care for — What is it that you want from me?" She questioned. Loras looked up at the sky and offered, "How about a friendship?"

Visenya almost flinched back at the sudden memory. She felt herself losing control of her body, fighting for breath — and the only thing she could do was run, so she did. "I'm sorry — I—I have to go," she said quickly.

Before Laena could say a single thing, Visenya ran away as fast as her legs could carry her. She ignored every curious stare of servants or ladies and lords that she passed as she ran.

Her heart beat loudly inside her chest as she stumbled into her chambers, shutting close the door behind her. Visenya slid down against the wall and onto the ground, her breaths heavy and panicked. She closed her eyes, trying to fight off her panic attack.

Alyanna had no thoughts of knocking on her husband's door, she just opened them and rushed in so much that she startled him. Loras jumped back in surprise, but once he had seen it was just her, he relaxed.

She kept her hand against the wall to support her weight, her breathing so fast and shallow that she started seeing black spots in her vision. "I—I needed to see you. I—"

Loras immediately rushed towards her, grabbing her shoulders to support her weight as he helped her to sit on the ground. "Aly? What's wrong?" he asked, panicked.

Alyanna tried to swallow, but she could not. She had the urge to claw at her throat until there was enough space for the air to rush through. "I cannot — I cannot breathe."

Loras grabbed her face, forcing her to look at him. "Hey, hey! Look at me, look at me. Everything is alright. You are safe," he tried to reassure her, moving her hair from her face and stroking her cheeks soothingly.

"I—I'm sorry. I—I cannot stop it," she tried to apologize, but he cut her off. "It's alright. You do not have to be sorry for anything, Aly — Just breathe. I've got you. Breathe with me — follow my breathing."

Visenya took one last deep breath, thanking Loras Tyrell for teaching her how to deal with her panic attacks.

 

 

_____

 

 

dragonpit, 107 AC
laena velaryon

Laena played with the food on her plate with Visenya on her mind. Visenya was...not what she expected at all? She was once a very bold thing, burning with such fire that she got Laena's attention quickly. Now, it seemed that the fire in her simply went out and Laena had no idea what to make of that.

Laena was a dragon, no matter how much her father insisted that her blood was that of the salt and sea — Laena was her mother's daughter through and through. Her blood was one of fire and storms and naturally, she was drawn to Visenya's fire like a magnet.

There was this air of melancholy around Visenya — and it had been there since forever. She never did see her cousin cry or be sad about anything, but Laena could feel it when she looked at her — she could feel the loneliness and despair radiating from her.

As a person who was always bright and smiling, shining like the sun even on her worst days, to see someone like Visenya was new to her. If Laena's mother thought Laena was the sun, then Visenya must be the moon, a girl always hiding in the dark and yet burning brightly in her own way.

"What is on your mind, sweetling? You are never this quiet," her mother said and Laena looked up to see the worried lilac eyes staring at her.

"I'm thinking of Princess Visenya, mother," Laena said truthfully, hoping for some advice — her mother was always good at giving those, especially when their family was concerned.

Rhaenys hummed then. "So you have talked to her, then?" Laena nodded. "Yes — At least I tried to. She is very different from what I remember, more reserved and lonely, I think."

Her cousin had a very strange relationship with her own sister too. Laena spent weeks by her side, trying to get to know her and this was basically all Visenya gave her — they talked a lot, yet her cousin liked to avoid saying anything useful in the presence of other ladies.

Laena could see the protectiveness in Visenya's eyes whenever they crossed paths with Rhaenyra — she could see the love the two sisters shared, yet they rarely talked to one another.

Laena could not imagine having no relationship with her brother. Laenor was her best friend — the two of them could talk for hours to no end. They trusted each other with everything. To suddenly stopped speaking to him...she shivered at the thought of it.

"Aemma said so too. Both she and Viserys worry for her — which is why I asked you to talk to her," her mother said. "You have always been such a bright and charming girl, my dear. I doubt even Visenya could escape your charms."

Laena could not help but smile. "Like mother like daughter, I guess." Her mother kissed her forehead as Laena confessed, "I do not know how to approach her."

"Well, why don't we go on a race together? Dragonriding always helps me think," Rhaenys suggested. "Besides, Meleys could use a flight. I can feel her longing for the skies."

The two of them made their way to the Dragonpit, dressed in their riding leathers and smiling from ear to ear. Laena would never say it out loud, but Meleys was so much faster than Vhagar that it was ridiculous!

Before they could get to their respective mounts, they saw Visenya and Arrax together. And Visenya was smiling, her beautiful face alight with true happiness that Laena hadn't had a chance to get a glimpse of before.

Laena was hesitant, stopping in her tracks. Should she say anything? Should she make the first move to approach her — even after Visenya left so hurriedly when Laena asked to be her friend?

Her mother was there to erase her doubts,  placing a supportive hand on her shoulder and smiling down at her. "Why don't you try talking to her now? You two could take your dragons for a race, hm?"

With a nod of her head, Laena approached her cousin. "Princess Visenya," she greeted. Visenya stopped her every movement and Laena found herself being carefully observed by two bronze eyes.

"Lady Laena — it's lovely to see you," her cousin spoke, a bit hesitant. Laena still smiled, holding her hands behind her back. "Likewise, princess. I was just about to take Vhagar for a flight. Are you in a mood to join us? I believe you owe me a race."

For a moment, she thought Visenya would refuse her, but her cousin surprised her by nodding along. "Alright."

It did not take them much time to take to the skies together. Vhagar was much larger than Arrax so it took them a moment to get used to flying next to each other, but Vhagar sensed Arrax was not a threat — and she had done it much sooner with the green dragon than she did with Seasmoke.

Vhagar and Arrax led them across the Blackwater Bay and Laena smirked, shouting over the winds for Visenya to hear, "I bet that you cannot do this, princess."

She did not need to say anything because Vhagar knew what she had to do, flapping her gigantic wings and roaring at the sky as Laena let go of the saddle, laughing at the open air and the trust she had in her goddess.

"What are you doing?" Visenya shouted back, obviously panicked. Once Laena's hands were back on the saddle, her cousin lost it, "Are you out of your mind, Laena?! You could have fallen off!"

"Oh, live a little Visenya!" Laena dismissed, a large smile on her face. "Why don't you try it out?" Visenya looked towards Arrax, hesitant. But, Laena pushed, "Come on! Live, Visenya. Live!"

Her cousin let go of her saddle, trusting her mount to keep them in the air. Honestly, Laena thought she wouldn't do it, but Visenya surprised her as she spread her arms wide and released a breathy laugh of amazement.

Soon enough, her cousin's laughter echoed in the air, making Laena's grin wider, if that was possible. Laena was not sure if she heard a sound so beautiful before — a true laugh coming from her lonely cousin. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, she vowed to change that.

Notes:

Aemma claiming Dreamfyre was suggested in one of the comments so shoutout to the person who got the idea because I found it beautiful 😭 Thank you!

Visenya having flashbacks of her past life always makes me want to cry. My girl deserves to finally be able to move on, but I keep torturing her. I'm horrible, I know 😐

My Wattpad: seven-moons

Chapter 21: Two Grumpy Friends

Summary:

In which:

— Visenya solves an important matter for the Small Council
— Leo and Vissie have a little fight
— Daemon describes his dreams of a silver-haired woman

king's landing, 108 AC
visenya targaryen

Being present while her mother holds women's court is not something Visenya ever thought she would enjoy. In her past life, Cersei Lannister couldn't care less about people and their needs so Visenya did not have where to learn how to listen to the problems of women or how to try and help them.

The last queen who actually held women's court was Queen Shaera Targaryen, wife of King Jaehaerys II — her great-grandmother in her past life. It was safe to say that most Queens did not really care about people and their needs.

Visenya did not understand how and why.

Sitting with all these women who all have their own problems felt like applying a healing balsam on the wound. Visenya felt seen and heard — even though all these women had no idea what was happening in her head.

Seeing how many people actually struggle made her feel as if she wasn't alone in this. Because, the truth is that Visenya still struggled.

Visenya was still hurting and still lying to herself and everyone else about it. There was no soft way to say that sometimes, she forgets to breathe — so she skips that part and asks what they have for dinner instead.

She was still learning how to do easy things, like how to eat when she is hungry or how to leave her bed every morning. She was still falling asleep with hope suffocating between her clasped fingers. She was still stepping around broken glass and thinking that avoiding her problems and feelings counted as strength.

"How are the children doing at the new orphanage? Do they have everything they need?" Aemma questioned, seated before the large crowd of women.

One of the caretakers at the orphanage nodded. "Yes, my Queen. They have more than they ever had and we all endlessly thank you for your time and resources."

The woman shared a look with another before she spoke again, "They ask for you, my Queen — they miss your company and wonder when you will visit next."

Aemma smiled, pleased. Her mother adored walking amongst children, she even read to them whenever she visited them. "My health has improved — so tell them I miss them too and I shall visit them first thing in the morrow."

"Might I come along, mama?" Visenya asked from her seat beside her mother. Aemma stroked her hair softly. "Of course, sweetling — you helped greatly with the project. If it weren't for you, the Small Council wouldn't have listened."

Her mother then turned towards the two stunned women and gave them a questioning look. "I'm certain the children will be very happy to meet you."

The women exchanged glances yet again before they bowed. "Yes! — Yes, my Queen, my Princess — we will all be delighted to have you visit the children. Thank you, my Princess, for your help."

Visenya smiled at them and her mother stood up. "If there is anything you need, Sophie, you know who to contact or where to find me." She turned to the other woman. "The same goes for children, Rose — if the children need more toys or clothes, simply ask and we will provide."

When the women cleared out, Aemma sighed, her expression dropping. Visenya looked at her worriedly. "What is it, mama?"

Her mother sat down yet again. "No matter what we do or how much we try to help the people of King's Landing — it will never be enough," she expressed sadly.

Visenya tilted her head in confusion. "But, we helped. We built a new and better orphanage for children — it is not much, but it is a start." It was more than most rulers bothered to do — it was more than Robert ever did.

Aemma smiled sadly at her. "There are so many things that need fixing, little flame. And yet, there is not enough time and coin — or people willing to listen and help make the change."

Her mother looked over to where all the women were seated and said, more to herself than to anyone, "What we did, building that safe place for those poor children, it will not work in the long run — because we are trying to fix the world by focusing on the problems on top instead of the ones on the bottom — the ones that started everything."

Visenya was wandering around the Red Keep, bored out of her mind when she found her mother holding women's court for the first time. And she did nothing but stand by the doors the first few times.

Aemma didn't question why she was there or why she hadn't joined her — she just let her be. So, Visenya stayed and listened. Slowly, she grew more comfortable and then took her seat among the women. Until finally, she asked her mother if she could join her and seat before the crowd.

Women's court is a safe place — a place that allowed Visenya to take the first deep breath in a long time.

And it was so unlike Council Meetings...

Visenya quietly observed men in the Small Council Chambers. She has been her father's cupbearer for four long years now and she got accustomed to the habits of each and every one of them — she knew exactly when she needed to approach them and refill their cups or when and what they are going to say.

It was a habit she developed as a child in her first life — the tendency to notice every little detail about someone. She needed that specific skill to know when Robert would reach his breaking point — to know if she could stand in the same room as him or run the other way when she saw him.

Visenya quietly approached Lord Corlys and refilled his cup. He briefly looked up at her and gave her a nod of gratitude.

"Otto, I want to check in on the issue we mentioned a few days back — you claimed to have it under control," her father said.

"Ha! Under control!" Daemon mocked, leaning into his seat. "I would like to know how Otto has the situation under control when the theft happened yet again — and this time, one of the guests was injured."

Viserys looked surprised as he turned towards his Hand. "Is that true, Otto?" The man in question had the audacity to look calm and collected as he tried to reassure him, "As I said, Your Grace, everything will be solved in due time."

While her father was easily manipulated by that calm facade, her uncle was not. "In due time he says," he mocked. "Brother, people in King's Landing do not feel safe with a group of thieves running around — your guests do not feel safe. This issue needs to be solved now."

Otto glared at Daemon across the table and Viserys nodded his head. "I agree, brother." Her uncle looked as if he had been struck — even Visenya's eyes went wide. Her father very rarely agrees with her uncle — so rarely that she thought snow would fall in King's Landing for this.

Otto Hightower looked as if a bucket of cold water was poured over his face. "Do you have a solution to unmask these thieves, Otto?" Viserys asked.

The Hand swallowed before he nodded, masking any emotion off his face. "I had sent a search party to the locals but I am afraid they did not yield any positive results."

Sensing that he had the upper hand, her uncle continued to taunt the man, "And no wonder why — The City Watch is full of lazy nobodies who do not do their jobs right."

"As if you could do better," Otto snapped at Daemon. "You would massacre the entire city to find a simple group of thieves that represent no real threat to the crown."

Daemon scowled, spitting the Hand's name like it was worse of poisons, "At least I would find them — unlike you, Otto."

Visenya thought for a second before she spoke up, "Why not bait them?" Her voice seemed to stop both men from bickering further. All men in the room turned to look at her, surprised.

Visenya placed the bottle of wine on the table and looked at her father. For four years she kept quiet like he asked her to when he made her cupbearer — but she had enough. She was tired of their failures to find a solution to the simplest of problems.

To sum up the problem: Her father was organizing a feast and a tourney in honor of fifteen years of marriage to her mother. It was a large event and people from all over were coming to stay at King's Landing. Everything was going well until three families were robbed of their goods.

"May I speak, Your Grace?" She asked, looking at her father pointedly.

Viserys sat straighter in his chair and slowly nodded his head. Visenya slowly walked to the table. "We already established that one person could not have done so much damage in such a short time — it had to have been a group of experienced thieves."

"During the first robbery, they took little coin. During the second one, they took thrice the amount and during the third one, they took every valuable thing they could find — they also injured a man," she continued, "They are getting comfortable — which means they are going to slip."

She stood on the left side of her uncle as she carefully observed the map of King's Landing that was resting on the table. She observed the marked places of thefts and where some of the families were staying.

Feeling the careful yet judging eyes of every man in the room, she looked at her father without a care. "I would not be surprised if they went for murder on their fourth try. We have to stop them. The safety of the people is our priority."

Viserys stared at her as if he was in a trance. "What do you have in mind, daughter? Speak it loud and clear."

Visenya picked up the parchment where they wrote the names of the wealthiest families. "They started at the center of the list because they did not know if they could pull it off. Then they went for the families that you ranked higher. If I had to guess, I would say their next target will be one of the three wealthiest families."

"And how can you be so sure, princess? This is only a wild guess you are taking," Lord Corlys questioned, seemingly intrigued.

"Because they got away with three thefts already. They badly injured a man and they are still getting richer by the day," she explained, "They will go for the biggest prize because they are getting cocky."

Visenya pointed at the map. "Here, this is the square the three wealthiest families reside in."

"We should make mini fake coins not so different from the original ones, and send a load of them along a path that is likely to be stolen. And, of course, disguised soldiers," she suggested. "Not the City Watch, but soldiers that can be trusted to do their tasks right."

Everyone was silent and she felt a strong hand being gently pressed against the small of her back — it was Daemon showing his support.

It was Lord Beesbury that left his state of shock first. "That—That is a wise plan, Princess," he praised until all of the men in the room nodded, exchanging looks of surprise.

Viserys stood up from the chair to kiss her head. "You are my pride, my beautiful girl," he said, eyes alight with happiness and pride. "Do you both agree on this plan?" he questioned Daemon and Otto.

Her uncle immediately voiced his support but when he noticed that Otto was silent, he towered over her and glared at him — daring him to question her.

Otto swallowed as he made eye contact with her. "Yes, Your Grace — I will see that it is put to action immediately." He seemed to hesitate when he said, "Good thinking, Princess."

 

 

_____

 

 

Visenya stared at the clear blue sky and the sun hovering above her. She took a deep breath of salty sea air and listened to the ocean waves. She was lying on the warm sand, panting and her legs throbbing.

Gods, when was the last time she had run this much?

No matter, she welcomed the pain in her muscles — she welcomed any feeling at all because she rarely felt something nowadays.

It was not wise — to hide from her feelings and lock them up somewhere deep within herself until she exploded — because she will. Visenya will break down sooner rather than later, as she always did.

She could no longer continue to live like this, she had to change. She had to choose, of all the things she has been through, of all the things she knew and was — what she wanted to bring forward and what she had to leave behind.

It was the only possible way she could continue to exist in this world. Visenya has to rid herself of her first life — the fear, panic attacks, pain, and memories — they have to leave her. She has to leave that part of herself behind.

Hells, she was tired — and it was awfully difficult to feel so sad and tired when all she wanted was to feel alive.

Visenya slightly turned her head to the right, feeling the wet sand glue itself on her face. "How did you do that?!" she questioned, sitting up with wide eyes.

Leo stopped in the middle of his movement, turning towards her as if he had forgotten she was there. "Perhaps if you did a little less dozing off and a little more watching, you would figure it out," he rolled his eyes.

"It's hardly my fault that I'm tired — It was you who told me to run laps along the beach," she huffed, pointing to her useless legs that refused to move. "Now, my legs are shaking and my eyes are closing on their own!"

Leo continued practicing movements with his sword. "This exactly proves my point — You do not do much in those dancing lessons of yours if running causes so many problems for you."

"That is not true!" She grunted. "Besides, I asked you to spar with me, not to make me run for two hours and tire me out into exhaustion."

He stopped his movements again, looking at her with annoyance. "Would you stop complaining already? It is rather annoying." She stuck out her tongue at him. "If you cannot handle this, then get back to your pretty castle and your books."

Visenya tilted her head at him and his snappish attitude. "Alright, I stayed quiet long enough. What in the name of all hells is up with you?!"

He had been like this for days — silently raging like a tsunami while snapping at every person who wanted to talk to him for longer than a minute. Leo was usually hard to rile up, but now his temperament was worse than hers — and that was saying something.

And Visenya did not mind his attitude because he stood by her side when she acted the same way toward him — it was only fair to return the favor.

Still, it was getting out of hand and he refused to talk about whatever it is that bothered him.

"Nothing," Leo said, turning away from her. Visenya rolled her eyes. "Do not lie to me! You have been out of it for days! You speak to me as if I murdered your puppy!"

"I said it's nothing, princess. Just let it go," he tried to stay calm, but his voice had an edge to it.

Visenya breathed out, crossing her arms over her chest. "I hope you know this friendship can only handle one grumpy person — And that person is, obviously, me, so you will have to get back to your old self."

She hoped to get the rise out of him, to have him jest at this — to have him say that no matter how grumpy he got, she would still be the grumpiest person he knew.

It was how their friendship worked. They liked to rile each other up, they both snapped at each other, tempers clashing — but both held no grudge towards the other one.

And yet, he said nothing.

"Would you stop pushing me? I already told you it's nothing," he finally raged at her, putting his sword away as he began to walk away. "And you and I are not friends!" he shouted before he disappeared out of her sight.

 

 

_____

 

 

king's landing, 108 AC
daemon targaryen

He grunted, the sound low in his throat as he thrust into Mysaria harsh and fast. She moaned under him, but he tried to ignore the sound — because it was not the same sound he wanted to hear. The sound was supposed to be longer and softer — he always imagined it that way.

Daemon closed his eyes once he realized that her hair was not the right color either. Mysaria's black hair was glued to her sweaty back that was facing him as he fucked her from behind.

He grunted again, but this time in displeasure. When he closed his eyes, he always imagined silver-gold waves — he imagined pulling on them softly so he could hear the breathless moan that haunted his entire being.

It was always a different body underneath him too, no matter whom he fucked — he always imagined curves, strong thighs and perfectly-shaped breasts. He imagined the soft pale skin and the way she tasted, from her skin to her sweat — and of course, her perfect pink cunt.

It was utterly frustrating because Daemon had no idea who plagued his mind so.

Once he spilled his seed in her, he opened his mouth to mutter a specific name, but no sound came. He had no idea who the woman was, he did not know her body or her name — he just knew that she was perfect, as if made for him.

Daemon removed himself from Mysaria and drank a cup of cheap wine. He looked out into the streets of King's Landing and saw that the sky darkened. He should be heading to the Red Keep.

Mysaria approached him, sitting down on his lap. "I take it your secret mission in the City that you refused to speak about, went well, my Prince," she said, voice sweet.

"You know that it did, so why ask?" Daemon smirked just thinking about it. The plan his little niece made to stop the thefts in the city worked out well. He personally organized the matter since he knew that Otto fucking Hightower would somehow fuck up the perfect plan.

He was not fond of his role as Master of Law. He hated his previous position as Master of Coin too. Both positions were boring the hell out of him, but for Visenya he could bear it, just so her plan could succeed — and it did.

And his little genius niece — how she left them all stunned at the Small Council meeting. How she made a perfect plan, and how she shut up that Hightower cunt with it — leaving no room for his arguments...It was possibly one of his favorite memories now.

"People chant your name with praise, my Prince — the Prince of the City, savior of rich and poor," Mysaria said, trying to smooth out his long silver hair. "Heir to the throne and future King of the Seven Kingdoms. People adore you. Isn't that what you wanted, my Prince?"

Daemon did not bother to respond, he simply looked at her as he stood up, ready to dress himself and head back home. "Have you brought a healer I asked you for?"

"Yes, my Prince. A healer, one of the best of Blue Graces — received education from the Temple of the Graces, as you asked," she confirmed. Good.

Daemon made his way into the Keep and brought the healer with him. He entered one of the servants' chambers and saw that both Aemma and Visenya were already there.

His niece was seated on the chair, looking out of the window. She turned towards him as she heard him enter. "You smell of ale and cheap women, uncle. From what hole did you crawl out of?" Visenya asked, her nose scrunched in disgust.

Daemon barked out a laugh and walked to her. "It is nice to see you too, dearest niece." It was then that he noticed a large bruise on her cheek. His blood went cold in his veins. "Who did this to you?"

"No one — it was an accident during my Water Dancing lesson," she shrugged and he had the urge to stroke her soft cheek and trace the pattern of the bruise.

Before he could do that, Aemma said, "And that is not what we are here for. Go on, Vissie — show them."

Visenya rolled her eyes. "It's just a cut, mama. There is no need to be so dramatic about it." Aemma glared at her daughter and so his niece showed them a nasty wound on her right arm.

Half of her arm was bleeding and Daemon kneeled to inspect it. "Just a cut? I am surprised I do not see your bone from how deep the wound is. How did this happen? Who let this happen?"

Aemma waved her hand dismissively. "Forget that. Can this be fixed? Can you patch up my daughter so the wound does not get infected?" she asked the healer.

The healer approached Visenya and Daemon moved to stand beside his niece, his eyes carefully watching the healer like a hawk. The man then nodded. "I can, Your Grace. It is good you summoned me this early on."

Once the healer started cleaning the wound from any possible infections, Visenya started hissing like a cat. When both he and Aemma tried to be there for her, hold her hand or stroke her hair to soothe her, she hissed at them, "I am not a babe! I do not need you to hold my hand!"

So, the two of them moved to stand a little further away from her. Aemma sighed, "If only I could get Viserys to let a healer see to his wounds..."

When Daemon raised his brow in question, she elaborated, "The throne cuts him, Daemon." He swallowed, eyes wide. There were tales and legends that he had heard as a young boy — that the throne cuts unworthy ones.

That could not be possible...Viserys was a good king — he was a fool no doubt, easily manipulated and willing to do anything to keep the peace, but he was not a bad person. The throne was known to have cut only Maegor — which is where tales came from. But now...Daemon could hardly will himself to compare Maegor and his brother — it was an absurdity.

"It's getting worse with each they. The wounds do not heal because Maesters do not even try to stitch them up," Aemma continued, "And I have tried to make him see reason, but he trusts those grey rats too much."

Turning to face him, Aemma noted his choice of clothing and tilted her head. "And where have you been, goodbrother? Celebrating my daughter's victory with your whores?"

Daemon smirked. "If you already know, why ask, goodsister?" His goodsister simply shook her head at him. "I had to deal with some business first. Little Leo Tyrell sailed back to Highgarden earlier and I, like a good mentor that I am, bid him farewell."

"What? Leo left? When?" Visenya questioned. He thought they were far enough for her not to hear — apparently not.

"Just this evening, little flame. His family wants him home — apparently, that weak brother of his is on his deathbed," Daemon explained shortly.

Visenya gritted her teeth from pain — or from something else? Daemon could see her shoulders drop for a moment, her eyes shallow and dark. And then she was back, her posture perfect and relaxed, her eyes moving away from him as she looked at her wound.

Daemon narrowed his brows, wondering if he had imagined the whole thing. "He has not told you he was leaving?" he asked, knowing that his niece and his squire were close.

Visenya did not bother to respond as she turned away from him, fully facing the window and looking out into the city.

Notes:

I realised I've been depriving you of Daemon's POV so I had to write it now. I just wanted to focus of Aemma more since she'll be dying soon :((

The little fight between Leo and Visenya will be explained soon. Leo is going through a lot right now with his brother is dying and he has identity crisis on daily basis 🤣 When he returns to King's Landing, he'll have a heart to heart talk with Vissie!

My Wattpad: seen-moons

Chapter 22: Break Through, Break Down

Summary:

In which:

— I'm soft for Daemon and Visenya
— Laena is not giving up on Vissie
— Visenya breaks down

king's landing, 108 AC
daemon targaryen

Daemon congratulated his brother and goodsister for reaching their fifteenth marriage(mating) anniversary. Then, he sat down next to his eldest niece who was too stuck in her book to notice that he was next to her.

Servants poured him a cup of wine and they filled his plate with various foods while Daemon listened to Rhaenyra as she spoke about the upcoming tourney and how excited she was to watch it with that cunt — Otto Hightower's daughter.

Visenya stayed quiet, unconsciously pushing the food around her plate with no intention of eating it. Daemon looked at her, noticing a small dark trail of ash on her cheek.

"You have ash on your cheek," he said. It must have gotten there when they were at the Dragonpit earlier in the morning.

Visenya often disappeared throughout the day and especially during the night — which made Daemon question if it was a wise idea to show her the secret passages.

Just this morning, the whole castle was in a frenzy because they could not find her anywhere. Daemon knew where to look, of course — he could always find her after all. And he did, Visenya was curled up into Arrax, sleeping peacefully with her mount's green wing wrapped around her to keep her warm.

Visenya finally looked up from her book, blinking at him before she wiped at her cheek, trying to clean herself up. "It's fine, maids are going to scrub me raw now anyways."

Daemon grimaced, noticing that she smeared the ash trail more so he swiped his thumb against her cheek to clean it up.

Viserys cleared his throat from his seat, making them both look his way. "Eat, little flame — let us all enjoy breaking our fast together before the celebration starts. You can read your book later."

"Let me finish this page first, father," his eldest niece mused, turning the page as she got lost in her book yet again.

He watched with a smirk as Visenya occasionally looked up to check if one of her parents was watching before she turned the page and continued to read.

It was not long until both Aemma and Rhaenyra excused themselves — saying that they need to prepare for the tourney. His brother followed soon after and Daemon was left alone with his eldest niece.

He took his time to observe her as he ate — noticing that something was off with her again. He could easily tell — always — because he knew her. Daemon had known her from her birth, he held her in his arms when she was so small and vulnerable — so it was no surprise that he could read her so well.

His niece was a peculiar thing, hiding herself and her feelings from everyone. To a less observing eye, she could appear perfectly fine — but she was not fooling him.

Daemon noticed that on the days that she had no lessons, she would take Arrax early in the morning and return at sunrise. Now when her mount grew large enough to carry her to longer distances, Visenya could hardly be seen on the ground anymore.

To anyone else, that would just prove how much of a Targaryen she was, chasing the skies and despising the ground. But to Daemon, it meant Visenya was trying to escape — escape her thoughts, her life, King's Landing, the court — or whatever it is that bothered her.

That was not the worst of it all.

They did not call his niece little flame for no reason. Visenya was always burning, like the brightest of flames, like Caraxes's fire, like the sun that was rising — and that unyielding flame drew everyone near her.

His niece was so very young — only two and ten, but that bright flame that burned within her, made her presence bigger. Sometimes, Daemon easily forgot Visenya's age because of how older and more mature her sheer presence radiated.

And when Daemon saw that brilliant fire turn into a small flame, as small as candlelight — it almost broke him. He had to do something — he had to find a way to make that flickering light within her, turn into an unyielding flame that destroyed Valyria.

"You are not eating again," Daemon said, High Valyrian rolling on his tongue perfectly. He observed her carefully, looking to find that bright flame within her. Visenya shrugged dismissively, "I am not hungry."

"The tourney is approaching," he changed the subject. Visenya stayed silent, which gave him the impression that she was not paying attention to his words — but then, she hummed. "Indeed. I'm not going, however."

Daemon raised his brow in interest, wondering what her parents would think if they knew their firstborn refused to come to the celebration of their marriage. "No? You are not going to watch me from the royal box? And here I thought you would be my support."

She finally looked up to meet his eyes, one of her fingers moving to the sentence she last read so she would know where she stopped.  "Let's not pretend that you need my support to win, uncle — because we both know you are the best fighter in Westeros."

"You flatter me, sweetling," Daemon smirked, raising the cup to his lips and taking a sip. "Still, I would expect you to go. Most young maidens enjoy tourneys." Or rather, they enjoy commenting about men, dreaming about being asked for their favors and finally, being crowned Queens of Love and Beauty.

"I have better things to do than watch men fall from their horses — like read this book," Visenya gestured to the book she was reading. She tilted her head in thought, "Although, laughing as men fall could serve as good entertainment."

Daemon barked out a laugh — of course that this was what his niece was thinking. "What about giving your favor to someone? Surely there must be someone you have in mind for this," he continued to pry.

Visenya shook her head, appearing disinterested. "Not at all, uncle. I have not even made my favor," she confessed. He cocked his head to the side in question. "And why is that, niece?"

"Because none of the competitors are worthy of my favor," she shrugged as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Not even your favorite uncle? First, you said you were not going to watch me as I win and then you called me unworthy. You wound me, sweetling," Daemon placed his hand on his heart, acting hurt.

"You are my only uncle," Visenya rolled her eyes at his dramatics, waving her hand at him dismissively. "And it's not like you were going to ask for my favor."

Daemon stayed silent at that which gave her the answer. Her eyes widened in surprise, "You were going to ask for my favor? But, why? Most ladies would sell their own mothers in exchange for being crowned Queen of Love and Beauty by you."

"It is as you said, niece. None of them are worthy," he said. "How can they even begin to compare to the most beautiful maiden in the Seven Kingdoms and beyond?"

Indeed, his niece was growing beautiful with every passing day — she was currently in her growing sprout, standing taller every time he looked at her.

Any other maiden would have blushed at his compliment, stuttering endlessly — but his niece looked at him for a moment and then snorted. "Your flattery is on point as always, uncle."

Daemon smirked yet again. "If you will not grant me your favor, little flame, the least you can do is braid my hair — so I could carry a piece of you as I win," he requested.

Visenya tilted her head at him in question. "You want me to braid your hair? But you don't let anyone touch your hair," she pointed out. True enough, he took care of his hair all on his own because he trusted no one to make it look as good as he could.

"You are not just anyone, Visenya — you are my dearest niece," Daemon reminded her and she stayed silent for a moment before she moved from her seat. "If that is what you wish. Come, sit here," she said, gesturing to the ground before her.

Daemon listened, taking a seat before her legs as she leaned towards him to figure out how to style his hair. She gently ran her fingers through his long silver hair, deciding to braid the sides of his head — to make him look like a Valyrian Warrior God reborn, not that he did not already appear like one.

Once she was finished, Visenya ordered him to turn towards her so she could inspect her work. She made sure she did a perfect job and then looked down at him in thought.

Visenya tugged on one of his braids with a small smile, "You should shorten your hair, uncle — not even to your shoulders. I was thinking even shorter — long hair makes you look rather old."

Daemon snorted at her light teasing. "Old? I am only seven and twenty, niece. You can hardly think me old." There was some spark in her eyes when she responded, "If you say so, uncle."

He flickered her forehead, faking annoyance and his niece laughed — and the sound made him freeze. That laugh sounded more true than any other he had heard from her in a very long time.

Visenya blinked, as if she realized the same thing. She cleared her throat and leaned down to press a kiss to his forehead before she stood up to take her leave. "Good luck, uncle."

 

 

_____

 

 

king's landing, 108 AC
laena velaryon

Laena was a very determined person when she wanted to be. From the moment she heard the first story of Vhagar, she decided that she was perfect. From the moment Prince Baelon died and Vhagar became without a rider, Laena made her mission to claim her — and she succeeded.

When she put her mind onto something, she would not give up — that was simply who Laena was.

And this time around, she made up her mind to figure out her mysterious cousin — Princess Visenya.

When her mother had seen her determination to understand the princess, she laughed, saying that Laena did not put such effort into anything since she claimed her beautiful goddess Vhagar.

Laena paid it no mind — assuring herself that she was simply interested and perhaps a little intrigued with her younger cousin. And Laena adored a good mystery.

So she started observing the princess, picking up on her habits, figuring out what she was feeling even if Visenya was trying to hide it. Which was why instead of watching the darn tourney and focusing on how good her cousin Daemon looked in his chad black armor, Laena focused on Visenya.

They were all seated in the royal box with Visenya in the middle as the firstborn child of the King and Queen. Princess Rhaenyra was seated to her sister's right and Lady Alicent was seating on her other side. Laena took a seat on Visenya's left and Laenor set down right next to her.

Instead of flinching away when men fell from their horses, their blood painting the dirty ground red — Visenya blinked, the corners of her full lips lifting up.

And then, her small and satisfied smile would turn into a frown the moment she noticed how Lady Alicent and Princess Rhaenyra held each other, gasping for breath when someone would lose.

There was one moment when Princess Rhaenyra took Lady Alicent's hand, holding it softly in support as Lady Alicent's eldest brother rode in to compete in the first round. Laena could have sworn that Visenya gripped her seat with such strength that her whole hand turned white.

She then abruptly stood up, her expression betraying nothing. Laena looked up at her, trying to find anything in her expression — only to be met with cold indifference. "You are leaving, Princess?"

To her credit, Visenya's voice did not waver as she replied, "I got bored of watching men chase each other with wooden sticks — I will be in the Keep if you need anything." And then, she left the tourney, never to return.

Laena also noticed that when it was Daemon's turn to compete, the first thing he did was look at the royal box and the empty seat next to Laena's. The prince's arrogant smirk disappeared and she noted the disappointment in his eyes.

Prince Daemon won the tourney, as many expected. He took the crown made for the Queen of Love and Beauty and she watched as every maiden held their breath, hoping to be chosen and crowned by him. In the end, her cousin simply rode away, leaving them all disappointed.

The red crown made of special flowers known as dragon breath, meant for the Queen of Love and Beauty — was resting on the head of the most beautiful maiden in the whole Kingdom, Laena thought.

The crown matched perfectly with her red and black dress and no other could compare to Visenya Targaryen — even as she was heavily drinking and obviously brooding about something as she sat at the Royal Table.

No wonder Daemon saved the Crown for her, Laena thought. She would have crowned Visenya too if she were him.

There was something so incredibly alluring about her cousin. Yes, Visenya was beautiful — as everyone born with Valyrian blood in their veins was, but that was not it. Her cousin did not have soft beauty, that was all Rhaenyra with her lovely smiles and laughs, the Realm's Delight in truth. Laena could not put her finger on it.

Laena observed her cousin the whole day, and decided to follow right after her once Visenya snuck out of the feast without anyone noticing — well, anyone except for herself.

Visenya reached her chambers and stumbled into them, leaving the door slightly open. Laena knocked on them and received no answer — and then she heard a slight crash that had her worried, so she entered the chambers without permission.

As soon as she stepped into the chambers, she noticed that Visenya was lying on the ground, looking at the ceiling. Laena rushed to her side, panicking, "What happened? Do you need help? Are you alright?"

To her surprise, Visenya was awake and smiling brightly. A laugh escaped her. "I cannot stand on my two feet!" Her cousin mused. "Forgive me, Lady Laena — but I seem to have overestimated how much wine I could drink before I lose the ability to use my legs."

Laena grimaced slightly, realizing that Visenya was drunk. Her cousin took her hand to get her attention. "You are welcome to join me, my lady. Let us look at this wonderful ceiling together — don't you think it looks pretty?" She gestured towards the ceiling.

Laena looked up at the simple ceiling, tilting her head to the side. "It is no different from any other ceiling, Princess," she revealed, amused.

"It must be my mind playing tricks on me then," her cousin pouted. Visenya then tried to push herself into a sitting position, only to almost fall to the ground again.

"Let me—" Laena tried to help her, but Visenya cut her off, almost flinching away from Laena's touch. "I do not need your help."

She would be lying if she said it did not sting — the way she pulled away from her when she only wanted to help. Laena swallowed down her disappointment, reminding herself that her cousin was drunk and her actions were not hers. "What are you trying to do?"

"I am trying to reach my hidden cabinet full of wine — Gods know I need it now," Visenya said honestly, trying to stand up on her feet but failing. She groaned in frustration.

Despite Visenya's wish, Laena helped her sit up straighter, her back leaning against the closed door. "You have a cabinet full of wine in your chambers? But, you are only two and ten?" She wondered, surprised.

"Indeed, but this world is an ugly place, my lady — wine is the only thing that could possibly help me forget my troubles," Visenya laughed, her eyes losing focus for a moment. She rubbed her eyes with a yawn. "Fuck it — I cannot even open my eyes without feeling as if the world around me is spinning."

Laena spun around to look for water or something only to startle once Visenya reached for her hand to keep her sitting next to her. She looked at her cousin with worry, noticing that her smile disappeared.

"He left," Visenya whispered. "He left me, without a word or a letter — he left without saying goodbye. He left like any other person in my stupid life and yet I dared to believe and hope that this time it might be different."

Laena looked at her cousin, numerous questions ringing in her mind. "Servers me right for being a hopeful fool," Visenya muttered before she looked at her with glossy eyes. "You followed me to my chambers. You came to check on me. Why?"

"Because you are not alright and I wanted to make sure that you got into your chambers safely," Laena answered simply.

Visenya shrugged. "I am fine. Besides, this is my home — what could have possibly happened to me inside of the walls of the Red Keep?" Laena grimaced. "You would be surprised..."

Her cousin went utterly quiet again, staring ahead at nothing and just breathing. Honestly, Laena thought Visenya might have fallen asleep with her eyes open. She was proven wrong when her cousin blinked, the focus returning to her indigo eyes.

As if she only now realized that she was in her chambers, Visenya looked around and then back at her. "Oh, Gods, what am I even doing? I am so sorry, Laena — you should not have seen me in such a state," she apologized, shaking her head and trying to sober up.

Laena smiled at her, squeezing her hand in reassurance. "It is alright, Visenya. I really do not mind." She really did not mind — the only thing that mattered was that her cousin was safe, even if she was not alright — at least mentally.

Her cousin looked at her with tired and sad eyes, the purple bags under her eyes glistening in the candlelight — showing how tired she was. "It really isn't alright. I shouldn't have allowed myself to enter such a state anyway. I am supposed to be a perfect princess who has her life sorted out — not a drunk."

Laena felt as if she was overstepping Visenya's boundaries by seeing her cousin in such a state. Visenya was vulnerable and drunk — showing the darkest sides of her that she would never show to anyone while being sober.

"Visenya, it is alright to let your guard down once in a while — that way people can truly see and appreciate who you really are," she felt the need to say it. "Because there is much to see and admire — there are so many great things to love about you and you do not even know about them."

For a moment, Visenya looked hopeful before she turned her head away, dismissing her thoughts. "Do not say this just to make me feel better, Laena — that would be extremely cruel of you."

Laena meant every word she said and it broke her heart to see how low Visenya thought of herself. "I would never," she said, holding her cousin's hand tighter.

Visenya gulped and pulled her hand away. "You should probably leave. The feast is at its peak right now — I would hate for you to miss out on all the dancing because of me."

Laena shook her head, recognizing that Visenya showed her a part of herself and was now trying to push her away because Laena got too close to her liking. "I am not leaving you." Visenya opened her mouth to protest, but Laena did not give in. "That is final. You can try to order me around, but I won't go."

Her cousin gave up — whether it be because she was too tired to argue or because she actually wanted her to stay, Laena did not know. Still, Laena took it as a win.

"Can you—" Visenya tried to speak before she cut herself off. Taking a deep breath, she tried again — as if the words were too torturous to speak out loud. "Can you help me get to my bed, please?"

Without a word, Laena helped her stand up. "I am sorry — I am simply not used to asking anyone for help, or receiving help from anybody for that matter," Visenya's apology sounded sincere.

"Not even from your parents?" Laena wondered, holding Visenya's arm as they slowly walked to her bed.

"No," Visenya shook her head in answer. "I mean, they would help me if I requested it, but I never do. Asking for help is a way of admitting weakness — it shows that you do not have an upper hand over something."

She helped undo Visenya's braids, brushing her silver-gold waves and admiring the way her cousin's hair shone. "I cannot allow myself to be seen as weak," she admitted in a whisper so low that Laena thought she had imagined it.

"And why not? Surely you cannot be strong all the time — that is simply not possible. Everyone eventually breaks," Laena questioned further.

"Because I have to constantly prove myself worthy. I am no son and I can never be the son my father wishes for, but I am a genius — or at least people seem to think so. I cannot let people forget it. The title genius is the only thing I have — it helps me keep the attention of my parents, it makes people treat me as if I matter," she explained.

Laena was quiet for a time, helping Visenya out of her beautiful red and black dress as she processed her cousin's words. "That seems like a very hard way to live," she decided to say.

Visenya hummed with a slight nod of her head. "It is. But, I do not know how to live differently — it has been like this since forever. It's the only way I know how not to shatter under all the pressure, how to keep my head up and show only strength."

"Do you want me to fetch you a cup of water before you go to bed?" Laena asked once Visenya was safely in her bed and under the covers.

"No," she responded. Visenya looked at her with hope. "But — Can you stay with me, please? I do not wish to be alone, not anymore."

Laena was hesitant to accept the offer, thinking that it was only drunk Visenya talking — but after everything she heard from her cousin in the past half an hour, it felt wrong to simply leave her here. "If that is what you wish."

Notes:

Before I begin, I would like to address something. Some of you sound disappointed that the fic is moving slowly, but I would like to remind you that when I started writing this fic, I said that the story was meant to be slow. While some authors prefer to have time skips or start from the beginning of the series, I'm not one of them. If that works for them, cool, but it doesn't work for me. I like to add new plots and explore dynamics — I like to truly describe my characters so you can understand their thoughts and feelings. And I hate to skip over their trauma — so I will not do it 😅 I'm sorry if this disappoints some of you, but if it bothers you, just stop reading.

‼️ Important news: If everything goes as planned, the first chapter that connects this fic to the show should be CHAPTER 29!

I promise to leave Vissie to heal, make friends and be happy until Aemma's death so you guys won't be thinking that I'm a sadist 🤺🤺

My Wattpad: seven-moons

Chapter 23: Improper Feelings

Summary:

In which:

— Visenya starts her journey of healing
— Rhaenyra has improper feelings for her best friend
— Laena and Visenya's friendship is blooming

king's landing, 108 AC
visenya targaryen

The first thing Visenya felt when she regained consciousness was a headache. Even behind her closed eyelids, she could see that the sun has already risen — so she rolled to the other side to shield herself from the light.

It was of no use because she was awake already. Visenya let out a deep sigh and then rubbed her temples. "I'm never drinking again," she groaned to herself.

She heard a humorous snort from the right side of her bed as the familiar voice said, "Said every person who drank too much and will drink again given the opportunity."

Visenya immediately opened her eyes just to find her cousin, Laena, already looking at her. Laena's silver locks looked wild from her sleep, but she looked well-rested.

For a moment, Visenya could not remember what happened yesterday or why her cousin was in her bed, and then, the memories came back. She blinked. "Indeed. Good morn to you, cousin."

"You too, Princess," Laena smiled, but Visenya could see that it was uncertain. She snorted. "I spilled my guts out to you last night, cousin — so much so that I think you know me better than my own mothers does. I believe you have earned the permission to call me Visenya."

This time, her cousin's smile looked happier as it made the cute dimples in her cheeks show. "Only if you call me Laena," she said. Laena sat up amongst the nest of pillows. "How are you this morning, Visenya?"

Visenya thought back on the events from yesterday and everything that happened in the last few moons. "I'm—I'm better. Thank you for asking," she answered honestly.

Yes, she was better. She was not alright, but she was better — which was a progress. Sometimes, better is all anyone can ask for. Sometimes, better is everything.

"I'm sorry, Laena," Visenya turned to look at her confused cousin. "I remember apologizing last night, but I simply have to do it again. I'm sorry, for everything, for always running away from you when all you wanted was my friendship — even when we were children."

"I already told you, cousin, there is nothing to apologize for. Everything is in the past — and there is nothing stopping us from being friends now?" Laena dismissed her apology and offered, "If you are in, I'm in."

Visenya swallowed. That fast — That easily, the offer of friendship was tossed her way. An old panic rose in her chest at the thought of all her friends from her first life — at the thought of Celesse, Arianne, Loras and many more.

Her throat sized up and a part of her wanted to crawl back into herself and pretend that last night, the way she opened up to Laena — did not happen. She wanted to scream that Laena could never replace any of her friends, but the truth was, she did not need to.

Her friends will always be a part of her. They taught her many things and Visenya will always be grateful for their support and acceptance — still, she needed to finally face the facts — They were dead, or rather, they did not exist yet and perhaps they never will.

She needed to begin anew and stop looking back — because if she continues to do so, she will get lost and then, there will be no coming back.

"I'm in," Visenya accepted hoarsely, forcing her mouth to move and her voice not to waver with too much emotion. She felt surprised at how easily the accepted offer of a friendship removed the heavy weight off her shoulders.

Laena relaxed her shoulders and heaved a sigh. "Oh, thank Vhagar! Now I can talk to someone about clothes without being worried if they would approve of it — or share a bowl of strawberries, mangos, or even watermelons!" She ranted. "Please tell me that you like those!"

Visenya stared at her cousin, surprised by how fast the air changed between them — and all it took was for her to accept their friendship. "I adore strawberries and I must admit that I have never tried mangos, but — What is a watermelon?"

Her cousin looked up in thought. "It's a very sweet and refreshing fruit, with a very watery texture. My father has many contacts with Essos so he frequently ships them to Driftmark knowing how much I adore them."

She then jumped towards her, taking both of Visenya's hands in her own. "Oh, you have to try it! Mangos too — and papaya! I cannot wait for you to visit Driftmark so do not disappoint me and tell me that you won't!" The last sentence felt more like a threat than anything else.

"I will visit, I promise. And then, we can sneak into each other's chambers and eat fruit until we get bloated!" Visenya accepted, smiling brightly at the thought of running freely in the waters of Driftmark and eating fruit with Laena.

The moment of happiness and dreams of sweet fruit and the salty sea was ruined by Visenya's rumbling stomach. "Talking about food made me hungry. Would you like for us to break our fast together, cousin?" She asked sheepishly.

"Why not? Perhaps we can have a race on dragonback after that — I heard you like to start your day in the skies," Laena accepted, standing up from the bed to stretch.

Visenya followed right after her, jumping from her bed with a challenging smirk. "You heard right, cousin. And I would not be opposed to a race, especially because Arrax and I remain unbeaten."

Laena gasped, turning to throw a pillow at her. Visenya caught it with ease as she watched her cousin cross her arms over her chest. "Lies! All I hear are lies! Vhagar and I bested you the last time, Visenya."

"You did no such thing!" She defended. "While Vhagar is old and enormous, she is also slow. Arrax is young and his body has a perfect shape for doing maneuvers in the air!"

"I guess Vhagar and I will have to make you eat your words later, cousin," Laena decided with a small smirk. Visenya straightened her back and smirked back. "You two can certainly try."

The two of them waited for trays of different foods to be brought to Visenya's chambers. It did not take long for kitchen maids to prepare their favorite meals and so they sat at the dining table in the back of Visenya's chambers.

Laena immediately got her hands on the porridge with cinnamon and honey — she moaned at the taste. Visenya started her day with some fresh bread and cheese, as always.

"I wanted to ask you something, about the things you said yesterday — You do not have to answer if you do not want to," Laena started once she was done with her bowl of porridge.

Visenya almost refused to talk about it. Some memories from yesterday were blurry, but she clearly remembered how loose her tongue got when she was drunk.

She swallowed down her protests, fighting her instinct to protect herself from people. A friend, Laena was a friend, she had to remind herself. "It's alright — Fair warning to you, cousin, most of it was just drunk blabbing."

Her cousin nodded and went straight to the point. "Who were you referring to when you said 'He left me'?"

Visenya gripped her glass of juice with such strength that her knuckles turned white. Just thinking of him made that awful voice in her head laugh cruelly, He left you. Of course, he did. Who would stay for you?

"It was Leo — Leo Tyrell, my uncle's squire. He and I are very close or at least I seem to think so," She started, taking a sip of her drink to collect her thoughts.

"I know that I'm not an easy person to be around. I do not know how to talk about my feelings or how to express my emotions — Sometimes, I get so angry without any reason and that leads to me hurting people," Visenya mused.

Yes, Visenya hides. It was not because she wanted to — it was because that was what she learned was the safest thing to do when she can feel loss and heartbreak approaching.

Rarely did she ever have trust and faith in someone to actually show her true self — the shy and fragile hopes and dreams of a young broken girl. Too many times she learned what it was like to be abandoned and ignored.

When emotions start roiling in her mind and fear allows the darkness to consume her, the little naive and hopeful girl in her, hides away while the strong and stoic woman stands up to protect her with reality and logic.

That's how it has been for many years. Sometimes, it gets hard to remember that she can let her guard down for a moment — that even that strong and stoic woman needs a break — that even she needs someone to protect her.

"I know all of that. I'm aware that most people would run away if they ever saw that part of me — but Leo did not," Visenya continued. "He saw me in one of my worst moments and he still stayed — no matter how much I tried to push him away, to hurt him, to make him leave — he just never gave up on me."

Visenya did not think anybody truly loved her — they all loved versions of her that she had spun for them, versions of herself that they have constructed in their minds — the easy version of her, the easy parts of her to love.

They all love a little genius, a lovely protégé, a beautiful princess, a perfect daughter — they all saw in her what they wanted to see, what she allowed them to see.

But Leo, he saw past all her defenses.

"Until he did. Leo left without a goodbye. No note, no words, no letter — nothing. It has been moons and I'm a fool to keep waiting and hoping to hear a word from him," Visenya finished.

Perhaps she sounded selfish. Leo's brother was dying, he must have had bigger concerns in his mind than to write her a letter. But, Visenya would have written to him if their roles were reversed — maybe it stung because of that knowledge.

"I just wish to talk to him again — to thank him for being my first-ever friend and for accepting me as I am," she expressed.

Everyone says you should not rely on another person to fill the empty spaces in your heart. They tell you that you are just as strong on your own — Visenya has been trying to convince herself that this is true, but it's not.

Visenya had many empty places in her heart, places that once belonged to the people from her first life — and she desperately tried to cling to memories of them, any piece of them she might have — so much so that she refused to refill the empty places in her heart with new people.

At the end of the day, the empty places in her heart are only shaped for another person to fill.

It really did not matter how strong or confident she was, Visenya cannot hold herself while she feels like breaking. She cannot roll over and hug herself to fall back asleep after a bad dream.

She had known this for quite some time — she was just not ready to accept that some empty places were already full. Daemon, Viserys, Aemma, Rhaenyra and Leo — they made their home in her heart. And now, Laena too.

She was too lost in her thoughts to realize that Laena reached out to hold her hand. "Visenya, I want you to know that I meant what I said last night — but in case you do not remember, I will repeat myself."

"I will never care how far you push me away, because when I told you I would stay, I meant it," Laena smiled and Visenya felt as if she was staring directly at the sun. "You are a little lost and perhaps a little damaged, but you are not hopeless. I see you. I see you for who you are and you do not scare me."

Leo was not the only one who saw one of the darkest parts of Visenya — it was Laena too. Both stared at the raging darkness behind her eyes, standing without fear — unyielding.

Neither of them ran away — neither of them ever will.

"Thank you, Laena," Visenya whispered, her vision blurry with unshed tears. She finally understood, maybe for the first time in both her lives, that letting people love you and care for you was part of how you love and care for them.

It was a conscious choice she was making — a choice to refuse running away from her past and hiding from her emotions.

No one was going to fix her — and it was not because nobody cared, it was because she had to do it on her own. People can be there for her when she starts her journey of healing, to hold her hand and wipe away her tears while she picks up her broken pieces — but Visenya has to love herself enough to try — to try and save herself.

A smile bloomed on her young face at the realization that she was no longer at war with her past — that she can now learn to embrace it freely.

 

 

_____

 

 

godswood, 108 AC
rhaenyra targaryen

Rhaenyra has been thinking about the tourney for weeks now. Her uncle was quite the sight in his chad black armor — winning every match and defeating every man who dared to challenge him.

It also did not come as a surprise when he saved the crown for Queen of Love and Beauty for Visenya — placing it on the top of her head while their father was fuming in the background, commenting that he should have gifted it to his wife or at least to someone his age.

It mattered little because Visenya refused to take the crown off her head and she picked a dress for a feast to match the flower crown perfectly.

Rhaenyra dreamed of the crown made of dragon's breath, she dreamed of winning the tourney in her own chad black armor and riding her white horse. She dreamed of approaching the royal box and gifting the crown to the most beautiful person she knew — her dearest friend, Alicent Hightower.

She imagined Alicent wearing Red and Black for the feast that would follow — she thought of her friend in Targaryen colors and found that Alicent never looked so beautiful — with Rhaenyra's crown on her head.

One morning, the two of them were sitting in the Godswood when Rhaenyra spoke up, "I made this for you, Ali." She showed her friend the replica of the Crown for the Queen of Love and Beauty from the tourney — made by Rhaenyra's hands alone.

Alicent looked speechless for a second as Rhaenyra leaned toward her. "What—What are you doing?" Ali whispered as she put the flower crown on her head, smiling brightly as she did so.

She was right, Alicent looked beautiful with the red crown on her head.

"I am crowning you my Queen of Love and Beauty," Rhaenyra announced, unable to look away from her friend. A pretty pink blush appeared on her cheeks. "You are my best friend, Ali."

Alicent touched the crown of the top of her head for a moment, but she did not take it off — much to Rhaenyra's delight. "As you are mine," her friend whispered.

"I made this for you too," Alicent revealed shyly, showing her a similar replica of the crown. Rhaenyra stared at her, surprised as her friend placed her gift gently on the top of her head. "You are now my Queen of Love and Beauty, as I am yours."

Just the knowledge that Alicent even thought about crowning Rhaenyra her Queen of Love and Beauty, just as much as Nyra thought of it — made her heart skip a few beats. It was now she who was blushing.

Rhaenyra stood up from her seat, needing to walk, to run — to do anything except stay in one place when she felt as if her face was burning.

Alicent stood up right after her. Offering no explanation, Nyra simply took her friend's hand and started walking. Ali cleared his throat. "Where are we going, Nyra?"

She shrugged, walking wherever her legs would carry her. "Nowhere, anywhere, everywhere — I do not know and do not care as long as I am with you."

Behind her, Alicent smiled softly, cheeks flushed pink. Rhaenyra turned towards her, her face pink too as she added, "And Syrax, of course."

Nyra was too focused on the irregular beating of her heart, on the way Alicent held onto her hand when she could have let go by now, on the way the stupid heat would not leave her cheeks and the way something was fluttering in her stomach — to actually see that they arrived at the training yard.

The yard was almost empty, except for Visenya and her water dancing teacher who were sparring with wooden swords. To her surprise, her sister was able to keep up quite well — Gods know how much time passed since she spent quality time with Visenya, who knows what else Rhaenyra did not know of her sister.

"Visenya really improved in her skill with a sword, wouldn't you agree?" Rhaenyra questioned, a bit breathlessly as she followed Visenya's every movement in awe.

She could see Alicent nodding slowly. Rhaenyra did not push her friend for an answer knowing that Alicent disapproved of Visenya's unlady-like behavior.

"Princess Visenya and Lady Laena have grown rather close, have you noticed? I must admit — I did not see that coming," Ali said instead.

Rhaenyra looked around the training yard to finally catch sight of her goddess-like cousin, with her dark skin and wild silver locks. She did not know how her eyes could miss such a beauty.

Laena was not paying attention to them, too focused on cheering for Visenya as she moved around gracefully. Indeed, the whole family was pleasantly surprised when her sister announced that she found a friend in her cousin.

It has only been a few weeks and yet, Rhaenyra hardly ever saw Visenya alone anymore. Wherever her sister was, Laena always followed — hand in hand and laughing at something.

"Yes, they did. Cousin Laena is fond of my sister. I mean, just look at the way she looks at Visenya," Nyra observed carefully.

Her cousin was looking at her sister in the way uncle Daemon looked at Caraxes or Dark Sister, like her Father looked at her Mother, like Visenya looked at Arrax, like Alicent looked at her, like she looked at Alicent.

Alicent immediately pulled her hand away from Rhaenyra's, startling her out of her thoughts. "What? You should not speak of such things — they are improper, Nyra. They go against the faith of the Seven."

Her friend's breathing was shallow and her eyes looked horrified and guilty — because of what, Nyra did not know why. Alicent even started pulling the skin around her nails anxiously.

"A man and a woman can only harbor feelings for one another — to suggest otherwise," Alicent explained, almost panting for breath. "We cannot speak of this again."

Rhaenyra looked away from her friend, not wishing to have a fight with her or to upset her. "I was not implying anything," she defended.

The conversation with Alicent played over and over in her head. Only a man and a woman — not any other way. So why was her heart beating so fast when she was around Alicent? Why would her palms suddenly become sweaty? Why would the heat rush to her cheeks so very often when she was around her friend?

Was there something wrong with her if she felt like this? — If she felt like holding Alicent's hand at all times?

Rhaenyra can easily remember the stories Visenya told her in their younger years — the stories of love between women and men, men and men, women and women. She made it sound so easy and normal. When Nyra asked her sister about it, Visenya simply said that she could love whomever she chose and that she should send her way anyone who dared to disagree and cause Rhaenyra's unhappiness.

She needed to talk to somebody about this — somebody who would never judge her. Which is why, her legs carried her to the familiar chambers where she used to spend much time together with her sister — where she would go when she had nightmares, where Visenya would let her sleep beside her and sing her a Valyrian lullaby to calm her.

Rhaenyra nodded to the guard standing outside Visenya's chambers before she pushed the door open. She found that Visenya was not in the first part of her chambers so she walked towards the next door, ready to knock — when she heard voices from the other side.

"What are you reading, cousin?" A feminine but mischievous voice questioned. Rhaenyra heard the rustling of the sheets so she assumed Lady Laena was on her sister's bed.

"Nothing," Rhaenyra heard her sister answer, almost panicked as she shut her book and threw it to the ground. Laena must have caught the change in the voice too because Rhaenyra could clearly hear a smirk in her voice as she spoke, "It certainly does not sound like nothing. Let me see!"

Her sister and her cousin jumped from the bed to get to the book. "No! Get away from me and my book!" Visenya shouted, but Rhaenyra recognized the playfulness and laughter in her voice — which almost made her stumble back. She could not remember the last time she heard or saw her sister laugh or smile.

Lady Laena appeared to have won the battle because she grabbed the book and opened it "What do we have here?" she whispered and then started reading in High Valyrian, "Hands swimming against the sea of sheets, landing on the shore of your body, finding comfort on the smooth sands of your skin."

Their cousin gasped in surprise, but not in horror — as Alicent would have. "Visenya! You actually read this? I would have never guessed you like romance novels! How scandalous for a princess!"

"Shut up!" Visenya took her book back, sounding a bit embarrassed. "If you think that is scandalous, you should read this — it's a diary of an unknown Essosi woman. She writes of her many lovers and how she seduced them — in detail no less!"

Laena gasped in excitement as she started begging, "No way! I want to see! Let me see!"

Rhaenyra took a step back from the door, a small sigh leaving her lips. She should have seen it coming — Laena and Visenya were friends now. Her sister had someone to spend time with, she was not alone anymore.

And she sounded and looked happy. In fact, Rhaenyra thought that Visenya had never looked more alive.

Rhaenyra pursed her lips together, fighting the rising feeling of jealousy that threatened to size her. She had no right to be jealous, not when she made no effort to spend more time with Visenya because she was too busy with Alicent.

And with that final thought, Rhaenyra bolted out of her sister's chambers, making it seem as if she had not been there at all.

Notes:

Writing Visenya who finally welcomes the idea of healing and friendship made me tear up so bad! 😭 My girl has grown so much!

Finally, I started writing something Rhaenyra/Alicent related. We will be at it for a while until they both get the courage to admit that they like each other 👀

My Wattpad: seven-moons

Chapter 24: Unexpected Promotion

Summary:

In which:

— Daemon gets an unexpected promotion but he is not happy about it
— Viserys thinks of his brother and remembers good old times
— Daemon leaves for the next two years

king's landing, 108 AC
viserys targaryen

Viserys absentmindedly caressed a new wound that the Iron Throne gave him. The slow and gentle movements of his fingers against the fresh wound produced the sweetest kind of pain — enough to keep him in reality and yet not enough to pull him out of his thoughts.

Nowadays he often spent his time in his head, replaying his dreams over and over again.

He still had no son — not for the lack of trying, that was for certain. His advisors and the Small Council kept pushing for the boy to come — they kept reminding him of his failure to have his little heir.

Viserys half-heartedly listened to them — he knew he would have a son sooner or later. He would appear in his dreams, a boy that looked so much like him, only with shorter hair — a boy who was wearing green clothes embroidered with a black dragon and with his golden crown on the top of his head.

But, Viserys dreamed of another too, a girl who reminded him of his Vissie — and yet, he could tell that the girl was not his daughter, no matter how similar they looked at the first glance.

His eldest, his pride, his Visenya — she had an aura of confidence and maturity around her. Her eyes were full of knowledge and mischief — alight with life. The eyes she inherited from his beloved Aemma.

The girl in his dreams wore a golden crown that looked like stag's antlers, she had three pink scars on her lovely face, going from her brow down, almost touching her nose. She radiated sadness and despair. She looked as if she'd rather drown herself than wear a crown.

That was not his daughter, Viserys was sure of it.

And yet, why was she appearing in his dreams? Was it some sort of sign — a message, perhaps?

His questions remained unanswered.

Viserys almost hissed when he unconsciously pressed harder against the cut on his palm. He examined the wound closely, wondering why had the Iron Throne cut him yet again. He hoped he would remember to ask the Grand Maester to stitch it up later.

Otto Hightower cleared his throat, making Viserys sit straighter in his seat, his full attention on the meeting. "I am afraid we cannot proceed with this meeting without our Master of Law, Your Grace," his Hand said.

Viserys turned towards the Captain of the Kingsguard, Ser Ryam Redwyne — and asked, "Were you able to find my brother?"

The man shook his head slightly. "No, My King. Prince Daemon is not in his chambers. We have searched the castle and we were not able to find him. But, some servants said they have seen him leave for the city."

"Very well then, send word for Daemon to join us as soon as possible," Viserys ordered, feeling his irritation building up. Couldn't his brother respect his position and duty a little more?

Ser Ryam bowed his head. "Yes, Your Grace." Viserys turned to Otto and said, "My Lord Hand, there must be something else that we could discuss until my brother graces us with his presence."

Otto glanced at the rest of the Lords seated around the table and then nodded, as if he was gathering support, "There is something that some of us wished to address, Your Grace."

Viserys raised his brow and his Hand continued, "Forgive me for my blunt words, My King, but some of us feel the Small Council has lost its efficiency since Prince Daemon joined us — he cannot be bothered to show up much less participate in the important matters."

He sighed, knowing he needed to defend his brother. "I shall talk to my brother. He does the job quite well when he actually wants to — you must have seen it too."

"I agree, Your Grace. Prince Daemon has shown us his knowledge of laws and capability countless times before," Lord Corlys hummed in response, eyeing Otto with his lavender irises.

Sensing the tension between them, Otto clarified, "I am not denying Prince Daemon's capability, Lord Corlys — I am denying his will to work."

Visenya, who was standing by the table with wine jars — was barely able to hold back her snort. He could have fooled her, she thought sarcastically as she observed the dislike Corlys and Otto had for each other with interest.

Viserys missed everything that was happening around him and simply nodded. "I hear you, Otto. But I will not dismiss Daemon from the Small Council — he is my brother and he will always have a seat at this table."

Grand Maester Mellos spoke up next, "Perhaps there is another solution, Your Grace. If you will not dismiss Prince Daemon — you could simply give him another position, one more suitable for him."

"And what would that position be, Grand Maester?" Viserys questioned as Mellos looked at Otto Hightower for support. When he got none, he stuttered out, "I—I do not know, Your Grace. It was just a suggestion."

Lord Corlys tapped his fingers against the table impatiently. "I still do not see why we should dismiss Prince Daemon from his position — it is not as if we often talk of matters that require his presence."

"Lord Corlys—" Otto started, his voice on edge with irritation. Lord Corlys did not even let him finish his sentence as he said, barely controlling the snarl that threatened to form on his face, "We all know Prince Daemon bores easily, and I can see why — he is not even needed here half the time, Lord Hand."

Lord Beesbury hummed in approval. "I feel the need to agree with Lord Corlys. However, I must add that Lord Lyonel Strong has done a splendid job at being Master of Law before Prince Daemon. If we are talking of replacements, we should invite Lord Strong to take his place."

Viserys pursed his lips, trying to stay calm and collected. "And what would you have me do with my brother then? As I said before, I will not dismiss him from my Council," he repeated his earlier decision.

No matter how irresponsible his brother may be, he was still his brother. Daemon will always have a place in his court, as his father had with his own elder brother — as his own grandsire had in his eldest brother's.

Viserys would not be the reason why the two of them quarreled, he refused to be. Besides, if their father could see the two of them right now, he would surely smack them for their behavior.

The silence in the Small Council chamber was interrupted when his Hand suggested, "What if you name him Commander of the City Watch, Your Grace?"

Just thinking of Daemon with a large group of untrained men made Viserys want to grimace. His brother would not be pleased, not at all. "I do not think it is a good idea, Otto."

Visenya cleared her throat lightly and it took Viserys a moment to remember that his daughter was actually there. Vissie was mostly quiet during his meetings with his advisors — she rarely spoke up, but when she did, she was capable of solving the most complicated matters.

"If I may, Your Grace?" She asked, her dark indigo eyes holding his gaze. The first time she spoke up, Viserys had half a mind to refuse her, but this time, he did not even think as he accepted her offer. He was actually excited to hear her opinion nowadays. "Of course, daughter."

His daughter nodded in the direction of Otto as she placed down the jar of wine. "I agree with the Lord Hand's suggestion. I think Prince Daemon would do a wonderful job as the Captain of the City Watch."

"We both know your uncle bores easily, Vissie. I agree that we need to take the problem with the City Watch more seriously, but I do not see how Daemon would be of any help," he shrugged, not seeing her point.

"Yes, rarely anything can hold Prince Daemon's attention, but I am not sure how he would get bored amongst a full group of trained fighters," Visenya explained. "Prince Daemon is a warrior, not a politician — which is why he avoids Small Council Meetings."

She did have a point there, Viserys thought as he nodded at her to continue. "We have seen that the City Watch desperately needs improvement — they need someone to train and discipline them. Who better to do it than the best warrior in the Seven Kingdoms?"

Visenya locked eyes with Otto, studying him carefully. "If you name him Captain of the City Watch, you will not only solve the problem with them — but also improve the efficiency of the Small Council."

His Hand turned to look at him as he nodded in approval. "Indeed, Your Grace. We could give Prince Daemon the time and resources he needs. If we do this, we would be solving two problems at once."

Viserys was growing rather tired of this conversation — in all honesty, he was just happy at least one of his family members got along with his beloved Hand.

Trusting both his daughter and his Hand, he did not even ask the opinions of other Lords as he granted his approval. "It's decided then. I will announce the changes to my brother."

Viserys turned towards Ser Ryam and commanded, "Be sure to tell Daemon to find me as soon as possible." The Captain of his Kingsguard bowed his head. "As you command, Your Grace."

He signed, knowing fully well that his brother would not take the news lightly. But, if he needed to remove his brother to keep the peace amongst his advisors, he will do exactly that.

 

 

_____

 

 

Viserys admired the large model of Old Valyria he has been working on ever since his youth. He unwrapped a sculpture of his deceased dragon, Balerion, that his beloved mate had gifted him — and placed it in its rightful place.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door and he sharply turned to greet whomever it was. Ser Ryam announce Daemon and his brother walked in, his hair a bit disheveled and a small smirk on his face.

Viserys tightened his hold on the Balerion's sculpture as his smile disappeared from his face at the state of his brother. He was hoping Daemon forgot of the Council meeting — and he almost kicked himself for being so stupid.

Daemon had obviously just woken up somewhere in the Street of Silk, smelling of cheap women and sex. Viserys did not know why he even tried to justify his brother and his actions anymore.

"You asked for me, brother," Daemon greeted him once Ser Ryam left and closed the door behind himself. He leaned against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest, posture relaxed.

Viserys could not stand the sight of his own brother so he turned to his beautiful model and sighed in disappointment, "We had a Council meeting this morn and you were not present again."

"I was not aware my presence was needed," Daemon shrugged, voice still somewhat cheery which made Viserys snap, "You are my Master of Law — of course your presence was needed. I did not give you the seat at my Council for you to skip whenever you please."

Daemon scoffed, his jaw tight. "You cannot expect me to lose my time and sit through hours of unimportant discussions that are hardly the Crown's business."

"I do expect you to do exactly that," Viserys shouted as he turned to his brother. They stared at each other, their father's purple eyes against their mother's pale lilac one. Daemon looked away.

"Do you truly think I would not rather spend my time with Aemma and my daughters than listen to things I do not want to?" Viserys continued, standing up from his seat. "But I do because it is my duty to do so — as was yours."

His brother looked rather disinterested in what he was saying until he finally caught onto the careful wording that was used. Daemon finally met his eyes. "Was?" he questioned sharply.

Viserys just stared at him, wondering when had it happened — when had the bond between them broken to pieces that were far too small to put back together?

He could still remember, as if it was yesterday, when Daemon was born. Viserys was only four namedays old when he held his brother for the first time, careful to support his neck. He looked so small and vulnerable, clinging to his finger and looking at him with curious eyes.

Viserys still remembers the love he felt for his little brother — and the promise he made to always look after him.

He could remember when Daemon found their mother lying and unmoving on the ground of the Dragonpit and how scared he looked, seeking help — too young to know that their mother passed away before she could get to her dragon.

He could remember because it was Viserys that found Daemon, trying to shake his mother awake. Viserys had immediately realized what was going on and he all but shielded his brother's eyes from the sight of their dead mother.

Viserys could remember when their younger brother, Aegon, passed in infancy — he could remember holding Daemon's hand as Vhagar burned their younger brother's small body.

It was Viserys that had to explain to Daemon that he would not get the chance to teach Aegon to walk and run, to wield a sword — and it made his brother cry in frustration because he was looking forward to doing so.

They used to be so close, the two of them. Daemon used to follow him around like a lost puppy. They used to train together until they were dirty and bruised. They used to share whores in the Street of Silk, exploring from dusk until dawn.

When had this rift better them appear?

When had they stopped being so close?

When had Viserys started seeing Daemon as more of a burden than anything else?

Eventually, Viserys settled down with his mate — he grew out of that state of youth and welcomed the peaceful life that Aemma offered. Daemon never grew out of that state — even with a wife, he continued to seek adventure and all the pleasure the world could offer him.

Then, Visenya was born and everything changed.

Just the knowledge that Daemon had a claim on something that was his — on his daughter, his firstborn no less — made his blood turn cold.

His ambitious brother, who was busy with his whores, who mistreated his own wife, who only ever tried to escape problems once he caused them...Viserys opted not to tell either Daemon or Visenya of their marks, aiming to protect his daughter.

The distance between them only grew with years, with his brother's obnoxious behavior and his ambition for the Iron Throne.

They were polar opposites. Viserys liked the peace and despised fights. He hated sword-fighting, but adored cheering in the crowd as his brother fought. Daemon, on the other hand, lived to cause chaos, he enjoyed quarreling and sword-fighting.

The two of them were so different that it should not have come as such a surprise that they simply drifted apart.

Looking at him now, Viserys could only question himself — Where had his brother disappeared? — The little boy who used to sneak into his bed and beg him to speak stories of Old Valyria? — The little boy who used to drag him to the Dragonpit to watch dragons? – The little boy who would only talk to him in High Valyrian just so Viserys could improve since Daemon was always far better at speaking their native language?

Viserys could not find that boy anywhere when he looked at Daemon.

He no longer knew his brother. The realization was hard to process and Viserys could feel a headache coming.

"Otto warned me of this, but I did not listen. I should have known better than to trust you with such an important position knowing that you would rather spend time with your whores than help your own brother," he spoke up.

Daemon's face twisted into a snarl that resembled Caraxes far too much for Viserys's liking. "So it is your cunt of a Hand that I need to blame for this," his brother said through gritted teeth, voice shaking with anger.

"You cannot blame anyone but yourself for this, Daemon," Viserys dismissed. "It is not Otto who continues to disappoint me — it is not Otto whom I have to continue to defend in front of my Council and my court!"

"I strip you of your title as Master of Law and name you Commander of the City Watch," he announced as Daemon shouted, "You are sending me away, again? Because of a few words that your slithering Hand whispers in your ear?!"

Viserys turned away from him in dismissal, "My decision is final, Daemon. You should consider yourself lucky that you are not banished again." He heard his door slam shut as he returned to his sculpture.

 

 

_____

 

 

dragonpit, 108 AC
daemon targaryen

Once Daemon was done with smashing everything in his chambers, he left the chaos for servants to clean up as he made his way to the Street of Silk.

Fucking Hightower, he kept repeating in his head like a mantra. He has been on his best behavior since he was trying to avoid getting banished again — especially now that fucking Otto had so much influence in the Keep.

If he were to leave, Aemma would be left alone and he could not afford that — not when Maesters were aiming to kill her. He could not leave his two nieces alone with those grey rats. He could not leave his brother alone either.

He had to protect them — all of them. They were his family, the only family he has left and he would not forgive himself if something were to happen while he was away.

As soon as he entered a brothel, he aimed to find Mysaria and fuck his frustrations out, but he realized that would not do either — it would just make him even more furious at his thoughts of the silver-haired woman and her velvet skin.

So he dragged himself to the only place where he could seek comfort without being judged. Caraxes was eagerly waiting for him, feeling his desperation and anger — and offering comfort the best way he knew how.

Daemon did not know how long he spent in the Dragonpit — only that the sun already set by the time he was ready to return to the Keep and collect his belongings.

He stopped in his tracks the moment he saw Aemma talking to the Dragonkeepers. Feeling his frustration rising to the surface, he approached her and immediately questioned, "Did you know of what Viserys was planning to do?"

Aemma gazed at him with surprise and she started fidgeting on her spot as the Dragonkeeper bowed and left them alone. His goodsister swallowed. "I am not sure what you are referring to — What has my husband done now?"

"He sent me away again and named me Commander of the City Watch," Daemon clarified, his voice harsher than he intended it to be.

Aemma blinked at him in surprise and stopped fidgeting at once. "Oh, Daemon," she started, a look of pity on her face — and he hated it. "Let me talk to him, perhaps I can change his mind—"

"There is no use. He already sent word to Lord Lyonel Strong to take his position as new Master of Law," Daemon cut her off before she could finish her sentence. He tried to calm the roaring in his blood, knowing that Aemma had no idea he was to be sent away again.

His goodsister placed a hand on his arm. "I am sorry, goodbrother. You deserve better than this — I wish he could see you as you are and not as Otto wants him to."

Daemon wished it too.

He wished Viserys would finally see Otto Hightower as he was — a lying cunt. He wished his brother would trust him again — and make him his Hand so Daemon could protect his family from the dangers that lurked in the corners.

He then turned to Aemma, his brow raised. "What are you doing here, goodsister? Are you here with my two nieces?" He expected to see either Arrax or Syrax screeching for their riders, but he saw none.

Just when Aemma opened her mouth to answer, thunderous steps made their way towards them, and Daemon immediately pushed his goodsister behind him, reaching for Dark Sister if need be.

"There is no need to worry, Daemon. Dreamfyre knows me — she accepts me and dare I say, she enjoys my presence," Aemma said, her voice panicked as the pale blue head of the she-dragon lowered towards them.

Daemon was so surprised that he did not even stop Aemma from walking towards the large dragon. He watched as his goodsister ran her fingers along the beautiful scales — the she-dragon purred in response.

"You claimed a dragon," he observed, putting Dark Sister away. Aemma nodded, a smile on her face. "I bonded with Dreamfyre as per Vissie's suggestion. I have not ridden her, however — And I do not think I ever will."

He hummed. It explained a lot — the sudden improvement of her health even when his Healers told him she was lucky that she was still breathing. Daemon found himself smiling.

"What are we going to do about Maesters and the Citadel? We still do not have much evidence that would convince Viserys to take us seriously," Aemma's voice pulled him out of his thoughts.

Daemon looked around to make sure no one was listening as he responded with the new information he had, "I heard from uncle Vaegon. He succeeded in contacting our cousin, Septa Rhaella — She agreed to help us."

"Good." Aemma finally looked away from her mount and Daemon found himself saying, "Despite me being in the City Watch now, I will continue to search for further proof of Otto's treachery."

His goodsister nodded. "I know you will." He continued, "I will also continue to send moon tea to you through someone I trust. If you ever need a Healer for yourself or your girls, I will show you where to find him."

With that promise, he made his way back to the Red Keep — with the purpose of visiting one person whom he promised to say goodbye to, if he ever were to leave again.

Since the hour was late, Daemon walked through the Maegor's passages and knocked on the secret door to Visenya's chambers. He heard no response, so he slowly entered her chambers, careful to see if someone else was in there too.

Once he realized no one was there, he relaxed and closed the door behind him. Daemon walked to the next section of her solar only to find his niece sleeping against the window, a book in her lap.

Visenya looked relaxed, but the odd angle of her head made him wince. He immediately walked toward her just to carefully place her head against his chest — so she could rest properly.

Daemon looked at her for a moment, bathed in the moonlight with her lips slightly parted. She was sleeping soundlessly and not moving — as if she were dead. He smirked — if he was an assassin, she would have already been dead thrice by now.

Daemon slowly raised his hand to stroke her silver-gold waves as his eyes found the open book in her lap. He searched his pockets to find an empty piece of parchment that he placed between the pages that she had the last read. He then closed the book and removed it from her lap.

Realizing that he could not leave her to sleep by the window, Daemon picked her up all while holding his breath so he would not disturb Visenya's sleep. He moved her to her bed and covered her with heavy and warm blankets.

She would not forgive him for leaving like that — with no explanation and no goodbye, he was aware of that. But what could he do? He had to follow his brother's orders and not risk upsetting him further. He could not afford to make stupid mistakes now that his family's lives were in danger.

She would understand, or so he hoped. And if not, then he would just have to prove how sorry he is once he returns.

Daemon sighed and bent down to place a kiss on her brow which made Visenya move in her sleep. His niece reached for his hand, as if knowing that he was leaving — as if knowing this was his way of saying goodbye — as if knowing that she would not see him for the next two years.

Notes:

I felt compelled to further explore the dynamic between Viserys and Daemon since I wasn't entirely satisfied with how show did it. You get two see two brothers who fiercely love one another yet cannot stand each other! 🤭

We won't be seing Daemon until chapter 30 (I think) so I wanted to give him one last scene with his niece 🥺

My Wattpad: seven-moons

Chapter 25: Heart To Heart

Summary:

In which:

— Leo is back to King's Landing
— You learn Leo Tyrell's backstory
— The promised trio makes an entrance

Notes:

Merry Christmas and happy holidays to all of you, my dear readers! ❤

— I took a two week long mental health break that I desperately needed. My birthday was on December 19th (I turned 19😁) and most of you who also have family issues probably know how hard it is to be around your own family during birthdays/holidays. So, to save my sanity, I disappeared from all social media and life in general (it's what I do when my mental health gets low) — in other words, If I disappear again like this, don't be worried about the book ✋🏻 I'm not giving up on it or I'm not planning to!

Anyways, this is the longest chapter I've ever written so, I'm hoping you'll enjoy it ❣

king's landing, 109 AC
visenya targaryen

Daemon left.

He left without saying a proper goodbye. He left without a note. He left her alone in a den of vipers. He left her even when he promised he would not.

There has been this irritating itch stirring in Visenya's blood and bones. She could not even name the feeling that kept her blood boiling and her heart clenching. Was it sadness? Was it anger? Was it betrayal?

And now, if the report was true, Leo Tyrell was back at King's Landing to serve as her uncle's squire and help train the City Watch.

With an irritating sigh, Visenya kept rubbing her thumb across the scar on her hand that she made a few years back. Feeling the soft, ruined flesh underneath her touch felt like a reminder of what happened the last time that her uncle was not around — and it made Visenya swallow harshly.

She quickly made her way to the beach at Blackwater Bay — a place that Leo and she used to train, a place where she knew she would find him.

It turned out that she was right. Leo was standing a few feet into the sea, feeling as the upcoming waves kept soaking his breeches. Visenya crossed her arms over her chest and announced herself present, "Well look who decided to come back. I hope your visit to Highgarden was pleasant, Tyrell."

She still stood a few feet behind him, watching his back while he kept his eyes on the sea. He nodded without turning around. "It was."

"Thank you for writing to me. I think I heard that the letters you sent me were lost at sea — before I had a chance to open them," Visenya started sarcastically which finally made him turn around to look at her.

"Do you know how wonderful it felt to be told that you left King's Landing without so much as a note?" She expressed angrily. "You were home for moons — You could have written to me."

She received no response from him, but a small smile made its way onto his face — and it fueled the burning anger inside her. "Why are you looking at me like that? Do I have something on my face?" Visenya all but growled at him.

"No—No. You are just—You are so annoying," Leo shook his head with a fond smile. Visenya scowled and her friend raised his hands in surrender. "I have missed you, truly."

His genuine confession caught her by surprise which was why she forced herself to keep her composure and not spit fire at him. She sighed. "How is your brother? I heard he has fully recovered from his sickness."

"He is well enough, thank you for asking." Leo walked over to her. "I'm sorry," he said. "I'm sorry for not saying goodbye before I departed — you deserved to know. I wanted to say goodbye, but there was no time — the ship for Highgarden was leaving before they could find you."

She had no idea what to say. He then looked away from her, his mouth opening and closing — as if he wanted to say something but did not know how to begin. "Whatever it is that you want to say to me — You do not have to, if you do not want to," she assured him.

Leo nodded and Visenya got the impression that he wanted to stay silent. She was surprised when he sat down and petted the spot next to him. "My father is a horrible man," he mused.

Visenya tilted her head at him, wondering what the hell was he trying to tell her. "What?" she questioned and took her seat next to him.

"He is a good Lord. He achieved many great things for the Reach — My family is starting to rise in power because of him alone, but he is a terrible man and father." Visenya listened intently.

"My father was born a sickly babe. My grandparents expected him to die, but he surprised them all when he survived infancy. However, he still gets affected by the slight weather changes or seasonal sickness — and every time, there is a chance that he could die," Leo said.

"My elder brother, Lerris — is much like our father in that regard. Many say it is a miracle that he is still alive to this day — especially because he was born a moon too early," he crossed his arms over his knees. "Both my younger sister and I were born healthy and strong, which my father took most pride in — way more than he should have."

Visenya did not dare interrupt him. "Despite many differences between Lerris and myself, we have always been close, we attended lessons together from the start, we learned how to ride horses together, and so on."

She raised her brow, thinking it over. Leo continued, "I should not have even attended the same lessons as him, after all, he is the firstborn son and heir while I am a second son — it did not make any sense then, but looking back on it now, I can see my father's intentions clearly."

Visenya hummed in thought. "He did not like that his firstborn, who is so much like him, is going to inherit his lands, did he?" her voice was barely above a whisper.

Leo ran his hands through his hair, messing up the perfect light brown hair. "Gods, I was so stupid not to see it! He treated us so differently from the start and yet I did nothing!"

Thinking of how guilty he must be feeling, Visenya placed her hand on his arm to calm him down. "You were a child."

Leo shook his head and sighed. "When there were celebrations and feasts, he would parade me around and introduce me to his lords and ladies — as if I was his heir and not Lerris."

"I understand why, Leo. You craved his attention and approval. It is as if you were a drunk — no matter how much you drink, you always crave more," Visenya said. "You would do anything to keep your father's attention on you."

After all, who would know that feeling better than her? In her first life, it was Robert's attention she had craved and in this life, that role was taken by Viserys.

Leo's expression soured. "It was so wrong — I cannot even imagine how my brother felt," he muttered. "When I was four namedays old, a tourney was organized in King's Landing to celebrate Prince Daemon's knighthood. My father brought me along, instead of my brother..."

"And, it was love at first sight," his eyes became alight with life again, but Visenya felt more confused than ever. Leo explained, "Sword-fighting, I mean. Your uncle looked like a God, on the back of his black horse, Dark Sister in hand. I could not look away from him even for a moment."

"My father was endlessly pleased when I requested to start training — I think he liked it because it was a sign that I was not like him or my brother — weak and unable to hold a sword."

"Anyway, I learned to love sword-fighting, so much so that I started neglecting my other lessons. He did not bother me for a while, marveling at my talent and hard work. But, it became clear soon that I would rather spend time with my sword than my books — unlike my brother," Visenya noticed the way his knuckles turned white from how hard his grip on his other hand was.

"My father and I got into an argument and he lost his composure, telling me that he could no longer tolerate such behavior from his heir," Leo's voice became almost pained. "It was the first time I truly realized that my father wanted Lerris dead — I was so startled that I did not say anything."

Visenya could barely believe her ears. She knew firsthand how hard it was — to live a life when you have royal or highborn blood in your veins, but to hear that Leo's father wanted Lerris dead astonished her.

No matter how much Robert hated her, he would never physically harm her — of that much she was certain. So she could not imagine how Lerris was feeling.

Seeing her wide-eyed expression, Leo continued talking, "I started rebelling against my father at every turn — which proved to be in Lerris's favor since it highlighted how good he was at his lessons, a worthy heir."

"There were many fights between my father and me over the years, but I did not budge. Despite what everyone says about the curse of being a second-born son, I never wanted to inherit my father's seat or userp my brother. Lerris is going to be a far better lord than me and everyone could see it, besides, I love my brother. I would never harm him — I always aimed to protect him."

The situation slightly reminded her of Daemon and Viserys. While her uncle did have ambition for the throne, he would never harm her father to actually get himself there.

Just the thought of her uncle made her run her thumb across her scar.

"And then, I got invited to be Prince Daemon's squire. Both my parents approved so I thought my father had finally given up on the idea that I was to succeed him — I was wrong," Leo let out a laugh in disbelief at his younger self's stupidity.

Leo turned to gaze at the sea again, not daring to look into her eyes anymore. "Unknown to me, he asked Prince Daemon to make a man out of me — to show me all King's Landing has to offer. In other words, he allowed me to come here so I would learn ways with women."

Yes, her uncle did have quite a reputation with women, Visenya almost snorted — and then the realization hit her. "He already made up his mind on you being his heir. The only thing left for him was to see if you were capable of producing heirs."

"Exactly. There were numerous situations before where I was disinterested in women and ladies — so he became worried," he said slowly, as if he was afraid to confess the truth — to himself or her, Visenya did not know. "Turns out he was right to be worried."

Visenya blinked, trying to pinpoint what he meant by that. She cocked her head to the side in question. "So you are not interested in women. Are you interested in men then?"

Leo swallowed, still not daring to meet her eyes. "No. I am not interested in anyone, at all."

It was her turn to be confused again. Throughout her first life, she had met multiple people who desired people who were the same sex as them. At first, it was a little confusing for her because of all the disgust faith of the Seven taught her to feel towards that kind of people — but then Visenya became comfortable with it.

There was nothing wrong with wanting the same sex, there was nothing wrong with wanting people who were the opposite sex either — so why would not wanting either of the sexes present a problem?

"So, if it came down to a choice between marrying a woman and a man, you would rather choose your sword?" Visenya tried to jest to lighten up the mood.

Her friend's head turned so sharply towards her that she was worried his neck would break. His watery blue eyes met her indigo ones, staring at her in awe. "I was worried that you would not accept me," he breathed out.

Visenya's heart clenched painfully as she tried to reassure him softly, "Why wouldn't I accept you? While I can admit that I have never heard of someone who is disinterested in both women and men, I am alright with it? You forget that I am a Targaryen — we do have queer customs."

Leo looked down at his hands, "My father did not think it was normal — a part of me thinks he despises me for not being as perfect as he thought."

She took his hand in hers, holding it while trying to calm down the roaring in her veins. She had no idea her friend was hurting in such a way. "Leo, you are alright just the way you are — even if you would rather marry your sword than a real person."

This seemed to bring a small smile to his face. He cleared his throat. "This brings me to the reason why I was so agitated before my departure from King's Landing. Apparently, my father heard that I visited brothels only to drink ale, unlike any other man who went there. It was only when I snuck into my father's study, that I learned that he had been writing with Prince Daemon."

Visenya stilled in her seat, refusing to believe that her uncle had any part of Leo's suffering.

"The reason I was not invited to Highgarden sooner, is because your uncle has been protecting me, claiming that I visited brothels with him often and such — I do not even know if he did it on purpose or not, but he was keeping me safe all this time," he went on much to Visenya's relief.

"So, Lerris was indeed sick, but the real reason I was invited back to Highgarden was that my father had to take matters into his own hands."

Leo grimaced for a moment. "I will spare you the details since you are a princess and a maiden — but, I was forced to lay with women because if I did not, my siblings or mother would not get food. There were more severe punishments, however, I will not talk about them."

The only thought that raced through her head was, What kind of father would do that to his child? Visenya could not help but think of taking Arrax to Highgarden and letting him eat Lord Lawren Tyrell alive.

"My younger sister, Liya, managed to send a letter to Prince Daemon asking him to invite me back because she knew I was safer here than back at home," Leo said. "Without so much as asking why, Prince Daemon sent a demand, signed by the king — to send me back to King's Landing immediately. My father had no choice, so here I am."

She was at a loss for words. What should she say to him? The childhood of Tyrell siblings had been hell. She wanted to help — she had to find a way to help. Leo was her friend, after all.

But what could she do? She was not heir yet. She was not that important yet. She did not have that much of an influence.

There has to be something she can do.

"Leo—" she started, but he cut her off. "He sent my uncle Graffin here with me so he would continue to supervise my progress with bedding women and having a bastard. He was sent under a disguise that he is looking for a wife."

Leo must have seen something on her face because he turned away again. "I do not want your pity. Lerris, Liya, my mother, and I protect each other from my father — it is a system that we established. I trust them — and with the realization that I trust you, I wanted to tell you of this."

"I really am sorry for my behavior — you are my friend, or at least, I hope you still wish to be." The words hung between them. Leo still faced away from her, as if he could hide his vulnerability, but the quiet hope in his voice nearly destroyed her.

"You are my friend, Leo. Nothing in the world could possibly change that — not even your annoying attitude," Visenya jested, but squeezed his hand in reassurance. "I will find a way to keep your uncle out of your way, I promise you this. You live under my roof now and you will always be safe here."

Her friend's shoulders dropped, as if the weight has finally been lifted from them. "My father—" he started, but she continued, determined to protect him. "Your father is a mere lord, I am a princess. I have more authority than him."

"I have your back, Leo," when he finally met her eyes again, they were looking at him softly in understanding and promise. The gratitude on his face could not be described as he vowed, "As I have yours."

Leo sighed, his cheek twitching with newfound hope. "My life is my life — I should be able to live it as I want to. Fuck everybody else, their opinions and thoughts."

Visenya nodded, still holding his hand. "You should be able to, Leo, but I do not think it works that way — at least for us. That is a curse when you have highborn blood in your veins."

There was such pain and vulnerability and sorrow on both of their faces. But there was also something else, the openness of letting each other see the broken pieces deep inside — there was understanding that no matter what happened, no matter what life brings to both of them, they would never turn away from each other.

 

 

_____

 

 

Visenya was sitting in the training yard, carefully polishing Lady's Wrath and staring at her scarred hand, deep in thought. She did not notice when a figure approached her.

"I must confess, I did not expect to find you here this early. You are usually spending time with your green beast at this hour," a familiar voice startled her out of her thoughts. Visenya straightened in her seat, spinning around to face Leo. "You are right — but, today I am expecting someone's return."

Her friend raised a brow in question. "Oh? And who might that be?" She did not bother to respond as she stood up, looking up at him as he towered over her. "Spar with me while I wait?"

"Only if you are ready to ruin your clothes with mud because you shall be the one to fall first," Leo smirked, looking at her clean attire.

"As if," Visenya snorted in response. "I will have you know, Leo, that I have improved greatly during your absence — and now, I shall make you eat your words."

"Ha, I will believe it when I see it," he challenged her. Visenya already took her position, raising Lady's Wrath and ready to attack. His eyes widened at that. "What are you doing?"

Visenya cocked her head to the side tauntingly. "Readying myself to spar with you? What are you doing?"

"You are going to use Lady's Wrath? Since when have you started using a real sword while practicing? The last time I saw you you were barely ready to hold a wooden sword much less Valyrian steel," Leo wondered, his watery blue eyes fixed on the Valyrian steel sword.

"Why are you asking? Scared that I will actually best you now that I am using a real sword?" she questioned, amused. Her friend denied, "Not at all — It is more like I am scared to lose my limbs in the process."

"Are you calling me clumsy?" Visenya scowled and Leo smirked. "Perhaps I am."

As soon as Leo got ahold of his sword, she attacked him, moving swiftly. She swung at him and he met her sword with him. He swung at her and she defended herself — it was a slow and deadly dance, the sound of their clashing swords echoed through the training yard.

She knew he was going easy on her since he had years of experience on her, still, she moved in such a way that forced him to try better. Visenya took her chance and pointed the sharp edge of Lady's Wrath at his neck while he pointed his own sword at her stomach.

"I told you that I improved," Visenya grinned at him when she noticed the proud glint in his eyes. He smiled down at her, moving away his sword. "Indeed. Look at you, proving me wrong."

Leo seemed deep in thought all of a sudden,  which caused her to ask, "What is it?" He hummed in thought, "It's just that — Your fighting style reminds me so much of Prince Daemon, from the way you hold your sword to the way you strike."

"You forget that my uncle gave me a few pointers here and there," Visenya explained — hiding the way her scar began to itch and her heart began to clench with that nameless feeling. "Besides, I have spent half of my life watching him fight — it is only natural that I copy some of his movements."

Hiding her feelings appeared to be useless because he could read her like an open book. "You have not heard from him since he left, have you?"

"My nameday came and passed and yet he has not even bothered to show up. He did not send a gift — or even a letter," Visenya shrugged her shoulders, looking away from him.

Deep understanding could be found in his watery blue eyes as he approached her. "Do you wish me to tell you of him?" She traced the pattern of her scar with her thumb, shaking her head. "No. I do not want to talk or even think of him." He only nodded. "As you wish."

Instead of irritating her scar further, Visenya moved to play with her sword. "How is it in the City Watch? From what I heard they have been causing less ruckus in the city."

"That is an understatement of the century," her friend snorted. "It is alright, I suppose. They lack discipline and training, but they are improving since they have a proper leader now," he elaborated. "Some more known Westerosi knights want to join now that Prince Daemon is their leader — men want to learn from him, they respect him."

Leo smiled sheepishly as he watched her reaction. "Besides, I like training with them — I like to know where I stand when it comes to sword-fighting. I aim to be the best. That is the only way I can join the Kingsguard."

Visenya's eyes almost bulged out of their sockets. "You wish to join the Kingsguard? How come you never told me of this?" She asked, utterly surprised.

"It recently came to my mind," the light-haired boy defended. "You already know that I do not wish to marry. And, well, I cannot imagine spending more time in Highgarden — not after everything that happened — but I would not mind staying here, in the Red Keep. It sort of became like a second home to me."

She hummed in understanding before she smirked at him, teasing him further, "It still buffers me how you would rather stand at the doors of royals and listen as they fuck rather than marry someone."

Leo threw his head back and laughed at her words. "Well, when you put it like that." She joined him in laughter soon enough. "Your bluntness never fails to surprise me," he commented.

"Oh, you love it," Visenya rolled her eyes fondly, shoving his shoulder lightly. "On serious matter now — you do know that there is rarely any danger, right? If it is danger and a place to prove yourself that you wish, Kingsguard is not the right place for you."

"Just look at my father — he never leaves the Keep and nobody is a fool enough to attack him while he is inside. The Kingsguard have so little to do that they have gotten fat in the last few years!" She gestured towards the Red Keep.

Her friend only nodded — it appeared that he already thought everything through. "I appreciate your advice, but I still wish to try. I see no greater honor than keeping the royal family safe — especially because they have shown such hospitality to me."

Visenya's eyes softened at that. He was talking of her uncle and herself — and what they both did for him. Her uncle who had saved him from home and she who had given him her friendship.

While she would rather Leo stay out of all the court drama that will develop in the future years, it would be nice, she supposed — to have a friend and an ally in Kingsguard. Who knows? — perhaps he could even become the captain of her Queensguard once she ascends the Iron Throne.

"Visenya!" an excited voice called out from behind her. She barely had time to turn around before her cousin threw her arms around her. Visenya did not hesitate to hug her back, a huge grin on her face.

"Laena, you have returned!" she excitedly said when they pulled away from one another. "How was your trip to Driftmark? I heard your father gifted your mother a ship for her nameday — he even named it after her, right?"

Laena softly snorted at her father acting so romantic for her mother. "He did. The figurehead of the ship was carved to look like Meleys too! You should have seen the look on her face!"

Once her cousin's eyes shifted to Leo, who was standing behind Visenya — eying them both with interest, Visenya gestured towards him. "Laena, I have mentioned Leo Tyrell before, yes?"

"You talk about me? I feel honored, princess," Leo gave his annoying smirk as he locked eyes with Laena. Her cousin matched his smirk without a care."You should ask if she talks good about you first, Ser."

"Good point," he chuckled. She rolled her eyes at him and gestured to her cousin. "Leo, this is my cousin and friend, Lady Laena Velaryon."

"My Lady," Leo bowed his head in respect — it was surprising to see him so well-behaved and with manners since the two of them did not care for titles or their behavior towards each other. As if he could read her mind, her friend looked at her. "I was not aware that you had any friends — beside me that is."

Visenya rolled her eyes at him. "I am not that unapproachable, Leo." Laena and he shared a quick look between themselves that had her doubting her own words. "Am I?" she questioned.

"I would not say that you are unapproachable, but sometimes, when you think, you have a scowl on your face that might make others scared," her cousin tried to explain.

"Lady Laena, please do not sugar-coat it," Leo snorted, being blunt with her as he always was. "When you relax muscles in your face, you look as if you want to murder everyone around you."

Visenya's eyes widened. "What? I do not!" She snapped his arm and looked at Laena. "He is lying, right?" Her beautiful cousin just smiled at her. "Do not worry, Visenya — You look beautiful even with a murderous scowl on your face."

"You two haven't even known each other for a whole day and yet you are teaming up against me — that is hardly fair," she crossed her arms over her chest, eying her friends who only smirked at each other.

"Cousin!" Laenor called out from behind her. She did not notice when her other cousin and his friends joined them in the training yard. She greeted, "Hello to you too, cousin. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"My sparing partner and friend, Joffrey Lonmouth, and I, were wondering if you and your friend would like a sparing match between us?" Laenor gestured towards the auburn-haired boy who waved at them.

The boy obviously had better manners as he bowed in acknowledgment. "Forgive his eagerness, princess Visenya. Laenor and I have heard much about the skills both you and Ser Leo possess when it comes to sword-fighting — and we wanted to see it in person."

Laenor grinned sheepishly. "What do you say, cousin? You and Ser Leo against Joffrey and me?" Visenya was smug about it as she announced, "We accept the challenge, cousin. We shall join you in a minute."

When the two moved away Leo muttered, "We accept? Who is we? You do know that both Ser Joffrey and Ser Laenor are very talented and skilled swordsmen for their age, right?"

"Sounds to me like you are scared of losing to my brother, Ser Leo," Laena commented tauntingly, holding her hands behind her back.

"We will not lose as long as I am here," Leo denied. Visenya narrowed her eyes at him. "Hey! Put some faith in me, Leo! We shall win this together!"

Laena nodded her head in support. "I have watched Visenya train every day since we became friends. I am willing to bet that she can single-handedly win against both my brother and Ser Joffrey — perhaps even you, Ser Leo."

Visenya wrapped her arms around her cousin as she grinned at her friend. "See Leo? This is how a true friend supports you — unlike you, who is doubting me at every turn."

Leo did not respond to her taunt — he cocked his head to the side and raised his light brow at Laena. "Is that a challenge?" Her cousin challenged, "And what if it is?"

"What do I get when I win?" he asked in full confidence, however, Laena did not waver either. "You are welcome to choose. But, when I win, as a reward, I want you to join Visenya and me on our trip to the Dragonpit."

Without thinking that he could possibly lose against Visenya, he immediately accepted. "Deal."

"Have I mentioned to you that Laena rides Vhagar? — the largest dragon in the world and the last dragon from the Conquest?" Visenya wondered out loud, noticing the way Leo immediately paled at the thought of their dragons.

Laena's smirk widened as she interlocked her fingers with Visenya's. "I cannot wait to see his face when he faces Vhagar — so you have to win this one, Visenya!"

"Do not fret, cousin. It was never my plan to lose anyway," she assured her cousin, joining her laughter at the miserable look on Leo's face.

Notes:

Let me know how you feel about Leo's backstory! My boy has been through so much because Westeros is homophobic as fuck. Anyways, we stan the asexuals (or any other members of LGBTQ+) in this house!

Laena and Leo the whole chapter: 😏 while Visenya is like: 🙄. Our trio in a nutshell!

My Wattpad: seven-moons

Chapter 26: Famous Scheming Face

Summary:

In which:

— Rhaenyra comes to terms with her feelings
— Alicent and Rhaenyra have their little moment
— Visenya is a mastermind

Notes:

Happy New Year my loves ❤! I wish all the happiness, success and health in this year for you and your dear ones! Also, I wish early Merry Christmas for people who celebrate orthodox Christmas!

king's landing, 109 AC
rhaenyra targaryen

Rhaenyra has been at war with herself for quite some time — her heart versus her mind.

There were dozens of questions constantly floating in her mind. Why was she made this way? Was there something wrong with her? Would her family accept her as she is?

She had spent the last few years in constant denial. But now, she was tired. She was so very tired of hiding her true self from the world — from her loved ones. She was tired of having to shut down all her thoughts and feelings and make them seem as if they did not exist.

It was not an easy process as one might think, to accept that you were attracted to people the same sex as you, especially when the person you value was always there to tell you how inappropriate and unnatural it is.

But Rhaenyra was done.

She could remember moments when she was still a child, when her mother or sister would read to her stories about maidens and knights — about strong men who were made to protect fair maidens.

Like most young girls, she quite often imagined being saved by a knight on a white horse. As she grew older, Rhaenyra began to observe men's training and began to imagine the safe touch of their hands, large and calloused from years of sword-fighting. She visioned strong muscles and sharp edges.

If she was being quite honest with herself, she imagined uncle Daemon most often. And who could blame her? He was every maiden's dream come true.

But that changed — she changed.

Rhaenyra grew closer to Alicent and it was as if something clicked in her brain. There were still dreams of strong knights who might come to her rescue, but they were not that persistent anymore.

Where harsh and scared hands once were, a pair of soft and slender fingers emerged — the hands were careful, caressing her face and running through her hair. Where she dreamt of sharp edges and strong muscles, velvet skin and soft curves came as a replacement. There was always this soft and flowery scent too.

It greatly confused her at first because her whole life she was taught that a man was made for a woman and a woman for a man — her Septa and the religion of the Seven said so. Everything else, they considered an abomination to nature.

But Rhaenyra was not made to follow the Seven, was she? She was of Valyrian blood — born to worship the Fourteen Flames.

No matter how much the people of Westeros tried to get Valyrians to follow the Seven, they could not — would not succeed. Those of Valyrian blood have much to be thankful for — they have many reasons to keep their culture and religion alive.

It was not the faith of the Seven that gave Targaryens the ability to ride dragons. It was not the faith of the Seven that gave Valyrians the gift of having a mate — a person who was the other, missing part of your soul. Fourteen Flames were to be thanked for that.

And what did the Fourteen Flames say about people like Rhaenyra?

They accepted, they did not judge — they embraced people like her. Valyrians often practiced polygamy and same-sex marriage — hells, having a mate that is the same sex as you is not unheard of — her ancestor, Rhaena Targaryen's mate was Elissa Farman.

Even Aegon I, Visenya, and Rhaenys were mates, which was why they were married to one another — Rhaenys was Visenya's wife as much as she was Aegon's and vice versa. They all had mating marks of a three-headed dragon that was now a crest for House Targaryen.

It is a legendary story that people who follow the Seven refuse to tell because they do not approve of it.

Once Rhaenyra educated herself on the matter — once she accepted that she was Valyrian and that no matter how much Alicent tried to make her worship the Seven, it was simply not in her blood to do so — it was as if the weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

Rhaenyra went so far as to ask her sister to borrow her books so that she might learn new stories — tales of people like her, all written in High Valyrian.

She has learned a lot and she was thankful for it — because now she was ready to admit to herself, without shame or remorse — she was in love with Alicent Hightower.

Rhaenyra snorted as soon as she caught sight of Alicent, Yes, she is in love with her friend — her friend who is currently looking for a husband.

It was not a situation that she ever wanted to find herself in, but here she was, attending a celebration for her nameday, drinking wine and sulking because she did not know how to confess her feelings to Alicent without risking losing her friend.

Pathetic. She was pathetic.

Just as Rhaenyra was about to bring a cup of sweetened wine to her lips, her cousin, Lady Laena Velaryon approached her, a charming smile on her perfect face — Gods, Laena was growing more beautiful with each passing day, wasn't she?

"Happy nameday to you, cousin," Laena said. Rhaenyra almost forgot to respond since she was too busy admiring her cousin's perfect golden skin and the way her eyes shone at the candlelight.

"Happy nameday, Rhaenyra," Visenya added, hands behind her back, looking eternal in her red gown — as she always did. Rhaenyra straightened her posture and nodded. "Thank you, cousin, sister."

After exchanging a few words with east other, the two girls grabbed each other's hands and ran to join the Tyrell boy — Rhaenyra thought that his name was Leo?

The light-haired boy appeared to be waiting for them at the table. Visenya did not sit at the royal table, as she always did — instead, her sister opted to join her friends. Laena seated herself on Leo's right side while Visenya took the other.

"Do they not remind you of the late princes — Aemon and Baelon, cousin?" the voice of her beloved mother caught her attention and Rhaenyra slightly turned towards Aemma to see her speaking with Princess Rhaenys.

The two women watched their daughters laugh and Leo scowl between them. "People in court often point out how they do not see Visenya without Laena and vice versa. They used to say that about my uncles too."

"Indeed they do. I heard many people compare our daughters' friendship to the one of their grandsires'. Now that I see it with my own two eyes, I can agree," Princess Rhaenys nodded in agreement, her eyes shining with nostalgia.

Rhaenyra hummed in agreement — she and Alicent heard the whispers of elderly people at court — people who were old enough to remember the famous friendship of Aemon and Baelon.

Most people looked at them fondly, saying that the friendship skipped a generation with Rhaenys and Viserys — just for Visenya and Laena to be as close as their grandsires had been.

Other people were too busy looking at the two girls in disdain because they had no shame — they would run around the castle, dance with each other until their feet hurt, steal lemon tarts and fruits from the kitchen, and so on.

Rhaenyra's eyes landed back on her sister, her cousin, and Ser Leo — Visenya and Laena were smiling at each other while trying to pull the Tyrell boy onto the dance floor.

Ah, that too. Rhaenyra had no idea when or how the Tyrell boy came into the mix of Laena and Visenya — but she was glad of it — her sister had never looked happier in her life than she was now, carefree, dancing and laughing with her friends like it was just the three of them in the entire throne room.

The flash of auburn hair and soft brown eyes entered Rhaenyra's vision — and just like that, any other thought disappeared from her mind. The moment she saw Alicent, the outside world ceased to exist. It was just the two of them, it always had been.

"Are you alright?" Rhaenyra questioned, a slight worry in her tone when she took notice of her friends pulling the skin around her nails.

As if realizing what she was doing, Alicent intertwined her fingers and placed them in her lap. She smiled at her, but Rhaenyra has known her for so long that it was easy to tell that it was strained. "Of course, Nyra — Why wouldn't I be?"

"Have you found any acceptable suitors for yourself?" She opted to question back, moving her chair closer and taking her friend's hands into her own — to stop her from hurting herself.

"Any man my father ends up chasing for me will be acceptable. It is my duty to wed and bear children — and I will," Alicent replied, sounding as if she already had that answer prepared.

"I know that, but did you like any of them? Personally, I think they are too old for you," she tried to push further.

Alicent shrugged her shoulders softly. "What is there not to like? They are all honorable and skilled knights, besides, I am but a daughter of a second son. I do not have much to offer to them."

Rhaenyra felt an unreasonable amount of rage consume her at the thought of anybody else near her friend. "Any one of them would be lucky to have you, Ali," she squeezed her hands in reassurance.

"Still, that is not the answer to my question. Did you like any of them?" Nyra asked again as soon as she noticed that a small, but a true smile appeared on Alicent's face. Her friend shook her head, her voice barely above a whisper as she admitted, "No. Not really."

 

 

_____

 

 

Once the feast was over, Rhaenyra found herself on the balcony of her chambers, overlooking the city and gazing up at the dark sky full of stars.

Alicent's head peaked in her chambers as she asked, "Do you need help getting out of that dress, Nyra?"

She was far too busy gazing at the stars to properly respond so she simply nodded. Behind her, she heard the door close and soft footsteps approaching her. "Did you like the feast, Nyra?"

Without giving her time to respond,  Alicent continued quite enthusiastically, "Personally, I think the music was lovely — and so many ladies and lords have danced! I swear, the dance floor was never empty!"

"It was alright, I suppose," Rhaenyra shrugged when Alicent joined her on the balcony. She breathed the night air and felt it enter her lungs. "The sky is really beautiful tonight, wouldn't you agree?"

"Hm? Oh, yes. It really is," her friend nodded, eyes worried as they looked at her. "Are you alright? You have been unusually quiet the whole day. You have not even danced once during your nameday celebration — and we both know how much you love to dance."

Yes, I am perfect, Rhaenyra sarcastically thought, I am in love with you and you do not know. I am in love with you and I do not know how to tell you. I am in love with you and you are looking for a husband. I am in love with you and you might leave me soon.

Rhaenyra forced away those thoughts — she swallowed down her bitterness, jealousy, and anger — and she gave her friend what she hoped was a small smile, "I am alright, just lost in my thoughts, I guess."

"Tell me, what is it that plagues your thoughts so? If there is some great debate in your head, I might be able to help if you share it with me?" Alicent stepped closer to her and yet Rhaenyra still did not look at her.

Rhaenyra sighed. Was she really about to say this? Was she really about to confess?

Alicent is looking for a husband, she reminded herself. She is six and ten, some women already have children by that age — Aemma already had both Visenya and Rhaenyra by that age. There was no time left.

She was going to lose her friend soon anyway — Alicent is going to leave and this is all she has left, this time to finally voice aloud these feelings.

The wine she consumed tonight made her a little braver — it was now or never.

"The feast was great. I loved everything about it and gifts I received were lovely too," Rhaenyra paused, shaking her head. "But, it is not enough."

"Do you know of what I have been thinking the entire night? — How none of the gifts are what I truly desire. How I only ever wanted one thing," she confessed, finally meeting the soft brown eyes of her friend. "And only you can give me what I wish for."

Alicent looked as if she had been locked under a spell — she blinked and barely breathed, all attention on Rhaenyra. The moment Nyra inspected her friend's face to search for some sort of reaction, she noticed something that caught her attention.

"You have a bit of a smudge here," Rhaenyra pointed at her lips, her purple eyes never leaving the small pink smudge of pigment that was used to paint one's lips.

"Where?" Alicent questioned, shaking herself out of the spellbound state. She sounded panicked so Nyra had to point at the spot on her lips again, "Right here."

When her friend smudged the smear further,  Rhaenyra grimaced. "You have not gotten it off. Might I aid you?" Alicent nodded, standing still, trying not to do any further damage.

Rhaenyra swallowed harshly, fighting against the fast beating of her heart — it was beating so loud that she could hear it in her ears — she wondered if Alicent could hear it too. She hoped not.

With the gentle touch of her soft fingers, she removed the smear. When Rhaenyra went to look at her friend, her eyes refused to move — they were still glued to Alicent's soft-looking pink lips.

Rhaenyra bit the inside of her cheek, begging all kinds of Gods to let her eyes move — it seemed that nobody listened. This was a mistake. This was a mistake, she repeated to herself.

How many times had she looked at those lips? — with her little and short glances — How many times had she imagined pressing her own against them?

Alicent took a shaky step back, breaking the spell around them. "Do not," she whispered, as if afraid. "Do not look at me like that, Nyra."

"How do I look at you, Ali?" Rhaenyra questioned, finally willing her eyes to move. Her purple eyes watched Alicent curiously because her friend looked as if she were in pain.

"You know the way you keep looking at me," Alicent mused, but then she closed her eyes to collect herself and then reopened them. "Or actually, you might do not know yourself."

She was going to do it. Rhaenyra was going to cross a line between friendly and friendly. She was so close — so damn close.

Sometimes it was hard to tell if that kind of line between Rhaenyra and Alicent even existed.

Rhaenyra used to observe Visenya with Laena and Leo — she saw the brotherly way in which Leo would tease both her sister and her cousin — she saw the way both Laena and Visenya would respond. There was nothing friendly between them — because they were friendly.

But with Alicent, it was so very different.

When Rhaenyra was still trying to determine if her feelings were returned, she used to hold Alicent's hand a little too long to be appropriate. The two of them laid down in each other's laps as they read, they hugged, they braided each other's hair.

No matter what they did, there was always that a moment too long between them.

"Can I kiss you?" Rhaenyra blurted before she could stop herself. Once she saw Alicent tense up, she took a step back. "I apologize. I should not have asked you about this. Simply forget—"

"Will we still be friends if I say yes?" Alicent cut her off which stop Nyra mid-step. She looked at her friend wide-eyed. "Of course. We are friends — best friends, even and we always will be."

Her friend took a hesitant step forward and Rhaenyra's breath hitched. "Will it change anything between us?" she questioned further.

"No," Nyra whispered, already too lost in the close proximity. It was getting hard to breathe — all she wanted to do was close the small distance between them. "Not if you do not want it to," she added, hopeful.

As if Alicent could read her mind, she stepped forward and kissed her. And it felt as if Rhaenyra was truly alive — it felt like she was flying with Syrax, soaring in the skies and enjoying the wind in her hair.

Rhaenyra hardly knew where to put her hands — she wanted to be closer to Alicent still. It did not matter because Alicent was kissing her — they were kissing.

Anything other than Alicent ceased to exist in Rhaenyra's world. There were Alicent's soft lips — so much soften than anything she had ever imagined — there was fluttering in Nyra's belly that felt like pure excitement and joy.

"How am I doing?" The auburn-haired girl questioned, breathless. There was an excited look on her face that made Rhaenyra's heart flutter. "Perfect. You are doing perfect," Nyra assured and kissed her again.

This time, she gave herself the liberty of placing her hands on Alicent's flushed cheeks — pulling her closer and closed until space between them was nonexistent. Still, it did not feel enough. She wanted to be closer. She wanted to crawl into her heart and carve a space for her in there.

The moment of pure bliss was interrupted when Alicent abruptly took a step back. She looked as if someone had poured a bucket of cold water on her. "This...This should not have happened, princess. I apologize, it was inappropriate of me."

There was stuttering, a lot of it. There was a single word, mistake that sent Rhaenyra's mind into a spiral. She could hardly focus on Alicent's voice — she was too busy hearing her heart break within her chest.

"Might I be excused, princess?" Alicent questioned, ready to bolt out of her chambers. Nyra nodded, casting her eyes down. "Yes, of course. Good dreams to you, Ali."

 

 

_____

 

 

dragonpit, 109 AC
visenya targaryen

She bought a fucking brothel.

Visenya was expanding her spy network slowly but surely. She needed more coin and resources — she needed trustworthy people — so she went into the city while the whole castle was sleeping, and she bought a brothel.

Now, it should be easier to earn coin and have more spies. Brothels are also perfect places for secret meetings — people go there to enjoy themselves so they do not pay attention to anything else.

Perfect. So far, her schemes were doing great.

"I cannot believe that you two are making me do this," Leo snorted from his seat in the carriage. Laena rolled her eyes at his dramatics. "We are hardly making you do anything, Leo. You lost a bet and now have to honor our agreement."

Leo whisper-yelled and jumped on his seat when the carriage hit a rock. "Well, I did not expect Visenya to best me! Ser Joffrey was an easy spar for her, as was your brother. But me? You can hardly blame me for being surprised!"

"It is not my fault that you never considered that Visenya might win against you," Laena shrugged nonchalantly, staring at her nails. She then smirked, teasing, "Why did you believe that she would lose anyway? Is it because she is a girl?"

"No. Of course not. Do not put words in my mouth, Laena," the light-haired denied. "I consider Visenya very talented and skilled at sword-fighting. And seeing that she bested me the last time, I shall never underestimate her again."

Leo then snuck a look at Visenya who was so far into her thoughts that she did not notice. "But, before I left for Highgarden, she was still very much learning. And now — it is as if she is a completely different person when it comes to sword-fighting!"

"She did start using Lady's Wrath once you left," Laena hummed in acknowledgment. "I heard that weapons made of Valyrian steel have a mind of their own. Perhaps that is why her skill has improved so suddenly?"

"Perhaps," the Tyrell boy shrugged. He turned to Visenya and asked, "What are your theories, Visenya? Or are you simply going to say that I am a cocky fool for believing I could ever be better than you?"

Visenya did not respond, staring straight ahead — her two friends could practically see the wheels turning in her head. "There it is — that murderous look on her face," Leo whispered to Laena.

"Indeed. Although, I believe we should call it a scheming face," Laena offered. Leo crossed his arms over his chest in thought. "A good name. Do you believe she heard a word of what we said?"

Laena snorted. "No. Not at all." As if on cue, Visenya blinked and came back to reality. She saw both her friends looking at her intently so she smiled sheepishly, "Sorry. Did you two say something?"

"What are you scheming now, cousin? If we might ask?" her cousin raised her perfect brow, already invested in the nonexistent drama.

"Ain't I always scheming?" Visenya smirked lightly. She turned to Leo and bumped her shoulder against his. "To answer your question, I think I found your uncle a wife."

Laena tilted her head to the side in confusion. "Why would you even bother to set up a match between a second son of the Reach and some unknown lady? Do you not have better things to do?"

"Let us trust the process, cousin. This is only the beginning of my plans," Visenya started. "And it is not as if I would directly propose the match. Leo will be the one to bring it up to his uncle — subtly, of course."

"I will?" Leo questioned, his brows furrowed. Visenya rolled her eyes and nodded. "Would your uncle mind if he was to be betrothed to Lady Alicent Hightower?"

There was no real reason why Ser Graffin would even refuse — he was a second son and Alicent is the Lady from the Reach and a daughter of a second son — he could not get a much better match than her.

The light-haired boy thought for a moment. "No. I do not think so. Admittedly, I am afraid to ask why you have even chosen the girl."

"That is what I would like to know too. Isn't Lady Alicent your sister's only companion? You two already have a rather rocky relationship — I do not think that sending her friend away would do you any favors," her cousin worried.

None of her friends seemed to understand the way her mind worked. Good. While she loved her friends and shared many secrets with them, there are some things that she simply had to keep for herself.

There is much more to this plan of hers than just helping Leo get rid of his uncle.

"The answer is simple. I need both Ser Graffin and Lady Alicent out of my way — the simplest way to do it is to let them marry and be done with it," Visenya explained.

Leo narrowed his eyes at her, not buying her simple explanation. "What has Lady Alicent done to you? As far as I know, she is not somebody known to cause problems."

They do not know anything about the real world, do they? They do not know of the upcoming war or the darkness that loomed in the North. They did not live or suffer in their first lives. They do not know that everything she does is to protect House Targaryen and help fulfill the prophecy of the Heir that was Promised.

"Quite the opposite, actually. While Alicent is not dangerous herself, she is her father's brainless pawn — born to serve him. She is his main piece to move on the board," she elaborated.

Leo looked more confused than ever — he even locked eyes with Laena, as if asking her where the hell was all this coming from. "Isn't Ser Otto the King's Hand? He is here to serve the realm and your family. Why would he be a problem for you?"

Visenya hummed, playing with the hem of her riding leathers. "That is what his role is supposed to be, yes. But, Ser Otto is nothing more than a scheming cunt."

It was silent for a moment before Laena nodded in somewhat understanding. "Now that I think about it, my parents are not very fond of him. They usually avoid speaking of the important matters in front of me and my brother, but that does not mean that we do not overhear things."

Visenya stored that information in the back of her mind for later. "They do not like him for a good reason. Otto's place is not at court. He is a second son who became the second most powerful man in Westeros — he is ambitious and hungry for more power. I fear that through Alicent, he may begin to influence Rhaenyra — which is why I want her gone from King's Landing."

That was not a complete lie.

Visenya noticed that her sister began joining Alicent in the Sept and she disliked it. Rhaenyra was Valyrian, her place was not in a Sept that worshipped the Seven.

It was no secret that she wanted Rhaenyra as far away from Alicent as possible — but it was not as if she could do something outright about it.

And it was true, Visenya promised Leo that she would find a way to keep Ser Graffin away from him. He is her friend and his safety mattered — but there was also something else that she aimed to achieve with this plan.

She wanted to have Reach on her side when the Dance of Dragons comes.

Visenya knew history well and she wrote down everything she remembered about the Dance of Dragons, including which houses supported whom. She already made plans about some of the houses, hoping to change their minds and earn their loyalty — including Tyrells.

If she was not mistaken, Tyrells first declared for Aegon II because he had the blood of the Reach. And then, the bannermen split, half of them fighting for Rhaenyra while the other fought for Aegon. House Tyrell eventually declared that they would stay neutral.

That would not do. Visenya needed all the help and support she could get. She needed Tyrells and their resources on her side — which is why she was planning to turn Tyrells against Hightowers. If they would not fight to support Visenya for her, then they would fight against their shared enemy.

House Hightower is a noble house of the Reach — they are ruled by Tyrells. And no matter how much Visenya disliked the idea of Alicent marrying her father, it was a far better option than pushing her father to marry Laena. She would rather have Hightowers as her enemies than Velaryons.

So, if this betrothal between Ser Graffin and Alicent were to happen, that means that Otto would have to break the betrothal to marry Alicent to the King. Otto will be too blind by his ambition to see that breaking faith with House Tyrell will be his undoing.

From then on, Tyrells will not support Hightowers — the oathbreakers.

"Alright then, I shall mention Lady Alicent to my uncle — mayhaps I could even arrange them to meet," Leo accepted her reasoning as the carriage came to a stop.

"Good," Visenya said as she stood up to exit the carriage. "Come now, Leo. It is time to meet our dragons."

The three of them entered the Dragonpit, Leo was walking behind the two of them and Laena was laughing at how pale his face had gotten.

Visenya immediately caught sight of her beautiful mount. She petted his snout, whispering encouraging words to him and explaining that he was now to be a good boy — and that Leo was not a meal but a friend.

"Leo, this is Arrax, my green God," Visenya introduced them. Leo slowly approached when she told him to. He looked at Arrax with something akin to both awe and fear while the big bronze eyes looked at him curiously.

Visenya could feel Arrax's confusion because Leo reminded him of Loras. Arrax made no move to attack because of this familiarity and he even let Leo pet his snout. He was his rider's friend. He protected his rider. Friend. The boy is a friend, all those thoughts came to Arrax.

"Well, he looks quite nice for an overgrown lizard with wings," Leo muttered once he gained back some of his confidence. Arrax released the puff of smoke which had the Tyrell boy yelping and taking a few steps back.

Visenya laughed lightly at Arrax's teasing. "You are lucky that he likes you or else you would have become his next meal because of your loose tongue."

Laena came back with Vhagar a short time later and the sight of her had Leo's jaw dropping to the ground. "Woah! Is this the legendary Vhagar? She is enormous!"

Unlike with Arrax, Leo did not dare take a step further no matter how much Laena dared him to. Her cousin smirked proudly. "Indeed! And I claimed her when I was only four and ten!"

Laena turned towards her dragon, showering the bond between them with love and amazement. "Isn't that right, my beautiful goddess? You have been waiting for me to come and claim you because you and I were made for each other."

"I am quite surprised that she can move, let alone fly," Leo said once Vhagar took flight. Both Visenya and Laena looked at him weirdly. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Can you not see your own overgrown lizard, Laena? She looks like a mummy falling apart — like my grandmother who has one leg in her grave!" the light-haired boy jested earning a wide-eyed look from Visenya.

Laena gasped in shock. "You did not just say that about her!" She shouted, "You did not just say that!!!"

Fearing her rage, Leo started running away, but her cousin was having none of it. "Come here right this instant and you will see who is going to have their one leg in the grave!" Laena sprinted after him. "Take that back you fucker!"

Visenya laughed as Laena bent down to take off her shoe and throw it at Leo. She hit him in the back of his head which had the light-haired boy stumbling forward.

Eventually, her cousin caught up with him and pinned him to the ground. "Ow! Ow! You do know that I was just jesting—Ow! Stop hitting me with your shoe, I am trying to apologize here!"

Visenya was smiling without even realizing it. She felt Arrax poke her side with his snout and spun to face him. "We are going to be alright, won't we, Arrax?" She asked in High Valyrian.

Daemon left her. Her mother was set to die next year and her brother with her. The war will begin soon. Nothing and yet everything felt alright — like it was meant to be this way.

Visenya had Arrax and she had her friends — and that was enough. Nothing was certain in this world and yet, with them by her side, she was sure she could get through anything the destiny threw her way. Or at least, she hoped so.

Notes:

This is the first time I wrote anything wlw related, so hopefully I did Rhaenicent stans justice 😅

Visenya being a mastermind is my favourite thing to write, I swear! My girl owns a brothel now so there will be some future scenes with whores/spies and Mysaria. Who is rooting for Mysaria to be Team Black? I am ✋🏻

My Wattpad: seven-moons

Chapter 27: The Death of Duty

Summary:

In which:

— Rhaenyra struggles
— Alicent spends time with her bethroted
— Rhaenyra and Alicent finally talk about their feelings

king's landing, 109 AC
rhaenyra targaryen

As soon as she heard the whispers of Alicent's betrothal, Rhaenyra went into a state of panic. At first, there was a bit of sadness and wonder since her friend did not bother to share such news with her — and instead, she had to learn from court-gossiping women.

Their relationship has been rocky since they shared their little moment. Rhaenyra wanted to talk about it while Alicent rather acted as if it never happened — as if she never crossed that line first and kissed her.

Still, Rhaenyra thought she deserved to know. They have been best friends for years. They barely went anywhere without each other. If something of that importance happened in Nyra's life, the first person she would tell would be Alicent.

Rhaenyra never felt panic such as this.

The sheer thought of Alicent leaving her behind was enough to make her nights sleepless. Her company has been everything Rhaenyra knew of her entire life. It had been just her and Alicent — in the Dragonpit or Godswood or the library.

Just the two of them, always holding hands.

She could not imagine not holding Alicent's hand again, not walking the same halls as her friend, not listening and laughing at some impossible gossip with her. She just could not do it.

And yet, she was helpless to prevent this.

It was perhaps the first time in her life that she wished she was born a boy — so she could freely ask for Alicent's hand and wed her in the tradition of her house.

And then, Rhaenyra learned who Alicent's betrothed was and any previous feelings of jealousy, helplessness or sadness vanished — now all that was left were betrayal and rage.

Ser Graffin Tyrell — a fucking Tyrell! She could not believe her ears. Visenya must have known about this — Hells, she might have even planned this so she could separate her and Alicent, it would not surprise Rhaenyra if that were the case.

Before she could even think this through, her legs involuntary carried her to her parents' solar where she knew Visenya was at the moment, having lunch with their parents — the very lunch Rhaenyra is late for.

"How have your lessons been progressing, little flame?" Their mother questioned Visenya who was stuffing her mouth with potatoes.

Her sister had to take a sip of wine so she could swallow her meal. "I love them and I feel quite saddened that they will be finished soon," Visenya responded honestly, looking down at her plate, disappointment evident on her face.

"Don't feel sad, Vissie. It is a great achievement — to know that you have learned everything that Westeros has to offer. And at your young age, nonetheless!" Their father's eyes softened. He beamed at her sister. "My beautiful girl, my pride."

Visenya gave their father a warm smile before she cleared her throat and confessed, "I will miss my lessons."

Aemma's eyes shone with understanding. "That is understandable. We can find and arrange something as a replacement, can we not? There must be something else out there in the world for you. This does not have to mean the end."

Visenya's slightly slumped shoulders straightened and her face glowed with that beautiful smile of hers. "I would like that. Thank you, mama."

It was at that moment when Rhaenyra entered the solar. Her family's attention turned toward her and her father motioned for her to join them. "Oh, my Rhaenyra — my joy. You have finally joined us. I hope you do not mind that we have started our supper."

Rhaenyra did not even bother to look at her parents — her eyes fixed on her older sister from the moment she spotted her. Her blood began to boil in her veins as she slapped her hands on the table right in front of Visenya.

"How could you?! There is no way that you did not know about this! Why didn't you stop it?" Why didn't you say anything to me?!" Her words were harsh and her eyes wild with rage.

Both her parents look shocked, but she could not bring herself to look away from her sister, not even as their mother said, "Rhaenyra, what is the meaning of this? I am certain whatever it is, it can be solved without you starting a screaming match with your sister."

Visenya looked up at her, utterly unfazed by her attitude which made Nyra's temper flare even further. "I need to hear the accusation first before I start defending myself, sister."

That unbothered and relaxed expression on her sister's face could drive Rhaenyra mad. Her world is falling apart — her only friend will leave her if she does not find a way to stop this madness and yet, her sister does not give a single fuck.

Visenya's calm and collected expression and personality always made people uneasy. Yes, her sister only appears that way because she wants to rile you up, she wants you to lose control and slip — that is when she strikes.

While Rhaenyra was her complete opposite. Her anger and rage could be seen, heard and felt a mile away. She could not stop her temper from rising — and she would say things before she thought everything through.

"Do not act as if you do not know! Ser Leo is your friend — You must have known what his uncle's intentions were!" Rhaenyra pushes further, her knuckles turning white from how hard she held her hands into fists.

Visenya only tilted her head in challenge and repeated herself, annoyance clear in her tone, "Speak what troubles you or stay quiet, Rhaenyra. I do not appreciate you screaming in my face while I'm eating."

"Ser Graffin has asked for Alicent's hand in marriage," Rhaenyra explained briefly. As if you had not known about this, she thought to herself.

"So? I do not see how that is my problem?" her sister raised her perfect brow in question.

"You must have known about it and you said nothing to me — nothing! I am your sister and Alicent is my friend — I needed to know this!" Rhaenyra pushed further.

Visenya rolled her eyes. "Leo is my friend, it is true — but he and I do not talk about his uncle's love life, Rhaenyra. I could hardly care who some second son wants to take to wife."

"But, Alicent—" Nyra desperately tried to argue — to make her sister see that without Alicent, there is nothing for her here in King's Landing — but her sister cut her off.

"I told you once when we were children that I do not care for that girl. I respect that you have chosen her for your companion and I have never said another word about it again," Visenya defended herself calmly as she leaned into her seat. "So why would I care to do anything for your friend?"

Rhaenyra clenched her jaw tightly to stop herself from snapping. It was infuriating, how much Nyra cared for her friend and yet how Visenya could not give a single fuck about Alicent.

But it was true, Visenya promised never to say anything against Alicent again — and she stayed true to her promise. Her sister also made it clear that she will never like Alicent — no matter what Rhaenyra said or did.

Viserys's voice brought her out of her thoughts. Their father looked between them. "I do not understand why are you making such a fuss about this, Rhaenyra. Otto has been searching for a husband for Lady Alicent — it's about time that he found him."

Rhaenyra relaxed her jaw, almost wincing at how much it hurt from how hard she clenched it. Viserys continued, "Besides, Lady Alicent is six and ten already! By the time your mother was that age, she already had both of you to take care of."

She knew that. Of course, she knew that. Rhaenyra was very much aware that her friendship with Alicent was bound to end. After all, the two of them are girls, born into this world to be given away for an alliance. Sooner or later, they would part ways.

That knowledge did not stop her from trying to delay their parting. She desperately tried to cling to their shared moments, hoping to stay in that safe and happy heaven for just a few more moments.

"I understand that you do not wish to see your friend leave, Nyra — But, Alicent has to do her duty as a daughter and marry," Aemma explained. "This does not have to be the end of your friendship, little dragon. You two can still write to each other and she can still visit."

Rhaenyra simply nodded and made her exit. She had no appetite to eat anything — not when she was so close to losing someone she loved.

Still determined to at least try and stop this situation from escalating, she started walking towards her friend's rooms to talk to her — to confess to her, to talk her into staying with her — Rhaenyra had no plan and no idea what she was doing — no matter, knew that she would do anything to keep Alicent at her side.

Luckily for her, Alicent was already in her rooms. Her friend looked beautiful in a light blue dress, her auburn curls framing her lovely face. She let her into her rooms and closed the door behind her.

"Rhaenyra? I did not expect to see you here. Have you called for me? Do you need something?" Alicent looked shocked to see her.

"No," Rhaenyra shook her head and looked away. There was still hope that those words were simply rumors — Nyra prayed they were rumors. Still, she had to bring it up, just to be sure. "I heard you are to be betrothed and wanted to see if it was true."

"Yes. Ser Graffin Tyrell asked for my hand. My father and my future husband are currently discussing our betrothal arrangements," Alicent nodded, pulling the skin of her fingers without meeting her eyes.

So it is over. There was no use denying it anymore.

"Oh," was all Rhaenyra managed to mutter, her shoulders slouching in utter defeat. "And you are alright with this? You want this?" You want him? was what she meant to ask.

"It does not matter what I want. It is my duty to marry — it's a duty to my house and my father," her friend said the whole speech fell so fast from her lips that she wondered if Alicent had practiced it. "You shall be married in a few years and then, you will understand."

There was nothing she could do. She was a nobody in a man's world — no one would listen to the girl who just wanted the person she loved to stay beside her.

"What about us then?" Rhaenyra asked, her voice wavering. There was nothing left to lose now — she might as well speak of her feelings.

"There is no us, Rhaenyra," Alicent shook her head, straightening her back as she started to pace around her room. Rhaenyra took a step towards her, reaching out to take her hand.

"But, the kiss—" Alicent pulled her hand away before she could even touch it — and Rhaenyra almost flinched at the rejection. Her face fell, her eyes watered with unshed tears as she clasped the fabric of her dress tightly in her fists instead.

"You promised me that it would not change anything between us. You promised that it would mean nothing — So why are you still bringing it up?" her friend's voice sounded desperate and her brown eyes were pleading.

Because I am selfish — Because I cannot let you go, Rhaenyra wanted to scream, to shout. Still, no words left her lips — her throat bobbed. Because I love you.

Hearing no response from ber, Alicent straightened her spine and veiled her face in a mask. "I apologize princess, but if that is all, I would like to leave. My betrothed is waiting for me in the gardens."

She went for the doors while Rhaenyra stood in the middle of the chambers, unmoving. Stop. Someone stop the time. Stop the world. Stop everything for a damn moment — let this be a nightmare.

"So it truly meant nothing to you?" she ended up whispering before her friend got a chance to step out of the chambers. Rhaenyra thought she might not get a response at all since Alicent stood silently behind her.

And then, she heard a broken whisper of an answer, "I'm sorry, Rhaenyra." Then, the doors closed and Nyra was left alone.

She clutched at her chest, feeling and hearing something break so violently that it scared her — and Rhaenyra wondered if she perhaps started bleeding from the inside. Gods, why does it hurt so much? she thought as she let her tears fall.

 

 

_____

 

 

king's landing, 109 AC
alicent hightower

Hand in hand with her betrothed, Alicent walked among the rows of flowers. She tried to observe Ser Graffin as subtly as possible — the strong line of his jaw, the straight line of his nose, subtle freckles on his nose and cheeks, the focused watery blue eyes and perfectly cut light brown hair that has a certain auburn glow under the sun.

He was undeniably handsome, that was for certain — a good and honorable knight too. But he did not have purple eyes, silver-gold hair and the softest skin she has ever touched, she could not help but think.

Alicent's heart squeezed painfully at the thought of Rhaenyra and the way they left things. She was a coward, she knew. She wanted to serve her father — it was what she was born to do — but she also wanted Rhaenyra.

"I have heard that you often spend time amongst flowers here, my Lady — which is why I asked you to meet here," Ser Graffin's voice made her blink back her thoughts. Alicent moved her gaze the other way, feeling the heat rise to her cheeks at almost being caught staring at him.

She softly cleared her throat and responded, "That is very thoughtful of you, good Ser. Indeed, I adore spending time in the gardens. There is something so peaceful about flowers."

He hummed in agreement. "My mother loves flowers too. So much so that my father arranged for a new garden to be built for her. She loves to tend to them herself even if some would consider it unseemly."

Alicent knew that story all too well, after all, it was the main talk of the Reach for many years — and her mother used to tell her stories of it before bed. She smiled, "I think that it's rather sweet of your father."

Ser Graffin looked down at her, his lips tilting slightly, her eyes bright and soft. "My mother will like you very much — She always complains to me about how I cannot seem to settle down. She was very happy when she heard that I found a lady who is perfect for me."

Something in Alicent's chest tightened at the words, her throat closing up. Something wanted to crawl out — perhaps it were words that she wished she had the bravery to say — perhaps it was a scream — perhaps a cry for help.

Like the good and dutiful daughter and lady that she was raised to be, she responded politely, "That makes me very happy, Ser. I simply cannot wait to meet her. She sounds like a lovely woman."

"If you love this place so much as you say, I think you will like Highgarden and especially my mother's gardens," Ser Graffin said, his eyes darting around the garden. "What is your favorite flower, if I might ask, my Lady?"

They stopped walking after they reached the rows of rich red flowers that were so vibrant against the green grass that they looked pink or orange when you looked at them from different angles. "Dragon's breath," she breathed out without thinking.

And just like that, memories flashed in her mind — a small bouquet of Dragon's breath Rhaenyra had gifted her, the sheer smell taking over the fresh air in her room — a crown for the Queen of Love and Beauty which she made for Rhaenyra — a crown that Rhaenyra made for her in return.

Alicent forced those thoughts out of her mind, she blinked rapidly and looked away from the otherworldly flowers that meant so much to her. "There is simply something about the color and its sheer beauty — as well as its scent," she elaborated.

"I am very displeased to say that it does not grow in Highgarden — or any other territory outside of King's Landing. I heard whispers that it grows on Dragonstone as well," her betrothed pursed his lips together.

She might have cursed at herself for not stopping her tongue before she spoke — of course she knew that Dragon's breath grew only where Targaryens resided, and that is definitely not Highgarden.

Feeling that she displeased him, Alicent shook her head slightly, giving what she hoped was a convincing smile. "It is no bother, Ser Graffin. I am certain that I will learn to love any other flower that grows in your mother's gardens just the same."

But the truth was that she would not — could not.

Almost every memory that she shares with Rhaenyra involved this flower — the times in the Godswood where they would lie amongst Dragon's breath and read — those same flowers they would bring with them to the library when they had their lessons. . .

She will be forced to part ways with Rhaenyra — but she could not let them take Dragon's breath from her too. She could not let anyone take away the most precious memories and pieces of Rhaenyra that she had.

Alicent could not leave for Highgarden knowing that she would never see the vibrant red flowers again — knowing that she had to leave her friend — knowing that she would not see her again, eyes so purple that she often struggled to catch her breath, hair so soft she thought she was running her fingers along the silk, skin so smooth that. . .

And Alicent found herself running, her legs carrying her faster than she had ever gone. Servants looked at her wide-eyed, not expecting her to act so unlady-like — her, who was always so dutiful and keen to obey.

But she was afraid. She was afraid to stop running. She was afraid of running into her father, his words ringing in her head, Through the marriage with Ser Graffin, you will become the Lady of Highgarden one day.

Alicent was shocked when she heard. Questions spiraled into her mind. How? Wasn't Ser Graffin only a brother to Lord Lawren — the current Lord of the Reach who had two sons and heirs? Then how could she even hope to be Lady of Highgarden?

Her father told her not to worry about it — but all Alicent did was worry. She did not want to know what her father was planning. She did not want to be a part of his schemes.

She only wanted Rhaenyra — the only thing she ever wished to have for herself.

Alicent entered Rhaenyra's chambers panting for breath. She was done hiding — she was done avoiding. She had tried — tried and failed to stop thinking about her, to stop imagining the soft lips against her own, arms that would wrap around her and make her feel loved and cherished.

"Alicent? Why are you here?" Rhaenyra questioned, clearly startled by her appearance. The Princess was sitting on the balcony and enjoying the afternoon sun when she interrupted.

The words simply started pouring from Alicent's mouth — and she did not even try to stop them. "I'm sorry, Nyra. I'm so sorry. I should not have pushed you away after what happened between us. I should not have avoided you."

"But I did not know what to do or how to feel. I do not wish for this feeling to eat at my heart every day," she kept talking while Rhaenyra carefully observed her. "And, Ser Graffin is a very good man and a skilled knight. He could offer me his love and safety and peace — and yet. . ."

She stopped herself to take a deep breath. Her thoughts were a mess — her words were a mess — but one thing in her mind was clear. "I should be grateful for this opportunity. I should want this marriage. I should want him — but I do not," she confessed the harsh truth that she has been hiding for quite some time.

Both of them were quiet now, until Rhaenyra clasps her hands in front of her and fidgets nervously — no doubt still feeling the sting of rejection. "Then who do you want?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Alicent's shoulders slouched down as she took a few steps toward her friend. "You," she finally said — and it felt so good to say it out loud, to finally confess and accept her feelings.

"Today I came to a conclusion. I cannot bear to part from you. I cannot imagine leaving you behind and never seeing you again. I cannot do it, Nyra. I cannot!" she continued to talk when she noticed Rhaenyra's uncertainty. "It would break me."

Rhaenyra gulped and took a brave step forward — the two of them now so close now that Alicent could feel the warmth her friend radiated. "You want me? Truly?"

"Yes. All I have ever wanted was you," she mused. They watched each other for a silent moment — and then their lips connected. Alicent did not know who made the first step and she did not care.

She felt as if she could finally breathe.

Her whole life she was drowning in a sea of expectations and duty, looking up at the surface and hearing words without understanding them — but now. . .Seven help her — it was like she finally reached the surface — her head was about the water and she could finally see and hear everything clearly.

She felt alive. . .so alive.

There was nothing but the feeling of Rhaenyra's soft lips moving against her own, her soft hands on her cheeks, pulling her closer and closer — as close as they could possibly be.

The only reason they pulled away was because they needed air. But even then, they held each other so tightly. Rhaenyra's eyes were shining like jewels and Alicent swore that her heart might burst in her chest from happiness.

"I do not wish to marry him, Nyra," Alicent said quietly, not wanting to break that safe bubble between them. Rhaenyra tilted her head slowly. "Then don't."

Alicent truly wished it could be so easy, but it was not. She shook her head. "It is not that simple. My father already arranged everything and can do nothing about it."

"Who do you wish to marry, if not Ser Graffin?" Rhaenyra questioned and without a moment of doubt, Alicent answered, "You, Nyra. Always you." She gave her the brightest of smiles — and Alicent felt as if she was looking at the sun.

"Then we can," Nyra said. "I will take you to Dragonstone and make you my wife in a tradition of my house. And then, we can mount Syrax and go anywhere we wish — We can leave everything behind. There will be no responsibilities or duties to attend to. It will be just us."

Alicent was silent, and Rhaenyra must have seen the hesitation of her face because she slowly connected their foreheads. "Think about it, Ali. We have always dreamed of seeing the wonders across the Narrow Sea. This is our opportunity. We can fulfill our dream."

By the name of Seven! Those were the simple dreams of two young girls — and deep down Alicent knew that they would never become true — but now. . ."Can we truly? Can it be just us and Syrax?"

Rhaenyra nodded enthusiastically. "Yes. And lemon cake. Do not forget lemon cake," she giggled. Alicent's lips broke into a smile. "Of course, how could I?"

"Just say the words, Ali — and whenever you are ready, we will leave," Nyra offered. Not thinking this through, not seeing how unreal it was to have this, Alicent relied only on her feelings when she accepted, "Yes. I want that. I want that with you."

But would she truly be able to live behind her family and her duty?

She had her family, her brothers and her father, and now her betrothed — that should be enough for her — but it was not. Alicent has everything she could ask for — but she does not have Rhaenyra.

She was asked to choose between her family, duty and Rhaenyra — and Alicent was not sure she wanted to know the answer. "But am I not too greedy to want this? To want you?" Rhaenyra just smiled in response. "I do not mind. I want you to be greedy — I want you to be greedy for me."

Notes:

I'm so mad at A03 😤 I've been trying to post this chapter for the last 3 days! First the whole site went down and then it came back up. But, it still couldn't load anything for me — I couldn't even read the fics I bookmarked! I'm really hoping this will post now :(

Where are all Rhaenicent stans at? Again, this is the first time I'm writing anything wlw related so if you noticed something that I should change or have recommendations, I'll be happy to hear them! 😁

My Wattpad: seven-moons

Chapter 28: Beginning Of The End

Summary:

In which:

— Aemma, Vaegon and Rhaella make progress in discovering the Citadel's plot
— Visenya meets new people
— Everything starts to fall apart slowly

king's landing, 109 AC
aemma arryn

Aemma placed a hand on her still-flat belly and sighed. She had been using moon tea ever since Daemok had brought it to her and yet, she was with child again. She was trying to buy time for herself, but it seemed fate really wanted her to have this one.

Gods only know that moon tea is not a reliable thing. So it was bound to happen eventually.

Still, Aemma could not shake the thought of all the children she had lost. No. She did not lose them — they were killed.

It had been quite a journey for her. Aemma married Viserys when she was only one and ten, although they consummated their marriage once she had her first moon blood two years later. She birthed Visenya when she was four and ten and Rhaenyra a year after. From then on, her body began to fail her.

Or at least, she thought so.

Not that she looked back on it, it did not seem right and Aemma wondered why she had not noticed it sooner. How come she delivered two beautiful and healthy babes with no major issues and then began to struggle with birthing more?

Aemma thought that her body simply failed her — not just herself too — but her mate, her daughters who were supposed to wed their brothers. She failed as a wife and a mother — she also failed the Realm since she did not bring forward a male heir.

But it was not her body that was the issue.

Her beautiful boy named Aemon who did not live past his first week. Then a small daughter named Alyssa who did not survive her first night in this world. Her son Jaehaerys who did not even draw his first breath. And how could she ever forget two more of her children who did not survive three full moons in her womb?

Viserys had been against naming their dead children, not wanting to get attached to them — but Aemma could not help it. Those were still her children, her babes that were killed. She mourned each and every one of them — their absence in her life will always be a hole in her heart.

Dead. Dead. No. They were killed. It was not her fault.

Sometimes it was hard to remember it so Aemma needed to repeat it in her head often. Like right now, as she caressed her flat belly. She hoped and prayed that this child would survive — after all, her body had a break and bonding with Dreamfyre sure helped with her health.

Please, let it live because Aemma cannot do this anymore. This pregnancy would be her last one — she could not bear the pain or loss of a child again — it would shatter her.

"My Queen?" her servant girl, Lillian called for her. Aemma straightened her blue dress as she kept her eyes on the mirror in front of her. "I will be leaving in a minute," she responded.

But soon, she heard the door open and began speaking, "I said—" and then she stopped as soon as she spotted two familiar people enter. "Uncle Vaegon — and cousin Rhaella. I did not expect to see you both here."

"We apologize for disturbing you, niece, but we do need to talk and in private, and before the feast," Vaegon apologized, folding his hands behind his back. Aemma nodded, "Of course. What is it that you need?" She questioned in High Valyrian.

"We believe we have discovered something of great importance," he continued, "The two of us went through the written records from the Citadel that start at the beginning of Aegon's Conquest — and apparently, Maesters and Hightowers did not dare to touch Aegon the Conqueror and his sister—wives. So, we believe that they began to work against Targaryens when Aenys ascended the Iron Throne."

Aemma found herself to be in disbelief. That long? Who knows how much damage they manage to inflict upon the House of the Dragon by now? How many deaths were actually their fault, from children in mothers' wombs to Targaryen women and men? "Are you quite certain? What did you find?"

Rhaella nodded stiffly, her slender figure appearing more like a skeleton yet her violet eyes burned with life and rage. "Maesters and High Septons would never write what they have done in exact words because the records are public — anyone has access to them, but there are some writings and notes that do not match, my Queen."

Aemma bit her lip, her brain working. "What then? Do you think they perhaps have some records that they keep hidden? If that is what you are implying then only their trustworthy allies have access to them no doubt."

Vaegon nodded, already pacing around her chambers. "We think so, niece. But there is something that cousin Rhaella suggested we search for — and for that, someone has to go to Dragonstone and find the diary of Queen Visenya."

"I must confess, I do not think I have ever heard of such a book. Why is Queen Visenya's diary of great importance?" Aemma questioned, her brows narrowed.

Rhaella assured her, "I know for certain that Queen Visenya's diary exists, my Queen — because both me and Aerea had read it. If I remember correctly — which I have no doubt that I do — Queen Visenya wrote about King Aenys's sickness and her theory that the Maesters were poisoning him."

"When we look back to what we know and what we were told, Queen Visenya sent the Grand Maester back to Oldtown while she took to caring for her nephew's health. And King Aenys's health indeed improved," the older Septa finished her explanation.

Aemma indeed knew this story, but never gave it much thought — however, everything is worth looking into, especially a clue like this one. "So you believe Queen Visenya wrote about this in her diary?"

"Yes, my Queen. I'm very certain of it," Rhaella slowly nodded and Aemma decided, "Alright, I shall arrange for someone to go to Dragonstone and retrieve the diary."

She then looked at them both, her Targaryen elders who were visibly old and tired and yet still taking care of their family. "I must thank both of you for helping. I know that you both dedicated your lives to the Faith of the Seven and the Citadel, and yet by helping me, you are betraying that."

"I do have to say that I could not believe this was happening at first. Oldtown did not ever give me a reason to doubt their loyalty to the crown and Targaryens — they even saved my life from Maegor," Rhaella confessed.

Indeed, Hightowers were ordered to behead Rhaella as a punishment for her mother's treachery — but Hightowers decided to spare her and imprison the messenger instead.

"Nevertheless, I know the truth now. Everything and everyone can be swayed and corrupted easily," the older woman expressed.

"We are family, niece, no matter what oaths or vows we took. Besides, a Targaryen alone in the world is a terrible thing — or so I've heard. Besides, you do remember how my mother was — she would certainly be cursing me from the Heavens if I refused to help," Vaegon mused and it brought a smile on her face.

"Oh I'm sure she would," Aemma commented, smiling faintly. Vaegon looked out of the window and continued speaking, "In the light of this, I realized that family must stick together — which is why, I am hoping to reconnect with my sister, Saera."

Aemma felt surprised by this and shared a look with Rhaella — who also appeared to have heard this for the first time. "While we were never close, I do think that her help in this matter would be appreciated. After all, Saera spent a whole year and a half with Septas and Silent Sisters in Oldtown."

That had never even crossed her mind. Aemma knew of Saera as a rebellious daughter whom Jaehaerys himself disowned and exiled from the Seven Kingdoms. But what if she was more than that? What if Saera did not spend years in Volantis owning various pleasure houses and whoring herself around? What if there is more to that story too?

"Saera was always a bit wild and at first I did believe that she escaped because she did not what to live as our father commanded her to — but after the discovery of Hightower's treachery, I cannot be certain of it. Perhaps she had seen or heard something that could have put her life in danger so she fled?" Vaegon mirrored her thoughts. "I cannot know anything until I talk to her — which is why, I'm trying to locate her."

"Every help that we can get would be appreciated," she nodded in understanding and then clasped her hands in front of her. "Now let us join my daughter's celebrations. I believe we are late enough."

The three of them made their way to the Throne Room which was already packed with people. Viserys spotted them in the crowd and leaned down to kiss her cheek in greeting. "My love, you look astonishing," he whispered to her.

Aemma felt his love and appreciation through their mating bond and the feeling warmed her very bones. She tugged on that beautiful bond between them, teasing him. "Thank you, my King — you do not look bad yourself."

"Uncle Vaegon and cousin Rhaella, it has been so long since we have last seen each other and I cannot tell you how much it pleases me that the Targaryen family is once again reunited," Viserys said, turning toward the Targaryen elders with a large smile on his lips.

"My King," Rhaella made a curtsey while Vaegon bowed. Before either of them could add something, they spotted Visenya in the crowd — clad in her vibrant red dress with black embroidery that she no doubt made herself.

"And there she is, my girl, my pride, my Visenya," Viserys called out for their firstborn to join them and Aemma could have teared up at the sight of her — it seemed like it was just yesterday when she held her firstborn for the first time — and yet look at her, almost a woman grown!

"Father, mother," Visenya greeted them both with a kiss on their cheeks before she turned towards the Targaryen elders who were eager to have a look at her. Visenya focused on Vaegon first. "I did not know that you would be joining us, great-uncle."

"What kind of great-uncle would I be if I did not?" Her uncle replied with a rare spark in his pale lilac eyes that more often than not appeared dead. "It is a rare gift, to be born with a mind like yours and you have made us all so proud, great-niece, I do hope that you know that."

Visenya's smile shone brighter. "I do know that, great-uncle — but I could not have done any of this without your help and interference — so I thank you for supporting me throughout this process."

It was also the first time Aemma had so much as seen the hint of a smile on her uncle's face — it was a small tilt of his lip, but it was there nonetheless. "It was my honor and my pleasure."

"Vissie, there is someone waiting to meet you. This is our cousin, Septa Rhaella," Aemma introduced them and she noted the slightly wide-eyed look her daughter had as she studied the older Septa.

"Vaegon was indeed right, you do remind me of Alysanne quite a bit," Rhaella said as a way of greeting. Visenya's expression changed to the one of gratitude as she responded, "Thank you, I will take that as a compliment."

"She indeed does. I believe she has taken after grandsire Jaehaerys and grandmother Alysanne if we speak of her mind," Vaegon hummed in thought, "But I believe she has more of Baelon in her now that I see her again as almost a woman grown."

Viserys gasped, staring at their daughter intently. "Truly? I do not believe I ever noticed that." Aemma on the other hand tilted her head to the side, thinking.

Perhaps Vissie was quite like Baelon — her good-hearted uncle who carried the aura of melancholy from the moment his mate died — also her uncle who was harder to anger, but when his wrath awoke, there was nothing that could possibly stop him.

"She has Baelon's cheekbones and his nose. She is also him reborn if we speak of her personality and temper," her uncle elaborated. "My brother always wished for a daughter but he was only ever able to sire sons instead. I believe he would be proud of both his granddaughters if he could see them."

Visenya brightened up at the compliment and then grabbed Viserys's hand. "Father, do not cry over a compliment, please." Aemma took her mate's other hand, trying to calm him down all while knowing how much Viserys loved his father.

"I cannot help it. I wish my father was here to see both you and Rhaenyra grow into two beautiful and smart girls — my pride and my joy," Viserys said, trying to wipe away his tears.

After her mate successfully calmed down, Visenya questioned, "If I may be excused? I believe I have spotted cousin Jeyne and I wish to welcome her?" Once she was given permission, her daughter left — so Aemma found Rhaenyra and introduced her to the Targaryen elders.

 

 

_____

 

 

king's landing, 109 AC
visenya targaryen

Meeting Septa Rhaella was unexpected, to say at least. And as much as she would love to sit and have a chat with the mysterious woman who was rumored to actually be Aerea, Visenya had other business to attend to.

She has been thinking about Jeyne Arryn for a while now — and Visenya decided to approach her cousin and test the territory with her.

"Lady Jeyne," she said as a way of greeting. Her cousin from the Vale had long red hair and such bright green-blue eyes that it made you feel as if she was staring into your soul. Jeyne was also only a year old than her, so Visenya felt that she could approach her and start a friendship.

Jeyne's eyes studied her before she commented, "Princess Visenya, I believe congratulations are in order. It is quite an achievement to learn all that the Citadel has to offer — and at the age of three and ten!"

"Indeed. It is also quite an achievement to be the very first ruling Lady — and you have been sitting on the throne of the Vale since you were three namedays old!" Visenya returned the compliment.

Her cousin's sigh sounded exhausted. "It is not an easy job as one might think, Princess. You would not believe what kind of things I have to hear and deal with on daily basis."

And it made Visenya ease out a laugh since she was briefly reminded of the time when she ruled over Casterly Rock in her previous life. "I cannot imagine, which is why I would love to hear it." Visenya tilted her head. "We are kin, my Lady, so you may call me Visenya."

"Then you can call me Jeyne," was her cousin's response — and she felt it was a victory. It was very important to have Vale on her side and Visenya would not object to having Jeyne as her friend either.

She knew that Jeyne and Vale in general, sided with Rhaenyra when the Dance of Dragons came — they were kin after all. But, Visenya was aiming for more than that — she wanted to find a way to help Vale in some regard — as she was planning to do with the rest of the kingdoms.

It would be a smart thing to do, it would make all kingdoms and their rulers look at her with appreciation — Visenya wanted all the kingdoms to know that she would not only be focusing on helping King's Landing, but people all over. She wanted them to praise her and see her as capable because that will win her their support.

"Now, tell me, cousin, how is Vale? I have heard so much about it and have admired it for many years. My mother used to tell me stories of the Eyrie castle and I always wished to visit," she admitted.

Jeyne looked rather interested as she hummed in thought. "Some may find it rather boring, but it is my home — and I have never seen anything of such beauty as is the Eyrie castle."

It was a gamble, the way she spoke to her cousin, but what in life isn't a gamble? "Forgive me if I'm being straightforward, but, I have heard that some mountain clans have been troubling you for quite some time now."

With that, Jeyne stopped talking. Visenya waited anyway — it was no doubt a hard subject to approach, knowing that mountain clans were the reason Jeyne's father and brothers were killed, making her the ruler of Vale since she was three.

"Indeed, cousin. Even so, it is nothing that we cannot deal with," her cousin finally said, looking away from her and searching the crowd of people with her eyes instead.

"Of course. Still, I found the timing of their attacks quite odd. They have been quiet for a very long time — and now they decided to rise against you," Visenya pushed.

"Mountain clans have never been fond of my family, but they like me leading the Vale even less — such is the fate of us women," Jeyne said and Visenya snorted. "Fools, the lot of them if they do not know how to appreciate your wise and long rule."

Her cousin stared at her yet again — and Visenya stared back, unyielding to those piercing and intimidating eyes. "Well, I have been discussing the raids of mountain clans with my parents — which is why I came here to speak with you. We are kin, cousin, and I would like to offer my and Arrax's help if you'll have me."

Jeyne tilted her head to the side in thought.  Finally, a smile made its way to her lips. "That is a kind offer, cousin — and I would very much like to discuss it with you and our King and Queen. I would never oppose to having a dragon by my side."

She smiled back — good. This seemed to have worked out fine. When the time comes for Visenya to choose her ladies-in-waiting, she wanted to pick one from each kingdom. It was a shame Jeyne could not be her lady-in-waiting in truth — she did not have any sisters who could be that either. So, she had to win the favor and support of her cousin in a different way.

"Wonderful. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must attend to the other guests. But, I will be back," Visenya mused, sharing a smile with her cousin. "Of course, cousin. Enjoy yourself."

With that, she walked towards the person she was looking for, her dear friend. "Leo," she greeted him, putting her arm around his and taking him for a walk. "Have you seen Laena by any chance? She was supposed to be here half an hour ago."

"No, I am looking for her myself, actually," he told her. Both Leo and her tried to look for Laena in the room of crowded people before they were approached by someone.

"My Princess, you look beautiful tonight, if I may say," Gwayne complimented her and Visenya fought the urge to roll her eyes in annoyance. "Thank you, Ser Gwayne."

Otto Hightower's son looked pointedly at Leo as she continued, "The dancing will begin soon, so, would you mind if I steal the Princess for a moment, Ser Leo?" Truly annoyed now, Visenya completely turned her back to the man — a sign of dismissal, "If you have not noticed, Ser, I was quite busy talking to my friend — if you'll excuse us?"

Leo raised his brow at her, his watery blue eyes following Gwayne's movement as he walked away, defeated. When his eyes met hers again, a lazy smile appeared on his lips. "You should have seen the look on his face when you dismissed him."

Her friend was obviously trying very hard not to laugh. "Let me guess, he has run to his father by now, pouting about how I refused to spend time with him," Visenya chuckled.

A sound of laughter could be heard behind her and soon, Laena joined them. "Oh, I saw that! And look at them too! — whispering to each other like Gwayne could ever come close to your rank!" Laena mused.

"You are late! We were supposed to welcome the guests together!" Visenya chided. "I am never late, everyone else is simply early — or isn't that what you say every time you show up late?" Laena smirked, much to her annoyance.

"Whatever, listen—" she started only to be cut off by her father — who was trying to outloud the guests and open the celebrations. "If I could have a moment of your attention, please?"

Loud voices turned into whispers as her father smiled, "I know that we have gathered here to celebrate my firstborn daughter, my pride — and we will. But, before we begin the celebrations, I have an announcement to make. My mate, my wife and Queen is carrying the future King within her! Let us raise our cups for the health of my son and heir!"

"Hear, hear!" Everyone cheered except for Visenya — her skin turned white as if she had seen a ghost — and perhaps she had.

She was truly a fool for believing that this might not happen — or that she could deal with this when the problem came. The truth is, she couldn't.

Seven moons at best — that is how long she had with Aemma before her mother dies while birthing her baby brother. Visenya had to force herself to keep standing on her feet even though the ground and the world felt like they were crumbling apart beneath her feet.

 

 

_____

 

 

driftmark, 110 AC
visenya targaryen

Visenya forced herself to breathe as she stepped out of a warm bath. Sometimes, the breath just got stuck in her throat — with no way out. Sometimes, she felt as if someone put their hands around her neck, choking the life out of her.

She was a fucking coward.

Her mother had only a few moons left to live and Visenya could not even bring herself to look at her — much less spend time with her. And she tried to come up with a subtle way of saying goodbye to Aemma.

But how could she do it? How do you say goodbye to a beautiful soul such as Aemma? How would she even continue to exist in the world without her mother? — It felt impossible to do so.

How would she live without her mother?

It was true that she had three mothers in total, and both Vaella and Cersei were mothers to Alyanna Baratheon — not to Visenya Targaryen. Aemma was the only one who was her mother, the mother to her truest self.

Alyanna did not have a chance to love Vaella, but she loved Cersei — her mother who fought to see her every year because Robert did not want her anywhere near him. Cersei who held her as if she was a drop of water on her palm. Cersei who was always standing by her side in the fear of losing the only child she had left.

Still, Aemma was more than that.

Visenya spent years and years by her side. And despite her original plan and efforts to keep everyone at arm's length, her mother managed to crush those walls and carve her space in her heart.

The members of her family were supposed to be just pieces in her game — but they were not. Visenya grew to care — and she only realized this now, when she got so close to losing someone she loved very much.

It was not supposed to be like this. She was warned that it would happen, and yet she let herself care anyway — all while knowing that it would hurt her in the end.

Stupid — She was so stupid.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the knock on the door so Visenya mindlessly responded, "Come in." She was too busy staring at the fireplace to notice Laena stepping into the chamber.

The sound of halting footsteps made Visenya turn around to look at her friend. Laena immediately spun around in the other direction. "I—I'm sorry, I did not know that you were changing. I should have announced myself and not let you think that I am a servant. . ."

It was only then that Visenya realized she was barely wearing anything — she was sitting in her nightgown that was barely covering anything since it was summer. And then she cursed herself for being so shameless. The long years she spent away at war in her last life stripped her of any sense of modesty.

"Forget it, Laena. I should have said that I was bathing — but I was so far in my head that I completely forgot. I apologize if I have made you uncomfortable," Visenya mused instead.

Laena quickly shook her head. "No. No, you have not. It is me who made this awkward. I was trying so hard not to get into a situation like this and. . ." From the spot she was sitting in, Visenya could clearly see a soft blush crawling its way up her friend's neck.

"Laena, you can turn around and look at me," she said as she covered herself more. When Laena finally turned around, she still could not dare to meet her eyes — so Visenya pushed. "Is there something that you wish to tell me?"

"You are so. . ." her friend started, stumbling over her words. Visenya tilted her head, "So?" Laena licked her lips and finally dared to look at her. "I want to kiss you. I wanted to kiss you for a long time — so can I?"

Visenya was taken aback by her bluntness,  but she was certainly expecting the question to rise sooner or later — she was not so oblivious to the way her friend looked at her after all. "Yes."

The next thing she knew, a pair of soft hands were on her cheeks and soft lips were on her own. Visenya hummed into the kiss, realizing that it was the first time she had kissed someone in this life.

She had kissed girls before — you would be surprised how much ladies practiced the art of kissing on each other in general. And so had she — Margaery Tyrell and Arianne Martell were the living proof of it.

"Thank you, Visenya. I wanted to get that out of my system for a while," Laena sighed, breathless, after she pulled back. She then waited for some kind of reaction from her, but when she got none, her friend continued, "I think you have guessed by now, but I like girls the way I am supposed to like boys."

Visenya nodded, utterly unbothered. "Like Laenor likes boys when he is supposed to like girls?" That information seemed to startle her as her eyes widened. Visenya waved her head dismissively. "Neither of you is subtle about your preferences, Laena."

"Yes, my brother is quite uncaring for it — all he wants is to spend time with Joffrey since he is his mate," Laena acknowledged. The news was a welcome surprise for her so she questioned, "He found his mate, truly?"

"Yes, but do not tell Laenor I told you. He doesn’t like when people know." Visenya nodded and made herself comfortable on the bed, petting the spot beside her. "Will you join me?"

And so Laena did. Once they were both under covers, Visenya closed her tired eyes in hopes of falling asleep — her cousin spoke up before the darkness could claim her, "Why did you come to Driftmark? Do not get me wrong, it has been wonderful having you here, but the visit was quite sudden — and you do not look quite alright."

Visenya opened her eyes to stare at the ceiling. "I am afraid. I think my mother won't survive this pregnancy," she confessed quietly. "You do not what it is like, watching your father wish for a son so badly that he would push my mother past all her body's limits to get one. I have watched her waste away pregnancy after pregnancy. . . All for a son that might never be born."

Laena wrapped her arms around Visenya, lying her head between her shoulder and neck. "Must you always think the worst? Your mother survived many losses, it is true — but she survived. What makes you think that she will not make it this time?"

Visenya could not exactly tell her the truth, no matter how much she wanted to get the words out of her mouth — so she said, "My gut feeling? I know it sounds stupid, but sometimes I cannot bear to look at my father. I needed to get away for a moment — I needed to get away from the sight of my suffering mother."

She then yawned, deciding to end the discussion where it was. "Will you stay with me tonight?" Laena nestled them both into the covers and closed her eyes, "If you wish me to."

Notes:

I don't like this chapter very much since I left out so many scenes because if I haven't, it would've been around 7k words long (maybe even more) :((

One thing I do like is introducing Jeyne Arryn! You guys gave me such great ideas for her character which I'm planning to use, so thank you for all your suggestions! 😁

My Wattpad: seven-moons

Chapter 29: Motherhood Is War

Summary:

In which:

— Rhaenyra and Visenya hang out again
— We see some of Aemma's schemes
— This is the last time I write Aemma's POV 😭

Notes:

Look who decided to post again 👀

dragonstone, 110 AC
visenya targaryen

Visenya hummed in thought as her eyes searched the dragon eggs displayed before her. None of them seemed to catch her attention — and no wonder why — none of them radiated any warmth no matter the fact that they were kept in warming chambers under constant fire.

"This is all of them?" She questioned the keepers at Dragonstone in perfect High Valyrian. The man standing to her left bowed his head. "Yes, Princess."

It came as a surprise for her — that there were so few eggs to choose from knowing that there are at least five female dragons alive who were capable of producing them.

And her unborn brother deserved the very best, according to her father at least. Visenya wondered how Viserys would react if he knew that the boy he was praying for will only live for a few hours before joining his mother in death.

Well, she will see his reaction soon enough she supposed.

Viserys sent her and Rhaenyra to Dragonstone to choose an egg for their brother — it did not matter that the egg would be useless because the boy will die — not that her father knew that, of course. So, despite herself, Visenya listened and came searching for a perfect egg.

Visenya stepped forward to inspect the eggs further. She softly ran her fingers over the cold scales until she picked up a golden egg with white and pink swirls.

"How do you know which egg to choose?" Rhaenyra questioned, stepping closer to her as she too looked at the eggs in wonder.

"You usually go for the warmer ones because that is a sign that they will hatch soon — but in this case, since none of them are warm, I choose based on my instinct, I guess," she responded with a shrug.

Visenya waited a long moment to see if something will change — if she will feel something — she waited for any kind of sign that the golden egg with white and pink swirls is special — but there were none.

She had once asked her grandfather Baelon how he knew which egg to choose — after all, Baelon picked eggs for both her and Rhaenyra — and both eggs hatched, giving the two of them Arrax and Syrax. Baelon had only laughed at her question, ruffled her hair, and said that it is all about a special feeling.

He said that she would know which egg is perfect as soon as she sees it.

But, Visenya felt nothing while holding the beautiful golden egg with white and pink swirls. She slowly put the egg down next to the rest and moved to inspect the others.

"Do you think there is a chance the egg won't hatch?" Rhaenyra asked her, walking alongside her. Visenya hummed, "Of course. The two of us were lucky to have our eggs hatch when we were in the cradle."

Visenya caught sight of another egg and stopped walking as soon as her eyes landed on it. It was so deep and dark grey that she almost mistook it for black. If she had to make a comparison, she would say that the egg looked like the sky during the worst of storms.

No matter the fact that it was rather cold under her touch, Visenya still felt that it was the right choice — somehow, her blood sang in her veins at the sight of it — and if that was not the sign, she did not know what was.

"However, having no hatchling to cuddle with in your cradle does not make you any less Targaryen," she continued talking, hugging the grey egg close to her. "Our unborn sibling can always claim a dragon when he grows up — there are many unclaimed dragons available for that."

When looking into a Targaryen dynasty so far, only Jaehaerys, Alysanne, Visenya, Rhaenyra, and Laenor had their eggs hatched. The rest of her ancestors and family members either claimed dragons when they grew up or did not claim dragons at all.

Visenya turned to the Dragonkeepers and handed him the egg. "Prepare this one." The man bowed his head and said, "That is an excellent choice, Princess — The egg came from one of Dreamfyre's clutches."

The new information made her throat close. It was sort of poetic, that she accidentally chose the egg that her mother's dragon brought forward.

The Dragonkeepers left her and Rhaenyra and the two sisters made their way out of the Dragonmont when her sister spoke again, "The egg is rather dark, don't you think? Perhaps our sister will have a hatchling that is Balerion come again."

Visenya turned towards Rhaenyra with a raised brow. "She? You think we are to have a sister?" Her sister nodded, looking excited and proud of herself. "Yes. And her name shall be Vaella – I told so to mother too."

A fond smile made its way to Visenya's face as they neared their dragons. "I do not think father will agree with your statement — he is certain that mother carries a son in her belly this time around," she snorted.

"Of course he is," Rhaenyra muttered, rolling her eyes. Her sister ran her hands over Syrax's golden scales, making the she-dragon purr in response. Arrax nudged Visenya with his snout in greeting too. "What do you think?"

"I do not know. There is no way to predict the gender of a child," Visenya shrugged even though her brain and heart already told her the heavy truth — they will have a brother for a short time and they will lose him as well as their mother. "Still, I hope you are right about us having a sister."

Rhaenyra cocked her head to the side in question. "Why?" Visenya smirked in response. "Because I can only imagine the look on father's face when he realizes that he organized a tourney for the birth of his son — only to have a daughter instead."

Perhaps it was petty of her to think so, but she could not help it. She was not sure why her father was so certain that he will have a son — and that the boy would survive nonetheless.

"That would be comical," her sister announced after a moment, chuckling lightly. "I never knew you could be this petty, sister."

"Why shouldn't I be? I never heard that father bothered to arrange such celebrations when we were born," Visenya snorted, the heavy truth weighing on her despite her knowing better than that. It made her vision turn red as the ugly voice in her head said, That is right. You were never good enough — and you never will be.

Shaking the ugly thoughts out of her mind, Visenya thanked the Dragonkeepers for preparing the egg before she strapped it on the Arrax's saddle. She turned to Rhaenyra and challenged, "Race you to the Dragonpit?"

Once her sister accepted the challenge, both of them took off. The flight from Dragonstone to King's Landing is too short for her liking, yet she let herself enjoy the wind that messed up her braided hair, the sound of Arrax's wings moving in the air which resembled a thunder striking and rattling the ground.

The two dragons landed on the ground with a loud, shaking everything in their path. Arrax roared in victory, flapping his beautiful green wings before he settled down. Syrax whined and snarled in response, watching the Dragonkeepers approach them with careful eyes.

Visenya could hear Dragonkeepers trying to order Syrax to calm down, but she was too busy holding onto Arrax to notice. Her beautiful green beast nudged his head into her side, as if eloping her into a hug.

She tugged on that bond between them, thanking him for always being there for her — especially in the last couple of moons. While Arrax did not know what was happening, he could feel her anxiousness and sadness well enough — and he did what he knew best, he let took her up in the skies until both of them were breathless and panting — he did all he knew to settle her mind even for a moment.

He was always there in Visenya's corner. While she truly loved and valued her friends and family, none of them could ever even hope to understand her mission and the true reason why she was here.

Visenya would never tell a soul about it.

But with Arrax, she did not need to. Her beautiful beast followed her into the past and he shared that important mission with her. Arrax understood her without Visenya having to say even a word. He knew her heart and soul — he was aware of her thoughts.

"Thank you," she whispered to him, running her fingers along the scales of his neck. He huffed a breath of smoke in response before he let the Dragonkeepers take him into the Pit.

Visenya spun around to see Dragonkeepers struggle with taming Syrax. She stepped away and stretched her limbs only to hear the voice of Ser Harrold call out, "Welcome back, Princess Visenya, Princess Rhaenyra. I trust your ride was pleasant."

Rhaenyra removed her gloves and began walking in the direction of their carriage as she responded, "Try not to look too relieved, Ser."

"I am relieved. Every time your beasts bring you back unspoiled, it saves my head from a spike," Ser Harrold chuckled in response. Visenya nodded at the man when Alicent emerged from the carriage, which made her mouth form a scowl.

Instead of focusing on the irritation bubbling up in her veins, she motioned for one Dragonkeeper to come towards her. "This is the egg we have chosen — Keep it warm for us, will you?" The man took the egg and bowed. "As you command, Princess."

Just as she thought that she had to share a carriage with Rhaenyra and Alicent, a thunder of hooves was heard — two horses ran towards her, one brown and one pure white. And look at that, my knight in shining armor, my savior, she thought.

"I thought you were training with Gold Cloaks," Visenya greeted Leo with a smile, noting how regal he looked with a gold cloak strapped to his shoulder and armor.

Her friend handed her the reins of the white horse. "I was up until now. Laena is expecting us back at the Keep." Visenya hummed and jumped onto the saddle, ready to depart.

"Are you not returning with us, sister?" Rhaenyra's voice was the only thing stopping her from bolting out of there. She pulled onto the reins and tapped the horse's back legs twice. "I have my ride," she responded, nudging her horse to start running.

 

 

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king's landing, 110 AC
aemma arryn

Aemma placed her hand on her swollen belly, feeling the babe kick. She almost winced and the sheer force of it, caressing her belly to soothe her son — it was bad enough that he did not give her peace during the night, but now this too!

Trying to distract herself from the discomfort, Aemma addressed her niece instead, "I am very glad that you have decided to stay in King's Landing until I give birth, dear niece — it brings me great comfort, having family around so much."

Jeyne gave her a warm smile that made her heart clench — Gods, she looked so much like her father, with that red hair and eyes so bright that you feel as if she was staring into one's soul.

It made Aemma miss her half-brother who used to carry her around on his shoulders — who spent his free time in the library with her, teaching her to read and write — her favorite sibling whose death she can still feel so very deeply that it took her breath away.

"I am always here when you need me, my Queen. Besides, Vale can get dreadfully boring from time to time — the change of scenery is rather refreshing," Jeyne mused. "And, I must say that I have enjoyed spending time with my cousins — they are both very mature and intelligent, especially Visenya."

"Everyone says so," Aemma agreed. The friendship between her niece and her daughters made these past few moons of her pregnancy bearable — seeing them all happy and bonding.

"I do have something that I wished to talk to you about, my Queen," her niece announced. "We have already discussed having Visenya fostered in Vale, but after I have spent so much time with her, I could not help but think. . .I wish to name Visenya my heir, if it pleases you and your husband, my Queen."

Aemma's eyes widened a friction, she had not been expecting this, not at all. If her niece was so willing to offer this, she had not doubt that both Viserys and Visenya would accept this — it was not a small thing, to be offered to lead one of the Seven Kingdoms.

And while her Visenya deserved this offer, Aemma knew that her daughter deserved even more than that — especially if she and her son parish.

She had tried to talk Viserys into naming Visenya his heir, after all, she was their eldest child — and by the law of Valyrian people, she should be the heir. However, her husband refused to hear it. Still, Aemma did not give up — and she never will.

Daemon revealed to her that she would not survive another pregnancy which might also lead to the death of a son she currently carries in her belly. Her goodbrother did say this before she bonded with Dreamfyre and grew stronger — but there is always a chance that he was right.

What if she indeed died in the birthing bed? What if her son died alongside her? Who would be heir then?

Viserys would have only Daemon and Visenya left to choose from — Rhaenyra too, of course, but she was a second-born. While Aemma had nothing against her goodbrother, she wished for her eldest daughter to sit on the throne one day — because her little flame was born for it.

There is a reason why Gods made her a genius. There is a reason why she is the youngest dragonrider since the Doom of Valyria. There is a reason for it — there has to be. Gods have chosen their favor when they made Visenya her firstborn child — even though she lacked a cock.

Viserys would not marry again because that would be scandalous — marrying someone after his mate's death — it was unheard of. And if her husband refused to see reason, there is another way to ensure that Visenya becomes Queen — and for that she will have to have a word with Daemon.

So, while Jeyne's offer sounds quite intriguing, Aemma refused to settle for it until she knows for certain that there is no way for Visenya to be ruling over the Seven Kingdoms.

"What of the heirs of your own blood? You are far too young to be thinking of this, Jeyne. You still have time to find a husband and birth your own children," she reasoned out, careful not to seem eager to reject the offer.

If Visenya ends up being close to the throne, as is her right, the Vale could pass to Rhaenyra — Aemma had no doubt in her mind that her second child could do incredible things in her former home.

"I may have a husband one day or I may not — I may have children or I may not," Jeyne shrugged nonchalantly. "Either way, I think Vale would thrive under Visenya. She already has the blood of Valemen through you, but she could also wed my cousin and thus gain more legitimacy as an heir to the throne of the Vale."

Storing this offer in the back of her mind for later, Aemma smiled. "That is a very kind and generous offer, dear niece — and I thank you for it. You will have your answer once I discuss it with both my husband and my daughter."

While she still had her niece's ear, she added, "There is something that I wished to ask of you when I summoned you, Jeyne." Her niece sipped on her cup of tea before she raised her brow. "Yes, my Queen?"

"I have heard that you and Lady Rhea are rather close?" Aemma started with a question she knew the answer to. Jeyne confirmed it with a nod anyway, "We are."

"Then forgive me for what I am about to ask of you, but I would like you to talk her into petitioning my husband for an annulment," she said outright, refusing to sugar-coat it.

Her niece leaned against the back of her chair, tilting her head to the side — and Aemma realized she was talking to a true leader of the Vale now, not to her niece, as she was before. "Lady Rhea's marriage with Prince Daemon is a legitimate one, my Queen. I do not see why or how the marriage could be annulled."

"Oh please, niece — we both know, as well as the entirety of Westeros — that their marriage is a farce," she dismissed. It was widely known that Daemon married Rhea because he had no choice and then ran before he could bed her. "It is not even consummated."

Jeyne shrugged, her eyes hardening to steel blue. "Lady Rhea is hardly guilty for it, my Queen. If only Prince Daemon had more decency and respect for his lady wife, the situation might be a lot different."

That was true, Aemma supposed — but then again, she knew that Daemon always wanted a Valyrian wife — which he was denied again and again. She was also aware that all Daemon's cousins and family found their mates of arranged their own marriages while he was shoved to the Vale without having that privilege.

In truth, she was still hoping that her goodbrother will find his mate someday — she prayed for both her daughters to experience the complete acceptance of the mating bond. There was no greater feeling than that, in truth.

"My goodbrother is a very. . .complicated man, I will not deny it. Still, I do not see why both Lady Rhea and Prince Daemon should suffer in their loveless marriage any longer than they already have," she made a point.

Jeyne appeared to consider this. "Why are you asking me to help with this, aunt Aemma? Why now of all times?"

"In case something happens to me. . .to both of us. . .or in case I do not birth a son, Prince Daemon will remain my husband's heir," Aemma revealed, caressing her belly yet again. "And honestly, I fear what my goodbrother will do to Lady Rhea once he gets the power to set aside their marriage."

Setting that topic aside, her niece gazed at her swollen belly. "Have you seen the Maester today, my Queen?"

"Yes. So far, this pregnancy is going smoothly — or so I've been told," Aemma said. "Hopefully, this one won't give me much trouble. I fear I would not be able to bear it."

Giving Jeyne no time to respond, one of the Kingsguard entered her chambers and announced, "Princess Visenya and Princess Rhaenyra with ladies, Laena and Alicent, my Queen."

Seeing her daughters side by side brought a smile to her face — especially knowing that they made it home safely. "Ah, my daughters. You both know I don't like when you go flying while I'm in this condition."

"You don't like us flying while you're in any condition," Rhaenyra snipped, taking a seat before her while Visenya walked toward her and placed a kiss on her head.

She looked at her eldest daughter in surprise. "Well look at that, you bathed." Visenya took a seat beside her sister and rolled her eyes playfully. "Do not sound so surprised, mama. You will make everyone believe that I do not know how to maintain proper hygiene."

Aemma chuckled, trying to make herself comfortable in her seat. Jeyne was happy to help, rearranging her pillows for her.

"Cousin," Visenya greeted, as if noticing the redhead girl now. Jeyne nodded back at Aemma's daughters, giving them an easy smile. "Cousins, I hope the weather was kind to you." Rhaenyra was the one who answered, "It was, thank you."

"Your Grace," two familiar voices echoed through the chambers and Aemma had to look up to see another set of guests at her doors. "Good morrow, Laena, Alicent."

"How are you, mama?" Vissie questioned, pulling her attention back to her. Aemma sighed, quite obviously tired, "As well as any woman in my condition might be."

"Did you sleep?" Rhaenyra mused and Aemma groaned, "I slept." Her daughters shared a look, neither looking even remotely convinced. "How long?"

"I don't need mothering," she dismissed their concerns. "Well, here you are, surrounded by attendants, all focused on the babe. Someone has to attend to you," Rhaenyra tried to argue, gesturing toward the servants and midwives that are currently occupying her chambers.

It warmed her heart, to see how much both her beautiful girls cared. "You two will lie in this bed soon enough, Rhaenyra. This discomfort is how we serve the realm."

Rhaenyra crossed her hands over her chest, shaking her head and scrunching her nose. "I'd rather serve as a knight and ride to battle and glory."

Both she and Visenya laughed at the statement. "We have royal wombs, the three of us. The childbed is our battlefield. We must learn to face it with a stiff lip."

"It does not have to be the only battlefield though," Visenya added because of course she did, her brilliant warrior princess.

No matter, both her daughters will learn soon enough what it means to be a woman — and Aemma honestly wished that she could spare them of it — the pain, the sweat, the blood — but she cannot. They were all women and this was their destiny.

She just hoped that she might live long enough to see both her daughters give her grandchildren. She wanted to be there for them when the time comes for them to enter their battlefield — she wished to hold their hands and wide soaked cloth over their sweaty brows — Aemma wanted to be there for them the way she wished her own mother was there for her.

"You should rest some more, my Queen, it will be good for the babe," one of the midwives advised, stepping forward to place a cup of water on the nearest table.

Rhaenyra stood up, going forward to kiss her cheek goodbye when Aemma held up her hand. "Do not come any nearer! And go take a bath, Rhaenyra, you stink of dragon," she warned, earning chuckles.

Visenya, who had taken a quick bath before visiting her, came closer to squeeze her hand. "We will visit you tonight, mama. Sleep well."

Once she was absolutely sure that all her guests were out of the chambers, Aemma called for her most trusted midwife to come closer.

With difficulty, she unclasped the necklace with a key from her neck and carefully put it in the woman's hand. "Take this. You know what you should do if something were to happen to me."

"Of course, my Queen," the woman bowed, jaw clenched as she put the necklace with a key around her own neck.

It will be alright, it has to be, Aemma tried to assure herself. And it all goes to Hells, she has to be prepared — she has to secure the future of her daughters — she has to prepare them both for what's to come.

While Visenya is a brilliant girl, she is too young — and Aemma would never forgive herself for passing on the burden of the truth to her. Deep down, she was very much aware that the truth of what Maesters and Hightowers did and still do to their family might break her.

Even so, someone has to know. Someone has to stop this madness. Unfortunately for her, Aemma did not trust her husband with this — in truth, she hadn't been trusting him for quite some time now — Viserys was far too involved with Hightowers to see clearly.

But she trusted Visenya and Rhaenyra with this. She trusted that her daughters would avenge their family and destroy any trace of Maesters, the Citadel and Hightowers.

Aemma was not lying when she said that birthing chambers were a woman's battlefield — but, motherhood is much bigger — motherhood is war. And Aemma will continue to fight this war until she cannot anymore — and if her time is indeed coming to an end, she will not go down without a fight.

Notes:

This is the last time I wrote Aemma's POV and it made me tear up a bit 😭 It's decided that our darling dragom Mama is going to die in Chapter 33 and y'all ain't ready for it!

I bet that y'all are confused as fuck about Aemma's schemes, and that is okay. Everything will be revealed once Aegon is born 🤫

My Wattpad: seven-moons

Chapter 30: Long Awaited Reunion

Summary:

In which:

— You can see some of Vissie's plans for the future
— Daemon and Visenya are reunited
— Aemma has important requests for her goodbrother

Notes:

— I have a very important question for you guys. I'm gonna need y'all to help me with something that's going to be mentioned in Chapter 35 🤔

If you are reading the comments regularly, you would know by now that I'm planning for Daemon and Visenya to have 7 children. I also decided for Baela and Rhaena to be their children and not Laena's 😌

Why? Well, the answer is simple — Book!Baela is so much like Daemon that I can't possibly give her to Laena and I feel that Baela would fit more perfectly with Visenya because both of them have similar interests(for example: being warriors even though they are both women). Then I stumbled upon the next problem, which is, I don't want to separate the twins. There is no Baela without Rhaena and vice versa 🤷🏻♀️

*I just want to add that I don't have anything against Laena, I love that woman and she will have her own children, but those children won't be Baela and Rhaena*

— NOW, THE QUESTION THAT I'M GONNA NEED YOUR HELP WITH: Should I change their names?

So, I already planned Visenya and Daemon's future children's names and I was going to keep Baela and Rhaena the same. However, at the same time, I feel like I should change their names but keep their personalities like they were in the books? I know it sounds stupid, but just listen 😩 Since most of you only watched the show without reading books, I would hate for y'all to confuse the twins with what they were portrayed like in the show(the twins were done so dirty and I'm angry about it!!!!). They will be the same girls but they won't be? They won't have the same complexion as they do in the show. They won't have the same mother either. They won't be parented the same as they were in the show. So I feel like they would be kinda too OC or OOC for this.

If I am to change their names, Baela would be Alyssa(which I feel fits her personality well) and Rhaena would be Aemma(which again, I think it fits perfectly).

What do you guys think? Should I keep Baela and Rhaena like I originally planned or should I change it to Baela = Alyssa, Rhaena = Aemma instead? I have no problems with either options which is why I'm asking you to decide 🥺

king's landing, 110 AC
visenya targaryen

She could hear a faint buzzing in her ears. She could feel slight uneasiness in the pit of her stomach. She could sense her body trembling slightly — which was why she clenched her fists by her side.

Visiting her mother always did this to her.

It always made Visenya restless and nervous, knowing what was to happen. It made her want to puke. It made her pace around the room until her legs could not move any longer. It made her want to throw things at the wall and gouge out her eyes.

Being around Arrax always helped — and so Visenya spent most of her days on the back of her dragon and up in the skies where all terrible thoughts inside her head ceased to exist. Arrax chased away her fears and nightmares.

However, there are times when Visenya can do nothing to stop the feeling of helplessness from seizing her throat. She flew to Dragonstone and back just this morning — and that should have been enough to calm the blood in her veins at least until the evening — but, it was not.

Visenya forced herself to take deep and steady breaths, clenching and unclenching her fists at her side. She was currently in the Small Council meeting where nothing of importance was happening — if only they talked about some great danger that could give her mind something to focus on.

But now, they were all laughing at some jest her father had told. Visenya barely contained rolling her eyes at the scene — it was very hard to watch as everyone laughed and cheered for the new prince to be born — it was even harder to know that both her mother and brother would die soon.

Visenya took another steady breath when Corlys Velaryon stood up and spoke, gaining her attention, "My lords. The growing alliance among the Free Cities has taken to styling itself 'the Triarchy.' They have massed on Bloodstone and are presently ridding the Stepstones of its pirate infestation."

Finally something important to think about, Visenya sighed in relief. Her indigo eyes followed Lord Corly's form as the man spread the map of the Stepstones across the table to show where the problem truly was.

Her father furrowed his brows and looked around the Small Council chambers. "Well, that sounds suspiciously like good news, Lord Corlys," he mused.

How can this be good news? Visenya wanted to spit out, but kept silent. Gods, her father truly was blind.

By how clenched Lord Corlys's jaw was, Visenya could tell that he was rather annoyed as he continued, "A man called Craghas Drahar has styled himself the prince-admiral of this Triarchy. They call him 'the Crabfeeder' due to his inventive methods of punishing his enemies."

"And are we meant to weep for dead pirates?" Viserys questioned just for Lord Corlys to shake his head. No, Your Grace."

It was almost laughable how easily her father dismissed such important matters and Visenya truly hoped that Corlys will bring this up again — From what she remembered, the War for the Stepstones was a troublesome one. It was fought for a long time and the Crown did not support it.

And Daemon will fight in it, her heart clenched at the thought, but she willed herself to dismiss the feeling. Knowing that she could not and should not stop the Seven Kingdoms from engaging in it, Visenya should definitely find a way to help with the matter.

She can certainly try to get her father to support it, but if he refused to, then she must be the one to do it. After all, Stepstones are very important territory, especially for trading — and it would be extremely dangerous if it fell into the hands of their enemies.

Another thought came into her mind — Greens allied themselves with the Triarchy because the matter of Stepstones wasn't completely settled, and so they attacked Queen Rhaenyra's ships. Her son, who would later become King Viserys II was presumed dead after that attack and Prince Jacaerys Velaryon also died at the Gullet, after he tried to avenge his younger brother.

Many things needed to be fixed and this was one of them. The Stepstones need to be added to the Seven Kingdoms — Visenya put that thought in the back of her mind.

"Uh, Your Grace, at Prince Daemon's urging, the Crown has invested significant capital in the re-training and re-equipping of his City Watch," Lord Beesbury stated, "I thought you might urge your brother to fill his seat on the council and provide an assessment of his progress as commander of the Watch."

Noticing her father looking at his cup, Visenya quickly and swiftly walked over to him, refilling it with sweet wine. Viserys gave her a small smile of gratitude before she went circling around the table to see who else was in need of a drink.

"Do you think Daemon is distracted by his present tasks? And that his thoughts and energies are occupied?" her father questioned.

"Well, one would hope so, considering the associated costs," Lord Beesbury nodded. Viserys smiled, defending his brother, "Then let us all consider your gold well-invested, Lord Beesbury."

Visenya approached Lord Corlys who shook his head and instead said, "I would urge that you not allow this Triarchy much latitude in the Stepstones, Your Grace. If those shipping lanes should fall, it will beggar our ports."

"The Crown has heard your report, Lord Corlys, and takes it under advisement," Otto cut him off. Both Visenya and Lord Corlys looked at the man in disbelief. Who was he to talk in the name of the Crown?

As always, her father said absolutely nothing so Otto turned towards him and changed the topic, "Shall we discuss the Heir's Tournament, Your Grace?"

This seemed to have gotten Viserys's attention because he grinned. "I would be delighted." He then looked at Grand Maester expectedly, "Will the maesters' name day prediction hold, Mellos?"

"You must understand that these things are mere estimations, my King, but we have all been poring over the moon charts, and we feel that our forecast is as accurate as it can be," the grey rat revealed.

And that name day is a week away.

"The cost of the tournament is not negligible. Perhaps we might delay until the child is in hand?" Lord Beesbury suggested.

Lord Strong shook his head. "Most of the lords and knights are certainly on their way to King's Landing already. To turn them back now. . ."

Her father cut him off, "The tourney will take the better part of a week. Before the games are over, my son will be born, and the whole realm will celebrate."

His words felt like plugging a blade in her heart. She had no idea why she continued to be affected by this — she knew better than to let his words hurt her. Viserys always made it clear that he was waiting for his precious son — even after she continued to prove herself time and time again.

Maybe some small part of Visenya hoped that he would see her worthy of being his heir and stop pressuring her mother for a son. Maybe she was still seeking approval, even after all these damned years — even after everything that happened in her previous life.

There was this little greedy thing inside her begging and screaming for attention and approval — a shadow of the lonely and angry child she had once been.

"We have no way of predicting the sеx of the child," Grand Maester warned her father. Viserys snorted, "Of course, no maester's capable of rendering an opinion free of conditions, are they now?"

All members of the Small Council looked away from her father and it told her everything about their current thoughts. How can you be certain it's a boy? Your wife already lost all sons she bared you. Is she even capable of producing another living child, let alone a son?

Visenya saw it in their eyes and it made her want to throw this wrenched jar of wine at their heads. Who were they to think of her mother in such a way?

She had seen and heard whispers in court before — there were many who shared the opinion that Aemma was incapable of doing her duty to provide the King with a son.

Her mother tried to get her to ignore the whispers. Even Tywin Lannister's advice rang through her head, A lion doesn't concern himself with the opinions of the sheep. She supposed that much could be applied to a dragon as well.

Still, she was incapable of staying silent as such slanders circled around her mother. Anybody who dared to speak in such a way in her presence would find themselves outsmarted — she would always find their weakness and attack them with it just to see them grow red-faced as they begged for forgiveness.

Pathetic — to think that they had any right to talk or even think about her mother in such a way.

Noticing the looks on their faces as well, Viserys tried to assure them, "There's a boy in the Queen's belly. I know it. And my heir will soon put all of this damnable hand-wringing to rest himself."

 

 

 

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king's landing, 110 AC
daemon targaryen

Home sweet home — or something along those lines.

Daemon certainly felt at home, sitting on the Iron Throne and looking down at the completely empty Throne Room. This is where he should be — This was his rightful place, surrounded by Targaryen flags and swords of the conquered at all sides.

It had been short two years that passed rather swiftly. Despite his original thought that he would be bored as hells in the City Watch, it turned out to be completely opposite. Daemon worked hard and he was grateful to have an army of two thousand men loyal only to him.

Still, the way in which he was given the position stung — even though he was not banished by his brother, not really. Viserys only ever sent him away — even when the only thing Daemon wanted to do was protect him — both Viserys and their family.

Two years away from court certainly did him well — the very distance from his family that he was complaining about, served good for his temper. Both he and Viserys needed space between them — their brotherly bond flaring with anger and frustration.

And now, he was back at this wrenched keep. Not that he truly missed it. He could already feel his blood boiling at the thought of all arse-kissers that Viserys kept at his court. The only thing Daemon missed about this place was his family.

Speaking of family, the doors to the Throne Room opened to reveal Ser Arryk — or Ser Erryk, Daemon could never tell the two of them apart — not that it mattered. Daemon did not wish to see either of them — he was here, waiting for one specific person.

And then, Visenya made her appearance from behind her guard and Daemon's breath caught in his throat at how much she changed.

Hells, his niece grew up.

Visenya was tall now — taller than Aemma if he had to take a guess. Her face was also more defined, with some visible baby fat still present in her cheeks and neck, of course. He could not help but admire the swell of her breasts that will still grow as she approached adulthood.

Daemon was not surprised at all to see her wearing black — his eldest niece only ever wore their house colors. Her perfectly defined silver-gold waves were braided away from her face while the rest was hanging down her back like waterfall.

The very first thought that entered his mind was — Beautiful.

"Gods be good," Ser Arryk or Erryk sighed, just loud enough for him to hear. Daemon smirked and leaned back on the throne, making himself more comfortable — but his eyes stayed glued to Visenya.

From where he sat, he could clearly see Visenya rolling her eyes at his antics as she said to her guard, "It's all right, Ser."

And then, she finally met Daemon's eyes, indigo clashing against pale lilac. He could see the slight furrow of her brow, and the irritation in her irises – and it made him smirk, cocking his head to the side in challenge.

Visenya's nostrils flared and without a second of delaying, she made her way down the stairs and started moving towards him. "What do you think you are doing, Uncle?" She questioned, High Valyrian rolling off her tongue perfectly.

"Sitting," he answered as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. His niece approached the light of the sun and suddenly, Daemon noticed that her dress was not black but rather dark purple — matching her indigo eyes well. "This could well be my chair one day," he added.

"Not if you are executed for treason," Visenya snorted, folding her hands behind her back. Daemon's eyes followed her every step."You won't tell on your favorite uncle, will you, dearest girl?" he tsked.

His niece appeared to be considering her options before she smirked. "Do not be so certain uncle. I would expect to hear that you have been banished by the King by the end of the day if I were you."

"You wouldn't," Daemon mused, admiring her pettiness. Visenya shrugged her shoulders, expression of endearment not leaving her face."Perhaps I will, perhaps I won't — I guess you will just have to wait and see."

Once she finally stopped walking and stood before the steps of the Iron Throne, she continued, "You have not come to court in an age."

"Aye," Daemon nodded."Court is so dreadfully boring. And there is no reason for me to stay." He recognized the slight shift in her expression, her eyes narrowing, "No reason at all?"

Since he gave no response, she scoffed. "Well, we learned to thrive in your absence, uncle — so if you wish to leave again, you are welcome to do it. Your presence would not be missed as much as it once was."

He would never admit out loud that his heart gave a twist at her jab. So she was still angry with him — he hoped she would not be. Daemon placed a hand on his heart, faking hurt, "You wound me, little flame."

"What goes around, comes around — or so I have heard, uncle," Visenya pursed her lips, eyeing him up and down. "I am interested to hear, why come back at all — and after two years no less?"

As if she did not already know. . .Daemon would never miss a tourney. But that was not the only reason — her presence here proves that he wished to see her. Truthfully, as soon as he stepped foot into the Red Keep, his thoughts shifted from the City Watch to her. "I heard your father was hosting a tournament in my honor."

"It is very self-centered of you to think that my father would organize a whole tourney just for you," his niece chuckled in amusement and he marveled at the fact that her attitude was not reserved for him this time around, "The tourney is for his heir, you know."

Daemon moved on the throne so he might be closer to her. "Is that not what I just said?" Visenya's lips carved up a smile for him. "You know that I mean his new heir. Surely you have heard that my mother is with child — and that my father is convinced that he is to have a son."

He was utterly surprised to hear harshness in her voice as she spoke of her father and her imaginary brother. Daemon smirked as he stood up from the Iron Throne and slowly made his way down the steps.

"Until your mother brings forth a living and breathing son you are all cursed with me," Daemon said, now standing right in front of her — and he was right, even though she was definitely taller than Aemma, Visenya still barely reached his jaw.

Not letting herself back away from him, she lifted her chin to meet his gaze. "Then I shall hope for a brother."

He was smiling before he even realized it, lilac eyes shining in delight. "I bought you something," he announced in Common tongue, surprising her.

Daemon lifted his hand to place a necklace on her extended palms. Visenya was studying it very carefully, her irises radiating confusion. She knew what he was gifting her — after all, he was the one who had Lady's Wrath made for her, was he not?

"There is no more jewellery made of Valyrian Steel left in the world — only weapons," his niece muttered in disbelief, looking up at him in question, "Where did you—"

Daemon pulled back the necklace from her hands before she could finish her sentence. Irritation flared in her indigo eyes, making him smirk yet again.

She was too sharp for her own good, his niece.

He would never admit it out loud, but he had one of his Valyrian Steel daggers melted and remade into two necklaces — both of them special gifts for his nieces — both of them apologies for leaving without saying goodbye and not writing them for the past two years.

While he did spend most of his time in King's Landing with men from the City Watch, Daemon also had some business across the Narrow Sea. The crown equipped him with coin, but not with enough men to work on armours and swords needed for the soldiers he was training — which was why, he flew to Essos from time to time.

There were many highly skilled smiths there — including only men in the world who knew how to work on Valyrian Steel. Daemon placed an order for things needed by the City Watch here and there — which was how he got the idea of this perfect gift for his dearest girls.

He was very aware that Visenya was rather picky about her jewellery, while Rhaenyra would wear anything and everything — from rings to bracelets, earrings and necklaces. He tried gifting his eldest niece jewellery before only for her to tell him that she felt as if someone was suffocating her when she wore them.

The only jewellery Visenya actually wore was the necklace with a ruby-shaped dragon in the shape of Arrax — and she wore it around her wrist like a bracelet.

But this necklace, made of Valyrian Steel with a pendant shaped like a dragon's head with two rubies for eyes — it was far more comfortable to wear, or so he was told — because of its round shape that barely touched one's neck.

Daemon certainly hoped she would like it.

"Turn around," he said, low voice surprising even him — and it sounded more like a command than a request. Visenya raised her perfect brow at him but she did not move. Her eyes spoke volumes because he could tell that she really wanted to disobey.

Daemon stared back at her, unyielding — so she rolled her eyes and spun around, lifting her hair so it would be easier for him to lock the necklace around her neck. His eyes met with the back of her purple high collar instead of her nape — and oddly, he found himself disappointed.

Daemon took a step forward, a scent of lemon soap and honey hitting him stronger than a brick — he was so used to sweet and strong scents of Dornish oils that whores in brothels wore that he was utterly surprised at how her natural scent made his shoulders relax.

As he placed the necklace around her neck, his hands grazed its smooth texture. He was rather unwilling to take a step back and lose that scented aura so Daemon placed a kiss on the crown of Visenya's head, breathing her in and hoping that damned lemon scent would stay in his nose for a while.

He finally willed his legs to move, taking a step back — not even a full step because he could not be not close to her. Visenya spun around and Daemon moved a stray strand of her silver-gold hair behind her ear. "Beautiful," he uttered.

His eldest niece said nothing and instead chose to take a better look at her gift instead. She admired it for a moment before the air shifted around them, stunning him stupid.

Visenya gazed up at him again, eyes sharp and chin raised. "Do you always gift people something made of Valyrian steel when you are trying to get into their good graces again?" even her voice was sharp. "Because if you are, then you will find yourself disappointed in the face of this failure."

He opened his mouth to say something only for her to continue, "Gift Rhaenyra something like this and she shall forgive and forget immediately, but I am not my sister." She snorted, shaking her head in disappointment. "You cannot buy me, uncle — not even with Valyrian Steel."

"Visenya—" Daemon said, taking a step towards her as she spun around to leave. She was already walking away from him when he heard her add, "I will see you in two years, uncle — Or whenever you decide to show up in my life again."

The only thought running through his head after that was — Fuck.

 

 

 

_____

 

 

 

After he gifted Rhaenyra her necklace, the next stop was his goodsister. Luckily, by the time he used Maegor's secret passages, all servants and midwives were gone from her chambers and he found Aemma with a book in her hand, her feet raised on a few pillows while her other hand cradled her very much swollen belly.

"You are insanely hard to catch alone," Daemon said as a way of greeting. Aemma looked up at him, closing the book she held in her hands. "And don't I know it. Do you think it's pleasant to have all those people surrounding me all day long?"

"Not at all," he managed, closing the passageway and making his way to the chair beside her bed. Aemma lifted herself onto her elbows to change her position as she questioned, "Are you back after two years just to apply for a joust, goodbrother?"

"It is one of the reasons — You know that I would never miss a tourney if I can help it," Daemon shrugged.

His goodsister studied him for a moment, looking around before switching to High Valyrian, "I asked Viserys to annul your marriage to Lady Rhea."

If his surprise was shown on his face, she did not tell. Daemon had no idea what brought this on, but he snorted in amusement anyway, "Good luck with that. I have been trying to get that annulment from my brother for the past decade and so far, all my attempts were unsuccessful."

"Perhaps if you tried to petition the King together, alongside your lady wife, the outcome would have been different," Aemma suggested.

"What makes you think I did not try to act civil toward my bronze bitch for that reason alone, goodsister? Alas, the bitch seems to get off on my suffering," Daemon mused, crossing his arms over his chest.

"In any case, I tried a different approach to yours. I have asked Lady Jeyne to help convince your wife that an annulment would do you both good," his goodsister explained, "She agreed to help, in case you wish to know."

That was surprising as well considering that Jeyne and his bronze bitch were close — which meant that the Lady of the Vale was m hardly fond of him. "She hates me as well," he stated it as a fact.

Aemma nodded, not denying it, "Perhaps, but she does not hate me — She agreed to help because it was me who asked her."

Daemon took a moment to look at her, eyes narrowing and questions swimming in his mind — many questions that he did not wish to know answers to — or perhaps he knew the answers but did not want to acknowledge them. "And why would you do that? Why now of all times?"

Her indigo eyes looked pained as she sighed, "You already know why, Daemon. In case something happens to me—" but before she could finish her sentence, he cut her off, "Nothing is happening to you."

Yes, this is what he feared. Looking at her now, he was awfully reminded of his mother — the very first woman he loved. Daemon was taken back to the time when he was only three namedays old — when his mother was pregnant with his younger brother, Aegon.

He felt like a helpless three namedays old boy again.

Despite how young he was back then, he could vividly remember his mother's discomfort during her pregnancy. He could remember his father's fear when his mother went into labor. He could remember Alyssa's white-pale face as she greeted him and Viserys after Aegon's birth which she barely survived. He could remember that she looked more dead than alive, her skin cold in contrast to the dragon blood in her veins.

And finally, he could remember the way he found her lying on the ground, dead only six moons later.

Daemon was also reminded of Aemma's own mother who perished in childbed also. His great-grandmother Alyssa Velaryon also died in childbirth. He did not wish to even think of what might happen to his goodsister.

"We cannot know that for sure," Aemma's voice brought him back from his dark thoughts.

Daemon refused to acknowledge her sentence and instead asked, "Have you been seeing the healer I brought to King's Landing for you?"

"Yes. So far everything is progressing well — But that does not mean that something cannot happen in the birthing chambers," Aemma confirmed. "You told me yourself that I will not survive another pregnancy."

"That was before you had years to heal your body — and you have bonded with Dreamfyre in the meantime which certainly helped," he expressed, shaking his head in denial.

If her pregnancy was so far good, there is a great chance that she might survive — especially if the healer he brought to Westeros said so. And Daemon wanted his goodsister alive.

While it was true that he did not wish to have a nephew, he would never do anything to hurt the boy if he were to be born — because that imaginary boy would still be his family.

Nephew or no nephew, new niece or no new niece, he wanted Aemma to live.

"Will you just let me say what I need, Daemon?" Aemma reached for his arm, desperation in her voice. Daemon stilled at the touch, the coldness of her skin making his head spin with the memories of his mother.

Since he did not respond, his goodsister continued to speak, "If something happens to me — and to this babe that Viserys is so certain is a boy — as the eldest male in the line of succession, you will officially be his heir," she stated. But what truly went through her head was, If Viserys doesn't come to his mind to name Visenya his heir, you will get the throne.

"Once your marriage gets annulled, I ask of you to marry one of my daughters," and that request alone made his eyes narrow. "What?" he questioned, utterly surprised.

"I am hoping that both my daughters will find their mates and get out of this wrenched city," Aemma went to explain, "But if they do not, I want you to marry one of them. Not right away, of course — they are both still too young. But it is important for House Targaryen to stand united if we are going to go against Hightowers, Maesters and the Citadel."

Daemon could see her reasons behind it, but no one could blame him for being surprised — especially since he thought of neither of his nieces in that particular way — both of them still too young anyway.

"I do not think that I have to explain why combining your claims to the throne is important for the sake of the Realm," Aemma added.

Yes, that as well. They do not wish to have another Great Council anytime soon — it would do no good to the Targaryen family, especially now when they are being targeted and poisoned and whatnot — they have to stick together.

"Viserys will never agree to this," Daemon made another valid point with this. His goodsister shrugged, "Then go against him. Marry one of them in secret. This is a dangerous den of vipers, goodbrother — and if I die, I do not want to think of what might happen to my daughters as long as they are under the roof where Otto Hightower controls everything."

Desperation was very clear in her indigo eyes. "I am going to need you to promise me that you will protect them. I cannot trust anybody else with this task and I will not be able to rest until I know that both my daughters will be left in good hands."

That statement alone brought back another memory of his — a time when Laenor Velaryon was born — his father asked Viserys and him to choose a dragon egg for Laenor since Meleys did not lay another clutch for Rhaenys to choose from.

Daemon remembered thinking that it was rather stupid of them to gift their dragon eggs to Rhaenys's children since they were not Targaryens but Velaryons — after all, they could end up having more dragons than Targaryens themselves one day — and he was proved right years later.

Still, good old Baelon insisted so Daemon went into the Dragonpit in search of a warm egg from Dreamfyre's new clutch. At one point, he stood face to face with the blue dragon who bared her sharp and gleaming silver teeth and claws at him — roaring in protest when he tried to take away her babes.

His goodsister reminded him of Dreamfyre in that moment — a mother dragon protecting her clutch of eggs just like Aemma protected her precious daughters.

Without a second thought, Daemon stood up and kneeled before Queen Aemma, pressing the tip of Dark Sister to his palm and drawing blood.

"I, Prince Daemon of House Targaryen, Prince of Dragonstone, Lord Commander of the City Watch, Wielder of Dark Sister, vow to protect your daughters until my last breath — I swear this on our Gods. I swear this on Dark Sister," Daemon made the blood oath to her.

It was only then that Aemma's shoulders relaxed, knowing that her daughters will be in safe hands. "Thank you."

Notes:

Daemon and Visenya's scenes together are going to be alike to Daemon and Rhaenyra's scenes in the show, BUT, they re going to be changed to fit Visenya's character. There will be many more scenes of Daemon and Vissie that the show didn't have so I'm looking forward to writing that 😁

Aemma's requests for Daemon to take care of her daughters because she doesn't trust Viserys to do so is so sad 😭

My Wattpad: seven-moons

Chapter 31: A Girl, A Woman, A Goddess

Summary:

In which:

— Daemon finds out the truth
— Vissie and Daemon have their first fight
— There is a change in the main couple's relationship

Notes:

— For those of you who didn't vote yet, I'm going to kindly ask of you to do it 😭 I'm a bit indecisive so I really need to know what to do.

● Should I change the twin's names?
— From Baela -> Alyssa
— From Rhaena -> Aemma

○ Or not change the names at all?

Thank you in advance!

king's landing, 110 AC
visenya targaryen

Visenya and Leo have been sparing relentlessly since the sun arose. Her friend had gotten back from the violent night spent in the city with the City Watch — he was all bloodied, his armor covered in mud and even brains.

She was already on her way to run laps around the beach when she saw him return with a crazed look in his watery blue eyes — his pupils dilated.

She recognized that look well — she had spent years of her first life staring at her crazed-looking indigo eyes in the mirror after a good battle — especially the ones where she came out a winner.

Visenya invited her friend to a spar, knowing well that after a good battle the only thing you can feel is your blood pressure rising. If she had not known that Leo did not find pleasure in fucking, she would have recommended going to the Street of Silk to calm himself down.

After all, fucking after battle always helped her — Robb and she used to spend hours and hours in bed groping and clawing at each other in search of a release.

Other than fucking, fighting some more always helped calm your mind and muscles — which is how the two of them found themselves in the training yard, swinging swords at each other mercilessly.

"What made you so worked up? Did you not have enough fun chasing criminals last night during the debut of the City Watch?" Visenya panted, breathless. Gods, Leo had stunning stamina while she could already feel her muscles starting to shake.

Leo swung his sword at her and she blocked it with Lady's Wrath — the ringing sound of the clashing steel echoing through the seemingly empty training yard.

"It was. . .eventful, I guess," her friend managed, a trail of sweat sliding down his brow. "But so much blood and gore made me restless. I could not sleep after it at all. I just want to hold a sword in my hand and fight some more."

Visenya managed a hum, taking a step back at the sheer force of Leo's attack. She briefly wondered if this was the first time he fought her without actually holding back — because his attacks had never been this strong nor fast.

It did not matter though because she was always up for a good challenge.

A voice of her favorite Martell rang in her ears as she angled her body out of the way of Leo's attack so his sword barely missed cutting her.

"This is Dorne — we do not underestimate women here, whether it be their leadership or sword-wielding skills. The rest of the Westeros does not agree with us so you need to use it to your advantage," Oberyn told her, his viper-like eyes watching Alyanna as she gasped for breath, lying on the ground, her muscles utterly exhausted and unwilling to move.

Oberyn swung his spear in the air, utterly unbothered to help her move. "You can never be as physically strong as them, but you are smarter, you are faster, you are more skilled."

Alyanna's rage at her loss slowly settled down, tears of frustration as well as sweat drying on her cheeks. She found some strength to move her head and look at Oberyn as he spoke, "Do not strike immediately. Lie in wait like a viper hidden in grass. Search for an opportunity that will grant you victory — and then, strike."

It was not what she wanted to hear, after all, Alyanna was impatient and it did not take long for her temper to flare — but this was what she needed to hear — it was a lesson she would carry on even to her next life.

"You are shadow. You are breeze," the Dornishman exclaimed, giving her a helping hand so she could stand up. "You are not just a simple girl — You are a whirlwind wrapped in a hurricane, wrapped in steel. Use their useless ignorance to your advantage and you can best every single one of them."

Once she was up, his hard gaze searched her, fixing on the blood and mud that covered her whole. He tightened his grip on his spear and got into a fighting position. "Again."

Visenya sighed, willing her mind to stay focused as she took Oberyn's advice to heart. She became a shadow, she became a whirlwind, Lady's Wrath became the extension of her arm and not just a sword in her hand — and so, she attacked, forcing him to block her and back away.

While Leo's mind could not stop wishing for a fight, his body was visibly getting to its limits — and Visenya would be damned if she missed the opportunity to use it to her advantage.

She struck where Leo was too slow to do anything but block her and step back. The next step was to find an opening, and Visenya kept a close eye on his body language — she was a viper, lying hidden in the grass and waiting to deliver her death blow.

Day and night the two of them trained together. They knew each other's bodies well — they were both familiar with the other's weaknesses, strengths and limits. Which was why Visenya knew where to search for her perfect opening.

They continued their deadly dance for a few more minutes until — There. She caught it. whether it was a mistake from tiredness or his genuine weakness, she did not know and did not care to find out. Visenya was here to win.

When he gave her an opening, she struck him hard and fast. In a matter of seconds, their long and fast deadly dance was over — Visenya held the tip of her sword to Leo's neck while his own weapon rested on the ground before him. "I win," she panted.

Leo raised his palms in the air, showing his defeat. Feeling the tension resolve around her shoulders at the action, Visenya let go of him. Before either one of them could say something, they heard a person applauding in the audience.

They looked up, only to see the King with a proud smile on his face. Leo bowed his head while Visenya just stared at her father — He had never visited her when she was training so this came as a surprise since she always felt that he somehow disapproved of her training.

Once they both calmed down their panting, Viserys leaned onto the railing, a pride glint in his purple eyes — the look he gave her knocked Visenya's breath out of her lungs. "That was possibly one of the best sparing matches I have witnessed in my lifetime," he complimented.

That particular sentence brought a grin on her face — a hungry beast inside her, the creature feeding on attention and praise — it finally calmed down.

A servant came rushing in, bowing before Viserys and handing him a scroll. Unfortunately, her father had to leave, but not before pointing at the exit of the training yards — subtly telling her she is needed.

"I am not going to lie, I did not go easy on you this time and you still managed to beat me — that is an impressive accomplishment in itself," Leo mused.

"It was a good match on your part too. I admit that it was not an easy win," Visenya muttered, a teasing glint in her eyes. "And now that you have finally given your all, I can confidently claim to be better than you."

That made him narrow his watery blue eyes in denial. "As if. I had not had a blink of sleep last night. I have been busy chasing around King's Landing instead. Not to mention that when you look at our overall score, I am still in the lead," he snorted.

"Excuses, excuses," Visenya exclaimed, rolling her eyes. "You won't be in the lead for long — that I promise you."

She barely had time to take a quick bath before she caught word of what her father needed her for — the Small Council was summoned because of her uncle — of course it was. He had not been back for a whole day and he is already making a mess of things.

Visenya all but ran down the halls to make it to the meeting in time. She was lucky enough that the only two people who had not yet arrived were her father and Otto Hightower — the rest were already seated, including her uncle.

Nodding at the lords in greeting, Visenya made sure to avoid her uncle's piercing gaze — she could feel his lilac eyes burning holes in the side of her head.

If she was being honest with herself, she did not know where her confrontation with Daemon left them. Yes, she was angry at him, but, Visenya was certain that she would not have reacted so impulsively in ordinary circumstances.

These days, Visenya was very much on edge. She was like a full glass of water, only a drop separating her from spilling over — and that was exactly how she felt at her uncle's sudden return. Only a small but sudden emotion was enough for her temper to flare, escaping from the cage she usually kept it at. Her dragonblood can sometimes get the best of her, despite her practicing restraint.

Once Visenya poured wine for the rest of the Small Council, she approached her uncle, pointedly looking at his cup the whole time. Daemon was looking up at her intently, as if willing her to look at him, but she did not give in. She thanked every God out there for pulling her uncle's attention back from her to the guard that announced the arrival of Viserys and Otto.

"It was an unprecedented roundup of criminals of every ilk. Your brother made a public show of it, meting out the summary judgments himself. I'm told they needed a two-horse cart to haul away the resulting dismemberments when it was done," Lord Hand explained as the two entered.

Visenya's brows raised in utter surprise. She did not expect exactly that — No wonder why Leo was so restless after killing half of the city. It must have been quite a sight to see, criminals finally punished for their actions.

All men on the Small Council stood up except Daemon. Typical. "Gods be good," her father sighed, almost collapsing onto his chair at the head of the table.

"The Prince cannot be allowed to act with this kind of unchecked impunity," Otto continued until he set sights on her uncle, who appeared unbothered and amused by the whole situation.

The rest of the Lords took their seats. "Brother," her uncle greeted her father with a sheepish grin on his face. Viserys only nodded back at him, "Daemon." Visenya could not tell if her father was disappointed or just overwhelmingly tired of this conversation.

Daemon finally turned towards Otto, his features hardening. "Carry on. You were saying something about my impunity," he spat out.

"You are to explain your doings with the City Watch," was the only response the Hand gave before he took his own seat.

"Your new 'Gold Cloaks' made quite the impression last night, didn't they? Did they?" Viserys questioned rhetorically. Otto followed him by saying, "The City Watch is not a sword to be wielded at your whim. They're an extension of the Crown."

It always amazed Visenya how little her father actually had something to say. It was usually Otto that handled everything — giving that Hightower filth too much power was a terrible idea, the one she would have to find a way to stop.

"The Watch was enforcing the Crown's laws. Wouldn't you agree, Lord Strong?" Daemon looked around for support. Lord Strong looked thoughtful, "My Prince, I don't think. . ."

Yet again, Otto cut someone off mid-sentence, "Making a public spectacle of wanton brutality is hardly in line with our laws."

Rolling his eyes, her uncle defended his actions, "Nobles from every corner of the realm are right now descending upon King's Landing for my brother's tourney. Do you want them mugged, raped, murdered? You mightn't know this unless you left the safety of the Red Keep, but much of King's Landing is seen by the smallfolk as lawless and terrifying."

Viserys did not appear too convinced of his brother's explanation so his purple eyes found hers.

Visenya almost smirked — The one thing she actually liked about the Small Council is that she actually had her father's ear from time to time. She would find him looking at her, as if asking for her opinion ever since she first dared to interfere with one of the problems.

Perhaps her father had seen it on her face — her wish to speak up about this — because he nodded his approval. Either way, Visenya would have spoken up, ready to defend her uncle since it was her own idea that put him in this position in the first place.

"When I suggested giving Prince Daemon the position of the Commander of the City Watch, this is what I had in mind, my Lords," she started. "I mean, not exactly this — No one could have predicted that my uncle would sack half of the city in one night, but his point stands true."

"Princes. . ." Maesters Mellos started, but Visenya was having none of it, so she continued, "Yes, he should have captured the criminals and given them a fair trial, that much I won't deny. However, I think his actions have the potential to have a good outcome for the Crown."

Her father was looking at her intently, "Do continue, daughter." So Visenya did, "After tonight, people will tremble in their boots at the sight of the Gold Cloaks. Criminals who are still roaming the city will think twice before breaking the law again. We will not get more reports of the increase of crimes as well — And that is how the order in the city is established."

In conclusion, Daemon did exactly what he was supposed to — a bit more violently than expected, but still. She did not dare say the words out loud, but the men in the room were smart enough to understand her point.

"We installed Prince Daemon as commander to promote law and order. The criminal element should fear the City Watch," Lord Corlys agreed with her.

"Thank you for your support, niece, Lord Corlys," her uncle mused, turning to Viserys yet again. "Our city should be safe for all its people," he added.

Seeing that Daemon too got support, her father's expression relaxed. "I agree. I just hope you don't have to maim half of my city to achieve this." Her uncle jested, "Time will tell."

"If only the Prince would show the same devotion to his lady wife as he does his work, Your Grace," Otto said, obviously unimpressed with the development. Visenya's head snapped toward him, her irritation flaring for an unknown reason — she wanted to rip Otto's head off for that sentence alone. "You've not been seen in the Vale or at Runestone for quite some time."

Daemon only shrugged, "I think my bronze bitch is happier for my absence." Otto continued to taunt him, "Lady Rhea is your wife, a good and honorable lady of the Vale."

"In the Vale, men are said to fսck sheep instead of women. I can assure you, the sheep are prettier," her uncle sneered and Visenya barely held in her laugh. "Dear me. . ." Lord Beesbury muttered.

"Careful with your language, Daemon — Your young niece is present and I do not wish for her to hear such foul language — from you especially," Viserys warned his brother, but everyone who looked at her could clearly see the tilt of her lips.

Her uncle obviously saw her expression because he chuckled. Her father then gave her a look, as if asking her to compose herself — so she did, molding the expression on her face into the one of indifference.

"You made a vow before the Seven to honor your wife in marriage," Otto pushed further. Daemon finally snapped, "Well, I'd gladly give Lady Rhea to you, Ser Hightower, if you're in want of a woman to warm your bed. Your own lady wife passed recently."

Hearing such slanders about his late wife, Otto Hightower stood up from his seat, glaring down at her uncle. Daemon only raised his brows, amused that the Hand got so railed up, "Did she not?" he questioned.

"Otto," her father warned while her uncle cocked his head to the side, "Perhaps you aren't ready to move on just yet."

"You know how my brother makes sport of provoking you. Must you indulge him?" Viserys questioned and Otto sat back down. " My apologies, Your Grace."

When the quarrel between Daemon and Otto became only a silent glaring contest between the two, her father spoke up, "This council has, at great expense, bettered the City Watch to your exacting standards. Enforce my laws, but understand, any further performances like last night's will be answered."

The rising grin on her uncle's face spoke of a victory against Otto as he nodded. "Understood, Your Grace."

Daemon stood up from his seat, grabbing the black helmet covered in filth that was resting on the table beside him. To her surprise, her father motioned for her to leave as well so she put down the wine and silently left, her uncle at her side.

They walked out together, side by side, only the sound of his armor rustling between them. Once the doors closed behind them, she spun around to walk away only to feel a strong hand grabbing her elbow, keeping her in place. Her indigo eyes found Daemon's angered face.

 

 

_____

 

 

king's landing, 110 AC
daemon targaryen

Daemon stared at Visenya's irritated face, neither of them speaking even though he was the one holding her elbow and keeping her in place so she would not leave. "What do you want?" she questioned, brow raised.

"You were the reason for me being named Commander of the City Watch," he stated rather than asked, feeling his blood boiling.

Daemon thought that it was Otto behind it all — that it was that Hightower cunt who caused this, but to hear that it was actually his niece stunned him stupid.

Why? Just why? Why must all his family members turn against him? Why must they allow those Hightower cunts so much influence? Why must they always see the very worst of him?

"One of the reasons, yes," Visenya confirmed, her tone flat. "Some would say that you should be thankful because I handed an army of two thousand men into your open palm," she added, rolling her eyes.

The next thing he knew, his hand was around her small throat — his grip very light, serving to pull her closer to him. There was not even a drop of fear in her eyes, only fire and irritation.

"You are angry with me for leaving when you are the reason for my banishment," he sneered which brought some confusion into Visenya's features. "What?"

Daemon laughed bitterly. "Did you not just confess to suggesting me as a person who should lead the City Watch? Did you not just outright tell me that you suggested Viserys to banish me? And yet, I am the one you and angry with because I did not write you for two years."

He would not have believed it if he had not heard it with his own two ears — But Visenya did say it. She said it in front of the entire council — and it had been her whom Viserys listened to.

That stung too, not that he would ever admit it out loud.

The fact that all he ever wished was to stay close to his brother and his family, the fact that all he ever tried to do is protect them — and yet, none of them ever gave him the benefit of the doubt.

Viserys has been king for ten long years now — and during those ten years, Daemon got banished or sent away more times than he bothered to count.

He should have been here. He should have been named his brother's Hand. He should have been Viserys's closest ally and not his wild and rogue brother that everyone tried to paint a villain.

"How hypocritical of you, niece," Daemon said, voice low. He gritted his teeth, his pale lilac eyes searching his niece's face only to find that her indigo eyes grew impossibly darker.

"I did no such thing," she whispered, voice strained, white teeth gleaming as she snarled, "The men of the council wished to see you gone for good when you were Master of Law still — my father was the only one willing to defend you but he would have given in to their demands — you and I both know it. So it was me who offered the solution that would grant you to still have a seat on the council."

"I suggested naming you a Commander of the City Watch because I knew you would do well. I knew men would listen to you. I knew you were born to lead armies. I also knew that you would do right by the people of King's Landing — I knew you would make their life better if given a chance," she continued.

Daemon was struck by her lost composure — he was fairly certain that he had never witnessed her true anger. Sure, he was on the other side of her irritation here and there, but his eldest niece was usually hard to get the rise out of.

Visenya looked absolutely stunning in her anger — her eyes dark, her body shaking with rage, her fists clenching by her side as she held back from clawing at him.

Stunning.

Daemon had never witnessed Arrax in any kind of moody or angry state either — but if he had, he was certain that it would resemble his rider's. He could even picture it in his head, Arrax's black needle-like teeth gleaming, black claws out and ready to kill, bronze eyes darkening in anger.

Absolutely divine.

"But that were not the only reasons," Visenya continued, inching closer to Daemon's face so their noses were touching. "I wanted you to stay. All I ever wanted was for you to stay with us — and this position demanded of you to be near, to be in King's Landing at all times."

"You were supposed to stay close to the family. You were supposed to live with us, dine with us — but what you did instead was leave us all behind for two years — no visits, no letters, nothing," she finally raised her voice at him, her hand gripping his doublet. "Two years, Daemon! Two years because your ego was hurt!"

Visenya was now panting for breath, her voice lowering to a dangerous whisper, "I did not banish you, uncle — you banished yourself. So do not dare turn the blame on me when I was the one who stuck up for you, when I was the one who outsmarted the men of the council so they would grant you a greater position than the one you already had, when all I wished was for you to stay by my side."

When Daemon did not open his mouth to say anything, Visenya snorted, her forehead scrunching in anger. His eldest niece tore her hand from his grip, turned around and walked away from him.

His throat bobbed. He did not say anything. He did not even have time to process the words she had spoken. The only thing on his mind was how tight and uncomfortable his armor became — Hells, he was hard as a fucking rock.

Fuck. Fucking hell.

Daemon did not remember the last time he had gotten so hard so quickly — perhaps when he was a young man, a boy even, only learning of what pleasure truly is.

His cock sprung up to life just hearing Visenya yelling at his face.

Pathetic — he was worse than a green boy in truth.

There was only one place that he can go to take care of this problem — so Daemon found himself in the Street of Silk — his second home, most would say.

His cock was buried so deep in Mysaria from the moment he entered the establishment. And yet again, it was not her black hair that was on his mind, or her dark eyes — or even the sounds she made.

Daemon's mind was raging at him and he full-heartedly blamed Aemma for this — for putting such thoughts in his head — for proposing that he marry one of his nieces.

He blamed Visenya too — he blamed her for growing up into a stunning fire-breathing dragon, alike to a goddess of Old Valyria — he blamed the smell of her soap that he failed to find anywhere else but on her, clinging to her skin and hair — lemon and honey.

Fucking lemon and honey.

The smell of Dornish oils that clung to Mysaria's skin only made him want to scrunch his nose in disgust — roses, lavender — whatever the fuck she was wearing. It used to please him, but now Daemon only wished for lemon and honey.

When Daemon closed his eyes, it was not a woman grown with silver-gold hair that plagued his mind — but the image of his young niece.

Perfect and full teats turned into small yet perky ones that were not big enough to even fit in his palms. Strong tights turned into softer flesh — and he was finally able to shout a name as his release came.

Visenya.

Yes, Daemon is going to blame his goodsister for this, he decided.

Notes:

‼️ Important: Daemon wasn't hurting Visenya when he grabbed her neck, the man just has a neck kink which you'll be seeing a lot!

Daemon blaming Aemma for having dirty thoughts about his niece is so funny to me. He is not only going to have dirty thoughts but wet dreams about her so my mans is up for a ride 😭

My Wattpad: seven-moons

Chapter 32: How To Say Goodbye

Summary:

In which:

— The trio is plotting a murder
— Daemon gets Visenya's favor
— Visenya struggles to say goodbye 😭

godswood, 110 AC
daemon targaryen

Daemon was aimlessly walking around the Red Keep. There was nothing for him to do — and he found himself bored. He spent the last two years putting men of the City Watch in proper order — and now they did not need him for much.

He would of course join them during the nights — there was nothing like running around the City at night, blood running hot in his veins, Dark Sister at his hip, begging for blood.

But, during the day, Daemon had nothing much to do.

Daemon stopped his pacing once he heard a voice coming from the Godswood. He made sure that he could not be seen as he observed the sight before him — Visenya, Laena and Leo were sitting on the blanket before the white weirwood heart tree.

Leo was busy polishing his armor and sword while Laena was sitting cross-legged with Visenya's head in her lap. His niece seemed far too interested in looking at the very bright blue sky with no trace of clouds in sight.

"I do not understand how you did not give anyone a fair trial though," Laena said, turning her head to look at Leo. Daemon leaned against the wall, his arms crossed as he listened.

Leo shrugged, not looking back at Laena as she responded, "They were all well-known criminals, from rapists to murders — and Prince Daemon ordered immediate punishment, so that is what we delivered."

Daemon smirked. Ever the loyal little Leo. He was fond of the boy, he would not deny it. He has been training Leo since the boy was a child and now he is eight and ten, a man grown. Still, Leo worshiped him like a God.

Daemon was briefly reminded of the day he had chosen the boy as his squire. Little Leo was trying so hard not to burst from excitement, his watery blue eyes alight.

Leo lived and breathed for training. He loved his sword and armor more than he loved half of his family, Daemon was certain of it. And he never regretted choosing him as his squire, even all these years later.

He thought that he would send both Eddin and Leo home — Daemon was no stranger to how boys act at that age — they acted starstruck over little things, their attention span is worse than one of the babe's and they could be rebellious pranksters — Daemon would know best, after all, he was exactly like that.

Eddin had his moments when Daemon considered sending him home with his tail between his legs — but not Leo, never Leo. The Tyrell boy was always so eager to learn, never complaining when Daemon refused to let them rest. He would continue with burning muscles and shaking hands.

Laena let out a long sigh, "Still, I cannot imagine that running around the city, maiming criminals is exciting as you describe it to be."

"The exciting part is cutting off their body parts," Leo mused. Laena tilted her head to the side, a question already on her lips, "And did you do it?"

Leo's growing smirk was an answer in itself. Laena regarded him with a newfound interest, her eyes sparkling. "Seriously? You like. . .cut someone's cock or arm off?" The Tyrell boy hummed and Laena almost squealed in excitement, "Was there a lot of blood?"

"Yes — One of the men bled so fast that his blood was covering the street in only minutes!" The light-haired boy revealed, placing his perfectly clean sword down on the blanket. "It is truly a shame that he died quickly. He deserved to suffer through the torture he received and then some."

"Freaky," the Velaryon girl muttered under her breath, so lowly that Daemon almost missed it from where he was standing. "I like it!" she added.

Leo's hand rested on Visenya's feet as he softly shook them, as if to gain her attention — despite his fondness for the boy, Daemon could not deny the urge he felt to remove his hand from his body after he dared to touch his niece.

The memories of last night feeling his head, the way Visenya snarled in his face, the way her eyes blazed with anger, the way her breath caressed his face — fuck, not that again.

"And what about you? You have not said a word to us since we arrived — It makes me want to question if you are plotting something, Princess," the Tyrell boy jested.

"I am not plotting anything for now, Leo — but when I start, you shall be the first one to know," his niece gave a half-jest back. If she had not responded, Daemon would have thought that she was sleeping with how still her form was, staring at the sky.

"Are you angry with us, by any chance?" Leo asked, cocking his head to the side. "No," Visenya answered, still unmoving from her position.

"Because your face is screwed up like you are angry," the light-haired boy continued to push. "I am simply perturbed, not angry," his niece sighed, lifting her palm to the sky to look at the sun through the gaps between her fingers.

There were a few moments of silence before Leo commented again, "You still look angry." Visenya's hand dropped to her side, her voice a little harsher than before, "I am not angry, but if you do not stop annoying me, I might become soon!"

"Leave her be, Leo. You know that this is how she gets when she is worried," Laena said to keep the peace between them. The Tyrell boy met Laena's amethyst eyes with a dose of confusion in them. "Worried? Worried for what?"

Daemon had that same expression on his face. He waited to see what got his niece so worried and worked up. Laena looked at Leo as if he had asked the stupidest question in the world as she made a motion with her hand, indicating a pregnant belly.

Both Daemon and Leo understood immediately, their slightly widened gazes falling to the motionless Visenya who was still staring at the sky. Stupid. Of course she was worried for her pregnant mother. No wonder why she was so easy to anger or annoy these days.

Laena rolled her eyes and changed the subject to avoid a slightly tense silence between them all, "Can we talk about how Ser Gwayne Hightower approached Visenya earlier this morning to ask for her favor for the tourney?"

Gwayne fucking Hightower. Daemon felt his blood boil in his veins. Otto Hightower's vermin son who was trying to apply to the City Watch without any luck because Daemon would rather die than give him a position amongst his men.

What right did a second son of a second son of a minor lording have to ask for a favor of the Princess of the Realm — a firstborn child of the King and Queen no less? The answer is none.

Quietly, Daemon promised that he would make the vermin pay for even daring to think about his eldest niece, not to mention approach and talk to her.

Fucking Otto Hightower and his schemes — he was certain that Viserys's arse-kisser of a Hand had something to do with this.

"He did?" Leo chuckled, his eyes laughing, "I heard rumors that he wished to ask you, but I did not think him brave enough to do so — especially after you continue to make your point of utter disinterest in him every chance you get."

Daemon huffed under his breath. Good. At least Visenya is smart enough to avoid Hightowers altogether.

"Seriously though, that man is obsessed with you. We might need to find a way to get rid of him before his father gets a chance to arrange something you would not be happy with," the Velaryon girl commented.

"Luckily for me, my mother would strangle my father if he so dared to set me up with a Hightower," Visenya snorted.

"I still think we should make Gwayne suddenly disappear — just in case," Laena hummed and then she brightened up as if a wonderful idea crossed her mind. "Or we can use this tourney as a disguise to cripple him and completely ruin the man's chances of ever being with you!"

Daemon smirked. This girl was giving him wonderful ideas on how to make Gwayne Hightower suffer.

Laena turned towards Leo, looking at him through her thick long lashes as she asked sweetly, "You would unhorse him if given the chance, wouldn't you, Leo?"

"If we do end up facing each other during the tourney, I will do so gladly," Leo answered. "Perhaps my hand could even slip a bit so my spear would pierce through the space between his armor and helmet — and then go straight through his neck! Accidentally of course! Tourneys are dangerous events after all — and deaths are not that uncommon."

He had no idea that Visenya has gotten herself such loyal companions — and Daemon was glad to learn it. This meant that she was not all alone in a den of vipers — she had allies — she had a set of protective friends willing to organize a murder for her.

"Ha! I like this idea best!" The Velaryon girl decided, a rather mischievous aura around her. "Of course you do," Leo commented.

"And somehow they call me the most ruthless and dangerous out of all three of us," Visenya mused lightly, looking up at her friends.

"We just worry for your safety and sanity, Visenya. As your two loyal friends, we wish to rescue you from any threat of marriage," Laena smirked.

"Oh how lucky I am to have both of you by my side," his niece jested, but there was a certain fondness in her voice that he did not miss. Visenya then sat up to stretch, her indigo eyes looking at Leo. "Since we are already talking about this damned tourney, how are you feeling about it?"

"I feel good, I guess," the Tyrell boy shrugged. "If I am being honest, I wish I practiced some more, but I did not have much time on my hands with all the work I had around the Gold Cloaks."

"I did not even check the lists. Who do you have for competition?" His niece questioned but it was Laena who answered, "Prince Daemon, Gwayne Hightower, Boremund Baratheon, Criston Cole. . .It is not like it matters much — We all know who is going to win the jousting."

Tilting her head to the side, Visenya asked, "And who might that be?" The Velaryon girl replied with a sure voice, "Prince Daemon, of course. He is the best warrior in the Seven Kingdoms — and he has not lost a single tourney since he was knighted."

There was a soft snarl on her pink lips — and Daemon was quite certain that he was the only one out of all of them who caught it. He recognized a trace of annoyance in her voice as well, "While all that might be true, you are forgetting the fact that my uncle did not practice for the tourney either."

"I do not think Prince Daemon needs practice to win. . .Especially when he has shown that he is perfectly capable of maiming half of the city basically on his own," the Velaryon girl argued.

Normally, Daemon would feel the thrill in his very bones at the praise — but not this time. He was a master at recognizing when he had a woman as an admirer — and it was obvious that the beautiful daughter of Rhaenys and Corlys was one of them.

And yet. . .Daemon did not even spare her a glance. He was too content being right there, his eyes on Visenya, studying the subtle clench of her jaw — and the way one furious crease appeared on the smooth skin of her forehead.

Seeing her reaction, he was certain that Visenya also caught Laena's admiring tone — and for some unknown reason, Daemon felt satisfaction seeing her radiating anger with a drop of jealousy and protectiveness.

"Sword-fighting and jousting are two very different things," Visenya scowled, irritation clear this time. "Besides, everybody needs practice. My uncle is not some all-powerful God without a weakness."

"If you do know Prince Daemon's weakness, I'd be eternally grateful if you shared it with us," Leo jested.

"My uncle is too cocky — that is his weakness," his niece revealed, unbothered. She crossed her arms behind her head and laid down on the blanket again. Daemon's nostrils flared at her accusation.

Yes, he was cocky — but, he had a very good reason to be that way. He has not been defeated by anyone for a very long time — not since he was four and ten and still preparing to be knighted.

Daemon was the very best Westeros had to offer — that was just a fact. So why shouldn't he rub it in everyone's faces that they could never be like him?

Laena tapped her chin in thought. "I think that kind of confidence rather suits him." Visenya's mouth twitched — she turned her head away from their sight, as if to hide her expression. "Confidence is a very important factor for a winner, that much is true, but, my uncle has too much of it."

Leo leaned back to rest on his elbows, his brows furrowed in thought. "So, what you are saying is that you think I stand a chance against Prince Daemon? I feel honored that you see me in such high regard, Princess."

"Of course you have a chance to best him, Leo. My uncle is not invincible — and you are his long-time student. If anyone has a chance you beat him, it would be you," his niece reasoned — which obviously touched Leo.

But it bothered Daemon.

So without a second of delay, he stepped out of his hiding place and made his way to the trio, his steps loud and sure, his expression hiding everything.

As soon as they noticed him, both Leo and Laena stood up. Leo bowed his head in respect and greeting while Laena offered a curtsy. "Prince Daemon." His niece noticed his presence, but instead of standing up to greet him, she decided to turn her head to the sky again and pretend that he was not there.

"Lady Laena. Leo," Daemon said as a way of greeting although he paid no mind to either of them — his pale lilac eyes were entirely focused on Visenya who seemed keen on ignoring him. "Take a walk with me, niece?"

Knowing that she cannot ignore him now, Visenya surpassed a groan as she finally allowed their eyes to meet. Daemon's lips tilted to the side in a soft smirk as he offered her a hand to help her stand.

She studied it for a moment before placing her hand in his. Warm. They were both so warm, their blood hot in their veins — as if it was lava. Fire made flesh — that is what both of them were — just as their dragons.

Visenya kept her smaller hand in his calloused one for a time which many would consider improper — and then, much to his dismay, she pulled her hand back to herself to smooth the fabric of her scarlet dress.

She did not for once take her indigo eyes off Daemon. His niece appeared to be studying his eyes, the expression on his face, the set of his jaw — everything as her eyes roamed his face. "I will find you later," Visenya announced to her friends without even looking at them.

Daemon stepped aside and motioned for her to start walking ahead of him. His niece finally looked away from his eyes and instead set her sights ahead as she began walking. He followed, stepping to her right.

Visenya seemed content with not speaking a word so, after a few moments of silence, Daemon spoke in High Valyrian, "Cockiness is my weakness, is that how it is, niece?"

The question made her stop in her tracks. "I did not say anything that is not true, uncle," Visenya shrugged, lifting a perfect brow at him in accusation."How long have you been listening in on us?"

"If you do not wish for your conversations to be heard, you should not speak loudly and in places where many people can hear you," Daemon responded instead, which seemed to anger her because she was now glaring daggers at him.

"What do you want uncle? Are you here to shout baseless accusations in my face again?" His niece questioned with a rather bratty tone.

"No. Why would I do that?" Daemon settled for standing straight in front of her, towering above her. They were standing too close to each other, but neither of them moved.

Visenya looked at him with suspicion in her dark gaze,"You were angry with me just yesterday, surely your ire could not have passed so swiftly."

And usually, it would not have. When he got angry at someone, he could stay angry forever — Daemon was very easy to anger and very hard to forgive — His family was the only exception to this, especially Visenya it seemed.

He could never stay angry at her for long, no matter what she did.

Not that he had any reason to be angry — not when she explained perfectly well her reasons — not when she did everything in her power to make him stay. Visenya never wished for his banishments — she never let anyone turn her against him.

Visenya was not like his brother who only needed a whisper from Otto Hightower's mouth to send him away.

She wished for him to stay.

She was the only one who never cast him aside.

"I was not angry with you. I am not angry with you," Daemon insisted. "It is you who is angry with me it seems."

"I am not — Well, that is a lie. I am angry and disappointed that you would ever think so lowly of me." Visenya ran her hand down her face and sighed in frustration before she started scratching the scar of the shell of her left hand. Daemon followed the movement with his eyes.

"What was I supposed to think? You were here, under the influence of your father and his cunt of a Hand. They could have said anything to turn you against me," Daemon expressed desperately.

Couldn't she see that the Hightower cunt managed to turn Viserys against him? Daemon was certainly lucky that Aemma saw right through those lies — but how was he supposed to know that he did not manage to spin some lies to Visenya as well and make her hate him?

How was he supposed to be sure that Rhaenyra would not turn against him next? Who knew what Otto was using that simple pious daughter of his for — if not to get closer to his family and hurt them?

Both Hightower cunts managed to sever the beautiful sisterly bond between Visenya and Rhaenyra already — They already started turning his family members against each other.

"Now you are just insulting me, uncle. As if I would ever let that Hightower cunt get into my head," Visenya scoffed. "I am not my father. I am not weak-minded and blind to the Hand's doings."

Feeling the overwhelming urge to touch some part of her, he reached for her left palm and wrapped his hand around it. "That you are not," he muttered, a soft look in his eyes.

She was not like Viserys — not at all.

His touch visibly helped cease her frustration because the harsh and angry lines of her face smoothed into a relaxed look. Daemon's thumb circled around the skin of the completely white scar, feeling the harsh texture of it.

Visenya sighed in appreciation, her shoulders slouching forward as the stone walls that she built around herself crumbled — And Daemon finally saw a glimpse of a very tired girl.

"Is there something you wanted to speak to me about, uncle?" his niece asked. Daemon did not stop the movement of his thumb, but he cleared his throat to state, "The tourney is starting tomorrow."

"I am aware," Visenya nodded, waiting for him to continue. Daemon tilted his head to the side cockily, "Who do I need to kill to ensure that you give your favor to me?"

His niece only blinked at him — Once. Twice. — Then she questioned, confusion evident in her voice,"Why would you need to kill someone to win my favor?"

"Oh I have heard that your favor is fought for. Many young knights wish to crown you their Queen of Love and Beauty." Visenya rolled her eyes, "Bold of all of you to assume that I made my favor."

Seeing the look on his face, she defended herself, "Do not look at me like that, uncle. You always knew that I am not fond of tourneys — Besides, it is not like making my favor is the first thing on my mind with my mother's pregnancy so close to term."

Laena's words to Leo rang in his head. She was worried for Aemma. And she had every reason to worry — not that he would tell her of that. Her worry was that of a daughter who was old enough to know that childbirth was a battle that could sometimes be lost.

Daemon did not need to give Visenya more reasons to worry — he did not need to tell her about Aemma being constantly poisoned over the years. Not yet. He would let her live in the unknown for a while yet.

After all, there is a chance Aemma would survive — the healer he hired for her said so himself and there was no reason to doubt him.

Daemon observed the dark circles under Visenya's eyes. He reached to caress it with his left thumb, leaving feather-like touches in his wake.

Once his hand fell to his side again, Visenya cleared her throat and pulled her left hand from his soft grip. "But, if you wish for my favor so badly, the best I can give you is this."

It took only a moment for her to unclasp the necklace he had given her years ago — with a ruby-made dragon shaped like Arrax that his niece wore around her wrist. Visenya put the necklace in his open palm.

"Return it to me after you crown me your Queen of Love and Beauty, uncle," she said. Daemon immediately hid the necklace safely in his pocket. "As my Princess commands."

 

 

_____

 

 

king's landing, 110 AC
visenya targaryen

Every damned day of her life felt like she was climbing up a mountain. And then, she got there and stayed there for a bit — thinking it was rather nice on the top before she started sliding down the other side.

And it was always like that — over and over and over again.

Visenya went through some pretty shitty things in her life — well, lives — and she always pushed through it, through the pain and despair, desperately telling herself that she could get over it, that the pain will pass.

And she always got over it — over all that trauma and pain — she always rose above it all and continued to survive.

She got to the top of the mountain.

Just as she was starting to feel safe again — safe enough to open up — safe enough to learn how to love and cherish again — something terrible would happen and she would always return to square one.

This felt like one of those times again — with her mother's death so close that she could practically feel the aura of death surrounding her mother — she could almost hear death knocking on the doors and waiting to barge in.

"I cannot wait for the tourney to begin!" Rhaenyra almost bounced in her seat from excitement. Aemma laughed, caressing her heavily swollen belly.

The two of them always visited their mother in her chambers before they went to bed. They would bring a book in High Valyrian and then they would read it to their new sibling — it was practically a tradition — and this evening was not any different.

"We know. You have been reminding us of that for weeks," Visenya mused, leaning into her seat more, a soft smile managed to sneak its way onto her face.

"You can hardly blame me. Did you not see knights on the lists? Did you not go to the training yard to see them practice?" Her sister ranted.

"No," Visenya shook her head. "Of course not, why did I even ask. . ." Rhaenyra rolled her eyes. "Just so you know, you are missing out. Alicent and I went the other day and saw Ser Criston Cole practicing — and he is Dornish! Can you believe it?"

Criston fucking Cole. The Kingmaker.

She almost forgot that fucker existed. Well, it looked like it was time for him to make his appearance.

One more enemy entering the game — just what she needed right now, Visenya thought sarcastically.

"That sounds so exciting, sweetling," their mother supported before she turned to gaze at Visenya. "I have heard that Ser Gwayne asked for your favor, Vissie — at least that is what ladies of the court gossip about."

"That is what I heard as well. Alicent spoke to me about it — Apparently, Ser Gwayne has been preparing a whole speech just for the occasion," her sister added. "However, I told Alicent that her brother should not get his hopes up — you have never bothered to make your favor after all. I do not see how this time is any different."

Aemma seemed surprised to learn this, her eyes widened. "You have not made your favor? Why, little flame?"

"I never saw a point of it all, but, I did give my favor to someone this year — if it pleases you, sister," Visenya shrugged, unbothered as she revealed the information.

Rhaenyra's purple eyes sparkled with interest. "You cannot be serious! Tell me who has won your heart, sister! I wish to know!" she practically begged.

Won her heart? Visenya almost laughed at that sentence alone. Instead, she settled on saying, "Uncle Daemon asked for my favor so I gave it to him — Do not make a big deal out of it, Rhaenyra."

Her sister pouted. "Well, I can hardly blame you for refusing Ser Gwayne when Uncle Daemon is also a choice," she chuckled.

Their mother studied them both fondly. "You should both go and rest. It is rather late and the tourney is set to begin in the early hours."

Rhaenyra stood up from her seat to kiss their mother's cheek before she walked out. "Good night, mama." Visenya wished to stand up and follow right after her sister, but it felt like she was chained to the chair, her legs petrified and unable to move.

"Are you alright, mama?" she questioned, her voice rather low because of how closed and scratchy it felt.

Aemma sighed in discomfort. "I cannot wait for this pregnancy to be over. I feel as if I am going to pop every second now. I cannot find a comfortable position to sleep as well."

With a sudden idea in mind, Visenya pushed herself to stand up, her legs wobbly. "I have read somewhere that it helps when you sleep on your side with a pillow between your bent legs."

Technically, she did not read it anywhere, it was just the position that was most comfortable for her when she was carrying Lenna — but she could not tell her mother that, could she?

Seeing that Aemma struggled to get herself in the proposed position, Visenya offered, "Here, let me help you." She helped her mother to lie down properly before she placed one puffy pillow between her legs.

"Oh, that is better," her mother moaned in relief and it brought Visenya's pained heart a bit of comfort.

Aemma's soft indigo eyes — so much like her own — met hers, almost pleadingly. "Enjoy your time tomorrow, will you? I know you worry for me, but I do not wish for you to miss out on all the fun."

"I would rather stay here and keep you company than sit around and watch as men chase each other with wooden sticks," she responded.

Visenya already expressed her desire to be present in the birthing chambers this time around — she wished to hold her mother's hand knowing what was to come — she wished for Aemma to at least die with someone at her side.

Unfortunately, both her parents refused her request, claiming that she was far too young to see such sights. In their eyes, Visenya was still a child, a girl who has not yet flowered. And with no way to argue further, she accepted that she would have to go to the tourney.

"That warms my heart, sweetling. But, your father would want you to be there with him," Aemma smiled.

Visenya reached for some warm blankets and covered her mother with them. She leaned down to press a kiss on Aemma's forehead but a chill went down her spine at how cold her mother's skin was.

It was not supposed to be like this. Aemma had the blood of the dragon in her veins — Visenya would even argue that her mother was more of a dragon than her father was — her blood always burned hot — so why?

Visenya disliked this very much. She felt that it was like a fireplace slowly losing its warmth — like a dragon losing its fire — like a person losing their life.

Visenya felt like vomiting.

"Are you cold?" she immediately questioned, forcing herself to think clearly. She looked around the chambers only to find that all windows were closed and that the fireplace was as warm as ever.

"No, just sleepy," her mother yawned, unaware of the dangerous and dark thoughts running through Visenya's mind. With a heavy heart, she nodded and spun around to leave. "Then I shall leave you to rest."

She was halfway out before her legs lost their ability to move again. Visenya stood frozen, hearing her heart beating in her ears and the cold sweat sliding down her spine.

"Mama?" she called out softly. "Yes, little flame?" Aemma slurred, already half-asleep. Visenya's heart clenched in pain and despair.

Three words were on the tip of her tongue — three words that Visenya never said to anyone, not in this lifetime, not in the last — three words that scared the living shit out of her.

Just say them you stupid bitch, she thought to herself. Because she knew she would regret it if she did not. After all Aemma did for her, after accepting her as she is — with her darkness and all — she deserved to know it.

Her mother deserved to hear Visenya say that she loved her — because she did — with all her black heart.

But how? How could she say goodbye to her mother? How could she bring herself to utter the words that would mean goodbye and the end?

I love you — just say it, a voice in her head screamed at her. And Visenya tried — she tried to move her lips, she tried to make her voice work but it seemed as if the words were stuck in her throat — she wished to claw at it until she could lay down the words in front of her mother.

Visenya looked down, shook her head and whispered, "Nothing. Good night." With her tail between her legs, she bolted out of her mother's chambers with a voice raging in her mind, Coward, it said over and over again.

Visenya desperately wished she was strong enough to get through what was inevitable to happen — she could act as if her heart was made of ice itself, she could act as if she was untouchable all she wanted but she long ago learned that she was not invincible — she too could break.

And her breaking point was so near that she could taste it on her tongue and feel it in her very bones.

Notes:

This hole week has been hectic af. My best friend's mom fell into a coma and then passed away so I travelled for the funeral and to genuinely be there to support and comfort her.

Heads up, I won't be dragging the tourney at all. Chapter 33 will be heavily focused on Visenya's feelings. There are going to be some moments from the tourney tho since it'll not be the same as in canon 🤫

My Wattpad: seven-moons

Chapter 33: Sad Beautiful Tragic

Summary:

In which:

— A dynamic between Visenya and Daemon changes
— Visenya says a heartfelt goodbye to her mother
— We say goodbye to Aemma 😭

Notes:

‼️ TRIGGER WARNINGS: ‼️

BLOOD, CHILDBIRTH, PANIC ATTACK, AEMMA'S DEATH

this chapter emotionally destroyed me, enjoy 😭

king's landing, 110 AC
visenya targaryen

Visenya had not even noticed that her left leg kept bouncing nervously until Daemon placed his hand on it — until she blinked all her thoughts away and got back to reality. Her leg stopped bouncing and she could feel her uncle tracing soft patterns on the inside of her knee with his thumb.

Daemon was sitting between her legs as Visenya worked on his hair — her uncle wished for Valyrian braids to wear on the day of the tourney so she obliged him.

In recent years she learned quite a lot when it came to Valyrian culture — and it pleased Visenya greatly. Even as Alyanna Baratheon, she was interested in learning more about Valyrians.

Although, in her first life, there had not been much to learn. Targaryens went almost extinct — with two only survivors left in exile half a world away, without counting her, of course. Dragons were dead until they weren't. Most books containing knowledge of her ancestors were either lost or burned.

So Alyanna knew the basics — she knew history, devouring all knowledge of Targaryen kings like a starved child.

That being said, seeing and learning of Valyrian culture in this life, felt like a privilege. Visenya had a chance to take a look at the crown of Aegon the Conqueror and Jaehaerys I. Her father let her hold Blackfyre in her hand, a sword that was lost during her first life.

Hells, even walking around the Red Keep felt different this time around. Unlike in her first life, there were no seven-pointed stars anywhere — only sculptures made in appreciation of Valyrian culture.

Visenya quite liked it this way.

Even learning of the Gods of Old Valyria was astonishing — learning of what Valyrians believed happens to a person once he or she dies — first, you get judged in front of Arrax, the Ruler of Gods and then you travel to Balerion's Realm, to the Underworld where you can either be in the Realm of Peace called Heavens or in the Realm of endless Torture called Hells.

Visenya was not sure if she would ever truly believe in any type of God except for the God of Death, but, it was still very exciting to learn of Valyrian culture.

One of her favorite things about Valyrian culture were Valyrian braids — with each of them having their respective meanings. There were hairstyles specifically worn for weddings, funerals, coronations, war, combat — even braids for seduction!

And Visenya made it her life mission to learn them all. So now, she was working on making Daemon a hairstyle indicating combat — worn only by the greatest warriors.

"I know that you wish for me to cut my hair short, but if you continue to pull on it so hard, I will go bald — and I do not think you would like me bald," her uncle winced in her hold.

"Nonsense, uncle. You would be as handsome as you are now," she rolled her eyes, although her voice was full of fondness.

Visenya did not need to see Daemon's expression to know that he was smirking, his voice was proof enough, "You think me handsome, niece?"

"They hail you as the best dragonrider, a dashing prince, the finest warrior, uncle," she said and then leaned to whisper in his ear teasingly, "You are every maiden's dream come true — or so I have heard."

She could practically feel another retort coming from him, but her uncle stilled instead, holding tightly onto her knee. A small grunt escaped him — Visenya must have accidentally plucked him.

"You do not wish for the braids to fall apart and get in your eyesight as you ride to victory, do you?" She questioned. "No," he grunted, his nostrils flaring.

"Then stop complaining and let me work," Visenya mused. "As I said before, I would very much like to be crowned Queen of Love and Beauty — and I will not have your hair get in the way of that."

Daemon grumbled something under his breath, but he settled and let her finish his hairstyle. Visenya stood up to stretch. "There. All done," she announced, walking towards the table to pick up her golden mirror and hand it to him.

And then, she felt his presence right behind her. Visenya did not hear him stand up — she did not hear him approach, but she felt him standing only a step away from her. If she took a step back, her back would bump into his chest.

Fire. Embers. Ash. Dragon. Leather. Freedom. Blood. Steel. Ale. Air. Safety.

Being so close to Daemon felt like nothing she had ever experienced before — It felt like she was drowning her whole life and then suddenly, she was able to swim up to the surface and take a deep breath — It felt like peace after war — like a beautiful and hot spring after a long and cold winter — like hearing the first sound after a lifetime of silence.

Feeling rather overwhelmed at the sudden development of the situation, Visenya placed her hands on the table, to be able to keep herself standing.

She closed her eyes to gather her breath. To her surprise, her restless mind stopped working — her entire body relaxed — her breath evened — her heart beat with a certain unfamiliar flatter.

Take a step closer. Close this horrible distance, Visenya almost voiced out loud. She imagined herself in his hold — imagined herself wrapped in his strong embrace that would protect her from the future to come — she imagined him nuzzling his head in the crook of her neck — she imagined him placing soft kisses down her neck to her shoulders.

And she almost moaned.

Visenya abruptly opened her eyes and slowly spun around to face him, her butt hitting the edge of the table with how close the two of them stood. She fully intended to look up at him, but the sight of him wearing the necklace she gave him, made her stop.

The necklace that represented her favor for the tourney was hanging around his neck, safely hidden underneath Daemon's doublet. "You are wearing it," she whispered in awe.

Her slender fingers pulled it out and into her view — her body filled with warmth at the sight. Visenya held it with a soft grip, tilting her head back to meet his intense lilac eyes.

"Of course I am — it brings me luck," Daemon said, his expression very hard to read. She raised her brow, "I thought you did not need luck to win."

Her uncle gave her his famous smirk and clarified, "I do not. I do like to have it with me nonetheless." Visenya only hummed in response, too busy staring into his eyes.

Visenya's indigo eyes searched every part of Daemon's face, noting a faint scar on the left side of his forehead and how his jaw clenched, how his throat bobbed — she met his darkened gaze again.

Daemon slowly raised his hand to cup the right side of her face and despite herself, Visenya eagerly leaned into his warm touch.

His eyes traveled further down, stopping at her lips that she immediately parted. Daemon's nostrils flared at the sight — and suddenly, they were even closer than they were seconds ago — she was not sure who moved first — all that Visenya could focus on was the fact that they shared the same breath now, their noses almost touching.

Gods, he radiated warmth. He felt so solid and safe. She wanted to wrap her arms around him and cling to him — she wished to bury her face in the warm curve of his neck and never let go.

Stop. Stop the time. Stop the world. Stop everything. She needed everything to stop.

Had she ever known true peace? No, not in her first life and certainly not in her second one. Had she ever known true safety? No.

Well, if Visenya was able to find some sort of peace, she imagined that it would feel like this. Pure bliss — that was how being around Daemon felt like to her.

If Visenya could continue to exist in this peaceful moment, she would — in this perfect moment where there were just the two of them — where she did not have to worry for her dying mother or the future of the Targaryen dynasty and the weight of the entire world on her shoulders.

The irregular beat of her heart and the excited flutter in her belly made her freeze in her place. What in the name of all Hells is this? To save herself and the situation, Visenya leaned to the side and kissed her uncle's cheek.

She cleared her throat and pulled away from Daemon's hold entirely. "I should go and get ready now. Laena just might murder me if I make her miss the opening ceremony. Good luck, uncle."

Not giving him the time to process what just happened, Visenya bolted out of his chambers, not daring to even look at him — out of the fear of her heart jumping out of her chest, out of fear that Daemon would notice how flushed her skin had become at his touch.

On the way to her chambers, she had to stop to take a deep breath, clutching her chest as if she could somehow stop her racing heart.

Shaking herself out of her thoughts, Visenya all but barged into her chambers where her maids were waiting to help her dress for the tourney.

She had no time to think about what just occurred. She had no time to replay the events in her head to figure out when had she exactly become physically attracted to her uncle.

She had no time at all for these things — so she pushed the questions out of her mind and decided to deal with them later.

Visenya hurriedly dressed, the Valyrian braids on her head keeping her hair up without a single silver-gold wave escaping.

"My Princess? I apologize, but I could not find your favorite bracelet anywhere," one of the maids with dark blonde hair and sweet brown eyes, said apologetically.

"That is alright, Camyla. I would like to wear my new necklace today," Visenya waved dismissively. "As you wish, Princess," Camyla bowed her head and helped her clasp the necklace around her neck.

Visenya was utterly surprised at how well Daemon's latest gift suited her — especially with her beautiful dress which was made with great help from her mother. Rhaenyra and she struck an agreement to wear the same dress for the tourney, just in different colors. Her sister chose red and Visenya opted for indigo purple, to match her eyes.

The two of them spent hours with their mother, working on both dresses and keeping sweet Aemma company while she was on bed rest. Plus, it helped her mother distract herself from the uncomfortable pregnancy.

Just when she was about to sit down and let her maids place light powders on her face, a feminine voice called, "Where were you? I was searching the entire castle for you! You had me thinking that you bailed on me!" Laena complained.

Her cousin was already ready to depart, almost sparkling in her blue dress — living up to her nickname, the Pearl of Driftmark. "I was with Uncle Daemon," Visenya responded.

"Oh?" The sound Laena made had a certain questioning yet funnily teasing tilt to it so Visenya scrunched her face in question. "Oh? What do you mean 'oh'?"

"It is nothing. I just thought that you were angry with him," Laena shrugged innocently. "I am — or I was, I guess," Visenya sighed, crossing her arms over her chest. "I can never stay angry with him for long and that is rather frustrating."

Laena chuckled. "Oh, I do not blame you, cousin. With a face like that, no wonder why you cannot bare to part from him."

A sudden but feral anger rose in her very blood — a soft of protectiveness and possessiveness that she had never known or felt, manifested itself in her system.

"You think my uncle handsome?" Visenya questioned, struggling to keep her voice steady. With the help of the mirror, she could see her cousin looking at her intently, "And you do not?"

She almost bared her teeth right at Laena. By all Gods, if she had any less restraint, Visenya would have already ripped her cousin's face with her bare hands for this!

A logical side of her brain questioned, Why are you angry? Your uncle is not yours to want or to have, isn't he? Visenya growled back at the stupid voice and eyed Laena, "I thought you like girls?"

"I do. But that does not mean that I do not know how to appreciate a handsome face when I see one," she winked at her. "If you are finished getting ready, we should get going. A coach must be waiting for us already."

Visenya stood up and went to take a look at herself in her mirror. She tried to study herself from a few different angles before she announced with a frown, "I do not like it."

"What? You look beautiful. You always look beautiful," Laena stared at her in utter disbelief. Visenya rolled her eyes, a small smirk on her lips. "I know."

"I think I am going to rebraid my hair," she decided. "You can get going though. I do not wish for you to miss a second of the tourney. I know how much you enjoy them."

Her cousin's face showed uncertainty. "Are you certain that I should not wait for you?" Already moving back to her smaller mirror, Visenya nodded, "Yes. I will be right behind you, I promise."

Once Laena left her, Visenya dismissed the maids that came back to offer help. She started undoing her braids and redoing them as fast as she could when a knock on the door was headed. "Princess?"

She did not recognize the voice from the other side but she responded anyway, "Yes?" A small plump woman with strawberry-blonde hair and hazel eyes entered her chambers. Visenya turned to her only to notice dried blood on the woman's sleeves.

Before she could question anything, the unfamiliar woman spoke, "You have requested for me to find you once the Queen begins her labors." She ran her hands down her attire. "I would have gotten to you sooner, but your lady mother needed me more."

Visenya's heart jumped in her throat. She swallowed, clenching her hands into fists under the table. "It started? But the due date is not for another week."

The woman gave her a soft smile, something akin to understanding and sympathy in her big hazel eyes. "The babes come when they are ready, my Princess, and your sibling decided that day is today."

Of course. But this was too soon. Visenya was not yet ready. She slowly nodded towards the woman, trying to offer a grateful smile that came out strained anyway. "Thank you for telling me."

There is nothing you can do now. It is over, she tried to tell herself, repeating the words Bloodraven had said to her years ago, 'Rhaenyra and Alicent were always meant to be lovers turned into enemies — just as your mother was always meant to die while birthing Baelon — just as your father was always meant to remarry when that happens.'

Visenya was sent back to change the past, but some things were simply written in the stars. She was no God, she did not have the power to rewrite realities to fit her interests, despite how much she wished to.

She took a couple of deep breaths, looked at herself in the mirror, and decided it was time to head out. She closed the door behind her and stopped in her tracks — Visenya was supposed to turn right and go to the County yard where a carriage was waiting for her. But she still glanced to the left side — the path that leads to her mother's chambers.

You promised to leave for the tourney. You promised you would not interfere or be present during your mother's labors, Visenya kept telling herself.

But she still did not tell her — Aemma still does not know that I love her. Visenya gripped the fabric of her dress tightly.

Remember what it was like, birthing your son and your daughter all alone. Remember the hurt, the pain, the tears, the blood. Remember how you thought that you were going to die? Remember how you wished for someone to hold your hand because you were not sure if you were going to make it out alive?

She still did not know — and if Visenya did not tell her now, there would certainly be no time for later became her mother ran out of time.

With that final thought, Visenya started sprinting to her mother's chambers as fast as her legs could carry her.

 

 

_____

 

 

king's landing, 110 AC
laena velaryon

Laena glanced at the empty sit beside her. She kept turning around, trying to catch a glimpse of Visenya. Her cousin promised to come as soon as she was ready — but too much time passed already and Laena was starting to worry.

Even Rhaenyra was not here, Laena noted as she studied the royal box. The seat beside Visenya's was empty and Lady Alicent occupied the seat on the other side. Laenor was sitting to her right while Lady Jeyne sat in the line under them. Her parents were in the line above hers as were the King and The Hand.

The crowd cheered in the background — and they did not quiet down even when the King stood up and started speaking, "Be welcome! I know many of you have traveled long leagues to be at these games. But I promise you will not be disappointed."

"When I look at the fine knights in these lists, I see a group without equal in our histories. And this great day has been made more auspicious by the news that I am happy to share: Queen Aemma has begun her labors!" The crowd began applauding as her younger cousin slid into her arranged seat. "May the luck of the Seven shine upon all combatants!"

With that, the tourney officially began. Laena sighed, unconsciously playing with the hem of her dress. Seeing her nervousness, her dear brother slid his hand into hers, squeezing it in comfort. Laena gave him a thankful smile.

She turned her attention back to the tourney when her great-uncle rode to the royal box and called out, "Princess Rhaenys Targaryen! I would humbly ask for the favor of The Queen Who Never Was."

Laena tried very hard not to smirk at the obvious act of treason. Her mother approached her uncle, Boremund Baratheon, and slid her favor down his lance. They exchanged a few words before her great-uncle rode away.

From the back of her eye, Laena noticed Rhaenyra and Lady Alicent whispering gossip to each other while sharing secretive smiles. She winced in her seat as Boremund Baratheon got unhorsed.

Once they got her great-uncle out of the way, a red stallion galloped in with Leo on its back. Laena whistled, a very unladylike behavior but she was here to support her friend, wasn't she?

Leo rode to the royal box, lifting his helmet from his face and calling her over, "Lady Laena, if I may be graced with your favor." Feeling the grin rising on her face, Laena wasted no time in sliding down the steps and giving him her favor.

"Of course, Ser Leo," she said, doing a low curtsy which made the Tyrell boy laugh. Laena leaned onto the railing separating them as the watery blue eyes searched the rest of the royal box. "Where is Visenya?"

"I do not know. She told me she would be here soon," she shrugged, but the feeling of dread tugged at her heart all the same. "Good luck, Leo. And do remember that you can win this."

Leo raised his brow in surprise. "You truly believe that? Have you gotten soft on me, my Lady? Should I be worried?"

Laena laughed, waving him off. She finally sat back down, ready for Leo's match against a Tarly knight. She was not even surprised when her friend won the first round with ease, unhorsing his opponent swiftly.

All knights that survived the first round gathered themselves into a line, facing the royal box. A plump man made its way to the center of the ground, boasting to the crowd, "Prince Daemon of House Targaryen, Prince of the City, will now choose his first opponent!"

Just like a Valyrian God of War, Prince Daemon rode in, clad in his black armor with a black stallion underneath him. He circled the grounds and Laena found herself biting her lip at the sight.

He was perhaps one of the only men who could actually get her interest — if not the only one. And who could blame her? Daemon was the perfect, dashing prince and a dragonrider on top of it!

Prince Daemon made a show of looking over every knight before he stopped in front of Ser Gwayne Hightower, pointing his lance at him. Laena's eyes widened a friction as she remembered her conversation with Visenya and Leo — their plan to get Gwayne Hightower off her cousin's back by injuring the Hand's son.

"For his first challenge, Prince Daemon Targaryen chooses Ser Gwayne Hightower of Oldtown, a son of the Hand of the King!" A man announced, making the drums start beating louder.

Both men got into their positions. Laena kept her eyes on Daemon — and she noticed a moment where his pale lilac eyes landed on the empty seat beside hers. His eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched.

Suddenly, Prince Daemon met her gaze, as if asking where his niece was — and then looked away.

Daemon nudged his horse forward, meeting Ser Gwayne halfway. To everyone's surprise, the Hand's son managed to lend in a good kick and the Prince dropped his lance.

When they met again, Daemon purposely placed his lance over the railing, aiming for Ser Gwayne's horse. Holy shit, Laena thought as she watched the head of Otto's son meet the ground with a crack.

Ser Gwayne lay there, unmoving and Laena had to wonder if this was Daemon's way of punishment — not only for being Otto Hightower's son, but also for what he dared to ask of Visenya — for even daring to get close to her.

They collected the Hand's son off the ground while Daemon rode before the royal box, purposely throwing his hands in the air while looking at Otto tauntingly, with his famous smirk.

Daemon rode away to prepare for facing his next opponent and Laena finally stood up from her seat. Before she could make her way out of the royal box, her mother grabbed her arm to stop her. "Where are you going, my darling?"

"I am going to look for Visenya. She should have joined me ages ago. I am starting to worry," Laena simply said. Both her parents nodded and let her leave.

She could only hope that Visenya did not do what Laena thought she did.

 

 

_____

 

 

king's landing, 110 AC
visenya targaryen

Utterly breathless, Visenya fought Ser Ryam Redwine, a captain of her father's Kingsguard who was guarding her mother's chambers. She threw some harsh, desperate words at the man who only followed the order of his King.

But she did not care.

She could not.

If it came down to it, Visenya would have gladly sliced the guard's neck open — she would have killed him in cold blood and fought her way into Aemma's chambers, from where she could hear grunting and occasional screaming. Luckily, it did not come to that.

As soon as she entered the chambers, Visenya found her mother lying on her back, twisting on the bed and gripping the bloodied sheets in her hands. She stopped dead in her tracks only to whisper, "Mama. . ."

At the sound of her voice, her mother opened her unfocused indigo eyes and stared at her, something akin to despair in them. Aemma tried to sit up, but ended up groaning in pain. "Vissie, you should not be here."

Visenya shook her head, voice determined.  "You cannot make me leave, mama. I will not go. I refuse to leave you." Sweat slid down her mother's brow and Visenya took a few steps closer to the bed until Aemma's voice stopped her. "Do not come closer, you will ruin your dress!"

"I can always make another," she huffed. As if a stupid dress mattered — but she could not hold it against her mother who was possibly high on the milk of the poppy, her words slurring.

Visenya took her seat at the bedside, frantically looking around to find a flock of midwives all around the chambers. She had not noticed their presence, too focused on her mother. "How is she progressing?" she asked them.

"There have been some complications. The babe seems to be too big and she is not open enough — she needs more time even though her body is telling her to push," one of them answered.

Visenya paled at the revelation. "She should push? Already? Isn't it too early?" She had gone through two labors — it took only a few miserable hours for her dead son to enter the world while it took almost three full days for Lenna to be born.

But if Aemma started labors only this morning, there was no way it was already time to push, was it?

Beside her, Aemma let out a pained scream that startled Visenya out of her skin. "Here, mama. Hold my hand. Take my hand. Squeeze as hard as you want to," she offered, grabbing her mother's cold and sweaty palm.

One of the midwives approached the bed and wiped Aemma's forehead with a wet cloth. "We believe the Queen's labors started in the night, but her water broke only this morning,"

Visenya fought hard not to hiss in pain at how tightly her mother held onto her hand as another contraction hit her. And then she chided herself, That is nothing compared to how much pain she is in. Bite your tongue and stay silent!

Her mother's scream echoed around her and Visenya was sure that the sound would haunt her forever. She could hear her own heart beating in her ears, an uneven beat of fear and dread.

Visenya shook her head, turning to the midwifes. "She is struggling too much. There must be something we can do to help her."

"We suggested to Maester Mellos for the Queen to stand up and take a slow walk around the chambers. It should help open her up more," a tall, older, black-haired woman said.

Right. Of course. She could have smacked herself then and there. Walking around helped her birth Lenna. How come her brain could not function properly when she needed it to?

"Alright. That is what we are going to do then," Visenya decided, turning to push a few sweaty stray hairs behind her mother's ear. "Mama, we are going to help you stand. Is that alright?"

Visenya was not certain if her mother was in her right mind to answer, from the pain and the milk of poppy both. She desperately shook her head, a pleading look in deep indigo eyes. "I cannot. It hurts."

Aemma's eyes screamed pain and desperation — as if she was asking Visenya to help end it all — as if she wished for death rather than having to suffer more in this world.

Visenya could feel a cold trail of sweat run down her back, feeling her throat closing up. "I know. I know. But, it will help you. I will be right here, holding you. I will not let you fall," she promised.

Midwifes stepped closer, placing their hands under Aemma's arms to help Visenya lift her mother into a sitting position. Aemma howled in pain but Visenya could not stop. I'm sorry. I'm sorry — But I'm doing this to help you.

Just when they were about to put her mother on her feet, an angry male voice shouted, "What is the meaning of this?! The Queen should be in bed!"

Maester Mellos was standing there, a vial of something in his hands and a look full of rage on his old face. The oldest of the midwifes responded, her tone sharp, "We all agreed that walking should help her open up more."

He almost went red in the face from anger. "No, it should not! You will only exhaust her further. The Queen cannot stand on her own two feet! Get her back into that bed at once!"

She was prepared to argue. She was prepared to jump on the Maester and rip him to shreds — but Aemma got ahold of her chin, and turned her head around to face her "Vissie. . ." she whispered pleadingly.

"Listen to me, my girl, my beautiful, strong girl," Aemma moaned in pain, leaving a trail of blood down Visenya's face and neck. "You are so very different from what this world demands of you to be — and you are not worse for it. Do not let them change you, ever."

Her eyes filled with unshed tears. This was it, she realized. This was her final chance to say what she came here to say. This was time to say goodbye — and then she would lose her mother forever. "I won't. I won't," Visenya nodded, her voice shaky.

"You were not born to be soft and quiet. You were born to make the world shatter and shake at your fingertips. You will change the world, my special, precious girl — I just know it," her mother barely managed to get out in between groans of pain.

If these were not the sweetest words Visenya heard in both her lives. . .

Maester Mellos appeared from somewhere behind her. He extended a vial to her mother, "Here, my Queen."

"What is that?" Visenya frowned, watching Aemma take a large gulp of the substance. The old man glared at her. "Milk of the poppy — it is for the pain." Her frown only deepened at that. "Didn't she already have enough?"

"You may think you know everything just because you received an informal education from the Citadel, but you do not, princess. Here, I am the one who knows everything so you should not be standing in my way," the man huffed.

And if Visenya had turned her head to the side at that moment, she would have seen one of the midwifes sniff at the now empty vial — and then frown in suspension.

But she did not, because her mother spoke to her again with her eyes half-closed, "My baby, my perfect baby — so perfect, from the moment they first laid you in my arms. You have always been so strong. I am going to need you to be strong for a little while longer, is that alright?"

She could do nothing but nod. Visenya could do it — she could be a pillar that will hold her family together — what was a little more weight added for her to carry on her shoulders?

"Rhaenyra will need you by her side. Do not let that Hightower girl get between you," Aemma murmured, the milk of the poppy finally sinking in. "Promise me that you will protect her."

"I will. I promise," Visenya vowed, feeling her mother squeeze her hand, as if to thank her.

Her father's voice cracked like thunder as he barged into the chambers, "What's happening? What is my daughter doing here? Who let her in?!"

Visenya almost hissed at them — she almost bared her teeth — she would bite anyone who dared to take her away from her mother now.

"It is alright, Vissie, my little flame. You have grown — you do not need me any longer," Aemma's soft but sure words made her snap her head around, as if she was slapped.

"No. No. I will always need you — so fight, please," she begged — she who had never begged for anything in her life. She would have gotten down on her knees. She would have prayed to any God that would save her mother. "Please, for me," Visenya cried out.

Aemma's tears and sweat mingled on her face, but her indigo eyes were bright. Her mother's hand shook as she stroked her cheek. "I am sorry if I ever failed you, my sweet girl."

How the hell did Visenya ever think that she could get through this? She had seen and survived such horrors in her first life — and yet nothing compared to this.

She had seen Vaella Velaryon die through the visions Bloodraven sent her — her mother who was betrayed and left to die alone — her mother who only got to hold her in her arms for a few moments, barely enough to name her — she had watched Vaella bleed out — had watched the light vanish from her amethyst eyes.

Visenya had seen Cersei's dead body, crushed beneath the fallen debris from the Red Keep — her mother who had watched all her children die except her — who had loved her so fiercely — who had held her like a drop of water on her open palm.

And still, those moments could not compare to watching Aemma die. Visenya had seen all three of her mothers die and yet seeing Aemma's fire flickering, on the verge of going out completely — it was the worst kind of torture — it was pure agony.

"Mama, I. . .I—" Visenya stuttered out, unable to express her love with words. But, her eyes spoke volumes. I love you. I love you. I love you, they told the world.

"I know, Vissie. I have always known," her mother smiled at her — the last smile she would ever get from her.

From behind, she could hear her father and Maester Mellos speaking — and suddenly, she was yanked off her seat, two pairs of armored arms holding her in their bruising grip.

"Mama! No! No! Let me go!" Visenya screamed as soon as she felt Aemma's hand slip from her own. The Kingsguard carried her away from the chambers — still, she did not stop fighting — she did not stop screaming and clawing at them.

Visenya was thrown out of the chambers like she was a stray dog. As soon as the Kingsguard put her down, they locked the door. That hardly stopped her from rushing at the wooden door, banging it with her shoulders, with her fists, with her legs. Anything — Anything just to get to her mother.

There was this awful ringing in Visenya's ears, followed by Aemma's screams in the distance. She did not care — she rushed at the door again and again and again, trying to break it down.

A pair of arms wrapped themselves around her. Visenya barely registered what was happening around her. She had no idea who was holding her for a solid minute or two. When she stopped struggling in the person's hold, she figured out it was Laena.

Visenya could not hear anything except for the ringing in her ears. Laena tried to talk to her, but all Visenya saw were her lips moving — no sound came out. The light coming from the windows was too much. Everything was moving so fast yet so slow. She struggled to breathe — feeling as if someone suddenly sat down on her chest.

She had no idea when she even found herself sitting on the ground with Laena right beside her, holding her hands. She had no idea how much time passed since she was thrown out of her mother's chambers — but as soon as the door opened, the ringing in her ears stopped.

Viserys almost flew out, carrying a small blanket with something wrapped inside it — No. Not something. It was her brother, Baelon. Maester Mellos followed right behind him.

If her father noticed her, he did not comment. He did not even spare her a glance, too focused on the boy in his arms — the son he dreamed to have all his life.

Visenya dared to look into her mother's chambers only to see blood from the sheets drippingndown to the floor, creating a red puddle. She would have continued to stare at it, had it not been for a plump midwife from earlier who suddenly found herself in front of her.

"I am sorry to inform you that Queen Aemma perished. She has birthed a son named Baelon," her soft voice spoke of the truth that Visenya knew in her heart already. "I am sorry for your loss, Princess."

Visenya expected to receive news differently. She expected to rage, to cry, to scream — anything really. But, there was nothing — nothing except for calm.

As if a bucket of cold water was poured all over her, Visenya suddenly gained back her consciousness. She stood up, ready to walk away, but Laena's hold on her arms made her stop

"Visenya, where are you—?" her friend began, but Visenya cut her off, "I need to go. I need to find Rhaenyra. I have to tell her. I have to be the one to tell her."

Because she promised to her mother — It was Aemma's last wish for her to take care of Rhaenyra — and so she will.

"You should sit down. You are not alright. You are in no condition to go," Laena shook her head, looking at her as if she might break any second now.

But she would not. She had her sister to take care of — she was not allowed to break until she made sure Rhaenyra would be alright.

Despite Laena's advice, Visenya went searching for her sister only to find her running towards her, a panicked look on her face — and of course that Hightower bitch followed right behind her.

"Visenya? What is happening? Father and Lord Hand left so suddenly and Lord Corlys followed soon after. I was so worried, I thought the worst—" Rhaenyra panted as she reached her. "Is that blood?"

Visenya looked down at herself, now fully aware that her mother's blood was covering her dress as well as her hands — hells, even the right side of her face.

She looked back up at her sister — at her responsibility and instantly, she knew.

She knew it was up to her to say what had to be said. To do what had to be done. Visenya no longer had a choice to decide what she could do and what she couldn't do — what she was capable or incapable of doing. There was no room for weakness.

She must do it all.

It would certainly not be Viserys who is going to step up and take care of this. It would not be her father who is going to tell Rhaenyra the worst news she heard in her life — It will be Visenya.

"Rhaenyra," she started calmly, taking a deep breath. "Mama is dead." No more words needed to be said. Visenya watched her sister take in the news — she watched tears gather in her eyes — she watched as tears slid down her sister's face.

Rhaenyra jumped into her arms with a cry that tore Visenya's heart into pieces. She wrapped her arms around her, cocooning her into her warm and safe embrace — stopping her from breaking completely.

This is how it was going to be from now on. All of the ugliness, the sadness, the tears, the things most people cannot even stand to think about — they all must live inside of her. She must be capable of everything from now on.

Visenya was not allowed to break — not yet.

Notes:

I wrote and rewrote this chapter like five times. I wanted Aemma's goodbye to be perfect and this was as close to perfection as I could get. I hope I didn't disappoint?

If you think this chapter is sad, just wait for Chapter 35 and for the Chapter in which Aegon is born. Let's just say that Vissie is in for a number of breakdowns 😭

My Wattpad: seven-moons

Chapter 34: The Final Farewell

Summary:

In which:

— Visenya is there for her sister
— We say a final goodbye to Aemma 😭
— Visenya takes over everyone's responsibilities

king's landing, 110 AC
visenya targaryen

Visenya stared at herself in the mirror. She wore a simple black dress embroidered with even blacker details — the dark designs swirling on her bodice and skirt. She wore no jewelry and a part of her hair was braided into two braids and then joined into one while the rest was falling freely down her back in perfectly defined waves.

She played with the hem of her sleeve, the only sound in her chambers being the beat of her calm heart.

It surprised her — her reaction to Aemma's death. Visenya experienced many losses in her first life and yet she had never reacted in such a way.

Admittedly, those situations were quite different. In her first life, Visenya had no time on her hands to truly get over losing the people she loved. There was always something that needed to be done, something that was more important, something that could not wait for her to heal.

But not this time.

Visenya was still not her father's Heir — she was a simple princess, a girl who lost her mother. Now she had all the time in the world to grieve — and yet, she did not. Oddly, she felt rather calm. She expected anger and tears and yet her eyes remained dry and her heart continued to beat in the same steady rhythm.

Of course, if one was to dig deeper than that, one would notice that this is not the case. The truth was that Visenya felt like crying but no tears came. It was a sort of sad sickness, sick sad, when she could not feel any worse.

Visenya found herself questioning how could this be. But the answer was simple — Some people, like herself, learn to function in chaos, in the darkest of times, because that was all they have ever known.

Visenya forced her features to morph into a natural look. This was undoubtedly one of the saddest and hardest days she is ever going to have to face — and she will do it with a brave face. . .She has to. Her sister needed her.

Last night, she was preparing for bed when the knock on the doors made her pause. She pulled her robe to herself tighter and shouted, "Yes?"

The door opened only for her sister to slip in, much to Visenya's surprise. They have not had much of a relationship in recent years — admittedly, they have grown closer since the start of their mother's pregnancy.

Still, Visenya did not expect Rhaenyra to come to her for comfort — not that she was complaining. The sight of her sister's red, puffy eyes and tear-stained cheeks made her heart ache and her brain swirl with worry.

"Can I stay with you tonight? I do not wish to be alone," her sister questioned, her voice groggy from hours of crying. Without a single thought, Visenya nodded. "Of course."

They settled in Visenya's bed with her pulling the covers over them. They lay there, facing each other yet no words were exchanged in the darkness. Visenya's mind spun with endless possibilities — she tried to think of something comforting to say.

What would she have wanted to hear after all losses she endured? What words could make the horrible pain disappear? The answer was: none. Nothing could bring Aemma back so comforting words were of no use.

Sometimes, just knowing that someone is there for you was enough. Sometimes, someone's presence was enough. Sometimes, being in silence with someone was enough. Visenya only hoped that her presence was enough for her sister since she had no idea what else to do or say.

Just when she was about to close her eyes, she felt her sister's body shake uncontrollably beside hers. Rhaenyra made no sound yet her tears were falling freely on the pillow.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Visenya questioned, her voice barely above a whisper. Rhaenyra hiccuped and moved closer to her. "Mama is really dead, isn't she? She is not coming back?"

"Yes," she responded, wiping Rhaenyra's tears with her thumb. Her sister took a few deep breaths to steady her breathing.

"I—I never even imagined that this might happen — that we might lose her. . .Our siblings never lived longer than a few days, but she always managed to survive," Rhaenyra confessed. "I thought she would be alright — I thought everything will be alright and now she is dead. I did not even get a chance to say a proper goodbye."

A sound that reminded Visenya of a wounded animal, left Rhaenyra's throat and Visenya's heart ached. "I should have held her tighter — I should have told her I love her — I should have. . ."

Visenya placed her hand on Rhaenyra's shoulder and slowly began tracing soft patterns down her arm, trying to calm her down. "It is not your fault, Nyra. No one could have predicted that this might happen."

There was a beat of silence between them before her sister spoke again as if a realization finally hit her, "Gods, we are supposed to burn her body tomorrow, aren't we? I do not think that I can do it. I cannot command Syrax to burn her. Vissie, I cannot."

Rhaenyra shook her head in desperation, her eyes glistening with new tears that were waiting to spill. "You won't have to. I will do it," Visenya decided. She would shoulder this burden as well — She could do it. It was her duty as the eldest. It was a promise that she made to Aemma.

Rhaenyra settled back on her pillows, seemingly ready to rest. Visenya noticed a soft grimace on her sister's face and then her eyes fell on her wet pillow. Without a second thought, she switched their pillows so Rhaenyra would have a warm and dry one.

"Sleep now. We have a long day ahead of us and you need rest," Visenya mused quietly. She laid down her head, resting it amongst her sister's tears. She did not mind that though — this discomfort was worth it if it meant that Rhaenyra would not have to sleep on her wet pillow.

Without another word, Visenya pulled Rhaenyra into her arms, locking her in her warm embrace, wanting to shield her from the horrible events that happened — wanting to keep her safe in a bubble until morning when no force in the world could stop Arrax from burning their mother's dead body to ash.

Visenya's heart bled from all the thoughts and memories of yesterday — all raging inside her. It was worth it — it had to be worth it, all the pain and suffering she endured. She was sent here, to this second life for a specific reason. She had a mission, a purpose. She was never closer to achieving her goal than she was now.

This path had cost her dearly — it had cost her Aemma. And Visenya had a feeling that this was not the last of it.

Still, there was no time to feel sorry for herself. She had gone through so much to get here. She would not break now. Not even as the memories of last night kept invading her mind.

She was not surprised that she could not fall asleep. Most of her nights after she had found out about her mother's pregnancy were spent like this. She would sit by the window and read in the moonlight — or she would observe the lights in the city below.

Visenya always liked the time before dawn because there was no one around to remind her of how she was supposed to act, of what she was supposed to do, of who she was supposed to be — so it became easier, clearer, to remember who she truly was.

There was something about the night that always fascinated Visenya. It seemed almost like the night is an entirely different world, an entirely different life even. Time was much kinder at night as well — there was nothing to wait for, nothing was out of date.

Everything seemed to be moving slowly yet time passed regularly. She could observe the moon for hours and yet she would always feel as if only minutes passed.

Rhaenyra's labored breathing and whimpering made Visenya return to reality. With the help of the moonlight, Visenya could clearly see a drop of sweat sliding down her sister's brow. Rhaenyra gripped the sheets, her movements harsh, a frown plastered on her young face.

Visenya walked over to her bed and leaned down to move a few stray stands of her sister's head from her face. She caressed her cheek, kissed her forehead and muttered, "It's just a dream. Everything is alright. I am here."

She continued to whisper the same words to her, over and over again. It took a while for Rhaenyra's breathing to even and for her frown to disappear. Once Visenya was certain Rhaenyra's nightmare stopped, she stood up again.

Just when she was about to return to her seat by the window, a soft knock on the door was heard. Intrigued, Visenya unlocked her door only to find a nursemaid on the other side of it.

"It is the middle of the night, Sasha," she whispered, careful not to wake up Rhaenyra. The woman bowed her head. "I apologize if I have awoken you, my Princess, but I was sent to inform you that your brother, Prince Baelon has passed away only minutes ago."

Visenya blinked. In all this chaos, she had completely forgotten about little Baelon who was supposed to live for a day. She cleared her throat, "There was not a chance that he might survive, was there?"

Sasha sent her a look of pity. "I am afraid not, my Princess. When they brought little Prince to the nursery I heard his breathing — it was not the best. At first, Maesters thought it was meconium in his lungs that made Prince Baelon struggle to breathe, but the more time it passed, the more we were certain that his lungs were not properly developed."

"We were waiting and praying for his recovery but his condition had not changed. We were prepared for his death," Sasha, the young woman paused and then added, "I am sorry for your loss, Princess."

She had spent every day reading stories and singing lullabies in High Valyrian to her mother's belly — and yet, Visenya felt nothing. What was the loss of her baby brother compared to the loss of her mother? It was insignificant — it was like comparing a pond to the ocean or a single cloud to the entire sky.

"Prince Baelon's funeral shall be tomorrow as well. We will prepare a funeral pyre and place it next to the late Queen Aemma's," Sahsa added. With a nod, Visenya closed the door and returned to her window.

Her favorite servant's voice softly said, "Princess? It is time to leave." Camyla stood by the open door, her soft eyes full of silent understanding.

Visenya checked herself one last time in the mirror. She is supposed to go and collect her sister before they leave for the funeral. She is going to have to appear strong, especially today.

There was no other way, she could get through this by building the strongest wall she could possibly build — if only to successfully separate her heart from her mind.

She successfully made it to Rhaenyra's chambers and she found her sister sitting on her bed. Her inhumanly purple eyes were red from crying, having already lost their usual brightness.

Rhaenyra played with her fingers until she noticed her standing there. "Will it ever stop — this pain?" she questioned.

"No, I do not believe so," Visenya answered, hardly wishing to lie to her sister. Even now, she could feel holes in her heart — places that used to belong to the people from her first life. "It might never even lessen. But with time, you will learn how to live with it."

Rhaenyra slowly nodded then bit her lip and turned her head away. "I wonder if, for this entire day that our brother lived, our father finally found happiness," she said, her voice small and vulnerable.

Visenya's heart dropped for a moment, just thinking about her father holding little Baelon to his chest while exiting her mother's chambers and leaving behind her bloodied corpse. "He most likely did," Visenya shrugged.

"Father watched our mother waste away pregnancy after pregnancy without a single care for her health — even after she wished to stop bearing children, he made her do it anyway. He saw her pain and he ignored it — and now she is dead," Rhaenyra paused, "I do not think I will ever be able to forgive him for taking her away from us."

"Then don't forgive him. It is your right to feel this way," Visenya wiped away a tear that escaped her sister's eye. Rhaenyra locked gazes with her again. "But does that not make me a bad daughter?"

"No, Rhaenyra. It makes you human," Visenya denied with a shake of her head. "If you decide to forgive him, you are free to do so. If you decide never to talk to him again, that is alright as well. I shall support your decision either way."

There was a silent moment between them then, Visenya spoke again, "I do have an advice, though. It is not wise to bottle up your emotions until everything spills over. It is not wise to feel anger, sadness, grief, resentment — all at once either. Try to deal with one feeling at a time — try to focus on mourning mother."

Visenya took Rhaenyra's hand in her own. "In the meantime, give me that hate and anger and resentment you feel towards father. I can feel it all towards him for you. I can bear it." I can bear this too — I would hold the weight of an entire world for you as long as you are not in too much pain.

 

 

_____

 

 

Arrax's green scales gleamed beautifully under the sun. He stood on a hill, tall, in all his glory, facing the crowd of people that gathered for her mother's funeral — yet his bronze eyes were set on her, watching her, studying her, waiting for her to be ready to let Aemma rest.

But she would never be ready.

One of the Dragonkeepers informed her that Arrax behaved rather aggressively the previous day — which was very uncommon for him. Visenya knew why right away. Her Arrax felt everything she did. He felt her pain, her terror, her fear. He felt Aemma die.

Visenya was also told that Dreamfyre destroyed her cage and escaped her chains last night — her dragon cries echoed through the entirety of King's Landing. She could not even imagine what Dreamfyre felt when her mother died — when that beautiful bond between a Targaryen and her mount simply broke.

Visenya looked at the funeral pyre where her mother and brother lay, wrapped in cloth. Waves were crashing against the shore, the wind was blowing hard — and her mother was dead.

Her uncle took a step toward her, standing at her back. He stayed silent for a moment or two before he whispered, "They are waiting for you."

Feeling Rhaenyra tense beside her, Visenya squeezed her sister's hand and whispered back, "I need a moment." I am not ready. I am not ready.

Daemon placed his hands on her shoulders as if to steady her. I am not ready. Do not push me. I am not ready. Visenya shook herself out of his grip, as if his hands were made of molten lava. "I said, I need a moment," she said harshly.

All her grief screamed the same thing, This is not how it's supposed to be. Her mother is not really dead. She cannot be dead. And Visenya could practically hear the world laughing in her face and answering, But this is how it is. She is dead. Aemma is gone.

When she awoke in a body of a newborn babe, Visenya promised herself to not let anyone else into her heart again. She tried so hard to remain cold-hearted and indifferent towards her family members — but it was simply impossible.

That had been a terrible mistake on her part.

She thought that it was bound to happen. How could you know Aemma and not love her? She was destined to fail.

But that is what happens when you have lived a lonely childhood. You start getting attached to people as you get older — and you do it in hopes of getting the care and love that you missed out on when you were a child.

And Aemma gave it to her. She patched up a hole or two of her black heart — and Visenya could never repair her for it, for not giving up on her, for accepting her as she is.

"He won't even look at us," Rhaenyra's shaky voice broke her away from her thoughts. Visenya briefly turned her head to see her father, standing alone on the opposite side.

Good, let him look broken. Let him be alone. He does not deserve better than that, a very dark voice whispered in the back of her mind. But the other part of her wanted to cry out, Why does he look as if all life left him? How does he have the right to look like this?

Furious tears filled Visenya's eyes. First, he let them murder Aemma and then he let them. . .So Visenya had to be the one to. . .She had to. . .She could not just leave her like that. Visenya could still see and feel her mother's blood covering her hands and face — the memory of her mother lying still, her belly half-cut engraved in her mind.

Visenya's nostrils flared. Viserys deserved all the worst things in this world, she truly believed that. He let that grey rat cut her mother open — No, he ordered that grey rat to cut her mother open. His mate. His own mate!

"Loss of a mate is great — Some would say it is the greatest pain you could ever feel. Give him time," Daemon responded in High Valyrian.

"Give him time?" Visenya questioned incredulously, as if she could not believe her ears. "Yes. He will need your support, now more than ever." Daemon stepped forward so that he was now standing beside her.

Visenya's expression darkened before she turned away from Viserys. You are responsible for this, she wanted to shout. You have no right to lock yourself in your chambers and cry yourself to sleep. You did this!

"And what about us? What about what we need?" She turned to Daemon. "He was content on letting servants tell us about our mother's and brother's death. He could not ever gather some decency to face us and tells us himself. He did not bother to come and see if we were alright — he did not even bother to ask how we were holding up."

"All he cared about was his precious son. So no, uncle, I could not care less for what he needs," Visenya snarled in his face. Daemon looked a bit taken aback by her outburst so he tried to say, "Visenya—"

"He can go fuck himself," she spit out and spun away from him. Feeling the rage in her veins, Visenya took a few very brave steps forward and locked eyes with Arrax. "Dracarys!" she shouted, her voice sure.

Arrax did not need to be told twice. Her mount took a few thunderous steps forward as well and the next thing she knew, the funeral pyre was burning.

Two pairs of footsteps approached her. Laena slid her hand into hers, offering support while Leo stood beside her, his hand on the small of her back.

They were there to catch her, she realized, before she got a chance to fall. Now that all there was left of her mother were ashes perhaps she might even let them.

 

 

 

_____

 

 

 

The days after the funeral passed in a blur. Visenya did not see her father — who appeared to be sulking in his chambers. Pathetic. Was he not supposed to be a King? Was he not supposed to lead and help people in his kingdom, not lock himself in his chambers and play with his Valyrian model all day?

With each day he was proving to be a far worse King than Visenya expected. She knew better than anyone how hard it was to pretend to be alright before her advisors, how impossible it felt to manage a whole kingdom while you did not feel like getting up from your bed.

Still, you did it because you had to.

It was an obligation, a sacred duty that came along with the Iron Throne and the Crown on your head — it was a heavy burden that could not be carried by just anyone. The moment you took the crown, your life ceased to be your own. Your priorities, your feelings, they ceased to be personal — all that mattered was your kingdom and your people.

There was no time for grief or sulking, no time for crying or celebrating because there was always something to be done, there was always a new challenge arising, a new threat to eliminate.

But her father did not seem to understand that — or he just did not care about it. Even Daemon continued with his duty, spending most of his days with Gold Cloaks, killing criminals and dealing with his grief in his own way.

Visenya on the other hand, could mostly be found in Rhaenyra's chambers, holding her and rocking her as she cried. Her sister could sometimes barely get out of bed and it took Visenya to persuade her to eat on most days.

It was truly rare to see her in court when she was so focused on making sure her sister was alright. One morrow, Visenya made her way to the kitchens, hoping that Rhaenyra's favorite food might cheer her up. "Good morrow. Can you prepare a plate of lemon cakes?"

One of the cooks bowed his head. "Of course, my Princess." He turned to give orders to a younger cook and Visenya stood there, waiting.

She looked around, her lifeless indigo eyes noting that most kitchens maids were too focused on packing away a large portion of food that lay on one of the tables in the back. "Where is all this food going?" she questioned.

The main cook spun around to see what she was looking at and then responded, "We were ordered to dispose of it, My Princess."

It took Visenya a few moments to even remember why on earth did they have so much food prepared. Every day of the tourney for her father's heir was supposed to be followed by a series of dinners and feasts for the guests.

At the end of it all, Baelon was supposed to be born healthy and her mother was supposed to survive. The realm was supposed to get their promised heir — or at least that was what her father expected.

The first day of celebrations did not even pass and yet the whole Kingdom was in mourning. There would be no feasts and most of the food that was carefully prepared would go to waste.

A flash of memory appeared in her mind, her mother walking amongst the people of King's Landing, her mother visiting orphanages and reading to the children, sickly and bony hands and bodies of those little children, her mother's worried eyes.

"You won't be doing that," Visenya said after a while, a new plan in her mind already. "Pack it all up and put it in a carriage or two. Leave the rest to me."

The cook looked hesitant. "But, my Princess, it was an order from the King—" Visenya almost snorted at that. Viserys had locked himself in his chambers after Aemma's funeral. This order was Otto's, she was sure of it.

"You will not be getting in trouble, do not worry. If anyone dares to make a problem out of this, direct them to me," Visenya said with finality.

After informing servants and kitchen maids of her plan to send the food to the orphanages and gift the rest to the people of King's Landing, she left the kitchens and started walking towards the courtyard.

Along the way, she was stopped by her cousin, Jeyne Arryn. "Good morrow, cousin." Visenya nodded, "To you as well, cousin. I must apologize, but I am in quite a hurry."

Jeyne tilted her head to the side in question, her brilliant eyes observing her behind her black mourning veil. "Where are you going, if I might ask?"

"I am making a trip to the city to dispatch leftover food to the orphanages and people in general and then I must hurry back to hold women's court," Visenya answered.

Her cousin raised an intrigued brow. "Are you quite sure that is what you should be doing?" She asked, the carefully worded question ringing between them. Are you not supposed to be mourning? Are you not supposed to be crying and sulking in your rooms?, was what Jeyne truly asked.

"I have watched my mother do her Queenly duties for years. I know how to do it," Visenya shrugged.

She had been right beside her mother when she sat in the Queen's Ballroom and listened to women. She had been there to see her mother fight tooth and nail to help the children and people of King's Landing — Visenya had to continue where Aemma left off. If she did not, it would be as if she was failing her dead mother because everything Aemma did would be for nothing.

"You have a rather busy day then," Jeyne hummed. "I do. If you wish to join me, cousin, you are welcome to do so," Visenya offered in response. And so, Jeyne did. The two of them traveled around the city in a carriage, flanked by guards at all sides.

A woman was waiting there, with familiar round green eyes and dirty blonde hair. This woman came to every meeting of the women's court — and she was a caretaker in one of the orphanages. Sophie. Her mother even knew her by name.

Visenya could swear that Sophie almost collapsed at the sight of so much food. The woman had turned to her, mouth agape and voice shaking, "I have not enough words to thank you for this, my Princess! The children will be delighted!"

"I am happy to help," Visenya responded, watching as the servants that came with her carried full packages of food into the orphanage. One orphanage down, more to go. There was so much food to be given away.

The thing is, when food in the kitchens is prepared, it must always be fresh when it was to be served to those of royal blood. If it is not eaten in two days, the food becomes useless and so it gets thrown away most often than not — even if it is still in a rather eatable condition.

So all this food would be considered expired by the royal standards, it would be wasted and thrown away when there were so many people in King's Landing who go days without eating a meal. This way, the food serves its use and Visenya gets to help peasants.

"I know you have been struggling to keep everyone fed, Sophie. And I am aware that more struggles are to come now that my mother is not here to help," Visenya stated, readying herself for a ride to the next orphanage.

"The late Queen Aemma will be missed greatly, my Princess. The realm has not seen such a pure soul as was hers," Sophie simply said.

"If you or the children need anything, I want you to come directly to me. I will always find a way to help you," Visenya offered before the carriage departed.

When the food was finally given away to those who need it the most, Visenya and Jeyne made their way back to the Red Keep. "Children adore you," her cousin observed.

"No, they just adore food that I just provided them with," Visenya snorted in response. Noting a silence between them, she risked a look at her cousin only to find Jeyne observing her. "Do I have something on my face?"

"No. It is just that, I cannot figure out how you do it," her cousin confessed honestly. The words that she meant to say were, How do you do so much in your grief? How could you even function in your grief?

Visenya looked away as they entered the Maegor's Holdfast, "I was not given a choice," she answered simply before she stopped to observe a group of men currently speaking with Otto Hightower.

Jeyne and she shared a look and then approached the Hand. "Lord Hand, what is the meaning of this?" Visenya questioned.

Otto blinked, seemingly surprised to see her. "Princess Visenya, it is nothing of importance. The women's court was scheduled for today but since we have lost our Queen, it needs to be canceled."

"You will do no such thing," she told him. "It is me who is going to hold the women's court today, Lord Hand." Otto looked back to the group of men he was speaking with and then shook his head and started objecting, "Princess Visenya—"

"The world does not just stop because we have lost someone dear to us, Lord Hand. People need us, and I am going to do every day in my power to help," Visenya cut him off.

For a second she could almost see the wheels turning in his head — but she could not predict what was on his mind. She expected him to fight her on this, but he proved her wrong when he stepped aside and let her pass, a strange, dangerous glint in his eyes.

Notes:

Finally some sisterly content 🤭 Rhaenyra and Visenya will be spending more time together until something breaks them apart again *no one is surprised that it's gonna be Alicent*

Visenya taking care of everyone even though she needs to slow down and get her thoughts together is making me feel things. All my girlies who are oldest in the family and had to put their younger siblings first, where are you at? 💔

My Wattpad: seven-moons

Chapter 35: Heirs Of The Dragon

Summary:

In which:

— Viserys has two dreams
— Daemon and Visenya spy on the council meeting
— Daemon wins the award for the best uncle in the world

king's landing, 110 AC
viserys targaryen

Grieving the loss of someone you love felt like carrying them around, hidden and invisible to the naked eye but your spirit heavy with their memory and presence.

Loss and grief were always felt this way, at least for Viserys. The pain never changed — he had lost his mother, his uncle, his grandmother, his father, and his grandfather. He had many children that did not have a chance to draw their first breath and now his wife, his mate, his other half, his beloved Aemma.

Perhaps pain this time felt worse than any other — It was because of the mating bond, he was certain.

That beautiful blue bond, that string, that threat that connected their souls was gone — never to come back. Viserys could still feel the moment that the connection broke, when his beautiful mate drew her last breath, when her heart stopped beating.

Viserys felt it. He felt every agonizing second of it — and he will never forgive himself for being the cause of Aemma's death.

Just the memory of his mate trashing on her bloodied bed, screaming and screeching for help — pleading for him to not do this to her — her indigo eyes wide and terrified while he ordered the guards to hold her down as Maesters Mellos cut into her womb to deliver his son, his boy, his Baelon — the memory haunted his being every second of every day.

He did that. He was the reason his mate was ripped open. The weight of that guilt left him breathless, so much so that Viserys struggled to stand up under that pressure, the guilt eating him alive.

Viserys found himself desperately reaching for that blue bond within him, trying to tug on it — trying to feel Aemma on the other side of it, to no avail. The shining blue bond between him and Aemma was cut in half — it was not shiny any longer, it was growing darker, rusting.

He could remember feeling Aemma on the other side of it, sensing her laughter, sharing her joy and pain. Now, there was only silence — the horrible deadly silence that reminded Viserys of his severed connection with Balerion.

Viserys could hear Aemma's absence in very his soul, loud and luminous, sometimes it was a hushed echo, lingering low and lurking loose but never fading.

There was nothing there. Aemma was not there. She was not coming back. She was dead.

He killed her.

He used to think he could not go a day without seeing his mate's smile, without telling her things, and hearing her voice back. Then, that day arrived and it was so damn hard but the next one was even harder. And he knew with a sinking feeling that it was only going to get worse and he was not going to be alright for a very long time.

Viserys came to learn that losing someone was not an occasion or an event. It never happened just once. It happened over and over again. And he lost Aemma every time he lay in their shared bed and got a sniff of her lavender scent — whenever he looked at his Valyrian model and all the sculptures she had gifted him over the years.

He lost her every time he thought of kissing her, holding her, or wanting her. He went to bed every night just to lose her again. He lost her when he wished he could tell her about his day — or in the quiet mornings, when he woke up and reached for the empty space across the sheets.

Losing her has been the hardest thing Viserys ever had to live with. He was not ready to say goodbye. He was not ready to let Aemma leave — and he would give anything for just one more day, just one more second with her.

Aemma was ripped away from him before it was her time — and he felt as if a part of him has been ripped away too.

The only thing that could bring him a portion of comfort was something he had once heard his father say, when the loss of his own mate caught up to him.

"I have learned to trust in unconditional love. Because the one profound thing about death is that love never dies. Some bonds cannot be broken — even though Alyssa is not physically here, her heart is — it lives on within me. I carry her heart inside mine. I carry it on days when I discover something new. I carry it on days when beauty unfolds in the most unexpected places. I carry it on days when I find courage to heal and to grow. I carry it with me always. Someday, the two of us will meet again — and we will no longer be separated by time or space. But until that day, I will find comfort in knowing that your mother is still with me, her heart safely tucked inside mine. Some hearts just belong together, my son, and nothing will ever change that. I loved your mother then and I love her now — I always did and I always will. She is forever in my mind and forever in my heart."

So, Viserys will do as his father did before him. He will carry his mate with him, he will carry her hopes and dreams, her smile and laughter. He will carry her inside of his soul. He will always remember her love for him.

And he will be patiently awaiting the moment when the two of them will be reunited — in Heavens, in Balerion's realm, in the next life, whenever and wherever — his soul will always follow hers, his soul will always find hers.

But, until that day comes, he will have to learn to live without her — and that will prove to be the hardest task of all.

The first step to that goal was getting back on his feet — for his daughters, for his kingdom, for his people. And so, when his Hand called for the Council meeting for an important matter, Viserys finally found some strength in himself to leave his chambers.

Ser Erryk opened the doors to the Small council chamber and all the men gathered stood up and bowed their heads. The doors closed behind him and Viserys made his way to his seat.

He sighed heavily as he cast a look to his left only to find that his eldest daughter, his cupbearer, was not yet in attendance. Instead, Lord Corlys occupied Visenya's usual place. "Where is Visenya?"

Instead of answering his question, Otto began explaining why he thought to assemble the Small council, "Your Grace. This is the last thing any of us wish to discuss at this dark hour, but I consider the matter urgent."

"What matter?" Viserys asked, already feeling his headache coming. Otto's serious expression stared back at him as he said, "That of your succession. These recent tragedies have left you without an obvious heir."

Viserys blinked. This? He called him for this? Baelon, his beloved boy who lived only a day had been his heir and he passed away too, following after Aemma — the boy he had wished for, the boy he had dreamed of, ripped away from him as soon as the Gods gave him to Viserys.

"The King has an heir, my Lord Hand," Lord Corlys stated, which his Hand chose to ignore, nor removing his eyes from him. "Despite how difficult this time is, Your Grace, I feel it important the succession be firmly in place for the stability of the realm."

"The succession is already set by precedent and by law," Lord Strong argued. Lord Corlys nodded in agreement, finally taking his seat, "Shall we say his name? Daemon Targaryen."

"If Daemon were to remain the uncontested heir, it could destabilize the realm," Maester Mellos mused which had Otto nodding along. Lord Corlys cocked his head to the side, "The realm? Or this council?"

Viserys leaned further in his seat. If he thought they would be discussing the succession, he would not have left his chambers at all.

His mate and son were dead. At that moment, he could not care less about his supposed heir — whether it be Daemon or someone else.

"No one here can know what Daemon would do were he King, but no one can doubt his ambition," his Hand pointed out. "Look at what he did with the Gold Cloaks. The City Watch is fiercely loyal to him — an army of two thousand strong."

"An army you gave him, Otto," he finally spoke, his voice rising with each word, "I named Daemon Master of Laws, but you said he was a tyrant. As Master of Coin, you said he was a spendthrift that would beggar the Realm. Putting Daemon in command of the City Watch was your solution!"

Otto shook his head slowly, a pleading, pitiful look crossing his features. "A half-measure, Your Grace. The truth is, Daemon should be far away from this court."

Viserys defended his brother with a certain voice that left no room for arguments, "Daemon is my brother. My blood. And he will have his place at my court."

"Let him keep his place at court, Your Grace, but if the Gods should visit some further tragedy on you, either by design or by accident—" Mellos started only for Viserys to cut him off with a tired sigh.

"'Design'? What are you saying? My brother would murder me, take my crown?" He questioned the Maester, irritation lacing his voice. "Are you? Please. Daemon has ambition, yes, but not for the throne. He lacks the patience for it."

"The gods have yet to make a man who lacks the patience for absolute power, Your Grace," his Hand said slowly, as if trying not to anger him further. Mellos took his opportunity to speak again, "Under such circumstances, it would not be an aberration for the King to name a successor."

"Well, who else would have a claim?" Lord Strong asked. There was a tense silence in the Small Council chamber until Otto Hightower answered, "The King's firstborn child."

Just like that, Viserys's mind drifted to the dream he had a few nights ago. He was not even certain he should call it a dream since this one felt nothing like the ones he has seen before.

Viserys had dreamt of his son, of a boy that looked so much like him, just dressed in green his clothes embroidered with black. He dreamed of a girl with a golden crown that represented a stag's antlers.

But this. . .This was something else — not a dream but a vision.

Viserys found himself in the Throne Room, standing at its entrance and looking toward the Iron Throne. Suddenly, a man whose face he could not see walked straight through him, as if he did not exist, as if he could not see him, as if Viserys was merely a wandering soul and not a living person.

The Throne Room was full of blurred faces Viserys could not recognize — and they all appeared to be waiting for something, for someone.

The door opened and a person was announced, "Queen Visenya of House Targaryen, the First of Her Name, The Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm."

The assembled court knelt before the woman and Viserys could swear that the breath got knocked out of his lungs. Gods, this was Visenya — this was his daughter, slowly and gracefully making her way to the Iron Throne with her shoulders pushed back and the crown of Aegon the Conqueror on her head.

It was the older version of his beautiful girl, his firstborn. Her silver-gold hair was braided away from her face, making her look like a true warrior.

Viserys eagerly followed after her as Visenya finally sat herself on the Iron Throne, looking around the room. She sat there as if she was born to it — and it suited her way better than it ever did him — or his grandfather before him.

"Doesn't she look divine?" a voice from his right side questioned, startling Viserys. The man in question had red eyes, milk-white skin and long white hair along with a birthmark on the right side of his face — Viserys was certain he had never seen this man before, still, he dared to ask, "Where are we? Who are you?"

The unfamiliar man did not ever spare him a glance, his red eyes focused on Visenya, admiring her as if she was a gift sent from the Gods themselves. "We are where we are supposed to be, Viserys the First of His Name," the man said.

Before he could question more, his daughter's voice thundered across the Throne Room, "My Lords and Ladies, I thank you for assembling so quickly. As you well know, my father, the late King Viserys, The First of His Name — had passed. And it is my wish for him to go down in history bearing the name Viserys the Peaceful, for he has done everything to assure the stability and peace for this Realm."

"Almost twenty years ago, you and your families, your fathers and grandfathers, stood before the Iron Throne and swore oaths to me as my father's heir. . .Now, as Queen, I wish to offer the same courtesy to my own heir." Visenya's piercing indigo eyes traveled around the room until she stood up and called out, "I call forth my firstborn child and heir, Prince Baelon. Step forward, my boy."

Viserys could not believe his eyes and ears. A very tall and handsome boy, who could not have been more than five and ten namedays old, stepped away from the crowd and made his way toward the Iron Throne with sure steps.

The boy, Baelon, had hair so silver that it looked like white-gold and his eyes — Gods, the boys' eyes were indigo in color, like Visenya's, like Aemma's.

There was so much pride and love in his daughter's gaze as she looked at her son. With Blackfyre in hand, she pushed her chin up, " I, Visenya Targaryen, First of my Name, Queen of the Andals, and the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm, do hereby name Baelon Targaryen, Prince of Dragonstone and Heir to the Iron Throne."

To his surprise, Baelon knelt before the Iron Throne, before his mother, the Queen, and swore, "I, Prince Baelon Targaryen, swear upon my life and my future crown, to guard, to nurture, and to honor the Seven Kingdoms — from this day until my very last."

Lord Strong's disbelieving question brought Viserys to reality, "Visenya? A girl? No Queen has ever sat the Iron Throne." Viserys had to take in a few deep breaths and wipe a trail of sweat that slid down his forehead — he must be as pale as a sheet!

"That is only by tradition and precedent, Lord Strong," Maester Mellos was quick to defend only for Lord Strong to scoff, "If order and stability so concerns this council, then perhaps we should not break one hundred years of it by naming a girl heir."

"You seem to forget that Princess Visenya is hardly an ordinary girl. I would remind you that she has been proclaimed a genius by Archmaesters from the Citadel. She received the highest possible education this kingdom has to offer as well," his Hand pointed out.

"Not only that, but ever since the late Queen's death, Princess Visenya has been seen holding women's court and taking care of her mother's duties — and she is doing it all splendidly," Maester Mellos added, nodding in appreciation.

There was a brief moment of silence in which all the members of the Small Council looked at one another, taking in the new information.

Had she done that? Viserys almost questioned. Oh his Vissie, his little flame, his pride, even in her grief she found a way to help.

"Besides, Daemon would be a second Maegor, or worse. He is impulsive and violent. It is the duty of this council to protect the King and the Realm from him," Otto continued, "I am sorry, Your Grace, but that is the truth as I see it, and I know that others here agree."

Viserys was then pulled into another dream — another vision. Instead of seeing his eldest daughter on the Iron Throne, wearing the Crown of the Conqueror, now there was a tall man with indigo eyes and white-gold hair taking her place. The man wore Jaehaerys's crown — also Viserys's crown and his heart swelled within his chest at the sight.

Baelon — the man before him was Baelon, Visenya's son, his grandson, only a much older version of him.

"Today is the day that many of us have dreaded. My mother, the late Queen Visenya, First of Her Name passed away in her sleep alongside my father," Baelon announced, sadness and grief clear in his dark indigo eyes.

Viserys took in a sharp breath, not being able to think of a moment in which his eldest, his daughter, ceased to exist.

"My mother's reign lasted for forty years and those forty years were the best this Realm has ever seen. Many of you call it the Visenyan Age or Golden Age of this Kingdom — and I must agree with you on that," Baelon nodded.

"My mother has done splendid work for this Realm and her people, regardless of their status and position. Many times she has achieved the impossible and it will be hard for another soul to even try to live up to the person and the monarch that my mother was. For that alone, it is my first act as King, to assure that her great deeds go down in history accordingly. I wish for my mother to be known as Queen Visenya the Great."

Visenya the Great — it had a nice ring to it, Viserys admitted to himself.

"Now, I call forth my firstborn child and heir, Princess Daena Targaryen," Baelon called out and a woman with wild white-gold hair that was carefully braided away from her face, stepped forward. She had a slight tan to her skin and her eyes were inhumanly purple — she was beautiful and she carried herself with purpose.

"Queen Daena the Defiant is to be followed by her firstborn child, Queen Rhaena the Ruthless, who is to be followed by her son, King Daeron the Young. His son, Baelon the Blessed shall follow and his own son Viserys the Second of his Name shall come after him. Viserys's daughter, Visenya the Defender shall succeed him and so on," a voice said.

Viserys spun around to see the red-eyed man again. This time, the man was looking directly at him. "Isn't it beautiful — your legacy?"

So many names. So many rulers — all coming from his bloodline. They were his descendants.

Shaking his head, Viserys gritted his teeth. He denied the existence of this vision, refusing to believe in it. And how could he? The Gods already decided to show him dreams of his son, a boy that they decided to take away from him after only a day?!

How could he ever believe that such a beautiful vision could be made into reality after the Gods already tricked him once? Viserys would not be let down twice — he refused to be.

"I will not be made to choose between my brother and my daughter," Viserys decided, despite himself. He was determined to shatter that small hope he held in his heart after those visions. There was no use in hoping, after all. Look where hoping got him. . .his mate was dead, his son was dead.

"You would not have to, Your Grace. There are others who would have a claim," Lord Corlys cut it and Lord Strong laughed at the obvious suggestion, "Such as your wife, Lord Corlys? 'The Queen Who Never Was'?"

"Rhaenys was the only child of Jaehaerys' eldest son. She had a strong claim at the Great Council, and she already has a male heir," Lord Corlys defended, his voice rising in irritation.

"Just moments ago, you announced your support for Daemon!" Otto chuckled in disbelief. Lord Strong cut in, "If we cannot agree on an heir, then how can we expect—"

Viserys finally shouted, stopping them all, "My mate and son are dead! I will not sit here and suffer crows that come to feast on their corpses!" He looked at them all disapprovingly and then stood up from his chair, exiting the Small Council chamber without looking back.

What he did not know was that two pairs of eyes had seen everything — two pairs of ears heard everything. Dark indigo eyes and pale lilac eyes noted every word, every expression, every emotion — both hidden in the dark and in different places.

 

 

_____

 

 

king's landing, 110 AC
daemon targaryen

Days had passed since Aemma's funeral and Daemon was yet to see his nieces. He had tried to get to them — to her, but somehow, they always ended up missing each other by a little.

One or two times he saw Visenya in the City, book in hand, and going to the orphanage that was located in Flea Bottom — and that was it. He could never catch her in the Red Keep since she was either in court or with Rhaenyra.

But this time, he was determined to see her. He needed to see her — he needed to share some important things with her.

Perhaps Aemma would disapprove if she were here, but Daemon needed Visenya to know what was going on. He was intent on informing her about the Maesters poisoning her mother and Hightowers as well as the Citadel having some part in it all.

So, he made his way into her chambers through Maegor's passages. The entire keep was sleeping and his niece should be as well, but this was also the only time he could catch her. If he needed to wake her, he would — keeping their family safe was a priority.

To his surprise, he found Visenya dressed in a silk robe that covered everything yet left her still-soft curves exposed thanks to the bright moonlight that was shining through the window. Visenya was sitting on a sofa, surrounded by empty bottles of strong wine and with a full cup in hand.

His eldest niece turned her head to face him as he closed the door to the passage — her dark indigo eyes were unfocused and Daemon found himself grimacing. She was most likely drunk. "Are you sober?"

"I am moderately functional," she shrugged, returning her gaze to the moonlit window. He will take that as a no, Daemon thought.

Slowly, he approached her, noticing a great number of empty bottles around her. No wonder she was drunk. . .He was surprised she spoke High Valyrian so well in such a state. "And you drank this all on your own?" he questioned, eyebrow raised.

"If I want to drink my sorrows away, uncle, I will," Visenya snorted, taking a gulp or two from the full cup she had in hand. "At least I do not lock myself up in my chambers just to stare at my model of old Valyria. . ."

She mocked her father's pain — and the look in her eyes told him she was enjoying it. Daemon furrowed his brows at her attitude.

He grew up with stories of mates just as any Targaryen did — he grew up surrounded by people who all found their mates. Viserys's pain reminded him of his father's — of how Baelon acted when Alyssa died. He would not leave his chambers for moons, he would get that far-away look in his eyes — and it took him years to offer a true smile to someone.

Even his grandsire gave up on life the moment his mate died. Jaehaerys followed soon after Alysanne and he was more than happy to leave the world that did not have his mate in it anymore.

For all the beauty of having and finding a mate, surely feeling that much pain after losing your other half could hardly be called pretty. And yet, Visenya mocked his brother's pain as if it was nothing. "Your father is grieving—"

"Am I allowed to grieve as well, uncle? Because it certainly does not feel like it," she cut him off before he could finish. Visenya finally locked eyes with him, her dark indigo eyes full of fire and rage — and pain.

She looked like a girl, desperate for understanding and pleading for help — and yet, there was this sort of fierceness to her that never allowed her to break, no matter how close she was to doing it. Daemon had never in his life seen Visenya show so much emotion at once.

"I lost my mother and yet I get up every day. I visit the city to dispatch more food and clothing for children and people alike because if I do not, then Otto Hightower is going to end up dismissing all projects that my mother started and I would not be able to stop it. Everything my mother worked hard for, her legacy — it will cease to exist if I just take a moment to breathe."

"Rhaenyra needs me as well. I spend most of my days with her, trying to get her to eat. Even during nights, I hold her, wipe away her tears and chase away her nightmares," she paused for a moment. "I do not mind it, however, taking care of her is my duty as her elder sister."

Daemon listened, his eyes watching her intently. Visenya leaned further into the sofa. "But do you know what I do mind? Entertaining my father's court in his absence." There was a mocking smile on her face now — and it looked more like a grimace or even a snarl to him.

"They can not seriously believe that I did not notice how a fresh flock of young maidens arrived as soon as the death of my mother reached their fathers' ears — all of them with their fake smiles full of pity and fake questions of concern. . .The truth is, they could not care less about me or Rhaenyra. They are here to try and slither their way into my grieving father's bed, the king without a son of his own — without a 'proper' heir. All of that in hopes of getting more power."

His niece sounded rather disappointed with the world — not surprised but still disappointed. The reason Daemon hated court was because of fake pleasantries — court was simply a den of vipers, waiting for you to show weakness so they could strike. And this was all hidden with pretty flowery dressed, long lashes, and different masks you wear with different people.

Daemon had to marvel at how quickly his niece saw through it all — how she decided to armor up and show up, even vulnerable, still full of grief and pain. She carried it all so well, her shoulders straight even with this weight pressing on them.

She did not allow them to see her weakness — the weakness of her grieving family. Instead of covering and hiding, she decided to carry her family's burden without being asked to do so.

His little flame, his brave girl with the soul of a warrior — that is what Visenya was.

But that had its own price. Daemon came to realize that Visenya grieved the way she drank — which was: rarely, but always alone and to excess. His niece did not sob or wail — not even when she found herself alone. Her grief was horribly discreet but as persistent and almost as silent as bleeding from an unstitched wound.

"And I have to be the one to chase them away. I have to make sure that they do not attempt anything," she emphasized 'I'. "The last thing I want to see is my father dishonoring my mother's memory by taking a wife or a mistress and siring a son."

Daemon might not understand the mating bond since he never found his mate, but even he could not imagine ever getting over that loss.

The red thread connecting his own heart to another's was a sacred thing for him. There was mostly silence between them, but Daemon could still feel his mate's presence on the other side of it — sometimes, when emotions got too high, he could feel the soft vibrations, a sort of tugging, as if his mate was beginning to be found so she would not be alone anymore.

He could not imagine living without it.

The woman on the other side of the red thread is who Daemon has been searching for since he was told of what mates actually were. The woman on the other side of it was his other half, so even without the knowledge of who his mate was, Daemon could not imagine ever dishonoring that sort of connection.

"Your father would never dishonor your mother in such a way, sweetling. They were mates. They were made for each other — no one else will ever hold a candle to your mother," he tried.

Visenya snorted in return. "You put too much trust in my father — and you overestimate his love and respect for my mother."

Daemon cocked his head to the side, wondering what could have made her think such a thing. Yes, Viserys was a fool who did things without thinking and he could unintentionally hurt the people he loved, but Daemon never once doubt his brother's feelings for Aemma. "Viserys loved Aemma more than anyone else in the world."

"That did not matter much to him when he decided that the life of his imaginary son was worth more than the life of a woman who was his other half," Visenya choked out. "That did not matter at all when he ordered. . .And I had to. . .I could not. . ."

There was something that she was not telling him — the way she could not get the word out was proof enough. It was only then that Daemon noticed Visenya's eyes sparkling with unshed tears.

He almost took a step back in shock. Whatever it was, he wanted to know. He had to know. Something was hurting her so bad that his niece would cry over it — She who never cried? Daemon was almost struck with the need to wrap himself around her and stay like that until the sadness in her eyes disappeared.

As if she caught herself showing too much emotion, Visenya looked away from him — to school her expression, he realized — because the moment she locked gazes with him again, there were no tears in her eyes. She was not a sad girl who was grieving her mother — Visenya was once more a stoic woman with stone walls built around her heart.

"Just get out and leave me be, uncle. I want to spend the night alone," was all she said, her voice small. She got comfortable on her sofa and drained her cup of wine.

But Daemon did not wish to leave. He had witnessed Visenya's defenses crack — he had seen the exact moment when the stony walls around her heart started to crumble. The moment he had seen her tears he knew that he was one push away from seeing Visenya's true self, with no walls to hide her.

Instead of walking out, he sat down on the sofa opposite of hers and pushed, "Visenya, what happened to Aemma was a tragedy, but you should not allow that to—"

Just as Daemon predicted, she broke, standing up and slamming her hands on the table, "It was not a tragedy! My mother did not perish while birthing Baelon — She was killed. She was cut open until she bled out all over her bed and floor! My father killed her. . ."

"What?" Daemon questioned after a few tense moments of silence in which he had to process her words that echoed around him.

"Yes, uncle. My father ordered Maester Mellos to cut my mother open so he can finally have his long-awaited son in his hands," Visenya cried out the truth she has been keeping to herself these last few days.

Still in denial, he shook his head slowly, "No. Aemma died in birthing bed. I was told so." How could he ever bring himself to picture his brother as someone who willingly hurt his mate — as someone who killed his mate? This had to be a lie.

"Because they are trying to cover it up!" Visenya choked out. "But I was there, I have seen most of it. I heard her scream and beg for help and my father did not care. He killed her for a boy who did not even live a day. . .He killed her for nothing!"

Daemon did not suspect anything when he was told his cousin was dead. After all, the healer he brought for her had his reasons to believe that she would not survive her next pregnancy.

So he did not question anything, he just accepted that it was meant to happen — that Hightowers and Maesters finally got what they wanted — that Aemma, after fighting to stay alive for so long, could not beat this final battle.

He vowed to himself that he would rain hell upon the Citadel, Oldtown, and everyone who stood in his way — because while Aemma died in the birthing bed, her body has been slowly poisoned and it led to her losing her life.

But to hear this. . .

Maesters went one step further — they suggested Viserys cut Aemma open and his absolute fool of a brother listened. Aemma did not die because it was her time, she was butchered — the realization made Daemon feel as if someone splashed a bucket of cold water all over him.

Suddenly, Daemon heard the sound of something shattering in the other part of Visenya's solar and immediately looked around. He was so deep in his thoughts that he did not notice his niece leaving — so he sprinted to her study only to see hundreds, even thousands small pieces of glass, scattered across the room.

Visenya looked around frantically, her eyes without much focus. The remains of the vial in her hand was covered in his niece's blood and liquid. "Fucking glass. . .Shit," his niece cursed, already on the ground, trying to pick up the broken pieces.

"Visenya, let me call the servants. They will clean it up," Daemon offered, placing his hands on her shoulders, trying to calm her down. Her right hand was gushing blood all over the ground yet she shook herself out of his grip, "No. No. I can do it. I will do it."

Daemon knelt beside her, determined to get her to drop the fucking glass. "Sweetling, your hand is bleeding — Let me help you." She batted him away, "I am fine. I am perfect. I should clean it up. I need to clean it up."

Her breathing became rapid and her shoulders started to shake, yet no tears came. "Visenya—" he tried again.

"I said I am fine, uncle," she pushed him away, not sparing him a glance. But she was not fine — far from it really. He had never seen her so dysfunctional — so on the verge of a meltdown. "Where can I find a wet cloth now. . ."

Daemon's brow furrowed in worry. He covered her bleeding hand with his own, trying to get her attention. "Stop," he muttered, utterly lost at what to do.

His niece did not appear to have heard him. Instead, she tore a piece of her silk robe and began cleaning the ground. "Visenya, stop it," Daemon said again, desperation clear in his voice.

When the blood coming from her right hand began staining the ground again, Daemon could not do this any longer, "Just, stop!" he shouted, grabbing her face with both his hands and turning her head so she would finally look at him.

Visenya's indigo eyes became focused again and she listened, stopping all movements. They sat on the ground together, blinking at each other. He began stroking her face with his calloused thumbs, but the touch seemed to soothe her.

Slowly, her shoulders stopped shaking and the goosebumps on her arms disappeared as he wrapped her up in his warmth. Once he was certain that his niece would not go back to cleaning the floor, he stood up, "Wait here. Do not move."

Daemon's priority was cleaning up Visenya's injured hand which had some pieces of glass still stuck to it. He sprinted to his chambers to get a clean cloth and some unused warm water that was there for him to clean his face before bed.

When he got back, he found his niece in the same position as when he left her — sitting on the floor and looking at the wall ahead of her. He knelt on the ground in front of her and took her right hand in his, to inspect it.

As softly as he could, Daemon began cleaning the bloodied cuts on her hand. He pressed the wet cloth tighter to her palm, making sure to remove any piece of glass left. Apart from sometimes hissing because of the pain, Visenya did not do much of anything.

Once everything was cleaned, he wrapped her hand in a new piece of clean cloth and then cuddled it to his chest carefully. Visenya watched him intently as he pressed his lips to her knuckles, waiting for her to speak. "Tell me the whole of it, sweetling."

He hoped that speaking High Valyrian would be enough to ease her — and it did because his niece gulped, her lips twitching with the need to speak, to open up. Her clear indigo eyes studied him, but Daemon could clearly recognize an openness to her that was not there before.

"The night before her funeral, I went to see her. I knew she was dead, but there was still a part of me that thought, that hoped, that she was alive," she paused, shutting her eyes as if she could shield herself from that memory. "Her body was with the Silent Sisters so I went there — and then I saw it. . .Her entire belly was cut in half, with her womb cut open for the world to see."

Visenya pursed her lips, a frown settling between her brows. Daemon reached to soothe the frown with his thumb.

Holding back her tears, his niece continued, "There—There was so much blood, everywhere — her legs, her hands, her stomach. It was awful."

Daemon could only imagine. He himself remembered how it was to find his mother dead on the ground — but to actually see his mother bloodied and cut to death. . .Now he understood his niece's anger at Viserys — and why the sight of dead Aemma almost broke her.

Visenya opened her eyes again. "The Silent Sisters did not even plan to close up her wounds or clean her up before wrapping her in cloth. They did not care that she was of royal blood, their Targaryen Queen, and a mother to two of the King's children. . ."

His niece took in a deep breath and met his eyes again. "So I pulled out a blade mother gifted me and all but threatened to cut them up if they did not leave."

"I could not let her rot like that — so open and vulnerable. I—I stitched up her womb and stomach myself. I cleaned her properly. I braided her hair in Valyrian style. And then I wrapped her up in cloth," she revealed, choking on a sob in the middle of the sentence.

Daemon felt as if he was on fire — such anger, such burning rage. He saw red, especially as Visenya looked at him with that grief in her eyes — it awoke every monster in him. He wanted to fight all those who dared to cause her pain and then, he wanted to lay them dead at her feet.

So strong. She was so incredibly strong — to survive this. His niece did not deserve to have so many wounds on her heart — especially not while so young. She deserved peace and happiness and a life without pain.

Visenya stared at the ground, her shoulders shaking, "I—I can sometimes still feel her blood on my hands and under my nails. No matter how many times I wash my hands, I never feel clean enough. . ."

A single tear escaped her eye and Daemon immediately went to wipe it away, stroking her cheek. After a long moment of silence, Visenya leaned forward, pressing her forehead against his shoulder as he wrapped his arms around her.

He leaned his head against hers, offering comfort the best he could — with physical touch. He rarely knew what to say in such situations, but he could do this — he could hold her, he could build a shelter around her and pretend none of this could touch her.

He wanted to make it better — to make her pain and grief go. But he could not.

Daemon stroked her loose silver-gold waves, rocking them slowly as he hummed a lullaby in High Valyrian which calmed her down. He did not know how long they spent on the ground, but the next thing he knew, he felt Visenya's breathing even out.

Daemon picked her up, careful not to wake her up — and carried her to her bed. Just before he could set her down, Visenya pressed her head against his chest, huddling even closer to him as if he was someone who could protect her — from this pain, from this world.

Still, Daemon let her go once she was safely on the mattress. His niece's hand shot out to catch his arm, her fingers gripping his tunic before he could pull away from her completely.

"Don't go," she pleaded, voice barely above a whisper. Visenya's eyes were still closed and she was pretty much unconscious — Daemon wanted to leave, but the sight of her shivering form and the memory of a single tear escaping her eye, made him stay.

"I am here. I am not leaving," he assured her, dropping a kiss on her brow. Visenya nestled to his side as soon as he laid down — she hid her face in the crook of his neck, seeking comfort.

They fit perfectly — like two pieces of a puzzle. So much so that he was not certain if he knew where he ended and she began. Daemon held her injured and bandaged hand in his own — feeling the monster in him falling asleep as he rested his body against hers.

When the morning came, she expected him to be long gone but he was not. He stayed.

And he was still holding her hand.

Notes:

This chapter was a lot 👀 Here is a fun fact: When I first started writing this story, I wanted Daemon and Visenya's first child to be named Rhaegar but I changed my mind since it sounds a bit OOC of Vissie to name her firstborn after the man she hates? This is why I asked if you guys would be okay if I changed the twins' names to Alyssa and Aemma — which I'm going to do!

Hurt/Comfort with Daemon and Visenya is my favourite thing to write 😩 I don't think there will be more scenes of them until Vissie goes to retrieve Baelon's egg in episode two so I hope you enjoyed this!

My Wattpad: seven-moons

Chapter 36: Last Shred Of Hope

Summary:

In which:

— Rhaenyra and Visenya spend time together
— Viserys realises what a fool he had been
— Viserys tells Visenya about the prophecy

king's landing, 110 AC
rhaenyra targaryen

No one ever told her about how exhausting it was to pretend to be okay — to move through the day while grieving, sad, angry. . .It required a lot of effort.

Sometimes, grief made Rhaenyra's whole body hurt — it made her bones ache — it made swallowing a bite of food seem like the hardest task of the day — it made a simple facial expression of any kind seem painful and dishonest — it made joyful things feel overwhelming and exhausting.

Reading a book, gossiping, riding her Syrax — everything that Rhaenyra enjoyed doing before her mother's death simply became too hard, impossible — As if when Aemma left the world, she took all the joys with her.

The worst of it all was when she caught herself waking up, thinking that her mother was still alive and waiting for her to break their fast together — or walking around and trying to find Aemma so she could tell her some silly gossip just to realize that her mother was not there anymore.

Every single time the reality hit her, Rhaenyra felt as if the wind got knocked out of her lungs.

As far as Rhaenyra could see, grief was never going to truly end. It may become softer over time, more gentle, and some days will feel sharp. But grief was going to last as long as love for the person you were grieving — which was forever.

It was simply the way the absence of her mother manifested in her heart — it was all deep longing, accompanied by the deepest love. Some days, the heavy fog may return, and the next day, it may recede once again. It's all an ebb and flow, a constant dance of sorrow and joy, pain and sweet love.

The only person that could possibly make all these feelings go away, even if just for a moment, was Alicent.

When Rhaenyra was in her arms, she felt so warm, so safe, so protected — as if she was in a whole another world, in their little bubble. Things on the outside did not matter, she never paid attention to them when she was with Alicent — the only thing she could focus on was the smell of roses.

"Are you feeling better now?" Alicent questioned when Rhaenyra nuzzled closer to her, eyes still closed. She felt so content like this — the entire world simply ceased to exist. It was only her and Alicent.

Rhaenyra slowly opened her eyes, blinking to adjust to the light shining through the window. She hummed in thought, "I am not completely certain. Kiss me again and I will tell you."

A very pretty blush appeared on Alicent's pale cheeks — Gods how much she adored that blush. And it was because of her — it was for her. It made Rhaenyra feel giddy on the inside.

Alicent made her wish come true as she pressed her lips against hers. Rhaenyra let out a content sigh, pulling her closer — as close as she could get, as if she wanted to crawl her way into Alicent's heart and stay there.

"I like kissing you better," Alicent admitted, a pretty grin on her lovely face. When she stood up from the bed, Rhaenyra pouted, "Do you have to leave? I was so comfortable like this, I never want to let you go."

Alicent stood in front of a mirror, adjusting her blue dress and clipping her hair away from her face. "Yes. My father asked for me to join him for supper ages ago — if I do not get going, he will get angry with me. But, I will come to find you as soon as I finish."

Right. She usually used all kinds of excuses to stay away from Ser Graffin. Now that Rhaenyra lost her mother, she always told her betrothed and her father that Rhaenyra required comfort — which was not a lie.

One good thing about the mourning period of the royal family was that no celebrations were allowed to happen in the Seven Kingdoms — so Alicent's wedding was pushed further for almost an entire year.

Not that her wedding would happen. Alicent and Rhaenyra are going to pack their things up, take Syrax and fly far away before Ser Graffin even started planning the wedding.

"No need. I will call for you once I come back," she decided. Alicent spun around to face her, head tilted in question. "Where will you be?"

"I think I am going to accept Visenya's proposal to join her on her visit to the city today," she confessed, uncertainty ringing in her blood and bones.

Her lover must have noticed it because she sent her a reassuring smile, brown eyes shining. "That is a wonderful idea. Fresh air will do you good, Nyra." She then pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Have a good time, alright?"

"I will try," she managed. Alicent left soon after that and Rhaenyra put on a black mourning dress and made her way to the courtyard where a large carriage was waiting. She looked around in search of her sister only to meet eyes with Laena Velaryon.

"Cousin! Will you be joining us as well?" Laena waved, stepping closer to her with a smile so bright that it rivaled the sun, her white teeth shining like pearls.

"Yes. Who else is going?" Rhaenyra nodded. "Apart from your sister and me, Ser Leo, Ser Joffrey, Lady Jeyne and my brother," her cousin answered.

She blinked in surprise, "Oh, alright." She thought that it would be just Visenya and her — that way she would not have to pretend to be alright or fake smiles just to please people. It turned out she was wrong.

Before she could decide whether to turn around and go back inside the keep or join Visenya's friends, Laena grasped her hand in hers, gaining her attention. "I hope that you know if you even need anything, I am here, cousin."

Rhaenyra blinked in surprise. It felt nice, to have someone who did not look at her with pity — or tell her how sorry they were for what she was going through. Her cousin's offer was genuine so she offered a small smile in return, "Thank you, Laena."

Visenya hurriedly emerged from the keep, "I am here! Let us board the carriage and leave!" Her sister turned toward her as soon as her friends were out of sight, "I am very happy you decided to leave the comfort of your chambers today. I know it is a big step."

"It is, but I feel like I need it," she shrugged, hoping that she was not making a mistake by doing this. There were still moments in which tears would spill from her eyes without her knowing it or where she would start shaking and sobbing uncomfortably out of nowhere — she did not want that to happen while she was in public.

As if her thoughts were written on her face, her sister tried to reassure her, "I promise you are not going to regret it."

On a ride to the orphanage, Rhaenyra observed Visenya's friends, their easy smiles, quiet inside jests, and the way they all glanced at Visenya from time to time, as if checking on her.

She felt like an outsider there.

Not just because of Visenya's friends who were jesting and smiling, looking forward to this day — but also because of her sister who had an easy smile on her face, her shoulders straight and her face relaxed. She looked unburdened and well-rested, unlike Rhaenyra whose eyes were adorned with dark purple circles.

Visenya looked alright — she looked fine, as if their mother did not die, as if their brother did not die.

And it sometimes baffled Rhaenyra. How come her sister did not cry for their mother and brother? How come she did not break?

When they arrived at their destination, Visenya's friends jumped out the carriage, all eager to see the light of the day. Rhaenyra stayed inside, playing with her fingers and debating whether to return or not.

She could hear children laughing and squealing from the outside — and it shocked her more than she cared to admit. Rhaenyra was suddenly hit with the thought that she may have fallen to pieces after Aemma's death, but it was not like that for everyone — they carried on with their lives.

But how could that be? How could the birds continue singing? How could people carry on loving life? How could she continue to exist in a world without her mother?

It was like she has become frozen in time, as if life stopped for her and no one else — it was like she was observing everything from the background. Weeks will yet to carry on and Rhaenyra felt that she would be stuck in this state forever.

Visenya's hand on her shoulder made her blink herself back to reality. She gulped, seeing the worried expression on her sister's face. "I—I do not think I want to get out. I was wrong to think I was ready to leave the Keep. Perhaps I should head back."

Visenya's eyes shone with understanding. "I asked if you would like to come with us today because being at these orphanages is how I feel closer to mother — and I thought I might share that experience with you," she explained.

"Our mother spent years fighting for these children to get a proper home and enough food to at least not starve. She spent hours reading to them and learning their names. So when I step into these orphanages, I can just feel her," Visenya expressed, "Why won't you give it a try? If you do not feel alright, you can return to the Red Keep at once."

Rhaenyra was already there, she might as well try, right? "Alright," she accepted, grasping Visenya's extended hand and exiting the carriage right after her sister.

As soon as they were both on the ground, a small voice shrieked, "Vis!" Just like that, a tiny girl with black hair and very dark blue eyes ran towards her sister, jumping and making grabby hands toward her as if asking Visenya to pick her up.

"Mara! We spoke of this! That is not how you address the Princess!" A small, plump woman chided. "Rewan, stop clinging to the Princess's skirts! That fabric must cost more than you!"

That was when Rhaenyra noticed a young boy with striking green eyes hiding behind Visenya's fluffy black skirt. The plump woman bowed her head, "I apologize, My Princesses, Mara and Rewan are very excited that you decided to pay us a visit."

To her utter surprise, her sister smiled, bending down to pick up the little girl and using her other hand to ruffle the boy's hair. "No need for apologies, Alarra."

"Come here, little ones," Visenya invited the rest of the children who eagerly followed her command. "I have brought some friends today, I hope you do not mind," she gestured towards Rhaenyra.

"And who is this? She is pretty!" A small boy shrieked in happiness. Another girl applauded with stars in her eyes. "You look like a Princess!" she complimented.

Rhaenyra blinked, starstruck about the entire thing. Visenya laughed at her expression and nodded towards the little girl who had eyes and skin as dark as night. "That is because she is a Princess. Arah, meet my younger sister, Rhaenyra."

The cute little girl scrunched up her nose, opening and closing her pouty lips as she tried to form a word, "Rha—Rhe. . ." For the first time since Aemma's funeral, Rhaenyra felt light enough to offer someone a true smile.

She crouched down before the girl and offered, "You may call me Nyra." Arah nodded enthusiastically. "Can you read us a story, Nyra?" Other children made pleading sounds so she could not refuse, "Of course."

 

 

_____

 

 

king's landing, 110 AC
visenya targaryen

Visenya was sitting on the chair, observing the orphanage full of happy children. Laenor and Joffrey were playfully having a duel with wooden swords while a group of children watched and gasped in excitement. Leo was using his own wooden sword to show some of the older boys how to wield it.

Laena was in the other corner, braiding little girls' hair while Rhaenyra just finished reading a story to the youngest children before it was their time for their nap.

Visenya was extremely glad that Rhaenyra was enjoying this, that this was helping her in some way. "If you are still searching for our mother, you can just look in your mirror to find her. We have her nose and the shape of her brows — we also inherited the shape of our lips from her."

Her sister looked at her with a small smile on her face. "You inherited your eyes from mama as well," she added.

Visenya nodded, as if saying, I did. "She may not be here with us, but she is. We are of her blood, we were nurtured in her womb — she made us, she is a part of us, always — so you can always find her within yourself."

Rhaenyra stood up and kissed her cheek. "Thank you for this, Vissie. I needed it." Skipping her steps, her sister then went to join Laena.

Visenya let herself enjoy this peaceful moment in which she and her sister were back to normal, in which she was not running around the keep and trying to avoid her father. Everything was alright at this moment.

Suddenly, her cousin sat down on the chair that Rhaenyra abandoned and questioned, "Don't you have a Council meeting to attend to, cousin?"

"I still have some time to spare," Visenya mused, hoping that time might stop so she would stay in this perfect, peaceful moment for a little longer. She did not wish to attend the meeting and face her father for the first time since the funeral. She did not wish to be reminded of what her father did to her mother.

She will not invite that pain back into her heart.

But that was meant to happen eventually, wasn't it? This pain was apart of her now — it was never going to get any easier and it was never going away. It was going to become a sadness she incorporated into herself along with all the other sadnesses that she already carried inside.

"This was a nice thing of you to do," Jeyne complimented, making Visenya tilt her head to the side in question, "I am simply trying to honor my mother."

She was not lying to Rhaenyra when she told her that by doing this, she felt closer to Aemma — Visenya felt her mother in her heart, she heard her through her own voice and saw her when she looked at herself in the mirror.

By doing this, she was honoring everything her mother worked hard for. But not just that.

No matter how hard things got or what might happen next, Visenya is always going to get up, every day. She is going to take deep breaths and start a day without her mother in it — all of it to honor Aemma. She is going to laugh and love and take her time to appreciate everyone she cared for.

To honor her, Visenya is going to take her chances and say what she felt, holding nothing back and risking making a fool of herself — she is going to do her best to make a difference, to live a life for herself and her mother.

Everything she would be doing from this day on, it would all be to honor Aemma, including doing her mother's work and making sure that her wishes and projects come to life.

Visenya will forever be a furious girl, but she might allow herself to become something else too. If she helped do things that her mother left unfinished, then she might be able to grant her heart a bit of peace as well — knowing that her mother's life was not lived in vain, knowing that she helped complete her mother's legacy.

"I guess, but I think it is brave of you," Jeyne shrugged. "I think it is brave that you get up in the morning even if your soul is weary and your bones ache for a rest — I think it is brave that you keep on living even if you do not know how to anymore."

Visenya listened to the compliment, feeling her heart beating in appreciation. Her cousin continued, "I know firsthand that there are days when you feel like giving up. So, I think it is extremely brave that you never do."

"I do not know if I am just being brave of hiding from my pain," Visenya muttered the truth. Jeyne hummed, looking away. "It could be. After all, it is the greatest grief to be left on earth when another is gone."

Once Visenya got back to the Keep, she immediately went to join the Small Council meeting. She stood on the left side of the chambers, nervously tapping the tips of her fingers against the small table she left the remaining wine on.

She had no idea how she would react to seeing her father face to face since the funeral — especially now that she knew what was done to her mother — what he did to her mother. She truly debated if she should attend the meeting at all, but if she did not, it would be seen as weakness.

And she could not allow that.

Visenya was just starting to build a perfect image for herself. Even Otto and Mellos noticed — they pointed it to the Small Council too. She could not afford to ruin it now.

The doors to the Small council chamber opened and Ser Harrold announced her father. Visenya stiffened, gripping the ends of the table so hard that her fingers turned white in color.

As soon as her father entered, Visenya looked away, staring straight ahead instead. It was better this way — not looking at him would serve to keep herself in control — to keep her from reaching for the dagger Aemma gifted her and slicing Viserys's throat.

Breathe. Keep breathing, she kept reminding herself.

Visenya was not sure if her father had even spared her a glance. From the back of her eye, she saw that he took his seat at the head of the table so she took a step back, leaning against the stone-cold walls and waited.

"Before we begin, Your Grace, I have a report I feel compelled to share," it was Otto Hightower that spoke first, "Last night, Prince Daemon bought out one of the pleasure houses on the Street of Silk, to entertain officers of the City Watch and other friends of his. . ."

The man paused, seemingly hesitant to reveal the whole information — but Visenya recognized that pause — he was using it for a dramatic effect.

Otto cleared his throat and continued, "He toasted Prince Baelon, styling him 'The Heir for a Day'. I corroborated this report with three separate witnesses. The evening was, by all accounts, a celebration."

It was as if her heart stopped for a moment. Visenya caught sight of her father tensing at the words but she did not bother to look for further reactions or to continue listening to whatever was being said — because this was it.

This was what she has been waiting for since the moment of her birth. It took long fourteen years of patience.

She was not angry, not at all. She could not care less about those words that were a clear jab meant for her father. Daemon did not say anything that was not true — Baelon was her father's Heir for a Day. She only cared about the consequences of her uncle's actions.

Perhaps if she was a better person, Visenya would have stopped her uncle's words from spreading so much that they reached the King — perhaps she could have paid her spies double to kill Otto Hightower's informants before they could get their information to him.

But Visenya was not a very good person, at least not when it came to this — to power, to the crown, to the Iron Throne — to all these things that she has been waiting for.

Alyanna would not have done this. Alyanna hated the Iron Throne and the power it has because it took everything from her — it made her suffer, it made her tear herself into pieces so the whole Realm would survive, it made her give up her life.

Visenya was a whole other story.

And it surprised her by a bit — the revelation that Alyanna and Visenya were two different people. Alyanna was just that, a girl who loved and lost, a girl who let her family walk all over her.

Visenya was Alyanna, but she was also so much more than that.

Visenya was a greedy, selfish thing who wanted the Iron Throne and the power that it had. She wanted to wear a crown and have men and women kneeling at her feet. She wanted all of it because she deserved it.

All the past trauma, all suffering, all hard lessons that she had to learn from the losses from her first life — they had all been for this. They all made her who she was — they made her into a person worthy of the Iron Throne.

And Visenya was not going to give it up, not even for Daemon.

 

 

_____

 

 

king's landing, 110 AC
viserys targaryen

Viserys walked straight toward the underground tunnel in which Balerion's skull was kept on the altar with hundreds of lit candles before it. He briefly went over the speech he prepared for Visenya to hear, all while nervously clenching and unclenching his fists at his sides.

He thought to wait for her there, only to find his eldest daughter already standing before the giant skull, studying it intently.

His steps must have snapped her out of her thoughts because she turned her head toward him for a moment before she looked back at the skull, her lips pursed, no sound escaping her — she barely even acknowledged his presence.

Viserys cleared his throat, stopping once he stood by his daughter's side. "Visenya," he greeted. Not sparing him a glance, she said, "Father."

He waited for another moment or two, desperately wishing she would meet his gaze — but Visenya stood still, unmoving and pretending as if he was not there.

"Balerion was the last living creature to have seen Old Valyria before the Doom — Its greatness and its flaws," Viserys started, turning his head toward the skull of his dragon. "When you look at the dragons, what do you see?"

Finally, his daughter's head snapped towards him. She blinked once, twice as a frown appeared between her brows. "What? You have not spoken a word to me since mother's funeral — Hells, you have not even looked at me and now you send your Kingsguard down—" she spoke incredulously.

Viserys cut her off, voice stern, "Answer me. It is important. What do you see?" Visenya narrowed her angry indigo eyes and he thought she would turn around and walk away from him — but she shook her head and looked back towards the giant skull.

"I see power. I see greatness," Visenya confessed. Viserys tilted his head to the side, studying his eldest, and waited, feeling intrigued, "Tell me."

"There is a saying about us that people like to use — Targaryens are closer to Gods than to men. But I do not think that is entirely true," she started, "We are special — blessed with the ability to bond with such magnificent creatures. . .Without them, however, we are just as ordinary as everyone else. The only reason why we have risen in power, why our dynasty is so strong — it is all thanks to dragons."

Viserys nodded, satisfied with her answer. "The idea that we control the dragons is an illusion. They are a power man should never have trifled with — One that brought Valyria its doom. If we don't mind our own histories, it will do the same to us. . ."

He paced away from his daughter, walking toward the lit candles and hovering his hand above them, enjoying as flames licked the inside of his palm. As soon as he was ready to say the words, he turned to her again, "Targaryen must understand this to be King. . .or Queen."

Viserys watched the moment the realization hit his daughter — he watched her take a sharp breath — he watched as her angry eyes stared at him with distrust and disbelief. She shook her head, "No."

He blinked at her, surprised. "Visenya—" Viserys took a step toward her, reaching to take her hand into his, but his daughter took a step back, her head still shaking.

"No. You could have done this years ago. You could have made me your heir from the moment I drew my first breath — but you did not because I was not. . ." Visenya's voice cracked at the end of that sentence but he heard the word that she did not utter.

I was not enough, she meant to say.

As soon as she collected herself, she mused with her voice full of hidden anger and resentment, "If you had made me your heir years before, my mother would have still been alive."

Viserys almost broke right there and then because she was right. If only he had done it, if only he had listened to Aemma when she told him that he already had an heir, a daughter who was more than worthy to succeed him — his mate would have still been breathing — and she would have been so proud.

But he fucked up — and he had to make it right, he had to try it. It was what Aemma would have wanted. No — it was what his mate wanted from the very beginning.

"Visenya, I—I have done something unforgivable. In my selfish search for a son, I have caused you and your sister pain — I have made you lose your mother," his voice was filled with sorrow and regret. "And I have done it for nothing."

Viserys grasped her hand in his, holding onto it for dear life — praying to all Gods that she would not pull away from him. "You, my beautiful, intelligent girl. . .You are enough — You are more than enough. You always have been and you always will be, I was just too blind to see it."

How long had she waited for this? How long had she been dying to hear someone say that she did not need to try so hard to be perfect — that she was enough just the way she was and it was alright?

Visenya's eyes filled with unshed tears and her lips twitched. "Why? Why now of all times? What made you change your mind?"

At this question, he had to look away in shame. "I have dreamt of a son, of a boy who was to wear my crown after me. I thought it was a sign, a blessing from Gods — I was wrong and it has cost me your mother."

For a brief second, Viserys allowed himself to remember the boy he had dreamed of — his shoulder-length silver-gold hair and light purple eyes, the way the golden crown sat upon his head, the way his green robes shone under the sunlight.

For a moment, Viserys allowed himself to mourn over that loss — the loss of his Baelon.

And then he remembered the other dream, the vision that left him hoping — gasping for breath and dropping to his knees in gratefulness towards the Gods.

His Visenya with the crown of Aegon the Conqueror — the way she wore the heavy piece as if it were a feather, with such strength in her heart and determination in her eyes — with such a will to survive residing within her soul.

Viserys jerked his head to face his eldest once more, allowing himself to feel it — the last shred of hope for his legacy — that was what Visenya was, what she represented.

She might not be the boy he had dreamed of having, but she was born to rule all the same — he had seen it with his own eyes and heard it with his own ears — the Gods showed it to him over and over again, the same dream, the same vision of the people happy and the kingdom thriving under her rule.

Visenya the Great. Visenya the First of Her Name.

"I am truly sorry, Visenya. I have wasted the years since you were born wanting and waiting for a son — for my dream to come true," he apologized. "You, my little flame, are the very best of your mother and myself. And I believe, as she did, that you could be a great ruling Queen."

"What about uncle Daemon? He is your heir?" Visenya questioned. Viserys shook his head, "Daemon was not made to wear the crown. But I believe that you were."

His features turned serious as he got closer to telling her of the prophecy. "This is no trivial gesture, Visenya. A dragon's saddle is one thing, but the Iron Throne is the most dangerous seat in the Realm."

Visenya nodded, throat bobbing, so Viserys continued, "There is something else that I need to tell you. It might be difficult for you to understand now, but you must hear it."

Viserys let go of her hand and began pacing around again. "Our histories — they tell us that Aegon looked across the Blackwater from Dragonstone, saw a rich land ripe for the capture. But ambition alone is not what drove him to conquest. It was a dream. And just as Daenys foresaw the end of Valyria, Aegon foresaw the end of the world of men. It is to begin with a terrible winter gusting out of the distant North."

His daughter's brows narrowed as he continued, "Aegon saw absolute darkness riding on those winds. And whatever dwells within will destroy the world of the living. When this Great Winter comes, Visenya, all of Westeros must stand against it. And if the world of men is to survive, a Targaryen must be seated on the Iron Throne. A King or Queen, strong enough to unite the Realm against the cold and the dark. Aegon called his dream 'The Song of Ice and Fire.'"

Viserys grabbed the Conqueror's dagger that was strapped to his waist and he hesitated. This might be too much information to process at the moment — so he decided he would show her the dagger some other time.

"This secret, it's been passed from King to Heir since Aegon's time. Now you must promise to carry it and protect it," Viserys pleaded. "Promise me this, Visenya — Promise me."

"I promise, father," Visenya's determined indigo eyes met his — and in that moment, Viserys knew he made the right decision by telling her this, by naming her his heir. She will be the greatest thing that ever happened to this kingdom.

Notes:

Only one chapter until the end of episode one! What do y'all say to the start of Viserys's small redemption arc? 👀

Also, I watched Shadow and Bone season 2 and let me just say, I'm obsessed with Nikolai Lantsov. I've been his fan since I read the books but seeing him on screen was just something else 🤭 I'm very tempted to start writing a Nikolai x OC fic. Perhaps I will?

My Wattpad: seven-moons

Chapter 37: Princess Of Dragonstone

Summary:

In which:

— Visenya is named heir
— Viserys has a surprise for his daughter
— Vaegon sends Visenya a letter of encouragement

king's landing, 110 AC
visenya targaryen

Visenya considered herself extremely lucky to know how to control her facial expressions. If she did not have that particular skill, she would have surely made her father suspicious to an extent.

If she was being honest, she did not suspect that Viserys would name her his heir last night. Visenya expected to be called to the Council meeting or to his solar where he would explain the situation and tell her that he had chosen her — instead, he made her stand by the Balerion's altar as he told her about the prophecy.

And that damned prophecy.

The moment the words left her father's mouth, Visenya immediately recognized them. Bloodraven had told her the exact same thing before he had sent her to her second life — although she was certain that she had not heard anyone know or mention those exact words in her first life.

Aegon's dream, which was named 'A Song of Ice and Fire' — was very vague. The only reason why Visenya could decipher it was because she lived through it — the great winter, the absolute darkness, it referred to the Night King and his Army of the Dead.

Although Viserys never mentioned anything about the Heir that was Promised, the prophecy that Melisandre warned her about — so some questions remained: Did her father know about the prophecy or did the prophecy only make its way to Westeros years later?

Honestly, neither of the answers would surprise her. If Aegon's dream did not make it to Tommen and then to her, that meant it was lost over time. Perhaps Rhaenyra did not have time to pass it on to Aegon III before Sunfyre burned her body? Or it might have been lost during the Conquest or Dorne when the royal line shifted to that of Viserys II? Perhaps it was lost later on, after the Tragedy at Summerhall when Aegon V and Duncan Targaryen lost their lives? Or it might have been during the Robert's Rebellion when the Targaryen dynasty officially ended?

Either way, Visenya knew the importance of it all — so she will do as she promised to her father, she will carry that secret with her until the time comes for her to pass it on to her own heir.

"I say it is about time this Realm gets a Queen that rules in her own right," her cousin, Jeyne Arryn, said as she helped Visenya by adjusting her dress, tying up the laces on the back.

"I agree, the more women are in power the better," Visenya hummed, eying her form in the mirror. "And just in case you have any doubt, I shall continue to support your position through years to come."

She caught onto Jeyne's smile in the mirror, the action was unexpected but welcome nonetheless. "I did not doubt that for a single second."

"Good," Visenya nodded. Perfect, she thought. While she had no doubt that if it came down to it, Jeyne would support her either way, it was even better that the two of them formed a bond stronger than just the one of kinship — the bond of understanding between the two women who will forever battle men who dared to question their claims and positions, their power.

Visenya toyed with the hem of her dress. She had specially chosen it from her mother's wardrobe since she wanted to at least carry a piece of her mother for this important moment. A few seamstresses were hired to make the dress fit her perfectly on such short notice — and they have done a splendid job of it.

The dress was black in color, indicating the mourning period, but as it went down, it turned more burgundy in color — the same could be said for her sleeves. It had a high neck that Visenya liked to wear since it covered her mating mark. Her silver-gold hair was braided into multiple braids that joined into one — that braid was wrapped in circles around the back of her head as if to throw focus on the heavy golden necklace that had the symbols of all seven great Houses of Westeros on it.

"I was thinking about staying in King's Landing for a while longer, if that is alright with you and the King. I wish to stay close to you and Rhaenyra at least until the mourning period is over," Jeyne mused quietly, as if expecting to be rejected.

Visenya offered her a smile instead. "That is a lovely offer, Jeyne, and I gladly accept it. I doubt my father will have something against it either, and Rhaenyra as well, she is quite fond of you. Besides, you are always welcome here — we are family, after all."

The obvious tension on Jeyne's shoulders disappeared when she processed her answer. and for a second, Visenya wondered if her cousin wished to stay in King's Landing because of herself as well.

Visenya was forced to remember that Jeyne was only two years her senior and yet, her cousin has been ruling over Vale for many long years now, all alone, most of her family dead, her father, her uncles, her mother. The only Arryn family left to her had tried to usurp her three times — so they could hardly be considered family.

And now, she found herself a new family in King's Landing, a family that would never go against her, a family that has supported her from the beginning. Now, Aemma was dead as well, one of the people who fought hardest to keep Jeyne in her rightful position.

The only scrap of family Jeyne had were Visenya and Rhaenyra now.

It hit Visenya now that Jeyne was grieving the loss of Aemma as well — and perhaps her request to stay in King's Landing came from the fact that she did not want to be alone in her grief.

Her fiery-haired cousin then placed a long black cloak on her shoulders, making sure that it stayed secure in that position. Visenya had to admire the lower part of the cloak that had fire and bronze embroidery, making it look as if flames danced on the black material.

"Speaking of your family, I have a question regarding your mother," her cousin cleared her throat and spoke. "Before her death, aunt Aemma asked me to find a way to annul Prince Daemon and Lady Rhea's marriage."

Visenya blinked in surprise, brow raised. Jeyne continued, "So far I have been unsuccessful since Lady Rhea appears adamant to keep the marriage going. I just wanted to know if she talked to you about this?"

Her mind immediately went over dozens of possible scenarios. Why had her mother not told her about this? Why would she ask for Daemon’s marriage to be annulled now even though her father was clear when he rejected the idea every time someone brought it up?

While Visenya was aware that Aemma and Daemon had some sort of fondness for each other — perhaps even friendship — she still could not come up with an answer to the question: Why now?

It has been thirteen years since that horrid mockery of a marriage. Ever since her father became King, her uncle petitioned him every year for an annulment which Viserys refused to grant. So why would her mother interfere? Why would Aemma go behind Viserys's back for this? Had Daemon asked her to do this?

"No. I had no idea. I do not even know why she would request such a thing," Visenya shook her head slowly, her face scrunched up in concentration, her brain still working to answer the numerous questions.

Jeyne shrugged and stepped back. "Well, I better take my leave now. I am expected in the Throne Room." Visenya spun around and nodded. "Thank you for your help, cousin."

"Of course," Jeyne offered her a wave, gathering up her blue dress that matched the color of the Arryn sigil perfectly — she made her way to the door and then stopped. "Oh and Visenya? You will make a magnificent Queen."

Visenya's indigo eyes widened at such a compliment, but she recovered and offered her cousin a smile full of gratefulness.

It was Laena that entered her chambers next, carrying a black headpiece embroidered with red string in her hands. She was extremely careful not to ruin Visenya’s hairstyle upon placing the headpiece around her head.

Once she was done, the Velaryon girl hugged Visenya from behind, making their gazes clash in the mirror. "Are you nervous?" Laena questioned curiously.

Visenya tilted her head to the side as she leaned into her cousin's embrace. "Why would I be nervous?" Laena raised her brow. "Because you are about to have every important man and woman in the Realm kneel at your feet?"

"Kneeling before my feet is where they should be, dear cousin," she snorted with a smirk. Laena rolled her eyes fondly, a toothy smile gracing her lips. "Of course."

But then Visenya’s smirk disappeared and she sighed, looking away from the mirror. "The throne should have been your mother's and then yours after her. You are the one who should be standing in my place," she confessed.

"My mother made peace with not being chosen to rule a long time ago. It is my father who still holds resentment," the Velaryon girl explained. "Besides, I would make a terrible heir and queen. I would have neglected this Realm in favor of riding Vhagar all day long! Laenor is not much better — he would rather spend time with Joffrey than sit through boring meetings," she jested.

Visenya met her cousin's eyes through the reflection of the mirror. "This is your place, Visenya. You are destined for it — not my mother, not me, you," she said, tightening her hold on her. Then she winked, trying to lighten up the mood, "Plus, you will look eternal with the crown of the Conqueror on your head."

A few knocks were heard which made Laena let go of her. Rhaenyra peaked her head in, as if to inspect the situation and see if Visenya was prepared. "Are you ready, sister? The ceremony is about to begin."

"Yes. We were just leaving," she confirmed, turning to face her sister and her cousin. "You look beautiful," Rhaenyra complimented. Visenya smiled. "Don't I always?"

 

 

_____

 

 

Alyanna was seating by the window, using whatever was left of the natural light of the sun to read her book — she was doing anything she could to distract herself from the memory of Robb's death as well as the death of their son — sometimes, she would find herself caressing her belly, forgetting that the life that she nurtured there was gone.

An older woman's voice broke the silence in her chambers, "I expected your presence at the feast and instead I find you hiding in your chambers." Olenna sounded disapproving. Alyanna rolled her eyes, not bothering to look up from the pages."I am not hiding."

"Then what are you doing? Brooding?" Olenna snorted, entering Alyanna's chambers. "Grieving," she corrected.

"Hmph." When Alyanna realized Olenna was not walking toward her, she looked up only to find the doors to her dressing chambers open. She furrowed her brows and stood up, following the older woman. "What are you doing?"

Alyanna found Olenna going through her wardrobe, inspecting every dress and fabric. The older woman pulled out a golden dress and scrunched her nose in displeasure. "Too boring."

She went on, much to Alyanna's amusement. Olenna pulled out a black dress that was too modest for her liking. The old woman looked back at her, displeasure evident on her face. "Why on bloody earth would you have something like this in your wardrobe? Are you a Septa?!"

Alyanna just rolled her eyes, not bothering to tell the Tyrell woman that the black dress was meant for the mourning period. Once Olenna found a dress to her liking, she gestured towards it, "You will dress and attend the feast — and you will wear the dress I have chosen for you."

"And why would I be doing that?" She raised her brow, looking at the red and gold dress with embroidered lions on it — that dress was without a doubt the prettiest one she owned. It had an open back and a V-neck — it was made to throw the focus on her breasts.

"Have I thought you nothing, girl?! Has the cold and snowy Winterfell frozen your brain?" Olenna scowled. "Your grandfather has for once in his too-long of a life done something smart. He named you his heir — You are going to become the very first Lady Paramount of the West. All powerful men that will be under your command one day are currently sitting in the Throne Room and yet you are wasting your time here instead of trying to charm your way to success."

Alyanna shook her head. "I have no energy to act pleasant — not today. I cannot pretend that I would not rather punch those pathetic gossipers than sit through hours of useless talks with a fake smile on my face."

"This is not about what you can or cannot do. This is a must," Olenna rolled her eyes at her. "What do you think is going to happen once you claim your seat at Casterly Rock? Do you think men are going to willingly bow to you and obey you? No, they won't. That useless cunt Kevan Lannister is going to challenge you if you do nothing to stop it."

She knew this. She thought of it, but she had no energy to try and do something to stop it. In all honesty, she was not sure if she wanted to be her grandsire's heir. "Olenna—"

"Do you think the world cares that you have lost your husband and your son? Do you think Kevan Lannister or any other man will wait for you to recover from your losses before they try to usurp your rightful seat?!" T he old woman cut her off, voice now raised. "The world has not stopped, Alyanna — You have to keep moving with it unless you wish to lose the game."

While her words were harsh, they were also true. Even when Olenna thought that Alyanna forgot all the lessons she had taught her, she had not. Alyanna was very much aware of what could happen if she did not step up to do something about it.

But she was tired. She was so tired — and she missed Robb terribly.

"It is too late now. The feast started half an hour ago," Alyanna shrugged, hoping that this would make Olenna leave her alone — She was wrong.

"Which gives you a perfect opening to show those pathetic men who holds all the power," the older woman mused. "Being late to important celebrations is a weapon that you must learn to wield. When you enter, every head turns towards you. Walk with your chin up and do not look at anyone. Walk straight and make no sound — watch as the power shift from the king toward you."

Despite everything, she found herself eager to learn another important lesson. "You are a woman, Alyanna. Most would consider that a weakness in itself, but you are going to use it to bring every man to their knees."

There was one thing that she did not understand, however. Alyanna cocked her head to the side, "Why would you advise me to do such a thing at the celebration held in honor of the betrothal between your granddaughter and my brother?"

What she meant to ask was: Why would you help me be in the spotlight when it is your own granddaughter that should be the center of all attention?

Instead of answering, Olenna questioned her back. "Do you remember the very first lesson that I taught you?" Alyanna did not need to think as she answered, "There is nothing wrong with being a lizard unless you were born to be a hawk."

And suddenly, Alyanna understood what Olenna did not wish to say: You have potential, which is rare for us women. I would not like to see you fall — or in other words, For some unknown reason, I am fond of you so I will help.

For the first time in forever, the old woman's eyes shone with approval. "Good. I began to think that all my lessons have gone to waste."

Feeling the need to say it, Alyanna opened up, "I never asked for this. I never wanted to be named heir to the Rock. If I was given a chance, I would have gladly given it all up in exchange for having Robb back."

Olenna whirled her head around so fast that Alyanna thought she might have broken her neck. "Do not ever let me hear you say that again." If looks could kill, Alyanna would already be dead on the ground from the glare sent her way. "It is a rare thing for us women to hold even a drop of power in this world. No man is worth giving it all up — not even your wolf boy."

Visenya wholeheartedly blamed Olenna for the way she turned out to be. Not giving up her power, not even for Daemon who meant more to her than anyone in either of her lives? Visenya definitely succumbed to Olenna's teachings.

And now she was going to use another valuable lesson that the Tyrell woman taught her — how to wield the power of being late to an important celebration.

Visenya stood in front of the doors that lead to the Throne Room. She sighed, straightened her back and gave permission for the servants to open the doors. Once she was announced, she began her graceful walk down the stairs with her chin held high — she looked and felt confident, her eyes focused on the Iron Throne and her father that was currently seated on it.

All hushed whispers turned silent, men and women bowing their heads as she passed them on her way to the Iron Throne. She stopped once she found herself standing just below the steps leading to the throne. Visenya locked eyes with her father and bowed her head.

She then spun around to face the Throne Room was packed with people. Visenya breathed out and focused — she was on a mission to analyze every man or woman who was to kneel at her feet and swear fealty to her.

After Viserys talked to her last night, Visenya made sure to go over the detailed notes she wrote as soon as she learned how to write — the hidden notes contained every single information that she remembered from reading about the Dance of Dragons, what happened before and after as well. Most importantly, it contained information on who supported whom and her notes on what she could do to change that and win more support.

So Visenya stayed silent and watched as men and women were called to swear their oaths.

She watched how unwilling Corlys was to do it — just as Visenya had expected. He was still feeling slighted for what happened at the Great Council — perhaps he could not believe that his wife got passed over so now instead of being Rhaenys's King Consort, he was forced to kneel at another girl's feet.

The same could be said about Boremund Baratheon who looked her in the eyes with that grim expression on his face — it was anger, she realized. Rhaenys was his niece, after all, he had every right to feel slighted as well.

Many were hesitant to kneel — she had to change that. There was a lot of work to be done if she was to ensure the stability of her position.

After the last oaths were spoken, Visenya spun back around to face her father who stood up, tightened his grip on Blackfyre and spoke, "I, Viserys Targaryen, First of his name, King of the Andals, and the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm, do hereby name Visenya Targaryen, Princess of Dragonstone and Heir to the Iron Throne."

Everyone in the Throne Room bowed their heads, and Visenya took this opposite to make an oath and a promise to this Kingdom as well, "I, Princess Visenya Targaryen, swear upon my life and my future crown, to guard, to nurture, and to honor the Seven Kingdoms — from this day, until my very last."

It was not something that needed to be done, but she still felt that it was the right thing to do. People needed to know that she was serious about this — that this was not to be taken lightly.

When she looked back up at her father, Visenya could see that he tensed up for some reason. Then her father cleared his throat and broke the silence of the Throne Room yet again, "Before we move toward the feast that I had prepared in honor of this special occasion, there is something else that I wish to bestow upon my daughter."

Everyone listened, curious. Viserys continued, "Us Targaryens take pride in all the family heirlooms that we managed to save from the times of Old Valyria and the heirlooms passed down from the moment we became Lords and Ladies of Dragonstone. One of them is the Valyrian steel sword Dark Sister that once belonged to Queen Visenya — given to my brother by my late grandsire upon him becoming a knight."

Her father lifted Blackfyre to look at it closely, a fond look in his purple eyes — he then found her eyes again and Visenya literally heard her heart stop. She took in a sharp breath of surprise. Was he—?

"But Dark Sister is not the only sword our family owns. The other is Blackfyre, a Valyrian steel sword carried by the Conqueror himself — the sword that is passed down from King to his heir," Viserys's voice echoed through the silent halls. "My beloved grandsire had given me Blackfyre before his passing, but I never gave it much use since I was never a skilled warrior."

"Unlike myself, my daughter and heir already shows great promise of becoming a great warrior — just as her namesake was and if Gods are good, she will be even better," he mused. "Come forward, my child."

"I gift Blackfyre to you — the sword of Conquerors and Kings — so you may always remember the great name that you carry — so you may never forget the Targaryen legacy that now sits on your shoulders."

Visenya's eyes shone as she slowly walked up the stairs. Her father placed Blackfyre in her hands and she could not help but think that it felt so right to carry it — not even Lady's Wrath fit so well in her grip.

Once the ceremony was done, Leo approached her. "Should I bow, Your Grace? Should I seek permission to speak, Your Grace?" Visenya rolled her eyes fondly, "Very funny, Leo."

Her friend's watery blue eyes settled on the Conqueror's sword that now rested on her hip. "I cannot believe that the King gifted you the legendary Blackfyre. May I look at it?"

"Are you calling me unworthy of my own family's ancestral sword?" She mockingly scowled, handing him her sword. "Of course not. But you already have Lady's Wrath, do you not? Plus, as far as the history goes, Blackfyre was only ever wielded by men — judging by its weight and shape, I would say that it is meant for a man's hand."

"Then I shall be the first woman to wield it," Visenya said, lifting her chin. Someone who stood behind Leo coughed and her friend blinked, placing Blackfyre back in her hands.

"Right," Leo muttered, turning to gesture toward the six people that approached them. "I believe I have not introduced my family. My father, Lawren, and my mother Amanda. My siblings, Lerris and Liya."

Lord Lawren took a step toward her, extending his hand so she could place her hand in his. He placed a delicate kiss on her knuckles which made Visenya want to pull her hand back and slap him. "It is an honor to finally meet you, Your Grace. We have all heard so much about you from Leo."

You would never guess that Lawren was a monster who abused his children behind closed doors — not at first glance at least. Visenya forced a smile on her face, "The honor is all mine, my Lord. I have heard so much about you as well — and only the best, I assure you."

Lawren coughed yet again and Leo's older brother, Lerris took that as an opportunity to say, "Teles of your beauty do not do you any justice, Your Grace."

Visenya sent him a smile, but her attention was on a girl with brown hair and bright blue-green eyes — Perfect. When the time comes for her to start gathering her ladies in waiting, she should ask Leo's little sister to join. "Your Grace," both Liya and Amanda curtsied.

In truth, Visenya thought about searching for her ladies now. The smart thing to do would be to build and expand her household right away, however, she had other priorities. She needed to clean the Red Keep and Dragonstone of all spies that served Otto — that would require her sneaking out at night which she could not do with a full household in which somebody would always request her attention.

It was a necessary sacrifice.

Visenya scanned the too-pale Lord of The Reach and commented, "I must thank you for coming, Lord Lawren, even in your condition. I pray the Gods will grant you a fast recovery."

"Thank you, Your Grace. It was no trouble at all. After all, the King's command must be followed," Lord Lawren dismissed. "Of course. I believe we have assigned these seats for you, if you will follow the servant please."

She stopped Leo from following after his family with a strong grip on his arm. "Are you alright? Do you need me to rescue you? I can always say that I needed your help — or I can simply chain you to my side and hold you as a hostage."

"I think will manage — They will be returning to Highgarden in a few days after all. I can handle him for a time. But, just in case I cannot, make sure to come by the Tyrell table to rescue me in about ten minutes, will you?" her friend snorted. "You can count on me, Leo! I shall be your knight in shining armor!"

 

 

_____

 

 

Visenya placed Lady's Wrath in a coffer, where it will stay safe until the time comes for her to pass it onto her own child. She then sat down and opened the letter addressed to her.

My great-niece,

The entire Realm is whispering of the ceremony that granted you the title of the Heir to this Kingdom. Some say it was majestic — they say that it gave them hope for a brilliant future with a genius sitting on the Iron Throne. Others do not sound very pleased but they still say it is better to have you as heir than 'Lord Flea Bottom'. I, however, am quite disappointed that I could not witness such a historic moment.

It has always been my late mother's wish to see a woman sit on the Iron Throne. She wished for her first daughter and my eldest sister, Daenerys, to be my father's heir. Then she wished for niece Rhaenys to be named heir. Three times my father has made sure that her wishes would not come true. At least my nephew Viserys learned from my father's mistakes. I like to imagine my mother smiling down at us, content with the situation while my father is busy rolling in his grave in disbelief.

While men may prefer to have you ahead of nephew Daemon in the line of succession, it does not mean that they will always feel this way. You may think this a victory, a war won because you are now the first in line to the throne, but it is not — it is far from over. There are many games yet to be played to ensure that you stay in your position.

Men will never willingly bow to women — quote by my late mother, Queen Alysanne, after Rhaenys was supplanted and she had lost all hope for this kingdom.

After Maegor the Cruel's doings, Westeros was desperate for stability, strength and changes — all three of which my mother successfully provided. They were all grateful, calling her the Good Queen, but there were moments in which she was despised by the men surrounding her. They adored her when she was quiet and smiling, when she was obeying. They hated her every time she dared to stand up and project her voice — suddenly, she was too much. Suddenly, she had forgotten her place. But I will tell you the truth of it, great-niece, all those men were terrified that my mother had the potential to be greater than they could ever be.

It scared them, to see the greatness shining within her with such promise that it blinded the world. My mother has been told to stay quiet most of her life, by her own mother, by men at the council. She was told to muffle her voice, to whisper — so she did. She gave up the fight before it even began.

You must not make the same mistake she did. Never let any man silence you, no matter how old, experienced or intelligent he appears to be. Yell and shout every chance you get. Scream and shriek like a dragon let loose from her cage, roaring and free.

Your great-uncle,
Archmaester Vaegon

Visenya smiled, pulling out a clean sheet of paper that she could write her response on, when a sudden knock on the doors of her solar stopped her. "Yes?" she called out.

Camyla peeked her head through and showed her an unopened letter that she carried. "Another letter arrived for you, Your Grace. I believe it is from Septa Rhaella."

"Thank you. Leave it on the table," Visenya mused, going back to writing her letter. "There is one more thing, Your Grace," Camyla spoke again, voice hesitant. Visenya hummed, giving the servant girl permission to continue.

"You have told me to report to you if Lady Alicent requests to visit the King, Your Grace." Visenya spun around to look at her. "It has happened, Your Grace. Mina told me that Lady Alicent is currently in the King's chambers."

For a moment, the world stopped. There was this need in her heart — a desperate creature that wanted to run to Viserys's chambers, open the doors and catch them together, thus ruining Alicent's reputation and Otto's chances of getting his blood on the throne.

It would be easy. The Kingsguard shift is ending soon and Ser Ryam Redwyne would be replaced by Ser Harrold Wrestling who would gladly let her in.

But, if she did that, she would leave her father no choice but to marry Laena — which was even worse than him marrying Alicent.

Both Otto and Corlys are men who ran on ambition — they think the world had slighted them, they think the world owed them something — which was far from the truth. Both men were servants of the Crown. They were born to bow and serve, not to lead.

If Visenya were to urge Viserys to marry Laena, Corlys would push for his grandson to be heir — he would not stop until it happened. She did not know Rhaenys that well, but if she was in her shoes, Visenya would be rooting for her blood to end up on the throne, and not that of some seemingly naive girl.

As for Laena, as much as it pained her to say it, Visenya could never be hundred percent certain that her friend would not succumb to her father's whims and desires — after all, who did not wish for their blood to end up on the Iron Throne?

There would be no Blacks versus Greens then, it would be Blacks versus Blues — Targaryens versus Velaryons — with both houses having the same number of dragons. That would be a disaster, especially since they had Vhagar on their side.

It would be Arrax, Caraxes and Syrax versus Meleys, Vhagar and Seasmoke.

But if she let Alicent do her thing and seduce her father, Visenya will have to ensure that she had Velaryons on her side. In that case, Greens would have only three or four dragons while Blacks would have six plus every dragon that her children would claim or have.

The odds were clear. Visenya knew what needed to be done.

"Thank you. You may leave now, Camyla," Visenya said, returning to her letter with her mind set. The servant girl bowed and left her alone with her thoughts.

Notes:

We are finally done with episode one! 😌 There will be no major time-skips, not even the ones between episodes. The next four chapters will be happening between episodes 1 and 2. Short summary of it all: Ironborn riders attack Highgarden/Reach so Tyrells ask for help which Viserys won't be eager to provide. Laena and Visenya burn some rogue Ironborns. Rhaenyra and Visenya have a last fallout because of Alicent.

I don't know if y'all heard the rumours going around concerning House of the Dragon, but that shit is wild so I recommend looking it up. I'm so disappointed that we'll be getting only 8 episodes in Season 2 😤 Honestly, my expectations are 0 now. Was nothing lerned from Game of Thrones season 8? Or even a few previous seasons? I'm so done with incapable people ruining my favourite books/shows. Fuck you, HBO!

My Wattpad: seven-moons

Chapter 38: Welcome To Womanhood

Summary:

In which:

— Daemon is brooding on Dragonstone
— Otto is trying to sell Visenya off
— Viserys gets a brain for a moment and tells his Hand no

Notes:

This chapter is more of a filler so it serves to set up the plot for the next three chapters, I hope you don't mind.

Plus, I read a few comments requesting to see Daemon rubbing the fact that Viserys hurt everyone in his face. You ask, I deliver. Enjoy 😁

dragonstone, 110 AC
daemon targaryen

Daemon sent Mysaria away to her assigned chambers as soon as he figured out that she came into his chambers to seduce him. Surprisingly, he was in no mood to fuck — he would rather drink himself into an early grave instead. And this gods-damned wine tasted so sweet and yet so bitter on his tongue that it was just perfect.

He was tapping his fingers on the table, too drunk to get up and pour himself more wine. His other hand kept toying with the necklace hanging from his neck — it was Visenya's necklace with a ruby-shaped Arrax. His niece had given it to him as a favor for the tourney but he had not yet returned it.

Playing with that necklace made Daemon remember why he was on Dragonstone in the first place. . .

He had failed again — he failed Aemma, he failed Visenya, he failed Rhaenyra, he failed Viserys. He failed to keep his blood oath to his goodsister. He failed to stay for his nieces. He failed to protect them from that Hightower filth roaming around the Red Keep.

Daemon just kept failing and failing — over and over and over again.

And now he was so far from King's Landing and yet so close at the same time — he was far away from his judging brother or from the haunting images of Visenya breaking apart for the sake of their family — he was too far away to hear Rhaenyra screaming in the middle of the night, begging for her mother after a horrid nightmare.

And yet, Daemon was still close enough to feel Aemma's spirit roaming around, as if reminding him that he should go back to be with his family — that Viserys banishing him did not matter — that his brother removing him from the line of succession was not as bad as he made it out to be.

But it was.

He had been so close to his brother once — then they grew up and life happened. After they lost their mother, Viserys took Daemon under his wing and Daemon was quite content to stay there, trailing after his brother whenever he went and giving him no peace, pulling pranks on him and embarrassing him in front of everyone.

But Viserys had always laughed along and ruffled his hair — he never once got angry at him, his brother could not stay angry with him.

Oh, how times have changed.

Then they lost their father. Daemon and Viserys tried to maintain that closeness in the memory of Baelon. Daemon even raised an army to defend Viserys's claim to the throne — without Daemon, Viserys would not have been sitting on the Iron Throne at all.

Viserys became King after that and it seemed that their brotherly bond began thinning then. Otto Hightower played a great role in that — that cunt taught Viserys everything a monarch should know, or at least he claimed so — but in truth, Otto used that time spent with his brother to whisper lies in his ears, lies about Daemon.

Ever since then, there were only banishments on top of banishments. There were only cruel lies and accusations spoken by one of the people dearest to him.

It felt like Daemon searched for his brother's love, acceptance and recognition in all corners of the known world — and he did not find it anywhere.

So no, Daemon could not go back because he could no longer stand getting kicked to the ground again and again — he was too tired of fighting to preserve that brotherly bond with Viserys that long ago started rotting.

In the back of his mind, he questioned himself, What did he do to deserve such mistrust and hate?

"You cut the image of the Conqueror, brother," Daemon said half-heartedly, studying his brother who sat on the Iron Throne with Blackfyre in hand — Viserys looked weak, he looked weaker with each passing day and holding onto the Conqueror's sword was a pathetic attempt to make him appear stronger.

Viserys did not bother with pleasant greetings either — instead, he demanded, "Did you say it?" Daemon blinked. "I do not know what you speak of, brother."

This seemed to aggravate him even more because his brother lost his composure and raged, "You will address me as 'Your Grace' or I will have my Kingsguard cut out your tongue."

He almost rolled his eyes. What did I do now?, was the only thought in Daemon’s head. Viserys continued, his voice harsh, "'The Heir for a Day' — Did you say it?"

If he was being honest, he was so drunk out of his mind last night that he had no memory of what he said or did. So instead of answering, he mused, "We must all mourn in our own way, Your Grace."

Viserys appeared to be at the end of his patience because he snapped, "My family has just been destroyed. But instead of being by my side, or Visenya's or Rhaenyra's, you chose to celebrate your own rise — Laughing with your whοres and your lickspittles!" He stopped to take a breath then continued, "You have no allies at court but me! I have only ever defended you! Yet everything I have given you, you have thrown back in my face!"

Finally, Daemon opened his mouth and raised his voice, "You have only ever tried to send me away — to the Vale, to the City Watch — anywhere but by your side. . .Ten years you have been king, and yet not once have you asked me to be your Hand!"

"Why would I do that?" his brother questioned. "Because I am your brother — and the blood of the dragon runs thick." Viserys shook his head, looking disappointed, "Then why do you cut me so deeply?"

"I have only ever spoken the truth. I see Otto Hightower for what he is," Daemon tried to defend himself. "An unwavering and loyal Hand?" He finally rolled his eyes at this. "A cսոt — a second son who stands to inherit nothing he does not seize for himself."

Viserys shook his head. "Otto Hightower is a more honorable man than you could ever be." Daemon's dragon blood burned in his veins at this insult. "He does not protect you — I would." His brother looked at him incredulously, "From what?"

"Yourself — You are weak, Viserys, and that council of leeches knows it. They all prey on you for their own ends." Viserys gaped at him in disbelief and Daemon could not contain his snort, "Do not look at me in such a way, Your Grace. You and I both know that it is true."

He was silent, gaping like a fish, his face turning from purple to white in color. "What are you speaking about?" his brother asked once he found his voice.

Angry and disappointed at his brother, at the world, Daemon glared hard. He had tried not to do anything stupid to add to his brother's headaches — he had tried not to put more on Visenya's plate — had tried not to create more mess for her to clean up.

Hells, he even ceased fighting with Otto. . .And all he got in return was being called 'Maegor come again' to Viserys's face — and his brother said nothing — he did not defend him as they compared him to a kinslayer.

"Of your blasted dragon dreams, of course — dreams of a son that never was and never will be — dreams that the council continued to encourage until it killed your mate — dreams that made you butcher Aemma as if she was a slaughter pig!"

All color drained from Viserys's face. "How—" Daemon laughed cruelly. "Won't you even try to deny it? You ordered them to cut her open — your own mate, the mother to your daughters, the Queen of this Kingdom! Y ou have spilled precious Valyrian blood for nothing. Your mate is dead. Your son is dead. . ."

He then cocked his head to the side. "Have you not heard that Rhaenyra wakes up every night, screaming and drenched in sweat with a picture of her mother's burning pyre in mind? Have you not heard of the fears and nightmares that plague both your daughters? Have you even seen their tear-stained faces?"

His brother's silence was an answer enough. "And yet you are accusing ME of not comforting my nieces when you are the one refusing to speak to them — or see them, for that matter!" Daemon continued, quite content at seeing his brother wince. "Visenya, Rhaenyra, you and I are all that is left of our once mighty house — and if you continue acting like this, you will lose us as well."

"Is that a threat, Daemon?" Viserys quipped, voice strained. He shrugged in response, repeating his earlier words, "I only speak the truth as I see it, Your Grace."

His brother straightened in his seat, speaking with a sort of finality, "Then perhaps you are right — Perhaps I should surround myself with people who I trust, who I believe in — who I know would never turn their backs on me and betray me as you have done!"

Viserys shook his head, rubbing his temples against the incoming headache, "I have decided to name a new heir, my firstborn child, Visenya — You are to return to Runestone and your lady wife at once, and you are to do so without quarrel by order of your King."

To be honest, Daemon was not even angry — well, that was a lie. He was so angry that he felt he might burst into flames. He was angry because anger was better than grief and better than guilt.

He was angry because no matter what he said or did, no matter how hard he tried, Viserys would always see him as the villain that Otto painted him to be.

Even though it was never about the Iron Throne — it was always about Daemon’s want for Viserys to look at him as if he was someone worthy — to see him as anything other than what he did — his younger brother full of ambition to the point where he would betray his family, Maegor come again, a rebellious villain who knew nothing but violence.

His brother would rather trust some nobody second son of a minor house than his own brother — his own blood — and that hurt so much that it made the dragon in him screech, wanting to find a person responsible for these feelings and bite back, get revenge and burn everything to the ground.

The dragon in Daemon raged inside his mind, begging to hurt Viserys back, to find a way to repay him for causing these ugly feelings. If he were anyone else, Viserys would already be dead — Daemon would not tolerate such disrespect from anyone.

However, he always held back. Viserys was his brother and his King — but lately, it was getting tiring, fighting to keep that brotherly bond when it was obvious that Daemon was the only one who put effort into it.

So perhaps he shall listen to that raging dragon inside him, telling him to lose control and set fire to anyone who caused him so much pain and disappointment.

 

 

_____

 

 

king's landing, 110 AC
visenya targaryen

Visenya winced as a cramp hit her. Fuck. She was not looking forward to this! She had a fourteen-year-long break from this and even if she knew what to expect of her body, she still felt unready.

The pain was not that bad — at least not for her. She knew some women who literally could not get out of bed when their moonblood came, but that was not a situation with her. Hells, she had fought battles while bleeding!

Still, there were moments when cramps would hit her out of nowhere, kicking the breath out of her lungs. It was not even about the pain as much as it was about the uncomfortable feeling of dripping — Besides, did anybody know how hard it was to ride a dragon while on your moonblood?

Just this morning she had to find a way to transport Dreamfyre to Dragonstone since her cage in the Dragonpit needed repairing. To her surprise, Dreamfyre followed right after Arrax with no complaint whatsoever — and her mount, Gods bless her beautiful Arrax.

Her green beast felt her pain, he felt her uneasiness — so as soon as she whispered where they were going, he took the lead and let her sit in the saddle and rest. Arrax did not even approach the Dragonstone castle, as if sensing that another was occupying it. Dreamfyre did tho and she landed safely — as soon as Arrax saw that, he changed directions and flew her back home.

It was a challenge tho — and now Visenya was lying on the floor, surrounded by blankets and pillows, the journal of Queen Alysanne in hand as she studied her great-grandmother's notes and doodles, taking note of ideas she had to improve the lives of her people.

Laena and Jeyne were keeping her company. Two of her cousins were silent, letting her concatenate on her task but also both occupied with playing card games.

"Is something troubling you, Lady Jeyne? You usually best me in card games," Laena mused, setting her cards down.

Jeyne leaned further into the pillows. "Surprisingly, yes. I have been trying very hard to make my cousin, Lady Rhea Royce, see reason about requesting an annulment from the King — and I have been miserably failing, if you cannot tell," she revealed.

Laena raised her perfect brow, tilting her head to the side. "Truly? I cannot see why she would want to stay tied to Prince Daemon — Do not get me wrong, if I were in a marriage with him, I would not let go of him either — but in her case it is different. She hates him, does she not?"

Jeyne snorted, "Hate is a light word for what Prince Daemon and Lady Rhea feel for each other." Visenya closed her great-grandmother's journal and questioned, "Is she doing it out of spite then? My uncle has been intent on keeping her miserable their entire marriage, so perhaps she wants to return the favor and not grant him the one thing he desperately wishes for?"

"You are most likely right, Visenya," her Arryn cousin hummed. "Still, I have known Lady Rhea ever since I was a child. She is headstrong, but she is reasonable as well."

"Well, that is not what we have heard. We know her as 'bronze bitch' and 'desert womb'. Prince Daemon also likes to call her 'horse-face'," Laena quipped and Visenya felt a sudden urge to throw a pillow at her face — the Velaryon girl's bluntness was a thing she adored, but Jeyne could take offense to this.

She turned to the fiery-haired girl and tried to ease the situation. "My uncle can be an unreliable narrator when it comes to people he dislikes. So do tell us more about Lady Rhea, I am certain you can describe her as she is."

Jeyne tapped her chin twice, clearly trying to find the right words, "In all honesty, cousin, I think you both would get along with her. She would be hesitant to get to know you since both of you are of Valyrian blood and, as we know, she did not have any good experiences with those of dragon blood in their veins, but she would be fond of you."

Laena looked at Jeyne as if she had grown two heads. Visenya cannot blame her because she herself could not picture ever getting along with a woman who hates her uncle to the bone. "You truly think that?"

However, her Arryn cousin nodded without a shred of doubt. "Yes. All three of you are different than what this society expects of women to be — you two would rather fly away on your dragons than do anything else. The same can be said for her just for riding and hawking — All three of you have a certain fondness for not following rules as well."

Visenya's brows almost disappeared in her hairline. Yes, she very much doubted this. "She does sound like an interesting woman," is the best she could offer without offending anyone.

"She is," Jeyne said. "I worry for her. She should know how dangerous staying married to Prince Daemon is. What if one day he decides he had enough of her? Who shall protect her then?"

"If my uncle had not killed her by now, he won't do it later," Visenya simply said, eager to finish the conversation. This was a lie if she ever spoke one — The truth is that her uncle could kill his wife at any moment, why has he not chosen to do it before was beyond her.

As soon as she groaned into her pillow, Laena turned her head toward her. "And what is up with you? You have been moaning and groaning the entire day — is it about the training plan for building muscles that Leo made you?"

"I wish it was that. . .I had my first moonblood yesterday," Visenya mused, voice muffled. The Velaryon girl gave her a look of understanding, "Oh you poor thing. No wonder you have been so moody last week."

"Yes, well — welcome to womanhood. Prepare yourself for pains, warm baths, and a lot of rest for a week every moon," Jeyne added. Visenya snorted. "I am looking forward to it," she said sarcastically.

Suddenly, as if a realization hit her, Laena straightened her back and cleared her throat, looking somewhat uncomfortable, "Has anyone talked to you about this? I pray to Vhagar that it was not those blasted Septas. . .Do you need us to—"

Visenya cut her off, "No. I read books about it. I am well informed on what I should be expecting every moon." She lied with ease, avoiding looks of uncertainty and pity directed toward her.

Usually, when girls flower, it is their mother's duty to sit them down and explain the situation. When the mother is not in the picture, a close, older female relative gets that role. Visenya had neither. Her mother was dead and she had no grandmothers, great-grandmothers, or aunts.

They pitied her because of it.

Laena and Jeyne shared a look. "Alright. Do you need us to at least show you how to properly wrap yourself? It can be tricky—" Feeling her irritation rising, Visenya dismissively waved her hand, "No, but thank you for the offer."

A long, uncomfortable silence stretched between the three of them so Visenya stood up, adjusted her black dress and said, "As fun as this was, I think I am going to go to the Small Council chambers now, the meeting should start soon."

"Do you not need rest? Most women tend to stay in bed all week — not that anyone can blame them," Jeyne questioned with worry. Laena nodded along. "True. I cannot even ride Vhagar for at least three days! It is awful!"

Visenya shrugged. "As lovely as doing nothing sounds, I am the Heir to the Iron Throne — I cannot afford to laze around. I shall see you later." With that, she left her rooms.

As soon as she approached the Small Council chambers, she peaked her head inside to find her father sitting at the head of the table, all alone, looking utterly lost in thought. She found him like this more often than not — Viserys always appeared to be playing with Aemma's ring that now rested on his finger.

She cleared her throat and called out, "Father?" Viserys immediately straightened in his seat, looking as if he had been caught stealing sweets from the kitchens. "Vissie. . .Do enter. The rest of the lords shall join us soon."

Visenya did as she was told, closing the doors behind her. She made her way to him, a carefully worded speech already prepared in her mind, "There was something that I wanted to speak with you about. Do you remember the orphanages mother had raised donations for?"

"Of course. She and you both were quite persistent," her father nodded so she continued, "Well, the renovations will be finished soon so I wanted to organize an opening ceremony and gather some people."

"That sounds lovely. I know how much you love the city and its people." To her surprise, Viserys seemed alright with this. She expected him to say no — Hells, she even prepared a few very good arguments on why she should do it.

"Do you want to join me?" She suddenly questioned, making him blink in surprise. She tried to explain her reasoning, "It has been years since people last saw you. They remember you as a fun person who likes to throw feasts. It would do you good to see them — and breathe in some fresh air."

Viserys openly chuckled for the first time since her mother's death. "Oh my daughter, one can hardly find fresh air in this city." Visenya rolled her eyes, but a small smile danced on her lips. "You know what I meant."

"It is a sweet offer, Vissie, but the monarch's place is inside the Red Keep. Too much can go wrong if one were to leave the comforts of this place," he settled for saying.

Visenya did not entirely agree. Yes, it could be dangerous, but it was also very important for people to see royalty willing to walk amongst them — especially now that Visenya decided to start her journey as heir by changing a few things in the city, thus helping people and stopping them from dying of starvation or sickness.

Before she could push further, Ser Ryam opened the doors, announcing the arrival of Otto Hightower and Maester Mellos. Otto walked in, not caring that she had a private audience with the King. Mellos, on the other hand, briefly stopped to question, "Do we interrupt something, Your Graces?"

"Not at all, Maester Mellos. You are welcome to sit," Viserys offered, gesturing towards the empty seats at the table. Both men bowed their heads and respectively took their usual seats.

Otto cleared his throat, "If I may ask, Your Grace, what is the Princess doing here? Shouldn't she be in her chambers? After all, her condition is delicate and requires resting."

Visenya schooled her expression to stay indifferent even though she was annoyed — in moments like this, Otto reminded her of that old, smelly rat Pycelle — both of them with their noses in other people's business.

It was very good that she knew how to deal with these kinds of men — with anybody who was a frantic follower of the Seven. Those people have expectations and principles that they push onto other people — and the trick with them is to make them uncomfortable, which is easy considering that they were all about 'propriety'.

"I am afraid I do not know what you mean, Lord Hand. It is just a little blood — I am not dying," Visenya said, sweet innocence coating her voice. She made a show of looking genuinely curious as she tilted her head to the side. "Does a little blood make you uncomfortable?"

As she expected, the Hightower cunt looked away from her eyes, feeling embarrassed. He cleared his throat, "Perhaps Septa Marlow should explain why resting is essential during this time, my Princess. After all, the tragedy of your mother's passing has left you without a proper womanly figure in your life whose role she should fulfil."

He did not just say that! It was all she could do not to throw the nearest chair at him — and he looked like he expected her to — he wanted her to rage and act like her uncle would — but Visenya would not give him the satisfaction of succeeding.

"Books exist for a reason," she exclaimed, casting a glance to her father for support, "Besides, I will be ruling the Seven Kingdoms one day, Lord Hand. Do you think I am going to take a week of rest every moon while I let my future council do as they please?"

Her father hummed. "My daughter is right, Otto." Viserys grabbed her hand and squeezed it in assurance. "But, if you do require a few days to rest, no one shall fault you for it."

She have him a brief nod of understanding before he gestured to the door. "Now, you have an opening ceremony to plan, go."

 

 

_____

 

 

king's landing, 110 AC
viserys targaryen

Once all men from the Small Council took their seats, his Hand swept a look at every one of them and began his daily report, "Now that all of us have gathered, I wish to begin by suggesting that we talk about Princess Visenya’s marriage."

Viserys blinked, startled. He had not expected to talk about this — not today, not for a few long years at least. His daughter has only just flowered, there was no need to rush her into anything.

Maester Mellos nodded and encouraged the conversation to continue, "I would have to agree. The Princess has flowered and the talk of her future husband and consort is long overdue."

Immediately, Otto unfolded a few pieces of parchment he held in front of him and requested, "If I may, Your Grace, I have prepared a list of men from each region — all of them good and honorable knights who can bring something to the crown."

Without even waiting for his approval, Otto was ready to begin listing the names and reasons why those men would be a good match for his daughter and heir, but Viserys blurted out, "No," which stopped him.

"Your Grace?" His Hand questioned, looking quite uncertain — after all, it was rare for Viserys to stop him or disagree with him. He shook his head, "Visenya is too young to be married."

Otto gave him a short nod, although he spoke, "I can understand the love and fear you feel for your daughter, my King — After all, I have a daughter as well. It is not easy to see our children grow up and leave us, but that is their duty."

Yes, but your daughter is seven and ten, mine is four and ten — that is a large enough difference, Viserys almost said.

When his Hand saw that Viserys was not convinced, he turned to the Master of Law for support, "Don't you have a married daughter as well, Lord Strong?"

Lyonel seemed hesitant to answer, casting a look between Viserys and Otto. "I do, yes. My eldest daughter, Lylian married at the age of five and ten."

Too young, Viserys's mind screamed at him. Memories from the day he married Aemma flashed in his mind. She was so young — only one and ten — a girl still, yet both Viserys were so happy to have found each other that they did not care.

His grandparents insisted on marrying them as soon as possible even though Aemma had not even flowered yet. Looking at it now, after so long, after he had lost his beautiful mate to childbirth — he could not see how Aemma's father even agreed to give her away so young.

Viserys had two precious girls — both older than Aemma had been when she married him — and yet, he could not imagine himself giving them away to someone. In truth, he would rather see himself commanding his Kingsguard to bring him the head of any man who dared ask for their hand now.

Maester Mellos eagerly nodded, "Precisely the right age to be given away. Four and ten is hardly considered young. Women marry younger." He continued, "You have wed your lady wife at the age of six and ten — and she was only one and ten, was she not, my King?"

"And look at where that led us to! Aemma is dead — most of our babes are dead with only my two precious daughters left alive — all because she was wedded and bedded too young, you have said so yourself, Mellos!" Viserys raged.

He did not think like this before, but the memory of every funeral pyre made for his stillborn children — the memory of his beautiful Aemma burning in Arrax's flames — made a cold trail of sweat travel down his spine.

Visenya and Rhaenyra were all there was left of Aemma in this world — and if his daughters met the same fate as their mother, it would shatter him, it would break him.

Just the thought of losing his daughters made his heart clench with such pain that he almost gasped for breath. Just the thought of his daughters ever knowing the pain of losing their children — or their lives — it was too much.

"Indeed, Your Grace, but Princess Visenya is not one and ten — she is four and ten," Mellos hesitantly mused, noticing how all colour drained from Viserys's face.

"And there is one more thing left to consider," Otto added. "The Crown is in a vulnerable position. With Prince Daemon out of the line of succession, you have only two heirs, Your Grace. What if something were to happen to them? — We need Princess Visenya to wed and multiply for the sake of the Crown and the stability of the Realm."

In a fit of rage, Viserys stood up and slapped his hands on the table, the sound echoing around the Small Council chambers. "No and that is my final word, Otto! I will not hear the talks of my heir's marriage until she is at least six and ten. Am I understood?"

"If that is your command, my King," his Hand muttered, obviously displeased. Viserys stamped back into his seat, rubbing his pulsing temples. "There is one more matter that needs to be discussed. The Crown has received a letter from Lord Lawren Tyrell. The letter is more of a request for help, really."

"Help regarding what, Lord Hand?" Lord Beesbury spoke for the first time. Otto answered, "It appears that Ironborn riders began their attacks on the Reach and Lord Lawren wrote asking for the help of the Crown to crush the invaders."

Great — Just what he needed. It was not enough that Lord Corlys was pushing for him to start a war with the Triarchy but now this as well!

He fought the urge to groan and turned to his Master of Law. Hopefully, this situation could be handled easily — perhaps by exchanging a few letters with the Lord of the Iron Islands. "What do you suggest we do?" Viserys questioned.

"I would write to the Lord of the Iron Islands first. We should see if he has any part in this — if not, then it is his duty as Lord Paramount to keep his people from going rogue," Lord Lyonel advised.

"And if he does play a part in this?" Viserys forced the question out of his mouth, already dreading the answer. Lord Strong pursed his lips and then said "Let us cross the bridge when we get there, Your Grace."

Notes:

You bet your ass that I wrote this instead of studying for my Pedagogy exam 🤫

I really like how in depth I went with Daemon’s POV. Hopefully it wasn't too OOC of him to think like this. Let me know if I did it right, please!

Otto and Mellos teaming up to get rid off Vissie by marrying her off and Viserys finally growing a backbone and saying no was my favourite thing this chapter 😌 He bought our girl some time and freedom to get things in order before a talk of marriage rises again.

My Wattpad: seven-moons

Chapter 39: Hidden Behind A Mask

Summary:

In which:

— Rhaenyra and Visenya have their final fight
— Laena is the best friend anyone could ask for
— Visenya cuts off a man's head <33

Notes:

I'm in the middle of my April exams so I've been inactive. I still have two more exams to take, but I managed to write a chapter ❤

king's landing, 110 AC
visenya targaryen

Visenya paced around, her eyes skimming over the parchment in her hands. She could hear a commotion outside of the building, but she did not let that distract her — it was a day of an opening ceremony for the orphanages that were built and repaired and the streets were packed full when people heard the Heir to the Iron Throne was going to be there.

She was revising the speech she prepared for the people of King's Landing when Leo approached her, the golden cloak on his back shining under the sun's rays. "Are you certain that organizing this was a smart idea?"

"Yes. I am Heir to the Iron Throne now — I am to be responsible for the lives of people all around the Kingdom. I have to start learning how to manage everything — and starting in this city is the perfect opportunity," she answered without looking up.

Leo explained his worries, "I understand that, however, you have to know that this is not like visiting orphanages. Dealing with children is easy — you play with them or sing to them and they will instantly warm up to you. You are dealing with adults here — Adults who have never once seen you — Adults who may or may not resent you for being of royal blood because you have grown up swimming in riches while most of them live homeless. Most importantly, you have always had food on your table, at least three times a day — which is more than they could ever afford."

Visenya understood perfectly — her father had the same ones which was why he decided that showing up and risking his life by it was not worth it.

But her position was different.

Unlike how most royals thought, it is important to have the small folk on your side — it is essential that they like you or even know you. Especially to her since she knew the history of how the Storming of the Dragonpit happened. A mob of twenty thousand people was enough to end the lives of five dragons — and all because they grew to hate Rhaenyra, blaming her for Helaena's suicide.

Out of all the things she fought to change, this was perhaps the most important. Without dragons, Targaryens were nothing — they were normal, ordinary, easily killed. Plus, she was sent back to stop the dying of dragons.

There were few things that Visenya had in mind regarding the Dragonpit and how dangerous it was for dragons — however, making the small folk like her, was essential.

"When have you started discouraging my dangerous ideas? If memory serves, I would say that you always joined me," she mused as she stopped pacing around and finally met his eyes — only to find him leaning against the doorframe.

"You said it yourself, Visenya, you are heir to the Iron Throne and the second most important person in this entire kingdom. It is rather foolish to put your life at risk for something as insignificant as this," Leo tried to reason, gesturing with his hands.

Visenya could not help but roll her eyes at this. "Helping people is hardly insignificant." Her tall friend argued back, "It is insignificant comparing to your life and safety."

She had to remind herself that he was only worried for her, after all, he took his duties as her protector very seriously — especially when Daemon ordered him to not let her out of his sight.

That was right. When her uncle left for Dragonstone, most of the Gold Cloaks followed him, leaving the city almost unprotected. But Daemon ordered some of his most loyal friends to stay behind and keep an eye on her and Rhaenyra — noting that it was important they had some loyal allies by their side.

Visenya folded the parchment and shoved it into the pockets of her black dress. She then approached Leo, tilting her head to the side, "I appreciate your concern for my safety, Leo, but this is something that I have to do."

Her friend's watery blue eyes studied her for a moment or two before he bowed his head, "If that is what you wish." He opened the door for her and became a shadow at her back, following right after her.

"Everything will turn out alright. We have Ser Harrold, Ser Erryk, and Ser Arryk with us. Plus, you've organized the Gold Cloaks to step in if it is needed," Visenya tried to reassure him as they walked through the stony halls of the new building.

"Whatever is left of Gold Cloaks that is. . .This is going to end up in a disaster," Leo snorted. Before they stepped out of the building, he grabbed her arm, making her stop in her tracks. "Keeping you alive is of utmost importance to me, Visenya — so, if something happens, I will personally throw you over my shoulder and get out of here. Be aware that I will ignore your protests as well."

"I expect nothing less from you," Visenya sent him a smile and then jested to lighten up his mood, "Just promise me you are not going to turn this event into a blood bath if the people start throwing mud at me."

That seemed to affect him since his shoulders finally dropped some of the tension and the frown on his face disappeared. "I make no promises."

Sharing one final look, Visenya finally step outside into the sun where a handful of Gold Cloaks was keeping a huge crowd of people away from the entrance of the building. The three Kingsguard that her father made her bring with her, flanked her at all sides so that no harm could befall her.

Her indigo eyes swept over the large crowd, watching them as they whispered among themselves. She watched the children run around, some squeezing in joy, some waving at her — so she waved right back.

"Are you ready, Your Grace?" Ser Erryk, her sworn shield, questioned as they approached a sort of a high platform that was built for her to stand on. Visenya nodded, a nervous but excited feeling running through her. "As ready as I will ever be, Ser Erryk."

Ser Erryk gave helped her climb onto the platform and once the people caught sight of her, a hush fell over the crowd.

Visenya made sure to take a deep breath and speak loudly and clearly, "Good people of King's Landing, my name is Princess Visenya Targaryen, the firstborn child and Heir to my father, the King Viserys Targaryen, First of his Name. Today, I am standing before you to present the first of many projects that the Crown has invested in — all in an effort to better the lives of the people living in this city!"

Now all people seemed engaged, casting a focus solemnly on her. She carefully studied the crowd, noting that some looked skeptical while the others looked hopeful. Parents clung to their children while others rolled their eyes and walked away.

"I have been made aware that this city has been in decline since my great-grandmother, the Good Queen Alysanne's passing — That is about to change! As your future Queen, I seek to make sure this never happens again — No longer will the homeless children roam through the streets because the Crown now offers them a properly equipped and safe home to grow up in! No longer will the starving people live in fear for their lives and the lives of their loved ones because the Crown now offers free packs of food!"

She gestured with her hands toward the square they were currently in — a square solely designed for orphanages, her mother's idea. The orphanages used to be scattered around the city, some of them in good and safer parts while others were in literal hellholes.

But this part of the city was as safe and as clean as King's Landing could get. Admittedly, it will take time, but children and their belongings are going to be moved here, where they can grow up alongside their peers, knowing that no one will come in the middle of the night to kidnap them or rob them.

The people looked around, as if only now noticing that there were no homeless sleeping on the streets — there were no beggars asking for coin. The buildings were renovated and their roofs changed, their windows without cracks.

It was not much, but it was a promising start.

"You live in my city, and it is my greatest honor and pleasure to help you in any way I can — starting with making sure all of you have proper homes and meals. Gods bless you and the Seven Kingdoms!" Visenya finished her speech.

A long silence stretched over the crowd. People shared looks between themselves, some still in awe while others admired the renovations. After what felt like a lifetime, the crowd burst into applause, shouts and cheers ringing.

Visenya allowed herself to smile as people began chanting her name in gratefulness — they looked at her with admiring eyes, as if she was a God sent to help them.

Once she safely made her way back to the Red Keep, she immediately went on to find her father and give him a report of what happened. Unfortunately for her, as soon as she turned the corner, she ran straight into Alicent Hightower.

Hells, she had not even planned this — it was like she was meant to find Alicent leaving her father's chambers looking flushed and disheveled, her hair and dress a mess.

Alicent's eyes almost popped out of their sockets as she caught sight of her. Admittedly, the girl tried to compose herself, hugging a large book to her chest. "P—Princess Visenya," she gritted with a bow of her head.

"Lady Alicent," she greeted right back, her face without a trace of emotion. She did not mock or sneer, but she could not stop herself from questioning, "What have you been doing in my father's chambers?"

With that, all hopes of Visenya not seeing Alicent leaving Viserys's chambers vanished. "I—Just—Just reading, Your—Your Grace," she gestured to the book she carried as a trail of sweat dripped down her brow.

Visenya hummed. "By the state of your dress, I would say certainly not. You might want to tie up the laces on your back before you step into the halls that are crowded," she advised.

The Hightower girl turned bright red. She opened and then closed her mouth a few times, as if trying to find a way to explain or defend herself — but no words came out.

Before Visenya took the final steps to enter her father's solar, she tilted her head to the side and pushed one step further, "One more thing, My Lady — Does my sister know that you are fucking our father?"

That seemed to have done it because Alicent began stuttering to no end, her brown eyes wide, "I—I—I do not! This—This is not. . ." Visenya just nodded her head, "I will take that as a no," she mused and left the Hightower girl to her own devices.

She took a moment to compose herself before she signaled for Ser Ryam Redwyne to open the doors to her father's chambers. She found Viserys sitting beside the model of Old Valyria, a feather in hand, staring at the empty parchment before him.

As soon as her father saw her, he quickly adjusted his comfortable clothes and smiled. "How did it go?"

"I believe I have earned myself a new alias — They now call me The People's Princess — so I think it is safe to say that they are fond of me," Visenya explained with a hint of fondness in her voice.

"They would be fools not to appreciate your efforts," her father mused, a proud glint in his purple eyes. Visenya slowly approached him, taking a seat on the chair opposite of him. "What are you working on?"

Viserys sighed, running his hand down his face. "Lord of the Iron Islands has sent us a reply — Apparently, he has nothing to do with attacks on the Reach. He claims the rogue captains to be responsible."

As if. Visenya had no doubt that the Lord of the Iron Islands was behind it all.

"Oh, I am certain he does," she noted sarcastically. "He denies having any part in these attacks, but he is the Lord of the Iron Islands is he not? — keeping his captains at bay is his job and by not doing it, he shows how incompetent he is as a leader."

Her father began tapping his fingers against the table in a rhythm. He appeared deep in thought as he said, "He certainly has a part in all of this, even though he would not admit it out loud."

"Then what are you planning to do? Send aid to Lord Lawren? Or perhaps give him an ultimatum — if he does not cease his attacks, he gets burned by dragonfire?" Visenya questioned, already imagining how good Arrax would look in the skies, breathing fire upon their enemies.

Viserys gave her an amusing chuckle. "That is too drastic, little flame. I refuse to start an open war," he shook his head.

Visenya was prepared to argue — After all, what proper monarch sits on their arse while one of their lands or kingdoms is attacked? "But—"

"We have enough issues with the Stepstones and this 'Crabfeeder' as it is. I cannot deny Lord Corlys but help Lord Lawren, that would be unseemly. Either we engage in both or in neither — and I refuse to start a war when I see that it can all be resolved peacefully," her father explained.

He and his peace, Visenya cursed silently. The problem would be solved if you helped both of them.

Her father was speaking of these attacks as if they did not matter — as if the trading routes that the Stepstones offered were insignificant? As if the sheer position of the Stepstones did not offer an advantage in any war that may befall them? As if protecting one of the main lands that were their source of food was the wrong thing to do?

Visenya was disappointed, but not surprised. She would have started an argument with him if she thought that it would make a difference — but it would not. Instead, she sighed, defeated, "If you say so." She changed the subject and asked what she came here for, "I was wondering. . .Would you mind if I moved into mother's chambers?"

Her father looked surprised at her request and she could see that he was prepared to talk her out of it — but Visenya would not cave on this one.

She always had more than one good reason for doing things — that way, she could kill multiple birds with one stone.

By requesting to move into Aemma's old chambers, she mostly thought about blocking Alicent's power in court early — her mother's chambers were used by Queens or rather Consorts, which meant that if those chambers belonged to Visenya and not Alicent, it would send an image to people and court that the new Consort held little power and was not as respected as Aemma was.

Second, the nursery — her mother's old chambers had their own little nursery in which both Rhaenyra and she grew up in. It would serve her good to have her own children so close to her when she someday had them.

It also had more space. Not to mention that if she got her father to agree to this, the next thing she would request is splitting Aemma's belongings with her sister — from her mother's jewelry to her books and dresses. Essentially, nothing will go to Alicent, not even her mother's crown, thus again sending the message to the Realm that Alicent was not worthy.

Visenya pushed, aiming to guilt her father into this. She looked down, pretending to open herself up, "I am aware that those chambers are usually reserved for a Consort, but I miss her — terribly so. I wish to feel closer to her. . ."

By the looks of it, she succeed because Viserys's eyes became glossy and his lips quivered. "If you think it would help you with your grief,  then I approve of your request."

 

 

_____

 

 

godswood, 110 AC
rhaenyra targaryen

Rhaenyra was finally happy again.

Every day, she imagined the moment Alicent would barge into her chambers and tell her that it was time — that she was ready and she packed — that they should take this opportunity and run away together to live happily ever after.

All of this pretending not to be anything more than friends slowly drove her insane — Rhaenyra wished to fly to Essos where people were far more accepting of the same-sex marriages — she wished to kiss Alicent in the light of the day and not in the shadows, fearing that someone might catch them.

Hiding her love for Alicent from everyone was fun at the beginning — she liked the thrill of almost getting caught kissing and touching in the library or the shadows of the Godswood. But it was getting tiring.

Rhaenyra desperately wished for their love to be out in the open — for the world to see.

While hiding was a game that had her even more hooked to Alicent, it also felt as if they were doing something dirty, something unforgivable and sinful — which they were not!

She loved Alicent and she was not ashamed to admit it!

Alicent was adamant they stay a little longer — until her brother Gwayne recovered at least, so Rhaenyra accepted. But, it did not stop her from having the matching rings made — two beautiful golden pieces, one with a ruby and the other with an emerald.

She was planning on gifting them to Alicent when they marry on Dragonstone — she wanted it to be a surprise — so they were safely hidden in the drawers where she kept all her other jewelry.

Rhaenyra just finished admiring the rings when Alicent came in. "I have been waiting for you—" she started, a toothy grin on her lips. The moment she spun around to see an upset Alicent, she jumped out of her seat and approached her, "Are you alright? What happened?"

"I—I," she could not even speak. Rhaenyra helped her to sit down and took her hands in hers. "Where have you been?"

"With—With my father," Alicent said. A little worm in the back of her mind that has been there, whispering of the way her lover disappeared during the day and of the way she was not beside her as she once was, it raged and made false accusations against Alicent.

"Were you not supposed to be visiting Gwayne?" she could not help but ask. As if she had been caught in a lie, her lover gulped and explained, "I—Yes. My father and I were going to wish my brother a fast recovery."

"Then what?" Despite herself, Rhaenyra accepted that answer. "Princess Visenya—" Alicent started but she cut her off, her vision turning red all of a sudden, "My sister? What has she done now? Has she said something to you? Never mind. I will deal with her myself."

She sprinted out of her chambers faster than she ever did — in all honesty, she had no idea how she even found her sister's chambers because all she saw and felt was rage.

Rhaenyra burst into Visenya's chambers, only to find her sister seemingly packing away her stuff. "What have you said to Alicent?" She immediately questioned.

Visenya briefly turned to face her before she went back to packing her books. "You should knock before you enter — I thought you have at least some manners."

"Stop avoiding my question!" Rhaenyra shouted. Visenya sighed and turned her head toward her, finally giving her attention. "What has your friend told you?" she asked, utterly calm and Rhaenyra hated it.

They were both of the blood of the dragon but Rhaenyra was much more temperamental — she showed her claws, she roared when angry — and yet, Visenya was just calm and collected, always.

"Nothing since she was so shaken up that I am surprised she had not passed out!" Rhaenyra said, her temper flaring. "Why are you doing this? What has she ever done to you? I thought that we were past this — You promised me you have accepted that I have chosen her as my companion! You promised me you would not bother her!"

She thought they were finally going somewhere! After so very long, Rhaenyra had both her sister and Alicent — she balanced the time spent with the other and they did not interact.

One minute everything was alright and the next one, everything went to Hells!

"I think you should speak to her first. Clearly, you have no idea what happened," Visenya advised, still unbothered.

"I do not need to speak with Alicent to know that whatever happened was your fault — because it always is! Alicent is innocent in all of this!" she raged, even though that worm in the back of her mind whispered, Is she though?

"You would rather believe her than me?" her sister questioned, sounding flabbergasted. Why was it such a surprise for her? Rhaenyra has spent most of her life choosing Alicent over everyone — why would she stop doing it now?

"Of course I would!" Rhaenyra answered, much to her sister's disbelief. "She has been there for me in every important moment in my life — She held me when mother and Baelon passed. She cried with me. She prayed with me. . ."

"And I have not?!" Visenya asked, her tone laced with betrayal.

With every moment she spent with her sister, especially those after their mother's funeral, she felt as if she was the mad one — Visenya showed no emotion while Rhaenyra struggled to keep the tears from falling, Visenya was silent while Rhaenyra wished to scream until her throat was raw, Visenya was floating around the keep while Rhaenyra could not even get out of bed, the weight of her grief pressing down on her.

She shook her head. "No! You have not cried a day in your life, much less when mother and Baelon passed! You went on as if nothing happened, going around the city and entertaining court! You smile and laugh with your friends as if the worst of tragedies had not struck us!"

Her whole life, Rhaenyra had never once seen her sister tear up — not when she scrapped her knee during her Water Dancing lessons — not when she got knocked to the ground during her sword fighting lessons — not when every sibling they should have had perished.

She had not cared enough to even cry for Aemma and Baelon. Rhaenyra studied the frown on her sister's face. "Have you even cared about them — about mother? About anyone?"

Her answer was silence — and Rhaenyra was not surprised.

Visenya was hiding her whole life, from her family, from the people, from herself. There were rare moments in which she saw Visenya show her real emotions — but they were so rare and so short that she thought she imagined it all — and perhaps she did.

Perhaps Visenya was cold and distant — perhaps it was not in her nature to care, not even for her own blood. Because how else could Rhaenyra explain such behavior? Who does not cry for their own mother?!

"Tell me, Visenya, do you hide behind your mask because you are afraid of people seeing the real you — because you know that they would run for their life if they ever saw you for who you are?" she could very well recognize the moment Visenya's mask cracked.

For a moment, Rhaenyra thought her sister flinched at her words, but that cannot be true, can it? Visenya felt nothing, she cared for no one — so why would she flinch at mere words?

Just like that, her sister's mask was back again, her face showing boredom and irritation. "You want to choose Alicent over me, fine, do as you want — but do not dare say that I did not warn you — and do not come crying to me when she stabs you in the back!"

"Fine," Rhaenyra gritted out. Visenya stared down at her. "Fine. Now get out. I have more important things to do than deal with you."

 

 

_____

 

 

king's landing, 110 AC
visenya targaryen

Visenya had a complicated relationship with Gods — she had few reasons to believe in their existence. There was only one God for her, the God of Death. Still, it felt wrong to not at least light a candle for her mother.

She still did not find it in herself to visit her mother's crypt, so she knelt in front of Balerion's altar and lit up a candle, and sent a silent prayer to Arrax to judge her mother fairly and give her eternal peace.

When she was done, Laena, who had been kneeling beside her, praying as well, asked, "Are you alright?"

Of course her friend noticed that she had grown quiet ever since that fight she had with Rhaenyra. Instead of pretending to be fine, she confessed, "Rhaenyra and I had an argument and she basically called me a heartless bitch that has few lovable qualities about her."

Visenya allowed herself to remember little Alyanna — a girl who was born good and pure — also the girl that had grown progressively worse every year of her life.

She acted and she reacted — but she often wondered where was that girl that she had been a year ago — or two years ago? What would that girl think of her now? Would she be proud or would she be scared?

She realized that she was not a whole person — she did not think she will ever be again. Parts of her began dying and rotting long ago so she had to cut them off in order to not infect the rest of herself.

She learned to burn and to freeze — She learned it was better to be cold instead of warm — she learned it was better to be harsh than soft because softness never served her, it only brought her more pain and heartbreak.

Exactly because of this, Visenya knew there was something wrong about her — How come her fire turned into ice? How come a girl who hated the sight of blood was now thirsty for it? How come the girl who raged and cried at the unfairness of it all turned to be a person who was not bothered?

Sometimes, her actions and reactions even shocked her.

Maybe it was the curse of the oldest sibling? A s much as she sometimes loathed herself and the role she has to play — she knew that she was meant to be an older sister. No one could do this better than her — Rhaenyra would not be capable of surviving the role Visenya was given.

Visenya was the only one capable of handling the harsh truths, the ugly sights, the way her childhood slipped through her fingers, the family secrets, the weight of the entire dynasty — Hells, even the weight of the world on her shoulders.

She was the glue of her household, the pillar that held it all from crumbling. She was the only one who could take a stand against her father and hate him as well as love him for all the things he did, grieve her mother while shielding her sister so she could still have a scrap of childhood she was owed — so Rhaenyra could grow up with a whole heart instead of turning into a copy of Visenya.

It bothered her that Rhaenyra could not see it the way that it is instead of making baseless assumptions about her.

The truth was, if Visenya relaxed her body now, if she allowed her mask of strength and indifference to slip, she would fall apart. She has always lived like this, and it was the only way she know how to go on living. If she relaxed for a second, she would never find her way back — she would go to pieces, and the pieces would be blown away.

And, if her heart was as cold as her sister liked to think it was — then maybe she could get over the way Rhaenyra's words made her flinch.

Her sister was right about one thing though, W hat thing worthy of love could be found in her? None. None at all.

Laena was quiet so Visenya gulped and started, already dreading the answer, "Do you think she was right?'

Her cousin shook her head. "No. Never. Not once in my life — not even when we were children and you refused to play with me and tell me stories about dragons."

"I—I know that I can be difficult to understand. I know that I do not act as most do," she trailed off with a voice so soft it was barely above a whisper, "I know that I am full of thorns — but there are some things about me that I hope are worth it."

"Of course there are," Laena said, just as softly, taking her hands in hers, "I admit that it took me a lot of work to figure you out and break down the walls that you love to hide behind — but, it was worth it. You are worth knowing, Visenya."

"In fact, if I had to pick between hundreds or thousands of ordinary and extraordinary people, I would pick you — every single time. Do you know why?" Visenya shook her head, feeling lightheaded. "Because even when we were children, I knew who you are. I recognized you for who you are — my heart and soul tied up with yours. You are the sister of my heart — and I would not charge that for the world."

At first, the shock, sadness, and disappointment over Rhaenyra's words made her question everything — made her question herself and her identity, and her ability to care.

But not anymore. All those feelings turned into anger — Visenya was twitching to get the rage out of her system, she was thirsty to hurt someone because she was hurt — to make someone bleed because she felt as if she was bleeding from the inside.

Which was why it was not a good idea for this fat, ugly man in front of her to start tricking her. "I thought I paid you to keep the place closed until we strike an agreement," Visenya said, making her voice a bit deeper.

She was currently in the second brothel she bought, trying to strike a deal over the price of the building plus all the whores that worked there. She was in disguise, wearing a black cloak that hid every part of her, including her face.

"Listen, Liliyana—" the man who owned one of the brothels she purchased, started. "Alyanna," Visenya corrected, using a fake name for herself.

"Whatever," the man muttered, irritated. "When a customer asks you to open — you open. When a customer demands to fuck a whore — you gladly let him fuck a whore. If you do not understand that, you will not succeed in this business."

She was about to report when she heard a young girl beg, "No—No, please. . ." Visenya briefly turned to the owner but he seemed content in ignoring the pleading.

When they rounded the corner, they sighted a massive man standing over a very young girl, cornering her and trying to tear the back of her worn-out dress. "I am a servant! I serve wine and ale! I am not a whore! Please—Please stop. . ."

Without thinking twice about it, she pulled out her Valyrian-steel dagger and pointed it at the man, thus stopping his actions further. "Did your mother not teach you that the word no means no?"

The man grunted. "She is a whore and this is a brothel! I give my fair share of coin for this so I get to fuck whomever I want, whenever I want!" Visenya held the dagger tighter, "Step away from her." He did not listen and instead ripped apart the laces of the girl's dress as she cried out.

"I am giving you a chance to leave with all your parts intact. Take it or you will regret it," she warned for the last time.

The massive finally let his eyes scan over her — although there was nothing much to see except for a red-haired braid falling out of the cape — courtesy of the wig she brought from an Esossi woman visiting King's Landing a few months back.

The dark look of desire in the man's eyes made her grit her teeth. "A feisty whore with quite a tongue on her — I like it! Hah! I should take you instead of her then, I can already tell I will love the sounds you will produce when I take you against that wall with no mercy."

He let go of the young girl he held and she crawled away from him as fast as she could. He launched forward to grab her but she swapped her foot, and he staggered forward.

Not missing a beat, she had him pinned on the ground, her dagger to his throat. "I am not afraid of you, girl!" the man laughed, thinking this was all a game. Visenya smirked, "You should be."

He tried to move or switch their positions, but he was unsuccessful. Visenya cocked her head to the side. "Tell me, how is it to have someone hold you down? How is it to be helpless and vulnerable?" she taunted and slashed at his chest.

He cried out, "Please—" Visenya just hummed, "I love it when men are on their knees, begging for mercy which I will not grant them." She watched as droplets of blood fell to the ground. "It is truly a shame that there is no penalty for attempted rape. I would love to cut off your cock and shove it down your throat. I guess your head will have to do."

In the next moment, her Valyrian-steel dagger cut through his throat and the man's head fell, his blood staining her cloak. Don't you just love how Valyrian steel cuts through flesh like it's water?

There was a brief, shocking silence in the brothel. It was only then that she noticed that more girls joined them, watching the scene with fascination and fear.

"You bitch! I will—" the previous owner raged, trying to grab onto something sharp from the table, but before he could, she stabbed her dagger right through his hand — so much so, that it pierced even the wooden table. The man cried out, falling to his knees and clutching his hand.

"I would be careful with my words if I were you — after all, you do not want your head to be rolling on the ground next, would you?" Visenya warned. "Leave this place and never return. Consider me sparing your life as payment for this place. Now get out, I do wish to see your ugly face anywhere near this building again."

She pulled her dagger out of his palm and let him crawl away to the exit. After she was certain she was left alone with those girls in the dark brothel, she spun around to study them.

Visenya pointed out toward the golden-haired one. She seemed the calmest out of them all so she gestured for her to follow her. "You, come with me."

They made their way to one of the rooms and Visenya sat down. "Tell me your name," she commanded. "Vivianne," the girl answered, her accent thick. Visenya gestured towards the chair, "Sit, Vivianne."

The girl listened and so Visenya pulled out a few empty parchments she folded and brought with her. "I want you to tell me the names of every girl that has a job here. I want to know their ages, their monthly payments, the reason why they joined the brothel. I want to know when their shifts are, where they sleep, how safe this place is. I want to know of any incident that may have happened. I want to know everything."

Tonight is going to be a long night.

Notes:

This is definitely different to what I've written until now. Visenya is finally in her girlboss era and I'm here for it. The way that she killed that man for pissing her off was hot 💅🏻

Rhaenyra and Visenya break my heart. Nothing can hurt you like a sibling can...Luckily, Laena was there to pick up the pieces 🤭

In the next chapter we will be travelling to Highgarden and burning some Ironborn 🔥 Also, I will finally write Leo's POV!

My Wattpad: seven-moons

Chapter 40: You Came, You Called

Summary:

In which:

— Laena has a talk with Rhaenyra
— Viserys agrees to send aid to the Reach
— Visenya and Laena roast some Ironborn

king's landing, 111 AC
laena velaryon

Laena gave a handful of books back to the Maester that worked at the royal library. She also requested a few new books that her mother told her to get before the Maester scurried away to find them.

She stood still, tapping her fingers against a bookshelf when a familiar voice called out, "Good morrow, cousin." It was her cousin, Rhaenyra, leaning against her chair with a book in her lap.

Laena nodded in greeting, "Good morrow, Princess." She looked around, noticing that her cousin was without any company. "I am surprised to see you alone. You always have Lady Alicent trailing behind you."

Rhaenyra simply shrugged, "Yes, well — Alicent is a betrothed woman. Even though the mourning period is yet to pass, there is nothing stopping her father from planning the wedding in advance."

"Of course," Laena mused. Her beautiful cousin tilted her head to the side and returned the question, "I am surprised to find you without my sister. Has she already found a way to shoo you away?"

Feeling her irritation now rising, Laena tried to keep her composure even though the dragonblood in her made it impossibly hard — the urge to defend Visenya rang strong. Still, she took a deep breath and asked, "And why would she do that?"

Rhaenyra studied her intently and then took a risk and mused, "I am assuming she told you what happened between us — or at least her version of it. She must have also used her careful words and half-truths."

Laena almost rolled her eyes at her cousin's bluntness. She had no idea what Rhaenyra tried to achieve by saying this, but she played along, "Yes, she told me what happened, but she told me the truth. Visenya does not have a reason to lie to me — We are both open toward each other."

"You have such faith in a person who has been hiding behind masks all her life. Why is that?" Rhaenyra questioned, seemingly intrigued. "Because I know her," she replied as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Her cousin looked at her with something akin to pity — and then shook her head. "No, you do not. I do not think anyone in the world knows the true Visenya Targaryen."

Memories of young Visenya who drank her weight in wine during the feast ran through her head. And then the way she found her lying on the ground, slurring out her insecurities and truths, the mask she always wore slipping.

But not just that. There were moments even before when Laena saw the true colors of Visenya Targaryen — when she asked her cousin to be her friend, Visenya ran away, panicking, her face drained of color, looking as if she had seen a ghost.

Ever since they became friends, her cousin opened up more. She stopped bothering with the mask and showed her true self — she shared her plans and thought with her and Leo without them needing to fish out the world from her mouth.

And she did it because she trusted them enough to be herself with them. Laena frowned. Lies — her cousin was speaking lies. "You are wrong. Just because you know nothing about your own sister, does not mean that other people do not either."

The Maester returned with a new pile of books for her to take. Laena picked them up and turned around to leave, but stopped in her tracks — it did not feel right to run away when she had so much to say — not when the image of Visenya questioning her if she thought her truly heartless was so fresh in her mind.

She faced Rhaenyra once more and let all her thoughts out, "Do you know why I know her? Because I have bothered enough to. I spent moons trying to make her warm up to me, and eventually, she did. I never expected her to always be good and kind and loving because she is not like that — I will not deny that she can be cold and thoughtless and hard to understand, but to call Visenya heartless is the most absurd thing I heard in my life."

Her cousin seemed caught off guard by her statement. Still, Laena continued, "Visenya cares and she feels — perhaps more deeply than any person I have ever met. Her struggling to show it does not change that fact."

Visenya may not outrightly tell you that she loves you, she may not be so open to show affection with hugs and she may not always have kind words for people — but she showed that she cared in other ways — ways that may even be more important than simple words.

Visenya showed her love through her actions.

The overprotective way in which she looked at Rhaenyra when she thought no one was paying attention. The way she had to give up her sister to make her happy. The way she subtly wanted to separate her sister and Lady Alicent because she knew their companionship could only end in Rhaenyra's heartbreak — which was the last thing Visenya wanted for her.

The way she helped Leo get Ser Graffin off his back. The way she continued to love her father even though he always made her feel as if she was not enough. The way she would visit her mother every day and spend hours reading Valyrian tales to her in order to help Aemma fall asleep when the babes in her belly gave her no peace.

All of that just to call Visenya heartless?

"Days and weeks after her mother's funeral, she spent in the city, trying to make the late Queen Aemma's legacy live on — because that is how much she loved her mother — she loved her enough to fight hard for the entire Realm to never forget her mother's name and achievements," Laena pointed out. "When she was not in the city, she was either by your side, holding you as you cried or she was in her rooms, drinking her way into an early grave because she struggled to hold herself together."

Visenya was so brave and so quiet with her own feelings that people who did not know her could easily forget that she too was suffering.

They overlooked her pain because they did not think she felt anything at all — but they were wrong. Who would not that better than Laena who had been there through it all?

She had been there from the beginning — from when Visenya laughed and danced during celebrations even though the thought of death was in her heart. From that to now — to holding her cousin during the nights when she spent hours just crying for her mother.

"I have seen Visenya vulnerable. I have witnessed her tears and her struggles. She trusts me enough to let her guard down with me — and why wouldn't she? I have never chosen anyone else over her, especially not someone who is not even a part of the family," Laena mused pointedly and left after seeing Rhaenyra's nostrils flare at her accusation.

She made her way back into her parents' solar where her mother and brother were waiting for her. Laenor seemed too occupied with the food he had on his plate while her mother helped her put the books on the table. "Thank you, darling."

Laena looked around, her eyes searching before she questioned out loud, "Where is father?" Her mother sat down, going over the books as she leaned back into her seat. "With the King," she answered briefly.

She took a seat in front of her brother and rolled her eyes. "Is he trying to talk him into helping us with the Stepstones again?"

"Not this time. A missive arrived at dawn — Old Oak has been attacked twice now. People do not know how long they can hold up without any help and apparently, the Lord of the Iron Islands is ignoring the warnings to stay away from the Reach," her mother revealed.

That new information made her worry for Leo's safety. Her friend was now back in Reach after he petitioned the King for a leave. But, they have not heard from him in weeks now — All they knew was that he was fighting, perhaps even leading forces from the Reach that gathered to protect Old Oak.

"Why would they even bother with the Reach when they could attack the Rock instead? They are far reacher and they are nearer," her brother questioned, turning his head toward their mother.

"The Reach is a valuable territory and they have been slowly rising in power over the years. While they have not yet unlocked their full potential, it will do us no good to underestimate them," was all Rhaenys said.

Neither she nor Laenor cared much for politics. They knew the basics of court, but not more than that. Their small knowledge never bothered them, at least not recently. Their father and mother had to set them down to explain the situation with the Stepstones thoroughly for them to even grasp the importance of it all.

The same could be said for now. Rhaenys grew up in court, her father, the late Crown Prince Aemon Targaryen, even prepared her to rule one day so she knew all about politics and strategy — It was easy for her to read the situation and respond accordingly, something that could not be said for her and Laenor.

"Alright, but why have the Ironborn decided to attack now of all times?" Laena questioned. "They think us weak — They are aware we are having trouble with the Triarchy and the Stepstones and yet our King refuses to put a stop to it. It certainly does not help that the Crown is in a vulnerable position with the Queen's death and no male heirs in sight."

"But Westeros has an heir already," Laenor stated, cocking his head to the side, looking even more confused. Rhaenys nodded, "That may be true, but Visenya is a girl Ironborn do not view women as good leaders — in fact, women on the Iron Islands are treated worse than in Westeros — Ironborn are hardly going to consider Visenya a threat."

Laena sighed. "Whatever father is trying to accomplish by talking to the King is pointless though. If he refuses to help us, why would he help the Reach?"

Her brother perked up as if someone has offered him a sweet. "That is the thing — it was not father that starter pestering the King to send aid to the Reach, but cousin Visenya," he revealed.

By the way their mother snapped her head toward him, a glare already forming in her pale lilac eyes, it was fair to assume that her brother just said something that he should not have. "Laenor," she warned.

"That sounds like her," Laena offered as a response after a tense silence between them. Her brother glanced at their mother and then revealed what he knew further, "Indeed. She even offered to fly there herself."

"What?" She shrieked, standing up from her seat, making the chair scrape against the ground. "Laenor!" Her mother shouted, displeasure rolling off her in waves. Her brother grinned sheepishly, lifting his hand in surrender.

Laena was having none of it, already knowing that Rhaenys wished to hold this information from her. "Why haven't you started with that?!" she questioned her mother, feeling betrayed.

"Because I knew how you would react, Laena. This is not some great adventure you always dreamed of — This could very well result in war," her mother tried to reason with her but Laena was already halfway across the chambers, ready to sprint to the King's solar and offer herself and Vhagar as help.

To all Hells if she let Visenya fly there on her own!

She bolted out of the room, not stopping as she heard Rhaenys calling her name. As soon as she entered a part of the Keep which belonged to the Royal family, she recognized her father's voice as he announced, "Lord Lawren is in critical condition, he most likely won't survive, Your Grace."

Visenya's voice sounded pleading and yet annoyed at the same time as she spoke, "The Reach is a part of the Seven Kingdoms, is it not? They are under our protection — we should be sending aid, father."

"That will lead to war, which we do not need. I have already sent missives to the Lord of the Iron Islands—" the King tried to argue back weakly. "Yes, but he is ignoring them so we are accomplishing nothing!" Visenya's voice echoed through the hallway.

There were a few moments of silence before her cousin sighed. "If you do not wish to involve the rest of the kingdoms, send me and Arrax — We will take care of it," she pleaded.

"No! It is too dangerous and unnecessary. I am not sending you alone!" the King forced out, sounding pained and yet angry. The Kingsguard briefly announced her entrance before she offered, "She will not be alone. Me and Vhagar can accompany her!"

Her father gave her a look of surprise — he even appeared as if he was about to argue with her, but then Laenor popped out of nowhere and said, "I wish to go as well!"

Her mother and brother must have followed her here because Rhaenys made her presence known next. "Absolutely not!" both her parents shouted at her brother, who huffed, annoyed.

Visenya spun around to face her father. She took a few steps toward him, with just a table standing between them now. "Father, you named me your heir, and as such, it is my duty to protect my future kingdom," her cousin tried to reason.

An angry vein popped out on the King's forehead, pulsing angrily as he shouted, "Do you remember what happened the last time the heir to this Kingdom was sent to battle? He was shot with a crossbow and died on the spot!"

Both her parents snapped their attention from scolding Laenor to the King after those cruel words. Yes, that was right. Her grandfather was killed trying to protect the Seven Kingdoms. Laena was in her mother's belly back then.

Visenya and her father were having a staring contest, but as if only now realizing what he said, the King straightened and avoided Rhaenys's eyes. "Apologies, cousin."

He then cleared his throat and went back to his argument with his daughter. "I lost your mother, Visenya. I cannot bear to lose you as well," he mused, defeated. Visenya's posture and face softened as she replied, "You won't lose me."

"You cannot promise me that," the King shook his head and began pacing around the chambers. Visenya followed after him, taking his shaking hand in hers. "Yes, I can," she vowed, her voice serious.

Her cousin looked out of the window for a moment or two — her scheming face recognizable to Laena only. "If we depart tomorrow at dawn, we shall arrive there by tomorrow night. The new moon will provide us with perfect coverage so no archers could see us. Besides, they will not be expecting us which means they will not be prepared to go against dragonfire."

Laena blinked. Perfect. Brilliant. Her cousin had truly come up with a plan in just a few moments — a perfect plan which reduced the chances of death and increased the chances of success.

The King still looked hesitant to let his daughter go, but he seemed more open to the idea now that he knew Visenya had a good plan. "If I am to rule one day, I need to earn their trust so let me do this — Let me prove that I am capable of protecting this kingdom."

He rubbed his temples and then gave his permission, "Alright." Visenya had a triumphant smile on her lips before she calmed down and spun to give Laena's family a nod.

She seemed ready to leave the chambers, but Laena stopped her, grabbing her arm. "I was serious earlier. I want to go with you," she stated. Visenya shook her head. "This is my burden to bear, Laena."

This moment reminded Laena of many that came before — when her friend still had no trust in her. Visenya had been mostly alone her entire life, she was used to doing things without anyone's help — she even admitted that she never asked for help because she viewed it as a sign of weakness.

Visenya will not ask for help, not even when she needed it. But, Laena can offer it anyway.

"But you do not have to bear it alone," she insisted. Without hesitation, Visenya nodded, accepting it. "Discuss it with your parents. If they permit you to go, know that Arrax and I depart tomorrow at dawn."

This is what she wanted to prove to Rhaenyra — how far she had gotten with Visenya only because she tried — because she refused to give up on her.

Laena was long ago ready to learn about her cousin's life — about her world. She found a way to respect it while still being a part of it. Slowly but surely, she scaled the walls Visenya built around herself — around her heart. She long ago stopped worrying about what was going on outside of them.

As a reward for her patience and trust, her cousin let her in — and refused to let her go ever since.

 

 

_____

 

 

old oak, 111 AC
leo tyrell

"At least the armor and the cloak suit you. Thanks to your mother's inability to give me a firstborn son who has no gangly limbs, your brother cannot say the same," his father exclaimed, studying him approvingly.

They had not seen each other properly in a very long time. They did not speak or exchange letters and yet these were his first words to him. . .insults towards his brother and mother.

Leo clenched his jaw so hard that it hurt. He refused to say anything — he refused to give into this obvious trap. This was just another one of his father's ways of talking him into usurping his brother's rightful position. Lawren knew the fever he caught might as well end his life and this was his last, desperate attempt to do it.

Why else would he demand to see him as soon as he was made aware that he was back at Highgarden? Why else bother with him?

His father coughed before he waved his hand to the empty chair beside his bed. "Sit with me." Leo stood by the window, leaning against the stony wall and did not move a muscle.

"Are you going to keep silent the entire time?" Lawren questioned him, watery blue eyes sharp. Leo shrugged. "What do you want me to say to you?"

As if he fell right into his trap, his father gave him a thin smile. "A polite boy I raised would at least ask about the state of his family," he mused, pouring himself a cup of wine that was set on the little table beside his bed.

Lawren may think that Leo cut all contact with his family the moment he went back to King's Landing, but that was far from the truth. He regularly exchanged letters with his mother and siblings — he knew everything that has been happening in his absence, including his father further sabotaging Lerris's attempts to make himself known as a worthy heir to Highgarden, new bruises on his mother's skin, and so on.

Cutting all ties with his father should not be a surprise after everything that he had put him through.

Understanding that Leo would not say a word, Lawren settled for silence as well. His eyes flicked to the sword at his side — the bastard sword that Prince Daemon gave him as a gift when he knighted him. His father was examining, judging, weighing, no doubt hating how much respect he had for the Targaryens when he held none for him.

Leo felt a very strong urge to walk out and let his father rot. He knew it had been a mistake to visit him — and yet here he was anyway — only because this might be the last time he would see him alive, and after that, his family would be free of him — Leo would be free of him.

"Tell me what you have been up to. Do you enjoy running around, playing at being a part of the City Watch when you can be so much more?" Lawren broke the stretching silence between them with a question.

Seeing the look Leo sent his way, Lawren snapped, "Do not look at me like that boy. I simply wish to know if you are content in the position you sacrificed your future to attain?"

"What I have left behind was not mine to begin with," he said flatly, shaking his head. His father opened his mouth to retort, but ended up coughing into his hand instead, leaving droplets of blood on it.

He wiped it away as he nestled himself against the pillows. "Your mother and sister missed you," Lawren finally said. Leo eyed him intently. "And have you, father?"

His father did not respond, just smiled. "I fear my time is running out. If Ironborn continue to attack us, the Reach is going to need a strong leader," he started. "It is a good thing Lerris was groomed to be heir since his birth. He will not fail your lands or your people," Leo quipped.

The intense look in his father's eyes made him feel as if he was looking straight through him. "Lerris is an intelligent boy, I will give him that. But, that is all there is to him. He is no warrior, he never has been and he never will be."

Leo snorted and pushed himself off the wall. "Goodbye father." As he closed the door on his way out, he could hear Lawren's voice cracking as he shouted, "It is your rightful position, Leo! I cannot and will not leave my legacy in the hands of a weakling son when I have a perfectly healthy and strong boy who I know would never fail me!"

Stupid old man, Leo thought to himself as he scouted the stony path of the Keep. The sky was dark, the new moon barely shining behind the floating clouds. Not even the strong fires they lit on on the corners of every path were enough for them to see up ahead.

If their enemies attack now, they have the perfect cover of the darkness — the only hope they have was archers and fire arrows, but even then, they would be shooting blindly. Still, if they do not let the Ironborn through the gates and into the Keep, they might have a chance to survive the night.

Two times they managed to defend the Old Oak. It was bad enough that most houses from the Reach refused to send aid, too frightened or too far away from them to help. . .But when they heard there will not be any aid of the Crown, they knew they were utterly fucked — they knew they were delaying the inevitable.

A young boy, no older than two and ten came running to him, warning him that the Ironborn had been spotted on the other side of the Keep — they were coming from the Sunset Sea on ships.

Leo sprinted, signaling for a group of soldiers to follow after him. The soldiers grabbed their bows and threw sets of arrows on their backs before scurrying away to their positions, forming three long lines on the pathway that faced the Sunset Sea.

The soldiers that could not find more space to stand on the pathway ended up forming groups in the courtyard on the Keep, adjusting their swords and shields as well as readying their bows and arrows for when the enemy came closer.

Leo did not take his eyes away from the sea, searching for any sort of movement in the water. Not even the sound of armor rustling could be heard amongst the soldiers, there was only deathly silence that left him shivering.

It was as if they were waiting for death to sweep them away.

As soon as he spotted the irregularity of the waves crashing against the surface, Leo straightened and shouted so all men could hear him, "Prepare to fire!" The soldiers obeyed him, lighting up the arrows and aiming for the sea.

His heart was beating fast and strong and he wondered if anyone could hear it. He took a deep breath before giving a command,  "Release the arrows!"

Fire-lit arrows flew and they were lucky some of them struck their targets. It was not silent anymore because the painful groans and shouts of their enemies filled the space below — the fire on some ships even managed to spread, thus causing their enemies to jump into the sea or risk being burnt alive.

Leo motioned for the soldiers to reload their weapons, hoping that their aim would strike true this time as well. Just as he was about to give the command to release the next round of arrows, a faint but monstrous shriek made him look up at the dark sky.

For a moment he thought he might have imagined it, but the way soldiers beside him began whispering amongst themselves was confirmation enough that he had not. He continued to stare at the sky intently until he heard the flapping of wings that sounded more like a clap of thunder and the next thing he knew, Arrax breathed flame upon the Ironborn.

Rows of ships lit up as the jade-green dragon flew above them. What followed surprised everyone even more judging by the shocking gasps of the soldiers — a dragon that was at least three times bigger than Arrax roared above them with such a force that it made the ground shake.

Vhagar. Leo had not even noticed that he was smiling, his blood singing with joy and excitement in his veins as mighty Vhagar and Arrax burned their enemies from above.

Gods, if he knew those beasts would one day save his life, he never would have called them anything else but marvelous, especially Vhagar. Seven Hells, he might even pay Vhagar a visit and apologize for comparing her to his grandmother!

"Hold!" Leo commanded, making every soldier drop their weapons and lean against the stony walls of the keep to watch the mighty display of the power of the dragons.

Vhagar followed Arrax's lead and brought fire upon any ship that was still heading toward the land. The cries of pain and the smell of burning wood and flesh filled the air.

Arrax shrieked and changed directions, now heading towards them. "Dracarys!" Visenya commanded her green beast who was more than happy to burn alive any man who managed to swim to the land. The dragon even grabbed one of the Ironborn by his shoulders, using his massive claws to throw him into the air with such force that the man flew over the Old Oak Keep.

"Prepare to fire!" The sudden command that did not come from Leo startled everyone back to reality. The soldiers exchanged looks between themselves then looked back to Leo as if waiting for his command.

This seemed to anger Lerris even more because he repeated the command, making Leo grab his shoulder to shake him. "What are you doing?! We should lower our weapons now that dragons were sent to help us! If only one man fires at them, we could injure them — We could even kill them!"

His older brother looked uncaring about the situation, instead, he got into his face and questioned, "Why did it take weeks for them to arrive? Why do you think the King only now decided that our problems were worth his while?"

"I do not know and I do not care. Visenya and Laena arrived to aid us — That is all that matters. That is all that should matter," he defended his friends.

Lerris shook his head, disappointed and angry. "They could have graced us with their presence weeks ago. They could have sent us supplies or at least helped us move women and children to the next city. . ."

While he did understand his brother's anger, he will not allow any man to so much as touch their bows or arrows now that Visenya and Laena were up in the sky — he would rather remove the heads of every soldier currently standing alongside him than risk somebody killing his friends.

"Why does that matter? They are here! They saved us from one inevitable loss!" Leo tried to reason. "It matters because I do not want their help! I do not want them to show up here and leave as heroes when they left us to struggle for weeks! But we came and we fought! It is supposed to be our victory!"

All these feelings came from the fact that Lerris wanted to prove himself — to their father, to their people, that he was capable of overseeing his lands and protecting them if necessary.

Still, to risk injuring the Heir to the Iron Throne and the daughter of the wealthiest man in Westeros for the mere approval was wild to him. Seeing that Leo disagreed with him, Lerris gritted his teeth, "What? Are you telling me that it is not true? Are you really going to defend them?"

Leo shook his head. "No, but. . .Nothing of real worth can ever be bought. Love, friendship, honor, valour, respect — All these things have to be earned and Visenya Targaryen earned mine long ago," he said honestly.

Visenya Targaryen did so much for him over the years — from refusing to let his shitty attitude drive him away from her to accepting him as he was and helping him deal with his father and uncle.

Most of his life Leo spent dreaming of leaving Highgarden — he wanted to go somewhere where he could make a place for himself, a place in which he could fit in, but he always thought that his place was nowhere because he was different in a sinful, disgusting way — he thought himself unwanted.

Even when he did escape Highgarden and move to King's Landing to be Prince Daemon's squire, he still felt out of place — at least until Visenya entered his life.

She accepted him as he was. She never once judged him for any of his faults. She helped him create a place for him in which he felt appreciated and loved — a place that finally felt like a true home. She even introduced him to amazing people that became closer to family than his own had been.

That was right. Visenya Targaryen was family.

People of Westeros are taught that family is whom you share your blood with, but that could not be more wrong. Family was not defined only by last names or by blood. It was defined by commitment and by love — It meant showing up when they needed it most. It meant having each other's backs. It meant choosing not to give up on each other even on those days when you struggled to like each other.

While he did love his siblings and his mother, his place was not with them — and it never will be.

"I do not blame her for not coming to save us sooner because I know that she would have jumped on Arrax's back and flown straight here if she did not have an obligation to listen to her father," Leo stated, gesturing towards the Sunset Sea.

"You can make faces at me and refuse to believe me, but the truth is that I know her," he mused. "Visenya is intelligent and daring, a little too bold, and way too fucking fearless. I can even bet that the only reason the King decided to aid us is because she made him."

His brother studied him for a moment before he questioned, "You trust her?" Leo nodded without hesitation. "With everything I am. But, if you do not trust in that, then you should trust her anger and protectiveness — because there is nothing she would not do to protect someone she cares about and as the Heir to the Iron Throne, that includes the people of the Seven Kingdoms."

Lerris's green eyes stared at him intently before he shouted a command, "Lower the arrows!" Leo breathed out in relief as he watched Arrax and Vhagar flying around each other, shrieking in victory.

Notes:

One more chapter before we begin with episode 2, I'm so excited 🤭 In the next chapter we are going to see Visenya threatening the Lord of the Iron Islands and then forming an alliance with Lerris after they establish some common ground

I love how fiercely Laena protects and defends Visenya! Rhaenyra definitely needed to hear some other perspective. The dynamic of the Velaryon family was extremely funny to write. I also enjoyed Arrax and Vhagar in action! Let me know what you think and if Leo's POV was good ❤

My Wattpad: seven-moons

Chapter 41: The Hightower Legacy

Summary:

In which:

— Visenya negotiates with Lord Greyjoy
— Lerris and Visenya form an understanding
— I write Otto's POV for the first time

Notes:

Hello dear readers, I know I've been absent for a time and for that I apologise! The state of my country is not the best. A while ago we had the very first school shooting and it was done by an elementary school student. This had a domino effect so a lot of other mass murders were committed after that, which is so surprising in my country because despite the huge amount of weapons we have here, these kinds of incidents rarely happen! There was a stabbing incident in the school where my younger brother goes to which sent me into a spiral — I couldn't function at all. Just knowing that he could've been one of the victims had me going into a depressive episode. Ever since then I've been really active in my country and community, going on protests and such. It's not easy because the government is laughing at us for trying to make a change instead of standing alongside us after all the shitty things that happened...

Anyway, the point of this little paragraph is, most of these incidents happened because of bullying or abuse — so please be kind to others. You never know what's going on in someone's head or what someone has been dealing with. Your kindness might just save someone's life. It costs nothing to be kind ❤

iron islands, 111 AC
visenya targaryen

Days after Arrax and Vhagar unleashed fire upon their enemies were spent in meetings with Lords of the Reach who came to aid Old Oak. Visenya usually sat at the head of the table and observed their interactions all while keeping silent.

When it became too much to listen to them speaking over each other, arguing about what the next move they could make regarding the attacks by Ironborn, Visenya finally stood up and made a suggestion that was immediately accepted.

The plan was to send a letter to the Lord of the Iron Islands and announce that Visenya would come to negotiate for peace in the name of the King and the Crown — Leo would also accompany her so they could represent a united front.

While her plan could be considered risky, it was worth it. Visenya trusted her politicking skills to stop the further conflict — but, since Ironborn were unpredictable people, she also had a backup plan — Either way, this story, and this fight ended with her victory.

Visenya was not worried about confronting Lord Greyjoy, not at all. She was more worried about Lerris Tyrell and the way he mistrusted her. Many knights looked at Laena and her with unease and with certain judgment — but she did not expect such treatment from Leo's older brother.

She ended up confronting Lerris before she left for the Iron Islands. "You do not like me much, do you, Lord Lerris?" she asked, carefully studying the man before her.

Lerris looked at her with a blank expression, utterly hiding any hints of feelings. "Forgive me for my bluntness, Your Grace, but I do not have any reason to like nor dislike you," he responded.

Visenya hated how she could not read him as easily as she could others — The realization that he was so similar to her in this regard hit her hard. So the questions came — How would she approach herself? How would she open up to herself? How would she act and react?

"Even so, I understand your anger and resentment," she tried to be reasonable and show empathy but it did not seem to work — In fact, he appeared irritated if the furrow of his brow was an indication of anything.

"Do you truly?" the Tyrell boy hummed, doubt clear in his eyes. "We have lost many good and honorable men — most of them I knew personally. I had to be the one to tell their families of their deaths. I had to be the one to watch them weep and grieve. I had to be the one to bury them. . .You showing up here and defeating our enemies with such ease feels like spitting on their graves — on their sacrifices."

He cocked his head to the side. "It is even worse knowing that you only came to our aid because of your wish to prove yourself, Your Grace."

While Visenya usually appreciated people who were blunt with her, she was not fond of how judgy Lerris sounded — especially because he was not so different from her — his own reasons were not far from hers.

"Whether you like to admit it to yourself or not, the people of the Reach are mine to protect and to defend as much as they are mine to rule. Do not get me started on me wanting to protect Leo — he is my friend and I came here for him as well," Visenya mused, feeling her irritation rising. " I am not denying that a part of me wishes to prove my capability of being a future monarch, but that is hardly the only reason for coming to your aid!"

Because he was so free to be blunt with her, she decided to return the favor. "Is it not a tad bit hypocritical of you to accuse me of doing this for my own gain when you are doing the same thing, Lord Lerris?"

Now that seemed to have gotten through to him because he tensed, his expression hardening. Visenya pushed further, "Your father might as well be on his death bed and your time to lead is coming, yet none respect you — your father made sure of that, did he not? Despite not being a warrior, you still travelled here if only to meet the people you are to be responsible for. You want their trust and respect. You are trying to prove yourself as well."

She noticed a lot during the previous few days, including the fact that the Lords of the Reach respected Leo more than Lerris. Every time a decision was made, Lerris would give a command but men would always look at Leo for confirmation.

Visenya could tell that it bothered Lerris greatly, rightfully so, but she could also see that Leo was not a part of this on purpose — in fact, he was completely oblivious to it all. Her friend was not the brightest of the bunch as he was unknowingly sabotaging his brother's reputation.

"When I came here I thought we would have a sort of understanding — after all, you and I are very similar. Both of us are unwanted heirs that have to fight like hells to claim our rightful places even though they are ours by blood and birth," she confessed, adjusting Blackfyre at her hip. "Call me disappointed, My Lord."

Visenya needed to find a way to get Lerris on her side. From what she remembered about the Dance of Dragons, Lerris was dead by then and his son was a babe still so Lerris's wife was in charge of the Highgarden and the Reach. Still, forming and maintaining a good friendship between herself and his family was essential to gain the support of Tyrells.

Arrax's bronze eyes gazed around, his neck curved around her as he let out a breath of smoke — her beautiful green beast was sensing danger and he was hesitant to leave her on the Iron Islands. Visenya tried to soothe him as best as she could, running her fingers against the scales of his neck and whispering reassurances to him.

When a group of Ironborn men came to escort Leo and her to meet Lord Greyjoy, Arrax flashed his needle-like teeth at them in warning, growling so dangerously that the ground shook. He then took off to the skies, taking cover behind the dark clouds just in case the Ironborn we stupid enough to try something.

"By the looks they are giving us, I can comfortably say that this is going to end in a disaster," Leo commented as silently as he could.

True enough, they were flanked by men on all sides which made them both feel like prey surrounded by predators who were just waiting for the perfect moment to tear them apart.

"That is very optimistic," Visenya snorted, trying to ignore a cod trail of sweat trailing down her spine. She knew what she was doing. There was nothing to worry about.

"We should have arrived on a ship with at least a hundred men at our back — We are too vulnerable, too weak-looking like this," her friend commented what he had been repeating throughout the entire journey here.

She shook her head, explaining, "It would have taken too long to get here then — The element of surprise of you having two dragons by your side would be gone and they would have most likely attacked during the day next time. Neither Laena nor I have armors, only our riding leathers — it would have been extremely dangerous for us to be airborne."

Leo accepted this answer when they finally stood before the dark and chilly castle of Pyke. "People of the Iron Islands are not exactly good and honorable hosts. I would not put it past them to murder us as soon as we go inside."

"Do not worry, Leo, I have a plan," Visenya muttered, trying to adjust her braids that got twisted thanks to the wind. "And if this plan of yours goes wrong? What if the Lord of the Iron Islands decides that keeping the peace is not worth it? What then? Do we have some exit strategy?"

"A what?" she questioned back, making him even more tense. Leo began looking around as the chill of the castle began creeping upon them as he muttered, "By the Seven, we are going to die. . ."

"As if I would let that happen. When have my plans ever failed?" Visenya rolled her eyes at his dramatics. Her friend regarded her for a moment, his eyes on the sword at her hip. "You are planning for us to kill them? Is that why you brought Blackfyre with you? Is that why you insisted I join you?"

Even though she was not yet able to wield Blackfyre due to its weight, she brought her sword along because it was a statement for all to see — she was the heir, the next in line, she was to be respected. If this meeting escalated to a fight, she had hidden daggers in her riding leathers that she could use.

Visenya did not respond to Leo's questions and instead insisted, "Just stay by my side and leave talking to me. Ignore their insults and bad manners — If everything goes well, no blood shall be shed."

Her friend looked ready to push further for answers, but ultimately decided against it. "As you command," he said as they approached the Great Hall. They were briefly announced by the servants before they were escorted inside.

There, on a Seastone Chair, which was one ugly oily black stone carved in the shape of a kraken, sat Lord Greyjoy. He was a man with a very dark hair and eyes so clear they shone like crystals — none of it could make up for the confident and mocking way in which he was regarding his guests, of course.

Visenya was the heir to the Iron Throne and it was disrespectful for her not to be regarded as such. Lord Greyjoy did not stand up in her presence nor did he bow before her — he slumped in his seat, looking bored out of his mind.

"My name is Princess Visenya Targaryen, firstborn child and heir to my father, the King Viserys Targaryen," Visenya introduced herself. "My companion and I were sent to negotiate for peace between the Iron Islands and the Reach. Thank you for agreeing to host us, my Lord. It is an honor to meet you and be here."

Lord Greyjoy raised his black brow, eying her with interest. "The King sent his daughter to negotiate in his stead?" he spat out the word 'daughter' as if it was a disgrace.

Visenya smiled, disguising how much she wanted to climb the steps to the Seastone chair and punch the life out of him. "My father has more important matters to deal with," she quipped, making sure that he was aware the king did not see him as a threat but rather as an annoying fly.

The man got the message and sneered. "And yet, he seems content enough to send you to a place such as this. Women do not fare here well, you know? They cannot handle my home." There was a threat in his words, but Visenya was not affected — she held her head high. "It is a good thing I like a challenge then."

Visenya adored it when someone insulted or threatened her — it meant that she did not need to play nice anymore. If this man thought he could openly threaten her without facing the consequences, he was stupid.

"On behalf of the King and the people of the Reach, I come before you with a present," she announced, gesturing towards a wooden box that Leo was carrying. Her friend tensed at her words, but he handed the box to a servant who brought it to Lord Greyjoy.

The Lord of the Iron Islands regarded the box with interest. He opened it only to find the severed head of his younger brother. His eyes hardened and his jaw was now sealed shut — the man was almost shaking in anger, face red. Visenya smirked at the sight. "Isn't it lovely?"

"Silver-haired bitch! How dare you come into my home and do this!" The man roared, gripping the Seastone chair with all his strength.

"The Ironborn captured after the last battle were sharply questioned and we established that despite your words, you indeed were behind these attacks, My Lord," Visenya began explaining, voice calm. "Your own brother gave us information that we wanted oh so easily — So much so that we did not get the chance to start cutting off his body parts while seeking answers. We missed out on so much fun, wouldn't you agree?"

Lord Greyjoy began seething. "Tell me, little Princess, do you think I will let you leave this keep unharmed after the stunt you just pulled?" With a hand gesture, he gave a signal which had every man in the room pulling out their weapons, readying themselves to attack. Leo pulled out his sword as well, stepping closer to her to protect her.

"You are trapped. There is nowhere to run now," Lord Greyjoy said triumphantly. Instead of being intimidated, she let out a laugh — a sound mocking and dangerous in its own right. The men wavered as she pulled on that bond between Arrax and herself.

"I have no need to run, My Lord. Because you see," she gestured around the great hall, the sound of clapping thunder of Arrax's wings already ringing in her ears. "I am not trapped in here with you." A loud, ground-shaking roar made everyone in the room look up at the ceiling. "You are trapped in here with me."

The green scales of Arrax's slender body could be seen through the windows just before her beast crashed against the stony castle, shaking it and making everyone stumble on their feet. A warning — this was her and Arrax's warning.

"Contrary to popular belief, us Targaryens do not need to be close to dragons to command them. I do not need to say the words for my dragon to know what I want and think — So, half a thought from me, and your entire territory is going to burn," Visenya mused, satisfied with how pale and scared the men looked when they saw Arrax circling around the castle yet again.

She dropped her mask of politeness and openly threatened, "If you wish for you and your people to live to see another day, you will let us leave, unharmed. You will never again attack other kingdoms and disobey your monarch — because if you do, next time we face each other, I shall show you no mercy."

 

 

_____

 

 

highgarden, 111 AC
visenya targaryen

Just as expected, the Ironborn let them leave without protest. In return for a treaty of peace, she vowed to send the bodies of every Ironborn that was captured and tortured after they managed to avoid the dragon flames by jumping into the Sunset Sea.

Although she knew the Lords of the Reach would probably want to openly display the heads of their attackers for all to see their victory, this was a small price to pay for peace.

Leo spent the entire flight to Old Oak murmuring to himself about how out of mind she was — he scolded her over and over again and even dared to call her suicidal for daring to match their fire with her own when they were on enemy territory.

As soon as they landed, they were told the news that Lord Lawren Tyrell had passed in their absence — so, without further delay they made their way to Highgarden, hoping to get there in time for the funeral.

The flat green land they were currently standing on was full of gravestones with carved names of deceased members of the Tyrell family. Another gravestone was added as soon as the coffin with the body of Lord Lawren sank to the ground. All people present stayed silent as a High Septon sang his prayers.

Faint cries and sobs echoed around, the sound carried by the soft wind. Visenya turned her head around just to find an elderly woman grieving for her son — she could barely stand on her two feet, so much so that Leo's mother and sister had to hold her from falling to her knees.

Leo stood beside her, stone-faced and silent. As a person who also experienced the death of a parent that she had hated but loved at the same time, she knew how conflicted Leo must be feeling. Instead of confronting him about it, she decided to lighten up the mood so she questioned, "Is that the grandmother that you dared compare to Vhagar?"

"Maybe?" Her friend replied, a more relaxed look on his face now. Satisfied with how she managed to cheer him up, even by a bit, she joked further, "I advise you not to let Laena anywhere near her because if she hears that you put your grandmother and Vhagar in the same sentence, next time she won't settle for throwing her shoes at you — she will rather order her dragon to chase you before making you her snack."

The corners of his lips lifted and his eyes shone in laughter. "Your advice is appreciated," he sarcastically noted.

Visenya eyed people around, trying to spot Lord Lerris in the crowd — she noticed him talking with a group of men. She wanted to have one more talk with him before Laena and she go back to King's Landing. Despite having no idea how to get through to him at that moment, she wanted one more try.

As soon as Lerris was left alone, Visenya walked up to him. "I believe it is time we head home. Thank you for hosting us, Lord Lerris and I wish you good luck with your new position."

The new Warden of the South did not respond to her right away which made her think she read him wrong again — He hardly looked and acted like someone who wanted to be left alone to grieve, it was the opposite — Lerris almost radiated with the need and want to claim his position as Lord of Highgarden.

But who knows. . .She was wrong about him before, wasn’t she?

Just when she was about to leave him alone, he spoke, "You were right." Visenya tilted her head in question. "I have not been the kindest to you — Despite that, you put your life on the line for me and my people and in doing so, arranged and assured our safety. I misjudged you and for that, I apologize, Your Grace."

She was left feeling surprised at how mature and thoughtful he was — how unafraid of admitting his mistakes. Visenya allowed herself to smile. "It is alright, most people do."

Lerris bowed his head in respect for her — in respect that she rightfully earned. Pride blossomed in her chest. "Thank you for all you have done for the Reach — We owe you."

"It was my honor. If you or your family ever need something — or if Ironborn become a problem again, know that Arrax and I are always going to answer your calls," Visenya vowed, extending her hand to offer a handshake.

The man before her gladly took it and they shook hands. "The same goes for you, Your Grace. If you ever need anything in the future, know that the Reach and House Tyrell is there for you — and we always will be."

Yes. Just what she wanted to hear.

"One last thing, Lord Lerris." Lord Tyrell raised his light brow at her. She was conflicted on whether or not she should say these words — rightfully so, because they were not close, they were not friends, just allies.

But, as a person who also suffered by the hands of a man who always made her feel as if she was a disgrace, she had the urge to say something more, to assure him that his father was not right about him, just as Robert was not right about her.

"I know that it may be hard to ignore the voice of your father who was constantly telling you that you are unworthy of succeeding him — but, I wanted you to know that I truly believe you will surpass him in leadership. Highgarden and the Reach are in safe hands with you."

Her words obviously affected him just as she thought they would. They were alike, Lerris and herself — not just when it came to situations in their lives, but also the way they thought which was why she wanted to say those words — the words that she wished to hear her entire first life.

She was enough just as he was.

Laena already mounted Vhagar by the time she was done talking to Lerris. Leo was set to return to King's Landing by ship when Lerris felt more comfortable with his position. Ironborn would not attack again. Tyrells were on her side. Everything turned out perfectly — almost too perfectly. She hoped Viserys would be proud of her.

Visenya watched Arrax shrieking in triumph as he stretched his winds, feeling that this mission was a success. She began carefully adjusting her riding leathers and gloves as she felt someone approaching her. To her surprise, Lady Amanda Tyrell joined her side.

"My deepest condolences for your loss, My Lady," Visenya said. "Your Grace," Lady Amanda curtsied deeply. "I must thank you for saving my boys. If it had not been for you, I would have most likely lost them."

Visenya waved her hand dismissively. "They were both brave back there, more than willing to die in the name of protecting someone and something they love. You should be proud of the men you raised them to be."

Lady Amanda's green eyes shone with something akin to nostalgia. "Your mother would be proud of you as well — so would Princess Daella," she mused, making Visenya confused.

"I would not be surprised if Aemma had not talked about me. She was very young when I left the Vale for Highgarden. Still, I was very fond of her — and of my stepmother Daella, of course, such a beautiful and kind girl she was," the woman went on.

She blinked in surprise. No way in hells! "Amanda Arryn. . .I had no idea—" she cut herself off, disbelief still coating her voice. This was a daughter from her grandfather Rodrik Arryn's first marriage — This was her mother's half-sister! No wonder she looked so familiar when she met her first. Those green eyes looked the same as Jeyne's! They even shared some features!

"It is a true pleasure to meet you, niece," her aunt bowed her head. "Despite meeting many Targaryens in my lifetime, I never did see the famous Targaryen fire that is talked about — until you, that is. But, there is an Arryn steadiness to you as well — I can see so much of Aemma when I look at you."

Visenya's heart twisted in pain yet there was something other than that as well. She was glad that all could see the way she carried her mother within her.

"My condolences to you. It is a terrible thing to lose a mother, especially at such tender age. I may not have been around, but if you ever need anything, I am only one letter away."

 

 

_____

 

 

king's landing, 111 AC
otto hightower

It has already been a moon since Ironborn stopped their attacks on Old Oak and what a peaceful time it had been. Tyrells stopped bothering the Crown with their missives as soon as Princess Visenya talked the King into sending a recompense for the attacks.

That girl had quite a grip on her father even though it was meant to be the other way around. He was her father, he was the authority while she as a daughter should obey, alas, King Viserys allowed her too much — he always had.

To think that she managed to talk him into sending her and her green beast to aid the Reach. . .It was unseemly — It was a disgrace. Proper women do not go around, being violent and burning ships and men but Targaryens had never felt the need for propriety.

If only he had been present when Princess Visenya laid down her plan. . . Unfortunately, everything worked in her favor.

He was only informed of her departure for the Old Oak once she already mounted that beast. Talking the King into sending her back to King's Landing did not work either — and when he heard the report of what actually occurred, he was utterly stunned at her boldness and stupidity.

By the Seven, what sane woman seeks to encounter men whose traditions made Valyrians look like saints? Not to mention that instead of scolding her for her stupidity and recklessness, the King welcomed his daughter back with open arms and kisses on her cheeks.

That was not the worst of it — not at all. Before this 'heroic act' as people all over the Kingdoms now call it, she was known as a girl, a child whom most doubted was capable of being the next monarch.

After this, she became trouble.

It was not the first time the Princess interfered in the decision-making regarding the Realm, but it was the first public one — she had done it all, she was the mastermind behind this — the girl who protected the city and saved innocent lives, the girl who outsmarted Ironborn and made them cover and plead for mercy.

Despite Otto's best efforts to keep most information from spreading around the Kingdoms, somehow, the entire Westeros was aware of her actions after a week! And to his utter displeasure, they now began changing their minds about the Princess.

Princess Visenya was beloved by the Small Folk before this, but now she was treated as something akin to a Saint — a savior. The People's Princess, The Protector of People, was what they sang — She was who they prayed to.

If only they could see how worrying her behavior was becoming, but no — they found it amusing and entertaining — how a girl of five and ten was not merely a pretty face but had a more ruthless side to her than her father did.

Otto internally snorted. Yes, it might be all for songs and laughs now when she was still young, but he was certain that Princess Visenya was on the road to becoming as cruel and ruthless as her disgrace of an uncle.

Otto walked up to his older brother, Hobert as soon as he spotted him in the shadows of the training yard. His brother was observing Princess Visenya and Ser Leo as they sparred with their swords.

Again, such a disgrace of a woman — just like her grandmother was before her. He sneered, still remembering Alyssa Targaryen running around in breeches and tunics instead of dressing like a proper woman — always carrying a sword at her hip.

To think that Prince Baelon refused a marriage proposal between Otto's younger sister Alerie and himself — to his beautiful and dutiful lady-like sister just because the late Prince was mourning the death of his 'mate' — as it this 'mating' as Valyrians liked to call it, was real!

How outrageous! To choose a dead woman with mismatched eyes and a crooked nose that had more qualities of a man than a woman over his little sister who was the Realm's beauty and grace — the Maiden made flesh!

Otto still seethed at the thought of it all!

He approached Hobert who was looking very displeased at the display before him. "I dislike how much influence the girl has and how many people she has rooting for her — especially after she pulled that stunt in Old Oak. We need to cut it all at the root before she becomes a problem to us — We cannot afford to have even a minor inconvenience standing in our way."

While Otto refused to acknowledge the Princess as a genius even though the Maesters from the Citadel insist upon it, he must admit to himself that she could be intelligent in certain situations. However, she was young, inexperienced, and reckless — she already made many grave mistakes.

"You hold her in much higher regard than you should. While intelligent, Princess Visenya is just a girl who does not know what she is doing. She is all alone with no one to guide her or protect her — Keeping her in check shall be easy," he assured.

Hobert did not look convinced so he questioned, "Have you convinced the King to consider marrying off Princess Visenya?" Otto cleared his throat before replying, "No."

His older brother raised a judging brow at him, radiating displeasure. "I thought you had the King wrapped around your finger?" Even though the annoyance at his own failure was a bitter subject, he kept his composure and said, "I do."

"Try harder then! We promised her to Lord Jason Lannister for a reason. Shipping off Princess Rhaenyra to Oldtown to wed my eldest son and heir, Ormund will be easy after that," Hobert sneered. "Do it as soon as possible. We are so close to completing the goal of our ancestors, we cannot let up now — Targaryens are weaker than ever before, and soon, we shall have our own set of dragons to defeat them. House Hightower shall rise again to be the greatest power of Westeros as it was meant to be!"

That was right — they had a goal in mind, a purpose, something to pray and look forward to — the plan of their ancestors.

Never in history had the time been so right to complete the goals and dreams of his predecessors. It was time — it was their time to rise and be the greatest force of Westeros, alike to how they had been before Targaryens came along and destroyed it all.

His family tried to minimize Targaryen's power for so long — from the reign of Aenys the First to this day and age. That old witch and her demonic son Maegor ruined it all!

King Jaehaerys was suspicious from the start so he was cautious as well — while he did stabilize the Realm after Maegor's doings, he was not a follower of the Seven himself, and neither were Targaryens. He only made amends and adjustments so the Seven and Targaryens could exist at the same time.

It was hardly wise of him to think that Hightowers would ever settle for that.

When it came to Jaehaerys's sons, Prince Baelon made the mistake of choosing wrong when asked to take Alerie to wife and so, they had to eliminate him — which proved to be a success.

King Viserys was a far easy target than one would expect — it turned out that he needed far more guidance than a Prince and Heir should which was how Otto made his way into the King's most trusted circle without even trying. Few words here and there, few reassurances, and there he went!

Targaryens have passed over their opportunities to create good and fruitful matches with House Hightower long enough — starting with Maegor! That shall be no more!

Alicent shall do her duty and marry the King, as is her right — she shall bare him a son and that boy shall one day sit on the Iron Throne — the Hightower blood will sit on the Throne!

Notes:

I apologise for the wait once again. Don't mind if this chapter isn't the best, I wrote it when I was in a bad mental place. Anyways, updates will be regular again! :))

IMPORTANT: Scenes from episode 2 will take roughly 4 chapters because I don't want to drag this too much. I can't wait for Daemon/Visenya reunion 💙

Just a reminder to stay safe and healthy, dear readers. & don't forget to be kind!

My Wattpad: seven-moons

Chapter 42: Shriek Like A Dragon

Summary:

In which:

— The spy network is expanding
— Visenya puts Otto in his place
— The talk of Viserys's marriage rises up

Notes:

I made a tiktok acc where I'll be posting edits of my fanfics. I already made a few Daemon x Visenya edits that are waiting to be posted so feel free drop a follow if you're interested ❤

user: littlstwolf

king's landing, 111AC
visenya targaryen

The new brothel she purchased earned her a massive amount of coin, especially after the changes she made which was why Visenya was already thinking about buying another one or perhaps even two — expanding her spy network was essential, and the thing she focused on most.

With that in mind, she already laid out her thoughts and plans to Vivianne — a girl whom she had given a task to take care of the girls, lead the brothel, and work her connection with spies.

Vivianne looked thoughtful. "If I may, Your Grace — I do not think you should purchase the brothel in Flea Bottom. It would not make you as much coin. I advise you to focus on the brothel in the Street of Silk instead," she settled on saying.

Visenya hummed, taking off the wig she was wearing and placing it on the table before her. That was right — after ensuring she held the loyalty of all girls in the brothel, she revealed her identity. Admittedly, it was a risky move since anyone could turn their backs on her and betray her.

But, Visenya decided to reveal her identity for one reason — No one would believe someone who would claim to have seen a Princess visiting a brothel, especially not a recently flowered princess. By the standards of society, most girls were kept oblivious to the acts of pleasure so there was no reason for her to know either.

If only they knew. . .

She played with the red strands of hair of the wig as a thought struck her — Vivianne suggested buying Daemon's favourite brothel. "A woman named Mysaria is in charge of that brothel, is she not?" she questioned.

Vivianne nodded. "Yes, Your Grace — The White Worm takes care of the girls there." But Mysaria was not in King's Landing as of now — she was actually on Dragonstone with her uncle.

A shame, Visenya thought. She wanted to see with her own eyes what made Mysaria so special to her uncle, especially because the books from her past claimed that Daemon might have even loved his favourite whore — Hells, he even sired a bastard on her if she remembers correctly!

"And who takes over for her when she is absent?" Visenya asked. "A woman named Shiera."

That sentence made her stop playing with her wig. She locked eyes with Vivianne, tilting her head to the side at the Valyrian name given to her. Shiera. "Tell me more about her," she commanded.

"She is one of the most popular whores in King's Landing because of her Valyrian looks — I believe she came here from Volantis. From what I have heard, she appears to be enjoying her work," Vivianne explained.

Excellent — Visenya refused to work with whores who were not enjoying their work so this was a win for her.

Currently, she owns two brothels and she changed many policies to better the lives of her employees — and to keep them loyal to her. It took a long time to have a conversation with every girl who worked there but it was worth it.

Visenya did not force the girls to do anything, in fact, she freed most of them of their shackles — All women who were sold to the brothels or who were there because they had nowhere else to go, as well as those who were forced to work as whores to earn coin, all of them were given choices.

Some of the choices included her finding proper paying jobs for them, which she did. Some of them worked as servants or maids or nursemaids in the Red Keep or Dragonstone, others worked in the orphanages and so on.

Visenya offered them stability and life far away from the one they used to have — all in exchange for whispers and secrets told in the darkest corners of King's Landing.

Women who decided to stay and work in the brothels were those who genuinely enjoyed their work — which Visenya could not blame them for. Still, she had to make sure their safety and health were prioritized.

Leo helped her find a couple of loyal Gold Cloaks who need extra coin so they patrolled around the brothels and served as guards after their jobs were done. With their aid, the violence and rape inside brothels significantly decreased and most importantly — the girls felt safe.

Of course, in return for her kindness, they offered her the truths and whispers told by men who came to the brothels, searching for pleasure. They offered more than that as well — these girls were the very reason why her adventure in Old Oak spread through the kingdom like wildfire, despite Otto's efforts to keep it all silent.

A few words here, a few whispers there, and suddenly everyone was aware that she was a brave girl, a person worthy of her position as Heir. Brothels were indeed perfect places to start rumors thus ruining someone's reputation — and Visenya will be using that to the best of her abilities.

"Alright. I shall set up a meeting with Shiera and you will go and introduce yourself to the rest of the girls from that brothel. Offer them the same terms I have offered to everyone else and we shall go from there," Visenya announced her decision.

Vivianne connected her hands behind her back and warned, "With the Spring fever in the air, I would advise you to postpone the meeting — at least until it passes. If not, I offer to go there by myself and seal the deal for you, Your Grace."

That got her attention. "A Spring fever?" she muttered in question. The girl nodded. "Yes, Your Grace. While this fever is not as dangerous as the Winter one, it still takes hundreds, if not thousands of lives every year — especially in the dirtiest parts of the City."

Visenya never knew about this — it was another problem to be added to her list.

To be fair, she rarely visited the city in her previous life so she had no way of knowing that — and people of higher status seldom mingled with the people of lower status which meant they were rarely aware of the true way others lived.

With how dirty King's Landing was, it should not have surprised her that different diseases take many lives every year. She will need to change that or at least find a way to better the odds of living. . .

"Thank you for informing me," Visenya said dismissively. Just as Vivianne bowed and turned to leave, she stopped her, "Oh, and Vivianne? You have done a splendid job at running this brothel so far — Would you consider taking on the role for other brothels as well?"

The golden-haired girl visibly preened at the praise. She smiled and bowed in gratitude. "Of course, Your Grace. I will be honoured to do so."

Once her business in the brothel was done, Visenya adjusted the wig on her head and stepped out into the darkness of the night where she was met with Leo who was guarding one of the entrances.

Her friend studied her for a moment, his watery blue eyes focused on the blood stain on her left sleeve. "Is that blood?" he asked, the furrow of his brow showing his worry.

"Do not worry, it is not mine," Visenya shrugged, pulling a long black hood of her cloak over her head. Leo rolled his eyes at her. "And that is supposed to reassure me?"

"Yes?" Leo was obviously not amused judging by the blank stare he was giving her. Knowing how worried he always was for her safety, Visenya tried to reassure him, "I ran into some trouble but it was nothing I could not handle. Besides, you know that I can take care of myself just fine, Leo."

The Tyrell boy did not look convinced, but he let it go — It might have been the first time he had not lectured her on her recklessness and lack of concern for her own safety — Visenya took it as a win.

She lifted her head to look at the sky which was now getting lighter with every passing minute. "We should head back to the Keep now. Dawn is almost upon us and you have the trials for Kingsguard to prepare for," Visenya said as they started their journey back.

Leo did not give a response, but he kept walking beside her with a hand on the hilt of his sword. His face was set, his jaw locked and his watery blue eyes on alert. Visenya tilted her head to the side, "Are you nervous?"

"I guess? Many good candidates put themselves forward in hopes of getting the position," he shrugged, some of the tension from his shoulders disappearing.

"Well, none of those candidates managed to best you in the recent tourney. You won with ease if what I heard is true — which is good for you. My father will like that so you would be his best choice," she concluded.

During the Heir's tourney, Leo managed to beat Ser Criston Cole in the finals so he carried the title of a winner — if it had been a celebration, Laena would have been crowned Queen of Love and Beauty as well, unfortunately everything south when her mother was murdered during childbirth.

"You should have rested tonight. Ser Balon Byrch or Ser Luthor Largent could have accompanied me instead," Visenya muttered, only now realizing how tired he must be feeling after not sleeping for the entire night.

Leo did not look resentful that she kept him on his feet to guard her for hours, instead, he confessed, "It is alright, I was the one to offer my company to you. Besides, I do not trust them to keep you safe."

 

 

 

_____

 

 

 

Trying not to yawn from exhaustion and the lack of sleep, Visenya joined the Small Council meeting. She circled the table, dutifully filling up the cups of Lords who requested more wine as she listened to the ongoing conversation.

"Ser Ryam was a strong Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, but he was ill for some time. He passed in peace, I hope," her father spoke, feeling sorrow for the man who served as his Sworn Shield for years.

"Yes, Your Grace. He was found to have passed gently in his sleep. His remains are being prepared by the Silent Sisters," Maester Mellos confirmed. "The succeeding Lord Commander, Ser Harrold, would like to make haste in finding Ser Ryam's replacement on the Kingsguard."

"Your Graces, My lords," the older Knight bowed his head to her father and then to her before he addressed others, "The Kingsguard must soon be restored to its full complement of seven. With the help of the Hand, I have invited a number of fine candidates to court — All have passed fair trials."

Visenya's thoughts drifted towards Leo — She had no doubt that her dear friend passed Ser Harrold's tests — After all, he was one of the best knights in the Kingdom, trained by her uncle from a very young age. She only hoped everything would go well so he would get the position he wanted so badly.

Her thoughts were interrupted as the doors to the Small Council chambers harshly opened and Lord Corlys stormed in. "Four ships have now been lost. The last one was flying my banner — The Stepstones have now grown into a conflagration, yet you sit here and dither about court business!"

"If you have something to discuss, Lord Corlys—" Otto Hightower started, but Lord of Driftmark cut him off angrily, "I want to know what is to be done about my ships and my men!"

Lord Hand looked rather annoyed, his eyes harsh and judging as he addressed Lord Corlys as calmly as he could, "The Crown will compensate you for your ship and crew, and make an offering to the men's families."

"I do not want compensation," Lord of Driftmark spit out venomously. He then shifted his head to face Viserys. "I want to seize the Stepstones by force and burn out this Crabfeeder."

Visenya placed down the wine with a soft grimace — she had no doubt that Corlys was feeling optimistic about her father approving him to start a war, especially after Viserys allowed her to aid Old Oak a few moons ago. It was a logical way of thinking — if her father accepted to help there he should also accept to help him.

But Corlys was, unfortunately, wrong.

The only reason why Viserys even allowed her to climb on Arrax and go aid the Reach was because she had been pestering him about it for weeks — and because there was no Otto Hightower around to whisper in his ear and convince him that the matter of Old Oak was unimportant.

It might have also helped that Viserys knew that if he did not give her the green light to leave with Arrax, she would have left without his permission anyway.

Quite the opposite to that situation, Lord Hand was always around when Stepstones were discussed and he always voiced his disapproval and dismissed further talks — especially in front of her father.

As if on cue, her father shook his head, "I am not prepared to start a war with the Free Cities." The Velaryon man sighed in irritation. "These pirates are not the Free Cities," he corrected.

"Who do you think provides them with their ships and tender?" Viserys argued. Lord Beesbury voiced his concerns, "In all of its history, my lord, the Seven Kingdoms have never entered open war with the Free Cities. Were that to happen, the losses would be incalculable."

Lord Corlys approached Lord Beesbury, his face twisted in a barely concealed fury. "What reason does the Crabfeeder have to fear us? The King's own brother has been allowed to seize Dragonstone and fortify it with an army of his Gold Cloaks — Daemon has squatted there for over half a year without even a protest from The Crown!"

"I will caution you, Lord Corlys, a seat at the King's table does not make you his equal," Otto Hightower warned which made Visenya bite her tongue so she would not argue that he himself was acting the same way — as if his seat and job made him more powerful than the King himself.

She rolled her eyes. What a hypocrite.

"I have acted, Corlys," her father announced, trying to keep the situation from escalating. "I have sent envoys to Pentos and Volantis to see if we might find common cause. Ships and men are at the ready — The Stepstones will be settled in time."

Visenya wanted to laugh — as if that would help!

She knew that going head first into the war was a stupid thing to do — Everything should be resolved peacefully if it can be — But this situation was different, especially because Visenya knew that Stepstones needed to be officially a part of the Seven Kingdoms before the Dance of Dragons came.

She needed to make it so.

Stepstones were essential for the survival of her family and her people as well as the Realm. She could not let it fall into the wrong hands because it could be weaponized and used against her.

With that in mind, Visenya spoke up, "You have five available dragonriders, Your Grace — Send us." The room went completely silent as everyone turned around to look at her.

Her father opened and closed his mouth, as if trying to find the right words to speak. "It is not that simple, Vissie," he settled on saying.

"Of course not — War never is," she continued, "Stepstones are a very tricky territory with their cave systems so our dragons most likely won't be of much use. Still, sending dragonriders would be a show of force — We could scare them into abandoning their posts."

Ser Harrold offered her his support with an approving smile while Lord Corlys nodded along, gesturing for her to continue, clearly satisfied that at least somebody was on his side. "At least her Grace has a plan."

"Vhagar and Arrax proved to be an unstoppable force just a few moons ago. Laena and I already dealt with a similar situation — we could do it again," Visenya offered her thoughts. She faced her father and continued, "Let us stop this invasion before—"

Otto Hightower cut her off, "Perhaps, there is some better use for the Princess's talents, Your Grace." He addressed her father, leaving her speechless for a moment. "Why don't we send her to oversee the new Kingsguard posting?"

Before Viserys could agree, Visenya's expression turned blank as she said, "No." Most men in the room looked stunned but she did not let it faze her — The audacity of a second son of a minor house, to interrupt the Heir to the Iron Throne?!

She might never have displayed such behavior for the seven years she served as cupbearer, but that was simply because Otto Hightower outranked her before — and she was still a child whose opinions and suggestions would not have been taken seriously.

But not anymore.

Visenya was the Heir to the Seven Kingdoms and as such, the only person who outranks her was the monarch himself. Plus, she was five and ten — and a Princess well known for her good plans and actions — Her plans for orphanages were well praised as well as her and Arrax's aid to Old Oak.

So if Otto fucking Hightower thought that she would sit aside and let him talk over her as he often did with Viserys, he was wrong! Visenya was prepared to shriek and roar like a dragon as her great-uncle Vaegon advised her to.

"As the Heir to this Kingdom, I have every right to stay here. In fact, it is my job and duty to serve and learn from the King during the council meetings — just as it was for every Heir before me," she mused after a long stretch of tense silence.

"Princess—" Lord Hand started again, a tiny smile on his lips that made her blood boil. This time she was the one to cut him off, "The proper way to address the Heir to the Iron Throne is 'Your Grace' and you will address me as such — Am I understood?"

They were having a long staring contest with each other. She refused to back down, glaring down at him with fiery command in her indigo eyes while he refused to let go of his pride and correct himself.

Otto briefly met the eyes of every man sitting at the table with none of them willing to back him up. His brown eyes then searched for help from her father but he too stayed silent.

Looking as if he's swallowed a sour lemon, he slowly bowed his head in defeat. "Yes, Your Grace."

"Good," Visenya said, eyes flashing dangerously as the tension in the room somehow disappeared. "And do not ever interrupt me when I am speaking again, Lord Hand."

 

 

 

_____

 

 

 

Viserys ended up scolding her for not handling the situation in the council meeting better. He then proceeded to list all the reasons why the matter of the Stepstones should be left to him because he knew how to end things peacefully, which was what Westeros needed, at least in his opinion.

Despite her best efforts to try and make him see reason, her father was confident that he had it handled. This discussion took place during the dinner last night which left Rhaenyra complaining about having to listen to them arguing and talking politics during her meals.

The best part of the evening was when Viserys let it slip that the council was already pressuring him into finding a new wife and siring more heirs. That shocked and angered Rhaenyra by quite a lot because she immediately stood up and started shouting — and Visenya could not blame her sister for it. . .

It has been only five moons since Aemma's death and the mourning period ends only after a year. Do not get her started on the fact that Aemma was Viserys's mate and as such his only 'true' match — Marrying somebody after the loss of a mate was almost unheard of, especially during the mourning period for said mates.

There were many mated pairs that ruled before — Visenya, Aegon and Rhaenys, Aenys and Alyssa, Jaehaerys and Alysanne. There were many more who were just mated and yet none of them remarried after losing their other halves — Rhaena and Elissa, Jocelyn and Aemon, Baelon and Alyssa and many more.

To be fair, Alyssa Velaryon did end up marrying Lord Rogar Baratheon but she did it to ensure that Jaehaerys and Alysanne could stay married to each other and not separated — she did not do it because she wanted to, but for her children.

Rhaenyra brought this up as well as the fact that if their father would remarry, that would make him the second King in history to have a Consort that was not his mate — with the first one being Maegor who took six wives, none of them bearing the same mark as he did.

Viserys paled after that, mumbling things that only he could hear. The subject of his marriage was silenced after that even though Visenya was certain it would be brought up again soon.

The thing was, she understood why the council was pushing him for a wife and more heirs — The Crown was currently in a dangerous position with the King having only two children, both of them girls even though she was the Heir.

Anything could happen to Rhaenyra or herself, from an accident to poisoning or dying from a fever — which was why it was important to have as many children as possible.

Just look at the example of Jaehaerys and Alysanne's children — they had thirteen of them with eight of them surviving to their adulthood. In the end, only three outlived Alysanne, and two outlived Jaehaerys.

Visenya understood, but that did not mean she had to like it.

Knowing what was to come, her first instinct was to stop her father from remarrying at all and the only way she could see herself doing that was by crowning her own womb — if Visenya promised to take a husband and birth as many children as she could through her lifetime, then that would solve the problem of the lack of Targaryens.

She doubted Viserys would agree to this, especially because he banned anyone from bringing up the matter of her hand in marriage. Besides, her offer would be pointless since Bloodraven already told her that her father was meant to find a second wife.

She had to try everything that she could though, then she would be able to say there was nothing else she could have done to prevent this.

Visenya was so deep in her thoughts that she barely registered anything around her. She was in the training yard, waiting for her daily training with Leo but her occupied mind brought her to one of the storage rooms that kept some items that she needed.

She went to open the door and step inside only to slap her hand over her mouth to silence the gasp, "Woah!" she let out, immediately turning away from the sight of her naked cousin.

Laenor looked just as horrified as she felt so without further delay, Visenya apologized, "Sorry! Sorry!" She grabbed the handle, ready to leave and forget all about the sight of Laenor's naked arse.

Her cousin had other plans so he stopped her, "Visenya—Cousin, wait!" Reluctantly, she did as he requested but as soon as he stepped away from the naked Joffrey, she shouted  "No! Do not move, Laenor! It is enough that I have a perfect view of your arse — I do not want to see anything more!"

Joffrey was trying to hide his identity by covering his head with the fabric of his robe as he lay on the wooden table. Laenor grabbed his own clothing and tried to cover his lower self as best as he could. "This is not—This is not what it looks like, I swear. . ."

"So you are not currently fucking your squire in the darkness of a storage room — because that is what I am seeing," Visenya snorted. Both Laenor and Joffrey froze.

Minutes went by with Laenor opening and closing his mouth, trying to come up with something to say. "Hello Joffrey," Visenya offered slowly. "Your Grace. . ." Her cousin's mate greeted back hesitantly.

"Cousin, please do not go! I. . .This is not—We are not. . ." the Velaryon heir tried to explain with difficulty. "Laenor, I do not care who you are fucking in your spare time whether it be a boy or a girl! The only thing that I do care about is not seeing or hearing it happen under my roof — so start locking the doors from now on!"

The tension in the room melted away at her words. Joffrey slowly got up from the table, hugging his robe close to him. "We—We forgot, Your Grace. It will never happen again!" he swore.

"Good because you almost gave me a heart attack, for Balerion's sake!" Visenya complained. Covering her eyes with one of her hands, she approached them to take a few bags full of heavy stones and rocks that she used to build her muscle and improve her strength and agility.

As soon as she found them, she turned away, heading for the exit. "Now, I shall take this and get out of here before someone walks in on this mess of a situation and starts thinking some very disturbing thoughts!"

"Visenya! You—Please do not tell anyone! I do not know what would happen if the word got out," her cousin tried to stop her from leaving yet again. "I will not tell a soul of what I saw today, Laenor — You have my word. Now, I shall excuse myself and leave you to it. Have a great time!"

With that, she was out in the light, breathing out a sigh of relief. Distantly, she heard the sound of clothes rustling and she was pretty sure she heard a moan so she ended up shouting, "Lock the doors!"

As soon as Visenya heard the key turn, she began heading back to the arranged place of meeting. She was surprised to find Leo already standing there. "Look who finally decided to show up! I was about to send a search party!" she teased.

But as soon as she got closer to him, she noticed that something was not quite right. Her friend seemed a bit out if it — his jaw was locked shut and he looked somehow angry. "What happened?" Visenya immediately questioned, feeling worried.

"Nothing — Let us start with the same exercises we do every day. You still cannot carry Blackfyre with just one hand so we have a long road ahead of us," the Tyrell boy shrugged, moving away from her.

The worst possible scenarios appeared in her head — Was it his uncle that was giving him trouble? Were the Gold Cloaks refusing to follow his orders yet again?

Deciding to ignore his request, Visenya pushed, "I thought you would come here, prepared to celebrate your new position as a Kingsguard. . ."

That made Leo stop in his tracks. "I thought so as well, but I was not chosen." Her friend revealed this so casually that it stunned her stupid. "What?! Then who was? What was my father thinking — You were the best candidate out of them all!"

Leo swallowed harshly, as if angry and disappointed at himself. "It was not the King that was choosing the Kingsguard, but Princess Rhaenyra — and she had chosen Ser Criston Cole," he revealed.

Visenya once again found herself surprised — She had no idea this could take such a turn for the worse!

Truthfully, she had no reason to believe that Rhaenyra would get the opportunity to choose a Kingsguard, especially not when her father has been talking about the best candidates for days now — he even looked excited to offer this opportunity to a new knight.

No one ever mentioned to her that her sister would actually get the honour — so Visenya felt a bit guilty. Rhaenyra met Leo before, and she had been listening to her talk about him for years now — What if her sister purposely chose another instead of Leo just because he was her friend?

It was an awful but a fair question that rang in her mind. And now Criston Cole the Kingmaker joined her list of the people that needed to be closely watched, especially around her sister — for her protection of course.

Visenya did not know what to say or how to offer her friend the support he needed — this was his dream, his goal that he worked hard for and he should have earned it fair and square. "Next time, then. . ." she muttered.

Notes:

Can't believe we're finally on Episode 2 😩 In the next chapter we'll get to dive into Rhaenys' thoughts on Visenya. And they'll even have a very interesting talk with each other!

Fun fact: As soon as I saw the council meeting scene in Episode 2 and the way Otto Hightower shut off Rhaenyra's suggestion, I was like 'Visenya wouldn't stand for this disrespect' 😤 so this is how that scene came to be! Hopefully you enjoyed this ❤ Stay safe and healthy, my dear readers & don't forget to be kind!

My Wattpad: seven-moons

Chapter 43: Queen Who Never Was

Summary:

In which:

— Visenya is projecting onto others
— Rhaenys is my favourite character, fight me
— Rhaenys and Visenya have an interesting conversation

king's landing, 111AC
visenya targaryen

Visenya held another women's court this morning and she was utterly surprised at the visitor she received. Rhaenys Targaryen, the Queen Who Never Was, sneaked into the Great Hall in the middle of the meeting, leaned against the wall, and observed her.

She did not let it phase her, but she noted that Laena's mother often had her eyes on her these days — as if she was studying and judging every move she made, as if Rhaenys was picking her apart to figure her out.

In all truth, Visenya found it amusing. She was reminded of how all her mentors in her first life did the same — from Olenna Tyrell to Lucerys Velaryon and even Tywin Lannister.

Visenya slid further into her seat, looking at the messy table before her. She had every journal and diary of her ancestors, sitting open on the table — from the time of the Conquerors to Jaehaerys and Alysanne, and even Aemma's.

She desperately searched for insight on how to improve the life and health of the smallfolk because that was the topic of the earlier women's court. This Spring fever spread fast and people already began dying — So, afraid and helpless, they turned to her for help.

And Visenya would not refuse them.

Her ancestors never paid much attention to the smallfolk. Truthfully, most of them did not give a fuck if they lived or died so they were not of great help when it came to this.

Alysanne had interesting ideas, some of which she managed to make reality — like the Queen's fountains. But there were many more that were either shut down by the men around her or Jaehaerys himself — like planting more greenery to freshen up the air in the City.

However, the main problem here seemed to be the waste that was thrown everywhere, and the Maesters who refused to treat and even go near poor people.

Her cousin, Jeyne Arryn, peeked over her shoulder at the parchments that she held in her hands. "What is that supposed to be?"

"Scatches and construction plans for the sewer system of King's Landing that was built under my great-grandfather's reign," Visenya answered, throwing the papers back on the desk and standing up to stretch her legs.

"They look nothing like the sewer systems we have in the Vale," Jeyne muttered, tracing the patterns on the papers with her finger. Her green eyes narrowed. "Respectfully, these plans suck."

"Yes, I figured. It is no wonder all the waste is in the streets with how badly the sewer system was built. . ." Visenya chuckled, but then turned serious, rubbing her temples. "How do I even start repairing and rebuilding it? Who do I call? Who do I hire? I doubt someone would want to work on it — I know I would not, not even if I was offered all the riches in the world."

Just thinking about the smell of shit and piss there made her want to gag. Even if she managed to find people willing to clean it up and then build it anew, Visenya doubted the Small Council or her father would want to found it — It would cost a small fortune at best and Lord Beesbury was already complaining daily about the treasury.

"Good morrow, Laena," Jeyne greeted the Velaryon girl, thus bringing Visenya back from her thoughts. Laena smiled, but it felt somehow forced and nervous. "Good morrow." Her cousin's amethyst eyes found hers. "Do you have a moment to spare? I really need to talk to you."

Visenya began packing up the books and papers from her table. "Can we talk when I get back? Jeyne and I were just about to leave for the city."

"It is urgent," her cousin pleaded. Jeyne looked between them, as if sensing some tension in the air, especially around Visenya — so she offered, "I will collect Garro and we will be waiting for you in the carriage, cousin."

As soon as Jeyne closed the doors behind her, Laena approached Visenya, words spilling from her lips faster than she could comprehend. "Visenya, I need you to know that it was never my idea, Hells I do not even want this — but my father is really adamant I do it."

"Laena, slow down. I did not understand a word you just said," she tried to calm her down. The Velaryon girl began twiddling her thumbs, her nervousness showing.

"My parents proposed a marriage between the King and myself," she blurted out. "They have already talked to the King without my knowledge and he agreed for us to spend some time together. I wanted you to hear this from me before the word got out."

Visenya stayed silent for a moment before she nodded. "Thank you for not hiding it from me." Even though she was already aware of this situation thanks to the servants and maids that reported back to her, she was very glad that Laena came clean to her — unlike Alicent who was still visiting Viserys's chambers and lying to Rhaenyra's face about it.

Visenya turned away from her cousin, continuing to pack things. The Velaryon girl approached her, utterly unsure, "Are you angry with me? Please do not be! It was not my suggestion, Hells I do not even want this. You know me — You know that I would rather spend my days with Vhagar than talk to a man. . ."

"I am not angry with you," she tried to reassure her — because she was not angry. Despite knowing Laena initially never married Viserys, there was still a real possibility that it could happen, which was the exact reason why Visenya still had not outed her father's affair with Alicent.

Bloodraven basically told her that her presence in the past changed everything yet nothing — everything she said or did affected the future whether it be in a good or a bad way.

What if she accidentally made a choice that would result in Viserys marrying Laena?

So that was why she was waiting, lying low and looking for the perfect opportunity to burst into her father's chambers, catch him and Alicent in bed together, ruin her reputation, and humiliate Otto.

Visenya had every spy in the Red Keep focused on Alicent — all maids that followed both her and Rhaenyra around reported right back to her. As soon as she hears a word of the possibility of Alicent being with child, she is going to make a spectacle out of this situation.

It went so well in her favor that Aegon the Usurper was born only seven moons into the marriage — and barely a moon after the mourning period for Aemma Arryn was finished. It gave her a perfect timeline for events that would have happened without her in the past.

Visenya only hoped nothing major would change these next few weeks.

"But you look angry," her cousin tried to argue. Visenya snorted. "Laena, would you be thrilled if it was the other way around? Would you be just alright with me possibly marrying your father so soon after the death of your mother?"

"Of course not," The Velaryon girl muttered. Visenya grabbed her black cloak and readied herself to leave. "Sorry, I have to go."

"Wait," Laena stopped her, holding onto her hand for dear life. "Nothing is set since the King did not agree to a betrothal contract yet. But, if anything were to happen, I want you to know that you will still be my best friend — Nothing would change between us. Your position would not change, either — You will still be the Heir just as you were meant to be. The Iron Throne is your birthright."

Visenya took her time to just look at her cousin — at her friend, at the person who stood by her side through many years and tough situations. Two sides split inside her — her heart that was telling her to blindly trust and her mind was pointing out harsh facts.

Despite Laena having two parents who were very educated in the matter of politics, Laena and Laenor did not have any interest in it — which was why she could not blame her cousin for not being able to see how much of a threat to her she was in that moment.

Visenya snorted. "Does your father share the same opinion on the matter as you do? Does your mother? Does your grandmother?" Her cousin frowned. "What is that supposed to mean?"

She raised her perfect brow. "You know exactly what it means. Your father's ambition brought you here. Even you told me he is still angry that your mother's birthright was stolen — So what makes you think he would not fight to place your potential future son on the throne?"

"My father would not. . ." the Velaryon girl shook her head in denial. Then, at the sight of Visenya's disbelieving look, she began again, "Even if he would want that, I would not support it — I would not succumb to his plans and ambitions! Visenya, I would never."

Her heart clenched at how desperate Laena was for her to believe her — but Visenya could not, at least not truly.

She was not a little girl who was unaware of how the world worked — she was no longer Alyanna Baratheon who believed that her family would never cause her harm, intentionally or not.

She experienced betrayals before — Stannis ordered her and her son killed because she was the biggest threat to his claim. Joffrey wanted her home so he ordered Robb and his family slaughtered.

Did she think Laena would turn around and betray her at that moment? No. But did she think Corlys could put years of pressure on her to make Laena turn on her? It was a possibility.

Hadn't Otto done the same thing? Hadn't Visenya already established that he and Corlys were so similar it was uncanny?

Despite what she might be thinking of Alicent, Visenya could not deny that the Hightower girl loved Rhaenyra — at least for now. Still, in another lifetime, she changed so drastically and so quickly, tormenting and humiliating Rhaenyra at every turn.

What worth was that love when Alicent ended up going against Rhaenyra, crowning her son King and starting the bloodiest civil war in the history of Westeros?

How could Visenya ever be truly certain she would not be betrayed, even by the people she cared about?

Visenya supposed she was the real problem in all of this — It was she who was never truly and completely honest with anybody around her. It was she who was hiding a whole other life that she had behind her. It was she who never told anyone the reason she was the way she was.

With that being said, if she was so good at pretending to be truthful with others, how could she ever be hundred percent sure others were honest with her and not just pretending, like she was?

"Say something," Laena begged, squeezing her hands tighter. Visenya opened and then closed her mouth, trying to find the right words — trying to go against herself, trying to figure out how to approach this. "What do you want me to say?"

"I want you to say that you believe me. I want you to say that you know I am going to support you no matter what happens," her cousin cried out in desperation.

Visenya's mouth remained sealed shut. She had to look away from Laena's pained stare, not bearing that she was the cause of her friend's pain. Her cousin abruptly let go of her, stepping back with a look of betrayal and disbelief — and Visenya felt something cracking in her chest.

"I cannot believe that after everything we have been through—" she stopped talking and shook her head. Not sparing her a second glance, Laena turned around and walked out of Visenya’s chambers.

 

 

 

_____

 

 

 

A short ten minutes later, Visenya entered the carriage in which Jeyne was waiting for her. The healer Daemon hired to stay in King's Landing, a man named Garro, was sitting in the front with the coachman so she felt comfortable enough to slump against the seat, defeated.

She should not have done this — She should have told Laena what she wanted to hear, she should have reached out to her to stop her from leaving. She should have lied to her, she should have done anything but this.

But would it be worth it? Their entire friendship was meant to be built of honesty and truth — on trust, but Visenya had to keep twisting her words from time to time, she avoided certain questions that she was unable to answer.

Answering with more lies felt like a further betrayal.

Laena already trusted her too much — Visenya knew things that could potentially ruin the Velaryon family and legacy, she knew about Laenor's and Laena's true nature which was kept a very serious secret from the Faith of the Seven and its worshipers. She knew things Laena never dared to say to another living person.

Her cousin felt comfortable enough to lay her heart at Visenya's feet and yet all she could offer in return were half-truths or blunt lies.

Sometimes, she got sick and tired of all the lies.

She wished she could shout out the truth for all to know. Trying to save the world was a lonely business and all Visenya wanted was a bit of help — sometimes. She wanted someone whom she could tell everything to, someone that would believe her when she revealed the whole truth about herself and her past, someone who would not judge her for her mistakes and actions, someone that would advise her and stand by her side through everything.

For the fifteen years she spent in the past, Visenya has never felt the weight of the world on her shoulders as she did in the last couple of weeks. Everything that she did, growing her spy network, years and years of careful scheming and finding allies — and it all came to this moment.

What if she fucked something up? What if she overdid it? What if Viserys decided to choose Laena instead of Alicent? What if Daemon dies in the Stepstones? What if she could not protect Rhaenyra? What if she could not change her sister's fate like she promised all those years ago?

What if?

What if?

What if?

Visenya hated this feeling — hated not being in full control over something, hated the uncertainty. All it would take was one person to fuck it all up and ruin her plans — everything that is going to happen in the next couple of weeks was out of her hands, everything depended on others.

"I think I fucked up," she confessed quietly, rubbing her temples to ease the upcoming headache. Jeyne tilted her head to the side. "What happened? Have you two fought?"

"I accused her of something that she did not yet do — of something that she may never do," Visenya answered. Her cousin looked even more confused. "Such as?"

Visenya sighed, "I accused her of succumbing to her father's ambition after marrying my father and potentially birthing him a son. I accused her of trying to steal my birthright in the future."

Jeyne hummed in thought. "I can see why you would think that. After all, that is a real possibility. Any male children she may have in the future would be a real threat to you and your claim. Your father named you his Heir, but that will not stop some from trying to steal what is rightfully yours."

Visenya knew that Jeyne spoke from experience — After all, it was Jeyne's own cousin, Arnold, who tried to fight her right to her own inheritance, claiming that women were too soft to rule.

"But this is Laena we are talking about," Visenya argued weakly. Jeyne's expression turned sour as the carriage came to a stop. Before she stepped outside, she said, "Sometimes, people we love the most are the ones who would do us most damage. Expect the unexpected from your supporters, Visenya — Do not ever forget that the betrayal comes from your allies, not your enemies."

Visenya slowly nodded, reminding herself that her cousin was right — She was right to be cautious.

As soon as she climbed down the wooden steps, a handful of parchments full of names were shoved into her hands. "Is this a list of all people that signed up for the emergency health examination?" she questioned.

"Yes, Your Grace, these are the most urgent ones," the Gold Cloak responded. Jeyne peeked over her shoulder to look at the names and the list of the symptoms before grimacing. "There are so many. . ."

"It looks like we have a long day ahead of us," Visenya sighed and handed the parchments over to Garro, who happily examined them and immediately decided who was to be treated first.

Throughout that entire day, Garro ended up treating over a hundred people. He diagnosed most of them with the Spring fever and suggested the dusk rose tea to ease their fevers and of course, some lavender inhalations to clear their airways.

Visenya was certain he would have ended up treating even more of them if he had not run out of supplies. Either way, this trip to the City served her as well. For the first time in her life, she walked amongst the dirtiest parts of King's Landing, and with Jeyne's help, she listed everything that needed to be changed.

On their way back to the Keep, Visenya turned towards Garro, who looked rather exhausted, "I am sorry for bringing you into this, Garro. My uncle hired you to be there for my family, not deal with other people who pose a threat to your health as well."

Despite his tiredness, he gave her a crooked smile, showing his laughter lines. "I spent years and years learning and practicing to save lives, Your Grace. This is my passion and my job. It matters not to me who the patients are."

"Even so, you will receive handsome pay for your service," she promised. "I would also like you to write to a couple of healers you know are as capable as you — I want to offer them jobs here with handsome payments and a safe place to live in."

He seemed a bit surprised, but bowed his head. "Of course, Your Grace."

 

 

 

_____

 

 

 

king's landing, 111AC
rhaenys targaryen

Rhaenys spent a large portion of her time in King's Landing just observing Visenya. She heard many great things about the girl — from Corlys, from Laena, and even Laenor who usually could not be bothered about anyone other than Joffrey — and so she found herself intrigued.

Aemma's daughter did not only know how to function properly in court, she was also very interested in helping people, whether it be by holdings women's court or visiting the city and making a change — Rhaenys had to admit that Visenya was doing more than a good job of it.

Too bad that it will all be for nothing.

Visenya was no doubt an intelligent girl and if Rhaenys was right in her assessment of her, everything the girl did was to show her capability — Hells, the girl went so far as to personally fly to the Iron Islands and deal with their leader.

Truthfully, Visenya reminded her of herself.

Rhaenys used to be like this — so hopeful for a good future in which she would inherit the Iron Throne, so hopeful for her Kingdom because she already had many plans and ideas in mind, so hopeful because she wanted to make a change — she wanted to be the change.

And look at where that hope brought her. . .

Dead father. Angry and bitter mother. Estranged relationship with her cousins. No throne.

The moment her grandmother first held her, she declared her "their Queen to be". Admittedly, they rarely talked about it in front of Jaehaerys because they knew he would disapprove and demand of his firstborn son to sire a male child who would succeed him.

Rhaenys's father, Prince Aemon Targaryen, had no problem with her being his heir — in fact, he required of her to spend years by his side, to listen and learn. He never neglected her — never made her regret having no cock between her legs.

He was so adamant for Rhaenys to be his heir that he did not grieve having no more children — Aemon never pushed his mate for more heirs, especially not male ones, because Rhaenys was enough.

She was her father's heir — She was supposed to be the first ruling Queen.

And yet, Jaehaerys and her once dear uncle, Baelon took that away from her. Rhaenys was once very close with Baelon but that relationship went south when her uncle refused to fight for her rights — when he refused to acknowledge her as Aemon's heir and instead greedily accepted the position that was supposed to be hers.

Baelon was very much aware of Aemon's wishes regarding the line of succession — and instead of honoring them, he decided to pretend that him being heir was the best outcome.

Her uncle was fully aware that Rhaenys was told about the Conqueror's dream. Her uncle was fully aware that the White Hart showed up for her — and yet. . .and yet. . .

Baelon tried to reconcile with her on multiple occasions but Rhaenys never caved, her anger and resentment threatening to burn the last of the bridges between herself and the rest of the Targaryens who went against her.

But then the opportunity to take back her birthright represented itself again once her uncle perished. This time, the choice was to be made between Rhaenys and Viserys.

In her humble opinion, the choice was so easy that it was laughable.

Rhaenys was raised at her grandparents' knees — already educated for the role, ready for the schemes and the monarch's duties while Viserys did not have a day of education for the position. He was just a prince who was not excelling in anything particular except for enjoying feasts — Hells, he did not even have a dragon!

And yet, he was chosen to be King.

What did Viserys ever have that she did not? A little sausage? Is that all it takes to be a king?

Apparently so. Rhaenys soon learned that this was simply the way of the world their lived in — It did not matter how good she was, how kind, how fierce, how smart — She could be Aegon the Conqueror come again and yet she would never be enough, she would never be chosen simply because she was a woman.

That being said, Rhaenys felt a twinge of pity for Visenya — because the same fate was destined to befall her sooner or later. A pity indeed, Visenya would have been a good monarch, more worthy of the Crown than Viserys or Jaehaerys ever were.

Rhaenys felt a sense of duty to lay out her experiences and prepare Visenya for the inevitable — it would be a shame to see another girl burn and burn in anger and resentment for the world just as she did — and a brilliant girl at that.

So, she found herself standing on the balcony that overlooked the gardens where her dear daughter was having a conversation with Viserys. Visenya was leaning against the wall, observing the sight below her when Rhaenys made her appearance known, "It bothers you, does it not?"

Visenya angled her body to face her for a few moments before her eyes found Laena's form again. "My father is a King — It is his duty to take a new wife and strengthen his line."

Rhaenys silently approached her, placing her hands on the stony wall as she managed, "I did not ask for a lesson in politics — I asked whether this bothers you."

Visenya's sharp indigo eyes judged her harshly. "Laena is your daughter, Princess Rhaenys so I should be asking you if you are bothered that your husband wishes to marry your only daughter to a man twice as old as her — a man who is not even her mate."

Rhaenys's nostrils flared. "Of course, it bothers me, but I understand the order of things." When Visenya refused to respond to her, she continued, "I am not sure you do."

She expected some anger on Visenya's side, she expected her dragonblood to flare, she expected Visenya to snarl and bite — but the girl just smiled in amusement. "If you mean to elicit some anger from me, you should know that you are miserably failing, Princess Rhaenys."

"Quite the opposite," Rhaenys hummed, feeling more intrigued by the girl with each passing moment. Visenya held her gaze yet again.

"Whether it is to my daughter or to someone else's, your father will remarry sooner than late. His new wife will produce new heirs, and chances are, better than not, that one of those will be male — and when that boy comes of age and your father has passed, the men of the Realm will expect him to be heir, not you — Because that is the order of things," she explained.

And did she not know it? How much she suffered because of that 'order of things' — how many betrayals she faced by the people she thought would stand by her side through everything.

Visenya traced the scar on her hand with her finger — a nervous habit that she did when she was thinking. "When I ascend the Iron Throne and the Crown of the Conqueror rests on my head, I am going to change it," the girl vowed, voice and face serious.

Rhaenys felt as if she was talking to her younger self at that moment — she had that dedication, that fire, that sense of purpose once. All for it to be squashed into nothingness, leaving only her heart of stone and heartbreak.

"How I wish that could be, Visenya. But the men of the Realm already had their opportunity to appoint a ruling Queen at the Great Council and they denied it," she chuckled, shaking her head slowly.

"Which was a grave mistake on their part," Visenya said back, eyes scanning her surprised face. "You should have been the first ruling Queen — Westeros would have been a much better place for it. But, it did not happen. They did not choose you because they do not wish for a woman to hold power over them. My father handled things differently. He gave them no choice and so they bowed before me and called me their future Queen."

Even though Rhaenys was caught slightly off guard by Visenya's little speech, she still questioned back, "Do you remind your father's men of that as you carry their cups?"

Visenya's jaw visibly clenched as the silence eloped them. "Here is the hard truth, which no one else has the heart to tell you — Men would sooner put the Realm to the torch than see a woman ascend the Iron Throne — and your father is no fool," Rhaenys advised.

The girl before her frowned, but said nothing. Feeling as if her job here was done, she stepped away from the balcony and began to walk away before Visenya's emotionless voice stopped her.

"You might want to reconsider making a betrothal contract between Laena and my father. After all, I do not think you would want your only daughter to end up being cut open for the sake of a son just like my mother was."

Startled by the sudden change in the air between them, Rhaenys spun around to question, "Excuse me?"

The girl raised her brows slightly, acting innocently — as if it was not her plan all along to do this, to reveal this, "Oh, did you not know that my mother was butchered Maesters on my father's orders? My bad."

That could not be true. Aemma and Viserys were mates — they were each other's hearts and souls. The act of violence against each other would be the same as hurting yourself.

When she stayed quiet, Visenya continued, "But it does make you wonder. . .If he was willing to murder his own mate for a chance at having a son, what would he do to a girl that he could not give two shits for?"

Impossible — Viserys would not. . .Rhaenys knew him, he loved Aemma. But the dark voice in her mind whispered, Do you know him? Do you truly? Viserys was also a man who continued to impregnate Aemma despite the many babes they lost, despite the pain her cousin was in. And this went on for years.

Was that the kind of fate that awaited Laena? Her beautiful daughter who only ever wished to fly Vhagar and be free — Rhaenys could not picture it, her little girl locked in a cage, too busy carrying pregnancy after pregnancy, the fire in her dimming to the point of disappearing completely.

Overwhelmed with sudden uncertainty about her daughter's future, Rhaenys cursed Corlys for putting Laena in this position.

Before she could demand to know more, Visenya added, "Luckily, you will not have to know the answer to that question because my father has eyes on another — a woman utterly unworthy."

Rhaenys raised her brow at the information Visenya calculatedly laid out to her. The girl slowly approached her, head tilted to the side. "I am afraid Otto Hightower bested you and your husband this time. He has been sending his pawn of a daughter to my grieving father's chambers since the day of my mother's funeral — From what my spies told me, it appears he liked her enough to already bed her."

Rhaenys did not know what to say or think. Was any of this true or was it a desperate try to keep any possible wife away from her father? Because even Viserys could not be that blind not to see Otto's schemes when they come knocking at his doors — literally.

At her stunned face, Visenya smiled. "You probably think I expect the position of Heir and later Queen, to just fall in my hands — but I do not. I have eyes and ears in every corner of this Keep and the City below. I know what is happening around me every hour of every day."

Visenya gestured towards the empty halls that connected the balcony to the Keep — the empty hall that buzzed with servants at the start of their conversion. But now, they were all gone.

Rhaenys studied the girl before her. Spies — she had spies already working for her.

"I do not blame you for underestimating me, Princess Rhaenys — In fact, I like it. There is no freedom quite like the freedom of constantly being underestimated. Besides, being underestimated gives me an unfair amount of advantage over everyone else," Visenya revealed.

"You are not who I was expecting you to be," Rhaenys mused, earning a chuckle from the girl before her. "I will take that as a compliment."

Visenya's indigo eyes landed on the gardens below yet again. She searched for the sight of her father, but did not find him. "Most think me young and foolish for believing I could be the Queen one day — and perhaps I am. . ."

When Visenya's eyes met hers again, Rhaenys felt chills down her spine at the sheer intensity and promise of violence that she found within the girl.

"We are very similar, Princess Rhaenys. Both of us were born to rule, yet we still depend on the words and actions of men around us. However, there is a huge difference between us as well. You accepted that your birthright was stolen and left this City for good — But, I am going to melt the Iron Throne and everything else with it before I let a Hightower half-breed sit his arse on it and rule us all."

Notes:

Before a whole debate starts in the comments about this little 'fight' between Visenya and Laena, I just wanted to give you my two cents on it:

Do I think Laena has every right to feel betrayed and hurt by Visenya not trusting her? 𝗬𝗲𝘀. I would be too after so many years of friendship and loyalty. Do I also think Visenya is right not to trust her? 𝗬𝗲𝘀.

1) What makes Visenya so different than many Targaryens (or royalty in general), especially in this time when they were literally in the peak of their power — is that she didn't grow up like they did. Rhaenyra and Laena both grew up spoiled to the core, expecting everyone to fall on their hands and knees for them. Daemon grew up knowing he won't face consequences for his actions because he's royalty. While Alyanna/Visenya grew up knowing her father hated her guts, so much so that he gladly sent her away so he wouldn't have to look at her. She didn't have a chance to connect with her mother. She wasn't spoiled, no, in fact, she got the bare minimum. The only good thing about her childhood were people who helped hone her anger and resentment and turn it into a weapon. Alyanna/Visenya grew up having to constantly prove herself, which makes a big difference in personalities between her and everyone else.

The best example for this difference is Rhaenyra and the way she takes on her role as heir — which is, she thinks the position is hers just because her father said so (which should've been but look at where that 'I'll sit on my ass because nobody can go against me' attitude led her).

2) Plus, as listed in the chapter, Alyanna was betrayed by her family more than by anyone else so that familial bond that Targaryens/Velaryons have is not something that she ever knew before. Honestly, it's a miracle she managed to form true friendships with how little she trusts others.

This chapter served well to set up Visenya's character development that'll happen on Driftmark — She'll learn that she can't do everything on her own. She'll learn that asking for help isn't equal to showing weakness, and most importantly, she'll learn that pain and heartbreak is inevitable, just as betrayal is so it's better to take a risk and trust than push people she cares about away from her.

Other than that, I always showed the 'good' side of Visenya knowing about the future — Well, this is the 'bad' side. It can get lonely and it can be frustrating because not everything depends on her!

I'm so happy about how I wrote Rhaenys & Visenya's interaction. I literally can't wait for this iconic duo to end Otto, Alicent and Viserys in 2 chapters <33

Chapter 44: The Rogue Prince

Summary:

In which:

— Viserys pisses me off
— We have a Daemon x Visenya reunion
— Daemon and Visenya are only soft and forgiving for each other <3

king's landing, 111 AC
viserys targaryen

Time last five moons passed in a blur — Viserys blinked and his daughters had grown up, he blinked and almost half a year had passed since the tragic death of his son and his beloved.

Viserys always believed that time healed all wounds, but that proved to be very untrue, at least in his case.

He felt as if a part of him was dead, a part of his heart, a part of his mind — Sometimes it felt as if he was nothing but a shell of a person, fighting to exist and not live — because how could he truly live when his mate was dead — when his soul was in the afterlife?

Grief came to him in waves — when Aemma took her last breath, when the ship first wrecked, Viserys found himself drowning with wreckage all around him. Everything floating around reminded him of the beauty and the magnificence of the ship that was, and is no more — of all the beautiful memories he shared with his mate, in their youth and then adulthood.

And all he could do to stay alive was fight to float above the water, above the grief and pain.

In the beginning, the waves of grief were as tall as tsunamis, crashing over him with no mercy, further torturing his broken heart. The waves came one after the other, barely giving him time to catch his breath and recover.

After a while — weeks and moons later, the waves were still as tall as tsunamis, but they came further apart. When they did come, Viserys's only saving grace, the only extended hand — was Lady Alicent.

She offered her company, her books, and interesting tales that were usually told to the worshipers of the Faith of the Seven. What got to him even more was the fact that she was very interested in his model of Old Valyria.

She was more than willing to sit and listen as he explained the whole structure and what they were based on — she even asked questions about Balerion.

It was like a breath of fresh air.

It brought Viserys back to the time when Aemma and he used to draw scatches of new sculptures before they passed their idea to the stonemasons who brought them to life. The two of them would spend hours talking about old Valyria and adding little details to the model.

Of course that it all had to be ruined by his troublesome brother. . .

He could not get a moment of peace — not even when Daemon was so far away, banished from King's Landing. You would think Daemon could not do much from far away — could not anger Viserys more than he already had, but his brother proved him wrong.

Was it too much to ask for some peace and quiet? Was it too much to ask of Daemon to stop acting like a child for once in his life?

The anger freely traveled through his veins as he sat at the head of the Small Council table and listened to the words of the Dragonkeeper who arrived from Dragonstone, "It occurred in the blackness of the night, Your Graces, My Lords, during the Hour of the Bat — The thief eluded our pursuit. . ."

"How is it possible that a dragon's egg was stolen out from beneath more than fifty Dragonkeepers?" Viserys asked back, absolutely baffled. Was there no one to stop his brother?

"The Prince left a missive, which I believe might explain," his Lord Hand cut in. He gestured towards Grand Maester Mellos who held a folded parchment in his hand.

"It is the pleasure of Daemon Targaryen, the Prince of Dragonstone and rightful Heir to the Iron Throne, to announce that he is to take a second wife in the tradition of Old Valyria. She is to assume the title Lady Mysaria of Dragonstone. Her Grace is with child and is to have a dragon's egg placed in the babe's cradle in the custom of House Targaryen," the man read, "The Prince has invited you to his wedding, Your Grace. It is in two days' time."

Viserys briefly glanced at his eldest daughter who was standing as still as a statue, her indigo eyes showing betrayal and cold fury. Even he could hardly believe the words that were read to him.

"Gods be good," Lord Beesbury muttered, taking a sip of the wine to calm himself down. "Who is Lady Mysaria?" Lord Corlys questioned the thing Viserys wished to know as well.

"Daemon's whοre," Otto explained shortly. He turned towards him, shaking his head slowly. "This is nothing less than sedition." Lord Strong nodded in agreement, "I strongly agree, sire."

"My brother wishes to provoke me. To answer is to give him what he wants," Viserys exclaimed, already feeling a headache forming.

He let Daemon settle on Dragonstone even though he ordered his brother to return to the Vale. He let his brother bring most Gold Cloaks with him as well — and yet, his brother still insulted him. Jaehaerys would have disowned him for less!

"The realm is watching, Your Grace," Lord Corlys commented lightly. "What would you have me do? Send him to the Wall? Perhaps I could put his head on a spike?!" He shook his head — He might be angry at Daemon, he might think him the worst man alive at that moment, but Viserys was not a kinslayer.

"Daemon has seized Dragonstone, has surrounded himself with an army of Gold Cloaks, and has now stolen a dangerous weapon—" his Hand began only to be cut off by Visenya whose calm yet emotionless voice surprised him, "What egg did he take?"

Everyone stopped to look between his daughter and the Dragonkeeper. The old man could not find it within himself to meet her eyes as he answered, "The egg was Dreamfyre's, Your Grace — The same that you chose for Prince Baelon's cradle."

Fury seized Viserys like it never had before — the beautiful egg that was the color of the darkest of storms, the egg that his little Baelon nestled with for a day. . .stolen to provoke him. Daemon's cruelty truly had no bounds!

"Assemble a detachment, Otto. I will go to Dragonstone and drag Daemon back to face justice myself," he declared, anger lacing his voice. He stood up, ready to storm away.

Viserys's vision blurred with anger — All he saw before him was red. He could picture it as clear as the day, his cruel brother lying on the ground, bruised and beaten after he was done with him — He could see Daemon on the ground, begging for mercy.

Otto took a few steps toward him, his low voice calming the raging fire that plagued Viserys, "My apologies, Your Grace, but I cannot allow it. It is too dangerous — Daemon is without limit. Let me go to Dragonstone."

Perhaps his Hand was right — Just because Viserys did not wish to become a kinslayer, it did not mean Daemon had the same thoughts. His brother was a dangerous man, half of the Realm considered him a hero while the other half thought him a villain — To go to Dragonstone now meant playing with fire, it meant possible death to anyone who crossed him.

Viserys went silent, trying to cool down the fire that ignited within him. He gave a reluctant nod towards his Hand before he sat down yet again, rubbing his temples. Otto left to prepare for the departure and the rest of the Small Council followed right after him.

It was only when the doors closed and the sound of footsteps faded that Viserys realized his daughter was still in the room with him. "I want to take Arrax and go to Dragonstone myself as well," she spoke.

Viserys looked up at her with wide eyes. "I cannot allow that, Vissie. You are my Heir — You are the reason Daemon was disinherited. It will be just as dangerous for you to go as it is for me."

His answer rang with finality, but the determination in his daughter's eyes burned through him — There was such anger there, such deathly rage. . .For a moment, Viserys was reminded of the look on his father's face when he negotiated with his mother to go back to Myr and avenge his brother.

To this day, that face remained engraved inside his mind — Baelon the Brave who was always calm and collected, burning with the need for revenge.

Now Viserys could see why people compared his daughter to her grandfather.

"He humiliated me in front of the entire Small Council by declaring himself the rightful Heir — I cannot and will not allow that," Visenya mused.

"You are understandably angry, daughter, but it is because of that anger that you might do something reckless that could put you in danger," Viserys sighed.

His eldest daughter scowled. "I am not incapable of controlling my anger, father. Besides, uncle would never hurt me — At least not physically."

How could she be so sure of that? Daemon was deadly and uncontrollable, he cared little for the hurt he was inflicting on others if his actions benefited him — He had always been like this.

"You can never be certain of that. Your Uncle is violent and unpredictable," Viserys voiced his thoughts. When he saw the confusion on Vissie's face, his voice softened, "I know that you love him and thus see him without many faults and flaws he has — But he is capable of depravity and I do not wish to find out if he would go as far as hurting you to hurt me."

Perhaps it was because the two of them were mates?

But did that mean anything when his brother decided to disrespect his niece, his other half, by using her title as his own? A drunken whoremonger, chaos made flesh — that was the man the Gods decided to pair with his Visenya, with his pride, with his daughter who was the complete opposite.

Viserys still cursed the Gods for it.

His daughter deserved someone better — someone who would respect her, love her, and treat her right — someone who was capable of being faithful and kind, someone who would not be afraid to let Visenya shine and steal the spotlight.

And that someone was not his brother.

"Do you wish for your Hand to die, father? Because that is what will happen if you do not send me to Dragonstone as well," his daughter pointed out. "Uncle Daemon has Caraxes to support him. He does not ed out, dragging Viserys back to reality. "You know that they hate each other — That anger might even start this War."

Once she was certain that he fully registered the kind of danger he put his Hand and men in, she continued, "He does not even need the army of Gold Cloaks that he has to defeat the Kingsguard and Otto so send me to have a negotiation with Daemon and I will return with Baelon's egg in hand and your soldiers shall follow, all safe and unharmed."

 

 

 

_____

 

 

 

dragonstone, 111 AC
daemon targaryen

Daemon's lilac eyes were solely focused on Otto Hightower. He gripped the handle of Dark Sister even harder, already imagining how it would feel to rid the man of his head, how good his blood would look while decorating the point of his sword.

No. Such fast and painless death would be a mercy for him.

The image of Visenya's tears flashed in his mind — the way his niece shook in his arms — the way she trembled with grief, pain, and sadness for her mother. Daemon's nostrils flared — the need to end the Hightower cunt overwhelmed him.

The yellow bond that connected him with Caraxes vibrated. He felt the Blood Wyrm at his back and heard his impatient whines and growls — It seemed that Caraxes too was eager for some Hightower blood to be spilled.

Suddenly, a dragon's whine was heard — the sound that did not belong to his Blood Wyrm. Daemon's head snapped to the left where he watched as the thick smog split apart as the jade-green dragon emerged.

Arrax roared proudly, the flap of his wings creating the sound of clapping thunder. Daemon found that the corners of his lips lifted involuntarily as he watched the jade-green dragon flying straight above the Hand and his men, forcing them to take cover unless they wanted to be thrown to the ground.

Arrax circled them before landing just behind Viserys's men. Visenya jumped off his back, landing safely and then she proceeded to walk towards her father's men who moved out of her way, bowing their heads as she passed them.

Visenya did not spare Otto a glance, determined to get to Daemon. Just as the two of them made eye contact, indigo eyes clashing with lilac, the Hand stepped in her way to stop her. "You should not be here."

"It is not up to you to decide that — Now move out of my way, Hightower," his niece scowled, much to his amusement.

While his niece was standing there, having a conversation with the men around her, Daemon took his time checking her over — searching for any sign of injury that she could have received while fighting against Ironborn.

Luckily, he found that nothing changed about her.

He let out a breath he did not know he was holding — The reports he heard from people around him about Visenya's doings in Old Oak varied from one to another so Daemon felt glad to see with his own two eyes that no harm was done to his niece.

The Hightower cunt ignored her command, calling for one of the Kingsguard that accompanied him, "Ser Criston, please escort the Princess to safety."

Just as Ser Crispin or whatever the fuck his name was, stepped forward, Visenya cocked her head to the side in challenge, "Only my father, the King, can command me — You cannot. Now, move."

His niece went to side-step him only for that Hightower cunt to grab her arm. Both Arrax and Caraxes growled and Daemon found that his hand was already on Dark Sister's handle — one wrong move and that cunt was dead.

If he so much as looked at his niece in the wrong way, he was done for.

The jade-green dragon flapped his wings, flashing his black, needle-like teeth dangerously. Unlike her dragon, Visenya stayed calm, her cold indigo eyes meeting Otto's. "Be careful not to startle Arrax, my Lords and good Sers — I cannot guarantee he would not burn you to a crisp."

With that, she freed herself from Otto's grip and started walking towards Daemon — they met halfway and she was the one to speak first, High Valyrian rolling off her tongue, "Are you so desperate for the Crown's attention that you would steal my brother's egg, uncle?"

It took him a second to realize that his niece was not here for him, she was not there to support him or be on his side — No, she was there on behalf of her father, fighting for the opposite side.

Just like that, Daemon's small smile turned into a frown. The feeling of lightness that consumed him when he got the first look at his niece after five moons faded quickly — It was replaced by anger and bitterness — and Daemon welcomed it.

"I did not steal anything, niece. The eggs belong to our family — and that is what we are, are we not? Or have you too disowned me like your father?"

Visenya's indigo eyes traveled to the egg that Daemon casually carried in his hands. "There are eggs warmer than my brother's. You could have chosen any one of them and yet you just had to pick that one — to further ire my father, your King," she accused.

His intentions may have been to hurt and punish Viserys, but there was more to it as well — this egg called to him, to the dragonblood in his veins. He was certain that it was meant for his future child.

"Your brother did not live long enough to have any usage of this egg — My child, however, will need it in its cradle."

Visenya's pursed her lips in disappointment at his cruel words. "The tradition of placing an egg in the cradle of a Targaryen babe is reserved only for a trueborn child, not a bastard."

"It is a good thing that I am to be wed then," Daemon gestured towards Mysaria who was standing behind him, surrounded by Gold Cloaks. His niece studied his dark-haired wife-to-be and then pointed out, "You already have a wife."

"Not one of my choosing." He shifted the egg from one hand to another. "Both you and your sister shared your cradles with your dragons when you were born — Why should my child not be offered the same courtesy?"

Visenya brought her attention back to him, chuckling sarcastically. "You came to my castle, uninvited, and lived here for moons without my leave. Then you stole the egg that I have chosen for my brother — the egg that I have nurtured in Baelon's name. Now you dare compare me and my sister to the bastard child of your whore," she spat. "My patience is at its end — You are beginning to overstay your welcome, uncle."

"Dragonstone will not be yours until you come of age," he argued. She strengthened her back, her words almost taunting him, "The Dragonstone belongs to the Heir to the Iron Throne — which you are not. That title belongs to me now."

Visenya stepped forward, their faces only inches apart — and it suddenly dawned upon him that he was wrong. Something definitely changed in his niece — She was taller, not in a physical sense, but in the way she held herself.

This was not Princess Visenya, the firstborn child of King Viserys and Queen Aemma Arryn that stood before him — this was not the sobbing girl that he left behind in King's Landing. No. This was Her Grace, the Princess Visenya Targaryen, Princess of Dragonstone, Heir to the Iron Throne and soon to be the first woman to ever sit the Iron Throne.

Visenya carried herself and her destiny, inheritance, and duty so well that Daemon felt the pride washing over him. So fierce, so strong, so fiery. He could already picture her with the Crown of the Conqueror on her head.

Daemon almost took a step back at the next picture that flashed in his mind — It was not a secret that he imagined himself on the Iron Throne, especially in his youth, but this time, perhaps for the first time ever, he saw something else — he saw was himself kneeling at Visenya's feet and her sitting on the Iron Throne as if she was born to it.

He found that he quite liked it, bowing before a monarch actually worthy of her throne and her crown.

"But if you really want my castle and position, there is only one thing that you need to do, uncle. You already hold Dark Sister in your hand so why not just eliminate me here and now?"

Visenya's next words stunned him back to reality — He blinked at her, trying to figure out if she was being serious. There was nothing but challenge in her dark indigo eyes, but surely she must know that Daemon would rather command Caraxes to eat him, that he would rather fall on Dark Sister than bring her any harm.

"You will have only Rhaenyra standing in your way then. Knowing my father, he will probably let you have the position if only to save his remaining daughter — Hells, he might even give up his crown so you would be King if it meant assuring my sister's safety," she continued, "So go on, uncle, kill me — and be done with it."

Daemon immediately let go of his sword, eyes desperately searching hers. "I could never hurt you," he said because he needed her to know it — to believe in it.

A crack in his niece's mask appeared, somewhere behind all that anger and challenge, a glimmer of hurt shone through. Her voice lowered into a whisper as she confessed, "You are hurting me right now."

His eyes widened and suddenly, this whole situation, what he was doing, what he was trying to achieve, it did not matter anymore.

Daemon threw the dragon egg to her and his niece caught it without struggle. He spun around and began heading back to the castle, passing Mysaria on his way.

A final thought occurred to him as he heard Arrax readying himself to take flight again — Visenya might carry herself like a Queen and she might be a genius, but there was something that she was still unaware of — that Daemon himself was unaware or until this moment.

Visenya did not realize how much power she had over him. With just one sentence, she made him reconsider everything — she made him drop his plans. He huffed just thinking about how much more dangerous she would be in the future while carrying his love and care for her as her sword, shield, and armor.

Daemon did not go straight to his chambers after the confrontation on the bridge, instead, he followed Caraxes back to one wide clearing that was near the castle — where the Blood Wyrm's favorite place to rest was.

Through that yellow bond that he shared with his beast, he felt his frustration because he did not get to feast on someone's flesh or corpse today.

Just as he approached Caraxes, another's dragon shriek was heard. Both he and Caraxes glanced up to see Arrax and Visenya descending toward them. Daemon leaned towards his beast, showing his appreciation and promising a few sheep for him.

Arrax landed right next to Caraxes, shaking the ground altogether. Visenya’s green beast immediately greeted The Blood Wyrm with a shriek who in return curled his neck away from Daemon to return the gesture. Visenya was already on the ground and moving towards him by then.

"I thought you left for King's Landing," he said slowly, the sound of his voice carried by the wind. "I obviously did not." Rolling his eyes at her snarky retort, Daemon said his goodbyes to Caraxes and turned around to leave.

"Is that it? You are walking away from me?" Visenya huffed, speeding up to catch up to him. Daemon refused to aid her by showing down — and his reply was laced with bitterness,"I have given you what you asked for — What more do you want from me, Visenya? To move out of Dragonstone? Are you going to take a page out of your father's book and discard your own blood just as he did?"

By the sound of her footsteps, he could tell she was getting nearer. "The last time you saw me I was in your arms, crying for my mother — so you could start by asking me how I am. Then you can proceed by thanking me for stopping you from making the worst mistake in your life by killing Otto Hightower," his niece suggested.

"That cunt does not deserve the air that he breaths," Daemon spat. Not after the part that he played in Aemma's death, he thought. Visenya blocked his path just before he could enter the castle. "Move."

"No," she stubbornly refused, looking up at him with a set jaw and determined eyes. Daemon snorted, accepting her challenge by trying to side-step her but she predicted it and blocked his path again.

They were now chest to chest, breaths mingling — neither of them backing down. His niece raised her brow at him as his eyes traced the soft, perfect skin of her face.

After a tense silence, he stepped back, giving her some space. Her face scrunched in anger. "You insulted me — You humiliated me in front of the entire Small Council by naming yourself 'the rightful heir'. And for what? To hurt my father? To hurt me?"

"You asked me what I want — Well, I want you to stop hiding behind parchments and inks — I want you to look me in the eyes and tell me what you would have told my father had he been the one to come here instead of me. I want you to tell me that I do not deserve my position — that you are better suited for it — that I would never be as good as you — that the position is yours by right because you are a man and I a girl."

Daemon froze in his place, lips sealed shut. He could not say anything to that, he refused to because it all went against his beliefs, against the beliefs of his people.

The only time he supported a man's rights over a woman's was at the Great Council — where he refused Rhaenys' pleas to fight for her inheritance and instead stood alongside his brother.

While Daemon had two very valid reasons for doing so, neither of them was actually because he had anything against his cousin — In fact, he would have gladly supported her if it had not been Viserys who was on the opposite side.

"Go on, tell me," Visenya demanded only to be met with more silence. "You know, for a man who brags about worshiping the Fourteen Flames and following the traditions of Valyrian people, you have a strange way of showing it. . ."

He only now started to question how his actions could have affected her. . .Truth be told, all he aimed was to further spite his brother, he had not even thought about his niece. "I never meant for my actions to reflect—"

"Well, they did. Aiding the Old Oak, defeating the Ironborn, everything I accomplished since I was named Heir — you might as well have spat on it," his niece went on, "The support I have gained in the last few moons might turn away from me now — Because why wouldn't they? Why should they stand by me when my own family does not? Why should they support me when the Rogue Prince, my own uncle, does not?"

Any sort of understanding he developed for the situation he caused gave way to anger and bitterness yet again. "And what should I have done, niece? Come back, kneel before my brother's feet, and beg for forgives after he butchered his own mate for a chance at having a son — Because that is how much he wanted me out of his way — that is how much he mistrusted me with our family's legacy!"

"For years all he did was send me away, dismissing our relation, our blood, and letting his court and council of snakes and vultures call me Maegor come again, all while staying silent and refusing to defend me?" he shouted. "How do you think it was for me? Always exiled and now mourning all alone? — with a family who refused to keep contact with me because of a few words I have spoken while drunk out of my mind!"

Visenya looked at him as if he slapped her. "I wrote to you — multiple times! It was you who had not bothered to respond!" she shouted back at him incredulously. "I sent letters before bringing Dreamfyre to Dragonstone and I sent some more, asking for your advice and guidance on how I should approach the situation with the Ironborn!"

His niece's words snapped him out of his state of anger. "Well, I have never gotten those letters," he uttered.

The screaming match between them stopped and they just stared at each other, thinking the same things — They were here, fighting each other because someone was trying to put them against one another. The realization hit them at the same time but it was Visenya who said it first, "Otto fucking Hightower."

Just like that, Visenya moved out of his way, settling turning her back to him and facing the Narrow Sea instead. Daemon sneered at the sheer thought of the audacity of Otto Cunttower — but he did not find himself surprised at the man's actions.

Of course, he would try to divide the Targaryen family even further, after all, he already did that by murdering Aemma and making sure his bitch of a daughter made friends with Rhaenyra. . .

Daemon was hit with an overwhelming urge to jump on Caraxes, find the ship that carried that cunt to King's Landing, and burn it. He was about to do exactly that when he realized his feet did not move, he was rooted to the spot.

Daemon clenched his jaw but shifted to see his niece's back. She was quiet and unmoving, content with caressing the scar on her hand with her thumb as she always did when she was lost in her thoughts.

Arrax seemed aware of the dangerous plotting and scheming that was going on inside her head which was why he lifted his head, purring and moving his spiky tail to get her attention.

Instead of going forward with his plans, Daemon walked to her and leaned onto her, placing his head between her head and her right shoulder. That appeared to pull her back to reality as he questioned, "You asked for my council?"

The faraway look on Visenya's face disappeared. She took the opportunity to lean back against him, making their heads touch. "Of course, who else could I trust to give me proper advice?"

Daemon could not help himself so he smiled against her shoulder, feeling pleased — All he ever wanted was for Viserys to see him, to hear him, to know that he was there to advise him and help him.

Viserys always rejected Daemon's ideas and advice but with Visenya it was easy — no matter if she agreed with him or decided to do the complete opposite of what he suggested, she would at least hear him out

"The Small Council was reluctant to help the Old Oak because they did not want to argue with the Hand, including my father — I was the only one advocating for aiding them for quite a while," Visenya explained further.

"I would have told you that any man who did not back you up is a coward and a sheep. But you. . .You are a dragon, niece — You take what you want, not ask and plead for permission, especially not from incompetent men who are nothing but pawns," he hummed.

Visenya furrowed her brows, shaking her head. "It is not that easy as you make it sound. . .I could not just take Arrax and fly into the battle, especially not without my father's leave."

"Yes, you could," he argued — because that is what he would have done if he was in her situation. Visenya's indigo eyes snapped to his — there was a blank look on her face which told him everything that she wished to say. That is why you got disinherited, uncle. . .

"Well, I am not like you, uncle," she snorted instead and Daemon nodded in agreement — No, you are better, he thought — she was more thoughtful, more calculated, more strategic, more emphatic.

"And how did it go?" he ended up asking, curiosity getting the best of him. "Good, I think. Vhagar and Arrax painted the Sunset Sea red with flames that night." Daemon was sure he would have liked to see it — he could only imagine what kind of damage could have been done if Caaxes and he were airborne with them.

"And then I had negotiations with Lord Greyjoy. He insulted the Crown three times, first by disobeying and lying to his King — then not properly greeting me upon meeting me — and finally, by threatening my life," Visenya said. "I could not let that pass so I gifted him his brother's head before threatening to burn the entire Iron Islands to ashes if he did not agree to my terms."

Because she laid it out so casually it took him an embarrassing amount of time to register her words. Daemon blinked, once, twice — he peeked at Visenya's bored expression and then threw his head back and laughed.

Viserys always disapproved of Daemon's cruelty, ruthlessness, and anger, and yet what his brother failed to realize was that his eldest daughter was just like him in that regard.

It was sort of poetic that Viserys traded one evil for another — he may have disinherited him but Visenya was there, his cunning and ruthless little Heir.

Daemon supposed it was because of this he often felt like Visenya was his mirror — Yes, she was also vastly different from him but there was a certain darkness to her that he could not find anywhere else, in anyone else.

Rhaenyra was all lights and sunshine, she shone brightly everywhere she went, living up to her nickname — the Realm's Delight. But Visenya was. . .Well, like him.

Perhaps that was the true reason why his brother favored Rhaenyra — His pride, he called Visenya while Rhaenyra was always his joy — Daemon often rolled his eyes when he heard his brother say that. . .

As if that meant Visenya could not be a joy, a happy and smiley girl. The truth was,Visenya's smiles were rare but when she did smile, when she showed her true, wide grin, his niece shone brighter than the sun, the moon, and all the stars combined.

When his laughing fit stopped, Daemon peeked down to find his niece already staring at him in pure confusion. "Was that not threatening enough?"

This made him laugh even harder. She cracked a sheepish grin as he pressed a kiss to her clothed shoulder. "It was perfect," he assured her. You are perfect.

"You grew up," Daemon noted. Visenya shrugged, spinning around to face him. "I could not stay little forever." She wrapped her arms around his middle. "I really missed you, uncle," she uttered against his neck, making him shiver.

He buried his nose in her hair — the scent of lemon and honey filling his nose and making his eyes roll back in his head. And I you, little flame.

Notes:

This chapter was supposed to have Visenya's POV as well but it already has over 5.3k words and I couldn't bring myself to write it. I'm running on zero hours of sleep for the last three days so forgive me 🖤 Nothing much would've happened — You already know how Rhaenyra and Viserys's conversation after her returning from Dragonstone went. I'm definitely going to mention what was said at some point tho since it's a bit different than in the show cause Vissie had his permission to go on Dragonstone

Anyways, I really hope you like this long awaited reunion. It's so funny to me that Daemon is tolerating Visenya being a brat but that's how the relationship between them works — She's basically the only one who could go against him without him wanting to take her head for it 🤌🏻

I hope y'all are buckled up and ready cause drama is starting in the next chapter HAHA

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Chapter 45: The Ultimate Betrayal

Summary:

In which:

— Rhaenyra is in denial
— Rhaenys and Visenya wipe the floor with Hightower asses
— Daemon and Visenya say their goodbyes to one another

Notes:

I know I usually straight up tell you how many chapters it's going to be in between episodes but I'm not certain of that yet. What I can reveal is what you can expect between episode 2 & 3:

Visenya and Rhaenyra slowly easying back into their relationship ; Visenya and Mysaria teaming up ; The Black Weeding of Alicent and Viserys 😏 ; Otto teaching Alicent to be a true player of the game of thrones ; Rhaenyra earning her position in the Vale and having her redemption arc ; Visenya finding out about the Maesters plot ; First Black Council ; Trial of Maester Mellos ; Women supporting Women ; Visenya going on a murder spree of Hightower allies ; Daemon meeting some witches in the Stepstones ; Otto and Visenya straight up having attempts on each other's lives ; Leo becoming a Kingsguard

Not necessarily in that order, but yeah. Hopefully, you'll enjoy it all 🤭

king's landing, 111 AC
rhaenyra targaryen

Rhaenyra stirred in her sleep, groaning at the hushed whispers and loud footsteps that she could hear — People, most likely maids, were rushing down the halls, passing by her chambers. She sighed in frustration as she looked out of her window to find the sky still dark.

Still feeling tired, she barely managed to put on her silk night robe and find her way to the doors. Rhaenyra peeked her head out to find Ser Criston on the other side of it. "What is happening?"

Her Sworn Shield looked startled to see her but he shook himself out of it, averting his eyes from her form. "Princess. . .I do not think it is anything of importance. Perhaps you should go back to sleep," he suggested.

Shrugging, Rhaenyra was about to do exactly that when a pair of maids entered her line of sight. "I cannot imagine how she was feeling. . .To find her father in a bed with a woman so soon after her mother's passing. . ." one of them muttered.

The other one nodded her head, her expression full of pity. "She looked so pious and dutiful — turns out she was a whore all along. . ."

What in the name of all Hells was happening?

What was so interesting that it had the entire Red Keep on their feet in the middle of the night?

Intrigued, Rhaenyra exited her chambers, closed the doors, and followed the path the two maids came from. "Princess—" Ser Criston tried to stop her but she was determined to keep going.

Her Sworn Shield followed her as they passed her father's rooms. The halls grew more crowded with each step she took — there were people everywhere, from maids and servants to the noble guests of the crown and even some people from court.

Different stories were whispered left and right, but from what she gathered, a woman was found in a widowed man's bed. It made little sense to Rhaenyra — why would people care so much to gossip about it in the middle of the night?!

Luckily for her, she managed to run into a familiar face — a woman who has been her servant since she was a child. She walked up to her, questions already spilling out of her mouth, "Annora? What is this commotion all about?"

The red-haired woman curtsied before her but she seemed hesitant to respond. After a moment or two of a silent debate in her head, she uttered, "A scandal, my Princess — I believe a noble lady has been caught in a compromising situation with the King."

Rhaenyra's heart dropped into her stomach. What? No. Absolutely not. That could not be true. They were still in the mourning period so this must be a lie.

She was aware that there were talks of her father remarrying in the future and she came to accept that — somewhat, at least. To be fair, she was not going to be sticking around for that — Rhaenyra and Alicent will be half a world away by then — but the thought of her father with someone else other than her mother still hurt.

"My father? With whom?" she still questioned. Annora looked uncertain. "I am not sure, Princess — I only know that her Grace, the Princess Visenya was the one to find them."

Her maid pointed out that her father and sister were now in the Small Council chambers, discussing this situation which was why everyone was lined up — they were all waiting to confirm the identity of the said lady and then spread gossip to their friends.

Rhaenyra was barely able to pass through the crowd and make it to the doors of the Small Council chamber. Ser Erryk and Ser Arryk, who stood before the chambers helped her get in while keeping the crowd out.

It was quite a sight that she walked in on — Viserys was standing at the head of the table, Otto, Alicent and Maester Mellos were standing on the left side of it while Princess Rhaenys, Lord Corlys, and Visenya stood on the right side. Lord Beesbury and Lord Strong stood on the opposite side of her father.

Strange — it was like the sides were divided with Lord Beesbury and Lord Strong standing on the sidelines.

"Rhaenyra!" her father paled at the sight of her. She did not pay much attention to him, her purple eyes immediately searching for Alicent's warm brown ones — but she did not seem to have registered her entrance because she kept her eyes down while she nervously tore the flesh from her fingers.

There was nothing Rhaenyra wished more than to make her way to Alicent, cover her hands with her own, and soothe her anxiety — but for some reason, her legs carried her to the other side, to stand with Princess Rhaenys, Lord Corlys, and her sister.

"What—What has you up in the hour of ghosts?" Viserys questioned, stumbling over his own words. Rhaenyra finally tore her gaze away from Alicent to say, "The whole Keep has been buzzing with whispers and gasps about a scandal — it woke me up."

Everyone in the room shared a look, as if some big secret was being kept here. Rhaenyra paid it no mind and instead looked around, trying to find this supposed lady that her father took to bed.

But there was no one around other than the people she listed.

Just what was going on?

Otto Hightower cleared his throat, some healthy color returning to his seemingly green face. "We are discussing the matters of the Small Council, Princess — It is perhaps for the better if you are informed of this later."

"Yes," Viserys nodded eagerly. She could not help but scowl at that — This matter concerned her family so she should be here! Her father looked at her pleadingly, "Please, little dragon."

Despite her mixed feelings about her father, despite all the anger and resentment and love and affection making it hard for her to think — despite a part of her begging her to shut him down and stay, Rhaenyra still caved.

It was not like she would not hear about it all later. . .

Besides, her father's supposed mistress was not even in the room with them.

She was about to leave when Visenya's fingers locked around her wrist, keeping her in place. "No," her sister shook her head, indigo eyes glaring daggers at Otto. "What reason does she have to leave? So she would not hear that your daughter visited my father's chambers, unaccompanied and wearing a woman's dress in the middle of the night?"

Alicent flinched, her frantic brown eyes finally clashing with hers. It took a few long moments for Rhaenyra to register the words her sister spoke and when they did — she felt the world stop.

No. No. No.

Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion for her as her eyes scanned her father and then Alicent.

It was the middle of the night so all of them were dressed in their sleeping robes — except for Alicent who was wearing one of her mother's dresses, the dark blue one that was more open and more suited for a married woman.

To think about it, Alicent began wearing her mother's dresses pretty soon after Aemma's funeral — When Rhaenyra asked her why, she responded that she missed her mother and wanted to honor her by wearing them.

Rhaenyra did not complain because Alicent looked absolutely radiant in them.

But to think that all this time, her Alicent was dressing herself to visit her father. . .

Rhaenyra was close to throwing up — She felt as if she might collapse, as if the world was slipping beneath her feet. It was only her sister's hand that was keeping her from falling — it was only Visenya's hold on her that was keeping her on the ground — that was keeping her sane.

Her head began spinning with the memories spread over the last five moons — memories that were suspicious even then, but that only began to make sense now.

After Alicent stood her up for a trip to visit Syrax and get familiar with her before they leave Westeros, Rhaenyra began pacing around, searching for her in every corner of the Keep.

Once she finally found her, she complained, "I was looking for you everywhere! You promised you would meet me at the Godswood half an hour—What is that?" Rhaenyra stopped herself in the middle of the sentence once she registered Alicent trying to keep something out of her sight.

"Oh—Oh. . .It is nothing," the Hightower girl stuttered, too occupied with trying to hide the thing to see Rhaenyra approaching her.

"It cannot be nothing if you are trying to hide it," she smirked playfully, jumping to take the mysterious item from her. Alicent grunted in frustration but all Rhaenyra did was laugh at her efforts. "Is it a gift for my nameday? You do know that you did not have to—"

When she finally managed to get a hold of the item, she was a bit disappointed but at the same time confused to find her father's sculpture of Balerion. "Oh. . .Is this not my father's?"

"Yes, it—it is," Alicent stumbled over her words, the tips of her ears turning red. "My—er—My father was having a—a meeting with His Grace and I accidentally interrupted them. The King mentioned needing the stonemason to fix this sculpture so I—er—I offered to do it for him!"

And then another memory from this morning.

Rhaenyra could not help herself so she gifted Alicent the matching rings she had made for them. Alicent was blushing before her eyes — blushing for her as she admired the beautiful jewelry. "They are stunning! Absolutely perfect! I—I do not know what to say. . ."

She just laughed and took her hands in hers, thinking that nothing could possibly ruin this — ruin them.

" Say that you will pack your bags and leave this horrendous place with me — Say that we will soon mount Syrax together and travel the world together — Say that we will visit all the wonders of the world and eat cake all day."

Say that you love me like I love you, was left unsaid but Rhaenyra felt confident in the way Alicent and her felt for each other so she did not need the words to be spoken out loud.

Alicent's smile faded a little bit as she said, "When Gwayne recovers." Rhaenyra nodded in understanding even though all she wished was for them to leave — she has been waiting enough already. But she could wait more — She would wait forever if it meant getting peace with the Hightower girl. "As you wish."

"Do—Do you think everything will be alright?" Alicent suddenly asked, her question frustratingly vague. Either way, Rhaenyra smiled in reassurance. "Of course — If not, I can always rescue you. We will run away and hide in the furthest parts of the known world and grow old together."

Alicent's lips twisted into a lovely smile. "That sounds lovely — That sounds like everything."

Rhaenyra's eyes burned with betrayal and unshed tears. Alicent began shaking under her gaze, stepping back so she could hide behind her father.

She was pretty sure some heated words were exchanged while she was stuck in her memories — But the next thing she knew, her father announced, "I—I intend to marry Lady Alicent Hightower. . .before spring's end."

She felt as if someone ripped the heart out of her chest. No, this was not happening. She still refused to believe it. Her Alicent would never do this — would never betray her in such a way. This had to be a dream — No. This was the worst of nightmares.

There was a loud, ringing sound in her ears. Rhaenyra heard someone calling her name but she was already out of the doors by then, running away from this horrid nightmare.

She did not remember getting back to her chambers nor falling into her bed, sobbing and fighting for breath. She did not recall falling asleep.

She only remembered thinking that when she woke up in the morning, she will find that none of this even happened — everything will be okay when the sun rose, because it had to be — because her father and her Alicent would never do this to her.

 

 

 

_____

 

 

 

king's landing, 111 AC
rhaenys targaryen

Little Rhaenyra bolted out of the Small Council chambers faster than her legs could carry her. Viserys called her name, but she kept running. Through the purple thread connecting her to her mate, she felt Corlys burning with anger.

And yet, all Rhaenys could do was stare at Visenya — at her calm and collected facade.

She could barely believe what she was seeing. Even though Visenya proved to be an intelligent and well-informed girl just a few days ago, Rhaenys would never — not in a million years expect of her to forge a plan so good and so solid that it even impressed her.

She could only guess how many hours, days, weeks, or even moons of careful scheming it took for her to set this all up and come out as a winner. Everything could have gone wrong and yet none of it did — Was it pure luck or just her mind that did all of this?

Rhaenys had no way of knowing Visenya's true plan, but she could see the essence of it and it was nothing short of brilliant. To somehow catch her father and Alicent alone together in the middle of the night — whether dressed or in bed together, it did not matter because it ruined the Hightower girl's reputation the same.

The truth about what happened or did not happen between Alicent and Viserys was something that no one would care about — all that mattered was the perception of things, the way people are going to view this situation, and what they are going to believe in.

And people are only going to see one thing — one side, because Visenya ensured it would happen that way.

Viserys was in his sleeping robes and Alicent in a dress that did not suit her marital status. The thing about dresses in Westeros was that maidens and unmarried girls had to dress in such attire that it would not bring attention to their curves or anything improper because they were still considered girls.

As soon as they were wedded and bedded, they became women and were allowed to wear more revealing dresses because they were untouchable then — only reserved for their husbands.

Alicent Hightower was clearly wearing a dress of a married woman even though she was a maiden. People are going to view this in only one way — the Hand's daughter was trying to seduce the King.

Rhaenys had to admit that Otto's idea to get Viserys to even consider marrying his daughter was smart, but also a risky one — and Visenya explored that risk, that weakness to the very best of her abilities — and she won.

Her surprise and shock gave way to giddiness — Rhaenys felt like laughing. A girl of five and ten bested Otto fucking Hightower in his own game. What a day!

Corlys raged at her side, "This is an absurdity. My house is Valyrian, the greatest power in the realm — My Laena is from the richest family in the entire kingdom and you would choose this—"

Her mate stopped himself before he uttered the word whore — but everyone in the room understood what he meant to say. Rhaenys enjoyed seeing Otto turn red with anger, Alicent shrink ever further, and Lords Strong and Beesbury turn white.

Visenya had no reaction at all — she turned her head to face her father, a look of suspicion marrying her features. "The mourning period for my mother is not ending for another seven moons. You cannot marry her so soon."

"Little flame. . ." Viserys started, visibly hoping that she would drop it — but the girl did the opposite, pushing for answers further, "Why such haste, father? Why remarry in only a moon? Royal weddings take forever to plan and the courting period lasts at least half a year so why so soon?"

Visenya made a show of thinking about the possible reasons before she came to a realization, "Because she is already with child and you cannot afford to wait longer if you do not want the child to be a bastard."

Rhaenys was pretty sure that Visenya already knew this information to be a fact — but to reveal it in such a way was a genius move because the reactions of everybody in the room proved her suspicions to be right.

Lord Beesbury needed to take a seat and have a sip of wine to calm himself while Lord Strong studied the situation before him, his eyes moving from Visenya to the King and finally, to Otto and Alicent.

"This cannot be happening," Corlys slammed his hands against the table. "My daughter is the rider of the Queen of dragons — of the last dragon from the Conquest and yet you would choose a daughter of a second son from a minor house over her!"

"I advise you to thread carefully, Lord Corlys," The Hand threatened which had Corlys snarling back, "Or what?"

Rhaenys had not yet told her mate about her discussion with Visenya a few days ago, about the warnings the girl gave her — and she perhaps never will.

It was true that as the leading woman in the Velaryon family, she was feeling dangerously angered that nobody Alicent Hightower was chosen — a girl as bland as bread, a girl who would rather follow Septas around all day than do something useful over her droagonriding daughter.

But, Rhaenys knew her daughter — Laena was a very spirited girl who wished to go on adventures and ride Vhagar all day every day, she hated court and politics, she hated being chained — she hated all the things that being Viserys's new wife would mean.

Her daughter would never take this situation as an insult, it was the opposite — this was her ticket to freedom.

As a mother who wished for her daughter nothing but happiness, Rhaenys could not and would not complain about the outcome of this disastrous situation. Corlys was a whole other story and it will take years of Viserys's efforts to soothe his pride after this insult.

Visenya kept her temper in check and stoically faced the King's mistress. Her words were as cold as ice when she spoke, "Do you have no shame? My mother's ashes have not yet cooled before you snuck into her mate's bed. My mother's blood has not even dried from the sheets before your own coated her husband's bed."

Alicent was so red in the face that she looked like she was overheating with embarrassment. Just when Rhaenys thought that Visenya could not deliver any more blows, the girl surprised her yet again.

"If you bled at all that is — After all, you do seem to like seducing older, grieving men who have the power to raise your status," her indigo eyes judged the Hightower girl from head to toe, "How can we be certain that you never did this before? How can we be certain that the bastard you carry is my father's?"

Fucking Hells!

The best thing about all of this was the fact that Visenya never outrightly insulted Alicent — never called her a whore or a slut. No, she asked all the right questions in all the right ways — she used all the right words too. Most importantly, she stayed silent when it was most important for her to do so.

Because half of seeming clever is keeping your mouth shut at the right times — which the girl mastered perfectly.

Visenya managed to keep her dragonblood from flaring, she kept herself composed — kept herself from jumping over the table and tearing both Alicent and Otto apart with her bare hands — and as a reward for that success, she accomplished what she wanted all along.

Some may argue that Otto won since his daughter will become a Consort — but at what cost? After all the rumors get out, after people hear about this, none will respect her. She will forever be a subject to whispers and insults.

Hells, even the children she may produce in the future would forever be looked down upon because she will be their mother.

"You dare speak of my daughter as if she is some common whore!" Otto looked ready to strangle Visenya. Corlys's face twisted with anger. "And what other word would describe your daughter then, Lord Hand? A power-hungry snake?!"

The Hand spun around to ask for help from her cousin, "My King! You cannot allow such slanders—" and indeed, Viserys stood right by his betrothed, defending her and her snake of a father. "I am your King, you would do well to remember that, Lord Corlys!"

The purple bond connecting her to her mate vibrated in silent displeasure and rage. Viserys glanced at everyone in the room before he rubbed his temples and ordered, his voice sounding rather tired. "This matter is finished!"

Visenya smartly closed her mouth, deciding to back off because her work was done. Too bad for Otto and Alicent that Rhaenys was yet to start her round of jabs and blows.

Rhaenys took Corlys's hand in her own, squeezing it and sending reassurances through the bond. I got this.

"It appears we are in the wrong here, my love," she smiled at her mate. "We only wished to do things the right way — to respect the mourning period for my beloved cousin and then have a proper courting and wedding for our only daughter. We did not want to stump so low and whore our Laena to Viserys for a chance at marriage — But it seems the method worked for some."

Otto Hightower directed his threatening gaze at her now. "If you are suggesting what I think you are, Princess Rhaenys—"

Rhaenys cut him off proudly, "I am speaking only as I see things, Otto — and I see them very clearly. All know about how piety your daughter is, how devoted to her Gods — so why would she suddenly abandon it all and sell herself to the King? Had she fallen to temptation or had you sent her to Viserys's chambers? Which sounds more believable to you?"

Visenya may have smartly settled for destroying Alicent and keeping the Hand out of this, but Rhaenys would do no such thing — as a mother whose daughter was greatly insulted, as the Princess of the Blood, as the cousin to the King, and as the richest woman in the entire Westeros, she had every right to voice her thoughts and make her own insults.

More importantly, as the woman whose birthright was stolen from her by Otto's suggestion all those years ago — she had every right to take her anger out now, to throw the Hightowers off their high horses.

And she will achieve that by destroying the very man responsible for convincing Jaehaerys to call for the Great Council.

"A second son of a minor house and yet a Hand to the King — and now your daughter will become a Consort. Will it ever be enough for you, Otto or will you continue to take and take and take? What will be the next on your list? Will the bastard your daughter carries dare lay claim to Visenya's throne one day?!" She accused.

That seemed to make the man purse his lips and stay quiet. Alicent's silent cries and whimpers filled the room as Rhaenys dared to meet Visenya's eyes for a moment — she sent the younger girl a look of approval before she spun around, head held high.

"We are leaving, husband. It is becoming painfully clear with our every visit that there is no place for us in King's Landing. We have been slighted thrice now — it seems all my cousin and his court have to offer us are more empty promises and injustice."

 

 

 

_____

 

 

 

driftmark, 111 AC
visenya targaryen

Visenya could still barely believe what happened not even a day ago — she could swear she was still shaking from how hard she laughed as soon as she found herself in her chambers, all alone.

Everything went as she planned it — Hells, it went even better!

Her plan all along was to destroy Alicent before she could gain power and influence, but with Rhaenys' intervention, Otto's reputation as the unwavering and honorable Hand was cut into pieces as well!

The heavy weight of the world lifted from her shoulders if only for a moment — Everything she did, everything she worked on paid off. Unfortunately, she had no time to catch her breath because the war of the Stepstones was coming and with it, her uncle leaving yet again.

Lord Corlys exited the chambers but kept the doors open for her to pass through. Visenya nodded at the man in greeting. "Lord Corlys." In return, the man bowed his head in respect. "Your Grace."

Visenya came to a halt as soon as her eyes landed on her uncle's form — he was standing by the fireplace, cup in hand. His long and straight silver hair gleamed under the light the fire provided.

Daemon must have heard her footsteps because he turned around to face her. He blinked at the sight of her. "What are you doing here, niece?"

Visenya silently closed the distance between them, now standing directly before him as she responded, "I offered Lord Corlys my support in the upcoming war, of course — Arrax and I cannot fight this war alongside you, but I can help from here."

He raised his brow in question and she explained, "You have no way of knowing how long the war is going to last so you are most definitely going to need supplies and more soldiers. Unfortunately, I have no army to offer but I can try and persuade Father to eventually send some."

At the mention of her father, her uncle's expression darkened with disapproval and disappointment. "Is it true that my fool of a brother is marrying Otto's whore of a daughter?"

"News travel fast it seems," was all Visenya offered as a response. Daemon's serious lilac eyes traced her face, looking for any sign of rage only to find none. "How are you not angry? How do you not disapprove?"

"Just because I do not go around, having temper tantrums does not mean I am not angry with him for marrying that bitch and disrespecting my mother's memory in the process." She could not stop the small smirk that escaped her as she announced her plans, "He and the entire Realm will see my disapproval when I show up at his wedding veiled in black."

She could see the exact moment he realized what she meant — Yes. She is going to show up at the wedding in black, mourning clothes and with a veil over her head, as per Arryn customs — to remind everyone of what time of the year it was, to remind everyone that Aemma Arryn could never be replaced by the likes of Alicent Hightower.

Daemon's eyes shone with approval as his lips broke into a satisfied smirk — giving her a perfect view of that perfect dimple in his cheek. "You never cease to surprise me."

She smiled up at him, tilting her head to the side. "What can I say, uncle? Someone has to take your role as a chaos maker while you are away. I fear that without it, we all might bore to death."

He hummed. Visenya stayed rooted in her place as his hand slowly approached her face. He took a stray strand of her silver-gold hair that must have slipped out of her braid while she was flying to Driftmark — he twirled it with his fingers before he gently placed it behind her ear.

"Just be careful, niece. You are playing a dangerous game with players much older and more experienced than you — a game that you do not know the rules of."

"What if I tell you that I am not going to play by the rules they made? — That all along, I planned to set their game aflame and begin it anew? — That they will be forced to play my game and to follow my rules or die?" Visenya mused.

"Of course. How could I have ever doubted you?" Daemon quipped and then changed the subject, "I may be leaving your side, but I refuse to let you face the vipers and snakes all alone — The Gold Cloaks that are currently on Dragonstone are set to return to King's Landing in three days time. I already sent my orders so everyone is aware that in my absence, they should follow a new commander, Leo Tyrell."

Visenya knew him better than everyone so she was aware this was her uncle's way of apologizing for his doings on Dragonstone — but even she was taken aback by it. "You would trust Leo with something as important as this?"

Daemon nodded without a second doubt. "That boy is loyal to you to the bone — With him as a commander, you will have an army of Gold Cloaks at your disposal."

Having an army of two thousand Gold Cloaks will certainly come in handy one way or the other. But she did not care about that, at least not now — She was here to say her goodbyes.

But where should she start? Gods why must goodbyes be so hard?!

She complained to Daemon about how he was always leaving without saying goodbye to her — but Visenya suddenly came to a realization that perhaps him saying goodbye to her was just as hard for him as it was for her. Maybe that was why he seemed happy to run away without a word instead.

Something alike a necklace that Daemon carried around his neck caught her attention — it took her a long moment to realize that it was her necklace that she had given him as her favor for the tourney.

The ruby-shaped Arrax gleamed at her when she took it in her hands to inspect it. "I forgot that I gave you this," Visenya admitted, utterly surprised that her uncle still carried it around.

Daemon seemed to take this as a sign to give it back to her, but she stopped him. "No. Keep it." He cocked his head to the side in question. "You shall return it to me once you come back," she decided.

Maybe this will give him a better reason to fight to stay alive — to fight and return to me, she desperately thought.

Visenya watched as Daemon tucked her necklace safely in his doublet, as close to his heart as it could get. She dared to take a step closer to him, to peer up at him. Her tongue was tied, her lips dry — the words got twisted inside her mouth.

Letting him go now might mean never seeing him again.

She let out a deep sigh, pushing her mind to form words. "I do not care how many rules you have to break or how many men, women, and children you have to put to death or even how many war crimes you have to commit — I only care that you return to us — to me."

"Is that a command?" Daemon questioned, a hint of amusement coating his voice. "And what if it is?" Visenya challenged him back.

"Then I shall return to you, my Queen," he surprised her by saying. Visenya shook her head slightly. "I am not Queen yet," she voiced, absolutely breathless. His lilac eyes shone brightly as he announced, "You are to me."

The words went straight to her core. She was barely able to stop herself from rubbing her legs together to create friction. She bit her lip harshly.

Fucking Hells!

Just when did this happen? When did his words begin to affect her in such a way? When did she begin to feel this way towards him?

Visenya wholeheartedly believed that Robb Stark was the only man whom she could ever love — that proved to be true in her first life and she thought it would continue to be in this second life. He was the only one capable of taking her breath away, of making her heart race with intensity.

But then, there was Daemon.

He always made her feel safe and secure. No matter how bad things got, how much her mind raged and burned with distrust, she was always able to talk to him. No matter how bad or how sad she was feeling, she could always open up to him. No matter how hard she tried to push people away from herself, she could never push him away.

Visenya always wrote it off as having a person in her corner — someone who understood her, someone who did not judge her. But there was so much more to it than that.

With the Targaryen family, the line between familial love and romantic love is always blurred so it came as no surprise when she could not pinpoint the exact moment when it all changed — when the line between the love between uncle and niece became more, when her treacherous heart stopped beating for Robb and started beating for him.

Was it when they almost kissed before Aemma's passing?

Was it when he held her through her breakdown?

Visenya did not know — and perhaps it did not matter because she could not and would not do anything about it, ever.

Her eyes involuntarily traveled to his lips and they stayed glued there. Daemon froze in anticipation before her eyes, keeping so still that it looked like he was not breathing.

This was not fair to either of them — doing this, closing the space between them — it was not fair to him.

Visenya had no way of knowing how long the War for the Stepstones would last. As far as she knew, it went on for four long years — but with her around, with her influence and interference, there was no way of predicting how much it would take for her uncle to return home.

It could be a year or ten — or he might not return to her at all.

Assuming that he comes back in four years — Visenya would already be nine and ten by then. She would probably already be married and with children. So, kissing him now meant giving him false hope for the future.

Love matches were very rare in this world, especially amongst those of highborn blood — so Visenya was not looking for it. She was certain that no matter whom she married, whose children she bore, Daemon and Caraxes would support her in the end — they would stand by her and fight for her if need be.

There was little her uncle could offer her — and Visenya doubted her father would even agree to it.

Marriage to her meant solidifying her claim and gaining more support and power. She already made a list of a few candidates she considered — with the first and best choice being Qoren Martell.

Bringing Dorne into the Seven Kingdoms would be a strategic and powerful move — it would make her the very first monarch to truly rule over the Rhoynar, the very first monarch to bring Dorne into the Seven Kingdoms.

Visenya had the Targaryen family to save, Dragons to keep alive, War to win, Destiny to change and World to save. She could not afford to have a love match — that was one of the many sacrifices she would have to make for the sake of the world.

With a heavy heart, she tilted her head slightly and pressed her lips against the corner of his. The soft kiss on his cheek lasted more than it was appropriate but she could not find it in herself to care.

When she pulled away, she immediately sidestepped him and went straight to the exit of the chambers. "Good luck, Daemon," she whispered, not daring to look back at him.

Notes:

This was so fun to write 🤭 Hopefully, you like this cause drama is only starting!!

I know that Rhaenyra's POV looks a bit messy, but that's because it's supposed to be like that. That girl is a whole ass mess now, her head is spinning with lies and she is questioning everything she ever knew. Her confrontation of Viserys and Alicent is going to be in the next chapter, along with her little moment with Vissie!

Rhaenys was straight up fangirling over Visenya this entire chapter, you can't change my mind 🤣

We won't be seeing the 'true' Vissie and Daemon until the start of episode 4 scenes. But, we'll get a lot of them straight up dreaming or thinking of each other a lot 😩 I'll be focusing on different character arcs for now on, but since I'm finished with my exams and am free until like October, the updates will be frequent again (3 times a week most likely, it depends on my inspiration)

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Chapter 46: Into Million Pieces

Summary:

In which:

— The entire chapter is dedicated to Rhaenyra
— Rhaenyra confronts both Alicent and Viserys
— The sisters finally reconcile

king's landing, 111 AC
rhaenyra targaryen

The initial thought that this was all just one nightmare — the initial prayers to every one of the Fourteen flames that this was all just a misunderstanding, wore off as the sun rose, then set, and then rose again.

Rhaenyra could not bring herself to get out of her chambers, not having the energy to do so — the denial, the confusion, the helplessness all weighing her down, making her unable to move from her bed.

Eventually, her blood began boiling with anger and betrayal — the second Doom of Valyria rising in her veins, making her want to spit fire. The dragon in her awoke from a nap and wished to hunt, to rage and turn to ash those who dared to cross her.

So Rhaenyra would.

She stormed out of her chambers, startling Ser Criston and when he tried to ask her how she was or where she was heading, she ignored him. Her legs carried her to her father's chambers where she came face to face with Ser Harrold.

As soon as her old Sworn Shield saw the fire in her eyes, her clenched jaw, and the stiffness of her face, he did not even ask what brought her there — he just opened the doors and announced her arrival to her father.

Rhaenyra found Viserys alone in his chambers, without Otto or Alicent around. He was breaking his fast all alone because his daughters did not want to see him — She wanted to laugh at that.

"You cannot marry Alicent," she said as a way of greeting. "Rhaenyra, what—?" He blinked, dropping the fork and the knife he was holding as if startled by her words. "You cannot, father!" Rhaenyra hissed, not letting him speak.

Viserys stayed silent, watching her panting with vexation. His purple eyes shone with understanding and Rhaenyra hated it. His eyes — the eyes Alicent spent her nights looking at and admiring instead of hers. His eyes that had the same inhumanly purple shade — the eyes Alicent told her were the most beautiful she had ever seen.

His eyes. Her eyes — The same eyes that Alicent loved.

Rhaenyra wanted to grab something and throw it at him, however, she could not find anything harmful around her.

"I do not wish for this any more than you do, little dragon, but it must be done," her father finally broke the silence between them. "I—I did this — I allowed her reputation to be ruined. I should have stopped her visits at the very beginning but I, well, I enjoyed the comfort and the company she provided — I enjoyed her chasing away my grief. So now, I have to marry her to protect her honour."

She could not care less about his stupid explanations. "What honour does a whore have?!" She spit out with such venom that made him gape at her. "Rhaenyra!"

There were more curses and insults that lined up, almost ready to be spilled from her mouth — There was this ringing in her ears that she could not shake off. The only thing that she could focus on was the furious beating of her own heart and the way her vision darkened.

She spent her entire childhood really ignoring the whispers trailing after her — ignoring the pitiful glances and disappointed signs. Why was she not a son?

Rhaenyra suspected the pressure of not being born with a cock was even higher for Visenya — Not just because she was the firstborn either, but because she was proclaimed genius in her early childhood.

Court ladies and lords always whispered, If only she had been born a boy, we could have had a King rivaling Jaehaerys the First!. And then someone would add, She could have perhaps even been better — But we will never know, right? She was not born with a cock and she cannot suddenly grow one.

Rhaenyra was content enough to ignore all of it — to ignore the way her father always spoke of having a son one day with such pride and promise, with his eyes shining with happiness — to ignore the way any time either Visenya or she achieved something, Viserys would be proud, throw a feast and then looked guilty.

Guilty because he wished Visenya and she were sons.

Rhaenyra ignored all of it, she even ignored the way her heart would clench in jealousy because of it — because she would never be enough simply because she was not a boy — because it was not even her fault that she was born the way she was!

Despite Viserys loving both her sister and her — despite him being a better father to them than most fathers were to their daughters, Rhaenyra still felt as if he could have loved them more.

And indeed he would have if only they were sons instead of daughters.

This is the exact reason why Rhaenyra's jealous and angry heart was glad that her father never got to have a son. She mourned her siblings, she mourned her mother — but she was happy that the opportunity to have a son was taken away from him, forever.

But that could all change now.

Rhaenyra was hit with the realisation so hard that it almost knocked her over. Her vision focused and the ringing in her ears stopped. "You are only marrying her for the babe she carries — because you are still hoping to have a son. After all these years, after all failed attempts now that mother is dead you can try again," she muttered, eyes bewildered.

Viserys flinched, eyes burning with guilt and she instantly knew that she was right. Disappointment on top of another disappointment — she was so used to it by now that all there was left for her to feel was defeat. "You named Visenya your Heir already! What do you need a son for?! Is she not enough for you? Am I not enough for you?!"

"Cease this at once, Rhaenyra! You do not know what you speak of!" Her father shouted defensively — as if there was some other, more important reason to want a son instead of his own greed and desperation.

She shook her head, suddenly feeling sorry for her mother — for the good-hearted Aemma who had to endure this shit far more than she had. Rhaenyra was even glad that at least her mother was in Balerion's Realm now — in a place where her father could not touch her again, in a place where she would not have to bear another child again and then mourn its death.

"Everyone has always been telling me about the true and epic love story that you and mother had — about how it was destiny for you to find each other — about how it was meant for her to walk the path that she did to get to you and see the mark you two shared. But where was that love when she was suffering from all the pregnancies you made her carry even though she was still mourning the children she lost? When was that love when you willingly watched her waste away before your eyes? When was that love when you killed her by putting your son in her?!"

Viserys shrunk further, as if she had hit him. Good — some very dark parts of her felt satisfied seeing this. "Tell me, father — Do you even know the names of the children you lost or have you never bothered to learn them at all?"

The way his eyes glistened with tears, the way they shone with even more guilt was an answer enough. "Aemon, Alyssa, Jaehaerys, and two more who did not live past the first trimester," she informed him.

Rhaenyra shook her head, voice finally lowering — the calm defeat replaced the burning anger. "If you go through with this — if you take Alicent to wife, you will lose me — I will never forgive you. So choose, father — Me or the bastard your mistress is carrying?"

She waited a beat and then two — she waited a minute and then another but there was just silence between them — the silence that spoke more than words. Even though Viseys opened and then closed his mouth over and over again, he did not even let out a sound.

"I see," Rhaenyra muttered, slowly nodding in understanding. She backed off, heading towards the doors. A part of her, a desperate little girl who used to call Viserys 'Papa', who used to sit on his shoulders and follow him around — that little girl in her screamed her protest, pleading with her to apologise and make amends.

But the other part of her, the woman who had enough of feeling as if she was never enough and never will be — who was tired of constantly forgiving him and letting him in her heart again and again, she pushed her to continue walking.

Even though Rhaenyra was angry with Visenya, she still listened to her sister's advice, she focused on her grief and let go of her anger and hatred, she let Visenya bear it all on her on. Well, it was time for her to take that anger back — to welcome it back, to feel it at its full force.

A child's love for their parent is insurmountable — but not infinite. Like anything else, it has an end, a breaking point and Viserys had exceeded his limits a long time ago.

Perhaps that was why it was so easy for Rhaenyra to pick up a knife and stab the little girl in her — to silence that need for his love and appreciation. It was not like it would matter anyway. . .her father will have a new wife and perhaps even a son whom he is going to chase after and thus forget about both Visenya and her.

It was better for her to do this and end the hurt before he got the chance to inflect it upon her.

"I hope your new family is going to be worth losing one of your daughters over, Your Grace," Rhaenyra said, her words ringing with finality. As she closed the door behind herself she felt herself cut off that familial bond connected them. Rhaenyra walked away and never once looked back.

Her legs carried her in a certain direction — to the Dragonpit and her Golden Lady. Syrax could feel that Rhaenyra needed her — not just her comfort, but also the skies and the wind so she sent shrieks of excitement down the bond they shared.

Just when she was about to round the corner, she caught a glimpse of all-too-familiar curly brown hair and brown eyes. She immediately turned the other way, gathering her skirts to escape out of the corridor as fast as she possibly could.

Unfortunately, Alicent also caught sight of her so she started chasing right after her, calling her name, "Rhaenyra, wait!" Rhaenyra continued to ignore her. "Rhaenyra, please let me talk to you!"

"I have nothing to say to you," she responded, voice lacking any warmth. The Hightower did not give up and instead pleaded, "At least let me explain!"

Rhaenyra suddenly spun around, almost making Alicent stumble into her. Her face was twisted with anger that found its way back into her body yet again.

"Explain what? How and why you ended up in my father's chambers in the middle of the night, dressed in your mother's dress with him in his sleepwear?!" she snorted, her words cruel. "You are lucky my sister did not arrive half an hour later, otherwise I fear she would have caught you in his bed, naked!"

Alicent shook her head, her eyes beginning to sparkle with unshed tears. "I—I was just reading to him," she said, voice filled with desperation and the need for understanding and sympathy.

"As if I would ever believe that!" Rhaenyra rolled her eyes, ready to bolt out of there. Since Alicent knew her like the back of her hand, she reached out for her, stopping her from doing so. "Nyra, please. I—I had to! My father, he told me to go to the King's chambers and offer him some comfort. I had no choice!"

"You had every choice!" Rhaenyra shouted so loud that the other girl flinched. She almost reached out to soothe her, to apologise — but then she tore her arms away from Alicent's hold, feeling disgusted and betrayed with her own body and mind for dring to think of offering comfort to the very girl who broke her heart into million pieces.

"You could have chosen not to go! You could have chosen to tell me about it immediately! I would have helped you, I would have flown us away so you would never have to see your wrenched father again!!" She went on. "Instead, you lied to me. You were lying to me this entire time!"

Rhaenyra shook her head, finally letting out the words that she desperately wanted to be heard, "How many times did I cry in your arms for my mother? How many times did I curse the day my father was born in front of you? And yet, all this time you were with him, kissing him, holding him, spending your nights with him instead of me!"

At the times Rhaenyra needed Alicent the most, for her to hold her and wipe away her tears, the girl was actually with Viserys doing Balerion knows what!

She felt like a fool for ever believing in the Hightower girl's excuses — 'I was visiting my brother, you know that he is still recovered from the injuries he received in the tourney' or 'I was with my father. He wanted to talk about wedding preparations.'

Bullshit.

Everything was a lie! Everything!

"How long has this been going on?" she asked, breaking the silence between them. Alicent began picking at the skin of her fingers as she cast her eyes to the ground, shame eating her alive. "Since Queen Aemma's funeral," she confessed quietly.

Rhaenyra could not bring herself to feel any more betrayal — she spent days locked inside her chambers, burning and burning with it, bottling it until it spilled over. And now, well, it seemed as if it had burned out of her.

She even surprised herself by laughing hysterically — she laughed and laughed about the hypocrisy of it all. "You preach to me about your Gods, you speak of virtue and upholding the teachings of the Seven, and yet you act this way. What would the Mother think? What would the Maiden? — the Crone?!"

The tears spilled down Alicent's face at the mention of the Faith she so adored to follow — she began shaking, begging her to stop, but Rhaenyra kept going.

"But your actions do not matter, right? You are still a faithful follower of your Gods who is going to be forgiven for her sins because you are a Hightower, right? Because your family can do no wrong in the eyes of the Seven since you are their biggest donors," she shook her head. "Had any other woman done this, she would have been cast aside, thrown out of the Sept, and discarded for choosing power over her Gods and their rules — but not you. You are still allowed to kneel and pray."

Alicent was a shaking and whimpering mess right before her eyes yet Rhaenyra felt nothing. How fiercely had she loved the girl until just a few days ago? Could she have ever imagined herself being heartless when it came to her?

"Nyra, please. This—This does not have to be the end," the Hightower girl begged, stumbling over her own words. "You were fucking my father behind my back! You were kissing me by the day and doing the same to him in the night! This ended long ago, Alicent."

"But, I–I love you!" Rhaenyra was stunned frozen for a moment — this was the first time Alicent said those three words. Had this been before she turned around and betrayed her, she would have run to her, smiling, feeling all giddy inside — she would have kissed her and told her those same words back.

But now. . .All she felt was pain — so much of it that it crushed her. She did not even know how she was still standing.

"No," she denied, lips wavering. "No, you do not. You would never have betrayed me in such a way if you ever loved me — if you ever even cared about me."

"You do not understand. . ." Alicent cried out, but Rhaenyra stopped her. Her voice was small and quiet, she sounded vulnerable to her own ears as she said calmly, "I understand perfectly."

"I would have chosen you over everyone and everything else — over my mother, my father, my sister — over my duty, over the richess my position has to offer, over a safe and secure life. I was ready to drop everything for you. — To give up my position for you. I even had my bags ready — I was just waiting for your words, for your confirmation that it was our time to leave everything behind and start anew together. But you did not deem me worthy enough to give up everything for."

When those words left her lips, she felt a single tear escape her eye — The truth of the words spoken rang within her as she wiped the stray tear away with her sleeve.

Rhaenyra had never once thought about what the future would look like for her if she stayed in Westeros — she was always so certain that Syrax was going to fly her and Alicent away one day — that they were going to get married on Dragonstone, in the tradition of Valyrian people and then spend the rest of their lives together.

Even if Alicent was not her mate.

How many times had Rhaenyra checked the Hightower girl's back, desperately searching for a mark that matched hers — two dragons flying, intertwined? How many times had she felt the disappointment washing over her when she did not find it? Hells, how many times had she openly questioned the Fourteen Flames for not pairing her up with her?

Because she was so certain that Alicent was her other half — the person she was meant for. Because she loved the Hightowers girl so much that it felt impossible for her to ever find another that she would love more.

She was so certain the Fourteen Flames were wrong that she refused to think about the possibility of another and instead kept checking the empty spot between Alicent's shoulder blades, hoping that the black ink would appear.

But now, as she watched the beautiful future she imagined for the two of them crumble before her eyes — as she watched the red flower crowns made of dragon's breath fall apart and die — as she imagined Alicent marrying her father, she finally understood why.

The Fourteen Flames were never wrong before and they never will be. This betrayal was the exact reason why Alicent was not chosen to be her other half — because Rhaenyra's mate would never, not under any circumstances, not for the sake of their family or friends or faith choose someone over her.

Rhaenyra was so certain of it that she felt it in her bones.

There was someone else out there — someone else who is going to accept jer just as she was, who is not going to try to convert her to another religion — someone who is going to love and cherish and choose her every time — someone who is not going to be afraid to run away with her and explore the world — someone who is gladly going to accept that invitation, jump of Syrax with her eat cake for every meal.

For the first time in her life, Rhaenyra felt that golden-green bond connecting her to her mate stir awake with promise.

And it was then that she finally stopped looking at Alicent through some sort of pink glass — as if she could finally see the truth that Visenya was trying to point out to her all along.

"All this time you were lying to my face about running away with me when you had no intention of following through with our plan. All of it because you do not wish to be free of the shackles that bind you, of your family, and your duty — you just wish to dream about it — to carve a hole in the stone wall separating you from it — you just want to admire it from afar and make yourself a victim, a martyr for not choosing yourself and your own happiness — for not fighting against your destiny and instead accepting it."

Rhaenyra looked at Alicent in disbelief as she uttered, "I cannot believe my sister was right about you all along." She then turned around to leave. She was halfway out of the corridor when she remembered to add something.

Rhaenyra dared to cast a look back at the person who once meant more to her than any other — she saw her fall under the weight of the loss of a person who was still alive — she saw her at her absolute worst.

And yet, she spoke the words all the same, kicking her down even more.

"You may be marrying my father, you may be wearing the Consort's Crown in the future — but you will never, ever, be my Queen, or anyone else's for that matter. You will always be what you made yourself, Alicent — my father's whore — a Royal Whore who had to force the King's hand to be lifted higher in station than she could ever dream about before."

Rhaenyra held her head high. "My mother is the only Queen I bowed for and she will remain the only Queen I will bow for until the time comes for my sister to take the Crown herself."

Alicent's cries followed her on her way out. Rhaenyra found herself thinking that there must be some ice in her veins to do what she just did — to say the words that she just did. She expected that ice to melt when a picture of the Hightower girl's tear-strained face entered her mind, but it did not — It just grew colder and colder.

And she welcomed it.

 

 

 

_____

 

 

 

The coldness eventually turned to numbness.

Rhaenyra tried to summon a scrap of the things she felt a few days ago, but nothing answered her call. She just sat by the window, looking toward the direction of the Dragonpit — that was all.

There were no tears, no grief, no mourning for what would have been, for what could have been, for what should have been.

She felt nothing at all.

She did not know how to go forward, how to get over this, or even what was awaiting her in the future. She did decide to close the doors to two out of the four most important relationships in her life — and she may have felt relief about it at first, but the consequences of it were beginning to crush her now.

Rhaenyra was left all alone, with no one to spend her days with because that was what she usually did with Alicent — with no one to have meals with because that was what she usually did with her father.

One of the two people that she had left in her life was currently far away, fighting a war in the Stepstones. He was probably too busy to respond to her letters and comfort her. After all, Daemon had much bigger problems to deal with than Rhaenyra's misery.

There was another person left — her sister who resided right down the hall from her, in their mother's chambers. Visenya was the only person Rhaenyra wished to see right now — because she knew her sister would have the answer to her troubles — because how could she not? Her sister knew everything.

Yet every time Rhaenyra would prepare to take that step, to knock on Vissie's doors, her sister's words rang in her mind, 'You want to choose Alicent over me, fine, do as you want — but do not dare say that I did not warn you and do not come crying to me when she stabs you in the back!'

It was all her fault, wasn't it? This distance that separated them was on her — because Rhaenyra was too stubborn to listen and too blind to see what was in front of her all along.

But there was nothing else, there was no one else.

So, despite herself, Rhaenyra made her way out of her chambers and walked over to her sister's doors. She clung onto her silk robe, debating whether to go through with this or give up just like all those times before.

What was the worst that could happen? Visenya could decide to close the door in her face. She could also decide to give up on her altogether — and Rhaenyra could not find it in herself to fault her for it.

She sighed and knocked. It took her sister only a minute to open the door — To her surprise, Visenya did not leave as soon as she saw her, no, she stayed silent and waited, looking at her curiously.

Rhaenyra opened and closed her mouth, debating on what to say, on where to begin. Should she apologize right away? Should she ask her how she was doing? Should she get on her knees and beg for forgiveness?

The more she stood there, silently thinking, the more her eyes filled with tears. The quiet words that left her mouth surprised her, "I loved her," she whimpered, lips wavering. Visenya’s expression softened. "I know," Visenya whispered back.

All Rhaenyra could do was cry out, falling forward, hoping that her sister would take some pity on her and catch her — which she did. Rhaenyra fell into Visenya's awaiting arms. She nestled into her warm and comforting hold — into the only safe place she had ever known.

And she cried and cried until her throat went raw. The tears did not stop falling for a long while and Visenya held her through it all, stroking her hair and running her hand down her back, trying to soothe her.

When Rhaenyra finally calmed down, her sister moved them into her chambers — she set her down on one of the beds in the sitting area, wrapped her up with the warmest blanket, and offered her wine.

She too settled on the bed when Rhaenyra finally spoke, her voice cracking because of how much she was crying, "You were right about her all along. I—I do not know how I was so blind."

"It does not matter now," Visenya waved her hand dismissively. Rhaenyra regarded her curiously anyway, "You never even knew Alicent — so how were you so certain that she would end up like this — that she would turn into this. . .?"

Traitor. Liar. Deceiver. Whore. Our father's Mistress.

Those words went unspoken, but Visenya heard them all the same. "I had the pleasure of being in the same room as Otto Hightower every day since I was but eight namedays old. Alicent is his daughter and she does not have a mother who could deinfluence her from his teachings — It was not hard to tell that the apple would not fall far from the tree."

Her sister grimaced. "Uncle Daemon is very aggressive and vocal about his dislike of the Hightowers — but he is also not wrong. They are a minor house of the Reach yet they have risen in power too much since Otto was named Hand of the King — so they slowly grew cocky and entitled," she said, shaking her head. "No House should be allowed to act like that."

She then gestured around. "Look at where it brought us — a daughter of a second son is going to be a Consort and that is unheard of. Unfortunately, father is blind to all of this because of years of Otto's careful manipulations."

Of course there was a good reason for all of it. Of course her sister saw right through it all.

When will she ever learn that Visenya just knew better? She had this way of always knowing everything, of always seeing things as they are, of never being deceived.

Both Daemon and Visenya showed great dislike for the Hightowers over the years yet both Viserys and she dismissed them — Rhaenyra winced at this parallel between her father and herself.

Looking back at it now, even her mother was not particularly fond of either Otto or Alicent — her good-hearted mother who always offered everyone a chance. Rhaenyra should have realized something was wrong right there and then.

"I—I am sorry. I should have listened to you. I should never have chosen her over you — You are my sister, my blood," she croaked out desperately. Visenya sighed, looking guilty. "You are not the only one to blame, Nyra."

Rhaenyra studied her as if she had grown two heads. Her sister explained, "You explicitly told me to respect your wishes and yet I went against them at every turn I could. But I—I just wanted to protect you from the heartbreak I knew you would be facing if you continued your friendship — or whatever it is that you had with Alicent."

"No matter how much you wanted to deny it in the beginning, it is simply the truth. Alicent is but a daughter of a second son of a minor house — and this is not a nice world we live in, everyone is looking out for themselves with little to no care for others. You are a Targaryen Princess, now a second in line to the Iron Throne — you always had more to lose than Alicent. In fact, she could only rise higher by your side — and now she will."

Visenya expressed, opening her heart to Rhaenyra in ways she had not done in years, "I never wanted for you to experience betrayal — I never wished to see your tears or pain if I could help it so I tried to make sure it would not happen. Still, you are allowed to make your own choices and decisions — even if they are wrong. I should never have interfered with that and I am sorry for it."

To protect her — all of it to shield Rhaenyra from the awful world they lived in — all of it to let Rhaenyra keep her innocence, to keep her oblivious, to keep her from growing up so soon — all of it to give Rhaenyra the chance to have a happy childhood.

Visenya did it all for her.

All Rhaenyra knew in her early youth were her father, mother, and sister — Hells, even the first memory she could remember was of Visenya telling her a story of a Queen of the Free, of the woman who broke the chains and freed slaves, of the woman who fought to make a better world.

To this day, that story remained her favorite even though she could not find it in any book.

But yes, she spent all her time with her family and with Syrax. Uncle Daemon would come back and then leave every now and then so he was not a constant presence in her life.

And Rhaenyra liked it that way. She loved spending time with Aemma and Visenya — She loved when her mother would braid their hair in the style of old Valyria — She loved Visenya reading her stories in the Godswood — She loved cheering her mother and sister as they sow and embroidered together — She loved to climb onto her father's lap and forcing him to eat lemon cakes.

Then, Alicent came into her life and everything changed.

The Hightower girl introduced her to court and ladies who were guests there — she introduced her to the latest gossip which Rhaenyra was always eager to listen to. She wanted to know everything — Who was friends with whom? Who had an affair with whom? Whose child who was said to carry if not their husband's?

Visenya was adamant to keep her away from it all and Rhaenyra never understood why, after all, it was fun to laugh at someone else's possible demise.

She never understood until she did, until she felt it on her skin.

One day, she accidentally ended up hearing the gossip following her own family. You would think that royals were protected from anything and everything, but they were not — whispers followed them around constantly and Rhaenyra heard them all.

What was the point of having a mate when she cannot give you sons?

I feel so bad for the King, he must be truly disappointed to have two daughters.

The barren falcon Queen is too weak to bear dragons.

How dare Princess Visenya learn more than what was expected? How come she has more opportunities than my sons?

Both Princesses spend more time in the Dragonpit than with their Septas — such a disgrace would never be allowed in my family.

Did you hear? None of them even go to a Sept?! Maybe if they did, the Mother would take pity on them and the barren Queen would actually birth a living child and son too!

And so many more — they were everywhere, all the time. Rhaenyra soon learned that there was no loyalty, no honor, and no truth in court, there were just two-faced people who would compliment you to your face but laugh at you as soon as you turned the other way.

Because of this, she stopped going to court and instead focused on Alicent because she never thought the Hightower girl would turn out to be just like them — a lying traitorous snake.

And Visenya, her sister was just trying to protect her and not isolate her from it all.

Rhaenyra looked at my sister, really looked at her — at the girl who went through countless sleepless nights where she studied so she could be free to spend the next day with her — at the girl who used to let her sleep in her bed, in her arms when she had nightmares — at the girl who shouldered the burden of never being good enough for their father — at the girl who let her sleep on a clean and dry pillow while she slept amongst Rhaenyra's tears — at the girl who was not allowed to mourn for their mother because she was immediately shoved into the role of being the oldest female in the family.

Laena's words rang inside her mind so loudly and clearly that it made her jump.

"Do you know why I know her? Because I have bothered enough to. I spent moons trying to make her warm up to me, and eventually, she did. I never expected her to always be good and kind and loving because she is not like that — I will not deny that she can be cold and thoughtless and hard to understand, but to call Visenya heartless is the most absurd thing I heard in my life."

"Visenya cares and she feels — perhaps more deeply than any person I have ever met. Her struggling to show it does not change that fact."

"Days and weeks after her mother's funeral, she spent in the city, trying to make the late Queen Aemma's legacy live on — because that is how much she loved her mother — she loved her enough to fight hard for the entire Realm to never forget her mother's name and achievements. When she was not in the city, she was either by your side, holding you as you cried or she was in her rooms, drinking her way into an early grave because she struggled to hold herself together."

"I was so awful to you, for years. I ignored you and then I said really nasty things to you when we fought — things that I did not even mean — things that are not even true," Rhaenyra suddenly voiced, remembering their last fight. "So why are you so forgiving? Why do you not hate me? Why did you welcome me back with open arms when you told me you would turn me away if I even came to you crying?"

Rhaenyra always struggled to understand Visenya because her sister was not overly vocal about her feelings — she did not burn inside out with them — No, she hid them.

Visenya acted cold and distant to everyone who was not a part of their family — she was distrustful and full of claws that are ready to tear anyone into pieces if they got too close — she rarely smiled, rarely laugh, rarely cried.

But beneath it all — beneath that mask, that lie, she cared. She cared and perhaps loved more fiercely than Rhaenyra could ever comprehend — loved more deeply and loyally. And she showed it in her own ways — in ways that are perhaps even more important than words — she showed them through her actions.

"Because I love you," Visenya revealed. Rhaenyra was stunned to hear those three words. "You do?" she questioned with uncertainty.

"Of course I do," her sister said, eyes wide. "We may have had disagreements and fights — we may have insulted each other in some heated moments — we may have said to each other things that we do not mean, but you are still my sister. Nothing could possibly change that — nothing that you could say or do will ever make me love you less "

Rhaenyra felt her heart clench painfully in her chest. Her lips wavered yet again — Shame was eating her from the inside out.

She dared to call her sister heartless.

"I love you too," Rhaenyra whispered, wrapping her arms around her sister who eagerly returned the embrace. "I know," Visenya said with softness that she never showed before.

Her sister wiped away her tears and held her face in her hands. "We are alright, you know?" Her chest ached as Visenya's breath tickled her face. "Nothing else in the world is alright — And perhaps nothing will feel alright for a while — but you and I have each other from now on."

Notes:

Some insight to Rhaenyra's relationships from now on:

With Viserys — It may seem a bit sudden of her to cut all contract with Viserys, but it really isn't. I mean, she'll still have to talk to him because he's still her caretaker but as soon as she marries Laena and moves to Driftmark he'll be long forgotten. He won't even get a letter and I love that for her 🤭 He made her suffer so much in canon that I decided to give her a life free of him in this fic

With Alicent — Well, this is just over, at least on her side. Alicent will continue to attempt to get her back but that won't work

With Visenya — As I said, this is just the beginning of them repairing their relationship. It'll take time for them to go back to how things were. Both have healing and character developments to go through. I also feel like they'll finally truly reconnect when Rhaenyra sees Visenya crying on Aemma's grave so yeah... 😀

Anyways, we're back to scheming in the next chapter and then we'll head straight to the Black Wedding. I hope y'all are excited for more drama!!

Chapter 47: Further Complications

Summary:

In which:

— We explore the aftermath of the scandal
— Visenya continues her schemes
— Mysaria and Vissie meet again

king's landing, 111 AC
otto hightower

How in the name of the Seven could everything go the opposite of what he wanted — of what he has been planning for years? One moment he was in control of it all and the next everything was out of his hands. One moment his daughter was to become the respectful, dutiful Queen and the next she was proclaimed the Royal Whore.

Despite Otto's efforts to keep the rumors silent — despite him paying the White Worm more than that whore deserves to keep this scandal from escalating, to keep this from being the main talk of Westeros, the gossip made it even to Winterfell by the end of that week!

And it was all because of that girl, Otto was certain!

He lost the reins he had on Visenya after she returned from her visit to Dragonstone where she had the confrontation with Daemon. Before that, he had the perfect insight and the way to see her plans and possible schemes before she set them in motion.

Although he was never able to find anything useful, the fact that he had access to the letters she exchanged with everyone was promising.

Visenya regularly wrote to Archmaester Vaegon in High Valyrian and she would sometimes exchange letters with Septa Rhaella, also in High Valyrian which was annoying Otto because he was unable to read them.

Other letters were from Lord Lerris Tyrell and Lady Amanda Tyrell whom she had a relationship based on respect for her actions at Old Oak. The girl even tried writing to her deranged uncle but Otto had to stop the letters from being sent and he had someone stop the letters Daemon wrote from leaving Dragonstone as well.

Isolating both of them was of the essence — because the two of them, paired up and together could very well result in one of the biggest headaches he could ever get! With her being the mastermind and him willing to obey her every command, they could potentially be the deadliest threats he would face.

Otto's plan worked for a while until it did not.

Visenya's letters stopped arriving at the Red Keep's rookery, she stopped sending her letters from the Red Keep's rookery as well. She must have somehow found out about him looking through her letters and searched for a way around it.

He had underestimated her and this was the result of it — thanks to Visenya and Rhaenys Targaryen even his reputation as the loyal and capable Hand had gone to the Seven Hells!

Wherever Otto went, whispers and stares followed. 'A second son of a minor house — he had reached too far and this was his punishment from the Gods'. Even the King avoided him as best as he could now — Otto managed to lose his ear too.

As if that was not enough, almost every ally he worked hard to gain now turned against him. Otto received letters upon letters, all speaking of their displeasure with his methods and how their own daughters or nieces were not given a chance to meet the King and become his bride because of him.

As if they would not have done what he did if given the chance!

Ser Graffin, who was Alicent's betrothed before all of this, expressed his own, in Otto's opinion, unwanted and unneeded feelings about the scandal. To his credit, Otto immediately sent Lord Lerris his apologies and offers of another betrothal that could unite their families.

After all, Tyrells were allies Otto could not afford to lose.

Lord Lerris wrote back to him, presenting his opinion as the Warden of the South, which was — House Tyrell was feeling betrayed and insulted at both Otto and Alicent's actions and no betrothal between their families could happen or would happen in his lifetime.

Otto scoffed at that knowing that the boy who tried so hard to be the Lord would have gladly whored his younger sister to the King if it meant she got to be Queen. He threw the letter into the fire just like all those before it — even the ones from his older brother Hobert.

"Father?" his daughter's voice called hesitantly and he snapped, "What?!" Alicent winced at his tone. He noticed the redness in her eyes, the dry trail of tears on her cheeks, and scowled even further.

Just when he thought she was learning to be a part of the game of thrones, she started locking herself in her chambers, unable to bear hearing more new nicknames people made. Guilt and shame were eating her alive so she spent all her time wailing for that spoiled brat Rhaenyra.

"I—I noticed the absence of my maids this morning and when I asked about it, I was told you ordered their return to the Vale," his daughter muttered softly, pulling the skin of her fingers, making the bloody mess out of it.

Otto fought the urge to scowl — Yes. How could he have forgotten? The late Queen Aemma's maids he had fired but that stupid girl had to hear it and request they stay and serve her instead!

"You do not need servants who spread ill and false gossip about you — you do not need maids who are openly disrespecting their future Queen," he said, rubbing his temples.

His daughter's eyes widened. "They would never — They were good to me!" She then looked to the ground in shame. "Besides, whispers follow me around everywhere I go."

"The words of the people who are beneath you and will soon be even more beneath you do not matter — Ignore them," Otto dismissed lightly. By the Seven, if he truly cared how others thought of him, he would not have made it this far. The only judgment Otto would receive and care about was from the Stranger. Why was it so hard for her to grasp that?

Seeing that his daughter still appeared tense and unsure, Otto went on, "The whispers, the insults, they will stop. Everything will stop once you give the King a son — once this Kingdom finally gains the Heir that it always should have had."

"But—But Princess Visenya was named Heir by His Grace, the King — every important person in Westeros swore fealty to her," Alicent uttered, confusion coating her voice.

"That was before the King had a son," Otto exclaimed, "No one in Westeros will ever choose a daughter over a son — Because that is the law of Gods and men. Women are not meant to lead, they are meant to marry and give their husbands heirs, spares, and daughters that could be used to lift their family's station in the future. They are meant to sing, embroidery, paint and play instruments — not wear crowns and wield weapons."

He then snorted. "The Council of 101 proved that men would rather follow an incompetent, inferior man to a woman who has twice the amount of potential and intelligence for governance. So it would not matter if Visenya was as wise as Jaehaerys himself or Aegon the Conqueror reborn — when the time comes for the next monarch to be crowned, everyone will bow before the King's son and discard his daughter. Even if she decides to interfere, no one is going to stand beside her, fight and die for her when there is a perfectly healthy man who could take the crown."

The only job Alicent has is to give the King a son, everything else will fall in place after that.

Not even the King would pass the opportunity to have a son that would succeed him — a son whom he always dreamed of having. Not even if that said boy was convinced out of wedlock.

As he already said, none of it will matter — not if the babe was born a boy and under wedlock, which it will be.

Still, Otto lost a lot more than he could afford which is why it was important to act now. He turned to his daughter. "It is of essence to surround you with our allies — with honourable and dutiful ladies who will build your reputation back up. Invitations to servants and maids, as well as your future ladies-in-waiting are already sent— You shall be accompanied by your dear aunts, cousins, and goodsistets, by Lannisters and Hightower, by family."

Even Otto's sister who is the Lady of Riverrun was coming to their aid.

Alicent gaped at him. "Father what you speak of is treason," she stuttered out, her face bleached or all color. She looked around as if to see if someone might be listening in on them.

"Treason? You wish to speak of treason, daughter?!" Otto shouted, now on his feet and fuming. He grabbed his daughter by her wrist and all but dragged her from the Tower of the Hand to the Great Hall. "Then take a look at this!"

Alicent was shaking in his hold but she listened and peaked inside the Great Hall where a crowd of women was present. Visenya was sitting on the stairs before the Iron Throne, parchments and quill in hands — she was smiling and holding women's court.

"Do you see? This is supposed to be your duty, holding court and hearing petitioners yet they do not respect you — she does not respect you!" He gestured towards the silver-haired girl who was intently listening to other women.

Otto faced his daughter, squeezing her wrist with his hand. "Your future will be full of humiliation and disrespect — full of injustices and baseless gossip that is going to follow your children from the moment they take their first breath! Do you want that for them? To be looked down upon, to be mocked? For their birthright to be stolen by this spoiled brat of a girl who has no sense of propriety — who does not follow rules and does not act dutiful and respectful?!"

"N—No," Alicent whimpered, brown eyes teary and afraid. "Then fight for your son to be King!"

 

 

 

_____

 

 

 

dragonstone, 111 AC
visenya targaryen

Rhaenyra and she took a flight to Dragonstone and now they were following the servants into the castle. The girls she moved here from the brothels were helping her carry the old wooden boxes that Arrax and Syrax transported.

Her sister regarded the boxes curiously as the servant girls carefully placed them down on the table. "You still haven't told me what we are doing here — or what is inside of these boxes."

"Take a look for yourself and see," Visenya snickered, crossing her arms over her chest. She leaned against the wall, studying the suspicious look on her sister's face.

Rhaenyra slowly opened one of the boxes only to take a step back, eyes wide. Inside of it was the Crown made of Valyrian steel, decorated with the finest rubies. "Is that the crown of Queen Rhaenys?" Visenya smirked.

She gaped as she opened another one to reveal another Crown of Valyrian steel but this one was decorated with pearls, gold, and rubies. "And that is the crown of Queen Rhaena," Rhaenyra declared, breathless.

In the other boxes were all the other Crowns that belonged to Consorts before. And in Visenya's hand, carefully packed was the black cloak with the Targaryen sigil, adorned with rubies — the cloak that Jaehaerys put on Alysanne's shoulders after marrying her in the Sept — the cloak that Viserys put on Aemma's shoulders when he did the same.

Rhaenyra turned towards her, questions already spilling from her lips, "Why did we transport these to Dragonstone?"

"Because Alicent Hightower is going to get crowned as Consort after she weds our father and I do not wish to see her wearing the crowns or jewellery of our respected ancestors. I do not wish to see father cloak her with the same piece he put on our mother's shoulders — do you?" Visenya said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

It took her sister a moment of silence to think before she uttered, "No." Visenya smiled — Good. The plan was to move the Crowns and the cloak from the Royal treasury to Dragonstone without anyone knowing — and then hiding them so that if someone noticed their absence, they could not be found on time for the wedding.

Her father will be forced to have a new Crown made for his future wife — a Crown of gold or silver because Valyrian steel could not be taken across the Narrow Sea and made in time — a Crown worthy of the Andal Queen.

He will be forced to have a new cloak embroidered as well — a cloak that will hold no meaning to Visenya's house — a cloak that will not bind Alicent to her mother, Jocelyn Baratheon or Queen Alysanne.

It was made under Jaehaerys' command when he married Alysanne. The two had their Valyrian wedding but they also had to marry in the Sept to appease the Faith even though no royal couple before them married in such a way.

You can witness the Valyrian wedding only if you have Valyrian blood which was why after completing the bonds with their mates, both Jocelyn Baratheon and Aemma Arryn requested they have the wedding in the Sept as well so their family could attend.

The cloak she was holding had an important history in her family so Visenya would rather die than have that bitch wear it or any Valyrian steel like she was a Targaryen, like she was one of them just because she was marrying her father — Alicent was a Hightower and she always will be, her crown should reflect that, the cloak on her shoulders should reflect that.

It should send a message for the entire Realm to see that Alicent Hightower will never have power over Rhaenyra or Visenya because she was not of royal blood.

"More importantly, we are here because of this," Visenya said, pulling a few pieces of parchments from the pockets of her riding leathers. She unfolded them and handed them to her sister.

Rhaenyra tilted her head to the side. "What is that?" Visenya explained, "A letter from cousin Jeyne. Before leaving King's Landing, she expressed her wishes for you to be fostered in the Vale. And if you prove yourself worthy of it — she wants to name you her Heir."

Her sister's eyes skimmed over the letter before she looked up at her. "But. . .why?" she questioned, a bit unsure.

Visenya blinked. "Because our mother was an Arryn — because we are of Jeyne's blood — because by naming you her Heir, she is sending a message for the entire Realm — she is expecting me to remain Heir to the Seven Kingdoms no matter how many sons or daughters Alicent Hightower gives to father."

After Jeyne heard of the scandal between Viserys and Alicent — After she was made aware of the slight Arryns would endure when the King married during the mourning period, she had a loud confrontation with her father in which she made him aware of how disapproving she was and how she and the Valeman would not be showing up for the wedding out of the respect for her deceased aunt.

Hells, Jeyne was even the one who suggested for Visenya to wear black!

But by doing this, by suggesting for Rhaenyra to be her Heir, she was ensuring that Visenya would have an army of forty thousand Valeman if something were to happen to her. Jeyne was showing Vale's support of Visenya.

"I—I do not know if I want that," Rhaenyra uttered, blankly staring at the parchments before her.

Visenya blinked, opening and closing her mouth, trying to find the correct words to use. She must have been looking at her sister with eyes full of bewilderment because Rhaenyra looked away guiltily.

She shook her head — Sometimes she could forget that not everybody was looking and fighting to get the best positions and more power. It was sometimes easy to forget that not everyone would jump to such an amazing opportunity, even if it was handed to them.

Alyanna Baratheon was like this when Tywin named her Heir to Casterly Rock. She was still numb, still grieving, still uninterested in what destiny had in mind for her after losing Robb and her son.

Visenya observed her sister and noticed the similarities between her and Alyanna — the way both shone with such promise and potential and yet they struggled to move forward from the things that happened to them.

She felt pity overwhelming her, not for this Rhaenyra but for Rhaenyra that did not have Visenya in her life — pity for Rhaenyra that should have been had Bloodraven not messed with the past.

It was no wonder why Rhaenyra failed, why she was so easily usurped — she was just a young, grieving girl who was betrayed and left alone by everyone she had ever known — she was thrown in the wild, forced to try to survive playing the game of thrones with players much experienced than her — she had no one to guide her or protect her.

Visenya swallowed hard, remembering the Blood Oath she made just hours after her sister was born.

'I failed last time. I will not fail again. You're my sister, my flesh and blood. If anyone dares to harm you, they will find themselves dead. I will keep you safe from your destiny. I will love you. I will change your fate. I will burn the entire world to ash if they dare to touch you.'

Rhaenyra that should have been did not exist, not anymore — because that girl was alone and this Rhaenyra — her Rhaenyra, she had Visenya, she will always have an older sister on whom she could lean and count on — an older sister who was not going to let the Greens touch a single hair on her head.

Her expression softened when she finally spoke, "You can do whatever you want to do, Rhaenyra. But, even if you do not wish to inherit Vale one day, I would still recommend you to be fostered there for a while. Give yourself time to grieve and heal away from the people who caused you heartbreak."

She appeared to be fighting with herself about it, before she nodded. "I will think about it."

As soon as they returned to King's Landing, as soon as Arrax landed in the Dragonpit, Visenya was made aware that her father was looking for her so she was immediately escorted to his chambers.

She found her father in his study and greeted him, "You wanted to speak to me?" Viserys nodded, gesturing for her to sit on the chair opposite of him so she did. "I—I was made aware you held women's court earlier today," he began uncertainly.

"The women asked for my help and I answered. Is there a problem with that?" she questioned, already prepared for what he was about to say. She noticed Otto and Alicent watching her today and knew this was coming.

"It is the duty of the Queen to—" her father started only for her to cut him off coldly, "Well, my mother, the Queen, is dead so who is meant to hold these meetings if not I, the future monarch?"

Visenya could see the answer in his eyes. This was to be Alicent's duty, holding court, organizing women's court, hearing petitioners. . .

"You cannot blame them for coming to me for help instead of your betrothed. We are all aware that she knows nothing about these meetings because she is the daughter of the second son who was never supposed to have duties as hard as these. Besides, all those women respected and loved my mother on whose memory Alicent is spitting on with every step she takes," she snapped at him.

Viserys tried to tame her wrath by trying to appear understanding. "You are rightfully angry at me, Vissie, but Alicent is innocent in all of this. It was I who should have known better which is why I was hoping you could perhaps agree to help ease her into her future role as my Consort."

Visenya was waiting for him to tell her he was jesting, but when a few moments of pure silence passed and he did not, she looked at him with disbelief. "No," she told him, eyes blazing with dragonfire.

Every time she heard her father speak of court matters or politics, she got more disappointed. Every time she looked at him and noticed how blind he was to things he did not wish to see, she was reminded of why Rhaenyra that should have been failed to become the First ruling Queen.

She was set up to fail — because her father failed her.

Six moons passed since Visenya was named Heir and yet she did not receive a single lesson on governance from him — All she did was serve as a cupbearer in the Council meetings. She was insanely lucky that she already wore the Crown in her first life — that she was aware of the duties that go with it.

But if Viserys was treating her this way, Visenya had no reason to believe Rhaenyra that should have been was treated otherwise.

Viserys had told her that she was enough for him, that she always has been — that he would not change his mind about her succeeding him even if he has a son in the future but Visenya had trouble believing his words because his actions spoke otherwise.

Visenya was never enough for anyone before — not for Robert, not for Tywin who only began to notice her when she outsmarted him during the war, and certainly not for Viserys who made her believe she was enough when he only chose her as a placeholder for someone else — for the son he dreamed about.

Over her dead fucking body will she lose the throne that was hers.

"You are not helping plan your own wedding nor are you spending time with me and Rhaenyra — all you do is go to Council Meetings and play with your model of Old Valyria. I think you have just enough time to teach your future wife everything she needs to know yourself," she suggested heartlessly, "As far as I am aware, the time after the wedding is usually meant for trying to make a babe but since you two already did that, you can turn that time into some extra lessons for her."

His face went red at her harsh words, but she was not done. "Since we are already talking, I wish to ask something of you, father — I want to start managing my own household and start residing on Dragonstone more so I want to have full control of that as well."

Viserys took a few moments to collect himself before replying weakly, "Anything related to the finances and royal coffers is to be Alicent's duty."

"I am aware which is why I am asking you to separate my account from the rest." She fought the urge to roll her eyes. "You were managing your household without the Crown's interference while you were Heir and so had grandfather — I do not see why I should not be allowed to do the same."

Besides, she needed this — Not only because she would rather jump from Arrax's back while they are airborne than beg and plead the daughter of the second son for gold that rightfully belonged to her, but because this would mean everything.

If she was allowed full control of her account, neither Otto nor Alicent could interfere and sabotage her — they could not limit the coin she received — they could not make her household small and weak — they could not control her future ladies-in-waiting.

"Alright," he agreed a bit reluctantly. "Add Rhaenyra's account to my coffers as well," she requested only for Viserys to respond, "I cannot do that."

It took her a moment to find his reasons and when she did, she snorted, "Tell me that you are not going to try to reconcile Alicent and Rhaenyra by making my sister beg your future wife for coin."

"It would not be like that—" her father tried to defend himself only for Visenya to lose her patience with him, "Of course it will be like that! Rhaenyra would rather never spend another coin in her life than talk to your mistress again!"

"Father, you keep telling me that you made a mistake and that you regret how you lost your daughter because of it, but you keep diving deeper and deeper into the territory of her anger and resentment," she expressed, "If you truly wish to do something good for her — something that would help her — something that could maybe even get you in her good graces again, you should approve of Lady Jeyne's request to foster her after your wedding so that if Rhaenyra decides to go, there would be nothing shacking her to this place where she would be forced to watch you parading around the only friend she ever had."

 

 

 

_____

 

 

 

king's landing, 111 AC
mysaria, the white worm

Mysaria arrived from Dragonstone barely a week ago and yet she still could not believe the place she returned to. King's Landing from when she left and King's Landing now were two different worlds.

The children that used to be sleeping on the streets now had a safe home with a reliable roof over their heads. The hungry and malnourished smallfolk slowly started gaining healthy weight and color to their skin.

Even a health house was made — a house in which a group of healers resided. They took in or visited everyone who requested help and it was all paid by the Crown.

When Mysaria asked around what happened to the city — the only response was Her Grace, the Princess Visenya Targaryen, the People's Princess.

What shocked her more than a Princess who genuinely cared for the people was the state of the Pillow House — or rather the lack thereof. Mysaria returned to an empty house only to find that her brothel was moved and merged with another.

That brothel was arranged differently with the entire top floor meant only for the girls and their needs — there were finally comfortable beds to rest in. A lot of girls who never wished to work in brothels were either moved to different cities and given jobs or they remained here and were given different jobs.

It was all thanks to the new owner whom everything described to her as — a woman with a soul as black as the night sky, with hair as red as the blood she spills if someone dared to touch her employees — a woman who leaves men running for their lives if they dare to cross ber.

And now as she stood before her, Mysaria found that description quite fitting.

The dark black cloak hid her so perfectly that she could not tell if the woman was skinny or plump or if she carried any weapons at all. Her face was completely covered as well with only her braided flaming red hair spilling from the side of the hood.

No one was aware of her identity so when she swiftly removed the cloak from her frame, Mysaria found herself stunned to see a familiar face — a face of the Princess and Heir to the Seven Kingdoms no less.

Princess Visenya carefully removed the wig from her head, leaving her silver-gold waves to shine under the moonlight. Just as she had thought on Dragonstone, the girl was beautiful in the way only those of the blood of Old Valyria could be beautiful — in the way only royalty could be beautiful.

Her Prince was known to be obsessed with anything Valyrian related, so much so that he even preferred whores of Valyrian blood so she could not fault him for calling out her name no matter whom he was fucking.

With a face like that and body like that, it was no wonder why he was so willing to bend to her, to bow and relent — it was no wonder why he was so protective, why when he heard whispers of men imagining fucking his niece, he ordered the Gold Cloaks to find them — it was no wonder why every man brought to Daemon, guilty or not guilty for their crime, found themselves beaten bloody or even missing their tongues or teeth.

"Lady Mysaria — We meet again," the Princess broke the silence between them. "Princess Visenya," Mysaria nodded, raising her brow in silent question. "I cannot say I expected this."

"Most would not, which is why it is perfect," the Princess smirked. Indeed, Mysaria thought. "What is a royal such as you doing in a brothel? Aren't you girls from court kept pure and innocent until your wedding night? Aren't you forbidden to go anywhere without your guard dogs? Aren't you frightened of who might be lurking in the dark?" She batted her eyelashes innocently. "If I may ask, Your Grace."

The Princess stayed unaffected and simply shrugged. "If anyone dares to touch me in any way without my permission, I will cut them open — simple as that." Mysaria almost snorted at that — this girl was Prince Daemon's mirror. They had the same arrogance, the same way they thought themselves untouchable.

She sat down and looked at her pointedly. "Enough of small talk — Why don't we get down to business instead?"

Mysaria tilted her head to the side, leaning into her chair with a teasing smirk on her lips. "Are we going to talk about how Prince Daemon and I spent moons all alone on Dragonstone, sharing a chamber? About how he was ready to marry me before you interfered?"

The lies spilling from her lips did not serve their purpose, the Princess was still calm and disinterested. "Why don't we talk about the fact that you have been giving information and reports about my uncle to Otto Hightower for a while now instead?"

Mysaria froze in her seat and tried to hide it, but the way the girl's eyes sparkled told her that she failed. Visenya tutted, "Heir for a Day — it is your spies that caused my uncle's disinheritance."

"So you are here to kill me." The sentence was more of a statement than a question. The girl smiled dangerously before she shook her head. "Actually, no — I am here to offer you a deal."

"You see, there is only one and there will only ever be one line of succession — through me and my future children. Still, your friend, Otto Hightower, does not seem to grasp that fact. He thinks that by selling his daughter to my father, he won the game — Well, he is wrong," the girl continued, "No matter how many half-breeds that whore pops out, they will never even get a chance to touch my throne."

They sat in silence as the Princess let her words sink in. She cocked her head to the side. "From my point of view, you are on his side and thus, my enemy — but I dislike it. I think we could be great friends if you choose to be on the right side."

Mysaria stared at the girl, finding this new development interesting. "Right side for you or right side for me?" Visenya looked at her as if the answer was obvious. "You are currently serving a man who only cares about himself."

"And you do not?" she asked in annoyance. The girl gestured around. "You have seen the kind of change I made in the city over the past six moons. You have seen how I bettered the living conditions for the girls working here — So I will leave you to come to your own conclusion."

Mysaria did not want to find herself in the middle of this silent war between Otto Hightower and this girl who she was convinced knew nothing about how dangerous of a man she was fighting against was. She may have helped the people, she may have helped the girls Mysaria worked with but this was nothing — it meant nothing if she could not actually fight against Otto Hightower.

Still, she was intrigued so she questioned, testing the waters and trying to tread carefully — one wrong word and she might end up dead. "What is it that you are offering, little Princess?"

"You must have seen the empty building that used to be your brothel. That will be my gift to you. You can run your business there, keep your spies close — you can do anything you want." She added, "On top of that I offer you twice the amount of coin Otto pays you — And the amount will only increase depending on your efficiency and efforts. I also offer you protection."

Asking her to be a double spy would be nothing short of an insult, especially after what happened on Dragonstone — after her safety was neglected by the Prince because of his bitterness and the need for chaos and revenge.

The Princess was smart enough to offer terms that would be hard to refuse. Still, Mysaria scowled. "I already had protection from a Targaryen before — it did not end up well for me." It almost ended up with war, perhaps even her death.

"You only ever had protection from men before — never from a woman," Visenya corrected her. "Unlike both my uncle and Otto Hightower, I keep in mind that we live in a world run by men. I understand that you only do what is necessary to protect yourself and keep yourself alive — which is why you will go unpunished for betraying my uncle."

Not as naive as she thought the girl would be. With every word leaving the girl's mouth Mysaria was beginning to think that Otto was the one who did not know who he was up against.

"Where could you have possibly learnt of such a struggle?" Visenya's answer hit her hard. "Royal women are still women — we too are shackled, albeit in different ways to you. People often forget that a golden cage we are forced to live in is still a cage."

The Princess sighed, tapping her fingers against the table. "In return for all I have offered, I want your complete honesty and loyalty — I want your eyes and ears in every corner of Westeros."

The terms were fair, Mysaria noted. She would get everything she ever wanted before doing a thing to deserve it.

The only reason why she entered Otto Hightower's service was because of his promises — because she was given more coin and more power that she needed to keep herself and the other girls alive — because she was promised to be given a business — because she was promised she would not have to use her body to get more coin.

And yet, her work had still not been paid off.

As she studied the girl before her, a thought ran through her mind — The only thing worse than an innocent woman was the one who knew exactly how to use that to bring evil, greedy men such as Otto Hightower, to their knees.

And this girl was only five and ten — still a maiden and yet she owned and controlled brothels — still a girl and yet she already played the game with the most feared players.

Would it be worth it? Switching sides and serving another Targaryen — another royal when time and time again they have proven that their greed was more important than people — that their promises meant nothing.

"I think your choice is easy — You can choose me and live comfortably without having to pleasure another man for coin ever again or you could choose Otto Hightower and die," the girl mused, standing up. "You have a week to decide."

Before she exited the room, she stopped and spun around to face Mysaria one last time. "Oh, before I forget — If you do accept my offer and become my ally — I will not tolerate disloyalty or lies. If I find out that you switched sides again, and trust me, I will find out — I am going to slice your hands from your body and then carve your heart from your chest before setting it on fire — I am going to watch you burn." She nodded and opened the door. "Have a nice night."

Vivianne bowed before the Princess who put on the wig and covered her face as she disappeared from their sight. Mysaria faced the girl who she once trusted. "You betrayed me," she accused.

"I did what you have always done — I chose what was the best for the girls working here," Vivianne said in defence. "And you think the best option is this girl? How come?"

"Even before she rescued us and offered us a new home, I saw her efforts in the city and recognised that what she was working forward is worth supporting," the golden-haired girl stated. "And that is?" Mysaria asked.

"A world where people like us — people who are nobody, people who mean nothing — do not have to live in fear of what might happen to them tomorrow — if a disease is going to take them or if it was the last meal they would have in a week," she expressed, voice full of soft hope. "I think that Princess Visenya is alike to us, at least in the regard that she dreams and wishes for something better — not only for the wealthy but for everyone."

"She dreams of peace and prosperity — of seeing people united by freedom — of this kingdom and this world thriving," she went on, eyes determined, "You can choose to be her friend and help her create a better world for all of us or you can be her enemy — I already chose which side to stand on but now it is your turn."

Notes:

I'm starting to like the beginning of Alicent's character changes. Unlike how she was done in the show, I'll make her more ambitious and a bit smarter because we were robbed of a schemer Alicent from the books 😤

Visenya is the GOAT of humiliating people in public. People call Daemon a messy bitch who lives for the drama but I think that nickname should to to Vissie instead 🤌🏻 I'm already halfway done with writing the next chapter which will be the Black Wedding and all I can say is, be prepared to laugh at how disrespectful the people are going to be

We get a bit of Daemon in the next chapter as well! His time in the Stepstones won't be skipped over because I'm in the process of developing some friendships for him as well! You get to meet a new character whose sunshine goes so well with Daemon's grumpy attitude 👀

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Chapter 48: The Black Wedding

Summary:

In which:

— Visenya and Otto have a cat fight
— Alicent marries Viserys
— Daemon reads Visenya's letter

king's landing, 111AC
visenya targaryen

Visenya lurked in the darkness, her eyes scanning the Throne room thoroughly. There were so many new people walking around, admiring the Iron Throne and the Red Keep in general — people that she had either never met or never even heard about.

And those people would be the key to her becoming Queen.

It was important for her to mingle around, make friends and allies — perhaps even play a part of a mourning daughter whose life just turned around and became chaotic. But for now, she stood aside and observed the scene.

It was easy to tell the difference between her enemies and her friends, even between those who were indifferent and those who could be persuaded to join her side.

Otto's allies, which included the Tullys, Lannisters and some houses from the Reach were buzzing with excitement, going around and making sure everything was set up and perfect.

On the other hand, the entire Vale did not arrive nor did the North — with the North not having enough time to make the journey. Tyrells did not come, and neither did Velaryons nor Celtigars.

Guests from the Crownlands, Stormlands and Riverlands were there, but you could see the disappointment and resentment on their faces when their gazes clashed with the Hightowers and their allies — except for Tullys that is, who were trailing after Otto, doing his bidding.

That might complicate things for Visenya — she had to find a way to get them on her side sooner or later.

Her indigo eyes spotted Lord Strong who was muttering under his breath, looking around and then tipping his head down to write something on the parchment he held. Visenya approached him curiously, "Is there a problem, Lord Strong?"

Lord Lyonel blinked at her before returning to his papers. "It appears the Baratheons are not going to make an appearance as well," he revealed with an exhausted sigh.

Visenya raised her brow. Perfect, just as she expected. Baratheons were tricky people full of pride — she would know, she was one in her previous life which was why it was easy to predict this.

Laena, who was the slighted lady since the King refused to marry her, is the great-niece of Boremund Baratheon, the current Lord Paramount of the Stormlands. He no doubt felt robbed just as many times as Velaryons did, starting from Jaehaerys refusing to name Rhaenys his Heir to now.

"Considering the circumstances, I would say we should have expected that," Visenya exclaimed. The Master of Law slowly nodded in agreement. "Are there more who decided to decline the invitation?"

"Many more, Your Grace," he replied, showing her the parchments with the crossed or circled names and families. Visenya hummed, "What about the musicians? I have not seen or heard about their arrival."

The man shook his head. "They have not arrived yet. As far as I am aware, their ship was caught in the storm." Visenya bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from smirking.

There were no musicians and no storm. This was all a play, it was all a lie. While Visenya could not outrightly try to ruin the wedding because of so many enemies around, she could do it from the shadows — she could make sure there was no music or dancing, just like the mourning period should be.

Mysaria helped her set this up.

Her uncle's whore decided to agree to her offer and so the two of them partnered up. It was not like Visenya actually trusted Mysaria — far from it, trust had to be built and earned, like it was with Vivianne.

And the woman was known for switching sides easily, which was why Visenya made her own spy network separate from Mysaria's — so she could have more than one source of information — so she could keep the woman in check.

But this was a good beginning for them. As far as she could tell, Mysaria did a wonderful job at paying the musicians triple the amount of coin to not show up. The woman also forged letters and information so wonderfully that not even Lord Strong could find a fault in it.

"This is going to end in disaster," Visenya snorted. She could already smell the upcoming drama. "I am afraid that I agree, Your Grace." The man mused which gave her a feeling he was not against seeing Otto's fury and misery.

Master of Law bowed his head before he moved away to continue his duties. Not seeing any point in staying, Visenya was also ready to bolt out of the room, but she was stopped halfway to the exit. The ladies who cornered her curtsied deeply. "Your Grace."

Visenya only recognised two faces amongst the bunch and only because she just talked to their father — two brown-haired girls with brown eyes. "Ladies Arielle and Milah, Lord Lyonel's daughters," she acknowledged.

Arielle, who was slightly older than Visenya, smiled. "Indeed, Your Grace. May I introduce you to Ladies Sabitha Vypren, Melarie Blackwood, Olira Beesbury, Emely Caswell, Nalia Oakheart and Dorothy and Elinda Massey."

"It is an honour to meet all of you," Visenya said, scanning their faces. Arielle, Sabitha, and Melarie were all her age. Milah and Elinda were a couple of years younger while Olira, Nalia, Emely and Dorothy were all quite older.

"The honour is all ours, Your Grace," Lady Caswell graced her with another curtsy. Lady Oakheart started, "We cannot imagine the amount of humiliation and grief you had to put up with during the last moon, Your Grace."

Playing a victim it is, Visenya thought as she nodded along. "This certainly was not how I imagined the mourning period to go." She gained understanding and pitiful looks.

"Didn't your father remarry three times as well, Ari?" Lady Sabitha questioned, turning to the brown-haired girl. "Two times," Arielle corrected. "But my father is an honourable man — He would never have insulted his wives' side of the family by not respecting the mourning period and afterwards the courting."

Seeing as Visenya did not take this as an insult to her father, Lady Beesbury continued with the theme, "The same thing could not be said for the King, if my husband is to be believed — It is no surprise that no House from the Vale joined the celebrations."

"The King is not the first and he will certainly not be the last man to do this," Lady Blackwood added. Visenya cocked her head to the side, interested in the way the statement was worded. "Why do you say that?"

"Women already began jumping into beds with married or recently widowed men in hopes of becoming their wives — It is only the matter of time before the petitions for annulments and quick marriages start arriving to King's Landing," Dorothy explained.

Lady Nalia agreed, "Indeed. Lady Sandra Florent and Lord Harry Graceford are planning to elope after their little affair, as far as I am aware. The High Septon and the Faith are not happy about this development at all."

Visenya raised her brow at the new information. Good. Let the Realm fall into a series of troubles and let the people be angry at Hightowers because of it. It was Otto's mess to clean up, not hers.

"Well, if they granted the permission to Alicent Hightower, I do not see why other people should be denied," Sabitha quipped smoothly. As a follower of the Old Gods, Lord Lyonel's daughter agreed.

"Somehow, I think Alicent Hightower is going to be the only exception to this," Visenya revealed. Arielle pouted, "It was too much to hope anyway. We all know why the Hightowers are the only ones who can get away with this — After all, they are the Faith's greatest supporters and donors."

"The Faith was not always like this," Lord Beesbury's wife was quick to defend her religion. Before a whole debate about this could start, a male voice was heard, "Princess."

Visenya spun around to see a tall man with golden locks and emerald eyes. A Lannister. "Lord Jason," she greeted slowly, almost rolling her eyes in annoyance at the look he was giving to the ladies around her.

The women took note of his commanding presence before curtsying and leaving her alone with him. Lord Jason turned his whole attention back to her, switching back to his charming personality as he eyed her appreciatively. "You look even more radiant than the last times I laid eyes on you, my Princess — The fairest maiden in the Realm — The Maiden made flash."

Visenya gave him a smile that was almost predatory-like, barring all her teeth. "Are you trying to say that grief looks good on me, my Lord?"

The man blinked, smirk now gone from his face. "You misunderstood me, Princess," he quickly defended, "You are quite a sight in black, even though the red and gold would suit you even better. Perhaps you would do me the honours and accept this gift."

He motioned for three servants to come closer. The women carried a beautifully packed box which they opened to reveal a magnificent red dress, embroidered with golden threads. With the dress came a pair of golden earrings, a golden necklace with rubies and a golden headpiece decorated with rubies.

Visenya's eyes widened as she tried to figure out how to get out of this situation. Fortunately for her, Jason's twin brother Tyland, who now sat on the Small Council as a Master of Ships, approached them, "I apologise for disturbing you, Your Grace — The emergency council meeting has been summoned by the King."

Jason visibly glared at his twin but Tyland could only give him an apologetic look before he gestured for her to follow him. Visenya gladly went along, thankful for this intervention.

However, she stopped to scan the dress one more time. "Thank you for this very thoughtful gift, my Lord, but black is the colour of my House and I shall wear it proudly until the day I die." Without accepting his gift, she left him, gaping and muttering to himself.

Ser Tyland was right behind her when they rounded the corner. "What is so urgent they had to call a meeting just before the wedding?" she questioned, steps hurried.

"I am just as confused as you are, Your Grace," the man replied, opening the door to the Small Council chamber for her. Visenya walked in to find everyone else already present. Instead of standing on the sidelines, she approached the table to stand between Lord Strong and Lord Beesbury.

Ser Tyland joined the side opposite of her, where Otto and Maester Mellos occupied the space. Visenya briefly glanced around, trying to figure out what was going on. She found that Otto, Mellos, Beesbury and Lyonel all looked annoyed with each other.

She then glanced down to see five golden crowns shining under the candlelights. Seeing her confusion, Lord Beesbury explained, "I could not find most of the Crowns reserved for Consorts. We had the treasury checked but it appears they are located somewhere else — perhaps on Dragonstone."

Visenya blinked, trying to keep her cool — After all, she knew this was coming, she was prepared for it.

She finally glanced away from the crowns, meeting the accusing eyes of Otto Hightower. Visenya slowly raised her brow at him, her stoic expression intact. The two of them were having a staring contest until Ser Tyland spoke, gaining their attention.

"The Princess has a dragon, does she not? Surely if these Crowns are not the ones of the future Queen's taste, she could fly to Dragonstone and return the rest of them?"

Visenya glanced at her father, shaking her head. "I would not be back in time for the wedding." Luckily, Viserys agreed with her. He dragged his scarred hand across his face.

"The treasury should have been looked into earlier then!" Otto exclaimed, his light-coloured eyes blazing with anger. Lord Lyonel furrowed his brows at the look he was receiving. "None of us thought the search would be needed for at least another year, Lord Hand!"

To break up the fight before it began, Viserys gave them all a pleading look. "I do not see what the problem is. There are five Crowns before me, all beautiful and important in their own way. One was even worn by a Hightower Queen."

"They are not of Valyrian steel," Maester Mellos pointed out pathetically. Visenya almost laughed hysterically — That was the whole point. She had the Crowns that belonged to those of Valyrian blood moved to Dragonstone while the rest she left here.

Not only that, but all these golden pieces, no matter how beautiful they looked, no matter if they were decorated with diamonds or opals — they were all Crowns that once belonged to Maegor's wives, to the wives of the King everyone loathed.

"Well, nothing can be changed about it now!" Viserys snapped before he slumped into his chair tiredly. He rubbed his temples, eyeing the members of the Small Council expectedly. "Is there anything else?"

Lord Strong slid the parchment and a few opened letters towards him. "Yes, Your Grace. Here is the list of people who did not make it to the celebrations and the letters explaining their reasons."

Before her father could reach for the paper, Otto Hightower snatched it, eyes going over the pages quickly. He then cried out, "This—This is unheard of! Your Grace, we must arrange punishment for those who defied you!"

"The King did not give an order, he simply sent invites so I fail to see how or why he should punish those who rightfully feel slighted," Visenya exclaimed, annoyed.

Lord Hand's gaze snapped to hers again and she held it confidently seeing as nobody else apart from Mellos agreed with him. You lost so back off, her eyes told him.

But he refused to give up and instead, he searched for a way out. Ser Hightower studied the way Visenya stood between the Master of Law and Master of Coin — he studied the way they were on the same side, the way they defended her.

And he found an opening.

Otto's expression relaxed, his voice calm as he expressed, "I would be careful if I were you, Princess — The closeness which you and Lords Strong and Beesbury seemed to have established can be easily perceived in the wrong way."

Visenya blinked, quelling the urge to grab Lord Beesbury's cup and throw it at him. Just because she was now taking lessons from the two men did not mean anything scandalous was happening! She stayed indifferent, faking being confused, "I have no idea what you are speaking of, Lord Hand."

Viserys appeared confused as the situation progressed. Maester Mellos jumped at the opportunity to agree like the good Otto's lapdog that he was. "It is true, Your Grace. They are men grown and you are a maiden — To be alone with them—"

Visenya cut him off swiftly, "Which is why I am never alone with them, Ser Erryk is constantly in my presence."

"With the King's permission, her Grace asked us for lessons in law and finances. Both Lord Strong and I were happy to accept and teach her what we know best — After all, she is the future monarch who is required to know these things!" Lord Beesbury explained, red in the face from the accusations thrown his way.

"I cannot begin to comprehend where these accusations are coming from," Lord Lyonel added, shaking his head at Visenya's father, as if to express that nothing was going on between the three of them.

Curses and insults were raging inside of Visenya's mind, almost begging to be let out — But that was exactly what the Hightower scum wanted from her. So instead of shouting, she forced her boiling blood to turn cool again — she forced herself to tip her head forward in a thankful nod towards him.

She turned the situation around and thanked him instead of insulting him.

"I understand that it is your responsibility to look after the royal family — and in the light of the recent events where the reputation and the image of the Targaryen family were put into question, I can only recognise your concern as good intention and perhaps even as an apology for the mess you and your daughter caused."

It did not matter if you and everyone else in the room were thinking it, you never say insulting words because words are weapons — They blast big bloody holes in the world. Words were bricks — Say them out loud and they turn solid — Say them out loud enough and they become a wall you cannot get through.

But this word play when you veil your insults and make them seem like a compliment — it was a game-changer, it always leaves your enemies confused and with no words left to say.

Otto was not going to pin this on her. To Hells if Visenya let him compare her to his bitch of a daughter!

"But let me assure you once and for all, Ser, I am not stupid or immoral — You will never see me risking my reputation or putting my position in danger, not even if doing the said things would help by station and standing — I have too much self-respect for that."

Lord Beesbury spat out the wine he was drinking while Ser Tyland choked on his breath. They understood what was going on and what she meant to say — they understood this was an insult to both Otto and Alicent.

Everyone in the room except Viserys appeared to get this. Her father was too fooled by her innocent smile and thankful words to look deeper into them.

Otto's nostrils flared, his face turning sour as he fumed before her eyes. Visenya would have gladly stayed and watched it happen, alas, she had other things to do. She glanced at her father, eyelashes flattering, "Now, if I may be excused, Your Grace. I need to start preparing for the wedding."

With one last hidden smirk thrown at Otto's way, she closed the doors behind her and gathered her skirts, swiftly making her way to her chambers. Upon entering, Visenya noticed the gift Lord Jason presented to her awaiting her in her study and she could not help but snort at it.

Lannisters and their arrogance. . .

She ignored it, pushing the doors to her room open just to falter at the sight of an unfamiliar figure hovering over her sister. Rhaenyra was sitting on the chair before the mirror, her posture showing how uncomfortable she was.

Visenya's demeanour immediately changed. "What are you doing here?" she asked, startling both her sister and Lady Lynesse Hightower. The woman smartly stepped back from Rhaenyra upon seeing the glare Visenya was giving her.

"Princess Visenya," the woman nodded. Her glare hardened at the disrespect — not only did she show up uninvited but she also refused to curtsy and use Visenya's proper titles. "The Queen ordered for me to fetch you. Both of you are needed to help prepare her for the wedding."

Calling Alicent the Queen already? Visenya was on the verge of pushing this bitch over the balcony.

"Neither of us is dressed as extravagantly as we would have if we were attending court, but since we have silver hair I cannot understand your or Lady Alicent's confusion." She gestured towards her simple black mourning dress before she sarcastically continued, "Do we look like maids to you?"

The wife of Herbert Hightower was obviously taken aback by her attitude. She opened her mouth to say something, however, Visenya raised a hand to stop her. "She has her flock of servants paid to put her in a dress and style her hair — Neither my sister nor myself are needed. Now, get out."

Lady Lynesse blushed or her cheeks darkened in anger — Visenya could not tell and she honestly did not care. She made sure to follow the woman to her doors, rushing her out.

"If I catch you entering either of our chambers without permission again, you will be punished much worse than with a slap on the wrist. Am I understood?" she threatened, not giving the blonde woman a moment to register her words — she just slammed the door in her face. "Bitch."

 

 

 

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king's landing, 111AC
alicent hightower

Alicent stood before the doors leading to the Throne room, fidgeting nervously and pulling at the flesh next to her nails. This was it, she thought — This was what you have always dreamed of. You are about to get married.

It is every young girl's dream and purpose to wed one day, to leave her family and dedicate herself to creating a new one with her husband. It was supposed to be a happy day, she was supposed to feel happy and giddy — and yet nothing was like in her dreams.

Alicent was barely able to stop the servants from opening the doors — she needed time to collect herself — she needed time for her legs to stop being frozen in one place — she needed time to stop thinking about running the opposite way as fast as her legs could carry her.

This was her duty. This was what she was made for.

So why wasn't it easy to smile and laugh? Why wasn't she looking forward to the celebrations? She was about to marry a good man — A man much older than her, but still a good man.

She was about to become Queen.

And yet, all she thought about was Rhaenyra. Maybe if she ran to her chambers, if she fell to her knees, begged and prayed for forgiveness like she did so many times before the Gods — maybe her Nyra would find it in herself to forgive her — maybe her Nyra would take her on Syrax and fly her away from here.

Rumours and whispers would stop then, and Alicent would once again become invisible, just as she was always meant to be.

Alicent stepped back.

She could not go through with this. She was meant to marry someone like Ser Criston or Ser Graffin — a pretty young knight on a white horse. She was meant to marry a Targaryen Princess and live a long life far away from expectations and duties.

She took another step back.

And then she felt a soft hand grabbing hers, startling her out of her thoughts. Alicent almost snatched her hand away from her aunt's grasp — By the Seven, she had half a mind to gather the skirts of her beautiful white dress and make a run for the nearest exit — but Alerie Tully's grip ground her to reality.

"You look eternal, Your Grace," the beautiful brown-haired woman complimented. Alicent forced herself to smile, her cheeks twitching with nerves. "Thank you, Aunt Alerie."

Her aunt did not miss this so she questioned, "This is supposed to be the happiest day of your life, my dear, and yet you are not smiling. What appears to be the matter?"

Alicent pursed her lips together. There was never any point in telling others what was happening inside of her — what she was feeling or thinking because those things never mattered before.

But she was so desperate to be heard — to be rescued.

"I, well, I never imagined myself marrying the King, that is all. I always envisioned someone younger, perhaps a knight. . ." she trailed off softly. Alerie's expression turned stoic, words leaving her mouth with a coldness Alicent never experienced from her, "You are not grateful to be in this position?"

Was she supposed to be grateful for this new life where she was despised by Rhaenyra? — Where everyone was mean and she was regarded as a whore which she was not?! — Where people refused to understand that she had to do as her father bid her to? — Where she was all alone? — Where her soon-to-be husband was more a corpse than a man, breathing but not living, still in deep mourning over his late wife?

"That—That is not what I meant—" she defended quickly. "Good. You fulfilled your duty as a daughter of House Hightower — You obeyed your father and he found you a perfect husband. Now you will do your duty as a wife and a Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. The Seven already blessed you with a babe and if Gods are good, that babe will be born a boy."

Aunt Alerie grabbed her cheeks, her feather-like touch strangely reminding Alicent of her mother. "Your son shall be the next monarch, my dear. There is no greater price for the sacrifice of not marrying someone younger and more handsome."

With a heavy heart, Alicent gulped and nodded. Lady Tully ordered the servants to open the doors and announce the presence of their future Queen before turning to her.

She lifted Alicent's chin with the tip of her finger. "Now raise your chin, straighten your posture and make a good appearance. If you wish to earn their trust and respect, it is of the essence for people to see you as the powerful woman you are and not some weak little girl who still runs after Princess Rhaenyra."

Obediently, Alicent did. She walked down the stairs, head held high, carefully holding her dress so she would not trip. Every eye was on her, but she paid them no mind, meeting the King on the dais. His Grace kissed her hand and took her by her elbow to lead her to their seats.

On the way there, she was stopped by her father who complimented her beauty. He was proud of her, he told her, For being a perfect daughter.

Alicent was seated on the King's left with the rest of the Hightowers to her left while the right side was reserved for Princesses Visenya and Rhaenyra — and the Velaryons, as well as the rest of the Small Council members.

Everything was going so well! She was still struck by how beautiful the Throne room was decorated — Her family outdid themselves! And people, there were so many of them — Admittedly not as many as on the day Princess Visenya was made Heir, but still many.

Her father's edged voice shook her away from her thoughts. "Where is the music? I cannot find the musicians." His eyes pierced through Lord Strong's.

"Have they not arrived yet?" The King searched the room for them. Master of Law cleared his throat,  "Their ship got caught in a storm, Your Grace."

Alicent's father visibly shook and she almost flinched away from that angry expression. "And why are we hearing about it now, Lord Strong?"

Lord Lyonel remained calm, much to Alicent's surprise, "I would have told you if I had known, Ser Otto. Alas, the news reached my ears right before my family and I arrived."

Did this mean there would be no music? Or even dancing? But there will not be a Royal hunt nor the tourney already! What will they be doing for seven days of celebration then — eat and drink? How will people react? What will they think?

The last thing she wanted was for more whispers to start — for more people to mock her. Alicent nervously tore the flesh from her finger. Seeing how she reacted to this, her other aunt, Lynesse, squeezed her palms in comfort. "Do not worry, Ali — We will take care of this."

With that, most of them stood up from their seats, scurrying away to find replacements. Even the King joined them so she was left alone with a few of the Council members as company.

Luckily, a group of ladies that she recognised from court approached her. This immediately brought a smile to her lips — seeing their pretty, colourful dresses and excitement on their faces.

"You look breathtaking, my Lady. The dress is simply stunning," one of them complimented. "And the colour! It suits your complexion so well!" Despite herself, Alicent blushed, twirling the expensive white slik with her fingers.

"Indeed — White makes you look like the Maiden made flesh!" One lady snickered and Alicent paled, only now realising that these were not compliments — these were veiled insults.

She gazed up at them, brown eyes filled with betrayal — Alicent grew up amongst them, she knew these women from the first time her father brought her to King's Landing — She matured alongside some of them — She spent days sipping tea and gossiping with them.

And yet they mocked her!

"Thank you," she uttered, averting her eyes, trying to find her family — trying to find anyone that might get her away from these women.

"This Crown suits you well too! I am so jealous!" Lady Rowan bounced, absolutely ecstatic about the marvellous golden piece standing on Alicent's head. "If the King had this made for you for the celebrations I can only imagine the piece you will be crowned with when he takes you to wife."

Alicent fidgeted in her seat, the tips of her fingers gently touching the most expensive thing she had owned in her life. "This—This is the only Crown I will be wearing," she hesitantly revealed.

Women around her frowned, sharing glances that she failed to read. "I apologise for assuming, but Consorts usually have much different Crowns — bigger, shinier and more glamorous," Lady Rowan explained.

"That is alright. I am perfectly content with this simple one." It suited her perfectly, her aunts said so as well — like it was meant for a Hightower. "Besides, I have chosen it myself. It used to belong to Queen Ceryse Hightower — it is a great honour to wear it!"

Lady Westerling raised her brow in shock. "The Crown of a barren Queen who stood by the cruel kinslayer King through his tyranny?" The other women gasped. "I—I do not think she had any choice. She was married to him."

Lady Oakheart scanned her from head to toe. "Well. . . Did the King have anything made for you? Because I personally would never accept hand-me-downs, especially not when I am to become Queen."

Seeing as she kept quiet, Lady Arielle Strong pushed, "Come on, tell us! He had to have gifted you something special. The King went to such extent to marry you and then ignore you? I do not think so!"

"Perhaps that necklace!" Lady Beesbury gestured towards the golden piece resting on the top of Alicent's breasts. She grabbed the necklace that belonged to her mother — that her father gifted her for this occasion.

"Most likely! I remember when Queen Aemma announced she was carrying Princess Visenya — His Grace showered her with trinkets! The gifts only doubled when Princess Visenya was born!"

"The same thing happened with Princess Rhaenyra so he must had so many gifts ready knowing you are carrying his child already!"

She fought the urge to wince at their cruel words and sentences. Alicent desperately looked around — it was getting harder to breathe with all of these insults thrown her way.

She only calmed down when she heard her father's thunderous, commanding voice echoing in her ears. "Scurry away!" Before she knew it, the Ladies hurried down the dais, blending with the crowd perfectly.

Alicent breathed out in relief, turning her head to face her father and thank him for his help — but she found him gaping at something ahead, his eyes bulging out of his head. "Father," she uttered, desperate to gain his attention.

Her brown eyes scanned the rest of the people seated at their table only to see they had similar reactions, most of them red with fury. It was only when the crowd split apart that she understood their reactions.

There they stood, two Princesses, both wearing simple black dresses indicating their mourning. Their silver-gold hair was braided in the same way, simple yet elegant. But what really got to Alicent was the fact that both wore black veils to cover their faces.

As per Arryn customs. . .

She glanced around — Everyone seemed frozen, all eyes were on the two Princesses — their pure black dresses making a powerful statement against the rest of the cheerful colours that others wore.

It would have been better if Rhaenyra stabbed her with a blade and twisted it — it would have hurt less than seeing this. Surely this was not happening. Someone had to stop this. Alicent faced her future husband only to find him pale as a ghost.

Everyone stayed silent as the Dragon sisters approached the royal table. Both gave their father a slight nod, so slight that it was barely visible. Neither of them offered Alicent the same courtesy which made her face heat up.

As if sensing this, Visenya's dark eyes pierced through hers, almost challenging her to speak up. Alicent closed her mouth just as fast as she opened it, her body tensing with fear.

Princess Visenya was always scary, at least to her. She was eternally beautiful but cold and distant. Before meeting Rhaenyra, Alicent tried approaching her and it always felt like walking towards a sleeping dragon — she always feared the Princess might bite or burn her.

She had no idea what she did to her to deserve such hatred — even when they were young. That fear of the girl was so deeply rooted in her that Alicent had to look away from her intense stare.

The seven days of celebrations passed quicker than she expected — and when she finally exchanged vows with the King, when she officially became his wife and thus the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, she spun around to find the entire crowd kneeling.

Everyone except three people that is.

Her husband, the King, stood tall and proud. His two daughters did not move a muscle either, refusing to show an ounce of respect to her.

It did escape Alicent that Rhaenyra had not once met her eyes.

 

 

 

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bloodstone, 111AC
daemon targaryen

The feeling of sweat trailing down his spine made him uncomfortable. The weather was too hot for Daemon's liking, especially while he was in the skies. Caraxes' body radiated warmth even through the saddle while the sun rays offered the heat from above.

It was too much and Daemon found himself thanking the Fourteen Flames that his patrol was over. There was nothing he wished more than to rid himself of his armour, sweaty clothes and jump into the sea.

As if sensing this, Caraxes immediately lowered his body upon landing, helping his rider jump to the ground faster. Daemon took off his leather glove before running his hand along the warm, smooth scales of the Blood Wyrm's neck.

Caraxes screeched in delight, snuggling closer and leaning into his touch. Daemon silently promised him a large feast made of Crabfeeder's men once the battle comes and his dragon purred in delight.

Absolutely drained, Daemon took off his helmet and made his way to his tent. He could distantly hear a young voice calling for him. "My Prince!"

He was barely able to stop his legs from moving further away from the boy who was running to catch up to him. The questions in his mind arose just like they often did, What was he doing in the Stepstones? Why was he fighting this war?

The boy he knighted just over a week ago panted as he stopped before him. He bowed his head, handing him a wrapped parchment. "A letter arrived for you this morn!"

Daemon immediately turned the letter, searching to whom it was addressed. From Princess Visenya, Princess of Dragonstone and Heir to the Iron Throne to Prince Daemon Targaryen.

His lips tilted up, newfound energy entering his system. Answers to the questions came at the sight of her name — Daemon was doing this for them, for this family — He was fighting this war for her.

Daemon spent years being banished away from his home and family. Despite how he presented it as fun — Despite how he claimed he was unbothered, that could not be further from the truth.

Daemon hated it. A dragon, alone in the world was a terrible thing after all. Still, he had many reasons to join this fight.

Unlike Viserys, he recognised how much of a threat the Crabfeeder could be in the future if he was not stopped right away. He realised what losing the Stepstones to these pirates would mean for the Seven Kingdoms. Accepting Corlys' invitation was to fix his brother's mistakes, to fight a war on his behalf.

That was only a part of the reason.

He had to give up years of peaceful sleep, comfortable life, hot meals — Hells, perhaps even his life for this. At moments none of it seemed worth it. But then, he remembered her, his niece, his Visenya.

He remembered the blood oath he made to Aemma.

Daemon promised to protect both Aemma's daughters. Going away and leaving them in the pit of snakes was hardly that — but it would be worth it in the long run.

If he did this now, if returned home a winner, he would be able to ask anything of his brother. The annulment Daemon always wished for would be granted to him and then all there was left was to convince Visenya to accept his proposal — to convince her to take him as her husband.

By the way she said her goodbye to him of Driftmark, Daemon did not think this would be a problem — She seemed to be reacting to him the same way he reacted to her.

That was Aemma's wish as well. His goodsister was right — By becoming Visenya's husband, he would be able to protect both her and Rhaenyra — also the Iron Throne and the Targaryen legacy from the greedy Hightowers.

So he had to do this — he had to have something to give her. Daemon did not possess a territory or an army of his own — but he could make one and give it to her just as he did for Viserys years ago.

Daemon entered his tent, the darkness welcoming him with open arms. He quickly lit up a few candles and took off his armour before he tore the envelope apart to open the letter.

Dearest uncle,

I hope both you and Caraxes are alright (or as alright as one can be in the middle of a war). I apologise for the lack of letters, I fear I am still processing the wedding celebrations.

You should hear it from me before anyone else — the second wedding of your brother turned out to be a disaster (and I am being generous with my words). Many predict it might even go down in history as the worst royal celebration ever held. The event already gained a name — 'the Black Wedding' and Rhaenyra and I should be thanked for that!

The entire time I could not stop wishing and imagining you sitting next to me. You would have been so entertained, uncle! You would not have been able to stop yourself from laughing — I know I barely contained myself from doing so! It was truly an effort to keep my composure with the Hightowers glaring at me from the other side of the table!

For Arrax's sake, you should have seen the looks on their faces when Rhaenyra and I showed up in our mourning dresses, faces covered with veils! Father paled so much that I thought he would faint and Otto went so red that I thought I might catch steam coming out his ears — the man looked ready to grab the nearest knife and jump across the table to stab me with it!

Daemon snickered, somehow feeling lighter than he had in weeks. He was so focused on the paper in his hands that he failed to notice a person entering his tent. "By the Fourteen flames! I had no idea you were capable of smiling, my Prince!" the male voice teased.

Startled, Daemon grabbed the Dark Sister's hilt, his smile all but extinct. The man who stood by the entrance to his tent had his arms crossed. Golden hair, not silver, eyes more pinkish than purple — a Celtigar.

"I come in peace," Valerius Celtigar, the man who used to be one of the Gold Cloaks, put his hands up in a sign of surrender. Daemon openly glared at him.

He grunted under his breath, throwing Dark Sister to the other side of the cot he was sitting on. The Celtigar boy who was a few years his junior, smirked. "Who sent you the letter? It must be someone special if they can make you smile so easily. . .Let me take a guess — Princess Visenya?"

"I do not remember giving you permission to enter my tent whenever you please," Daemon said instead of answering. "You did not," Valerius confirmed. "Then what the fuck are you doing here?!" He snapped, amusing the man further.

"Ser Vaemond insisted on questioning the prisoners now so Lord Corlys sent me to find you — he thought you would want to be there," Val revealed. Daemon dismissed him, ready to get back to the letter, "I will be right behind you."

Just as he got comfortable, he realised Valerius did not move from his spot. Daemon's jaw locked so hard the muscles in his cheek started twitching. The Celtigar boy was known for pushing his limits — he was always like this. Val sensed danger in Daemon and yet he still eagerly played with fire.

"So it is Princess Visenya — or perhaps Princess Rhaenyra? Although, the elder Princess would suit you better, I think. Her calmness could quell your anger and chaos while you could fuel her fire — You two could be a match made in Heavens." Val cocked his head to the side as he ranted, "Or perhaps a match made in Hells, all depending on who you ask, of course."

"Get out," Daemon commanded. Val as expected, ignored him. "I cannot fault you for your feelings, Prince Daemon and neither can the rest of the men in Westeros. Her Grace is a beauty with Valyrian blood in her veins and she is the Heir to the Iron Throne — Where do you find a better combination?"

The man's amethyst-pink eyes observed him as if searching for a reaction Daemon refused to make. "My younger brother wrote to me. Apparently, the Princess visits them often and the Gold Cloaks find themselves star-struck by her, especially her curves. So many men are looking for Valyrian whores now that some girl started posing as the Princess  — In only a moon she became the most visited amongst whores. Can you believe that?"

Daemon's nostrils flared. He quickly got a hold of a cup resting on the ground. Before he had a chance to throw it at the fair-haired boy, Val sprinted out of the tent. "I am leaving! I am leaving!"

He snorted, shaking his head, desperately trying to cool the boiling blood in his veins. It looked like he would have a lot of jaws and teeth to break when he came back.

Much to my surprise, Rhaenyra and I were not the only ones protesting the wedding. While some noble houses decided to join our riot by not showing up at all, others were content with making this wedding even more of a disaster — they refused to engage in dancing and little games prepared to make up for the lack of hunts or tourneys. Do not even get me started on the music which was a catastrophe in itself with musicians not making an appearance because their ship was caught in a storm. Hightowers needed to make and find new people and instruments — people who never played alongside each other so they were out of practice and not in sync.

Even the common people hated the idea of this farce of a marriage — so much so that they filled the streets to the brim, cornering the carriage with Father and Alicent in it just to throw balls of dirt and shit at the windows! One even managed to crack the glass and paint the bride's face and dress brown which blended perfectly with the white fabric (the colour she had no right to wear knowing her history).

I am already excited to tell you this story in great detail as soon as you return to me. King's Landing is not the same without you — neither is Dragonstone nor is any other part of Westeros. The lack of your presence can be felt at every corner and turn, I can never escape it no matter how hard I try. Even Arrax agrees with me — He misses Caraxes as much as I miss you.

Please be careful and pet Caraxes for me. With love, your niece, Visenya.

Daemon felt the weight of Visenya's necklace on his neck. He carefully stored the parchment with the rest of the letters his niece sent to him, making a mental note to send a reply as soon as he was able.

After changing into dry clothes, he exited the tent, Valerius following right behind him. The Celtigar boy was practically skipping steps, appearing annoyingly happy as he hummed a tune under his breath. Daemon rolled his eyes.

Win this war and go home to Visenya, nothing more, nothing less. Everyone else could die for all he cared.

Notes:

I'm so sorry I've been gone for so long! This is genuinely the first time I've wrote a chapter I didn't like so I tried to change it and rewrite it, going so far to complicately erase some dialogues and put new ones. Still, nothing worked. I tried taking a step back and focusing on something else for a while in hopes of a new idea striking me but that didn't work either 😭

Here I am, posting one of the nine drafts of this chapter (the one I hate the least) because I can't keep torturing myself anymore. I'll probably end up rewriting/republishing this chapter when I gain more inspiration but for now, it's time to move on

In the next chapter we're going to see Jeyne's POV of Rhaenyra starting her healing journey in the Vale, Daemon in the Stepstones meeting a blood witch and Visenya dealing with Gold Cloaks who are disrespecting her! We'll finally say hi to Leo again! 🖤

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Chapter 49: Realm's Desire

Summary:

In which:

— Jeyne and Rhaenyra have a serious talk
— Daemon saves an interesting girl
— Visenya faces some troubles

Notes:

Hello, I hope y'all are doing really well! 🖤

I'm here to tell you that I published another fic! It's called 'A Thread Of Black And Green'. It's Aemond Targaryen x OC(Daemon & Rhaenyra's daughter) fic!

Important things about this book are:
1) Dance of the Deagons(war for succession) doesn't happen at all!
2) Rhaenyra has a very good relationship with her half-siblings, she basically takes them under her wing
3) Jace, Luke & Joffrey don't exist here cause this is sort of a Smart!Rhaenyra fic. Harwin x Nyra is still a ship i'm going to explore, she just won't be birthing obvious bastards!

Check it out if you're interested!!

the vale, 111AC
jeyne arryn

After Jeyne had a, what could only be described as a screaming match, with the King, she decided it was for the best to leave King's Landing and return home — the mountain clans started causing problems yet again and her people needed her anyway.

She stayed longer than she should have — but it felt so good to be around people whom she shared blood with — people who were family and yet did not wish to betray her or usurp her seat — people who accepted her with open arms.

Nothing could ever stay good, family always perished as soon as she attached herself to them. That was the case for her parents, her uncles and now Aunt Aemma.

It felt important to stay by Visenya and Rhaenyra and support them in their grief, but Jeyne could not continue doing that when their father so openly disrespected her aunt, the King's own mate and the mother of his children — the woman with Arryn blood in her veins.

She still openly raged about it. How dare Viserys marry that Hightower whore only halfway into the mourning period?! "I apologise for my father's behaviour and the disrespect he showed to you and your kingdom," Visenya uttered to her before Jeyne boarded her ship.

"You have nothing to apologise for, cousin." He caused you more harm than to me, Jeyne thought, but did not voice.

The King should not be remarrying at all, especially not after naming Visenya his Heir. With things standing as they were, as long as Prince Daemon had no desire to start a rebellion against his own niece, men and women alike would have no choice but to bow to her cousin when the time came.

As much as Jeyne misliked Prince Daemon for the way he treated his wife — for the way he made the Vale look and sound bad with his insults, she could not imagine him ever going against his own blood.

When the whispers broke out that the King considered taking Laena to wife, Jeyne started to worry for her cousin and the stability of her position. Still, bells did not ring with the alarming sound in her head at the thought of Laena being a Consort.

But now, she could not shake the feeling that the war was coming. "Your path to your goal just got a lot more difficult, especially if that whore ends up birthing a son — I hope you are aware of that," she said.

"I am," Visenya confirmed with confidence, tipping her head forward with a curt nod. Jeyne sighed — It was going to take a lot to win this fight, but it was not impossible.

If anyone could battle this and come out a winner, it was Visenya.

"As a woman who struggled and is still struggling against men — As a woman whose inheritance was questioned many times before — As a woman whose position was almost usurped, I can only give you this advice to prepare you for the challenges you are inevitably going to face in the future," Jeyne started.

"You will be walking down a path full of prejudice and injustice. No matter the situation, you must never fall, crumble or show a shred of doubt because they will use it against you — they will call you weak and frail and use you as an example of why women should not be in the position of power. You must show emotions, but not too much if you do not want to be branded a person easily swayed by her feelings, as they claim most women are. You must show strength, but not too much of it because you do not want to risk hurting their egos. You must be kind, compassionate and forgiving — but you also have to know when to put your foot down and be ruthless. You must show how intelligent you are, but do not try to openly outsmart men because they will feel threatened by you."

Being a woman in a position of power meant balancing a very thin life from start to finish — One mistake and you were done for.

Jeyne continued with her monologue, "Women are so easy to destroy. A whisper here, a whisper there and suddenly their reputation and image are loudly questioned. Do not let them gain such an advantage over you. Surround yourself with people loyal to you."

Visenya listened intently. "And most importantly, no matter how perfect, good-looking or educated you are — no matter how much promise you show or how prepared you are, there is always going to be someone working against you — there will always be people who will consider you unworthy of the Iron Throne."

Jeyne shook her head. "You cannot win them all over, Visenya, but the ones that you do — the ones that stand with you through it all — those people — those allies, they are precious so do not let them go."

"Thank you, cousin. I will make sure to remember every word," her cousin vowed, a new-found determination and fire igniting in her indigo eyes.

Jeyne breathed out, erasing some of the tension from her shoulders. "Did you know that before you were named Heir to the throne — even before your mother's death, I asked Aunt Aemma's permission to name you my Heir?"

Visenya blinked in surprise. "I had no idea. She never told me this," she whispered, jaw clenched and eyes moving to the side. Having a conversation about her mother was still a sour topic which was why Jeyne tried to comfort her, "She would have told you — She just thought she had more time."

After a moment, her cousin cocked her head to the side and changed the subject, "If you are still alright with having an Heir of Arryn blood who does not bare that name, there is still one candidate left to consider — my sister."

"I appreciate your suggestion, but I am not about to entrust my Kingdom to someone who stepped over her own family and chose other, unimportant people over them," Jeyne shrugged.

Visenya might have forgiven Rhaenyra for the way she behaved — for always shutting her down and choosing Alicent Hightower instead of her, but Jeyne was not so quick to do it.

Knowing the feeling of betrayal, especially from her family, she struggled to give more chances to the people who did not stick and protected their own.

"Rhaenyra made a mistake — she is a child," Visenya defended her sister. Jeyne raised her brow pointedly, "You are only a year her senior and you never would have made such a mistake."

"That is different," her cousin shook her head in denial. It was and it was not — Visenya and Rhaenyra had two entirely different mindsets. They both prioritised different things and saw the world in two different lights. "Is it?"

This was the reason Jeyne wanted her cousin as her Heir — because she saw the way she was thinking and the way she acted. She was certain the Vale would be safe in her hands, with Rhaenyra, not so much.

"Rhaenyra may not show promise now, but she can learn to be exactly what the Vale needs. I see potential in her — She just needs a good mentor and a lot of practice," Visenya was adamant to prove Jeyne wrong. "The Vale is yours, cousin — What you decide to do with it or who you decide to name your Heir is entirely up to you, but I know that my sister can do this — she will surprise you, you have my word on that."

So far, there have been no surprises.

Rhaenyra, Jeyne and Jeyne's lover, Jessamyn Redtort all sat at the table, having dinner together. Rhaenyra arrived to the Eyrie castle only a few days ago, on the back of her golden lady, Syrax.

Something seemed to be missing from her cousin — that shine that she usually had — the sparkle that got her the title of the Realm's Delight, it was dulled, if not gone. She rarely smiled, always explored the castle and otherwise stayed in her assigned chambers.

Jeyne did not mind. She offered Rhaenyra this opportunity or fostering for healing as well as lessons if her cousin decided to accept the offer.

However, she was getting annoyed at the lack of answers on her part. If she accepted to be considered her Heir they would need to start with lessons right away — this way they were wasting precious time.

"Are you finished, cousin? I would like to walk you to your chambers," Jeyne said after eyeing the way Rhaenyra pushed the food around her plate, obviously stuck in her thoughts. "Of course."

Jessamyn gave her a small, supportive smiled before she and Rhaenyra took their leave. Not wanting to waste time, she jumped straight to the point, "Have you given any thought to my proposal?"

Her cousin was obviously taken aback by the bluntness, but she swallowed and slowly nodded. "Yes. I would like to try." Rhaenyra must have seen the absolute confusion on Jeyne's face because she went on, "I never received any education aside from basic lessons from Maesters and my Septa, but—"

"You would like to try?" Jeyne cut her off, almost bewildered. Her cousin radiated confusion now. She could not believe she had to explain this. "Rhaenyra, there is no trying here. You can either do it or not. This Kingdom is everything that I have and everything that I am. As dear as you are to me, I would never name you my Heir if you are willing to just try. My lands and my people deserve more than a person willing to just try for them."

She wanted Rhaenyra to initiate because that would show her she cared and she tried — Jeyne would not chase her around, begging her to study or meet people. If she wanted the position, she was going to have to work hard for it.

She understood perfectly why Visenya suggested this — If anything were to happen to Jeyne, the Vale would be led by a person loyal to her — She would have an army of forty thousand on her side.

Jeyne respected this and she was willing to do this to support her cousin and the rightful Heir. But she would never do it at the expense of her people. The Valemen were her priority — She would not sentence them to a hard life, made even harder by naming an incompetent person her Heir. That was not the kind of legacy she wished to leave behind.

"Being Heir and later a Lady of your own Keep, especially Lady Paramount, means much more than knowing how to collect taxes or hold court and hear petitioners — It means interacting with your people — It means knowing and respecting their culture and religion — It means having their trust and respect — It means having their backs in the darkest of times — It means putting your people first," Jeyne explained.

"Why else do you think Visenya spent moons after her mother's death interacting with smallfolk? Because the Queen who cared about them perished so they lost the stability that knew for a decade. Why do you think your sister entertained court? Because it was important for people to have the assurance that despite the tragedy, House Targaryen — a house that is supposed to protect them, remained strong."

Feeling the need to be open and honest about this, she briefly compared Rhaenyra to her Visenya. "Your sister understood what needed to be done — Your father did not so she stood up and did it despite how much pain she was in or how desperate she was to grieve for her own mother."

Her cousin showed no visible reaction outside of looking incredibly guilty — Probably because she used Visenya's action during the mourning period against her when the two had an argument.

"I sympathise with your pain, cousin, I really do, but life must go on. The world does not stop just because someone close to you perished or because you were betrayed by your friend — The world does not wait for you to heal and move on," She spoke the harsh truth of the reality. "You need to think about what you want, Rhaenyra. I will be expecting your answer."

 

 

 

 

 

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bloodstone, 111AC
daemon targaryen

It was a fucking miracle Daemon did not run through Vaemond Velaryon with the Dark Sister by now — He was tempted to do it again and the opportunity was perfect.

From the back of his eye, he scanned the only female prisoner they found in one of the Crabfeeder's camps. Even with dried blood and dirt in parts of her hair, Daemon could immediately tell the girl was of Valyrian descent.

The girl could not be much older than Visenya. She was seated on the ground, hands, legs and body bound by a rope. Even though she did not meet any of their eyes — even though she was trying to put on a brave face, he could tell she was frightened by the way her body was shaking.

Daemon silently approached her, using the tip of his sword to cut the ropes swiftly. The girl flinched when he neared her which made the blood in his veins boil. By the state of her robes — by the way they were ripped in certain places, he could tell she was attacked, possibly wounded and almost raped.

Unfortunately, this was extremely common in war. Men had little regard for consent in general, let alone when they were high on victory, with the blood of their enemies coating their skin.

It used to be his job as the Lord Commander of the City Watch to punish those who committed such crimes which was why Daemon truly did not wish to know if one of their men did this — He could not go on a murder spree even if that proved to be right. They needed as many men alive as possible.

"She is a prisoner of war! You cannot free her!" Vaemond complained. Valerius slammed his hands against the table. "She is a girl whose ship was most likely attacked by the Crabfeeder and his men!"

It was the first time Daemon heard the Celtigar boy raise his voice. He could usually be found smiling and jesting around — Even when he was killing he was quiet and focused. He was certain Val saw his younger sister in the girl the same way Daemon saw Visenya which caused such a negative reaction.

Valerius gestured towards the girl. "Take a look at her and tell me you truly believe she is some kind of spy or a threat?!" Silence rang through the tent as men turned their heads to observe her.

"Escort her to my tent and stay there," Daemon commanded, signalling with his head for the Celtigar boy to come closer. He obeyed without complaint, helping the Valyrian girl stand.

"I cannot be the only one thinking this is absurd behaviour!" Vaemond raged upon seeing this. He searched for the support of others who did not dare to openly speak against their Prince. "Brother?"

"Ser Valerius is correct," Corlys stated a bit reluctantly, desperate to keep the peace between all of them. Vaemond gave him a look of betrayal as he pointed out, "The boy made an assumption — He did not state facts!"

"Well you had your time to question her properly, did you not?" the Sea Snake snapped. "If you are worried the girl might slit your throat while you sleep then count yourself lucky that she will not be residing in your tent, but the Prince's."

Vaemond's face turned red as Valerius and the girl started walking away. Before they could leave, he shouted to the guards standing in the tent. "Stop them!" The guards pulled out their swords, blocking the path and the Celtigar boy position himself in front of the girl, sword out and ready to fight.

Daemon looked absolutely murderous. A mere second son from Driftmark dared to question his order and defy him? "Tell them to back off or I will rid them of their heads," he threatened, lilac eyes on Corlys. The guards gulped at the seriousness and the promise of violence in his voice.

Corlys huffed at his brother's behaviour, but signalled for the guards to let Val pass through. Suspicious, the Celtigar boy still held a sword out as he locked his hand around the girl's arm to lead her away.

Before anyone could utter a word, Vaemond stepped toward Daemon, expressing his unwanted opinion, "You may be a Prince, but you are not here with the Crown's leave. We do not have to answer to you or obey your commands. Out here, you are no more significant than any of us."

Daemon was seeing red at this point. Vaemond just had to mention the lack of support he had from Viserys to anger him further. He towered over the man — It took a lot of restraining on his part not to beat the shit out of Corlys' brother.

"This entire war would have been lost before it began if it were not for my dragon and I. You and this entire group would have been eaten by crabs were it not for us," he settled on saying, lips tilting up in a smirk at the way the Velaryon man began fuming. "This makes me more important than you could ever be."

Daemon made his way to the tent's exit, but before he left, he spun around to say, "Defy me and see what happens." Defy me and give me a reason to end your pathetic life, was what went unsaid.

Seeing as Vaemond did not have enough balls to challenge him, Daemon gave him a mocking smirk and left, strolling through the camp with loud, angered steps.

When he neared his black tent, he heard Val talking in High Valyrian, "Nobody is going to hurt you anymore, especially not him," he reassured. "You only ever saw his anger so you are undeniably frightened, but you do not have to be. The Prince's rage was not directed at you but at the people who hurt you."

Daemon stayed rooted on the spot, listening to what the Celtigar boy had to say about him. "He will not cause you any harm nor will he let another harm you. There is no safer place you could be other than beside him. As long as you are under the protection of Prince Daemon Targaryen, you are untouchable."

He closed his eyes, desperate to quell the anger inside of him — the last thing he needed was to frighten the girl even more, especially if she was to sleep in his tent — the last thing he wanted was for her to think him a rapist!

Rage was still swimming in his veins so he went to visit Caraxes before coming back again. When he walked into the dark tent, he found the Valyrian girl sitting quietly in the corner, hands bound by a rope.

The Celtigar boy seemingly gave her a change of clothes because she was no longer in her dirty and torn ones but rather wearing a large tunic and breeches — She was cleaner as well, with a new shine to her golden-silver strands.

As soon as she noticed him, she met his eyes and then lowered her head. Daemon approached her, using a dagger to free her of the bounds. Her violet eyes blinked in confusion as he silently lowered the dagger to the ground next to her.

Someone might consider it dangerous to give a weapon to a complete stranger, but he did not — Daemon was a light sleeper, it took minimal noise to wake him up. If she dared to try something while he was sleeping, he would hear it.

He also freed her — If she opted to grab the dagger and make a run for it, she would stop being his problem. Although that would be incredibly stupid of her. Valerius was right about one thing — the safest place she could possibly be was beside him.

In the morning, he found her curled up in the corner, blinking heavily. There were dark circles beneath her eyes, indicating her lack of rest last night.

Daemon stood up to redress himself before he brought a plate of food and water to her. "Eat and drink," he simply said. The girl's violet eyes scanned the tray suspiciously — she probably thought it was poisoned so he took a gulp of the liquid to prove her it was not.

"No one will bother you," was all Daemon offered as he walked out. When he returned from his patrol, he found the girl peacefully sleeping with food and water all gone.

 

 

 

 

 

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king's landing, 111AC
visenya targaryen

Visenya briefly laid out her plans for the employment of the smallfolk to the Small Council. It bothered her immensely that she was standing beside her father while the rest of them were sitting around — it bothered her that she or her advice could be considered insignificant compared to the men that had their own chairs.

As Heir, she should have her own seat and yet her father did not offer it yet. All Visenya wished was to push Viserys for an official place on the Small Council, but she could not risk it — Her father started acting distant toward her ever since she wore black to his wedding.

So she kept silent and lurked for an opportunity to bring it up, perhaps when he is in a better mood.

"I do not know how this can bring any profit to the Crown," Ser Tyland Lannister voiced, his reaction being the first. Visenya rolled her eyes — Perhaps if he paid attention to her speech instead of staring at her breasts the entire time, maybe he would have understood!

This problem was brought up at the last women's court where Visenya was made aware of how many orphans were kicked out when they turned six and ten because they would otherwise be a waste of food and space.

Her solution was to go around King's Landing and question people about job offers — She could not keep offering people to become servants or nursemaids, the positions would eventually run out.

But, all of this will inevitably take time and coin. King's Landing was stuffed with people who could barely make their ends meet. If she did this, if she succeeded, not only would the smallfolk get more money and stop worrying about their homes or starving, the Crown would also get more coin back.

Lord Beesbury hummed in thought. "I do. It will take moons, perhaps even years to see the results of this project — The Crown will be required to invest a lot, but as a result, it will get a lot more when collecting taxes."

As Master of Coin, it was important for him to agree and support her if she wanted to get anywhere with this plan. But, as always, he was hesitant to agree to spend a large amount of coin.

"I apologise, Your Grace, but I fail to see the point of this. The common people have always been quite uneducated," the Grand Maester argued lamely.

"Hiring someone to educate the poor was a suggestion for later. It is important for us to focus on finding jobs for them first. By doing this, we will also get an insight on whether they are willing and interested in learning — if not, then investing coin in them would be pointless," Visenya explained once again, now annoyed that she had to repeat herself.

There was also an idea to educate the smallfolk in basic writing and reading — the idea she took from Queen Alysanne's journal. This would take even more time to develop and start, but Visenya believed in herself and her plans — she could pull this off.

"While it does seem like a sound idea, this requires a lot of work, Your Grace," Lord Strong pointed out, his eyes studying her intently.

Understanding that he was warning her of how time-consuming this might turn out to be, Visenya nodded determinedly, "I know. I am prepared to hear out each and every one of the smallfolk who wishes to try. As their future Queen, I owe them my time and patience."

Her answer appeared to satisfy him because he gave his word of approval. As always, Otto Hightower had to ruin everything by interfering, "I do not think this is a good idea, Your Grace," he said, face stone-cold, "Last few weeks showed us that the Princess has difficulty controlling a large group of people. My sources say the Gold Cloaks are restless and dissatisfied with how she is handling the situation — Adding more people would be a recipe for a disaster."

"That is very interesting of you to say, Lord Hand, when you yourself lost control of the situation and the problems caused by your actions," Visenya defended herself without missing a beat, "I heard hundreds of petitioners are piling up and asking for separations or annulments because they want to marry their mistresses. So why don't you worry about that and I will worry about this, hm?"

The snake's eyes flashed in anger before Viserys stood up and snapped at both of them, "Enough! I am tired of listening to the two of you bickering like children every chance you get! Both of you know better than to step over each other!"

Before the Small Council was excused, Viserys berated them — her father was fuming at the way they behaved. They were even forced to apologise to each other even though their words were empty.

Them having a glaring match or trying to undermine each other or even having a competition at who could manipulate Viserys better — It was a new normal now that Otto finally started to see her as a player.

That did not worry her at all, Visenya was capable of matching his words quite well. What bothered her was that her proposition was put aside and she did not get a direct answer. . .She will have to push for it to be accepted every chance she could get.

Visenya sighed tiredly. Leo spared her a questioning look as he opened the doors for her. Before she could elaborate on her sour mood, she caught onto a discussion that was going on between the Gold Cloaks.

With the recent problem of disrespect she had with some of them, she was determined to hear what they had to say. She motioned for her friend to stay silent and hidden as they listened. "Am I the only one missing the days in which we did something useful? We used to hunt and kill — we used to fight and be ruthless. Now we are reduced to following a girl around," one of them complained.

"We became lapdogs," the other agreed, anger lacing his voice. "Do not forget about having to be in the presence of those orphans every day," the third one added, sounding as if he was in disbelief.

"What was the Prince thinking when he told us to follow that useless boy's orders?" the second one questioned. Visenya met Leo's eyes — her friend appeared annoyed, but not surprised.

Daemon was. . .Well, he was Daemon — he made these men into something — he lifted them from being nothing to be an important part of the lives of people in the city — he made them loyal to him.

Visenya expected the transition from Daemon being the commander to Leo holding that title to be possibly problematic. Still, most of the Gold Cloaks were following her uncle's orders by accepting Leo — Helping her or being ordered around by her on the other hand, was an impossible task for a bunch of them, even though her uncle's instructions were specific and clear.

He told them she was in charge — He told them he was leaving them for her to use.

Following her commands meant being beneath her which most of them found hard to accept. Yes, she was a Princess of royal blood, but she was also a girl — so how could a girl be above them?

"I will tell you what he was thinking about — The Princess' teats!" the first one answered, laughing at his jest which had others joining in — they all agreed that the Realm's Desire bewitched her uncle with her body.

Visenya bit her lip to stop herself from screaming in frustration.

Ever since she flowered, she noticed that most switched from complimenting her knowledge to admiring her body and appearance — they switched from seeing her as a person to seeing her as an object made for marriage and bearing children.

When she was a child, Visenya had more freedom to express herself and her thoughts because then, the men around her found her intriguing. Now, as soon as she opened her mouth, she annoyed them because according to them, women should not have voices or opinions of their own — because women were worth nothing.

Realm's Desire — that was a new nickname for her that began floating around some time ago.

Visenya found it offensive and disrespectful. Yes, she was beautiful just as any other person that had Valyrian blood in their veins — that was nothing new. So this nickname, it was created to change the way people viewed her — it was meant to switch people's focus from her mind to her body.

Gold Cloaks frequently visiting a brothel where one whore was pretending to be her — them fucking the girl and being so vocal about it — them openly discussing how her body looked or the ways they would fuck her if they had the chance — it undermined her, it began erasing the reputation of a genius she was building ever since she was born.

And Visenya had no idea how to stop it.

"Do not let them get to you," Leo tried to calm her down as soon as he took note of the murderous look on her face. She did not listen and instead got out of their hiding spot, making her way towards them.

"Are you lot not supposed to be completing what I assigned you to do?" Visenya questioned coldly, startling them all from their laughing fit. "Did you got stuck in a tavern fight again so you are late or were you too busy drinking ale and forgot what time it was? What is the excuse for your lateness today?"

They opened their mouths to respond, but Visenya held up a hand to stop them. "I do not want to hear your shit explanations," she glared at them. "Just get out of my sight." They collected their things before they stood up, murmuring and chuckling between themselves.

Before they could leave, Visenya called out, "And for the record, Ser, you owe everything you are to my uncle. The City Watch would have continued to be nothing without him. It is not your job to question his orders, but to obey them. My uncle is loyal to the Crown and you should be too. As I am the future of the Crown and this Kingdom, you will obey me or you will regret it. Am I understood?"

They were forced to nod and bow, although it was more mocking than anything else. Visenya sighed as Leo wrapped his arm around her shoulders in comfort.

The two of them continued their journey to the healing house Visenya had set up a while ago. They walked in on the scene of two healers rushing around a woman who was very pregnant and lying on one of the beds — other women and girls surrounded them.

For a moment, she was reminded of her mother — of the blood dripping down her sheets onto the floor. She forced herself to swallow and push the image out of her mind.

"Bryna, I am going to need your help. You will do as I say," the oldest healer ordered, moving to stand in line with the woman's large belly. "Is there a problem, Kaelys?" Visenya asked the older, ginger healer.

Kaelys shook her head. "The babe is still in the breech position, Your Grace." One of the other, unknown women cried out, almost hopelessly — Visenya guessed the woman was the pregnant woman's mother.

"Can something be done about it?" She cocked her head, even though she had never heard of something that could help a breech birth.

"No, Your Grace," one of the women whom Visenya knew as being uneducated health providers for the poor, answered. "Of course it can be!" Kaelys argued back, much to her surprise. "It is good we caught this before the birth went further. We simply need to rotate the babe and ensure it comes head first."

The ginger-haired woman turned towards the pregnant woman and warned, "It is a painful procedure so she will require milk of the poppy before we begin."

Visenya walked out, not quite ready for her eyes to see the sight that haunted her dreams. She even tried to block out the woman's screams because all she could hear was Aemma, crying and begging for help in front of her eyes.

"Your daughter is in the right hands, I assure you. Kaelys is a healer who specifies in childbirth and pregnancies, if anyone can help save your daughter and deliver your grandchild, it is her," Visenya tried to reassure the older woman, who was almost hyperventilating.

She had no idea how long she waited for the delivery, only that by the time the screams stopped, the woman beside her was calmer. "Congratulations. He came fast and without a fuss. Both your daughter and your grandson are alive and well," Kaelys announced.

The older woman threw her arms around the healer, grateful tears streaming down her face. Visenya's lips lifted at the sight although thousands of questions rang in her mind.

Didn't her mother have a breech birth as well?

Wasn't that why she had to be cut open?

Was there a possibility she could be saved?

All questions disappeared when the older woman got down on her knees in front of her. "Your Grace, thank you for saving my daughter!" she cried out. "You are truly a blessing to all of us and we will be glad to follow you and call you our Queen!"

Notes:

Patriarchy & sexism in this chapter is making me so angry! The best thing that I wrote here was the discussion between Jeyne & Vissie and I'm so proud of it :D

I thought I'd write more Leo, but decided to have his POV in the next chapter instead. We'll see Vissie beating Gold Cloaks' asses through his eyes so I'm excited! Also, there'll be an ambush happening in the Stepstones and someone might get injured really badly 👀

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Chapter 50: Warning And Punishment

Summary:

In which:

— Rhaenyra meets a few interesting people who will help her on her journey
— A battle occurs on the Stepstones
— Visenya gets angry ;)

Notes:

Me after I disappear for two months and reappear like nothing happened: 🫣

Anyways, I've rewritten the entire fic in my notes twice. I fixed every mistake I found but I also tried a different writing style which sounds more medieval(I guess). My question is: Would you want me to change the chapters and start writing in that different style or keep them the same and continue with the original one? My honest opinion is that the medieval one is better, but I'm biased...

eyrie, 111AC
rhaenyra targaryen

Rhaenyra stood at the edge of the training ya, her eyes fixed on the flurry of activity before her — Men, clad in armours carved with the symbols of their respectful Houses, clashed swords. Others pulled back on their bows, releasing arrows that cut through the air, hitting the bull's eye with accuracy.

What surprised Rhaenyra the most was that among those knights and squires, there were a few women also practising their skills. Her purple eyes were focused on them — on their determination — on the trail of sweat travelling down their foreheads — on the deadly focus evident on their faces.

It reminded her of Visenya, of her sister whom she used to watch as she practised her swordplay and archery — It reminded her of the times when she used to sneak into the training yard to see her sister even when they were not on speaking terms.

Rhaenyra was always there, lurking in the dark, heart beating wildly out of fear that Visenya's eyes would catch her.

Even when their stupid quarrels struck — Even when they refused to utter a word to one another — Even when Rhaenyra could not stomach the sight of her, her heart was never quite ready to let her dear sister go.

As Rhaenyra watched, her heart raced with a mixture of fascination and longing — She missed Visenya — missed admiring her from afar — missed cheering her on as she had sparring matches with Leo — missed when Uncle Daemon would take Visenya out of the Keep to teach her a move or two.

She always admired the skill and prowess of warriors — She could thank her uncle and sister for that. Her eyes followed the arcs of the arrows as they found their marks.

Lost in her thoughts, she did not notice when one of the women broke away from the group and approached her. She, with her mousy brown hair and brown eyes, freckles framing her pale face, stopped before Rhaenyra and smiled in greeting. "You seem quite taken with our training, Princess," she remarked.

Rhaenyra tore her gaze from others and focused on the young woman, her mind taking a moment before it put a name on the face — Gwendys Corbray. "Yes, I have always found it interesting," she admitted.

Lady Gwendys raised her dark brow, eyes shining with enthusiasm. "Would you like to try?" she offered bluntly, "I find that being skilled with at least one weapon is of great importance, especially as a woman."

Rhaenyra blinked in surprise — While she held admiration for the skill, she never thought of herself as someone who would try it or need it, for that matter. Before she could respond, her Sworn Shield, Ser Criston, stepped forward, his expression tense. "Princess, it is not safe. You should not—"

The woman's brown eyes shifted towards him, gaze unwavering as she cut him off, "I understand your duty is to protect the Princess, Ser, but I assure you, she is in safe hands."

Rhaenyra exchanged a quick glance with her Kingsguard — She could tell by the sour look on his face that he was against the idea, but she could not help herself, her curiosity was picked. Her Sworn protector clenched his jaw in protest but did nothing to stop her, knowing he could not go against her orders.

Gwendys grinned, introducing herself to Rhaenyra before showing her a way down. The brown-haired woman, who could not be that much older than her, handed her a bow and quiver of arrows.

She held onto them awkwardly, feeling that this might not have been the best idea after all. . .She was no warrior — never has been and never will be, that role was reserved and taken by her uncle and sister. It hit her how much she did not belong there after she felt the hem of her black gown staining with mud with every step she took.

Rhaenyra could not even get a word out as Lady Gwendys positioned her in front of the target. She placed her hands on her hips as she instructed, "First, we will start with the basics — Stand with your feet shoulder-width apart, and grip the bow firmly but not too tight."

Rhaenyra hesitated for a brief moment before she followed the instructions. Her hands slightly shook with the feeling of the unfamiliar weapon within her grasp. Seeing this, Gwendys gave her a reassuring smile, gently guiding her through the steps. She helped her adjust her stance and then nock an arrow onto the string.

"Focus on your target," she advised, gesturing towards it as she stepped out of Rhaenyra's way. "Take a deep breath, draw the string back and release when you feel ready."

She let out a deep breath, desperate to focus, but, despite her best efforts to mimic the actions Gwendys had demonstrated, her first few attempts were shaky and so off-target it was laughable.

Rhaenyra surprised herself when she felt the ends of her lips curling up — She was smiling lightly, something she had not done in a long time — something that she had not felt like doing in ages, her mind free of the burdens and memories of the past eight moons that plagued her daily.

It felt nice, she supposed. . .even if she was not good at it at all.

"I am terrible at this. . ." she chuckled, feeling her muscles pulsing lightly after a few tries. Feeling the need to give her arms a break, she stopped to engage in a conversation with Lady Gwendys. "How can you do it so easily?"

"Easily?" The brown-haired woman questioned in disbelief, her every arrow hitting the bull's eye effortlessly. "Seven Hells, I sucked at archery at first. I was lucky to have my grandfather by my side to give me advice — He told me that as long as I stay focused and believe in myself, I can do anything. That stuck with me and here I am. . ."

Suddenly, a taller young man wrapped his arm around Gwendys' shoulders, the striking resembles between them making Rhaenyra blink in surprise — same brown eyes, mousy hair and freckles.

"You really should take advice from my sister, Princess. It took her years until our father deemed her skilled enough to go hunting with him," the young man, whom Rhaenyra labelled as Lady Gwendys' brother, spoke, his grin cheeky. "In the end, he only allowed it because she beat him in an archery competition. . .And because I believe he got too tired of her annoying him about it."

"Shut up," Gwendys spewed, punching his shoulder as he chuckled. Another two young men approached, one with fair golden hair and eyes so blue they reminded her of the cloudless sky while the other had curly red hair and green eyes.

Alice cleared her throat and introduced them, "My Princess, may I introduce to you my brother, Leowyn, my betrothed, Rylon Hunter, and our friend Adrian Redfort. I believe you met his sister already — She can usually be seen spending time with Lady Jeyne."

"Brother to Lady Jassemyn," Rhaenyra concluded, her mind already used to seeing Jassemyn's distinct red curls around the Eyrie castle. Ser Adrian nodded, green eyes bright. "Precisely, Princess."

Ser Leowyn let go of his sister as he explained his previous statement, "What I was trying to say is — Do not be too hard on yourself, Princess, archery takes time, practice and patience. You cannot expect to perfect the technique an hour into training."

Rhaenyra took that advice to heart, even though the impatient and demanding dragon blood within her veins disagreed. Ser Rylon cleared his throat and mentioned nonchalantly, "Even if archery does not become your area or expertise, at least you have other skills you can use — The Black Wedding is the living proof of that."

Her brows furrowed in confusion as she tried to figure out what he was trying to say. Lady Gwendys, apparently understood because she rolled her eyes dramatically. "Feel free to ignore him, Princess. Rylon likes to run his mouth a lot — perhaps even more than those gossiping ladies. . .You can thank his mother for that."

"And yet you love it, darling," Rylon's lips curled, revealing his dimples as he looked at his betrothed teasingly. Gwendys snorted and denied it even though she struggled to suppress her smile, "As if."

"What did you mean by it?" Rhaenyra questioned, interested to hear what was hiding beneath the carefully crafted words Ser Rylon used. She never had any time nor patience to unveil the masked words spoken in court — She never spoke like that either, finding it to be too tiring when she could say exactly what she meant.

"Take this as no offence, Princess, but the wedding of the King is the main topic in the entire Westeros at the moment — and especially here in the Vale considering the circumstances," he started with a bit of hesitation, "Wearing black at a celebration. . .Honestly, the Seven Kingdoms have not seen such drama since Princesses Saera and Viserra."

Despite herself, Rhaenyra frowned. She straightened her back, viewing this as a personal attack. Anger was bubbling in her veins, feelings of resentment and betrayal crushing against her, making her want to speak words that she should not.

Luckily, Adrian seemed to have noticed the troubled look on her face because he immediately stepped in, watching his friend with pointed eyes. "While I admit that no House from the Vale came anywhere near that disastrous wedding and now everyone has questions about it, that does not mean the Princess has to answer them."

"Be more considerate of how awful the Princess must have felt. . .She owes us no explanations." Lady Gwendys nodded along, the slight tilt of her head as she sent a glare her betrothed's way an obvious sign she wanted him to stop talking about this.

But Rhaenyra was not done.

Most supported the way Visenya and she handled the Black wedding, but there were also the ones who did not — And those people sent silent looks of disgust and criticism their way — They excused the actions of both the bride and the groom while making her sister and herself the villains of the story.

She was tired of it.

She wondered how those people would handle the situation if they found themselves in it — She wondered how they would feel in the face of such betrayals.

Rhaenyra tried ignoring the whispers, and the stares, as Visenya advised, but she had enough.

"Your concern is appreciated, however, I do not mind answering a couple of questions," she replied curtly, eyes fixed on Ser Rylon, who had more to say. "Wearing black was my sister's idea, not mine — She told me of her plans and I simply joined."

Ser Leowyn, noticing the slight tension between them, made a jest to try and lighten up the mood, "So we do not only have a future Queen with Valeman blood but also the future monarch with a flare for dramatics? Nice."

"I respectfully disagree — I do not think it was particularly wise to make enemies out of Hightowers so soon. . ." Rylon did not take a hint as he voiced his opinion, "They might not be the ruling house of the Reach, but they are undoubtedly the most powerful with the most riches and influence."

"The mourning period is still upon us, is it not?" Rhaenyra questioned, voice stoic and cold. "Us wearing appropriate attires during such a period meant respecting our late mother, even if our father did not do the same."

Ser Rylon shrugged, "Perhaps you did not intend it or perhaps you did — It still does not change the fact that you showed obvious disrespect towards the new Consort and by an extension, her family."

His blue eyes looked around as he finally noticed the looks sent his way. "Do not give me those faces. . .I am not saying it was not justified — I am saying that any House would feel slighted and angry if they were treated in such a way."

"Hightowers made their bed, now they have to lie in it," Ser Leowyn shrugged, voice light. Lady Gwendys hummed, agreeing with her brother.

"Every great House should feel slighted — not the other way around. Lord Rickon Stark has a niece who could have been a solid candidate for the next Consort, the sister of Lord Lerris Tyrell is also coming of age soon. Lannisters, Baratheons and Tullys may not have female descendants in the main branches of the family, but they could have sent their female cousins that are of marital age," She went on, "By the Seven, even our Lady Jeyne could have had such an opportunity — do not even get me started on Velaryons and Celtigars."

Rhaenyra absentmindedly nodded, agreeing with every word, her mind playing the memories of that cursed celebration — This gave her something to think about as she remembered seeing Visenya talk with representatives of some Houses while avoiding others — she remembered who remained seated and who tried to populate the dance floor — she remembered who bent over backwards to help with the wedding and who remained behind, content to let it collapse.

"Lannisters and Tullys did not show any anger or resentment though," Rhaenyra suddenly muttered, brows furrowed as she tried to figure out why. After all, Gwendys was right — They had every right to feel angry — they should have been the most vocal protestors and yet, they were not.

"Really?" Lady Gwendys looked baffled by this. Beside her, Ser Leowyn crossed his arms over his chest and snorted, "Lannisters are incredibly entitled — They think their shit is worth gold. . .I am surprised they did not voice or show their complaints."

"I am not — Lannisters are known to have a good relationship with Hightowers," Ser Rylon voiced, giving them a new perspective. Gwendys shrugged, "I guess, but at the end of the day, every Great House is looking out for themselves and their region — Them not showing any anger is suspicious."

Ser Adrian looked thoughtful, his red curls swaying in the wind. "Well, as Rylon pointed out, Lannisters and Hightowers are allies — Perhaps they have something to gain from this — Perhaps there is some sort unspoken agreement between them. . ."

Rhaenyra tilted her head to the side as she tried to keep up with all this information — She had no idea how they managed to make such assumptions so quickly. . .Even worse, how they managed to make everything make sense.

"What about Tullys then? They are one of the most religious regions in the Seven Kingdoms. I bet Lord Grover is currently trashing on his deathbed at the fact that his son is supporting such indecent behaviour from the Consort," the brown-haired woman jested.

Ser Rylon gave his betrothed a secretive smile as if he was aware of something none of them were. "Have you forgotten that Lord Grover's son and Heir is married to Alerie Hightower, sister to Lord Herbert and Ser Otto?"

Ser Leowyn chuckled, connecting the dots with ease. "That explains it. . ." The rest of them silently agreed, wheels visibly turning in their heads as the information sunk in.

Rhaenyra was left silent and speechless — She always thought court schemes were the worst it could go and even then, she refused to pay attention to them, remaining intentionally oblivious to it all. She was a Targaryen, a Princess, a dragonrider — those plots and schemes could not touch her nor her family.

Or could they?

She only now realised that outside of court, much worse games were at play — games of greed and power and survival.

"Is it just the Lannisters and Tullys that were showing support towards the new Consort?" Ser Adrian questioned, breaking the silence between them and startling Rhaenyra out of her thoughts. She slowly nodded, "Yes, other Great Houses either did not make the journey or refused to play pretend they liked the whole ordeal."

"Small mercies," Gwendys whispered, letting out a long breath. "It would be hard, perhaps even impossible — but all Princess Visenya needs to do is keep the rest of the Great Houses on her side, the Small Houses will follow."

Completely caught off guard by the way the conversation took a turn, Rhaenyra blinked in surprise. Great Houses, Small Houses, two sides. . .There was no way she was implying what Rhaenyra thought.

Adrian tipped his head forward in a shallow nod. "Having more than half of the Houses backing her up is important so if the time comes to choose sides, the Princess will have a clear and strong support that could turn the tides."

"You think there will be a war?" Rhaenyra asked, her tone filled with surprise and her purple eyes slightly wide. All four of them turned their heads toward her, looking at her uncertainly. "You do not?" Ser Leowyn dared to ask.

What kind of question was that?

"No. Why would there be?" This is ridiculous. . .War over what? — Over the disrespect they showed towards the person who disrespected them first? — Over wearing mourning attire during a wedding celebration? — Over not bowing before a woman who was basically Rhaenyra's maid before she married into the family?

"Because the King took a new wife — If the babe she is carrying is not a son, there is always a chance the next one will be," Ser Rylon told her bluntly, not willing to sugar-coat anything. "Do you truly believe the Hightowers will sit aside and let a woman sit on the throne when a boy of their own blood could? — When they risked so much to ensure one of their own could marry the King?"

Rhaenyra shook her head, obviously in denial. "No matter how many sons Alicent gives my father, he still named Visenya his Heir. The Hightowers will have to respect it — They knelt before her and swore an oath. . .Hells, the entire Westeros did!"

In Westeros, in the Seven Kingdoms, in the world, everything was built on power and trust — The entire concept of oaths, vows and promises was so deeply rooted within the society that without it, there was nothing — Keeping your word is a pillar, holding everything from crumbling.

When Aegon the First conquered Westeros with his sister-wives, it were oaths and vows that made it possible — it were words and bows of people that allowed the Seven Kingdoms to be formed — it were oaths of Kingsguards that kept the royal family safe for the last century.

If that was to be broken. . .It words were to lose their meaning. . .

Rhaenyra was not certain the Seven Kingdoms would survive.

"The King gave an order not to be disturbed during the mourning period, he made it clear that he wished to be left alone and not pushed to entertain the idea of a new wife so soon after his mate's death and yet, despite it all, Lord Hand still sent his daughter to seduce him," Gwendys said softly, almost apologetically, as if sensing that she was not ready to come to terms with it. "If Hightowers did not respect the King's wishes then, what makes you think they will respect them when the time comes for Princess Visenya to ascend the throne?"

The truth of those words hit Rhaenyra so hard that she was left breathless. Her heart beat wildly against her ribs, her denial fighting to find an excuse for this.

Alicent would not. . .

They may never speak to each other again, but Rhaenyra knew her, mind and heart.

Or did she?

This was not about her Alicent. . .Her Alicent died the day her father suggested she visits the King. That woman, that backstabber who wore her face and took her place — it was not her, it was not the Alicent she loved.

She did not know the person married to her father — She did not know the person who looked at her with betrayal and anger when she refused to kneel before her — She did not know what this version of Alicent Hightower was capable of.

"Apologies, Princess — I fear we have to leave you for now," Ser Adrian's voice rang around her as she shook away her thoughts. She was so deep within her mind that it slipped her notice when a man in full Arryn armour joined them to hand Ser Leowyn a letter with an Arryn sigil.

Leowyn winked at her, a toothy smile on his lips. "Do not worry, Princess, you cannot get rid of us so easily. We will be back with more questions and gossip." Gwendys shoved him forward with a silent glare. "Shut up and walk."

 

 

 

_____

 

 

 

bloodstone, 111AC
valerius celtigar

The sun was slowly setting, painting the sky with darker colours. Valerius was humming to himself, the sole of his boot tapping against the ground of Prince Daemon's tent as he sat before the map of Bloodstone, studying the last battle they fought.

It was quiet. . .Perhaps too quiet for anyone's liking.

They have not had the encounter with the Triarchy in a while which had them all feeling on edge. There was this air of restlessness floating around their camp — The men residing there were soldiers, they thrived in battle and chaos, not in peace.

Groups of soldiers regularly searched Bloodstone, going so far as to visit other small islands belonging to the Stepstones to locate their enemy — Unfortunately, their search bore no fruit. Even Prince Daemon, on the back of Caraxes, could not find anything other than beaches full of half-eaten corpses and crabs.

Perhaps this was the tactic the pirates had — To find places to hide and lie in waiting until all their supplies disappeared. Getting more resources was harder by the day with pirates sinking the Velaryon ships that were trying to get to them — Perhaps they wanted to wait until the Westerosi soldiers were starving and weak — Perhaps then the cowards would finally engage in another battle with them.

"Is it not your time to take your post?" Prince Daemon grumbled from the seat he had taken by the table. Valerius smirked, turning to look at him. "Are you truly that eager to get rid of me, my Prince?"

The Rogue Prince's pale lilac eyes stared at him for a moment before he replied without an ounce of humour or remorse, "Yes." Valerius cracked a grin at that — He loved this, their little banters — He lived for it, for poking a dangerous dragon that would bear its sharp teeth but never burn or hurt him.

Daemon might act like Valerius was the most annoying person in the world, he might throw things at him or glare at him with a look that promised violence — but the truth was, if he truly did not wish for Valerius to be around, he would have had him removed already.

That was the part that intrigued Valerius the most.

"And here I thought we were becoming friends," Valerius tsked, leaning against his seat as the Prince sneered at him while clutching onto the necklace that was hanging from his neck, "In your dreams, Celtigar."

Valerius chuckled, standing up to fix his armour and strap his weapons back in their place. He sighed dramatically, observing the walls of Daemon's black tent. "If you detest my presence that much then I shall give you a few lonely hours without it. . .but, I shall be back."

Daemon's voice was filled with sarcasm as he retorted, "I am looking forward to it." Valerius sent a cheeky grin towards the Valyrian girl residing in the Prince's tent — She in return blinked at him, although he could swear he caught a glimpse of a smile on her lips.

The Celtigar man wasted no time, joining the soldiers who were grouped with him. By now, the sun had fully disappeared, leaving the sky completely without light — There was no moon in sight either as it was hiding behind the clouds.

"Has the previous group returned yet?" He questioned the chosen leader, an older man with wisdom in his eyes. The man hummed, looking into the specific direction of the caves, "They should have."

"Perhaps they extended their search," one of the soldiers suggested as they all looked around for any sign of their comrades, however, they heard no footsteps, no hatching of the flames, no rustling of armours.

The oldest of them shrugged and motioned for them to come — After all, they could not afford to stay behind their schedule or skip their shifts. "Let us begin."

Valerius shared a look with others before they joined the leader of the group. He could not shake the feeling that something was amiss, but he pushed the unease aside, focusing on his duty — He could not allow himself to be distracted, especially not at night.

Eventually, as they continued to walk forward, more soldiers left the group to join their posts until only he was left. When he reached the furthest area from the camp that belonged to them, he found himself in complete darkness, with only the dim light of the stars to keep him company.

Valerius' heart sped up as he searched for any sign of his fellow patrol members who remained unseen. It was silent — too silent, making the hairs on the back of his neck rise.

He stood outside of the cave, contemplating what to do — Should he light a small fire and signal to the others about the absence of their comrades? Should he stay still and pray the others were in fine condition?

As Valerius kicked the sand beneath his feet, he tried to slow down his breath, his fingers itching to rest on the hilt of his sword, Claw — just in case. Suddenly, his feet kicked something hard in the sand, making him stumble forward.

Luckily, the Celtigar man was able to keep himself standing as he knelt to inspect what it was. His fingers gripped onto something cold and metallic — He pulled out a long sword from the sand, eyes searching for any indication of whose it might be. Finding no symbol or sign on it, he pursed his lips in disappointment.

His long golden-silver braid swayed in the light breeze of the night as he approached the entrance of the cave, noticing the pattern of the sand changed there. It looked like. . .It almost looked like drag marks? They disappeared into the cold and dark cave before him.

Valerius looked around once more, making sure he was all alone before he stepped into the cave a little, a horrible feeling in his gut telling him to run — Even then, he pushed through, barely going in when a strong stench of blood and death hit him hard, making him gag.

And then he saw them — the familiar lifeless bodies lying on the ground. Valerius stayed rooted to the spot, fear tightened its grip on him as he realized his comrades had fallen victim to a merciless ambush.

The realisation hit him hard — The caves! They were hiding in the caves! But how? The caves were searched regularly! That either meant they had a traitor amongst their ranks, a man who willingly helped the Crabfeeder or the caves were somehow connected, making it easier for their enemies to move and stay hidden.

Valerius spun around, sprinting back to the camp so he could warn his comrades. The sand was slowing him down a bunch, his lungs hurting as he panted for breath. Out of nowhere, he cried out, feeling the stabbing pain in his thigh.

He groaned upon seeing an arrow stuck in his flesh. The sweat slid down his forehead as he pushed his helmet off, trying to breathe through the pain. He broke the arrow in two, throwing the other end as waves of arrows flew towards him.

Despite the pain, the Celtigar man kept moving, his legs carrying him further, his expression showing his pain. He zigzagged, avoiding another injury, the sound of arrowheads sticking into the sand filling his ears.

As Valerius burst into the war tent, his breaths came in ragged gasps. He held onto his bleeding thigh, eyes almost wild as he stared at the War council. "We— We are under attack! They ambushed us, and they are coming this way!"

Daemon immediately sprung into action, his hand already reaching to sheath Dark Sister back to its place. "Get everyone ready to defend the camp," he commanded, voice firm and composed. "We cannot let them overrun us."

Lord Corlys nodded, his expression grim but determined. "I will gather the defences," he announced confidently, having faith in the plan he set up in case something like this happened.

The Crabfeeder and his men may have been playing the long game, looking to break them, but they refused to sit and let that happen. They had some brilliant minds on their side — leaders who predicted and suspected an ambush was approaching so they made a plan, forcing the soldiers to practice a particular system to keep their supplies safe.

Ser Daeron Velaryon, son of Ser Vaemond, went to gather weapons for the Sea Snake. Valerius felt a rush of adrenaline as he slowly rose to his full height, his left leg shaking slightly. "I can help."

Before Lord Corlys could respond, Daemon's voice cut through the air like thunder, "You are injured — Find the healer's tent and help others move the camp into a better, safer zone. You will only be a burden on the battlefield."

Valerius felt frustration building up inside him. "I know my limits, my Prince — My hands are still good enough to carry a sword." Daemon regarded him with a look before he curtly nodded.

"Remember, we need to hold them off until the others can move our supplies to safety," the Sea Snake reminded everyone, his voice resolute as he put on his helmet and stepped out of the war tent.

Daemon clapped Valerius on the shoulder to get his attention. "Do not die." Somehow, despite the pain, the Celtigar man found himself chuckling. "Careful, my Prince — or I might start thinking you actually care."

The Prince tsked before rushing away as well. Ser Vaemond went to gather the men meant to move the supplies and set up a new camp while Valerius joined Ser Corlys' group as they stood on the outskirts of the camp — Everyone was quiet, preparing themselves for the battle that was growing closer.

Eventually, the camp erupted into chaos as enemies poured in from all sides, their dark silhouettes moving swiftly in the shadows. Valerius fought with all his might, slashing through the ranks of soldiers, trying to keep them from advancing further into the camp.

Despite his efforts, the enemy numbers seemed endless, and Valerius found himself overwhelmed — He tried to catch a glimpse of Daemon through the chaos, praying the Prince was alive.

Suddenly, the Celtigar man caught a glimpse of an easily recognisable helmet made to look like a dragon — He breathed out a sigh of relief as he witnessed the Prince leading his group of warriors into the heart of the conflict.

Valerius gritted his teeth and continued to swing his sword, working to carve his path to the Rogue Prince. As he got closer, his eyes widened upon noticing the Valyrian girl they found — she was on the battlefield, being protected and shielded by Daemon.

"What the fuck is she doing here?" He hissed, immediately coming to assist Daemon in keeping the girl alive. The Prince met his gaze briefly before he focused on the enemies ahead. "There was no time for her to evacuate."

Dark Sister sliced the members of the Triarchy like they were nothing, staining Daemon's armour red and leaving him more determined and bloodthirsty as the fight continued.

Cries of agonising pain pierced the air, a sea of arrows flying towards them, one of them barely missing Valerius. He could feel the enemy closing in on them as another hail of arrows rained down upon them. Daemon's reflexes were swift, his hand immediately reaching for his shield to raise it high in the air.

Valerius grabbed the Valyrian girl, forcing them both to kneel behind the Prince to avoid being struck. The shield deflected several arrows, effectively saving their lives.

The Celtigar man was panting for breath, daring to take a look around to see many of their men already down. There was no way they could make it. . .They were surrounded. . .They were done for. . .

A sudden flash of light almost blinded them all as a mighty roar of a dragon echoed, silencing the sound of the battle below — It was followed by the surge of scorching flames and the smell of burnt human flesh.

Valerius stood straight, allowing himself to take a deep breath, a smile of relief finding its way to his face. "Gods. . .I can never get tired of seeing this," he muttered to himself, watching Caraxes soaring overhead.

The presence of that mighty beast almost poured some relief and courage into their hearts as he spewed torrents of majestic flames, successfully separating the enemy ranks and turning the tide in their favour.

Amidst the chaos of clashing swords and screams, Daemon's voice arose as soon as he felt the shift in the atmosphere — as soon as he saw the confidence and the willingness to fight return to his comrades. He directed his allies with calculated precision, positioning them strategically to hold the line against the relentless onslaught they faced.

But just as the Rogue Prince was about to shout more orders, a sudden arrow pierced the air. Valerius heard a scream of surprise behind him, spinning around only, his sword ready to attack, only to find Daemon on the ground, an arrow lodged in his neck.

"Daemon!" he called out, panic filling his voice to the brim. Blood poured from the wound, painting the Prince's armour red as he began to choke on his own blood. The Valyrian girl knelt at his side, her pale hands trying to stop the bleeding.

"Do not close your eyes — Stay with me," she whispered in bastard Valyrian, her body shaking. Valerius was so shocked to hear her speak for the first time that he almost missed the new enemy approaching.

He grunted, continuing to fight, desperate to keep Daemon safe behind him until he could take him to the new healer's tent. "He—He won't stop bleeding!" The Valyrian girl said in panic, her hands stained with the Prince's blood.

"Hold on for a little longer — We will bring him to a healer!" Valerius answered through his teeth, clashing his sword against his current opponent's. "He will not last that long!" The girl shouted desperately.

As the Celtigar man sliced his sword against the soldier's neck, he panted and looked back towards the girl only to find her ripping the arrow from Daemon's neck. "What the fuck are you doing?!" He raged, rushing to stop her — If she took that arrow out, it was over for Daemon. . .

Unfortunately, she already pulled it out before he could do anything about it. The girl then drew the arrow to herself, using the sharp end to cut her palm, eyes determined. Valerius grabbed her arm, his face twisting in anger as he tore the arrow from her hands.

She looked up at him only to let out a scream a moment later, "Look out!"  Valerius barely had enough time to raise his sword and block the attack of his enemy.

He took the dagger strapped to his boot, using it to slice the man behind his knee, making him grunt in pain and fall. The Celtigar man gathered himself, rising to his feet, already wielding his sword against the next soldier.

Caraxes, who visibly sensed his rider's pain, roared with fury, releasing more flames upon anyone whom his golden eyes spotted. The new lines of fire drove the Triachy further back, forcing them to go hiding in the caves where they came from.

As Valerius sliced the man's neck open, he kicked him to the ground, breathing heavily while doing so. He felt blood trailing down his head, his thigh twitching in pure pain, making him almost fall.

He cast a look behind him, seeing the Valyrian girl, her lips moving, silent words that he could not make out leaving her. She kept her bleeding palm on Daemon's neck, moving it so her blood stained his already crimson skin. Valerius watched in terror and astonishment as Daemon's wound closed.

It could not be. . .

His legs carried him towards the girl, his steps as silent as they could be. He made sure the girl did not kill the Prince, his eyes noting the way Daemon's chest rose and fell steadily — It was almost like he was sleeping.

Just as the Valyrian girl removed her hands from the Rogue Prince, Valerius pressed his sharp dagger against her slender throat, his expression grim. She looked up at him, her eyes shining with panic as he accused, "Blood witch. . ."

 

 

 

_____

 

 

 

king's landing, 111AC
leo tyrell

Leo and Visenya stood on the first floor of one of the houses she owned in the city. She was leaning against the wooden railing, her eyes focused on the view below, where a Valyrian-looking whore was dancing for a group of men.

The girl, Jaella — Pretended to be Visenya to gain customers even though anyone who knew the Princess personally could tell by just a single look that the woman looked nothing like her.

Leo's keen eyes shifted towards his friend who practically glared at the way the men were touching and grabbing Jaella. He stepped closer to her, his golden cloak swaying behind him.

"Please tell me you do not feel threatened by this?" he questioned, wishing to understand her thoughts as he gestured towards the whore. "Just look at her — She does not hold a candle to you."

Visenya sighed, rubbing her temples. "I do not care if she dresses up as me and pretends to be me — What I care about is how her actions affect the way people see and treat me," she expressed, annoyance and a hint of resentment clear in her voice.

Leo hummed, studying her carefully — He was a man who had no idea how it felt to be constantly bothered and pursued or even be seen and judged based on your body and looks, but he could try to sympathise with her, especially knowing that Vissie was going through a rather rough period.

"You are a Targaryen Princess, Vissie. You are the second most important person in the Seven Kingdoms and you are not a child anymore — You are of marriageable age, it should hardly be a surprise that men want your attention and time," he stated, keeping his words realistic.

Visenya gripped the railing harder, her shoulders slumping as she muttered in a soft voice, "I know. I just did not expect everything to change so suddenly."

The sound of approaching footsteps caught his attention and Leo looked back to catch sight of Mysaria who observed Visenya keenly. "This is nothing unheard of — Every time a beautiful Targaryen girl grows up, something like this happens. A lot of silver-haired whores were shipped here during the King Jaehaerys' reign and most of them were said to have pretended to be Princess Viserra."

Leo's brows rose as he was on the verge of snorting — Why was that not surprising?

His friend seemed to be thinking the same thing based on the way she rolled her eyes. She spun around, giving Mysaria her full attention. "Based on the numbers she is bringing us, would it be wise to put her on a ship and return her to Essos?"

"Jaella is the most visited and paid girl in the King's Landing and perhaps even the Crownlands — She is bringing you a great sum every moon as well as gossip and whispers. I would let her stay and do her thing," Mysaria gave her honest advice.

And, there was no guarantee another Valyrian whore would not appear after that and continue where Jaella left off. If Visenya was determined to fight against this, she would have to find a better way to do it.

Another set of lighter footsteps echoed in the whorehouse as Vivianne climbed up the stairs, a folded parchment in her grip. "Princess? I apologise for interrupting, but a letter from Driftmark arrived. Ser Laenor wrote and it appears to be urgent."

Vissie appeared confused, raising her brow as she took the letter. "Thank you." She hesitated for a moment before opening it, her eyes skimming along the lines.

Leo hummed, his eyes drifting down towards the spectacle Jaella was creating. The way all those men's eyes followed her as she swayed her hips whilst wearing almost nothing was laughable.

"Leave us," Visenya suddenly ordered, voice devoid of emotion, making Leo shift his gaze back to her. Her expression was stoic, but he could tell something was going on, her dark eyes and clenched jaw showing the struggle she felt underneath.

Both Mysaria and Vivianne left and before he had a chance to ask, she handed him the letter. He took it, following after her as she stepped into one of the private rooms. He closed the door behind him, feeling the frown forming on his face.

The moment he looked up, he witnessed Vissie's mask of calmness completely slipping away — She was sitting on a chair, elbows resting against her knees, holding onto her face, her body slightly shaking "It is all my fault. . ."

Hearing this confession made Leo immediately approach her, his worry evident. "Prince Daemon is at war — he knew what he was getting into when he left. There is always a risk of death or injury," he tried to reason — to take that guilt off her shoulders.

Visenya refused to accept it, shaking her head in denial. "I should have stopped him — I should have told him to come back to King's Landing with me," she expressed, feeling frustrated and helpless. "No amount of territory or peace is worth his life."

He could tell she was still in shock after reading the report that stated Prince Daemon was gravely injured in a battle and so far there was no signs of him waking up — Leo too felt a sense of doom at the thought of losing the man who basically formed him into the person he was today.

Leo pushed those feelings aside, noting that his friend needed him now — She was the one whose uncle was possibly never coming home. He placed a hand on her shoulder, offering comfort. "You cannot blame yourself for this, Vissie."

The breath she took was shaky as she finally looked up at him — There was an agony in her indigo eyes that he had never witnessed before, not even on the days and nights on which her mother's death haunted her.

"I cannot lose him, Leo — I simply cannot," Visenya admitted, the raw emotion in her voice making his heart clench. Her eyes welled up with unshed tears as she kept her gaze locked to his, almost searching for a hint of positivity.

"You will not," Leo stated, determined. "Look, he is Daemon Targaryen — the wielder of Dark Sister and the rider of Caraxes — he is undoubtedly the greatest warrior in the Seven Kingdoms. It will take much more than an arrow to the neck to take him out."

Vissie looked down, her expression doubtful. "An arrow through the neck already took out one Targaryen Prince before — Who is to say it won't happen again?" Her soft whisper filled the quiet room.

Leo clenched his fists at his side, sending a quiet and silent prayer to the Seven to keep Prince Daemon alive for her sake — for the sake of his family and companions — for the sake of a mate he has not yet found — for the sake of his people and the future he should be a part of.

"He promised you he will come back, did he not?" He asked, gaining his friend's attention. She nodded slowly. "Has he ever broken a promise to you?" He asked again, making her shake her head. "Then he will be back — He will come back to you."

His words seemed to have had a positive effect on her as she took a deep breath, trying to gather herself — After all, there was nothing to do now but wait — As much as she would like to help somehow, she could not — She had to stay here, to wait and hope for good news.

There was a brief knock on the door, startling both of them back to reality. Ser Bastien Celtigar, younger brother of Valerius, also one of the most loyal and trusted members of the Gold Cloaks, entered the room, a grim expression on his face. "There is an issue with the Gold Cloaks."

Leo paced around the room, listening as Bastien explained how the City Watch failed to prepare a recruiting training for possible new members and instead started a fight with new men which escalated.

He sighed — This was the last thing they all needed.

"It is nothing we have not dealt with before. Most of the Gold Cloaks are as wild and untameable as animals — The only reason they calmed down was because Prince Daemon was leading them for a time, but now. . ." Bastien shrugged after seeing the defeated look on his face.

Leo glanced at Visenya who held her head in her hands — He did not worry about the situation, after all the Gold Cloaks listened to him, to an extent at least. As Bastien pointed out, only Prince Daemon was capable of being their leader without complaint which was why when he left for war, he gave Leo the position of the commander, but he also made his most trusted men aid him.

Harwin Strong, Bastien Celtigar, Luthor Largent and Balon Byrch were some of the best warriors and their constant help allowed the City Watch to continue thriving without major issues — The problem arose when Visenya stepped into the picture.

Despite Prince Daemon's clear instructions that the Gold Cloaks should exist and breathe for Visenya Targaryen until the day they leave the City Watch, some of the men resented being below a girl, especially if they were expected to take direct orders from her.

It did not matter to them that Visenya was the Heir to the Iron Throne and their future Queen nor did it matter how truly intelligent she was and how her suggestions and ideas made perfect sense, all they saw was her gender, everywhere and all the time — It was enough reason for them to undermine her at every turn.

Vissie suddenly stood up, her chair scraping the floor, her hands reaching to secure Blackfyre at her hip. She bolted towards the door, making Leo instantly panic. "Where are you going?"

Her grip on the doorknob softened as she stopped to take a deep breath. "Bastien said it himself — They are animals, power and force is the only thing they understand. Well, I will simply have to remind them who has all the power here — who is the strongest and whom they should bow before. After all, the only thing standing between them and Gods is me — it is about time they accept that."

"This is a dangerous plan, Vissie," he warned her, feeling slightly guilty — The last thing he wanted was for her to feel undermined by him as well — She had his support, always, but this could go both ways and she needed to be aware of that.

Visenya gave him a look that was full of pent-up emotions, ranging from sadness and grief to full-blown anger that could burn down the world. At that moment, he understood — She knew the consequences of this, she was aware of it, but. . .She tried everything, did she not? Patience, kindness, threats, bribing, giving them a raise — All that was left was violence.

"They will like a woman leading them far less when I am done with them," Visenya muttered stubbornly, leaving the room hurriedly. Leo immediately gripped the hilt of his sword, preparing to aid her in any way she needed.

He stopped when he noticed Bastien not following him after him. "What are you waiting for? Hurry — We have to stop her from killing them," he urged the knight.

Ser Bastien chuckled, thinking he was jesting. Leo blinked at him, his expression remaining utterly serious and causing the Celtigar man to look shocked. "You must be jesting!"

"I wish I was," Leo sighed. Visenya was a patient person, which was quite uncommon for a Targaryen, resulting in people believing she was not as dangerous as others whose blood ran hot, like Prince Daemon's or Princess Rhaenyra's.

But they could not be more wrong.

Visenya was just as much of a dragon, with her fire burning in different ways and on different occasions.

"There is no way! She is Princess Visenya — She is patient and steady. While I admit the way she glares could make anyone shake in their boots, assuming she would kill somebody over something like this is a bit far-fetched," Bastien expressed his doubt, the two of them sprinting after the Princess.

Perhaps he had a point — To push her this far by doing such a small thing seemed so unlike Visenya.

But it was not just about one small thing, was it?

It was about many situations happening during this entire year — From the death of her mother to the banishment of her uncle and her having to take on the responsibility as Heir — From punishing away the people she needed the most to her father impregnating Alicent Hightower and then marrying her — From all the disrespect and disobedience she faced daily, whether it be from Gold Cloaks or someone from court — From having to worry about the future if Alicent Hightower gives birth to a boy to now getting the news about the possible death of her favourite person.

So many things happened — things she had no control over. And now, she was pushed to the corner — to her limits. There was no going back from this.

They have awoken the dragon.

"You do not know her — not fully, at least," was what Leo offered as they approached a massive group of men, their golden cloaks hanging proudly on their backs. He spotted Visenya, Ser Luthor and Ser Balon flanking her sides.

Ser Thomos Fell had a humorous expression, his tone anything but respectful as he mused, "With all due respect, Princess, you are in no way in charge of the City Watch."

"This is my city and you lot are supposed to protect it — That makes the Gold Cloaks my business," Visenya snorted, her fingers tapping Blackfyre's hilt. "The safety of my people is supposed to be my top priority, as it should be yours — and yet it cannot be because we have a bunch of incompetent, unreliable and disobedient men amongst the City Watch."

The tall and broad black-haired man from the Stormlands chuckled, "You live behind castle walls so high that you do not even know the struggle, Princess — You are not aware of what your people truly want or need because if you were, you would know there is not much left for us to do. The crime rate has dropped, all criminals either fled the city or do not dare come out of the shadows out of fear of us."

He stepped forward, looking at the fellow Gold Cloaks. "We did what we were supposed to and now — I suppose we could use a well-deserved break." His words grew louder as if he was speaking in the name of them all. "What do you say, my brothers? We made this city safe again. We were the ones getting our weapons and armour stained with the blood and gore of the monsters plaguing this city. We did that!"

Cheers of the men and murmurs of agreement followed the knight's speech, making him appear proud, puffing out his chest. Ser Harwin stepped forward as well, his voice cutting through the cheers, "How dare you—"

"Shut your mouth," Visenya did not let anyone defend her or step in for her — not this time. Ser Thomos blinked in surprise, having never seen this side of her before. "What—" She sent him a look that promised violence, "I said shut your mouth and listen."

Silence fell upon the crowd like a blanket as Bastien leaned toward Leo, whispering slowly, in astonishment, "There it is — That was the glare I was talking about." Leo rolled his eyes, but a smile curled on his lips.

Vissie's dark eyes scanned the crowd, her voice strong, "You want to laze around the whole day — You want to eat, drink and fuck anything that has two legs — You want to prove how below you it is to obey orders of your future Queen — You want to show me how much smarter and better you are, fine. Come and show me."

With that, she walked towards the centre, unleashing Blackfyre from its scabbard and motioned for Ser Thomos to join her. "Pull out your sword." The man stared at her as if she said the most absurd thing in the world and she tilted her head to the side dangerously. "This is not an offer, Ser Fell, it is an order — So step forward."

Leo swallowed harshly, noting how serious Visenya was about this. Worry ignited in him — As her constant sparring partner, he was aware of just how skilled she was — But to fight with Blackfyre? It was a risky step — She would be going further than they ever practised, considering she was still building her strength and learning to properly balance it whilst fighting.

He also understood that this was it, her chance to finally prove herself — He would not jeopardise that, not if he absolutely did not have to.

He hoped it would not come to that.

"You cannot expect me to fight you," he chuckled nervously, exchanging looks of disbelief with other Gold Cloaks. Visenya raised her brow, taunting him, "Are you afraid to get bested by a girl in front of all your fellow knights and brothers at arms — Is that why?"

The man gritted his teeth, visibly getting to him. "Girls are not meant for fighting." Visenya purposely continued to push the limits of his anger, "Men are not meant to be as stupid as they are tall and yet, here you stand before me."

Ser Thomos' nostrils flared, indicating that Vissie hit the nerve. His jaw was clenched as he joined her in the middle, a sword in hand. "I will not hold back," he warned her for the last time.

"Good, neither will I," Visenya revealed, getting into her stance. The silent atmosphere around them did not change, the Gold Cloaks observing the scene before them with a mixture of anticipation and disbelief.

"You have to stop this, Leo — You cannot let that beast twice the size of her engage in a duel with her — She is our Princess and she will lose. . .badly!" Bastien shook Leo after he noticed he was willing to sit aside and let the situation unfold.

"She will not," Leo tried to reassure his friend — The look on Visenya's face was all he needed to be certain of the outcome. "Trust me, Bastien." He gave a signal to other Gold Cloaks to back off as well.

Ser Thomos towered over the Princess, his confident aura nothing compared to her lethally calm demeanour. He gripped his sword tightly, muscles tense as he launched himself into the fight with a series of aggressive strikes — aiming to best her with his strength alone.

Visenya, however, had a different approach — She moved like a wisp of smoke, sidestepping the knight's strikes with a dancer's grace, her footwork agile and precise.

For all Leo's teasing about the Braavosi dance she had been practising since her childhood, the technique served her well, making her movements graceful. With each attack, his friend inched closer to her opponent before stepping away again — Her tactic to get to know his fighting style and wear him off working perfectly.

At first, Visenya focused solely on defending herself and avoiding Ser Thomos' relentless strikes. She danced backwards with astonishing agility — Each swing of the man's sword missed its mark by a little as he grew increasingly frustrated.

Her strategy began to infuriate him, his anger boiling over, causing him to become more reckless and less precise with his attacks — He lunged at her with wild swings, each one a desperate attempt to land a hit.

"Surrender!" The knight demanded, eyes blazing as a bead of sweat trickled down his forehead. Visenya chuckled, circling him like a hunter watching her prey. "Why, are you getting tired already?"

The tall man growled, his golden cloak swaying in the breeze. He adjusted his stance and swung again, this time in a horizontal arc meant to cleave her in two — Being the calculated fighter she was, the Princess predicted this. She easily ducked under the deadly swing, her eyes catching the opening in his stance as she jabbed his side.

"Let us face facts, Princess — You are a girl and you fight like one. I indulged into your fantasies enough — You could never stand a chance against a true man," Ser Thomos tried again to persuade her to quit to no avail.

"If I truly fought like a girl, I would rip your head off with my nails or teeth — And I guarantee you would be on your knees, begging me to stop," she stated, darting forward, her Valyrian sword becoming a blur of motion.

As he was still recovering from her hit, Ser Thomos struggled to bring his sword back up in time. She avoided his sluggish block with ease, delivering a swift strike across his forearm.

He growled, attempting to use his brute strength to overpower her, but Visenya slipped out of his grasp now that she learned where he was aiming — This left him off-balance and vulnerable, giving her a perfect opportunity to wrap this up.

The Princess disarmed him, sending his sword clattering to the ground. Ser Thomos took a few heavy breaths, staring at his weapon on the ground in disbelief. He looked back up at her, the shock evident on his sweaty face.

"Pick up your sword — We are not done," she commanded, breaking the tense silence. Reluctantly, the tall man retrieved his weapon, getting in his stance again. Now that he knew what she was capable of, his demeanour changed, turning serious.

Leo wanted to laugh — Too late. Underestimating Visenya was one of the worst mistakes one could make — Sure, sometimes, when she was in a good mood, she was up to play with her opponent before crushing them when they least expected it.

But now? — It made her violent and thirsty for blood.

They circled each other again, tension thick in the air as they began their deadly dance yet again. This time, Visenya did not run and avoid anything — She met him head-on, their steel clashing.

As the match continued, the knight's attacks slowly began losing their precision, turning wild and forceful — His sword whistled through the air, missing its mark by a wide margin whilst Visenya's responses remained measured and controlled.

Both breathed heavily, the muscles in the Princess' arms twitching, her body not used to wielding such a heavy weapon for so long — Honestly, Leo was stunned she managed to last this long.

Although it suited her — Like Blackfyre was made for her hand.

Wanting to end this before her weakness could be exploited, Visenya evaded one of the wild thrusts coming her way — She spun around him and delivered a swift strike to his unprotected ribs.

A gasp of pain escaped Ser Thomos' lips as he stumbled backwards, clutching the shallow cut on his side. The Princess seized the opportunity, showing no mercy and knocking him to the ground whilst he was busy caring for his bleeding wound.

Vissie stood victorious, her chest heaving as she mused, "I would recommend spending more time training than in brothels, commenting on my chest." The man's face flushed with a mix of embarrassment and astonishment — his face going from red to blue in seconds.

The crowd of Gold Cloaks had mixed reactions, some of them cheering and others remained in a state of shock. They commented among themselves, appearing flabbergasted upon seeing Visenya's skills.

"Pick a hand," the Princess' voice cut through the crowd coldly as she stood tall, towering over her opponent. Ser Thomos paled, realising what she meant — He shook his head, eyes wide.

"I told you to pick a hand," she repeated, voice growing more demanding. Leo barely contained his laugh at the pleading look on the man's face. "N-No," he begged the Princess who remained indifferent. "Right one it is."

Gasps of shock filled the air as Ser Thomos' dominant hand landed on the ground, being separated from his body by Blackfyre which cut through meat like it was water. Blood started gushing from the open wound as the knight started screaming in pain, holding onto the remaining parts of the arm while looking at the removed piece in horror.

Visenya tilted her head to the side, ignoring his cries. "This is your punishment for moons of disobedience and disrespect towards me and by extension, my father, the King and the Crown as a whole — Feel lucky and grateful I did not choose a harsher punishment such as being burned and then eaten alive by my dragon."

Since it became apparent the man before her did not hear a word coming from her mouth, she shouted angrily, "Look at me." When he disobeyed again, Visenya grabbed his chin, turning his head so he could meet her dark gaze. "I said, look at me!"

Ser Thomos' face remained pale as if he had seen a ghost, but he stopped screaming, his mouth remaining open as his body shook. The knight was facing the emotionless eyes of Visenya Targaryen — the sight as rare as pink diamonds.

"I want you to pack your things and leave this city. I never wish to see you or hear from you again. Do not ever attempt to come back because I will be notified of it and I will come for your head next," she vowed, letting go of his chin. "Despite your attitude, I have chosen to show you mercy — I spared your pathetic life. You should be thanking me for it."

She tore the golden cloak from his back before looking up at a couple of men closest to them. She gestured for them to come closer. "Take him out of my sight — I cannot stand the sound of his whimpers or the look on his ugly face."

For the first time since Prince Daemon went to war and left her his men to command, they listened without a noise of complaint. Visenya gently lifted Blackfyre, sliding its bloodied edges against the golden material to clean her weapon.

Once she was done, the Princess walked back to the centre, regarding the remaining men with a look each. "Anyone else who would like to have a sparring match with me?" she challenged.

Her question was met with pure silence as she hummed, her legs carrying her among the lines of men so she could inspect every one of them. She stopped before another problematic man, tilting her head to the side in question, "How about you, Ser Perryn? If I recall correctly, the next loudest voice full of complaints was yours — Do you wish to resolve this like Ser Thomos Fell did?"

The man swallowed, shaking his head furiously. "N-No, Your Grace — It will never happen again, Your Grace." Feeling gracious, she let it slide and moved on, "Good."

The Princess walked back to her position, pacing around as she started, voice serious, "I have desperately tried to be understanding and tolerant with you lot, but you have exhausted my patience. If I have to start removing your limbs for you to listen and obey my orders, I will — Have no doubt about that."

"Know this — If I hear a whisper of a bad word thrown my way, I will come for you and trust me, you will end up far worse than your friend did," Visenya threatened before waving a dismissive hand. "Now, scatter off."

Notes:

10k words in a chapter? The rookie me is shaking right now :D

We know from the show that Rhaenyra basically had zero training(and zero understanding) in politics. Just as Alicent is going to get her arc of smartening up, so will she. I mean, she can't be so uneducated as the future Lady of the Vale, right?

There's a lot of fighting scenes in this chapter which I hope you enjoyed. I really worked hard and tried to make it believable :))

Guess who we will meet in the next chapter? The little usurper! We'll also(finally) find out about Aemma's locked and what she planned with her midwives. Driftmark, here we come!

Chapter 51: A Girl Frozen In Time

Summary:

In which:

— Aegon is born
— Visenya & others find out about the Maesters conspiracy
— Rhaenyra is on her journey to heal

king's landing, 111AC
visenya targaryen

The aroma of spiced food and laughter filled the air within the lively tavern in the heart of King's Landing. Visenya and Leo were occupying a cosy spot near the entrance, the flickering candlelight casting a warm glow around them as her friend eagerly dug into his mud pie.

Across from him, Visenya cradled a tankard of ale in her hands — Leo suggested she try it and brought her out of the Red Keep. Even though he didn't say it out loud, she understood his intentions to get her as far from Alicent Hightower's screams and cries as he could.

Visenya felt grateful for it — for him, not wishing to hear or think about Alicent going into labour.

She took a cautious sip, her brows furrowing at the bitter taste that filled her mouth. "By the Gods, Leo," she cursed, wrinkling her nose. "How do you find this drink enjoyable if you have such a sweet tooth?"

Leo chuckled, wiping a smear of chocolate from the corner of his mouth. "It's different with food," he tried to justify it as he cocked his head to the side. "Don't you love drinking?"

"I do, but not this," Visenya defended herself, gesturing towards the tankard incredulously which made Leo shrug. "Give it a chance. It'll grow on you," he encouraged, taking another bite of the mud pie.

Visenya set the tankard down. "It's quite different from wine I'm accustomed to." Her friend leaned back comfortably, humming in understanding. "Everyone loves a good sweet Red from the Reach, but ale has its own rugged charm."

She had no doubt Leo preferred wine produced in the Reach knowing he grew up consuming it, but Visenya was more for the Dornish Red — which was stronger and richer in texture compared to others.

As she continued sipping the ale, Visenya found some much-needed peace, successfully forgetting the troubles that awaited her beyond the walls of the tavern — These last few moons took a toll on her, testing her patience and strength at every turn.

Yet, somehow, Visenya felt like it was only the beginning.

Suddenly, the door swung open and men dressed in gleaming armour marched in, their golden cloaks swaying behind them. Common people were already used to the sight of the Gold Cloaks among them as they greeted them cheerfully.

For the first time since they met, the City Watch didn't walk past Visenya, not caring to show respect — Instead, one after another, they stepped forward and offered nods of acknowledgement and respect. "Your Grace," they greeted before moving along to take their seats.

Leo watched the exchange with quiet amusement, a smile playing on his lips. "Seems like they've finally learned some manners," he teased, making her chuckle as she greeted them back, "It was about time."

Just then, a familiar figure approached their table — a man with hair more gold than silver and eyes more pinkish than purple — Bastien Celtigar captured their attention as he announced, "Your Grace, there's a woman named Cira who was asking around for you — It seemed quite urgent."

Visenya's brow furrowed at the mention of the unfamiliar name. "Cira?" she repeated, trying to recall if she had heard the name before. "Do you know who she is?" He shook his head. "I'm afraid not, Your Grace. I overhead patrons speaking of it and merely thought to pass the message to you."

She exchanged a puzzled glance with Leo, her thoughts racing. Before Visenya could ponder over this, another person stepped closer, this time from the back. She had just enough time to turn her head and see Vivianne lean down to whisper something in her ear.

Her hesitation could be felt as Vivianne cleared her throat and revealed, "Your Grace, the Queen finished giving birth — It's a healthy boy."

Visenya felt the lively tavern go silent for a brief moment — She could see people's mouths moving, she could see the way they threw their heads back in laughter — the way they clinked their tankards and drank — And yet, she heard nothing except for the fast beating of her own heart and ringing in her ears.

This revelation was expected — Still, it was a turning point. Everything she built and worked for in the last fifteen years could either be strong enough to survive the upcoming calamity or crumble under the pressure of it.

She took a deep breath, tipping her head forward in a nod of acknowledgement before she stood up. By the tense expression on her face, Leo could most likely see the situation was dire so he followed suit, as did Ser Erryk and Ser Steffon.

The entire road back to the Red Keep was a quiet affair. Leo kept glancing at her, his throat bobbing as if he wished to speak, but he never did. It was for the best that he didn't — She wouldn't know what to say to him if he did.

Visenya was so drained, so numb these days — following the first anniversary of her mother's death — following her uncle's sudden injury and the sickness that took hold of him — following Rhaenyra's departure. She was all alone, surrounded by vipers and snakes that plagued the Red Keep now that Alicent was close to bringing a child into the world.

She was a lone dragon surrounded by the vultures.

The Red Keep was buzzing with movement, the servants passing by hurriedly. Visenya despised the pitiful eyes that followed her as she rounded the corner. As expected, her father had summoned her to greet the new addition to the family.

Visenya required a moment to collect herself as she stepped into her chambers only to notice a few of her most prized possessions missing — Baelon's egg that rested beside the hearth and Blackfyre that was left to dry on the table after she polished it this morn.

A defeated sigh left her lungs as Leo, at last, opened his mouth to utter words of hopeless comfort, "Everything is going to be alright." Visenya looked up at him, her words full of sarcasm, "Want to bet on that?"

Ser Harrold announced her presence before pushing the door open for her. "I think you'll be pleased to know that I've brought Baelon's egg back without issue, just as I promised — There were no casualties nor was a war started. Uncle Daemon didn't put up a fight at all, he simply handed me the egg."

Visenya watched her father with keen eyes, cradling the warm egg in her arms. She cocked her head to the side, the left corner of her lips rising slightly. "Dare I say, it's a feat your Hand couldn't have accomplished alone."

Her father sighed — in relief, in contemplation, in reflection. "It could've gone differently," he spoke upon laying his purple eyes on her. Visenya raised her brow. "But it didn't."

Viserys shook his head, appearing almost disappointed in himself. "The outcome is never good when two dragonriders face one another, when they end up on opposite sides. I should never have allowed you to leave — It was too dangerous."

"You gave me leave twice and both times I came back alive and well — Most importantly, I succeeded in keeping the peace in the Kingdom," she pointed out. "I don't understand the issue, father."

"There are only four Targaryens left alive at the moment compared to two decades earlier when there were thrice the amount of us. Under no circumstance can we allow that number to go lower." Her father stood from his seat and placed his hands on her shoulders, his strong grip almost shaking her as if he wanted to get his point across. "You are my daughter and my Heir — You are the future of the Seven Kingdoms and your safety is paramount as is mine."

Visenya acknowledged his words, however, she added, "Doing nothing can be perceived as a sign of weakness as well, father — We cannot allow that either, especially after the loss that hit us — We cannot hide behind our high walls and expect issues to resolve themselves."

Viserys straightened his back, his purple eyes glazing with a look she couldn't quite place. "That's exactly what my father told my grandsire after Uncle Aemon's death," he whispered nostalgically, a chuckle leaving his lips — the sound she hadn't heard since her mother's passing. "I've heard the comparison, but I could never see it before now — You do remind me of my father. Your will is strong, just as his was, b ut it worries me — You're putting yourself in harm's way with little to no regard for your safety."

Being compared to her grandsire was a great feat, especially coming from her father who idolised him. Viserys took a step back, releasing his hold on her as he took his seat by the hearth yet again. He wrapped his fingers around the goblet of wine awaiting him on the table and brought it to his lips.

"One arrow was enough to send my dear uncle to the Balerion's Realm — It was enough to change the trajectory of the Targaryen dynasty. I don't wish to see it happen again," he expressed. "Our line is vulnerable, too easily ended like this."

Visenya's face remained composed although she focused on his words — She had a feeling he was trying to discuss something. She glanced at the empty seat across from him before settling herself down. "What are you saying, father?"

"The Council—" he abruptly stopped to rub his temples, sighed and began again, "B y marrying again, I may begin to restore our numbers and ensure the prosperity of our family."

Visenya, who previously traced soft patterns on the warm dragon egg with her fingers, stopped and leaned into her seat. The silence eloped them, giving him the impression that she only just learnt of this even though she had been aware for weeks.

There were Small Council meetings specifically organised to keep her out of them — meetings in which her father's marriage was one of the topics discussed. Their pathetic attempts to keep her away always failed with Visenya hiding in the shadows of the Maegor's secret passageways, observing and noting every word that was uttered.

"You wish to remarry." Her words sounded more like a statement than a question. Viserys grimaced slightly. "Wish is a strong word. I believe I must remarry."

She understood this — She acknowledged why it was needed, still, that didn't mean she had to like it — It put her in a dangerous position.

Visenya cleared her throat, forcing the words out of her mouth, "If repopulating House Targaryen is what your goal is, that issue can be solved without you having to marry again." Witnessing the confused look on his face, she continued, "I'm to be of age in the near future and as such, I'm bound to have a husband and heirs of my own — Let me bear this burden instead of you, father."

This was a last, pitiful attempt to avoid any conflict in the future — Visenya offered to reduce herself to a womb, to spend years bringing child after child into the world — Under normal circumstances, she would never have offered such a stupid thing, but for her House, for her Kingdom, she could and would do it if it meant a peaceful future with no Dance of the Dragons.

Her proposal was immediately shot down with her father appearing wide-eyed and scandalised. "No. I cannot and will not ask of you to do such a thing." Visenya tried to argue, "If you remarry—"

He stopped her by lifting his hand. "I loved your mother — She was my mate, my other half — She was a gift given to me by our Gods. Her absence is a wound that will never heal. Without her, the Red Keep has lost a warmth that I dare say it will never recover," his words were choked with emotion and they struck a cord within her.

Visenya barely kept herself from snorting at his words. She forced her expression to remain stoic — Love... How could he speak of such a thing after he ordered for her mother to be cut open? It took all of her willpower to not curse him out for it.

"What if your new wife gives you a son?" She questioned bluntly. "What if she gives you two of them — or three? What then? What of me? Of Rhaenyra? Of my position? Will I still be your chosen successor if you finally have the son you always wished to have?"

Viserys visibly winced at her merciless words — Visenya didn't try to hide her resentment and anger. The first fourteen years of her life she spent listening to his words, prayers and desperate pleas for a so n, a boy, an Heir — Her concerns and questions were valid.

Her father's eyes softened, his words reassuring as he promised, "I could never replace your mother no more than I intend to replace you as Heir, Vissie."

His statement brought a certain warmth into her heart — You are enough. You are the perfect combination of him and Aemma, he said so himself. Your efforts paid off. You are enough — her heart whispered. On the other hand, her mind laughed in disbelief — He named you Heir to spurn Daemon. If you were enough, he would've made you his Heir the moment you were born. We'll see if he keeps his promise when he gets the chance to hold a living and breathing son in his arms.

Visenya said nothing more, not wishing to continue the pointless discussion that would result in an argument — At least now she can rest knowing that she gave her all to stop the Dance of the Dragons.

She stood and made her way towards the door. "I should send a word to the dragonkeepers — There is an egg waiting to return to the heating chambers," she declared, giving him a reason to dismiss her.

"Don't bother," he replied. Visenya stopped in her tracks, a puzzled look on her face. Seeing this, Viserys explained, "It's yours." She remained unsure, "Are you certain? It was intended for—"

"For Baelon, I'm aware. But, it wasn't meant for him, was it?" Her father asked, almost sadly — and yet, there was some hope within his purple irises, "You selected it, you cared for it and you were willing to risk your life to get it back — It's yours now. Perhaps, if Gods are good, it might belong to your children one day."

The memory repeated itself in her head, her mind battling her heart as Visenya made her way to her father's chambers — She found him holding a bundle in his arms, looking down and smiling at the babe he was cradling.

It was a stark contrast to the way he looked and acted the entire past year — Visenya always thought there were ways of dying that didn't end in funerals, the types of death one cannot smell. That was how she perceived her father — He was half a man, more a corpse than anything — He was a person existing but not living — He was there but not quite.

At least until now.

Visenya's stomach was in knots, her heart beating in a jealous rhythm. She stood by the entrance, envy spreading through her veins like wildfire. Her father hadn't noticed her yet, lifting his head enough to look at the maid. "Tell them to ring the bells! We're to celebrate a joyous occasion! My son is here, healthy and alive!"

"Right away, Your Grace," the servant girl bowed her head, moving to do as she was told. It was then that Viserys caught sight of her, grinning from ear to ear in greeting. "Vissie, my daughter! Have you come to meet your brother?"

She stayed quiet, peering at him as he moved towards her. "Alicent was kind enough to name him Aegon, after my youngest brother — Oh, look at him! People already say he is me reborn!" Viserys laughed in delight. "Do you wish to hold him?"

Visenya didn't utter a single word, her jaw clenched. She didn't dare cast her eyes down towards the sleeping boy — out of fear of seeing pale blue skin, a tuft of silver hair and a pair of lifeless indigo eyes — out of fear of seeing little Baelon.

Another memory of a dead boy flashed in her mind — a tiny body with a long wound going straight through his fragile form, a tuft of silver hair and lifeless blue eyes.

She took a deep breath, forcing the horrible image to the back of her mind as her father called over the nursemaid, "Bring the boy back to his mother, I'm certain she already misses him."

Her father carefully handed her the babe wrapped in a black and red blanket before the woman went away. As soon as the doors shut behind her, Visenya spoke, "Aegon, the Prince of Dragonstone and Heir to the Iron Throne — Are you aware people are already toasting to him and calling him by my titles?" She raised her brow, "Are they even my titles now?"

Viserys appeared apologetic although he didn't confirm nor deny the rumours. "Visenya—" She cut him off, her frustration evident. "You told me Baelon's egg is mine — You told me it's reserved for my children and yet you allowed them to take it away and place it in your son's crib — You gifted me Blackfyre and even that you let them take away."

She was certain this was all orchestrated by Otto Hightower — with his goal to undermine her in mind.

"You promised I was enough and yet—" Visenya choked out, fury gripping her heart. Stupid, stupid girl. How could you believe his lies? How far are you willing to go to see and feel the love of a father — to satisfy that young, unlovable girl who craved a father's love like she craved wine — who needed a father's love to survive — who needed a father's love more than the air she breathed? You almost had yourself killed from the desperation to be accepted and cared for by Robert? Why are you repeating the mistake?

She was furious at herself, at him, at the world. "When you named me your Heir, I foresaw having to fight tooth and nail for that position — I prepared to battle the entire Kingdom if they dared to show their displeasure with your decision — I thought you'd be by my side through it all, to defend me and vouch for me — to show them you believe in me." Visenya shrugged, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I guess I just never imagined I'd have to fight you as well, father."

She shook her head. "I cannot do that, It's too much, even for someone like me," she confessed quietly. She could battle the entire world, but the person she needed most to back her needed to stand by her — the King needed to stick to his decision — her father had to choose her — Viserys had to keep choosing her because, without that, she was nothing. "If you're going to name Aegon your Heir, do it and be done with it."

Visenya quietly returned to her chambers, content in ignoring the celebration going around the Red Keep — She let the Hightowers have their short-lived victory as she stood in her dimly lit chambers and stared at the rain pouring relentlessly from the darkened sky.

She found solace in the rain, the soothing sound of the droplets hitting the window blocking the laughter and music echoing through the halls. Visenya brought Daemon's tunic to her nose, breathing in his calming scent — She was surrounded by him, wearing nothing but her smallclothes and his tunic that reached her mid-thigh.

That was how she spent most of her days, draped in his fabrics until his scent wore off and then she would switch to another — She fell asleep like that, curled in a ball on the mattress, his scent embracing and lulling her into a gentle slumber.

The soft creak of the doors leading to the servants' passageways caught her attention — her favourite maid, the one that has been carrying for her since day one, appeared, her eyes shining mirth. "Your Grace, there's something you should know."

Visenya regarded her curiously. "What is it, Camyla?" She made sure they were alone, locking the door behind her as she stepped in. "Prince Aegon. . .He doesn't have a mating mark on his skin," she proclaimed in a whisper.

Visenya blinked uncertainly — It was uncommon for children of Valyrian blood to be born without a mark inked on their skin, but perhaps this could have something to do with the Andal blood in the boy's veins? Could their Gods consider him too tainted?

"Are you certain?" she questioned, her mind already coming up with a list of theories and speculations. Camyla eagerly nodded. "Yes. Maester Mellos and the Hand of the King were seen and heard discussing it — They're trying to keep the information a secret."

"No wonder why," Visenya uttered to herself — This could be used to her advantage if she found the right way to spin the tale. She hummed, angling her body towards the window again. "Thank you. You may leave now."

Her ears picked up on the gentle creak of the door, indicating Camyla taking her leave — But then, another creak was heard. "Is there something els—" she began, thinking her maid must've forgotten something, only to be startled by the sight of an unfamiliar woman, drenched from head to toe, her plump form shivering from the cold.

Upon closer examination, Visenya concluded one of the intruder's hands was twisted at an odd angle, her face bearing the marks of recent violence. Taking no chance, her palm wrapped around the dagger hidden in the pockets of Daemon's tunic. "Who are you and what are you doing here?" She demanded.

The woman's lower lip quivered, her voice trembling, "I—I apologize for disturbing you... Your Grace. My—My name is Cira." Visenya's eyes narrowed as she recalled the mentions of the name earlier. "Cira," she repeated, still cautious.

Her indigo eyes scanned the woman's face — Despite the bloodied bruises marring her features, she wasn't unrecognizable and something in her features made Visenya pause — she could've sworn she had seen this woman somewhere. "Aren't you one of my mother's midwives?"

"Indeed!" Cira looked visibly relieved. "I-I have helped her Grace deliver all her children, Your Grace, including you and Princess Rhaenyra." Visenya tipped her head forward in acknowledgement, releasing the dagger from her grip. "I've made it clear I'd meet you as soon as I had a chance."

Cira's message was delivered and Visenya had other priorities at the moment, making it clear she wasn't up to be sought out — So what made this woman do just that? Her tears mixed with the rain on her cheeks as she expressed her apologies, "This... This cannot wait any longer."

Feeling a pang of sympathy after witnessing the woman's frightened gaze and trembling form, Visenya gestured towards the hearth. "Feel free to step closer and warm yourself up." Cira could've wept more at the offer. "Your Grace is gracious," she mumbled.

Visenya gave the chestnut-haired woman a few minutes to collect herself before speaking, "Go on — What is it that you need to tell me?"

Rushed words spilled from her, her sentences disjointed, her voice frantic, and her speech bordered on incomprehensible, "N—none of this should've happened... Was supposed to come—come sooner, but they were trying—stop us, to sabotage... attack, but I had to find—"

Visenya strained to decipher the meaning behind Cira's words with no luck. It was clear that something terrible had occurred and now that she was safe, the woman allowed herself to take it all in and break.

"Cira, slow down," Visenya urged the woman, a note of frustration in her voice. "Take a deep breath. I can't help you if I don't understand what's happened... Start from the beginning."

Cira took a shuddering breath and began to explain her story, this time at a slower pace. "Queen Aemma... she—she tasked us to find you if—if something were to happen to her..." Although steadier, her tone was still tinged with fear. "Said it's important that you know about... the secrets... the plots. And then… they came."

Visenya's mind raced, especially after hearing Aemma's name. "My mother?" she questioned to which the chestnut-haired woman nodded. How, in the name of Arrax, could her dead mother be involved in all of this?

"Who came, Cira?" she pressed urgently, fishing for more details and information. "Who tried to stop you and why? What secrets and plots are you referring to?"

Cira hesitated, her eyes darting around the chambers as if expecting shadows to spring to life. Her throat bobbed, voice dropping to a hushed whisper. "I don't know n—names, but they knew... They knew what I was carrying. They wanted it... wanted to silence her — to silence us." More terrified tears spilled down her cheeks. "They found us... slaughtered every last one of us—midwives who made the vows to Queen Aemma. Only I remained... the last chance... to fulfil the duty and give you..."

The chestnut-haired woman suddenly stopped speaking as she began to frantically search for something hidden within her dark, damp cloak. Visenya squinted her eyes to get a better look when Cira pulled out a small box made of silver with dragon carvings on it.

She instantly recognised it as one of her mother's jewellery boxes. Visenya carefully placed it in her hold, studying it before she noted, "It's locked." Cira's shaky hand grasped onto the necklace that stayed hidden beneath her robes — a necklace with a silver key hanging from it.

Visenya opened the silver box to find a couple of crumpled scrolls, the journal of Queen Visenya Targaryen and two unopened letters — one addressed to her and the other to Rhaenyra. She hurried to read the letter with her name on it, her indigo eyes frantically going over the words again and again.

Had she ever collapsed from the weight of grief the way she did now? — Had her legs ever given out because they could no longer carry the weight resting on her shoulders the way they did now? One moment she was standing, and the next she wasn't — Her body crumpled to the ground, silent sobs leaving her trembling lips. She could hardly breathe — She couldn't speak. If her body allowed her to scream, her voice would've shaken the entire Keep — it would've rivalled the storm raging outside.

 

 

_____

 

 

driftmark, 111AC
rhaenys targaryen

Rhaenys' thoughts were consumed by war, the map of the Stepstones lay sprawled across a table while her mate's reports were arranged beside it. She paced around her chambers, her sharp lilac eyes showing her concentration as she struggled to form strategies.

On the other side of the room, seated by the crackling fireplace, was her mother, Jocelyn Baratheon. The older woman held a cup of wine in her hold, her gaze distant and thoughtful — It was rare to witness her so calm — to see her wise eyes lacking the Baratheon rage and stubbornness.

She sighed, her fingers tracing the carvings on the cup. "Perhaps it is time for Corlys to consider returning home — He's missing the paramount years of his children's lives and for what, a piece of a barren land?"

Rhaenys refused to entertain the idea while knowing her mother's biased stance — Jocelyn began loathing everything related to the Crown and its politics ever since the Great Council. Corlys may have plunged into the war for his own benefit and reasons, but the Crown was still, willingly or unwillingly, intertwined in the business.

"He won't turn back," she said with utmost certainty, "Corlys isn't a man who backs down — not so easily, and especially when it involves his House."

Her mother regarded her with a calculating look. "Sometimes," Jocelyn started softly, "It's wiser to retreat than to pursue a battle that may be lost — And let us speak plainly, my daughter, this war is a lost cause."

Rhaenys shook her head and approached the table, her slender fingers tracing the coastline of the Stormlands. "If only we could find a way to get supplies to them," she uttered to herself, her eyes fixed on the waters surrounding the Stepstones.

Coin wasn't the issue — House Velaryon was the wealthiest House in Westeros and their coffers were deep enough to fund a dozen campaigns. The true obstacles were the pirates who prowled the seas, raiding Westerosi ships — and the Triarchy that had already sunk the ships carrying vital supplies of food and clean water to their soldiers.

She scanned the map once more, humming softly. "The Stormlands," she noted, "They must help — Their proximity to the Stepstones means they will be affected by the dire situation, if they already aren't."

If the Stormlands joined, the Houses and regions that couldn't ignore the threat of the Triarchy and the pirates — Houses Tarth, Swann, Whitehead, Estermont, Wylde, Seaworth, and even Baratheons, they could change the course of the war.

Rhaenys could feel her mother's stormy eyes burning holes in the back of her head. "No matter their proximity to the Stepstones or how much they've been affected thus far," Jocelyn remarked, "It all depends on whether the Stormlands would be willing to defy Viserys and join this war — So far, they've been nought but distant observants."

She acknowledged her mother's words with a slow nod before she faced her. "Perhaps, you might be able to influence their opinions," she suggested carefully. Jocelyn, however, offered a smile of disinterest. "What could an old woman like me possibly do to sway the hearts of men and stop a war?"

Rhaenys's annoyance was visible — Her mother, even in her old age, remained a Baratheon through and through — stubborn, headstrong, and unyielding. "Your brother is the head of House Baratheon, is he not?" she pushed.

Jocelyn took another sip of her wine, her eyes fixed on the dancing flames in the hearth. "So what if he is?" Rhaenys clenched her jaw, her nostrils flaring. Before she could get a word out, her mother spoke, "It's a shame... All of this could've been avoided if only you had taken your rightful place as Queen."

Her mother's words hung in the tense air as Rhaenys returned to finding a proper solution instead of looking back at the past and wondering what could've been.

Suddenly, she felt a sudden shift in the bond she shared with Meleys — the unusual sensation at such a late hour startling her. It was as though a tether between them snapped to life, the maroon bond, pushing and pulling, demanding her presence.

A sense of unease washed over her. Meleys was known to be a fiercely independent creature since her youth and especially now that she resided on Driftmark where she was unbound and free to roam as she pleased — Rhaenys had never felt Meleys calling to her, it was always the other way around.

But now, the urgency with which she was being called — the plea of it, tugged at the very core of the bond... Rhaenys couldn't ignore it. "I shall return shortly," she announced to Jocelyn before rushing out.

She hurried down the corridors of Driftmark castle, her heart heavy with concern. As she rounded the corner, she caught sight of Laena moving with the same sense of urgency. "Laena," she called out. "Where are you off to in such a hurry?"

Laena came to a sudden stop, as if she had only just noticed her presence. Her frantic eyes met Rhaenys' as she responded, "Mother, something is amiss with Vhagar! I can feel it — I must check on her!"

Another set of hurried footsteps echoed through the halls, and Laenor appeared shortly after. "Mother," he panted from the top of the stairs. "Seasmoke is restless. I've never felt him like this before."

Rhaenys sighed uncertainly. The bond between dragon and rider was a sacred and mysterious one, and it was not to be taken lightly — The fact that all three of their dragons were calling for them relentlessly was a cause for concern.

"It could be the storm outside," she suggested, although she didn't believe that in the slightest. "But then again, our dragons have never shown such signs during a storm before."

They regarded each other for a heavy moment, all three of them feeling the calls of their mounts. "Let us check on our dragons together," she declared, quickly making the decision.

Rhaenys, Laena, and Laenor parted ways after arriving at the dragon lairs, each leaving to tend to their mounts. Meleys roared with a mixture of relief at the sight of her, her slender body fidgeting, and her fiery eyes fixed on her.

Shielded from the heavy rain by a hood and cape, Rhaenys approached her fierce red dragon, running her slender fingers along the warm scales. She whispered soothing words in High Valyrian, her voice enough to calm Meleys' restlessness. The she-dragon puffed a breath of smoke in return, nuzzling against her hand.

Turning her gaze toward the lairs of Vhagar and Seasmoke, Rhaenys saw that her children were successfully managing to calm their own mounts. "I don't understand what upset them so," Laena remarked, her brow furrowing in confusion.

Laenor, however, was peering up at the dark sky, his eyes narrowed in concentration. "Am I the only one hearing... flapping wings?" Rhaenys and her daughter exchanged a puzzled look between themselves. "It's probably just thunder, Laenor."

Her son shook his head as he continued to scan the sky. "No, it's different, I'm sure of it." Suddenly, he pointed in a certain direction, his voice uncertain, "Look! Is that Arrax?"

Rhaenys and Laena followed his gaze, squinting through the rain and darkness — The lightning flashed again, briefly illuminating the sky and allowing them to get a glimpse of a dragon which was flying erratically.

As the dragon drew nearer, its distant screeches and roars began echoing more clearly. Laena's expression turned somber as she recognized Arrax's familiar sounds. "What is Visenya doing here?" She questioned, barely loud enough for Rhaenys and Laenor to hear.

Rhaenys observed the green dragon, his wings beating against the storm like the thunder itself — As far as she was aware, they received no word from King's Landing about Visenya's visit, making this sudden appearance all the more surprising.

Her keen lilac eyes caught onto something unusual as she hugged the cloak closer to herself. "There's no saddle," she stated out loud. Laena seemed flabbergasted by this. "That makes no sense. Arrax would never leave without Visenya, especially not during such a fierce storm."

Arrax circled above them, his movements filled with visible distress, his screeches sounding more like a cry for help than the fierce roar of a dragon, leaving Rhaenys, Laenor, and Laena frozen in place, uncertain of how to approach the distressed beast.

To their astonishment, Arrax tilted his body, revealing a figure clinging to his back — It was Visenya, covered with a long cape, her body swaying before slipping from the dragon's back, falling sideways. "Visenya!" They called her name with Laenor rushing to catch her just before she hit the ground.

Rhaenys and Laena arrived right after him, their expressions a mix of shock and concern when they set their eyes on Visenya's limp body. The girl's breathing was rapid and erratic, her eyes unfocused — She probably didn't even know where she was.

Visenya was visibly experiencing a panic attack and Laenor desperately tried to soothe her. "Cousin, are you alright? Stay with us!" He grabbed her cheeks, trying to shake her back to reality and keep her conscious. She, in return, clung to his arms, her breaths growing shorter and more panicked.

"Cousin, you need to breathe! Follow my breathing!" Laena rushed to help her friend, kneeling down so she could brush a few stray hairs from Visenya's pale face. "You're not helping her, Laenor! Let me try!" She demanded.

Before her children could get into an argument, Rhaenys intervened. "Enough," she said firmly. "Neither of you can help her while we're standing in the middle of a storm! We must get her inside to warm her up, she is drenched to the bone."

The reasoning behind Visenya's sudden visit didn't matter anymore — The girl required immediate care and comfort. Laenor and Laena stopped arguing as he picked Visenya up, carrying her limp body back to the Driftmark's castle.

Somewhere along the way, Visenya fell unconscious, her breathing shallow, and her body still as they carefully laid her on a bed. The servants assisted them, gently removing her drenched cape and draping it over a nearby chair. With great care, they slipped her under the warm covers and added more wood to the fire.

Laena and Laenor took their seats, their eyes not moving away from their sleeping cousin. Rhaenys stood nearby, leaning against the chamber wall, her gaze equally fixed on Visenya, her mind swirled with a hundred different questions, her concern evident.

What could have possibly happened to Visenya to bring her to Driftmark in such a state? She showed her skill in keeping her composure even during her mother's funeral — Something grave must've happened to cause her this much distress.

"I—I've never seen her in such a state before," Laena admitted, breaking the silence that circled them. Her words were soft and filled with concern as she caressed Visenya's wet hair, doing her best to dry it and prevent knots from forming, "She looked so... broken."

"She appeared way worse — With how little she was aware of her surroundings, I'm astonished she managed to find her way here in this weather," Laenor added his observations.

Rhaenys hummed in agreement, "It's a miracle she arrived here at all, and without a saddle too — Holding onto Arrax during a panic attack... it's nothing short of a wonder that she arrived safely, and wasn't lost somewhere halfway."

Her daughter cast her eyes to the ground as she questioned, "But what could've happened? She arrived suddenly and without a notice — She must've come on her own accord and without the King's leave."

Rhaenys shrugged, pieces of her black hair slipping from her shoulder and falling down her back — There was no use speculating anything when there was no way of knowing. "We cannot be certain until she wakes."

"It might have something to do with the fact that she now has a half-brother," Jocelyn speculated, her presence in the room undetected until that moment.

The revelation stunned them all, none of them having heard about the birth. "What?" Laena asked, almost in disbelief. Jocelyn confirmed, "A raven arrived, announcing the birth of Prince Aegon Targaryen."

Her children's expressions fell at the news, knowing how the situation would impact Visenya's position. However, Rhaenys wasn't so easily swayed — She doubted Aegon's birth had anything on Visenya's state. Based on their brief discussion, she was aware that Visenya was prepared for the possibility of a half-brother — This wasn't it.

Rhaenys couldn't ignore the details either, her trained mind picking up on the lack of titles behind Aegon's name. "Just Prince? Not Prince of Dragonstone?" She questioned with suspicion.

Laena and Laenor's eyes widened as they processed her words — They both looked hopeful when their heads snapped towards their grandmother. Jocelyn shook her head with a hint of disdain and replied, "Just Prince — For now, at least. With how little of a backbone Viserys has, we should all expect that to change soon."

A heavy silence settled around them until Laenor leaned closer to Visenya, noticing her palm curled tightly in a twist. "What's this?" He asked out loud, carefully pulling a crumpled piece of paper from her hold. He unfolded, his amethyst eyes scanning the page.

Rhaenys extended her hand towards her son. "Give me," she mused expectedly and Laenor obeyed. She carefully held up the parchment and read it aloud, voice quivering occasionally:

My Dearest Vissie,

As I write these words, my heart is heavy with sorrow, knowing that this letter will be the last thread connecting us. I cannot find the right words to express the love and pride I feel for you, my precious, beautiful girl.

Before anything else, I want you to know that you are loved beyond measure — you always have been and you always will be. You and your sister are the light of my life, the source of my strength, and the embodiment of all that is good in this world(even if you might believe otherwise regarding yourself).

From the moment my pregnancy with you was confirmed — From the moment I felt your first kick and movement — From the moment I heard your first cries — From the moment you were first placed into my arms, I've loved you. Some might have been disappointed because you weren't a boy, but I never was.

After all, male children belong to the kingdom and the crown, but you, my sweet girl, you belonged to me. Or at least that's what I always believed, however, I admit I was in denial for the longest time — For you, Vissie, you were destined for greatness. I think a part of me always knew that, it wasn't until recently that I fully began to accept the role you are made to play.

For that reason, I must confess that there are truths I have kept hidden from you, little flame — truths that will break your reality and shape it anew. Many times I wanted to share this with you, but, my wishes to protect you always prevailed. You were already carrying so much on your shoulders — You have been for a long time. Those responsibilities weighed on you, they made you grow before it was your time — and that will remain the biggest regret of my life, not making you stay a young and innocent girl for as long as I could.

My heart breaks at the thought of burdening you with this, but now that I am gone, there simply isn't anything I can do to keep you sheltered under my wing — You must hear and see the truth — You must know all of it.

The Maesters and Hightowers(possibly even the Citadel and the Faith of the Seven — for we aren't certain of their involvement yet) have been after us for years, seeking to undermine our family's rightful place in the kingdom. They plotted in the shadows, poisoning me with pennyroyal tea causing the loss of your siblings and the unbearable pain of multiple miscarriages and stillbirths. Only Gods know how much damage and hurt they already inflicted, without us even noticing. Their wickedness knows no bounds, and they will stop at nothing to retain their influence over the kingdom.

It pains me to leave you in a world full of deceit and treachery — It pains me to know that I couldn't put a stop to it when I had a chance and instead had to leave it for you to deal with, but I know you are a strong girl — You can handle this — You can accept it and move past it. You have the courage, wisdom, and heart to right these wrongs and avenge the deaths of your siblings and me.

You are the only one who can put an end to their horrific schemes — the only one who can protect our family's legacy. I believe in you, my brave girl, and I know you will stand tall in the face of this upcoming battle.

Please, remember that you are not alone in this journey. There are people around you — people who have and always will stand by your side, through thick and thin — people who at first glance don't appear trustworthy but in the end prove to be the most loyal of them all — people who are already aware of the situation and are working hard, risking their lives to put a stop to it. Seek counsel from those you trust, and do not be afraid to ask for help. Together, all of you can bring justice to those who have wronged us — I may not be the first of their victims, but let me be the last.

As I say my final farewell, know that my love for you knows no bounds — I may not be physically there with you, but you will carry me within your heart — I will always be there, looking out for you and supporting you, if not in body then in spirit.

I'm so proud of the woman you are becoming, and I know you will make our family's legacy shine brighter than ever before. Words cannot describe how sorry I am for leaving this world so soon, my little flame, but I have faith in you and the strength you carry within you.

May you find peace, love, and happiness in all that you do. With all my love,

Your Mama, Aemma

Laenor and Laena jumped from their seats angrily, disbelieving questions spilling from their lips as they demanded justice. Rhaenys tried to calm her children, sympathising with their distress but knowing that this was a matter that needed to be addressed and dealt with caution.

As soon as she was certain they wouldn't wake Visenya with their loud words, Rhaenys stepped out of the chambers, desperate for a breath of fresh air — She needed a moment to consider the implications of Aemma's letter and what it meant for all of them.

Her favourite cousin revealed a shocking conspiracy that turned their lives upside down — The involvement of powerful Houses and institutions needed to be uncovered and investigated, countless questions needed to be answered, and justice needed to be served.

As she rested against the stone railing, Rhaenys caught sight of her mother as she stepped out of the chambers gracefully. When her mother approached her, she expected some empathy from her or at least a discussion on how to proceed — Instead, Jocelyn coldly declared, "I'm returning home."

Rhaenys felt a surge of disbelief and anger. Her mother's detachment from the world around them and her stoic demeanour had always caused tension between them, but at this moment, it felt like a betrayal.

"How can you leave at a time like this?" Rhaenys questioned incredulously. "After learning about the treachery against our family, the lives lost, and the threat looming over all of us, you simply want to walk away?"

Jocelyn seemed unmoved by her words. "It's not my concern — I am not a Targaryen," she dismissed. Rhaenys let years of frustration out as she snapped, "You might not bear the name, but your child and grandchildren do! Are you truly so heartless that you can't muster an ounce of concern for me and them — for the legacy you helped shape through marriage?"

Her mother remained stoic, her stormy eyes raging against Rhaenys' outburst. She lifted her head proudly as she said, "I told you this a dozen times before — None of this would've happened if you ascended the Iron Throne."

Her mother's insistence on going back to that horrendous time at every given opportunity had worn her patience thin. "Well, I didn't," Rhaenys retorted, her irritation rising.

Jocelyn laughed bitterly. "You didn't because you were weak!" Rhaenys' temper flared. "It's not a weakness to accept your destiny, mother," she defended, "I made choices that I believed were for the best — I let go of the Iron Throne because it wasn't meant for me."

Her mother's sharp eyes glared at her as she pressed the issue further, "Perhaps you need a reminder that Aemma, your favourite cousin, stood by Viserys at the Great Council."

Rhaenys clenched her fists at her sides. "Of course she stood by him! Viserys was her husband and her mate — I never expected it to be otherwise!" Jocelyn's retort was sharp and unforgiving, "I don't care if Viserys was Aemma's God! She should've recognized you as the rightful Heir because that's what you were!"

The tension between them only rose as they locked eyes in a battle of wills. Rhaenys shot back, "Mother, I have heard this from you a thousand times — I'm well aware of what you believe should've happened, but it didn't — I wasn't chosen to rule, and I've made peace with that. Now, the only concern should be protecting our family!"

Her mother's cold chuckle made her blood boil. "Peace, you say? You always were too willing to accept your fate! You could've been the Queen we deserved — You could've kept the vipers at bay! Instead, you chose to step aside, and look where we are now!"

"I did what I believed was best for our family and the Realm — There's no changing the past. We must deal with the present!" Rhaenys' voice trembled with anger.

Jocelyn's face twisted into an angry grimace as she snorted, "Why should I care about the False King and his brats?! He usurped your rightful place on the throne, and I'll never forgive him for that!"

She took a step closer to her mother, her voice carrying a tone of desperation. "Because this situation doesn't just affect the main Targaryen branch, it affects all of us — including Laena, Laenor... Who knows, it might've already affected you as well."

Her mother narrowed her eyes in obvious question. Rhaenys shared her thoughts, "Why is it that you never had more children after me? It certainly wasn't due to a lack of trying — Kepa was a loving husband, and he wanted Heirs, but he never pressed the issue after me. Why?"

Jocelyn's face softened just a fraction at the mention of her mate. She cleared her throat and answered, "Baratheons are known to have trouble conceiving. Aemon knew this, and yet he didn't care — He married me for who I was — his other half, his mate. He would've married me even if I couldn't bear him a single child. He took that risk and we had you. After that, he never demanded more children because he was satisfied with having only you."

And yet, now that this conspiracy came to life, they couldn't be certain if that was simply meant to be — for them to have only one child — or was if due to external influence that Jocelyn never conceived again.

Rhaenys gathered the strength to voice the question that had long haunted her heart for the longest time — the question that now arose again just after she accepted the truth, her voice trembled  "And what about me, mother? Why have I never borne more children to Corlys?"

She licked her lips nervously, tears threatening to spill — She had two beautiful children, both healthy and thriving and yet both she and Corlys had wanted more, hoping for a larger family. "I was young and fertile when I married Corlys," she continued. "We both wanted more children, but I was never able to conceive again — After Laena and Laenor, despite our efforts..."

She always wondered how it was that she had both her children within the first three years of her marriage — how it was that after Laenor, her body betrayed her. She always wondered it if was something within her, a curse, a cruel twist in fate? She blamed herself for not being able to fulfil her and Corlys's dreams.

But now...How could she know? What if it wasn't her? What if she spent years despising and punishing her body for nought? What if they did this to her — to them?

Both of them stood in silence as Rhaenys took a deep breath to collect herself. She looked at her mother, lilac eyes pleading, "I need you here, mother — I need you to stand with us, with me — To face whatever is coming our way. We are family, and no matter the past, we must come together for the sake of our blood."

Jocelyn, despite her stoic nature, appeared to be considering her request — The rift between them ran deep, scarred by years of resentment and emotional distance and perhaps it was impossible to fix it, but that wouldn't stop Rhaenys from trying.

She spun around, ready to leave her mother to decide whether she would accept the olive branch or not — Then, she came to a stop, her comment catching her mother off guard, "For what it's worth, I think you'd be very fond of Visenya — After all, she doesn't bear the same weakness you claim I did."

 

 

_____

 

 

eyrie, 111AC
rhaenyra targaryen

Rhaenyra sat in the library, surrounded by the towering shelves filled with ancient tomes and scrolls. The flicker of candlelight cast shifting shadows on the pages that lay before her while outside, the storm raged on. The sound of cracking thunder was making it impossible for her to focus on the tax documents she was reviewing.

She sighed heavily, her brows furrowing as she attempted to understand the concept of tax collection, the weight of her potential role as the Heiress to the Vale weighing heavily on her shoulders.

The position was not one she had ever anticipated, nor had she been prepared for it — Her upbringing had been that of a Princess, and she had been taught the duties expected of a girl who would eventually marry into a noble House when it became clear there was no hope for a brother to be born nor was there a sight of her mate appearing.

And now, as she stared at the endless texts and went over the responsibilities of ruling, managing a region as vast and complex as the Vale frightened her.

Rhaenyra hadn't yet approached Jeyne for help — Seeking her cousin's assistance meant showing her commitment and publicly accepting the role which she wasn't ready to do until she fully understood what would be required of her to do as Heir and later Lady Paramount.

Her tired purple eyes went over the rules that felt completely foreign to her. With a growing sense of frustration and self-doubt, Rhaenyra couldn't help but think that she knew nothing about the governance — It wasn't as easy as it appeared at first glance — the realization made her feel uncomfortably inadequate.

Her parents never deemed it necessary for her to learn things such as the collection of taxes — It felt as if she only ever practised dancing, embroidery and singing, unlike Visenya who had a vaster knowledge — Although, she wouldn't have had that opportunity either had it not been for their great-uncle Vaegon.

The phrases like land tax assessment, and customs duties made Rhaenyra want to throw the heavy tome against the wall — The sheer volume of information she had yet to grasp made her realise how she truly knew nothing of the burdens and duties of ruling.

Suddenly, Ser Criston Cole cleared his throat, breaking her train of thought. Rhaenyra blinked, momentarily startled by his presence — She had been so absorbed in the scrolls and texts that she had forgotten he was even there.

"I apologise if I startled you, my Princess, but I couldn't help but notice that you appear rather saddened today," her Sworn Shield apologized, his eyes glistening with concern. She offered him a warm smile, "I'm quite all right, Ser Criston."

She was aware he was more perceptive than he let on, and her facade wasn't fooling him — He might not have been with her for a long time, but he stuck by her through the toughest year of her life and thus learned to tell when something was amiss.

Rhaenyra could see he was trying to be respectful of her privacy, but with gentle care in his voice, he still offered, "If ever you do wish to unburden your heart, Princess, know that I'm here to listen and share the weight of your thoughts."

She was touched by his concern and kindness, already considering whether she should share her burdens with him — But she truly needed that in the moment, she needed someone's ear, she needed to speak her thoughts without being judged and he had been such a steady presence in her life...

"I find myself in an unusual position — one I am not entirely certain about." Rhaenyra paused, choosing her words carefully, "I've been presented with the opportunity to take on a significant role, but it involves much responsibility and knowledge that I currently lack."

"It's wise of you to carefully consider this decision, Your Grace," he offered, appearing understanding and eager to listen. "A position like that comes with significant expectations — It's only right that you take your time to think it over."

Ser Criston's reassuring answer allowed her the freedom to express her worries and show her vulnerability, "It's just... since coming to the Vale, I've felt like every step I take is being watched — As if everyone already knows what decision I should make."

"I know they say that the choice is mine, and the Arryns made it clear that I'm welcome here regardless of my decision," Rhaenyra continued, her voice wavering slightly. "But it's hard not to feel the weight of their expectations already."

His empathy was evident in his expression as he offered a response, "I understand how overwhelming it can be to have so many eyes on you, but remember — It's your life, Princess, you shouldn't let the expectations of others dictate your choices. The path you choose should be the one that aligns with your heart and desires."

But there was more to it — This kind of opportunity had never been given to any second son, much less a daughter — Only a fool would pass on the opportunity that would change their life so drastically and Rhaenyra felt ungrateful because she wished to refuse the position.

She was frightened — the only future she imagined for herself was the one with Alicent, tropical destinations and lots of cake. But that future had been shattered, leaving Rhaenyra in a place where she was and yet wasn't — leaving her uncertain and frozen in time — leaving her to dream of the past and the beautiful future they could've had — leaving her to pinch herself every morn and get disappointed and angry once she realised this was her new reality.

Rhaenyra took a deep breath and dove into her insecurities, "I want to make the right decision, but I don't want to disappoint anyone — But I can't help but feel that no matter what I do, they would end up disappointed because I'm not like my sister."

If they truly thought she could ever be like Visenya, they were in for a major disappointment because she could never come close to her sister, especially not in this regard.

She never felt envious of her sister until now — until it came to light just how far ahead Visenya truly was.

"Visenya is... simply perfect — There are no other words for her," she admitted. "She's the perfect Heir, always tackling her problems with grace and fearlessly confronting anyone who opposes her — Her education in matters of economy, taxes, and all the responsibilities of an Heir..." Rhaenyra trailed off, "Sometimes, it feels like she was born knowing all those things."

Ser Criston chuckled, trying to lighten the mood. "Well, no one is born knowing everything." Rhaenyra cast her eyes down — That may be true but she wished that was the case because then, she'd be able to explain and understand how and why Visenya was so superior in everything she did.

Her loyal Kingsguard leaned forward, his arms resting against the table. "I may not know much about taxes or the responsibilities of an Heir, but I can draw a parallel to knighthood — To attain knighthood, one must be patient and train for a long time, honing their skills and character," he began.

"Similarly, your duties and responsibilities will require practice and patience — You've been unfairly thrust into a role that demands much from you, but you cannot hold yourself to the standard of someone who has known this their whole life." With a dashing smile, he added, "I'm certain you'll make the right decision for yourself, my Princess."

Rhaenyra took Ser Criston's advice to heart, deciding to cease being so hard on herself — She stopped torturing her mind with all those unfamiliar concepts and instead headed back to her assigned chambers where one of her maids, Annora, awaited her with a sealed letter in her hands.

Seeing the King's seal on it made her gulp as she unfolded the letter with trembling hands — Her father's words were filled with joy as he announced the arrival of her half-brother, Aegon. Rhaenyra scanned the words, her mind stuck on one sentence, one name — Alicent.

Despite everything that transpired between them, she felt a certain amount of relief that she remained alive and in good condition.

A rush of different emotions washed over her right after — Betrayal, rooted so deep within her that she thought she could never get rid of it — Anger, simmered beneath her skin, a burning ember in her heart — Sadness, her whole body ached with the deepest sense of loss, as if she were mourning a death of yet another loved one.

Tears welled up in her eyes, blurring the words. Rhaenyra crumpled the letter in her hand, unable to bear the sight of it any longer — She assumed she was over this — She assumed she completely detached herself from the situation, from Alicent and yet, her mind still brought her back to that horrid night, to that Small Council meeting where her father announced he'd wed her.

The reality was harsh and unforgiving and as she stood in the cold chambers, Rhaenyra felt utterly alone in her grief, the full force of her emotions crashing over her like a wave, dragging her deeper within her own despair and drowning her from the inside out.

She dismissed Annora with a wave of her hand, her lips refusing to form words — It almost felt like the walls of the castle were closing in on her — She needed to escape, from the situation, from the unpredictable future, from herself.

There was one place where Rhaenyra could be herself — a place where her emotions could flow freely without fear of judgment. She found herself snatching a thick cape to shield herself from the rain and wind before leaving her chambers to find her Syrax.

Her golden lady appeared to be waiting for her — feeling the Rhaenyra's turmoil through that beautiful tether that connected them. She was welcomed warmly, the dragon lowering her body, as if urging her to climb on her back.

Syrax spread her wings wide and rushed to the sky despite the heavy rain and the storm that raged around them. As Rhaenyra soared through the darkness, she couldn't help but reflect on the past year — It had been a torment, a constant descent into an unending sea of sadness.

Her dear mother endured so much — She tried so desperately to give her mate the son he yearned for his entire life, but the Gods had other, cruel plans.

The Red Keep seemed haunted and tainted by the echoes of Aemma's agony and grief for the babes she miscarried — for the stillborn, deformed babes covered in dragon scales — for the frail babes who lived enough to take a shaky breath before leaving the world.

Rhaenyra had the urge to scream at the Heavens above — to curse at the Gods, whether they be Valyrian, Drowned, Old or New — to be the downfall of anyone who encouraged Viserys' pursuit of a male Heir at the cost of her mother.

Sixteen years of trying, of hoping and praying — and yet all it took was one try for Alicent to give her father the Heir he longed for. What had her mother ever done to deserve such fate, her good and kind mother? What has Alicent done so well to be rewarded with the gift of bearing a son?

Tears welled up in Rhaenyra's as she realised that father won — Viserys could finally sleep soundly. But at what cost? Was it worth it to him — slowly pushing your own mate closer to death until finally ending her life? Did he relinquish in the fact that he had a son while ignoring that he took a mother from his two daughters?

She felt like screaming, so she did — Rhaenyra stood on the edge of the cliff, staring into the endless Narrow Sea and screamed into the wind until her throat went raw.

The raindrops mingled with her tears, her breath visible in the chilly air as her thoughts shifted to Alicent — to the tender they shared — to the shy smiles — to the stolen kisses — to the whispers of love — to the silent promises of forever.

It was the kind of love Rhaenyra believed was her first and last at the same time — the kind of love she was once certain would survive through anything — A love that seemed so distant now, so weak and small, like a flickering light of the candle that's been slowly dying.

Ever since the announcement of her father's second marriage, she felt trapped — like a girl frozen in time, unable to act as she watched the world around her move on — unable to escape the torment of her memories and the reality of her losses — She felt helpless, left with no choice but to stay in that moment forever.

Rhaenyra clutched onto her hand — onto the ring she had someone make for them, giving Alicent the other, matching piece as a token of her love and hope for their future. Now, she wore that ring like a shackle, a constant reminder of all that could've been — a reminder of a childish dream she held so dearly within her heart.

It was a symbol of denial, of her fruitless hopes that somehow, impossibly, she and Alicent would find a way to be together — Rhaenyra had worn it even at her father's wedding, twirling it around her finger as if the piece of jewellery could turn back time.

But now, Rhaenyra was finally ready to face reality — She could not sit and stare at her wounds forever — She could no longer be frozen in the past. With a deep breath, she removed the ring from her finger and threw it into the relentless sea, watching as it disappeared through the darkness.

It was strange, wasn't it? How a heart can burn and burn and then suddenly turn to ice?

As it fell, she felt as if a part of herself had been freed — The pain of it was almost unbearable, as if she was being split in two. Just as she gained the weight of Alicent, now it was time to lose it — it may be torturous, but it was necessary.

Gods, it felt good to finally be able to take a deep breath after so long.

Oddly, Rhaenyra felt a sense of relief — As if the rain was washing her of the guilt and heartbreak, leaving her feeling almost weightless — as if it was cleaning her of the old her and leaving behind a stronger, new version of herself.

Now that she no longer bore this burden, Rhaenyra's thoughts shifted to the future — Despite her wishes to take Syrax and explore distant lands while eating cake, that might not be an option anymore, especially not as the conversation she shared with Adrian, Corwyn, Gwendys, and Rylon kept replaying in her mind.

She knew the history well enough to conclude that the battle for the Iron Throne never ended well — It either led to death and destruction on both sides with no clear winners or it ended with familial bonds shattered by resentment and betrayal.

While Rhaenyra struggled to accept and imagine how a war could develop in the future — a war in which she'd see familiar faces on the opposing sides, she must admit to herself that she couldn't bear the thought of losing her Visenya — Just the prospect of watching her sister being torn apart by the vipers and snakes of the court was unbearable.

The pain of that loss — the emptiness it would bring, was something she couldn't imagine nor did she want to.

Rhaenyra instantly knew that couldn't walk away from this.

In her youth, intentionally or unintentionally, she had occasionally stood in Visenya's path, she was aware of it — There were certain moments in which she made her sister's life harder by just existing. Despite their years of misunderstandings and banters — Despite them promising forgiveness to one another and speaking of the love they held for each other, Rhaenyra was determined to make amends.

Staying in Westeros and introducing herself to the idea of politics was a small price to pay to ensure her sister's safety — as well as the safety of her family.

As the storm raged on, Rhaenyra returned to the Eyrie castle, completely drenched from the rain. It was the hour of ghosts when she reached Jeyne's door and knocked gently — She was half expecting her cousin to be asleep so she was taken aback when Jeyne, opened the door.

The Lady of the Vale didn't say a word, her piercing green gaze recognising the change in Rhaenyra and seeing the newfound fire burning in her purple eyes. The ends of her cousin's lips curled as she opened the door completely, allowing Rhaenyra entry.

Notes:

As you can probably tell, I've changed my writing style a bit. It's a bit more fitting for a fic taking place in medieval times to sound like this, but I kept my writing style the same so, hopefully, you enjoyed it :D

Special credit and thanks to my mommy issues who inspired the dynamic between Jocelyn and Rhaenys. Also, yes, I used Taylor Swift's songs "Clean" and "Right where you left me" to write Rhaenyra's POV hehe

I think you're really going to like the next chapter: We'll dive into Viserys' thoughts & see the shit hit the fan when Otto starts referring to Aegon as 'Prince of Dragonstone'. Also, Daemon's POV is going to be very interesting and there might be a teaser scene(smut)for what you can expect when he and Vissie marry. We'll finally have Laena & Vissie back as well!!

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Chapter 52: Light In The Darkness

Summary:

In which:

— Viserys has a faith crisis
— Daemon has peculiar dreams
— Visenya and Laena make up

king's landing, 111AC
viserys targaryen

Viserys spent most of his life yearning for a son, pleading with the Gods for a gift that seemed forever out of reach. Child after child, attempt after attempt, miscarriage after miscarriage, stillbirth after stillbirth — it was a never-ending cycle of heartbreak and despair.

He lost count of the times he had held Aemma in his arms, comforting her as she wept for the children they would never see grow to adulthood — He had watched as her dreams turned to ashes, the realization that she might never bear him another living child crushing them both before the Gods saw it fit to take his beloved mate into their embrace.

But then, Lady Alicent came into his life like a beacon of hope in the eternal darkness that had enveloped him. She had brought light and laughter back into his world, and for a brief moment, he allowed himself to be happy — Their secret meetings a temporary escape from the burdens and heartache that was never meant to last.

The discovery of her pregnancy had changed everything.

Viserys couldn't bear the thought of her reputation being tarnished because of him so he took responsibility for their indiscretion and took her to wife.

Still, he couldn't shake the feeling that it was all too good to be true.

Every day, he had risen with a heavy heart, expecting to be told that his wife had suffered a miscarriage, that their child would never come to be — It had become his curse, the constant longing for a son who could carry on his legacy, only to have that dream cruelly snatched away.

But then, something miraculous happened — Day by day, Alicent's belly swelled more with the promise of life and Maester Mellos brought nothing but joyful news of a healthy, thriving child.

It was as if the Gods had taken pity on Viserys and decided to grant him this one, precious gift.

Viserys recalled when he first cradled his son in his arms, his fingers tracing the babe's delicate features, marvelling at the perfection of every tiny detail — The boy's skin was as fair as the snows of the North, his eyes the purest shade of purple, the soft tuft of silver-gold hair marring the crown of his head the living proof of the Targaryen blood within his veins.

But as the sun dipped below the horizon, and the moon cast its eerie glow upon the Red Keep, a sense of dread crept upon him — He remembered another time, another child — Baelon, who had been born seemingly healthy, much like Aegon, only to wither away a day later, leaving everyone in mourning.

The memory was a scar upon his heart — a cruel reminder that happiness could be taken away at any moment.

As the night wore on, Viserys struggled to rest, turning in his bed and pacing around as if expecting the Gods to steal this happiness from him as well — But, as the hours passed, as the sun rose, the newborn's cries echoing through the halls became the sweetest music to his ears.

The boy was thriving — he was a healthy and robust infant who survived the night.

Viserys had been so caught up in his disbelief that he hadn't even considered a name for the child — It was Alicent who suggested that their son be named Aegon. Viserys had agreed without hesitation, the particular name already holding a special place in his heart.

It seemed fitting to name the boy after his youngest brother who remained loved and missed even all these years later.

His joy had been as short-lived, although for different reasons — Aegon's wetnurse approached with a troubled expression, her voice trembling as she voiced concerns that his son bore no noticeable mating mark — It was a revelation that sent chills down Viserys' spine.

Without hesitation, he summoned Maester Mellos and had the boy inspected and his pale skin searched for the hidden mark — Unfortunately, after countless examinations, they found no trace of the mark that had blessed generations of Targaryens.

Viserys sank into a chair, the colour draining from his face. His mind raced, his heart heavy with confusion and despair — He couldn't comprehend what this meant for him, for his son, for their dynasty.

From the very beginning of the Targaryen dynasty, even dating back to their days as Lords and Ladies of Dragonstone, mating marks had been a sacred and unmistakable part of their lineage — They were the highest form of blessings, bestowed by the Gods, and they set those of Valyrian blood apart from all other.

Even the bastards carried the inked marks, no matter how tainted their blood might be — Viserys could name three of them, his own aunt Saera's sons, whom he had encountered during the Great Council, when they pressed their claims to the Iron Throne.

So why had Aegon not been blessed with a mark? His long-awaited, trueborn son that looked every bit a Targaryen yet wasn't recognized as one by the Gods — by those whose judgment mattered the most.

The realization left Viserys questioning himself, his choices, and his worthiness in the eyes of the divine.

The dreams he had seen of the boy with Jaehaerys' crown atop his head had driven him to pursue a child with relentless determination — He had made a number of sacrifices and difficult choices, losing his other half along the way and still, the Gods chose to show their disapproval by withholding the mark.

Viserys couldn't fathom the depths of his disappointment and confusion — The son he had given everything for wasn't enough — He failed in the eyes of those who mattered most and the weight of that knowledge bore down on him, almost forcing him to the ground.

Viserys watched as his father, Baelon, slowly paced around the nursery, the rays of the sun illuminating his path. He cradled Viserys' newborn daughter, Visenya, in his arms, his dark purple eyes filled with tender adoration.

Viserys couldn't help but feel a twinge of annoyance as he watched his father dote on Visenya — It seemed as though Baelon held her more than he ever got the chance to with Viserys finding him rocking his little girl in the early mornings and late nights, while she was resting or feeding — He was always present, arms ready to provide safety and comfort for his granddaughter.

Out of nowhere, a voice broke the silence. "Do you truly not mind that your firstborn is a girl and not a boy?" Daemon questioned, his lilac eyes on the scene before him as he watched the babe rest against their father's chest.

Before Viserys could answer, Baelon turned to Daemon, a soft smile still playing on his lips. "Why would he mind?" He asked, voice soft as if not to wake his granddaughter. "Visenya is healthy and Aemma is alive — That's what matters most. It's the greatest gift Meleys could've given him."

Viserys couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness when he looked at his father. He remembered what losing Alyssa to a fever shortly after childbirth did to his father — Not to mention mourning the loss of his youngest son who followed shortly after his mother.

He peered down at the black and red bundle as he recalled the moment when she was first placed in his hold, and the tears that welled up in his eyes. "I don't mind," he finally replied. "I'm not worried because boys will follow, I'm sure of it."

Baelon stopped his pacing and fixed his gaze on Viserys, his purple eyes narrowing. "You must understand, my son," he began as if trying to teach both Daemon and him a lesson, "that girls are just as precious as boys — They bring their own unique blessings and joys into our lives. Each child is a gift from Gods, and we must cherish them all."

As he held Visenya close, his father lowered his lips and gently kissed her tiny head. "This little one will be spoiled and loved to the core," he announced with a chuckle, "just as any grandchild of mine should be."

His expression was soft and affectionate as he said, "You both are aware that I always wished to have had a daughter, but that doesn't mean I love you any less than I would've loved the little girl I could've had — My love for both of you, knows no bounds."

Viserys observed his little Visenya, a certain kind of warmth piling up within him — He found himself thinking that he would love any child Aemma would give him, boy or girl because that child would be made by them — by two mates, two halves that were one whole when together — because that child would be half of the person he loved most in the world.

Yes, he had once thought he'd love every child Aemma brought forth, and he had meant it — But Aegon wasn't Aemma's, he wasn't the son of the other half of his soul so he couldn't be the boy from his dreams, right?

Was that crowned boy perhaps Baelon? Were the dreams shown to him as a cruel reminder of what he could've been had he lived? Were the Gods taunting him with the absence of Aegon's mark, reminding him that he could never be Baelon, especially knowing that he had been born with a mating mark on his hip?

Then there were those visions of Visenya sitting upon the Iron Throne — visions that clashed with everything Viserys believed in for the longest time. Were the Gods trying to tell him that because Baelon was no more, Visenya was the next option?

Viserys' head throbbed with the weight of uncertainty, and he had never felt so lost — so torn by the conflicting messages from the divine forces. The destiny of his house — his legacy, and the future of his children hung in the balance and he had no answers, only questions that tormented his sleepless nights and clouded his every thought.

He entered the nursery with cautious steps, finding Alicent already cradling Aegon in her arms. The sight of his son in her embrace was a cruel reminder that had him averting his gaze for a moment — Aegon wasn't the son he had wished and prayed for — He wasn't the child he spent a lifetime yearning for — He wasn't Baelon.

Clearing his throat, Viserys approached his wife who looked up at him, startled by his arrival. "My King," she greeted softly, voice light.

Feeling guilty for his previous thoughts and for not being more appreciative of her, he immediately asked, "How are you feeling, my dear?" After all, it wasn't her fault that she was in this position — that she wasn't Aemma — that she could never be Aemma nor replace her in his heart.

Alicent gave him a small, gracious smile. "I'm resting well, Your Grace," she replied. Viserys returned her smile, grateful that she wasn't dealing with the same complications and issues that had plagued his beloved.

His purple gaze shifted to the crib, and for the first time, he truly witnessed what Visenya mentioned to him before — Baelon's egg was placed in Aegon's crib — Blackfyre was leaned against the wall. The sight was like a reminder of the promises he had broken and Viserys couldn't help but feel the weight of his daughter's disappointment.

Approaching the crib, he reached out and took the egg in his hands, feeling its warmth and then, he spun to face Alicent who was gently rocking Aegon in her arms. Keeping his voice light, Viserys broke the silence, "Do you happen to know who brought Blackfyre here?"

Alicent looked up at him, her brown eyes immediately taking notice of the item in his hands. She responded quietly, "I... I cannot be certain, My King." He remained silent as his wife stopped rocking Aegon. "Is something the matter, Your Grace?"

With a wry smile, Viserys assured her, "There's nothing for you to worry about, my dear." He stepped over to pick up Blackfyre by its hilt before preparing to take his leave. Alicent suddenly cleared her throat, successfully stopping him. "My father thinks the egg might hatch soon because of its warmth."

Viserys chuckled softly. "The egg isn't nearly warm enough for that," he replied. Alicent had her eyes on the egg as she pressed on, "I've read that it's important for the egg to stay with the babe — It has a greater chance at hatching a dragon and later forming a bond with it, like with Queen Alysanne."

He hummed appreciatively, almost impressed by the depth of her interest in Valyrian culture despite her lack of Valyrian ancestry. "A fascinating notion," he acknowledged, though he corrected her, "Hatchlings hatch, my wife, not dragons."

Alicent's cheeks warmed from embarrassment and Viserys, not noticing her discomfort, continued, "It might be true, but this particular egg belongs to Visenya." The silence lingered for a moment as Alicent asked, her voice quiet and uncertain, "And what of Aegon, Your Grace?"

Viserys already had one leg out of the room as she stated, "Aegon will get his own egg." Without another word, he took his leave, determined to return the items to his daughter, as they rightfully belonged to her.

He set the items carefully on a wooden table, taking note that this part of her chambers was unoccupied. With a brief lean, he glanced at her study area, finding it empty as well. Disappointment washed over him as he realized he wouldn't get a chance to personally return them. He didn't search further, his eyes lingering on the closed doors that led to her sleeping area, making a conclusion that Visenya was most likely still resting.

As he made his way out of the hallway, he was met with the sight of Lord Lyonel Strong who had sought him out, appearing apologetic for the interruption, "Your Grace, the Lord Hand called for a Small Council meeting."

Viserys frowned. "What matter requires such immediate discussion so early in the morn?" Lord Strong's expression grew more somber as he explained, "There's an unsettling atmosphere in court, Your Grace — The courtiers spent the entire night celebrating the birth of a healthy babe, a rare occurrence in recent years, as you well know — They're anxiously awaiting your announcement at court."

Sighing, he made a quick decision. "They'll simply have to wait a little longer," he stated, his mind filled with thoughts of Aegon's lack of a mating mark. Lord Strong straightened as he inquired softly, "Is there something amiss with the babe, Your Grace?"

Viserys replied firmly, "No, he's healthy." His Master of Law looked visibly relieved at the news, but his confusion remained, "Then why the delay in the announcement of his birth?" Feeling a need to confide in someone, Viserys revealed, "Aegon bears no mating mark."

Lord Lyonel spluttered for words, managing to regain his composure enough to nod in understanding. "I—I say it's a wise decision to wait for now, Your Grace." Viserys appreciated his understanding as the two of them made their way toward the Small council chambers.

They took their seats, being the last to join the assembled advisors. Once Viserys was seated, Maester Mellos rose to his feet. He cleared his throat and announced, "Joyous news await us this fine morn — The delivery went smoothly, and a healthy and strong Prince was born to House Targaryen." He gave a nod to Viserys and couldn't hide his smile, clearly pleased with the situation. "His Grace decided to name his firstborn son Aegon."

Ser Tyland was the first one to speak, saying, "Aegon is a strong name, Your Grace — If Gods are good, they will make the boy be the image of his namesake in the future." Viserys nervously played with his hands, nodding in response to the congratulations he received from him and other Council members.

Otto was radiating with contentment as he listened to all the well-wishes, no doubtedly proud that he was now a grandsire to a fine boy. The Hand immediately turned to Viserys as he inquired, "Your Grace, may we begin to discuss the celebrations for the birth of our Prince?"

Viserys cleared his throat and replied, "There won't be any for a time." He couldn't help but think that he needed to speak with a Valyrian priest before proceeding with any festivities — Perhaps the expert might know why a son of his was lacking a mating mark.

Maester Mellos, frowning in confusion, commented, "Your Grace, Prince Baelon had a week-long tournament prepared even before his birth! I don't quite understand why we would delay the festivities..." The man stopped to state, "Rest assured, that Aegon is in the best of health, and he'll thrive."

Viserys chose to ignore the maester's words, searching around the Council chamber as he realised that his daughter wasn't present nor approaching. Concerned, he questioned, "Has anyone informed Visenya of the meeting?"

His Hand sighed, leaning against the long table as he hesitantly shared, "Princess Rhaenys sent a letter informing us that Princess Visenya had a safe journey and arrived on Driftmark in the hour of the wolf last night, Your Grace."

Viserys' eyes, once filled with anticipation of seeing his eldest after their last interaction, were now ablaze with anger, his voice cutting through the silence of the room as he turned toward Otto, "Why was I not informed of my daughter's departure?"

Lord Hand appeared taken aback, not used to Viserys' anger being directed at him. He chose his words carefully, but there was an underlying tension in his voice, "The Dragonkeepers noted Arrax's absence in the night, but it was only after the letter arrived this morn that we knew of the Princess' departure."

The room fell silent once more, and Viserys' face grew redder with every passing moment. It was Ser Tyland Lannister who dared to speak, attempting to quell his fury, "Your Grace, I believe the situation may be a misunderstanding. Princess Visenya is—"

"How can any of you be so nonchalant?" He shouted, cutting off Ser Tyland. "My daughter, was missing the entire night, and no one was aware of it!" His voice wavered — Just the knowledge that none of them, not the guards, servant or anyone, saw or reported Visenya missing caused a mixture of anger, fear, and frustration to rise within him.

Lord Beesbury, chimed in. "With all due respect, Lord Hand, your duty to the King and the Crown should come above all else, even your House — You cannot afford to be absent when your presence is needed."

Otto looked as if he wanted to defend himself, but Maester Mellos shook his head, disagreeing, "My lords, I understand the gravity of the situation, but we mustn't forget that the Princess is safe, as we now know." He paused briefly, "Ser Otto is a capable and loyal Hand who has served the Crown well for many years. Let us not forget the joyous occasion we were all celebrating just recently — the birth of the Prince of Dragonstone, an event the entire Kingdom has been waiting for over a decade! It is only natural that we were occupied with this momentous event."

Viserys's anger was growing, his head throbbing from the stress. "Anything could've happened to the Heir to the Iron Throne — to your future Queen and yet you think it a small matter!" he shouted in a voice that was both furious and desperate.

He still couldn't understand how his daughter's disappearance wasn't to be discussed more — Where were the guards when it happened? Who was on post? Who was guarding her chambers? — They had been so oblivious to her slipping away, but what if she had been taken or kidnapped? Where were the people who meant to keep her safe and what were they doing instead?

His outburst hung heavily in the air as the chambers fell into an uncomfortable silence. His advisors exchanged uneasy glances as he rubbed his temples, desperately trying to quell his headache.

It was Otto who ventured to speak, his voice laced with uncertainty and his brow creased in thought, "Your Grace, with the birth of Prince Aegon, the matter of succession is settled," he began. "A healthy Prince of Dragonstone is precisely what the Seven Kingdoms needed to bring stability and secure the future."

Viserys couldn't contain his frustration as he shouted, "Visenya is my Heir!" The Council members were taken aback, unsure of how to proceed. Ser Tyland Lannister attempted to reason with him, "Apologies, Your Grace, we assumed that with the birth of a son, the line of succession would naturally shift."

Lord Hand's expression betrayed his disbelief as he continued to press his case, "This goes against the customs and traditions of the Seven Kingdoms, Your Grace — It has never been done before, and the potential for unrest and conflict looms."

Lord Beesbury interjected, his tone respectful but resolute, "It's essential to remember that tradition is not law — The final decision lies with the King, as it always has."

Lord Strong nodded in agreement, "The King called forth the Lords and Ladies of the Seven Kingdoms to swear oaths to the Princess — I think that makes his stance clear. Furthermore, bestowing Blackfyre upon Princess Visenya sends a message for all to see."

Maester Mellos attempted to speak, "By precedent—" But he was abruptly interrupted by Lord Beesbury, who pointed out, "His Grace already set a new precedent by choosing Princess Visenya over Prince Daemon."

The Maester grew frustrated as he retorted, "Choosing his child over his brother is a straightforward, reasonable decision. But now, we are confronted with a choice between two of the King's children — one a boy and the other a girl." His gaze turned to Viserys, and he pressed on, "No daughter has ever been chosen over a son in the history of the Seven Kingdoms — King Aenys chose Prince Aegon over Princess Rhaena, King Jaehaerys chose Prince Aemon over Princess Daenerys."

The air in the room grew heavier with tension as Viserys found himself at a crossroads. Lord Strong shifted his gaze between Otto and the Maester, his features etched with a knowing expression, "If memory serves," he began, "it was not so long ago that both of you were eager advocates for Princess Visenya's claim to the throne — Changes were suggested and supported then without hesitation."

Otto narrowed his eyes at the Master of Law, his posture reflecting his irritation. He leaned closer to the table, his voice sharp, "Were you not among those opposing to such changes, Lord Strong? You championed Prince Daemon's claim due to his gender, favouring a man over a girl."

"I did, however, the circumstances changed — Princess Visenya has proven herself as a dedicated and capable Heir, not just to me, but to many across the Realm. My fears of the Kingdom opposing such a change were for nought," Lord Lyonel acknowledged Otto's accusation with a nod, "Moreover, the King made his decision, and I had no choice but to follow, even if I had my reservations at the time."

He leaned back in his chair, resting his arms on the table, "I find it rather intriguing how, now that your daughter has wed the King and bore him a son, you are so swift to spurn the Princess, despite your earlier support."

Tension crackled between the two of them, Otto's jaw clenching as he demanded sharply, "If you have any accusations, Lord Lyonel, speak them plainly."

Before the argument could escalate further, Viserys slammed his hands on the table, rising abruptly from his seat, the scraping of the chair against the stone floor echoing through the chambers. "Enough!" He took a moment to meet the eyes of each man seated around the table, his exhaustion and frustration evident.

Viserys turned his gaze toward Otto and Maester Mellos on his right. "I do not care who presumed to move Blackfyre and Baelon's egg to Aegon's chambers, but I will not tolerate these items being taken from Visenya without my consent."

His voice held a note of finality as he declared, "My daughter is my heir, and I will hear no more about it. Is that clear?"

 

 

_____

 

 

bloodstone, 111AC
daemon targaryen

The sun hung low in the sky as Daemon dashed around with mischievous delight. He was a bundle of energy, his silver hair streaming behind him as he sprinted around, competing against Viserys who had always indulged him in their games.

Daemon convinced his brother to join him in a race to the Dragonpit — For the first time ever, the two of them would start at the same time and from the same location at Daemon's insistence — Winning didn't mean much to him if it came at the cost of cheating... He wanted to win fair and square.

With a shout from Daemon, the race began — The carriage door flew open and both of them sprinted out, their small legs pounding against the cobblestones.

Daemon's determination was etched on his face as he ran with all his might, his heart racing. As he approached the entrance to the Dragonpit, he was panting for breath, his chest rising and falling rapidly. as his pale lilac eyes scanned the area, searching for any sign of Viserys.

Not seeing his brother anywhere, he turned to the large doors, finding them slightly ajar. A pout formed on his small lips — Could it be that Viserys had already reached the finish line and gotten inside?

Pressing his whole weight against the heavy door, Daemon barely managed to slide it open just enough to slip inside. As he did, he was met with a wave of heat and dimly lit surroundings, but no sign of Viserys.

Then, suddenly, the loud sound of a heavy thud echoed around him, making him jump.  Daemon decided to follow the source of the noise, hi s curiosity getting the better of him.

There, he found his mother, Alyssa, lying on the ground, her gaze distant and her left hand extended toward Meleys' cage, her fingers motionless as she pointed toward her mount's nest.

Daemon rushed to her side, his mind racing — He couldn't recall seeing his mother anywhere other than the chambers she shared with his father. The image of her, lying on their bed, with her face pale but her mismatched eyes filled with determination, was etched into his memory so this unexpected sight left him puzzled.

Daemon gazed into his mother's pale lilac and green eyes, but there was no flicker of familiarity nor recognition or love in them — Her pupils were dilated as she stared blankly into the distance. Worried and confused, he gently shook her, calling out for her, "Muña?"

He placed his small palm against her cold skin which caused him to furrow his brows — His father often prided himself in the fact that their blood ran hot because they were of the blood of the dragon, so why was his mother so cold?

With a child's innocence, he decided to do something about it. He took off his little cloak, struggling with the fabric — It was too small to cover her entirely, so he only managed to wrap it around her middle. Then Daemon wrapped his small arms around her still form, hugging the part of her body that was left uncovered as he whispered to her, "Don't worry, Muña, everything will be alright."

Suddenly, the sound of rushing footsteps echoed through the Dragonpit and Daemon looked up to see his brother running towards them. Relief washed over him as he called out to Viserys, seeking his help.

Viserys stopped in his tracks, his purple eyes widening as they fell on their mother's lifeless form. His face paled as he rushed forward, but instead of joining Daemon in the effort to warm her, he stepped between Daemon and their mother, blocking his view and access to her.

Daemon's voice rose with alarm as he tugged on Viserys' clothing, "What are you doing, Vis?! We must warm her up!" But Viserys remained unmoved, his gaze fixed on their mother with a mixture of shock and fear as he did his best to keep Daemon at bay.

In the haze of his mind, Daemon became dimly aware of distant voices — as if they were echoing through a long, dark tunnel. He recognized Valerius's voice as he questioned urgently, High Valyrian rolling off his tongue, "What kind of spells did you use on him?"

Another voice, the one he didn't recognise, responded, her tone slightly annoyed, "Blood magic isn't bound by the limits of spells." Her accent was that of a bad bastard Valyrian.

Valerius, unable to mask his frustration, lashed out, his voice carrying the weight of his concern, "I care not for the details of your craft — What I must know is when he will stir from this slumber." The air seemed to radiate with Val's impatience as Daemon remained locked in the realm of dreams.

Daemon sat in the nursery, cradling his toddler niece, Visenya, in his arms. Her silver-gold curls framed her face, and her wide indigo eyes were filled with curiosity as he decided to share yet another story with her.

With a gentle smile, he began, "Once upon a time, lived our ancestor, Gaemon the Glorious — He was a remarkable man, and a rider to an ever more remarkable beast known to be the largest dragon brought to Dragonstone before the Doom — a beast called Aegarax."

Visenya clapped her tiny hands with excitement, making Daemon chuckle as he continued, "Gaemon's sister, Daenys the Dreamer, was an extraordinary rider as well — In fact, she was the first rider of the mighty Balerion, the Black Dread!"

Visenya's eyes widened, and she made delighted screeches, mimicking the sound of a dragon in her own adorable way. He smiled down at her and continued, "Yes, that's right! Gaemon loved his sister very much — He was very protective of her from the day she was born because she was also his mate."

"He didn't hesitate to ki—" Daemon stopped himself, realizing that he needed to keep the story age-appropriate. He quickly corrected himself, saying, "He did very bad things to the people who mocked his sister or called her mad."

Visenya tilted her head cutely, her silver-gold curls bouncing as she questioned, "Bad?" Daemon nodded and gently bumped the tip of his finger against her small nose. "Yes, he did very, very bad things to the people who went against his family."

He continued, "Gaemon earned the name 'Glorious' because of how fierce he was in battle on dragonback — He made sure his family remained safe on Dragonstone, even when Westerosi men, especially the Storm Kings, and other Valyrian families belonging to the Forty, wanted the Targaryens to return to Valyria."

Visenya listened with wide-eyed wonder, captivated by the story before they were interrupted by a strong yet soft voice, "Have you any other tales to tell? If little Vissie wasn't so young, I'm certain she'd be able to recite it word by word from how many times you told it to her."

Both Daemon and Visenya looked up to see Baelon, his silver hair gleaming in the soft light of the nursery as he stood tall and regal. Her eyes lit up, and she bounced on his knee, her lips forming a wide grin as she extended her little, chubby hands towards Baelon. She called out, "Grandpapa!"

His father couldn't hide his delight as he picked Visenya up from Daemon's arms, his laughter echoing through the room. He kissed the crown of her head and asked fondly, "Where is my favourite girl?"

Daemon, though slightly pouting at the fact that Visenya had chosen her grandsire's hold over his own, crossed his arms over his chest and answered his father, "Well, Father, the tale of Gaemon the Glorious is my favourite — Besides, Visenya doesn't seem to mind."

It was true — Daemon had always been fond of that story, requesting it every day and night since his childhood. Gaemon had been his favourite ancestor.

Baelon let Visenya snuggle into him, her small head resting on his shoulder as he held her close. He turned his attention to Daemon, making an observation, "I thought you'd be in Runestone already, awaiting your wedding on the morrow."

Daemon's mood immediately soured, and he grumbled, "I'll be there tomorrow." His father narrowed his eyes at him, "You should be in the Sept by then already."

He rolled his eyes, frustration clear. "I'll make an appearance at the wedding, as I promised, but that's all I'll do — I refuse to stand in a Sept for hours and listen to some smelly old man recite his prayers for a farce of a marriage I'm getting myself into."

Daemon snorted, continuing, "And to think, if my grandparents had at least offered me a beauty, I could've complied — But no, they arranged this horrendous match with a woman who looks more like a horse!"

Baelon snapped, his voice firm, "That's enough, Daemon. I taught you better than that." His thunderous voice startled Visenya, making her lower lip quiver. He quickly scooped her into his arms, gently brushing his fingers through her silver-gold curls to soothe her. "Shh, my sweet," he whispered, his voice now calm and gentle. "There, there, don't cry."

He handed Visenya to one of her nursemaids, giving her specific instructions to ensure the toddler's comfort. As the nursemaid left with Visenya, his father turned back to him, his expression stern. "Your grandmother gave her all to arrange a grand celebration for the wedding."

He shouted, "I couldn't care less!" His blood was boiling in his veins as he shouted, "She orchestrated all of this despite my pleading with her not to! I will not kiss Rhea, nor touch her, nor bed her — She isn't my mate — she means nothing!"

His father sighed deeply, trying to maintain his composure. "Daemon—" But Daemon cut him off, standing up with such force that it almost knocked a chair over. "Would you have been thrilled to be given off to someone who wasn't your mate — who wasn't Muña?"

Baelon's answer was swift, "Of course not." Daemon's eyes blazed with anger as he made his point clear, "Then don't expect me to act all thrilled with the arrangement either!"

His father's face softened as he approached him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I understand your frustration, Daemon — You have every right to be upset, but remember, you will find your mate one day."

Daemon shrugged his father's hand from his shoulder, his expression hardening once more. He turned and made his way toward the exit, leaving behind a heavy atmosphere of tension and disappointment.

He slowly became aware of the sounds of distant voices, like fading echoes from a half-remembered dream — There were more of them, and they were engaged in a heated argument.

Valerius's voice rose above the others, his tone laced with scepticism, "What reason do you, a blood witch, have to save him?" The voice of a woman from before defended herself, "He saved my life!"

Another voice echoed around him, one that Daemon knew belonged to Ser Daemion Velaryon, Vaemond's eldest son. He tsked, "We might as well start preparing for a funeral — There is no hope for him to live. I've had an exchange with a blood witch before and barely got out of there alive... Ordinary people meeting blood witches — it never ends well for us."

The woman refused to back down, insisting, "I didn't kill him," Valerius's anger flared as he questioned, "Why hasn't he woken up or moved for almost a week, then?"

"Not even we know the full extent and consequences of blood magic — Every case is different, and the price demanded for its use varies, depending on the severity of the demand and sacrifice," she paused. "He would've already been dead had I not used blood magic to heal him."

Daemon grumbled under his breath, his anger boiling over as he stormed into his chambers. With a fierce, frustrated motion, he threw an empty cup at the wall, the sound of it shattering filled his chambers.

His father followed right after him, a concerned look in his purple eyes as he found him on the balcony, his grip on the stone railing so tight that his knuckles had turned white. Approaching him, Baelon spoke gently, "Must you and Viserys fight whilst my mother's ashes haven't yet cooled down?"

He turned to his father, his expression tense as he responded, "It was Viserys who started it — He's been up my arse since I returned from Lys." Baelon sighed. "You must make peace," he insisted.

Daemon chuckled dryly, his frustration evident, "You should tell that to Viserys, Kepa — He refuses to share what I did to cause his ire and continues to be hostile towards me."

Baelon shook his head, his voice firm, "I don't care what transpired between you two, I only care that you two solve it." He took a deep breath, staring at his father with a newfound seriousness. Baelon's eyes held an unusual weight which piqued Daemon's interest — His father's typically calm demeanour was replaced by a rare, stern authority, a sign that this matter was of utmost importance.

Lowering his tone, Baelon spoke, "I understand that a certain tension has risen between you and Viserys now that the paths you two have chosen led you to live two entirely different lives — and that divide will only grow as I get closer to ascending the throne." He continued, "Brothers fight, Daemon. Hells, even your uncle Aemon and I had our moments despite how close our bond was...Viserys is going to need you in the future."

Daemon turned his gaze toward the streets of King's Landing below, his voice a mumble, "He won't be needing me." His father stayed silent for a moment, before he mused, "I know you might be feeling as if, as a second son, you are worth nothing compared to your older brother, and that the role you have to play is insignificant compared to Viserys'... But that's the furthest thing from the truth."

He glanced at Baelon curiously as his father spoke, "As a second son myself, I understand what it's like to be in your skin, Daemon — That's the reason I must share something of great importance with you." Daemon listened intently. "Your role is just as important as Viserys', if not more so — Both Aemon and Viserys were born to wear the crown, but you and I were born to pave the way for our brothers, to be their sword and shield."

His father's words felt heavy as he continued, " Viserys is going to belong to the Kingdom and to the people — He will be surrounded by both friends and enemies, even the Small Council, the very group invented to aid a monarch, will be full of those who wouldn't hesitate to betray him in pursuit of their own goals as they seek to elevate their own Houses and stations." He shrugged softly and added, "That's simply the way of the world, my son."

Baelon looked at him deeply, a spark of urgency in his eyes as he shared, "Viserys might be too occupied with other matters to see the schemes happening behind his back so it is your job and purpose to be his right hand and his most trusted advisor when such situations arise — He requires a person whom he can trust above all else, and that person is going to be you, Daemon."

His father put his hands on his shoulders, as if to emphasize the gravity of his words. "Your role is to ensure that, no matter the circumstances, House Targaryen stands on top — We must remain united at all costs... And if Viserys ever forgets that, you will be there to remind him."

Daemon swallowed but nodded in acceptance of his duty. His father's voice softened, "There may come a time when you and Viserys fight — when the two of you won't be able to stand the sight of one another, but even then, you must remain united. Remember your duty to your brother and House Targaryen."

Baelon purple gaze radiated with intensity as he almost shook Daemon's shoulders. "Promise me, Daemon, promise me that you will do whatever it takes to protect our family, no matter the cost." He tipped his head forward in a nod, his lilac eyes showing his readiness to commit to the role. "I promise, Father."

His breath quivered, a shiver coursing through him despite the warm, sultry air of the Stepstones — He was unable to move or react, as if caught on the edge of dream and reality.

The voice of Lord Corlys caught his attention, grounding him to the reality as the man asked, "What do you think, Maester?" The Maester sighed grimly, "The Prince's wound on his side has festered, and a fever has taken a hold on him."

Somewhere on the back, Daemon could recognise a faint grumble, "I could've told you that from a mile away." Valerius' voice cut through the tense air as he cursed, "For Gods' sake, just when we thought we had nought to worry about other than that injury to his neck..."

Lord Corlys' tone remained calm and collected as she inquired, "Is there anything we can do to ensure his survival, Maester?" The Maester's response was measured, "The conditions on the Stepstones are dire, my Lord — If he stays, his chances of escaping death are slim at best, especially with the ever-present danger of pirate attacks. I suggest moving him to Evenfall Hall."

The woman staying at the back disagreed, her Valyrian terrible, "Moving him now would be dangerous, especially with pirates lurking about — Open waters are the most dangerous place for an unconscious man who is unable to defend himself."

"What do we do then?" Valerius questioned, exhaustion evident. A silence rang between them all when the Maester cleared his throat and mused, "We pray."

Daemon found himself in his chambers in the Red Keep. He looked around, the room seeming familiar yet distant as he questioned the reality of the situation when his eyes fell upon a figure standing on the balcony — A chill ran down his spine, his heart skipping a beat when he recognized the shoulder-length silver waves that could belong to no one else other than his father.

Taking a deep breath, Daemon moved closer, his feet carrying him towards Baelon who was looking down at the city below. "Kepa," Daemon whispered, his voice almost lost to the wind — He didn't dare blink out of fear his father would waver and disappear.

It was a strange moment, as if the two Realms were colliding — the world of the living and the beyond. Was this his end? Was this the afterlife Balerion offered? Or perhaps this was a product of his imagination?

Daemon observed his father's face which remained unchanged since the last time he had seen him — His intelligent but grief-filled eyes, his strong jawline, his straight nose and the faint freckles that adorned his skin – it was all etched into his memory.

As he stood there, he was reminded of the important conversation held in the same place — a conversation that shaped Daemon's life. He had lived and breathed for the purpose given to him — to protect his family.

But as he looked at the figure of his father, he couldn't help but recognise that he had failed in that duty. He clenched his jaw, feeling the need to confess and unburden himself — In a quiet voice, Daemon admitted, "I failed."

He had broken the vow he made — Aemma was dead, slain at the hands of the Hightowers and those involved — His nieces were left vulnerable, surrounded by enemies — His brother seemed nothing more than a puppet, controlled by the Hightowers especially now that he married that Hightower whore.

Anger surged through Daemon as he tried to justify his actions and find excuses for not doing more. He began to rant, "I'm aware I have my faults, however, I'm not entirely to blame — Viserys made my mission that much harder by banishing me for the stupidest reasons."

He thought back to the time when Viserys had banished him for requesting an annulment mere moons after being crowned King — His brother did that despite Daemon raising an army to secure his throne.

Daemon shook his head. "I'm not the best person in the world, but I'm certainly not the worst — I'm unaware of what I ever did for Viserys to be so quick to believe every twisted lie and tale that Otto Hightower spins and whispers in his ears." His confession hung in the air, a mix of frustration, self-doubt, and anger directed at both himself and his brother.

Daemon regarded Baelon curiously, stunned as his father opened his mouth to speak. He marvelled at how his voice hadn't changed at all — It was as if he were truly speaking to Baelon. He expected that his father, in his wisdom, would offer some advice or solution — Hells, he would've even accepted shouting at the moment, but what he received was the complete opposite.

Baelon's demeanour was calm and collected, as it had been most of the time. He faced Daemon and declared, "I was at fault — I never should've put such weight on your shoulders when you weren't meant to pave a path for Viserys — nor be his sword and shield."

His heart skipped a beat at those words, a chill running down his spine as his father's disappointment washed over him — The words were unexpected and they impacted him in the worst of ways — Had he truly failed so much? Had he failed the only serious task ever given to him? Had he let his family down?

But what truly caught Daemon's attention was the unexpected calmness that surrounded his father — his purple eyes didn't shine with anger, as they often did when he used to lecture both Viserys and him — Instead, there was a sense of acceptance and perhaps even understanding in his gaze, leaving Daemon puzzled and searching for a deeper meaning within the words.

Daemon groaned in pain, a hiss escaping his lips as he felt the searing sensation of his wound being cleaned. "You need to take this," the woman tending to him spoke in bastard Valyrian, urging him to not move.

With great effort, Daemon forced his eyes open, his vision blurry and unfocused — He could barely see people rushing to his side as he heard Val calling his name in disbelief, musing, "He's awake!"

Valerius' voice shifted to one of concern and panic as he demanded, "What the fuck is wrong with his eyes? Why are they full of blood?" Daemon's eyes stung as he realized blood was indeed pouring from his eyes.

The woman tried to hush Valerius, her tone filled with urgency, "Move aside and let me work." His eyes fluttered, and he began to drift back toward unconsciousness, making Valerius's panic escalate.

"Put that magic salve on his wound again!" he urged. The woman refused, "Are you mad? He could barely handle one layer without screaming in pain!" She then mumbled, "Stop calling it a magic salve!"

Val remained frantic, "I don't care! We must keep him awake!" The woman protested, "He should be resting." The Celtigar man argued back, "He almost perished not three days ago — We cannot allow him to sleep if there's a chance he might not wake up!" The woman's reply was lost on him as he succumbed to his exhaustion.

In the midst of eternal darkness, Daemon was surrounded by an endless void — He paced hesitantly, but no matter where he turned, darkness persisted.

As he continued searching for a way out, he felt a tugging sensation — He peered down to witness the end of a long and loose red thread wrapped around his little finger. It suddenly straightened, ushering him to move deeper into the unknown.

Daemon could sense that same pull within himself, as though his very essence was connected to the other end of the thread — to his mate who was begging him to continue the journey.

He placed a hand over his chest — above his heart, feeling its desperate beat while on the other side, there was a type of yearning, alike to a silent plea that urged him onward.

His journey came to a sudden halt when he caught sight of a woman, her back facing him — Her silver-gold hair neatly braided was draped down her back. The dark armour she wore had antlers carved on the back as she held a helmet featuring high antlers in one hand while she gripped a sword in the other.

It wasn't just any sword in her hands either — It was a sword Daemon recognized all too well – It was Dark Sister.

His eyes widened as he looked down to find Dark Sister strapped to his waist — His hand instinctively found the hilt of his sword, gripping it with caution as he studied the woman intently when she slowly spun to face him.

Daemon's brows narrowed — The sight of her felt familiar, yet there was something distinctly different about her as well. He was certain he had seen that exact shade of indigo in other eyes — in Visenya's eyes, and yet, not quite.

His lilac gaze traced her face and features carefully, noting the striking resemblance the woman bore to his niece — and yet they weren't the same. Her expression was blank, appearing as if she was looking through him, her eye covered by three light pink scars that ran from her brow to her nose.

Daemon felt the tugging sensation on his finger once again as he noticed the red thread resting on the ground, beside the unfamiliar yet familiar woman — The string extended forward into the eternal darkness, as if showing him that he still had to continue moving.

He barely took a step forward when something flashed before his eyes — an image of a closed eyelid, the skin of it blue, looking more like ice than flesh.

Suddenly, he was elsewhere, lying on something hard, his limbs almost numb as he felt exhausted to the point of it being impossible to move — His eyes were closed, but he could see specks of sunlight breaking through the canopy of leaves above, casting dappled shadows on him.

The sun's rays swayed gently, the rustling of leaves a soothing sound to his ears as he relaxed, realizing that while his body rested on the ground, his head lay on something soft.

Daemon was slightly startled when he felt a gentle hand caressing his cheek. He heard a soft hum and immediately recognized the melody as one of the lullabies sung to him in his childhood — The familiar tune soothed his senses, allowing him to give into the touch.

It was a peculiar sensation – the touch itself was soft and loving, filled with warmth and affection even though the hand that touched him wasn't as smooth as a woman's should be, having slight bumps and a few scars adorning the skin — It was a touch alike to a mother's or that of a lover.

A soft breeze carried a familiar scent of lemon and honey to his nostrils leading Daemon to groan in recognition as he finally summoned some strength to open his eyes.

His vision was blurry, but he could discern a woman looking down at him as he rested in her lap, her silver-gold waves falling like a curtain around them, as if shielding him from the world. "Visenya," Daemon whispered, voice barely audible.

He was woken by a faint whisper in his ear as he felt a presence beside him, but his eyes remained closed. He recognises Valerius' voice instantly, the Celtigar man mumbling words he barely understood.

Daemon could make up one particular word that piqued his interest — his niece's name, Visenya. He strained his ears to try and listen as Val continued, "Princess Visenya had a letter sent for you — You must respond to her, she is the Heif after all."

When he was met with no response from Daemon, Val added, "Her Grace wrote how she needs and wants you—" However, before he could finish, the voice of Daeron Velaryon interrupted him, "What in the name of all Gods are you doing, Celtigar?"

Daemion, Daeron's elder brother, added his own question, "And why are you lying to the man when you very well know we haven't received letters from anyone, much less the Princess..."

Daemon felt annoyed at having been lied to as Valerius responded, "You don't understand — If he is going to wake for anyone, it's going to be for her." He stated with certainty that made Daemon want to open his eyes and punch his teeth in.

Luckily for Valerius, he had no strength for that. Daemion and Daeron's chuckles followed that statement as Val told them, "Look..." He leaned to whisper, "She is on her way to greet you."

If his eyes had been open, he would've rolled them — the Velaryon brothers laughed as Daemion mused to Valerius, "You truly are a lost cause."

Daemon had his eyes closed, humming as he sensed light kisses against his neck. He felt the rich fabric against his fingerprints when he squeezed the hips of a girl who was straddling his lap.

Gods, how long had passed since he last touched a woman? — The answer: Too long.

A distinctive scent of lemon and honey enveloped him, making him groan as his eyes opened at once. He pulled his hands back upon seeing the familiar figure sitting on his lap, her silver-gold waves let loose, cascading down her barely-clothed back.

His niece leaned away just enough to be able to meet his gaze as he swallowed at the sight of her in a thin nightgown that matched the colour of her eyes perfectly — a stark contrast against her pale, almost porcelain skin. "Visenya..." Daemon muttered, barely audible.

"Uncle," she said back, her indigo eyes shining as she looked at him through her lashes. Daemon's lips suddenly felt dry, his palms struggling to find where to rest, unconsciously wanting to hold her — however, having enough self-control, he resisted, instead choosing to twirl a strand of her hair around his finger.

Visenya's hands were on his shoulders as she shifted on his lap causing the strap holding her nightgown in place to slip down her shoulder. Daemon reached to move the strap back to its place — Gods, it fit her like second skin, the material embracing her in all the right places, pushing the swell of her breasts and the curve of her hips in the spotlight.

He felt himself twitch inside his breeches — Fucking Hells. O ne glance at her was enough for him to get hard within seconds — He didn't even have to look at Visenya... all it took for a sniff of her scent for his senses to come to life.

Daemon's palm cupped her thigh, his calloused thumb caressing the smooth skin there as he felt the goosebumps rise at his touch, causing him to smirk. He peered up at her. "Is this all for me, little flame?"

"For who else would it be?" His niece inquired, indigo eyes twinkling with mischief. She glanced down at his mouth, making him freeze and his heart stop — He could swear he stopped breathing when she leaned forward, brushing her lips against his.

He backed away, watching her brow furrow. Visenya's palm cupped the nape of his neck, her frustration evident as she asked, "Why won't you kiss me?"

Daemon sighed upon feeling their noses brushing against one another. He squeezed her thigh, feeling the muscles she gained from years of training and dragonriding as he confessed, "If I kissed you, I don't think I'd be able to stop."

"I don't see the issue with that," Visenya muttered, bringing herself even closer to him, their breaths mingling. Not being able to stop himself, he pressed his forehead against hers. "Daemon—"

He shut his eyes, groaning at the sound of his name on her lips. "Say it again," he demanded, voice low. Visenya gently dug her nails into the nape of his neck and whispered against his mouth, "Daemon."

Daemon's jaw clenched, his control slipping away. Fuck — Was this not what he wanted? Was she not whom he dreamed of having? Had he not spent moons tormenting himself for not running after her, sweeping her off her feet and kissing her until she was breathless on Driftmark?

He didn't know who leaned in first nor did he care — All that mattered was that his mouth was suddenly pressed against hers — By the name of all Gods, she tested divine, sweet and better than anything and anyone he ever tried.

Daemon growled, the sound somewhere low in his chest as his other hand went into her hair, cradling her head and keeping her in place — He could swear he could've kissed her all day — He could've swept back the
loose strands of hair from her eyes and
spent his lifetime like that.

And Visenya... she kissed with the same fire — with the same passion and hunger — She kissed like she needed to be kissed, like she was aching all over for him and that knowledge made him almost lose his mind.

He pulled on her hair with enough force to move her head back, making her gasp as his lips found her sensitive throat, nipping at every inch of the skin, refusing to miss a single spot. Daemon's other hand sneaked under the hem of her nightgown, holding her bare hip.

Daemon paused for a moment, his grip on her tightening when he realised she wore nothing underneath — As if reading his thoughts, Visenya said breathlessly, "What would be the purpose of wearing smallclothes when you'd take them off or rip them apart?"

Fuck — she came to him in nought but her sleepwear, desiring and expecting his touch. Daemon growled against her collarbone, biting on the skin there just enough to leave a mark. "Sweet girl — Perfect girl..."

Visenya moaned — and if that wasn't the loveliest sound he ever heard, he didn't know what was. She pushed him back and he fell against the soft mattress before his niece followed him down, her lips finding their rightful place against his own.

She moved to kiss his jaw, following the line to his ear. Daemon tugged on the hem of her nightgown, wanting to take it off when he suddenly felt her whispering in his ear, "Wake up," Visenya spoke with urgency he couldn't place, "Wake up, uncle — You must wake up!"

Daemon opened his eyes, his breath heaving as his hand reached out to grab Visenya's necklace that was hanging from her neck — He was gasping, feeling a peculiar pain in his chest — the pain he was certain didn't belong to him.

"Please tell me we didn't worry about you for a fortnight only for you to have spent that entire time having sex dreams..." Valerius' voice caused him to wince. He turned to look at the Celtigar boy who had his arms crossed over his chest as he stared at him.

 

 

_____

 

 

driftmark, 111AC
visenya targaryen

Despite having slumbered for a full day, exhaustion clung to her like a shadow — Her emotions, though ever-present, felt distant, as if locked behind a stone wall, separating them from her heart.

Visenya expected her grief to ignite into seething anger when she learned of her mother's fate — to develop into a burning rage that would push her forward. Yet, that fire didn't light, slipping through her grasp like smoke.

No matter how desperately she poked at it, willing it to come, anger didn't surface. Her chest ached with a peculiar pain — a kind of hurt that was buried deep within her being yet it remained concealed from view.

She always considered herself the embodiment of strength — a chosen vessel, burdened with the world's sorrows, tasked to carry its heavy weight. She believed her destiny was to endure trials — to break and rebuild herself just to emerge stronger each time.

Yet, in her darkest hour of need, strength deserted her.

Visenya felt utterly defeated, stripped of her will to fight — Her body craved to stay in the bed with the warmth of the blankets cocooning her from the harsh reality that surrounded her now.

The tears ceased to flow — She wept and wept, exhausting her body so there was nothing left for her to give. Having had no time to mourn the loss of her mother, she covered the gushing wound on her heart with anything she could find — whether it be her duties or wine — But now, she was forced to face it head-on, the covers off as she stared at the deep hurt that was determined to remain, refusing to heal and give her peace.

This was a grim chapter in her tale — one that left her questioning the very nature of her strength and purpose in a world that had grown more cruel within a night.

Visenya jolted from her thoughts when felt soft tapping on her shoulder and heard a familiar voice calling her name — Turning her head, she met Laenor's concerned gaze. She briefly took in the surroundings, reminding herself that she wasn't alone — Rhaenys, Laena, Laenor and an elderly woman were all present, their eyes fixed on her.

Her attention briefly turned to her mother's jewellery box and the items it previously contained — items that were now arranged on the table before her — scrolls, a well-worn journal, and two sealed letters. Clearing her throat, she voiced, "Apologies — It seemed my mind had wandered off. Where were we?"

The elderly woman whose black hair was adorned with silver streaks, leaned forward and inquired as she gestured towards the items, "Is this everything you were given?"

Visenya locked eyes with her, noting the similarities between her and Rhaenys — the colour of their hair and the sharpness of their features — She supposed it was Rhaenys' mother, Jocelyn Baratheon.

"Yes," Visenya confirmed, nodding slowly. Rhaenys' gaze flickered between the items on the table and Visenya as she pointed out, "It would be for the best if we arranged a meeting with the midwife you mentioned — If she was indeed as distressed as you described, she might've forgotten to reveal something crucial."

Jocelyn agreed, bringing the cup of wine closer to her lips. "Where is that woman anyway?" Visenya blinked, managing to remember how she had sent Cira to Mysaria knowing her safety would be prioritised there and her wounds treated.

"She's safe." She offered vaguely, pretending not to notice Jocelyn's stormy irises as they stared at her. Laenor, who was seated nearest to her, questioned, "Might we know how you managed to fly on Arrax amidst a raging storm without a saddle, cousin?"

Visenya shared a glance with Laena before her friend averted her eyes as she struggled to recall anything from that night other than the tears that blurred her vision and the sound of thunder ringing in her ears, followed by her panicked sobs.

"I don't remember the flight at all — All I recall is telling Arrax to carry me to safety," she said, shrugging softly before she met Rhaenys' eyes expectedly, "Have you uncovered anything while flicking through the journal?"

"I haven't." Rhaenys reached for the journal, bringing it to her lap as she went through it once more, pointing out the notes written on the sides of the pages as well as the sentences that were underlined or circled. "There is no concrete evidence of the Maesters' treachery, only Queen Visenya's observations and suspicions — Her hateful words as well."

Laena, who maintained her silence until now, raised her brow. "Hateful?" she asked, curiosity piqued. Her mother nodded, continuing, "Indeed. Her disdain for the Maesters is deeply rooted — tracing back to her early life. It springs mostly from being judged for her choice of attire and her prowess with a sword, which, as we know, are traits and actions they don't deem feminine."

Visenya sighed solemnly, losing hope of finding true proof as she realized they were left with nothing. Laena mused silently, "It astonishes me how that such treachery remained undetected for so long... "

"There were those who noticed or, at the very least, harboured suspicions," Visenya disagreed, nodding toward the journal. "Queen Visenya remains convinced that the Maesters played a role in King Aenys' demise." She paused before continuing, "Although the lack of concrete evidence is concerning — Those involved must have mastered the discretion needed to hide their tracks."

Her thoughts raced as she pondered over her lack of knowledge about the topic — Having not heard a single whisper of anything alike this in her prior life, she was left feeling uncertain — Had this always been happening but it remained a well-guarded secret that no one exposed or was this a new development — the consequence of her meddling with the fate?

She silently cursed Bloodraven and his lack of appearance when he was needed most.

Laenor appeared intrigued as he asked, "Might it be that Queen Visenya's eagerness for the destruction of the Starry Sept was fueled by this knowledge?" His mother hummed in thought, "It isn't beyond the realm of possibility."

Jocelyn sipped on the wine as she reminded them, "Let us remember that these are speculations, not confirmed truths — We require certainty if we are to solve and resolve this issue."

Visenya nodded in agreement. "I propose that we seek out the journals of our ancestors. Perhaps some of them had an inkling that something was amiss — We must search for any sudden sicknesses and document the numbers and reasons for their deaths, especially women and children."

As she vocalized her thoughts, Visenya made a mental note to review Queen Alysanne's journal which had been in her position for a time — Her focus had primarily been on her great-grandmother's insights into governance and improving the lives of the common folk, but now, it seemed it was time to carefully study the sections in which she wrote about her pregnancies, losses, and stillbirth — It might offer them an insight in how the Crown dealt with the Faith of the Seven, particularly in the time when Doctrine of Exceptionalism was created.

Determination fueled both Laena and Laenor as she sent her mother a questioning look, "There must be something we can do until then... " Laenor chimed in, "We cannot allow them to go unpunished."

Visenya, however, shook her head, "I fear there may be nought we can do." The disbelief etched on her cousins' faces wasn't surprising as Visenya considered what it would take to solve the issue she was unprepared for — Unveiling this conspiracy could get in the way of her other plans, it would preminately change not only her life, but the lives of everyone in the Realm as a whole.

She didn't know if she was ready to fight this head-on — Because it might be the battle she wouldn't be able to win.

"We cannot simply sit by and wait to be slaughtered one by one!" Laena argued, seeking support from her mother who was looking at Visenya.

Rhaenys' voice was calm as she tried to keep the peace, "One thing is certain — We require assistance from those already involved in this matter, as there is a possibility they might already possess answers we seek."

"In order to involve Septa Rhaella and Archmaester Vaegon, we first must find a location free of the prying eyes and ears," Jocelyn pointed out. Laenor furrowed his brows. "We could meet here on Driftmark — It should be secure."

Visenya sighed and shook her head ever so slightly. "Nowhere is truly safe for us — Not anymore," she muttered — At least not while Maesters and those religious lunatics were plaguing every castle and keep while holding so much power in their hands.

A heavy silence hung in the room as they all pondered over their next steps — Rhaenys broke the stillness as she retrieved the journal from the table and handed it to Visenya. Their eyes met briefly as the woman revealed, "I've written to Viserys, informing him of your whereabouts."

This had her snorting, a hint of bitterness visible on her face. "You shouldn't have bothered, Princess — My father is more concerned with entertaining his long-awaited son... He won't spare a thought for me."

"There is still hope," Rhaenys insisted, studying Visenya carefully. "Your half-brother's birth was announced, but he was introduced as only Prince Aegon — not Prince of Dragonstone."

Visenya's brow rose in response — After spending hours listening to the chants of Hightowers as they celebrated the birth of the 'Prince of Dragonstone' without any interruption, she assumed her father's mind already changed. Viserys was undoubtedly awake then — He must've heard his court and their words yet he deemed it unnecessary to correct them.

How typical of him.

Before Visenya could respond, Jocelyn snarked mockingly, "What kind of imbecile names his firstborn son after the Conqueror if he has no intention of making him his Heir?" she shook her head, her stormy eyes showing a hint of satisfaction as she taunted Viserys.

Not everyone would dare mock the King, especially not in the presence of his Heir — so Visenya found herself intrigued. "Aegon was named after my father's brother, not after the Conqueror," she corrected.

Their gazes clashed as she noted something akin to surprise in Jocelyn's irises. Then, the elder woman shrugged, "It matters not. The rest of the Realm will assume he had been named after the most formidable Targaryen King — the Conqueror who had started the Targaryen dynasty and united the Seven Kingdoms."

The Baratheon woman acknowledged, "The situation isn't as dire as it seems so long as Blackfyre remains in your possession. Visenya clenched her jaw, her lips pressed together as she reluctantly confessed, "Blackfyre was taken from me."

Jocelyn's eyes narrowed, her expression growing stern. "And you thought it unnecessary to reclaim it?" She sharply questioned. Visenya remained unfazed by the criticism, straightening her back as she mused, "I don't much care whether my father returns Blackfyre to me or not — I don't require a sword to prove the legitimacy of my claim... I only need myself."

She leaned back against the pillows as she continued, "Besides, I possess the ultimate power of House Targaryen — dragons. That is something Aegon and his kin cannot claim to have."

Rhaenys went over Visenya's words, her brow furrowing. "While that might remain true for now, Aegon is likely to be bestowed with a dragon egg — It's the custom nowadays."

Visenya remained unyielding, speaking with certainty, "There're no dragons residing within the Dragonpit and only one egg remains within the Red Keep — an egg that shall never hatch for Aegon."

"Viserys might command for another egg to be placed in his cradle," Rhaenys stated. Visenya shrugged nonchalantly, "I've taken precautions to ensure that the Dragonkeepers would provide an egg that already turned to stone."

Before Rhaenys could respond, Visenya revealed, voice steady, "If, by some misfortune, my father orders yet another egg to be brought, the Cannibal shall be given a little snack — If, in few years time, he demands a hatchling to be sent to him, then Cannibal will be gifted with a meal."

The atmosphere in the chambers grew tense as the revelation that Visenya would rather end the lives of young dragons than share the power of House Targaryen with Alicent's children.

Jocelyn, voicing the question that no other dared to, "Would you truly go so far as to sacrifice dragons to secure the ancient Targaryen power for yourself?" Visenya met Jocelyn's eyes unflinchingly, her answer devoid of hesitation or remorse. "Yes."

Heavy silence enveloped them as Laenor, Laena, and Rhaenys exchanged quiet looks between themselves before turning to Jocelyn and Visenya who were locked in a battle of wills.

Visenya could swear she recognised a glimmer of approval, or perhaps intrigue before the other woman abruptly departed out of the chambers. Rhaenys followed after her mother, leaving her alone with her two cousins.

She sighed, rubbing her eyes, her exhaustion evident. "I don't believe your grandmother holds me in high regard." Laenor chuckled, a hint of affection in his laughter. "Don't fret, cousin — She harbours no favour for anyone."

Laena tugged on Laenor's sleeve, the two of them exchanging a silent conversation through their eyes alone as Laenor nodded at Visenya, wishing her a swift recovery before heading for the door and closing it behind him.

Now that they were left alone, the weight of their past argument hung heavily between them as Laena approached her with hesitance, and Visenya shifted on the bed uncertainly.

Moons ago, Visenya envisioned this moment, having prepared a written apology and memorised words in hopes of reconciliation — But now, with Laena before her and the awkwardness surrounding them, her tongue tied and uncooperative.

Her friend took a seat by the bed, a hint of concern in her irises which Visenya was unable to bear as he blurted out, "I'm alright." Laena blinked in mild surprise, a small smile gracing her lips as she replied, "I know — You always are."

Her silver curls stirred thanks to the gentle breeze coming through the window. "You don't always have to be alright when you're with me, you are aware of that, right? I promised to accept you just as you are — even if you're a little lost and perhaps a bit damaged," Laena added. "Our relationship may have been strained, but I never intended to break that vow."

The words made Visenya's heart ache with guilt — Now, as she resided on Driftmark, surrounded by the conspiracies that threatened to destroy everything, she couldn't believe she allowed herself to let go of Laena over something that now seemed so irrelevant.

Her mother had been murdered, not dying of natural causes and those who played a role in her death now manipulated her father like a marionette — Her world turned upside down, and Visenya realized that Arrax brought her to Driftmark because he sensed her need to be by Laena's side again — to be beside those who remained loyal to her.

Laena was the one person Visenya could be herself around and never feel judged — She was the one person who she knew would always be there to pick up her broken pieces. She made her feel brave and confident because no matter what transpired, no matter how fucked up or embarrassing it was, Visenya knew she always had her in her corner — She knew that if it all went to Hells, she could talk to Laena and it would be alright.

Surprisingly, both of them blurted out apologies at the same time — They exchanged small smiles, and Visenya raised her hand, indicating she wanted to speak first. "I should never have allowed myself to push you away — You've stood by my side through thick and thin and I should've acknowledged your loyalty from the first," she spoke with remorse, "In the darkness that I call my life, you were and still are one of the bright lights that kept me going — that gave me hope and strength. I deeply apologize for not recognizing it sooner."

Laena offered her own apology, "At the time, I hadn't fully grasped the consequences of what my marriage to your father — or his marriage to any other woman, would mean for you... Now that I understand the full story, I see why you reacted the way you did."

She bit her lip, her heart filled with hope, and she hesitantly asked, "Does this mean we're friends again?" Laena chuckled, her expression light and filled with warmth. "I worried you'd never ask," she replied, her smile radiant.

Notes:

Holy shit, I really need to start shortening the chapters cause this took hella long to write and edit ://

Anyways, hope you enjoyed! I left like 11 easter eggs in this chapter, some quite obvious while others are very well hidden hehe

My Wattpad: seven-moons
My Tiktok: littlstwolf

Chapter 53: A Cry, Roar, Wail and Growl

Summary:

In which:

— Alicent deals with conflicting emotions
— There is a lot of info dumping, I'm sorry
— The OG black council assembles

king's landing, 112AC
alicent hightower

Alicent sat in her chambers, the golden rays of the sun streaming through the window and bathing the room in a warm glow. Her brown eyes, however, were fixed on her aunt, Lynesse, who rocked Aegon, in her arms, her face alight with a serene joy as her soft humming blended with the babe's cooes.

Her fingers worked restlessly at the skin beside her nails, pulling and tearing until she felt the sharp sting of torn flesh — Blood welled up, but she scarcely noticed, too focused on the way her heart twisted with guilt as she watched her son, safe and content in another's arms.

She couldn't deny the relief that washed over her whenever someone else took Aegon from her, freeing her from the constant anxiety that gnawed at her — It was a dark thought, one she dared not to acknowledge even to herself.

Her family had been relentless since Aegon's birth — Seven Hells, perhaps even before then too! Their endless stream of advice and the constant scrutiny and expectations from people at court had become an overwhelming burden that weighed heavily upon Alicent.

They had been relentless, offering counsel on how to be a perfect mother, and ultimately smothering her with their well-meaning, but suffocating, concern. Alicent faced it all with a stiff lip, her smile never once faltering as she cradled her son.

She just prayed they didn’t notice the way her hands trembled or how her foot impatiently tapped against the floor — She prayed no one witnessed her counting seconds until she could pass Aegon to his nursemaids, each moment stretching into eternity.

The guilt gnawed at her — Alicent was his mother, was she not? She was supposed to cherish every moment — to be the one who loved him most fiercely, the one who dreaded letting him go. Instead, she felt like a prisoner desperate for a brief respite.

"Every woman's duty and destiny is to become a mother one day," her mother had often said, "It is our purpose as womb carriers to create and nurture new life, to love and raise our offspring. Every woman is made to be a mother, otherwise, she would not have been born a woman."

However, if that were true, why did she feel like she was failing at the one thing she was supposed to excel at?

Alicent vividly recalled the excruciating and agonizing pain of her labours, the searing waves of torment that wracked her body — She remembered Aegon's first cries as they pierced the silence of the birthing chamber. She also recalled the relief that washed over her, but not the relief of a mother who heard her newborn for the first time. Rather, it was a relief for herself — for the end of her suffering, for the completion of her duty.

The pressure that had weighed on her throughout her pregnancy vanished in that instant — She had done what was expected of her, she had brought forth a living, breathing son for her husband, the King.

As the days passed, Alicent observed the transformation in those around her — the way they all flocked to her chambers, fussing over the infant. Her family practically fought over who would visit the babe first — who would get to hold him and shower him with affection.

Aegon was adored, cherished even — There was nothing wrong with him the realization dawned on her slowly, like the creeping chill of winter.She was the issue — She was the one struggling to connect with her own son.

After that, Alicent found herself drawn to the Sept more and more. She knelt before the statue of the Mother, her hands clasped and her whispered prayers echoing in the silent building — She beseeched the Mother for guidance, for the wisdom to be the mother she was expected to be.

The Sept became her sanctuary, a place where she could lay bare her fears and failures. The flickering candles and the scent of incense provided a semblance of peace, as she poured out her heart, hoping the Mother would hear her pleas — hoping for a sign, any sign, that her struggle would resolve.

Every time Alicent gazed into her son's purple eyes, she was haunted by memories of another pair — the same purple hues that once looked upon her with so much adoration, like she was the sun itself. Alas now, those same eyes were glistening with betrayal, with a hatred that cut deeper than any blade.

The pain of that memory twisted in her chest like a dagger — She had even wept before the statue of the Mother a few days prior, pleading with her to allow her to see her son for who he was, not as a reflection of the past that haunted her.

Lynesse's voice cut through her thoughts, breaking the silence of the room, "Aren't you precious, little Prince?" She tickled Aegon's chubby cheeks, making the babe giggle.

Alicent watched, her heart heavy with a mixture of longing and despair — Aegon's laughter was, after all, a rare sound when he was in her arms, a stark contrast to the joy he displayed in the company of others.

She couldn't help but wonder if he sensed her detachment — if he felt her struggle to connect with him even at such a tender age — if he, somehow, sensed her inner turmoil and therefore, recoiled from her touch.

Alicent sighed softly, her gaze lingering on Lynesse as she tended to her son. "You handle him so effortlessly," she murmured, her voice tinged with a hint of envy.

Lynesse chuckled lightly, her fingers deftly tucking Aegon into his crib. "I'm a mother to three boys myself," she explained with a warm smile. "I've had a bit of practice, you might say."

Alicent's disappointment must have been evident, for Lynesse moved closer, taking her hand in hers and squeezing it reassuringly. "Do you believe I was like this from the moment I became a mother?" she asked softly. "Motherhood, my dear, is as much about practice as it is about instinct."

Alicent bit her lip, her gaze falling to her bloodied fingers as she wondered if she would ever possess the maternal instincts that seemed to come so naturally to others.

Sensing her uncertainty, Lynesse gently lifted Alicent's chin, forcing her to meet her gaze. "Aegon is but your first child," she said, her voice gentle but firm. "You will have more, and with each one, you will learn and grow. Motherhood is a journey, niece, and you are just beginning — You have nought to worry about."

The sudden eruption of male voices shattered the fragile peace of Alicent's chambers. Her head snapped towards the closed door, behind which her father and uncle engaged in a seemingly, heated exchange.

Her shoulders tensed, her lips pressed into a thin line as she froze in her seat. The sound of her heartbeat echoed in her ears, quickening with each passing second while her breaths felt hollow and shaky.

This development invoked memories of her childhood home, where peace was but a fleeting luxury. It was the reason why Alicent had eagerly anticipated the move to King's Landing when her father was named Hand of the King — In the capital, there were no raised voices and no bitter arguments that tore families apart.

Despite her mother's best efforts to shield Alicent and her brothers from the shouting matches, they could always overhear the worst bits and pieces. However, in King's Landing, they were far removed from her uncle's influence, and her father had no one with whom to quarrel.

Even when her uncle visited, Rhaenyra would whisk her away, sparing her from having to hear any of it — Rhaenyra had been her refuge, offering solace in the Godswood, where Alicent would lie beside her, holding her hand as they sought sanctuary amidst the trees.

But now, there was no one to shield her from the storm brewing just beyond the door.

The prolonged stay of her family in King's Landing since her wedding was something Alicent understood she should be grateful for. After all, it was a rare privilege for a woman to have her birth family close after marriage and the King's generosity in allowing them to remain at court was not lost on her.

Despite the court's apparent disdain for her, she found solace in the protection and defence her family provided then — They shielded her from the venomous tongues, defended her honour, and corrected the misinformation and false rumours that circulated about her and Aegon.

Alicent should have been grateful, and in many ways, she was. Yet, despite this, a part of her longed for them to pack their belongings and return to Oldtown.

She couldn't shake the unease that settled within her as she pondered the reason for her family's extended stay — Her thoughts even drifted to the increased frequency of her uncle's visits, reminiscent of the time surrounding Queen Aemma's labour and, later, her funeral.

Why the prolonged stay now? What purpose did it serve when her uncle had the entire city of Oldtown to oversee?

A sense of dread crept upon her, a feeling of something unsettling lurking just beyond her reach — It was a feeling she knew all too well. Hadn't the same dread that plagued her after the Queen's funeral, when her father and uncle summoned her to the Tower of the Hand?

Alicent was immediately pulled back into a memory of that fateful night, when her father had welcomed her with open arms, seemingly in a remarkably good mood despite the sombre atmosphere that had gripped the city — It had been a strange sight to see considering that the loss of the Queen had cast a shadow over every noble and commoner alike.

Hobert and Otto stood before her, their expressions inscrutable as her father began to speak, "An opportunity has arisen," he announced, his voice carrying a weight of significance. "An opportunity in which, if you were to succeed, you could secure for yourself and our family incalculable wealth, position, and power."

She straightened at her father's words, her mind racing with possibilities. She wondered if this conversation had something to do with her betrothal to Ser Graffin — While her father had seemed content with the match, he had made no secret of his preference for her to wed Ser Graffin's cousin, Lord Lerris Tyrell, the Warden of the South.

Alicent played with her fingers behind her back nervously as she listened — She had almost entirely forgotten about the entire ordeal, politely avoiding the Tyrell knight and always finding excuses that she was busy attending to Rhaenyra as her lady-in-waiting when in truth, she would rather spend her time in Rhaenyra's arms than anyone else's.

The weight of her betrothal and her duty to her family weighed heavily on her — It was like a shackle that allowed her a few steps forward but kept tugging at her, reminding her to stay in place, to not dare to dream of the day Rhaenyra would fly them away across the Narrow Sea.

Her uncle suddenly spoke up from the seat he had occupied by the fireplace, his voice cutting through the heavy silence like a knife, "As you already know, a dire situation occurred today. The King lost his wife, and in such circumstances, a man like himself could and will seek comfort elsewhere."

Alicent froze where she stood, her heart sinking like a stone in her chest — She didn't have a good feeling about where this conversation was headed, especially not with the way her uncle was looking at her, his gaze filled with careful intent and calculation, his eyes shining with a light she had never seen before.

She attempted to conceal her worry, but her father seemed to have seen right through her. As he approached her and took her hands in his, a rare gentleness settled over him, softening the stern lines of his face. "My darling," he began, his voice filled with an unusual tenderness, "I thought you might go to him, offer him comfort."

Her heart pounded in her chest as Otto's words sank in. She fought the urge to start biting at her nails, her fingers trembling in his grasp. She opened her mouth to protest, to voice the myriad reasons why such a suggestion was unthinkable, but the words died on her lips.

Instead, Alicent whispered her question with uncertainty, her voice barely audible in the quiet chamber. "In his chambers?" Hobert's response was sharp and decisive, "Where else?" he interjected, his tone leaving no room for argument.

She gulped as she dared to look up at her father, making one last, pathetic attempt to avoid the situation, "But... I wouldn't know what to say," she stammered helplessly.

Otto smiled down at her, his touch fleeting yet reassuring as he caressed her hands before releasing them. "I'm certain the King will simply be glad to have a visitor," he reassured her, his voice comforting.

Alicent breathed out shakily, her nerves still frayed as she watched her father turn away, returning to his conversation with her uncle. She understood this was a clear dismissal as Hobert returned to his task of writing a letter.

Clutching onto the skirts of her dress, she silently made her way towards the doors. However, before she could grasp the handle, Otto's voice rang through the chambers once more, stopping her in her tracks, "Perhaps you might wear one of your mother's dresses."

Alicent froze, the idea of wearing her late mother's attire filling her with uncertainty — It didn't seem appropriate for an unmarried maiden such as herself. Yet, as she stood there, she couldn't help but find some justification in her father's suggestion.

Perhaps her family's concern for the King's well-being outweighed the propriety of her attire — Perhaps her father's close friendship with the King had allowed him to see the depth of his Grace's grief and loneliness, and perhaps, in their eyes, Alicent was the best candidate to offer him solace in his time of need.

She couldn't help but reflect on how naive she had been back then. Naive, perhaps, wasn't the precise word — She had been eager, too eager, to turn a blind eye to the actions and words of those around her, particularly her family. She had lacked the ability to speak up as well, to make her opinions known, always feeling like a failure when she attempted to stand up for herself.

She was a leaf caught in a whirlwind, carried by the whims and desires of those who held power over her. Her father's words, her uncle's sharp commands — they had all shaped her path, leaving little room for her desires.

Another memory flashed before Alicent's eyes— one that she had tried countless times to bury deep within her mind. She was standing in her father's chambers while Otto and Hobert sat side by side at the table, a couple of parchments resting on the table before them. Her aunts, Lynesse and Alerie, were present as well. Lynesse paced around, playing with her fingers as if deep in thought, while Alerie stood by the fireplace, watching the flames dance.

Her uncle's voice echoed through the chambers, piercing the heavy silence. "Did you visit him?" Alicent began tearing the flesh around her nails behind her back as she nodded slowly. "Yes," she responded softly, avoiding their eyes as she felt her cheeks flush with discomfort.

Her uncle, pressed further, his tone insistent. "More than once?" She struggled to open her mouth and speak, the words catching in her throat as his impatience grew. He tsked in disapproval, "You better get used to talking about it — when you start spending time alone with the King, it ceases to be a private matter."

Finding some small reserve of strength, Alicent finally looked up, meeting Hobert's gaze. "Yes, more than once — Every night since the funeral," she admitted, her tone trembling with the effort.

A heavy silence followed her confession — a silence that made her relax slightly, thinking that the conversation was over. By the Seven, how wrong she had been.

Hobert leaned forward, his gaze piercing. "And what of the King? How does he receive you?" She carefully measured her words before speaking, "He is... grateful for my presence — He finds comfort in my company."

Otto exchanged a glance with his brother, a silent communication passing between them as her uncle hummed, urging her to continue. "We talk about history, about Queen Aemma and mine own mother, about Rhaenyra... and the Princess Visenya," she confessed awkwardly, "He likes it when I read to him."

After another round of silence, Alicent desperately tried to catch her father's gaze, but he was pointedly looking out of the window. Panic churned within her — she wondered if she had disappointed him or shamed his name by complying with his orders. But then again, he had been the one who commanded her to visit the King, had he not?

"You may go," Hobert, suddenly said dismissively. She briefly glanced at her two aunts who both refused to meet her gaze as she hurriedly stepped out of the chambers, her heart heavy with confusion.

As she closed the door behind her, she couldn't help but linger, needing to hear more — She swiftly looked around, ensuring she was alone, before leaning her ear against the door, her heart beating wildly in her chest.

Moments of silence passed then came the scraping sound of chair legs against the ground, followed by a set of footsteps which Alicent recognized as her uncle standing up from his seat. She heard his voice, firm and resolute, as he announced, "Now our work begins — It's one thing to catch the King and quite another to keep him."

Lynesse sighed deeply, her overwhelming thoughts almost audible in her tired exhale as she expressed, "I dislike this." Then Alicent heard her father's voice as he replied, "In the Small Council meetings, the matter of the King's second marriage is already beginning to be discussed." Otto continued, "It won't be long until other noble Houses catch wind of this and begin to parade their daughters, sisters, cousins, or nieces under his nose."

Hobert hummed in agreement, adding swiftly, "Before watching someone else profit, we would sooner have—" He was then abruptly cut off by Lynesse's words of disapproval, "You'd sooner witness your niece be traded like cattle for your advancement and amusement?"

Alicent almost gasped where she stood, having never witnessed her aunt display such an act of defence before. Hobert seemed taken aback as well as he cleared his throat, his annoyance palpable, "The favour the King would bestow upon our House, our family, and Alicent herself if he liked her..." He trailed off, his implication hanging in the air, causing her to squirm in her spot.

Lynesse's voice shook slightly as she pointed out, "After his Grace is finished with her, her reputation and prospects will be ruined." Suddenly, Alicent's other aunt, Alerie, spoke up, her tone firm as she voiced her concerns, "Our alliance with the Tyrells is also at stake if we continue down this path." Otto questioned thoughtfully, "You disapprove?"

Alerie made a sound that was almost like a snort, although Alicent knew her aunt was too lady-like to make such noises — However, it was clear that she indeed disapproved as she pointed out, "Too much is at stake and your plans are flawed — Her virtue is being risked for nought!"

"You secured your own husband by seducing him after pretending to be lost while returning from your embroidery lesson, did you not?" Hobert stated bluntly making Alicent reel back, scandalized by the revelation as her eyes widened in disbelief.

"Risk nothing, gain nothing — Weren't those the exact words you told me back then?" her uncle continued, his voice rising in frustration. "You understood what needed to be done, and so does Alicent."

However, her aunt stubbornly argued back, "Alicent understands nothing! Despite being nine and ten, she has the mind of a child!" She pointed out, "I, on the other hand, had known what I wanted from a very young age and had taken matters into her own hands! I executed my plan without anyone's aid and had been successful in securing my future."

Alerie then added with a hint of defiance, "We certainly didn't see father's disapproval over my actions, did we? — I managed to secure myself the future Lord Paramount of the Trident instead of some petty lordling."

Hobert's anger flared even more at her words, making him argue vehemently, "That is precisely what we are attempting to do now — Aemma Arryn couldn't give the King a son, but if Alicent could give him a child, and that child could be a boy..." He trailed off, his implication hanging heavily in the air.

Alicent felt her blood run cold as she finally understood their intentions and plans for her. Terror and unease churned in her stomach, and she quickly gathered her skirts and ran — desperate to outrun the future that was undeniably closing in on her. But no matter how fast she ran, she knew she could never escape the fate her family had chosen for her.

The doors were suddenly and angrily thrown open, causing Alicent to snap out of her thoughts, her shoulders immediately stiffening. Her uncle's face was contorted with pure fury as he bolted out of the room. "You had one task — Only one! And you couldn't even fulfil it!" he shouted as Otto followed after him, his expression a deep scowl.

"Otto Hightower, the second son of Oldtown that became the Hand," Horbert taunted his brother, his tone dripping with mockery and causing his face to flush with anger. "Are you even capable of anything because from the sound of it, you lost the King's ear!"

Alicent's father grew furious as he loudly proclaimed, "It will be done, I'm telling you!" Her uncle hardly wished to listen, shouting over him, "It better be done!"

Alicent witnessed the way her father's jaw clenched as he desperately tried to keep his anger at bay. He exhaled sharply and attempted to reassure, "He fears Aegon will perish in the cradle as all his sons had before him. That is the single reason why he is yet to be declared Heir — Wait until he survives infancy, and you shall see the change in his attitude regarding the succession."

Hobert took a moment to consider Otto's words, but then he scoffed and shook his head, his disbelief palpable, "He seems adamant to keep that girl as his Heir while he hides Aegon from all of the Realm as if he is some unworthy afterthought!"

Otto's anger arose again as he shouted, "The line of succession is clear! We all see it, and so does the King — He shall make everyone know it unless he wishes to invalidate his own Reign and those of his predecessors! The Great Council's precedent stands! I ask that you give time, Hobert!"

The screaming and crying of an upset babe pierced the tense atmosphere, making Alicent realise that the fight between her father and her uncle had woken up her son. Her aunt, immediately scolded both of them, "You are scaring the babe!"

The men spared Aegon a single look before angrily storming off, each going in a different direction. They slammed the doors behind them, leaving Alicent and her aunt alone with the wailing infant. Lynesse immediately jumped into action, hurrying to comfort Aegon and soothe him back to sleep.

It was only when Alicent truly grasped that she wasn't in the presence of Otto and Hobert anymore that she realized she had been holding her breath. She exhaled sharply, feeling her shoulders gradually begin to relax as time passed.

She hadn't even noticed that Aegon's cries had ceased and that her aunt approached her yet again, almost flinching in surprise when Lynesse placed her hand over hers. She sent the woman an uneasy smile, folding her hands in her lap to hide the bloodied fingers as she opened her mouth, ready to apologize for getting lost in her thoughts, but the words that left her mouth surprised even her, "I never wanted this — I never asked for it, for any of it."

Those words perfectly described her inner turmoil, the thoughts she hid from everyone and everything, even herself — Yet she blurted them out so easily that it startled her. Even so, witnessing the way Lynesse tensed up at the words made her regret speaking at all.

She was ready to apologize — to tell her aunt to forget that she ever said anything. However, the way Lynesse's empathetic emerald eyes shifted towards her made Alicent pause and blink in surprise, choosing to stay quiet.

Lynesse sighed, her voice quieter as she muttered, "We are women. And the men who hold our fates in their palms hardly conceive that we have desires and dreams of our own." Alicent waited, momentarily feeling relieved that her aunt found it in herself to be understanding.

Despite how much she searched for the same thing from other women, from her ladies, her cousins, and other aunts, they all seemed to have the same response — They all told her that she should be grateful. And Alicent was grateful, she was. Alas, she needed someone who understood her position — who could understand where she was coming from — who could validate her feelings.

Lynesse then shook her head and looked away as if she was battling her own thoughts — as if she regretted saying those words in the first place. "What I meant to say is that I understand, dear niece. Even so, I must request something from you," her aunt spoke.

Once Alicent gave her a curt nod, urging her to continue, the woman said, "I imagine you hold a great deal of resentment towards your father and uncle for the situation you find yourself in." The words made her straighten her posture immediately, her mouth parting as she was ready to defend herself and tell her aunt that her words were far from the truth.

Alas, her aunt put her hand up in the air, as if to stop Alicent from attempting to speak for a moment. Lynesse's emerald irises searched for permission to speak and get her point across without being interrupted. Alicent saw no judgment in her aunt's gaze so she allowed her to speak, pursing her lips and focused on listening.

The woman started, "Your father is a great man with a mind that few have seen as of yet — Both King Jaehaerys and His Grace, your husband, have recognized his talents and capabilities, thus entrusting him with the position of the second most powerful person in the Realm."

Her aunt's emerald gaze turned serious as she pleaded, "What I require of you to grasp is that with more power comes more responsibility." Alicent listened to every word attentively to Lynesse's soft words, "Both my husband and goodbrother have been burdened with the duty to our House, but your father has the responsibility towards the Kingdom as well. Alas, at times, the needs of the Realm don't align with those of our family — It's then that he is tasked to find a solution that benefits both."

She then added, "I believe your situation was one of those, so I ask that you attempt to understand his intentions — I ask of you to soften your heart towards him."

Alicent gulped at her words, suddenly struck with how unfair she had been towards both her father and uncle — She had resented both of them for giving her this life, for thrusting her into this position she wasn't ready for. She had been silently saddened and angry and she had felt so betrayed when she learned of their intentions for her future.

However, what she only realized now was how selfish she had been — She had only been thinking about herself while Otto and Hobert gave their very best to serve their House and do their duties. A wave of guilt washed over her when she realized they had no choice but to do their duty — They were in the same position as her, were they not?

"I realize that His Grace isn't the man you wished to wed — He is older and already has two daughters who are younger than you by a few years, but, there is no one who outranks him. He was the most eligible and prosperous suitor in the Realm — He is every lady's dream," her aunt explained gently, making Alicent look away.

Indeed, a marriage to the King would make any other woman happy, but she hadn't been — Her husband was a good man with a kind heart who treated her well so she had no reason to feel this way. There were far worse matches than Viserys. Yet, she couldn't help herself.

Lynesse continued, "And out of all of them, he has chosen you. The King himself picked you to stand by his side as his Queen and bear him heirs that shall continue his line — That is the greatest honour of all, is it not?"

Alicent wanted to nod, to agree — because her aunt had a point. It was the greatest of honours to marry into House Targaryen and be chosen by the King himself to be worthy enough to do so. However, was that what happened? Lady Laena had been the first choice, the right choice for the King. Everyone believed and said so — everyone expected her to wed the King which was why no other Lord dared to send their daughters, nieces, or cousins of marriageable age to court — Everyone understood no other woman could hold a candle to Lady Laena Velaryon.

Yet, Alicent and her family forced the King's Hand. So was she really the King's choice?

Instead of replying to that, she gazed at the crib Aegon rested in and simply remarked, "He isn't very fond of Aegon, I fear." Viserys adored their son at first, and then he switched his behaviour entirely, his visits becoming nonexistent as if was avoiding the son he wed her to have.

Her aunt's brows furrowed as she waved her hand dismissively. "Nonsense, he is his firstborn son," she countered, explaining, "Men are simply like that. They have no interest in infants as we do. It's when they begin to grow and take their lessons that their attention truly shifts."

She must've seen the uncertainty and doubt on Alicent's face because she immediately went on to reassure her, "You mustn't worry, dear. Aegon is a blessing Westeros has been waiting almost twenty years for. He has been in the thoughts and prayers of many, both Noblemen and commoners alike — And he is finally here."

Lynesse lifted Alicent's chin so she would meet her gaze, her emerald eyes shining with the promise that everything would be all right. "You made that happen, niece — It was you who made the restless Realm settle — who banished people's fears of the unstable future away — who brought hope and light back to the King who once thought holding a living son in his arms was impossible."

Alicent hummed, the ends of her lips twitching in a small smile. She had made all of that happen, hadn't she? Her aunt went on, "You have done it, dearest, so how can he not be thrilled with Aegon — with his little successor and our King to be?"

 

_____

 

driftmark, 112AC
rhaenys targaryen

Rhaenys observed the angry grey clouds that occupied the sky, her black hair swaying with the heavy wind. She exhaled, irritated that the cape covering her head refused to cooperate, constantly bending and obstructing her view even when she moved the material away.

Beside her, her mother scanned the port on Driftmark, searching for Septa Rhaella and Archmaester Vaegon, who were set to arrive soon. She tapped her foot against the ground, impatiently watching the docked ships.

"To feel trapped and backed into a corner from all sides is one thing, but to be so desperate to even consider ending the lives of hatchlings is madness," Rhaenys remarked, continuing their previous conversation about Visenya and her plans.

While she possessed a certain understanding of the position Visenya found herself in, she could never excuse what the girl had planned to do — No matter the circumstances, killing dragons was the line she thought absolutely ridiculous and unnecessary to cross.

Jocelyn regarded her with a simple look before she shrugged lightly. "I like it," she expressed, making Rhaenys roll her eyes. "I don't doubt that you do," she commented, not at all surprised by her mother's opinion. After all, she was known to appreciate people who were willing to go to drastic lengths when fighting for what they believed in.

It was the quality she long wished that Rhaenys herself possessed, and she made no attempt to hide that.

After a moment of silence between them, Jocelyn asked, "You don't believe she will actually act upon it, do you?" Rhaenys raised her black brow, intrigued by this inquiry. Instead of answering, she posed a question back, "You don't?"

Her mother snorted, her face set in a neutral expression as she spoke with a certainty that she couldn't quite place, "Of course not. She is fearful and uncertain of her future and has considered taking some drastic measures to sabotage those who would benefit from her downfall — That is all there is to it."

That could certainly be the case, Rhaenys thought to herself before she recalled the discussion she had with Visenya on the balcony of the Red Keep when they observed Viserys and Laena interact — She clearly remembered the vicious and strong way in which the girl expressed her opinion on Alicent's possible future children before she even wed her father. Hells, she even promised that everything would burn before she let any Hightower welp sit the Iron Throne!

Because of that exact memory, she felt confident to disagree with Jocelyn, "I've seen and heard enough to believe her capable of doing it." Her mother considered her words, "I'm not familiar with the girl enough to confirm nor deny that. Alas, you heard her — offering hatchlings to Cannibal is the last stage of her plan which already has many layers that ensure it won't come to that."

"She has no way of knowing what awaits her on the morrow, let alone in years to come — All her plans are more than capable of failing," Rhaenys pointed out. Jocelyn nodded in agreement, yet still stood firm in her opinion, "Perhaps, but this one won't."

She was utterly taken aback by her mother's certainty and the way she acted considering that she wasn't overly fond of the idea of any of Viserys's children, and was initially sceptical of Visenya upon being told about her.

"What makes you so certain?" Rhaenys pushed. Jocelyn's dark eyes pierced through her as she explained, "Having an entire realm believing that Alicent's welp isn't Targaryen enough for his egg to hatch is brilliant."

Rhaenys cocked her head to the side, nonchalantly reminding her, "Eggs turn to stone all the time — It means nothing." She then added, "An egg not hatching in the cradle of a babe doesn't make it less Targaryen." Laena was the perfect example of this.

The older woman returned her gaze towards the Narrow Sea, "I agree," she stated. "However, we know this — Anyone else who has never been a part of House Targaryen? — anyone who hasn't studied Valyrian culture and has not an inkling of knowledge? They have no idea which gives Visenya the ultimate power in the situation — She could manipulate the perception of Viserys's brand new whelps however she pleases — she could make everyone start to question everything because she has believable evidence to back her claim."

"The best lies have a bit of truth in them," Jocelyn exclaimed, "and the truth is that both Visenya and Rhaenyra's eggs hatched in their cradles. As such, they could be perceived as worthier and more Targaryen."

Rhaenys could've sworn she witnessed the twitching of her mother's lips into an impressed smile as she went on, "It takes only one person with a pair of working eyes and a good memory to make the connection and start this comparison that would forever separate Aemma's children from Alicent's."

She smugly added, "That brat is already on shaky ground since he is believed to have been conceived before marriage. Add the fact that his egg turned to stone and everyone shall consider it as a bad omen — they would think twice before going against the 'Signs Gods are presenting to them'."

Had Visenya truly thought about all of this? Had she planned that far ahead and considered all the possibilities and outcomes — all consequences?

"Aegon could simply claim an adult dragon once he is deemed old enough to do so," Rhaenys countered. After all, hadn't that happened with Laena as well? Her daughter had claimed Vhagar, the most formidable beast and the last dragon from the Conquest, despite having her egg turned to stone — Hadn't that also been the case with Viserys, Daemon, and herself as well? — None of Jaehaerys's grandchildren were gifted eggs upon birth, yet three out of four of them claimed dragons upon coming of age.

As she said before, having no hatchlings didn't make anyone less Targaryen — all Visenya's efforts would be worthless.

Jocelyn shook her head, eyes narrowing into slits, "By the time he is old enough to claim a dragon, the public perception of him will already be ruined — and so would be for any future children Viserys's new might have."

Rhaenys could agree that this would certainly paint a very clear image to the public eye, which could greatly benefit Visenya and make most believe that Alicent simply wasn't the one meant to be the King's consort and bear the King's children — Perhaps it could make them believe it all a punishment from the Gods to Viserys for not choosing Laena.

Still, there was an immediate loophole that she thought of upon thoroughly going through this. "What would Visenya do when she has her own children one day then? There is always a possibility that her own child's egg won't hatch — She could accidentally make her offspring appear less worthy by doing this."

Jocelyn blinked and then replied, "It's simple, she shouldn't even place an egg in her children's crib — She should let them claim adult dragons. That way, none of this would affect them, and they would have stronger and larger dragons to bond with."

Before any more words could be exchanged between them, Rhaenys's mother suddenly straightened, pointing at the direction of one of the docked ships with her chin, making Rhaenys turn her attention to the ship from which two cloaked figures were descending.

Both figures had hoods covering their faces with one of them even having a leather pouch hanging from his shoulder — Any shred of doubt that the two people were Vaegon and Rhaella was swiftly shut down by the gust of wind that shifted the cloaks of one of the figures just enough to reveal white hair underneath the hood.

Rhaenys announced in a murmur, "It's them." Her mother hadn't bothered to respond as the two of them remained standing and waiting for the two cloaked figures to approach them. They took their time doing so, making Jocelyn grumble under her breath about how slow they were.

It was only when the two smaller, a bit hunched figures were standing right before her that Rhaenys slowly raised her hands to pull back her hood. Vaegon followed suit, and she had to blink at the sight of him — He had aged since she last saw him, his thin hair now white instead of silver, his face full of lines. Alas, what hadn't changed about him were his dull lilac eyes, so lilac that they almost appeared white.

"Vaegon," Jocelyn simply greeted him with a coldness to her voice as she took her hood down as well, her hard gaze piercing through the Archmaester. Rhaenys's uncle remained utterly unfazed as he simply greeted her back, his voice void of emotion, "Jocelyn."

He then briefly glanced up at her, giving her a slow nod, his expression staying neutral, "Niece." She had thought she steeled herself for this encounter, but the sight of him still sent a shiver down her spine.

"Uncle," she replied, her voice steady — She wasn't prepared for the unease that filled her veins upon hearing him address her — she wasn't prepared for the way her stomach twisted within her belly, a sudden stab of hurt bleeding through the surface. Yet, she didn't dare let it show how much his presence still affected her, how much his betrayal still stung.

It was Rhaella who broke the stifling silence, her movements deliberate as she removed her hood. The sound of her clearing her throat cut through the tension like a Valyrian blade, restoring a semblance of normalcy to the atmosphere.

"Right," Vaegon muttered to himself, his voice betraying a hint of discomfort before he regained his composure. "Septa Rhaella," he introduced the elderly woman before gesturing toward Rhaenys and her mother. "Jocelyn Baratheon and her daughter, Rhaenys."

Rhaenys studied the elderly Septa, her features weathered by time yet retaining a trace of the ethereal beauty that marked their Valyrian lineage. Despite being the oldest living great-grandchild of Aegon the Conqueror, Rhaella was a woman whose existence was all but forgotten — Beyond the stories she had been told about the woman, she remained a mystery to them all.

She then cleared her throat and spoke, "Welcome to Driftmark." Vaegon didn't miss a beat as he bluntly questioned, "Where is Visenya?" Jocelyn's cheek twitched with irritation. "Where do you think?" she retorted, her tone laced with sarcasm.

Rhaella became the voice of reason, intervening before the brewing storm between them could erupt. "We assumed we would be meeting on Dragonstone," she attempted to explain why Vaegon was particularly searching for the Heiress.

"Our Maester is at the Stepstones, and every questionable presence has been dealt with — Driftmark is the safest place to have this conversation in," Rhaenys interjected before Jocelyn could add fuel to the fire.

A silent exchange passed between Vaegon and Rhaella, their eyes communicating volumes in a language only they understood until they both turned to her, seemingly accepting this situation. "Shall we?" she prompted, gathering her cloak around her as she turned towards the stony steps leading to the castle doors.

With no objection forthcoming, Rhaenys led the way, the hem of her dress brushing against the damp stone as she ascended. The rhythmic sound of footsteps echoed behind her, accompanied by the ever-present crash of waves against the shore. As she approached the towering doors of her home, a single raindrop traced a path down her temple. With a fleeting glance at the sky, she pressed forward, crossing the threshold.

She led her mother and their guests through the halls of Driftmark to the large chamber office that Corlys used as a sanctuary for planning his voyages. The heavy doors swung open, revealing the navy chamber adorned with maps on the walls and an eclectic array of trinkets Corlys had gathered during his travels.

Laena and Laenor were seated at the large table in the centre of the room, seemingly in deep conversation with Ser Leo Tyrell, who was leaning against the wall, the golden cloak cascading over his shoulder. Visenya stood a few feet away, her fingers tugging at the sleeve of the black dress she wore — a dress borrowed from Rhaenys that didn't quite fit her curvier frame. Rhaenys was of a rather leaner build compared to her, yet the gown fit better than anything belonging to the shorter Laena.

Visenya's indigo eyes were fixed on Cira, the chestnut-haired midwife who had arrived two nights prior, escorted by Ser Leo. The woman sat across the table, her gaze fixed on the floor.

As the doors closed behind them, all eyes in the room shifted to the newcomers. Laena and Laenor stood to greet them, their chairs scraping against the flor. Visenya and Se Leo straightened, their postures becoming more formal. Jocelyn moved forward without hesitation, ignoring everyone as she selected a seat and settled into it. Rhaella, in contrast, moved with a hint of reluctance, choosing a seat at the far end of the table.

Visenya urgently moved to approach Vaegon as Rhaenys took the seat at the head of the table, right next to her mother. "Thank you for coming," she addressed the Archmaester, her voice low but firm. "I hope your absence from the Citadel won't be put into question."

Vaegon shook his head slowly, a faint smile playing on his lips. "Other Archmaesters are quite used to my absences — They are aware I prefer solitude. However, a prolonged absence could raise questions, which is why I must return soon," he explained. "House Westerling approved Rhaella's leave as well. Rest assured that no one will question our disappearance."

The girl nodded, satisfied. "Good." Her sharp gaze then shifted to Rhaella, who was carefully removing her cloak, revealing her modest Septa's garb underneath. "Do you believe she is to be trusted?"

Despite Visenya's attempt to keep her voice down, Rhaenys was able to overhear the conversation, having taken a seat almost right next to where the pair stood. She cast a contemplative glance at the elderly woman as she leaned forward to listen.

"She has spent more of her life devoted to the Faith of the Seven than to being a Targaryen," the girl continued, her tone sceptical. Vaegon paused, considering his words carefully. "So have I," he settled on saying.

Visenya's indigo eyes narrowed. "While that is true, your life wasn't spared by the Faith, especially not from a Targaryen King who ordered your death — You owe them no debt for sparing your life." She exhaled, the weight of her doubts evident. "I am simply wondering what her motives are... and if she is to be trusted."

The Archmaester met her gaze steadily. "I do trust her — She has proven herself to be one of us and has aided our cause greatly from the moment she joined us."

Rhaenys observed the ever-present hesitation in the Princess, understanding her reluctance to some extent. She lifted a cup of water to her lips, taking a contemplative sip, her gaze never leaving Visenya.

"Aemma trusted her as well," Vaegon interjected calmly. Visenya seemed to take this into account, her expression softening slightly which took Rhaenys by surprise completely. She watched the Princess back down without another word and return to her seat. The Archmaester followed suit, settling next to Rhaella and not bothering to remove his pouch or cloak.

The chamber became eerily silent, the crackling of the fire the only sound that punctuated the stillness. All eyes turned to Ser Leo, who shifted uncomfortably under their collective gaze. His eyes darted from one face to another, seeking some hint of their intentions.

"He is staying," Visenya's voice cut through the quiet, her tone brooking no argument.

Rhaenys met Visenya's gaze, her brow raised in silent question. The Princess's expression was resolute, her eyes challenging her to speak her mind if she had any objections — And for a moment, she considered voicing her doubts. Ser Leo, was, after all, not family and he had no business involving himself in this situation. Yet, if someone as mistrustful as Visenya vouched for him, perhaps he had proven his worth in ways Rhaenys hadn't witnessed.

The oppressive silence hung heavily in the room, none of them certain how or even where to begin with such a threat looming over them. Thankfully, Jocelyn's patience snapped first. She spun toward Vaegon and Rhaella. "Well? Will someone begin the conversation already? If not, I would very much like to return to the comfort of my chambers."

Rhaenys shook her head at her mother's bluntness — It was fitting that these words should mark the beginning of their meeting as no amount of pleasantries could dissolve the tension that gripped them all.

Rising from her chair, she turned her attention to Cira, whose bruised face appeared yellowish in the candlelight. "Actually, I would first like to be told what stopped you from informing Visenya of this entire issue, if Aemma ordered you to do so right after her passing?" Her tone wasn't accusatory, but she was determined to understand why the midwives had delayed their crucial task.

Cira, despite her plump form, seemed to shrink into her chair, almost curling around herself. She tried to speak but had to clear her throat first, searching for her voice, "The late Queen never truly spoke to us about the situation. The only information she shared was her concerns regarding the care provided by the Maesters."

"We answered her questions and attempted to reassure her, but even we began to question some of the decisions made by Maester Mellos in particular." The revealed, swallowing hard. "And you never thought to voice those concerns of yours to anyone?" Ever direct, Jocelyn went straight to the point.

The midwife looked down, her shame as clear as day. "We did attempt to converse with Maester Mellos about our concerns and questions, but he shut every one of them down. He told us we weren't educated enough to discuss topics as complex as childbirth or pregnancy with him. He always dismissed us — always made sure we stood aside instead of next to the Queen." Her eyes shone with guilt, clearly blaming herself for not standing up sooner — for not doing more when she had the chance.

They patiently awaited for Cira to gather herself and continue, her voice trembling slightly, "Lannia was the eldest and most experienced out of all of us, and she had been given the task of delivering the items Queen Aemma wished for Her Grace to have. Unfortunately, only a few days after the funeral, we found out that she had passed away. We never suspected anything, as she was elderly and we were told she left the world peacefully, in her sleep. So her niece, Elayna, vowed to take on the responsibility."

The woman began nervously twiddling with her fingers as she rambled, "The other two midwives, sisters Sava and Salna, unfortunately, met the Stranger not long after. Their house caught fire in the dead of night, and their entire family burned — grandparents, even the children. They said it was a freak accident, and we... we believed it."

She finally looked up, though she avoided meeting anyone's eyes. "Elayna... she was soon found dead on the streets. They said she jumped out of a window. Her husband was devastated — he kept claiming that his Elayna would never do such a thing. She was very sweet and kind, like sunshine in human form. No one listened, and the Gold Cloaks pronounced the case closed."

Every eye in the room turned towards Ser Leo, who proudly wore the golden cloak draped over his shoulder. His jaw clenched, almost in disbelief, as he absorbed the weight of Cira's words. "However, Elayna had marks around her wrists and neck, as if someone had grabbed her," she recounted, "This prompted Bienne, the last of the midwives, to voice her speculations and concerns. She claimed that one is an accident, two is a coincidence, but three is a pattern — She was convinced something wasn't right, even so, she collected the box and the key, promising to deliver them to Her Grace."

It was evident that recounting these events was no easy task, and Rhaenys couldn't blame the woman for the tremor present in her voice. "Bienne soon came to me," she continued, "She was certain that someone was following her, watching her every move. Just in case, she passed the items to me. Alas, the very next day, she was found dead — Apparently, she encountered a robber while returning home one evening. The mysterious man who attacked her took her life, and he was never found."

Cira finally dared to meet Visenya's gaze, her eyes pleading for understanding. "I was finally convinced that something was happening," she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper. "I quickly took off to Duskendale, hoping to find a safe place with half of my family residing there. I was... afraid. They had all stayed and died bravely, and I was a coward — I didn't return for moons, even though I had a task to complete. Please forgive me, Your Grace."

Tears glistened in the midwife's eyes as she clenched her palms into fists on her lap, awaiting the Princess's judgment. Rhaenys glanced at the girl, who regarded Cira with an unexpected softness and understanding, her response swift and decisive.

"I have nought to forgive," she declared, "You returned despite knowing your life was in grave danger — You faced an attack that almost cost you your life, yet you still found your way to me. That makes you very brave. Thank you."

Rhaenys gazed at Visenya approvingly while Cira's shoulders sagged in relief, her body finally easing as she soaked in the Princess's forgiveness. "Your Grace is truly kind." She sniffled and wiped her eyes with the back of her sleeve. "I'm immensely grateful for Ser Harwin of the Gold Cloaks. If it weren't for him, I wouldn't have been able to reach you. He either witnessed or heard the attack while I was attempting to sneak through the streets towards the Keep."

Both she and Visenya spun their heads toward Leo simultaneously, clearly pondering the same idea. "If Ser Harwin indeed stopped the attack, then it's likely that he arrested the perpetrator as well, correct?" Rhaenys mused, her mind already racing ahead — If the assailant was indeed in custody, they could potentially extract valuable information from him — they could perhaps even prove who was behind the attacks!

Ser Leo tipped his head forward in a nod, "Indeed, that's right. However, Gold Cloaks rarely ever transport criminals to the Black Cells — It was one of Prince Daemon's policies for us to enforce the punishments ourselves before the criminals could be brought to court because he believed justice wouldn't be found and served there."

Vaegon deadpanned, "Of course..." Rhaenys exhaled heavily, her frustration evident as she massaged her temples. This indeed sounded like something Daemon would order to be done. Now, there is a high chance that they wouldn't be able to reach their desired result — If Ser Harwin or any other Gold Cloak had already handled the situation, it meant that the culprit was either dead or missing.

"I could send a letter to inquire if Ser Harwin recalls the case or what actions were taken," Ser Leo suggested, though his expression betrayed a lack of optimism. "It's worth a try, isn't it?" Laenor asked, to which Ser Leo replied with a shrug, "Certainly, I will do so."

Visenya then addressed Cira once more, "Your actions will always be remembered. I thank you once again and assure you that your safety is guaranteed for the rest of your days."  The woman offered Visenya a small but grateful smile and stood from her chair. She was about to turn toward the door when she paused, gesturing hesitantly. Visenya interjected, "Yes, you may depart now. Rest as much as you require, you've earned it."

Wordlessly, she bowed her head and left, closing the large wooden doors behind her, and leaving the group behind. "Now that we are finished with that," Jocelyn began, tapping her fingertips impatiently against the table as she turned to face the Archmaester and the Septa, "May we finally hear what you have to say?"

Visenya leaned forward intertwining her hands together as she placed them on the table, facing Vaegon with eyes that demanded answers. "When and how did this even begin? Who suspected something was so amiss that they thought the Maesters and those religious fanatics were going against our family?"

"It was your mother who began questioning her multiple stillbirths and miscarriages," Rhaella kindly responded, her tone steady despite the heaviness of the topic. The man beside her elaborated, "Niece Aemma had requested of nephew Daemon to hire somebody willing to examine the tea that she was apparently advised to drink by the Maesters."

Rhaenys pondered about the tea Aemma had mentioned in the letter as Visenya's voice cut through the explanation, commanding the attention of everyone in the room. "Uncle Daemon is involved in this? He knew?"

She glanced at Princess, noting the betrayal and anger in her voice, perhaps even a hint of devastation. Laena's gaze softened, and Rhaenys's daughter quickly took Visenya's hand in hers, intertwining their fingers. The girl showed no visible reaction to the gesture, but she didn't pull away from her friend's touch either.

Calmly, Vaegon confirmed, "Yes." Visenya's nostrils flared as she abruptly stood up. "Why didn't he tell me? Why didn't mother? Why didn't you?" She exclaimed loudly, tone filled with accusation and hurt.

Rhaenys crossed one leg over the other as she sat, feeling a pang of sympathy for the girl — Having read the letter, she understood why Aemma had kept this information from her. The girl was a child still, and it was Aemma's duty to protect her, not the other way around. As a mother, she would've made the same choice.

However, she also couldn't deny the guilt that surely coursed through Visenya's veins — She was left in the dark, cursed to forever wonder if there was anything she could've done — Cursed to go over every memory and moment spent with her mother time and time again, to search for the signs that were there all along and torment herself for not noticing sooner — Cursed to imagine the scenarios in which she could've aided the cause and been an important enough influence to save her mother's life.

It was a burden no child should have to bear.

Vaegon stood firm, his demeanour unwavering, "Niece Aemma wished not to involve you until it was time. She was your mother and the Queen — It was her final decision, even though your uncle protested and claimed both you and your sister deserved to be told."

The Heiress visibly struggled with her emotions, Laena's touch offering some solace as she slumped back into her chair. "I should've still been told," she grumbled. "What would you have done even if you were told?" Jocelyn interjected bluntly, her patience worn thin with the girl's unrest.

Visenya bristled at the question, her indigo eyes hardening as she turned to face her. The elder Baratheon, unperturbed, pressed on, "Alas, she has a point. Why wasn't anyone else informed of this? While I understand why children weren't involved, didn't you think it important to share with the rest of us that we have a target on our backs?"

Rhaella glanced briefly at Vaegon, her lips parting as if to answer the question, but he beat her to it, speaking with his characteristic directness, "We had no reason to believe this situation had any sort of impact on any family other than the Targaryens."

Rhaenys furrowed her brow, contemplating the implications. She understood the logic of keeping such matters discreet — the fewer those who knew, the lower the risk of exposure Yet, as a Targaryen herself, she couldn't help feeling excluded from crucial knowledge that affected her family. "I am a Targaryen," she asserted.

For perhaps the first time in her life, she witnessed her uncle pause and take a moment to consider his response. He was known for his sharp tongue and unapologetic demeanour, yet now he was choosing his words carefully. "You are a Velaryon — You have been since the day you met Lord Corlys."

The anger burned fiercely within her, fueled not just by his words but by the implication that her identity and her children's heritage were somehow in question. She stood tall, her hands trembling slightly as she attempted to control her fury. "I'm a Targaryen. My children are half Targaryen!" she repeated firmly.

The Archmaester remained unnervingly composed in the face of her outburst. "No, you aren't — No, they aren't," he insisted, his steady voice making Laena and Laenor exchange bewildered glances, their jaws clenched, fists tightening at their sides as they struggled to contain their emotions.

Rhaenys felt her fingernails dig into the table, her knuckles turning white with the force of her grip. She opened her mouth to retort, to defend her lineage — herself, her children, but Vaegon spoke again, "If you were still a Targaryen, you would never have accepted being gifted eggs for your children — You wouldn't have supported or remained passive as your husband's ambition was being so publicly displayed — You wouldn't have attempted to arrange a marriage between your daughter and Viserys."

Rhaenys's jaw clenched so hard that she thought she might break her teeth. Jocelyn's sudden laughter shattered the tense air, catching her off guard — The sound was bitter and cold, echoing around the chamber. She glanced at her mother, expecting rage or violence, but instead, she found her expression twisted with a mixture of amusement and scorn.

"And you believe yourself to be a Targaryen, Vaegon?" Jocelyn openly mocked, "You relinquished your name due to a lifelong belief that you are an outsider in your own family. You were too weak to be a proper Prince and too bland for your father to care that you are not. Even the Citadel recognized you were unremarkable, forcing your mother to negotiate to get you accepted."

A snicker escaped from somewhere to Rhaenys's left, but when she glanced at her children, they remained stoic and composed, their faces betraying nothing.

Rhaella stood from her seat next, her voice cutting through the tension like a blade, even silencing Jocelyn's derisive laughter.  "Enough! Our enemies see weakness in our disunity, and they exploit it!" Her eyes swept over each of them with a stern gaze. "It's because of this division that House Targaryen has suffered, taking hit after hit for years without any of us even attempting to help the other!"

She gestured broadly, encompassing Visenya, Jocelyn, and Rhaenys in her gaze. "What does it matter that you weren't told? It happened, it's in the past. There is nought we can do to change it now — so move forward, our focus must be on the future. We have much more important things to deal with and discuss if we are to unite House Targaryen once again and show the world that it cannot so easily be brought down."

Her words hung in the air, resulting in everyone exchanging glances, each grappling with their own emotions and the realization that Rhaella spoke the undeniable truth — However, despite the rationality of her words, Rhaenys could still feel the searing heat of rage and resentment coursing through her veins.

They needed unity, yet how could they achieve it when their shared history was so fraught with unresolved conflicts and betrayals? She clenched her fists at her sides, her gaze fixed on the table as she struggled to contain the storm of emotions raging within her. She refused to look at Vaegon, his words still fresh in her mind. You are not a Targaryen, his voice echoed in her thoughts, a knife to her identity.

Suddenly, Laenor's breathy voice caught her attention. "Gods," her son exclaimed, blinking rapidly at Rhaella, who calmly took her seat once again. Ser Leo remained silent, his brow raised as he shifted his gaze between Visenya and Laena, both of whom appeared taken aback by the intensity of Rhaella's words while Jocelyn remained uncharacteristically silent, no retort or mockery in sight.

"May we continue now?" Laena interjected, her voice light but tinged with hesitation. The brief pause had provided a relief from the tension, allowing them to momentarily forget the weighty purpose of their gathering. However, they needed to press on and return to the critical matters at hand. "Queen Aemma sought Prince Daemon's assistance, and then... what?" she inquired.

Vaegon, unmoved by the earlier verbal jousting, responded, "Nephew Daemon engaged a healer who discovered that Aemma was being given pennyroyal tea." Jocelyn tilted her head, her eyes narrowing in thought. "Pennyroyal tea is used to terminate unwanted pregnancies," she stated, though it sounded more like a rhetorical question seeking confirmation.

Rhaella nodded in confirmation. "Indeed. It's what women without the means or knowledge to acquire moon tea resort to." Rhaenys was well aware of moon tea, which was a privilege accessible only to those with a Maester at their beck and call. Common folk would most likely resort to whatever herbs they could gather for similar purposes, lacking such luxuries.

"Alright," Rhaenys acknowledged, "That is something, at least. It provides some credence to our suspicions about the Maesters' integrity." She hoped it would be enough to convince others that their concerns were not unfounded.

The Septa's expression darkened slightly. "Unfortunately, not entirely. Pennyroyal tea can also be used as a mint flavouring in herbal teas or foods, for cold relief, fevers, coughs, headaches..." she continued, "It can aid with stomach pains, induce sweating, and treat pockmarks on the face."

Rhaenys grasped the implications without needing further elaboration — Pennyroyal tea, while potentially dangerous in large doses, was also a commonly used remedy for various ailments. Proving that its administration to Aemma was intended as anything other than benign care would be exceedingly challenging.

"It's recommended that people consume the tea sparingly due to its taxing effects on the body," Vaegon added as he finally removed a pouch from his shoulder, placing it on the table. Rhaenys watched with curiosity as he began searching through it, wondering what he sought.

Vaegon carefully pulled out a small book, its yellowish pages adorned with sketches and notes. Flipping through the pages with a deliberate focus, he stopped and turned the book towards the assembled group. She leaned forward, her curiosity piqued as she examined the intricate sketch of the pennyroyal plant.

The Archmaester placed the book on the table and without hesitation, she slid the book closer, her lilac eyes scanning the detailed notes on the next page. Jocelyn and Laenor edged closer, their chairs scraping against the floor. Laena, Visenya, and Ser Leo rose from their seats, forming a semicircle around her, all eager to see what was hidden within the pages.

Her lilac eyes scanned the notes detailing the pennyroyal plant, the pages containing recipes for brewing the tea, with instructions on dosage depending on the ailment. There was also a stark warning: Consumption of pennyroyal tea could be fatal to infants and children.

Rhaenys traced the sketch with her fingertips, pondering the dual nature of such a seemingly innocuous plant — a healer and a potential poison, depending on its application. As she delved deeper into the book, she discovered further details about other plants with dual uses — like rue and savoury, which could both flavour food and, in excessive amounts, induce miscarriage. There were also mentions of wormwood, salvia, licorice root, calendula, and aconite, each with its own medicinal properties and potential dangers.

"Since Aemma realized the dangers of pennyroyal tea, she stopped consuming it, but that doesn't mean she wasn't vulnerable to other forms of poisoning," the elderly woman remarked solemnly, breaking through Rhaenys's concentration. Visenya visibly tensed beside her, clearly absorbing the implications.

"Are you suggesting that the Maesters might have altered their methods once they realized Aemma had stopped drinking the tea?" Rhaenys sought to clarify. Vaegon nodded thoughtfully. "Indeed. Her health began to stabilize noticeably after she discontinued the tea — The Maesters would've had to reassess their approach," he confirmed. "Claiming Dreamfyre certainly helped her recovery."

Laena, ever curious, tilted her head slightly. "Claiming Dreamfyre?" she repeated. Rhaenys shifted in her chair to face Visenya. "Aemma claimed a dragon?" Her surprise was evident —  Had their bond truly deteriorated to the point where Aemma kept such important matters from her? They had been such close confidants during their childhood. Hells, she recalled how Aemma had run into her embrace after she claimed Meleys, sharing in her joy despite the tension it had caused within the family! She had been the only one excited and proud, ready to celebrate.

Visenya nodded without looking at any of them, "She had, yes. I was there with her." the Archmaester then went back to the topic at hand, "After her death, we had every suspicious plant or ingredient taken and examined from the kitchens in the Red Keep. This entire book was made with intent to find any evidence of the poisoning."

Rhaella exhaled, leaning into the chair. "Prince Daemon had the kitchen staff questioned as well. No useful information was found, according to him — When we asked whether we could speak with the staff ourselves, he only grunted out that we could speak with their remains buried beneath the Blackwater Bay." Jocelyn snorted at that, her lips twitching. Rhaenys deadpanned, thinking how little restraint her cousin had while Laena turned to Visenya and remarked in a whisper how much that clearly sounded like something Prince Daemon would do.

"Has any evidence been found then? So many plants and herbs are in here... There has to be something useful as well." Laenor asked, his eyes focused on the book in Rhaenys's hands that she had closed moments before. The Septa shook her head slowly, a slight dejected look to her now. "No clear evidence was found, no."

Laenor cursed silently at that, "Fuck." Her son slumped into his seat, as if losing all hope. Vaegon went straight to the point as he announced, "There is more." Jocelyn rolled her eyes and muttered, "Of course there is."

He fumbled with his pouch yet again, before he pulled out a small black and red blanket. "This had been discovered when the Keep had been searched," he revealed.

Visenya immediately reached across the table, her indigo irises slightly wide as she grasped onto the fabric. "That's... Baelon's blanket," she mumbled, sounding surprised as she held onto the swaddle, her fingertips tracing the red dragons and falcons embroidered in it nostalgically. Rhaella's tongue swept over her lips as her hesitant gaze settled on the girl.

"Apparently it had been left for the servants to wash along with Aemma's chemise that she had worn during the birth," the Septa finally spoke, her voice steady as she attempted to soften the atmosphere so the words wouldn't hit as hard — Visenya, however, narrowed her brows, urging her to continue. "What about it?"

Laena gripped the side of the swaddle, pulling the scrunched material towards her slightly, making them all notice that there was a stain on it. Rhaenys's daughter leaned in, taking a sniff before she blinked, not quite sure what to make of it. "It smells sweet — Like juice."

Vaegon cleared his throat, his steady haze focused on Visenya as if he was about to break some tragic, heavy news to her. "We—" he began, but was cut off by Visenya who blurted out, "Belladonna."

There was a look of realization on her face now as she stared at the large stain that coated one of the red dragons. "What?" Ser Leo questioned, looking around to check if it was only him who was confused about her words.

"Belladonna," Visenya repeated, her voice low and tinged with dread, "It's a plant that helps deal with pains from moonblood," she went on, "But, it's very poisonous, even deathly to infants and children — It causes muscle weakness, difficulty in breathing..." Her words gradually quietened down as she spoke until she stopped altogether.

Rhaenys noticed that her hands began shaking slightly as she held onto the swaddle for dear life. The Princess swallowed, her voice gaining an edge to it as she recalled, "Baelon... He was said to have passed due to undeveloped lungs — He couldn't breathe properly."

Realization hit Rhaenys like a hammer, her heart dropping to her stomach for a moment as the entire room fell silent. It felt as if all of them suddenly pieced it all together. Yet she remained quiet and unmoving as if not quite realising — Perhaps it was too painful for her to voice it, or maybe she needed time to process the implications. Rhaenys understood how grief could cloud even the sharpest mind, delaying the connection of crucial pieces.

That meant that someone had to say it — someone must confirm it to her.

Rhaella seemed to share similar thoughts as she spoke gently, "Just as Aemma's body healed from the damage done to it—" Visenya cut her off abruptly, her tone steady, "My brother was supposed to live?" It was a direct question that demanded a straightforward answer because Visenya didn't seek consolation or pity, she only required confirmation of her suspicions.

Rhaenys opened her mouth to respond, but the words caught in her throat. Yes, she wanted to say — The answer was straightforward, it was easy, yet it would shatter her world irreparably, making her hesitate, unsure if she was the right person to deliver such devastating news.

Unlike her, Vaegon didn't hesitate — He had no qualms about confirming Visenya's worst fears, "There was no reason to believe he wouldn't survive. He was vigorous in the womb, according to the healer — strong and healthy."

They all watched her closely, waiting for some reaction, any sign that her words had landed — She expected a gasp, a tremor in her stance, tears perhaps, however, Visenya remained composed, her gaze fixed on the swaddle in her hands.

Laena and Ser Leo took a quiet, almost unnoticeable step towards her, their keen gazes fixed on her, ready to catch her if she faltered as she began murmuring to herself, her brow furrowing in distress. Rhaenys strained to hear her words, catching fragments like "skin flushing" and "excessive sleepiness." Her complexion then drained of colour, turning ashen.

"Vissie," Rhaenys's daughter murmured, guiding her to the nearest chair with gentle urgency. Visenya moved mechanically, her gaze distant as if trapped in her thoughts. She appeared on the brink of fainting, her body trembling as she swallowed Laena turned to Vaegon and the Septa, her voice edged with anger, "Why would they do this? What could possibly justify such cruelty? Why murder innocents?"

Rhaenys answered her daughter somberly, "I doubt the Maesters harbour personal vendettas against our family. But the Citadel and the Faith of the Seven..." Her voice trailed off as Ser Leo steadied the chair behind Visenya, his concern palpable. He spoke with a hint of suspicion, "Do we have reason to suspect the Hightowers in this?"

Jocelyn responded without hesitation, "Indeed. They aren't called the Defenders of the Citadel for no reason — Their history intertwines closely with the Faith as well, having supported the establishment of the High Septon and the Starry Sept since the very beginning."

Laenor glanced between them, seeking understanding, "But why such animosity towards us?" Vaegon explained, "The Hightowers are an ancient house, proud of their lineage and the unyielding strength of Oldtown. They've defended their seat against Ironborn, Dornish, and Reachmen invasions alike, yet, it hadn't fallen once."

Rhaenys agreed with a slight nod. "Indeed, the Hightowers have long held onto their wealth, lands, and privileges through strategic alliances and economic prowess. They've been a formidable force, and marrying into their house was seen as a significant accomplishment for many noble families."

Her mother tapped her fingers on the table rhythmically as she remarked, "I imagine it wasn't easy to swallow the fact that three siblings managed to conquer their House and knock them down a peg, hm?" Rhaenys supposed that was a part of the reason, however, "The bigger issue is that we remain outsiders to them."

Her daughter shot her an incredulous look. "Outsiders? How so? The Targaryens have ruled Westeros for over a century, and the Velaryons have been here even longer — We're as much a part of Westeros as anyone!"

"True, we have been here for generations, but we are fundamentally different from them — our Gods, our beliefs, our customs and traditions," Rhaenys patiently exclaimed, "Our dragons and our conquests threatened their established order — We are seen a challenge to their authority."

Ser Leo interjected thoughtfully, "That's why King Jaehaerys formulated the Doctrine of Exceptionalism, isn't it? Nobody voiced objections and your family..." he trailed off, careful with his words, "Your family continued to do what it does. Yet now, they turn against their word. Why?"

Jocelyn sighed heavily, "The Doctrine means little when the Faith chooses to embrace or reject it based on their own convenience — They made exceptions for the Conquerors out of fear, yet they opposed King Aenys for wanting to marry his son to his daughter."

Laenor protested, "But that was way before the Exceptionalism took place." The Septa attempted to make it simple to him, "Do you think a simple agreement on parchment could undo years of ingrained prejudice and fear?" Rhaenys's son grumbled at that.

Rhaenys glanced at Visenya, who still seemed distant and disconnected from the conversation, lost in her thoughts. Exhaling softly, she redirected the discussion. "So you're suggesting this has been their goal all along? — This didn't start with Aemma?"

"We believe it didn't — The signs point to a deeper, long-standing resentment," Rhaella confirmed. Laenor's frustration echoed through the room as he slammed his fists against the table. "Cowards! Attacking the vulnerable from the shadows instead of facing us in battle!"

Jocelyn shook her head at her grandson's outburst, reminding him, "They tried to face us head-on before, and failed miserably, remember?" Before anyone could respond, Visenya abruptly stood from her chair, her movements purposeful as she strode towards the door without a word. Laena called after her, rising to follow, but Rhaenys raised her hand to stop her daughter.

She hesitated, clearly torn between obeying and protesting, but Rhaenys rose swiftly and followed Visenya out of the chamber, maintaining a few steps of distance as her black hair swayed with each stride. Just as she approached the door to her chambers, a primal sound erupted from her — a cry of helplessness — a furious roar of a dragon, a wail of despair — a growl of warning of a beast. It was none of those things and yet all of those things at once.

She quickened her pace, following her guest into her chambers, watching as the girl grabbed the first thing in her line of sight — a cup of water — and hurled it against the wall, successfully breaking it to pieces. "Damn his ego!" she shouted, her voice so loud it made Rhaenys's ears ring. The words poured from her lips as if they had been held back for far too long. "Insisting on having a son when he had me — his own flesh and blood!"

Visenya's eyes blazed with anger, yet her lips quivered as if she were on the verge of tears. She faced Rhaenys, her emotions a storm of fury and despair. She remained silent, her lilac eyes soft and her expression full of understanding — Despite her obvious rage, Rhaenys could see the overwhelming sense of helplessness and the feeling of undeniable doom beneath it all.

Rhaenys recognized the denial in her voice as she blamed Viserys for everything. Alas, she knew that Visenya understood — Deep down, she was finally fully aware that Aemma's death was a catalyst despite her reluctance to accept it — Aemma's passing was needed as it was the only tangible proof they had — It was required because it forced them to confront the truth and brought them together in a way nothing else could have.

It was meant to be — It had to happen or they wouldn't be here, or they never would've realised any of it — They would've simply kept getting silently slaughtered one by one until their family went extinct.

Notes:

hello my dear readers, i bet you thought you've seen the last of me 🤪

i hope y'all are well & staying hydrated! thank you for your patience & understanding regarding this fic. so many of you reached out to check on me & i'm very grateful for it! unfortunately, i had to take a step back from writing for a while, however, i hope i'm back for good <33

i had to move nyra's pov to the next chapter as this one ended up being too long even without her :*( i hope you don't mind all the info dumping but that's about it for the conspiracy, vis is finally all in & aware so we are in for a ride!

in the next chapter, we will see nyra in court & on the battlefield, laena & leo being the best pillar of support for vis & our dear vissie finally talking it all out!

until next time!! (hopefully this/next week & not in 6 months lol, just kidding) love ya!! 🖤

Chapter 54: Something or Nothing

Summary:

In which:

— Rhaenyra meets an interesting person & is faced with a difficult choice
— Laena is struggling to understand and empathise with Vissie
— Visenya is having a mind-life crisis, but has a good support system

eyrie, 112AC
rhaenyra targaryen

The lords and ladies of the Vale bustled about the Eyrie's High Hall, their conversations rising and falling like the sea while Lady Jayne sat tall on the Falcon Throne, her voice cool and commanding as she weighed the pleas of minor lords and the grievances of petty knights.  

Rhaenyra sat apart from the proceedings, perched on a cushioned bench near a marble pillar. The rubies woven into her dark gown caught the light streaming through the windows that did little to warm the chill which seemed to perpetually cling to the Vale.  

She shifted slightly in her seat, admiring her cousin’s poise and endurance as she couldn't help but think the proceedings unending. Her purple eyes fixed on Ser Criston for a moment as he stood nearby, his ever-watchful eyes scanning the chamber — Yet even he looked wearied by the dull procession.

"I thought you'd be surrounded by the entire court," a woman's voice cut through the murmurs like a blade, making Rhaenyra shift her focus to her. "Yet here you are, all alone. And in the corner, no less, Princess — Quite strange if I do say so myself."

A dark-haired woman with high cheekbones deliberately approached, a bronze armour hugging her plumper frame. Rhaenyra raised her perfect brow upon recognising the sigil of House Royce imprinted in the metal.

Could it be Rhea? 

She pondered for a moment before dismissing the thought as the woman appeared far too young to be nineteen years her senior. In addition, even if her features were quite plain, she looked naught like a horse her uncle was set on describing her to be.

Rhaenyra regarded her cautiously, folding her hands in her lap. "You have me at a disadvantage, my lady — I don't believe we've been introduced."

"Lady Tarla Royce," the woman said, an arch smile tugging at her lips. "Though it seems I know more of you than you of me." She took a seat beside her, lowering her voice as if sharing a delicious secret. "Tell me, Princess, what keeps you so far from the throng? I’d have thought you the new jewel of the court. Or has their attention already wandered?"

Rhaenyra hesitated, Tarla’s boldness catching her off guard — In King's Landing, such brazenness would've been considered a calculated insult, yet she recognised that there was a curious lightness to her words that made her respond, "You could say we started on the wrong foot."

The Royce woman's laugh was low and throaty, drawing a few glances from nearby courtiers. "I don't doubt that for a moment — What have they done now?"  

Her eyes flickered toward the dais, where Lady Jayne was settling some kind of dispute before she admitted, "It's not so much what they've done as what they seem to think of me."

"I wouldn’t worry overmuch, Princess. They’re not fond of each other, let alone the rest of us," Tarla shrugged and subtly gestured toward a group of ladies gathered near the far wall. “Do you see the fair-haired woman, with the aquiline nose wearing the red gown embroidered with blue?”  

"I do." Rhaenyra nodded, though she had to search the crowd to spot the lady in question. "That," Tarla emphasized with a sly smile, "is Lady Sanah Coldwater and she's said to be warming Ser Dirron Belmore's bed.”  

"That's... good?" She answered with a hit of uncertainty, unsure why this information was of any relevance to her. "Indeed, for everyone except his wife," the dark-haired woman revealed dryly. "Lady Gillis — the woman with those ridiculous silver bracelets and the grey veil."  

Rhaenyra blinked, almost stunned as she remembered how the two women walked hand in hand each day, speaking and giggling as if a scandal hadn't been happening behind their closed doors. "I would never have guessed had you not told me — How can they tolerate one another?"  

"Oh, trust me, they don't — Few in this hall do," Tarla's tone was light, but her words carried an edge. "There's no shortage of petty feuds here."

Rhaenyra's lips twitched in faint amusement at Tarla's candour which felt like a breath of fresh air after such a dreadful morning. “They were speaking of veils," she opened up about what transpired between herself and some of the ladies, "something about new headdresses for summer, thinner fabric, and some change in design — They went on and on about it until I could hardly believe my ears."

She grimaced, as it wasn't her proudest moment. "I never heard anyone speak so much about such a mundane topic, so I laughed about it and they've been keenly avoiding me ever since."  

"A rookie mistake, to be sure," Tarla replied with mock gravity. "They take great pride in such trivialities — If you didn’t already know the Andals landed here first, don't worry. They'll remind you every day, usually with those veils."

The woman’s irreverence was refreshing, and the irritation that etched her tone made Rhaenyra's caution ease. "You don’t seem to hold the veils, or their wearers, in high regard."

"I prefer to see the world as it is, not through gauze," Tarla announced with a dismissive wave of her hand. "And besides, I follow the Old Gods — No need for veils in their sight."

Nyra tilted her head, genuinely intrigued. "The Faith of the Seven holds sway here, doesn't it? You must find it difficult."

"Not so much," she replied, her voice light but firm. "Let them sing their hymns and polish their Septs. I'll keep my trees and my roots, thank you." The corners of Rhaenyra's mouth lifted for the first time that morning. "Perhaps we'll find some common ground yet, Lady Tarla."

The Royce woman stared at her with something between curiosity and amusement. "Common ground? I wouldn't get ahead of yourself, Princess — I'm hardly the sort you'll find trailing behind you, singing your praises."

She smirked faintly in response, any traces of lingering caution fading like mist in the morning sun. "I wouldn't expect you to, Lady Tarla — Nor do I believe you'd enjoy such a role."

"You have a sharp tongue," Tarla remarked with something akin to approval, her grin widening. "It suits you — Though I imagine it hasn't won you many friends here, especially among the older generation." She nodded lazily toward the court where the restless Lords shifted on their feet while the next petitioner droned on about a border dispute.  

Rhaenyra followed her gesture, her gaze settling on the clustered nobles. She couldn't find many differences between them and the courtiers in King's Landing, though, in truth, she hadn’t made much effort to endear herself to them — the wounds of betrayal still feeling too fresh for her to start over. "Friends are a rare commodity, it seems."

The dark-haired woman snorted as if the matter were of no great importance. "Friends, alliances, enemies — it's all the same game. They'll smile in your presence, whisper behind your back, and do as they please when neither smile nor whisper will suffice. You're better off finding your own way than bending to theirs."

She tilted her head, considering her words. "You speak as though you've no care for the court's games, yet here you are." Tarla responded lightly, but her smile carried a hint of steel, "Ah, but I’m not playing — I'm merely an observer, Princess. The game is far more amusing from the sidelines."

Rhaenyra's lips curved again, a trace of genuine amusement shining in her irises as she noted, "An observer who isn't above meddling, I see."

"Only when the opportunity presents itself" Tarla replied smoothly. "Take you, for instance — Alone in the corner, weighed down by the Vale's expectations. It seemed to me you could use a bit of levity."

"Or a distraction?" She questioned, arching her brow. "Call it what you will," the Royce woman inclined her head slightly. "Though I'd wager you're glad for the company — This entire court session must've been Hell to get through by yourself."

Rhaenyra stifled a snort, "That much is obvious?" Tarla sent her a knowing grin. "Oh, it's written all over your face, Princess, but don't feel too ashamed — this place could bore even the Gods themselves."

Nyra's expression momentarily lightened at the thought of Visenya. "You clearly haven't met my sister," she remarked. "The Princess Visenya?" The woman raised a skeptical brow. "If she's half as eager to ride a dragon and wield a sword as they say, I doubt she enjoys this any more than you do."

She shook her head, insisting, "You're wrong. She thrives in it — the whispers, the schemes, the endless maneuvering... She's better at it than anyone.”  

"Being good at something and enjoying it are two different things," Tarla countered. "I've yet to meet a soul who truly enjoys the endless squabbling of nobility. So, no — just because your sister is good at the game, doesn't mean she relishes playing it."

Rhaenyra's smirk faltered, her expression turning thoughtful. Was that correct? Did Visenya feel the same way she did every time she stepped through the doors of the Great Hall? Then why was she so insistent on going there — on spending as much time there as possible?

As if sensing that her words had struck a chord, Tarla leaned back to give her space. "Take this court, for example," she went on after a moment, her sharp eyes scanning the room. "A flock of vultures circling a carcass — every one of them looking out for their own hide. Precedent, law, tradition — none of it matters when power is at stake."

Nyra listened, absorbing her words because they struck her as a wise statement that Visenya would say. 

When she found what she had been looking for in the crowd, the Royce woman pointed toward two ladies. "Do you see them? — The elder is Lady Jeyla Egen, the second wife of the late Lord Josian Egen, and the younger is Lady Miana Egen, his daughter by his first wife."

She studied the pair, noting the tension in their stiff postures and the way their glances never quite met. "They don't look as though they're fond of one another."

"They aren't," Tarla confirmed the obvious. "It's a tale as old as the Vale itself — Before Lord Josian passed, he named Lady Miana his Heir as she was his only child at the time. Alas, Lady Jeyla bore him a son, little Riler, and now she claims the boy is the rightful Heir."

The situation reminded her a tad bit of what was going on at home — of Visenya's situation now that Aegon was born. Gods, it felt wrong to even think of that boy's name — to think that he could ever have what was bestowed upon Vissie. 

She took a moment to turn over the implications, not wanting to make a mistake. The answer wasn't the one she wished for, and it physically pained her to say it out loud. "The boy is the rightful Heir due to the male preference primogeniture, isn't he?"

"Wrong." The Royce woman shook her head pointedly. "The Widow’s Law trumps primogeniture in this case — and it clearly states that the inheritance bestowed upon the children from the first wife cannot pass to the children of the second."

So Lady Miana was the rightful Heir by law? Rhaenyra thought in faint disbelief and slight relief. So Vissie's inheritance cannot be claimed by Aegon or any of Alicent's children — not unless their father has a change of heart, at least.

"But if the law is clear, why do they need Jayne to settle it?" She inquired, not quite grasping why the issue was put before her cousin when the law clearly stated what the outcome would be.

"Because Lady Jeyla hopes to sway her," Tarla exclaimed, tone dry. "She believes that because Lady Jayne's position was secured by primogeniture, she might be inclined to uphold it in this case — A fool's hope, really." The answer only made Nyra's curiosity sharpen. "What makes you so certain?" 

"Lady Jayne has no love for primogeniture," the dark-haired woman began simply, "Oh, she'll follow it when it suits her — as it did when King Jaehaerys granted her the Vale, but she's no slave to it — Consider this: if Lady Jayne bears no children, the title should rightfully pass to her cousin, Ser Joffrey Arryn. For years, she dangled that possibility before him like a carrot before a mule, leading him to believe he'd inherit. But then, she ceased doing so and returned from King’s Landing with the idea of having you as her successor."

Rhaenyra stiffened slightly, her slender fingers twisting the rings that adorned her fingers. "I didn't ask for that," she defended herself softly, feeling the need to clarify.

"I don't imagine you did," Tarla said, more gently than ever before. "But you're here now, and the court watches your every move — waiting to see if you'll rise to the occasion or falter. They don't care about laws or customs, Princess — they care about power, and how best to wield it."

She glanced back at the seemingly endless line of noblemen, her expression troubled. She was correct in her assumption then — the court of Vale was just as full of grasping and reaching vipers full of ambition and hypocrisy as was the one back home.

"And what about you, my Lady?" She inquired, her intense and cautious purple gaze piercing the woman beside her. "What do you care for?" She received a cheeky wink in response. "I care for watching the game unfold, Princess — And, occasionally, for tipping the board."

Before Rhaenyra could respond, a ripple of movement near the center of the chamber drew her attention — Her cousin had risen from the Falcon Throne, signaling a pause in the proceedings. This caused some of the gathered Lords and Ladies to step back and mingle while others drifted toward the hall's side tables, searching for refreshments.  

The nobles appeared dissatisfied and impatient, but there were no complaints when Lady Jayne took to speaking with an armoured man who then gestured for a group of soldiers to approach. Rhaenyra could swear that she caught a glimpse of red curls beneath one helmet, momentarily being reminded of Ser Adrian Redfort.

Was it him? 

She angled her head and even squinting in an attempt to get a better look until she confirmed it. Where has he been? She hadn't seen him in what felt like ages. Rhaenyra blinked — Come to think of it, Lady Gwendys, Sers Rylon, and Leowyn haven't been at court or practicing in the courtyard since the day they met.

Any lingering questions forming in her mind halted when Tarla stood back up, readying herself to leave. "It seems the morning session is at an end — Will you stay or has the court tried your patience enough for one day?" The dark-haired woman asked.

The question made her hesitate, her irises naturally shifting to Ser Criston, who stood stoic and unmoving nearby — A part of her longed to retreat, to take solace in the quiet of her chambers — Yet another part, one that wished to do as her sister would've done and her own sense of duty, urged her to remain.  

"I'll stay," Rhaenyra decided. "I've much to learn if I'm to one day be a Lady Paramount." The Royce woman's expression softened, a hint of approval flickering in her dark eyes. "A wise choice, Princess. But do remember — Learning isn't done by enduring alone. Sometimes, it's the bold who gain the most."

With that, the Lady inclined her head in farewell and turned, melting back into the crowd. Nyra watched her departure, an unfamiliar sense of ease settling over her despite the lingering weight of her responsibilities. She straightened in her seat, her gaze shifting back to the court, thankful for the respite and ready to continue learning.

Suddenly, Lady Jayne ceased exchanging words with a few lingering trusted advisors and swept out of the room, her expression grim and her pace quick. Close behind her followed her companion, Lady Jessamyn, leaving the court to erupt with unrest.

As she sat there, twisting the rings adorning her fingers, Rhaenyra attempted to ignore how her mind replayed witnessing the secret exchange of letters between soldiers and her cousin — the whispers that followed — the way faces seen one day disappeared, never to return.

Alas, none of it seemed right — especially not now that Jayne was practically forced into abandoning the court proceedings and actively going against putting the interests of her people first which was what Rhaenyra's cousin deemed most crucial in her lessons.

Despite her earlier decision to stay put, she couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss — something that she couldn't continue to turn a blind eye to — something that she needed to understand and learn about. 

Rising from her seat, Rhaenyra resolved to follow, alas, Ser Criston stepped into her path. "Where are you heading, Princess?" he asked, his voice more curious than scolding. "I think I should follow Lady Jayne," she exclaimed, half unsure still.

The Kingsguard frowned, repeating her cousin's earlier words back to her, "Lady Jayne insisted that you remain here to take notes." Rhaenyra snorted, "To what end?" She countered, anger rising, "There is nothing to observe with her gone — Sitting here is pointless."  

She gathered her skirts and sidestepped him only to be stopped by his hand grasping her forearm — He was clearly torn between following her orders and doing as he was told by Jayne. But, the way Rhaenyra's confused and intense purple gaze pierced him seemed enough for Ser Criston to make the decision and let go. "Very well," he said with a sigh, falling into step behind her.  

They followed the sound of echoing voices down the stone corridor, eventually arriving at a slightly ajar door leading to a private chamber. Her curiosity burned as she hesitated outside the threshold, peeking through the opening to see her cousin standing at the head of a long table with Lady Jessamyn at her side — whilst opposite of them stiffly stood the grimy and road-worn soldiers from the hall.

Rhaenyra glanced back at her Kingsguard, who gave her a warning look but didn't dare stop her when she quietly slipped into the room, keeping to the shadows near the corner — In fact, he followed right after her with equal care, positioning himself at her side. If Jayne noticed their arrival, she gave no sign, her focus entirely on the discussion at hand and on the maps splayed out on the table. 

A soldier woman with auburn hair and tanned skin, her armor bearing fresh scratches, spoke first, "The Stone Crows struck again, my Lady," she reported, her steady voice cutting through the tension like a blade. "This time it was Wickham village — They took food, livestock, weapons, and even some of the women."

Stone Crows? Rhaenyra's brow creased as repeated the words over in her head — The name sounded oddly familiar, yet she couldn't remember the significance of it as she watched her cousin's jaw tighten. "And yet your forces failed to intercept them?"

"Lady Jayne," the woman began, words defensive, "it's not a matter of failure — The terrain up there works against us — The snow and ice haven't melted, even with summer upon us. Our men are losing boots to frostbite while theirs move as if born to the mountains. Their small horses traverse paths that would see ours fall to their deaths. And their attacks — they're not strategic in the way we know — They strike without warning, scatter, and vanish into the cliffs before we can muster a proper counter."

A grizzled man with a heavy beard chimed in, cursing, "Every time we think we've got them cornered, they slip away. It's like chasing shadows in a blizzard — They know the terrain too well."

Jayne's fist hit the table, though her tone remained icy calm. "And what of the scouts?  — Are they not marking their movements? Tracking their camps?" Ser Adrian shook his head. "They don't camp, my lady — Not in the way we would. They're nomadic — they move with the herds, the winds, and whatever guides them. They carry what they need on their backs, and their women and children vanish into the caves — By the time we find the remnants of one raid, they're already preparing for the next."

A raid? Rhaenyra absorbed every word like a sponge as she leaned against the wall, straining herself to get a better look at the markings on the map while her heart thundered in her chest.

Her cousin leaned forward, her chestnut waves falling over her shoulder. “So you're telling me these savages — ill-equipped, poorly organized, and barbaric — are besting the finest forces I can muster? What would you have me do? Throw more men into the mountains, only for them to freeze and die?"

"Savages they may be," another soldier, younger and less seasoned, stated hesitantly upon being faced with Jayne's rage, "but they have the advantage of knowing their land intimately — To make up for that, we'd need to adapt our methods and that will take time."

"Time isn't a luxury we have," the Lady Paramount snapped, meeting the eyes of every soldier in the room so they could grasp the gravity of the situation. "With each raid, they grow bolder — If we don't crush them soon, they'll start targeting more prominent villages, and the Lords of the Vale will demand answers I can't afford to give."

A heavy silence settled upon them all until Ser Adrian approached the table and pointed to a few marked areas. "My lady, if I may suggest... it might be wise to recall our forces from the lower passes and unite them in key areas — Guard the villages directly instead of chasing the Stone Crows through the mountains — At least until the snow melts and the paths become navigable.”  

Lady Jessamyn broke her silence, fingers tapping against the table as she inquired, sounding doubtful, "And leave the high passes unguarded? — What's to stop them from using that as an opportunity to cross deeper into the Vale, striking at the heart of our holdings?"

The auburn-haired woman hummed in consideration, "We risk spreading ourselves too thin otherwise. Our current approach is costing us men without gaining ground — Guarding the villages directly may not eliminate the threat, but it will reduce the damage."

"It's not ideal, my lady, but we must regroup and reevaluate," the grizzled man agreed, leaving Rhaenyra's cousin to bite her lip and study the map intensely. With visible reluctance, she gestured to a scribe who stood waiting at the edge of the room. “Fetch me parchment. I'll draft a letter to Ser Joffrey, instructing him to consolidate the forces as you've suggested — In the meantime, I want scouts sent ahead to chart the passes more thoroughly. If we can't defeat the Stone Crows in the mountains, then we'll force them to come to us."

The soldiers bowed their heads. "It will be done, my Lady," Ser Adrian assured, his expression no longer as grim now that the strategy was changed. 

The less seasoned warrior from before fidgeted on his feet before parting his lips to speak even less surely than before, "And perhaps... supplies, my Lady? We're running low. Warm furs, lighter provisions, better boots — anything at all to give us a chance against the cold?"

"Supplies are already stretched thin as it is. If I send more to the mountains, other regions will suffer — The Vale cannot afford weakness elsewhere," the Lady Paramount pinched the bridge of her nose, clearly torn.

Rhaenyra watched in silence, feeling a strange mixture of admiration and unease as she focused the conversation — Jayne was clearly a woman accustomed to command, but the weight of her decisions and the toll it took on those who served her wasn't lost on her.  

With a shake of her head, her cousin retaliated and informed the hopeful group before her, "I will send what supplies I can spare, but no more men — This has gone on long enough." She sealed the letter and handed it over to the auburn-haired woman who offered a stiff nod, "Thank you, my lady."

As the soldiers began to file out, Jayne’s gaze lingered on the map spread across the table. Her fingers drummed lightly against the wood, her expression unreadable. Ser Adrian met Rhaenyra's gaze for a moment, offering her a nod which made her return the gesture with a slight smile even though a range of conflicting emotions swept over her. 

She couldn't believe that she had been so preoccupied with courtly lessons that she hadn’t even known about the struggle raging in the mountains — She couldn't believe how blind she was to all of it.

So, as soon as the door closed behind the last soldier with a soft thud, her fingers clenched into fists at her sides as she stepped forward, her voice sharp with accusation, "Why wasn't I informed of this?" She even crossed her arms, attempting to mask her frustration with a calm demeanor. "You've kept me here, so close to the issue that threatens the Vale, yet you haven't told me a thing."

"There was no need for you to be informed," Jayne replied casually, not even bothering to look up from her parchment as she continued to calmly write. 

Rhaenyra bristled at her cousin's reaction. "No need for me to be informed?" she repeated, her voice rising. "You've been teaching me about the importance of duty — preparing me to handle the responsibilities of the Lady Paramount, and yet you deliberately excluded me from something so crucial?" 

The brunette woman, at last, set the quill down and leaned back in her chair whilst interlocking her fingers. "The people of the Vale are safe — You're under my protection, so it wasn't necessary for you to know," she emphasized, unfazed.

Nyra stepped even closer, the frustration spreading through her veins like poison. She attempted her best to remain calm — to see Jayne's side of things — to aid her as much as she could. She went over the words exchanged at the meeting before inquiring, "Why don't you request help? You can't handle this alone."

Her cousin pursed her lips into a thin line as she sarcastically countered, "And who, pray tell, would aid us? — Your father, perhaps?" The words almost made Rhaenyra flinch.

Not her father — Gods, not him. He barely sent aid to Old Oak when they were in desperate need of it and he to this day refuses to assemble an army to end the war in the Stepstones. Truth be told, she doubted her father would help.

But...

"My sister—" She began, wishing to defend her suggestion from Jayne's mocking gaze, but was simply interrupted by the dismissive wave of her cousin's hand, "Visenya has her own struggles to work through."

"So you'll remain stubborn, refuse to ask for help, and let your people suffer?" Nyra pressed, no longer able to contain her disbelief. "Despite the toll it's taking on your land? — Your soldiers? — You?"

Jayne's eyes darkened, the tone of her voice hardening, "I cannot and will not ask for aid at the first sign of trouble. It would be foolish of me to do so, not to mention quite telling of how capable I am." She shook her head, insisting, "I will not show weakness — Not now — Not ever."

Rhaenyra echoed, "First sign of trouble? This has been going on for moons now!" Her cousin remained steadfast and headstrong, refusing to see reason as she calmly explained, "The Mountain Clans act up now and then, it's nothing unusual — They hide for the better part of the year, then spring out when they are well-rested and thirsty for battle. They always go by the same tactics, and attack with the same weapons — Nought changes."

She intently listened to the history between the Mountain Clans and the Valemen, realising now that her cousin's calmness developed from the fact that she had already dealt with the same issues. However, there was still a part of her that wanted to protest — Was it truly wise to fight these savages when they had the upper hand? Would waiting, and doing nothing, be the smarter choice?

Witnessing her uncertainty, Jayne stood from her seat and approached her, placing her hands against her shoulders — her touch warm and comforting. "The Bloody Gate has never been breached, countless armies have tried, and all have failed — A few barbarians won't ever manage to break through."

Rhaenyra remained silent for a moment, considering everything before her lips parted, an idea forming. "I have a dragon. I could—" Jayne was quick to shut her down, voice firm and leaving no room for argument, "You aren't Visenya, and you aren't trained to deal with this — You don't understand the mountain terrain, nor the ways of these people — Your dragon would be of no use here. Do not waste it."

You aren't Visenya.

She looked down, jaw clenching as she felt a mix of helplessness and frustration build within her. "So we are to do nothing at all?" She questioned to clarify as her cousin gently squeezed her shoulders. 

"Yes," Jayne confirmed, "Sometimes the hardest thing to do is nothing, and yet that's all that we can and should do — I need to be the glue that keeps the Vale together. I cannot let this trouble destabilize the entire region — Trust me when I say this is the only course of action for now."

After a long moment, the brunette let go of her, moving back to her chair to continue writing and thus signaling the end of the conversation. "That's all for now, cousin. You may leave."

Despite her lingering anger, she could feel a reluctant understanding creeping in. There was naught more to say or do, was there? She swallowed her disapproval, bowing her head slightly. "Understood, cousin." With a sharp exhale, she turned and exited the room, Ser Criston trailing closely behind her. 

Her Kingsguard must've caught onto her inner turmoil — must've seen her itching to follow her instincts instead of listening to Jayne, because as soon as he was certain they were alone, he asked, concern etched on his face. "Princess, you seem troubled — Is something amiss?"

Rhaenyra's pace slowed as she took to playing with the long thick braid that fell past her shoulder, curling the strands around her fingers. She was aware that Ser Criston could see through her facade — as he always had, so there was no point in keeping anything from him.

"I feel…" She began, voice faltering for a moment before she found the right words, "Powerless, I suppose." The handsome knight's brow creased in worry. "Powerless? You, Princess? — I've never known you to lack strength."

"I've been feeling this way for a while now," she confessed quietly, almost feeling lighter after the words left her mouth, "Ever since my mother's passing, and especially since Alicent wed my father — I thought I could escape it, that coming here would give me something — a purpose, a place where I might feel in control. But if anything, that feeling has only grown stronger and I'm not certain what I'm meant to do anymore."

Her knight's gaze softened with understanding, his kind dark eyes full of the empathy that she desperately sought. "Not so long ago," he began sincerely, "you had enough power to write my name into the White Book — When your father named me to his Kingsguard, it was the highest honour any Cole has ever known. All that I have, all that I'm — I owe to you." 

He paused, offering her a small smile, "And you can hardly call that powerless, my Princess." Rhaenyra's chest tightened at his words, her shoulders relaxed a little. She hadn't expected this — hadn't realised just how much his life had been shaped by that moment. 

"You're too kind, Ser Criston," she murmured with gratitude. "But you owe me nothing — You're here because you earned it. You were the best, most experienced candidate. And above all, you're an honourable man — someone I'm lucky to have in my service."

Ser Criston bowed his head, the warmth in his irises reflecting his quiet pride. "It's I who is fortunate, my Princess — You've always shown me kindness, even when you didn't have to — and that is a debt I could never repay, no matter how much I serve."

Her expression remained clouded by the uncertainty of the world around her, yet there was a glimmer of something softer there now — something more genuine. She hadn't realised how much she needed to hear that, especially from someone who had seen her at her best and her worst. 

"Thank you, Ser," Rhaenyra said softly, "For reminding me that there is still strength left in me."

 

 

 

 

_____

 

 

 

 

The night was quiet, yet for Rhaenyra, it felt oppressive. The weight of everything —Jayne's dismissive attitude, the looming threat of the Mountain Clans, the ever-present feeling of being trapped — kept her tossing and turning in her bed. 

She lay on her side, staring out the window at the Vale's star-filled sky, yet sleep remained as elusive as it had been for days, especially as the words Lady Tarla spoke earlier continued to echo in her mind.

Learning isn't done by enduring alone — Sometimes, it's the bold who gain the most.

She couldn't shake the thought of her sister, who had never been one to wait around for a problem to solve itself —  She acted, immediately, decisively — She protected her people, no matter the cost. 

Rhaenyra remembered how Visenya had been ready to fly to the Old Oak at a moment's notice, to face a warzone if needed — all to keep the Realm safe. 

She would never have sat idly by, no matter how dire the situation might seem — Which was, some would say, quite the opposite of what she was currently doing, Rhaenyra thought to herself, pouting.

Her mind raced, the turmoil she felt only intensifying —  How could she sit still, waiting, when so many lives were at stake? What would Visenya do if she were here? — She almost laughed at the absurdity of the question as the answer was clear, even if it made her heart race with anxiety.

She would act.

With a sudden surge of determination, Rhaenyra swung her legs over the side of the bed, her mind made up — She couldn't stay here and wait, pretending there was no danger — She couldn't continue to be like this, unable to make a choice and choose her own path.

Boldness was required, and boldness was what she would show. 

She dressed quickly, pulling on the warmest riding leathers she could find and layering them over her shift, the cold not even registering as she gathered her thoughts. Her fingers moved automatically as she quickly grabbed her gloves and a cloak. 

Silently, she crept out of her chambers, her footsteps muffled by the thick carpets of the corridors. She moved swiftly, glancing over her shoulder to make sure no one was following her, her heart beating faster with each passing step. 

The cold night air greeted her as she slipped through a side door, making her way toward Syrax's lair. When she reached her mount, Rhaenyra was greeted with the faint sounds of the dragon's soft snorts — Her golden lady was waiting, almost as if she had known she would come to her. 

Syrax's brilliant blue eyes glinted in the moonlight as she turned her head toward Rhaenyra. A puff of smoke curled from her nostrils, making her smile softly. She walked up to the great beast, reaching out to stroke her snout, the warmth of the dragon's scales comforting against her cold fingers.  

"I apologise for coming to you so late," she whispered, although with great determination. "But I need your help." 

The Golden Lady's eyes seemed to soften, as though in understanding. Even though Syrax preferred to remain still and be, some would say spoiled — it appeared, as if, she, too, had been restless in the silence of the night. 

With a slow, deliberate motion, her mount spread her wings wide, lifting them toward the sky. Rhaenyra smiled, a rare expression of relief crossing her features as she offered, "I promise to bring you all the lamb you wish when we return."

The dragon gave a soft croon, her massive form shifting as she lowered herself, allowing her to climb onto the saddle strapped to her back. Rhaenyra mounted her Golden Lady with practiced ease, feeling her warmth surrounding her as she adjusted her position. 

The cold wind hit her face as Syrax leapt into the air, her large wings cutting through the night sky with grace. Rhaenyra's blood sang with excitement, and she could hardly contain the exhilaration coursing through her — She felt alive in a way she hadn’t in months — Utterly unburdened by the weight of her responsibilities.

She didn't even realize how much time had passed until she spotted it — a distant, bloody battle unfolding below them as the sun began to rise. Tiny figures clashed on the bloodied snow, the battle raging as men and women fought for their lives. 

The sight was enough to send a surge of adrenaline through her, and without hesitation, Rhaenyra issued the command. "Syrax, dive."

Her Golden Lady let out a high-pitched shriek as she obeyed, diving straight down toward the battlefield below. Some warriors glanced up, noticing the massive shape of the dragon overhead, but they were most likely too caught up in the heat of the moment to react before Rhaenyra gave her next order.

"Dracarys."

The command was met with an explosion of heat as her mount's jaws parted, and fire poured out, lighting up the field with an orange glow. 

The savage enemies below recoiled in fear, some attempting to flee, others burning where they stood whilst Rhaenyra watched, her heart pounding in her chest. 

She had never felt so powerful, so free. 

She was no longer the helpless Princess waiting for someone else to make a move — She was a rider with a dragon, a force of nature in her own right, and the world below seemed to tremble at her will. 

 

 

 

 

_____

 

 

 

 

 

driftmark, 112AC
laena velaryon

The chamber was lit with the dim light of the late afternoon, the air thick with the scent of parchment, ink, and the faint tang of salt from the sea beyond. Books and scrolls were strewn across every surface — their spines cracked and pages worn from generations of hands. 

Across the room, Jocelyn hunched over an oak table, her dark hair streaked with grey spilling over her shoulders as she hurriedly transcribed notes. Beside her, Septa Rhaella murmured prayers under her breath, her thin fingers tracing the names of Targaryen children who had perished young. "This one lived but a moon's turn," she uttered. "And this one, scarce a year..."

Laena was curled up on a high-backed chair, her slender legs tucked beneath her as she struggled to keep her eyes on the scroll her mother had set before her that morning — a tedious account of Velaryon lineage from before the Conquest. 

She'd tried, truly, but her focus wavered. 

Her gaze wandered instead to Visenya, who lounged on a cushioned couch with a leather-bound diary in her lap. The other girl's silver-gold curls lay unbound whilst her indigo eyes remained distant — as if fixed on some unseen point beyond the book in her hands. 

The door suddenly creaked open, and her mother swept into the room, the hem of her sea-blue gown swirling about her ankles. As per usual, she carried herself with an air of effortless command — though a flicker of relief softened her expression.

"The Maester has returned," Rhaenys announced, her voice breaking the quiet hum of activity. All heads turned toward her, save for Visenya, who remained still as stone. "He brings good news — Daemon has woken from the fever. The infection has passed, and he'll make a full recovery." 

A breath of relief left Laena's lips in a quiet rush, her shoulders sagging as the weight of worry eased. She immediately spun toward her cousin, eager to share the joy the news brought to all of them — yet Visenya appeared as though she hadn't heard a thing, her focus seemingly fixed on the courtyard window where Laenor and Leo sparred. 

She's gone again — she thought with a frown, not for the first time. 

Her cousin had always tended to lose herself in thought, retreating to some unreachable place — Yet this was different. Since they uncovered the truth of her mother's suffering, her cousin had become a shadow of herself — She spoke little, ate less, and Laena couldn't remember the last time she saw her drink — something she had always done in excess during stressful times — which was, perhaps, the most worrying of it all.

Gently, she leaned over and nudged her. "Visenya?" she prompted gently, attempting not to startle her. The Targaryen Princess blinked, her gaze snapping to her as though she had only just remembered where she was. "What is it?"

"Prince Daemon," Laena repeated gently, as though speaking to a wounded animal. "He'll live." The words seemed to pierce the fog around Visenya, and for a moment, the tension in her body melted away.

The Heiress said nothing, but her tightly curled posture unfurled like a flower in the sun — her rosy lips, previously pressed into a thin line, softened into something neutral. She exhaled through her nose, her relief subtle but plain to see for those who knew her well.  

She appeared to be three times lighter — as if the weight on her shoulders lessened by a half — as if she could, at last, take a breath after being held underwater until she almost suffocated.

Rhaenys crossed the room to sit beside her mother, brushing a speck of dust from her sleeve. "You've had your nose buried in that diary all day," she remarked to Visenya, raising her brow curiously. "Have you found anything of worth yet?"

"Not much," she admitted, closing the book with a muted thud. Laena's mother smirked faintly, as though to prove a point. "I told you as much. I've read it myself — every page."  

Visenya pointedly ignored the obvious jab at her lack of trust, her eyes shifting to the book yet again. "Although I do find it curious how mistrustful she was of the Maesters from the very beginning — She wrote of it more often than I expected."

Rhaenys nodded in agreement. "She had cause." She recalled, "They changed much when they came — even attempted to persuade Aerion to forbid her from training with a sword which prompted her to practice harder just to spite them."

Laena snorted softly, unable to help herself. "That sounds like her," she remarked lightly. "Doesn't it?" Her mother agreed, lips curling up. "But as she grew older, the resentment grew with her — Especially as their meddling made her father discard the Valyrian customs which cost Visenya her rightful inheritance."

Jocelyn hummed thoughtfully, her quill pausing mid-air. "I suspect it was less a slight against Visenya and more an effort to bridge the divide between Westeros and Dragonstone." She continued, "For all its ancient Valyrian splendour, Dragonstone stood apart from the rest of the Realm and was thus considered a threat. Aerion must've wished to prevent more conflict and ensure peace by adopting their customs and traditions — particularly in a time when the Targaryen line was so diminished."

Septa Rhaella folded over a parchment before nodding gravely. "It aligns with what we've uncovered thus far," she gestured towards Laena's grandmother seated beside her. "We scoured every record we could find, and there was no mention of a Maester residing on Dragonstone before Aerion — It appears that he opened our gates to them."

Perhaps he believed it necessary, Laena echoed her grandmother's words — an olive branch to soothe Westerosi tempers. Her silver brow creased in consideration — And it worked too perfectly.

At first glance, everything seemed innocent— logical, even. The Targaryens needed allies, and Aerion sought them through compromise. But when one considers the Maesters' intentions, especially ones recently discovered...

It was maddening how much they were allowed to influence Targaryens without question.

Visenya, who had been silent since the conversation turned, finally cleared her throat and spoke, "Valaena struggled to conceive for years — to the point where they considered her barren. And then, after all that time, she bore three children, one after the other. Does no one else find that…curious?”

"Could it have been the Maester?" Laena pressed on, her fingers curling into the soft fabric of her gown. "If they sought to earn Aerion’s trust, perhaps they… intervened? First to create the problem — then to present themselves as its solution."

Her mother, who had been observing her, leaned into her chair and answered, "It's not impossible — Valaena's troubles were well known, and if the Maesters saw an opportunity, I've no doubt they would take it."

Jocelyn tilted her head, her stormy eyes sharp as she introduced a new thread to the discussion. "If we're questioning the Maesters' influence, then what of King Aenys's frailty? — Is it possible his sickly nature was of their making?"

The room stirred at this suggestion, but before anyone could voice their doubt, the elderly woman continued, “We know this much to be true — the health of Targaryens bonded to dragons improves greatly. Both Aenys and Aemma's conditions saw some relief when they found their mounts, yet neither ever fully recovered — Aemma fared better, yes, but Aenys remained weak all his life — his body failing him time and again.”  

"There is precedent for such suspicions," Rhaenys confirmed, inclining her head forward, her expression grim. "Queen Visenya wrote in her journal that the Maesters' remedies failed to heal her nephew, and even worsened his condition — That's why she dismissed them from his care and tended to him herself."

"Don't forget that Aenys's health improved under her care," The Baratheon woman added swiftly. "Yet he died nonetheless," the Septa reminded them, her voice matter-of-fact. "To most of the Realm that appeared as if she let him pass to clear the way for her own son."

"Exactly," Laena's mother argued. "The Maesters with their reputations intact — No one questioned their failures and the blame fell solely on Queen Visenya, the only one bold enough to speak against them — It served their purposes perfectly."

Laena's lips pressed into a thin line as she mulled over this revelation, a curious question forming on her tongue. "While we're still discussing Maegor — why did Queen Visenya bear him so late in life? Could the Maesters have meddled with her as well?" 

If they sought to undermine the family from within, wouldn't it make sense?

Visenya answered with a dismissive shake of her head. "No," she replied firmly. "Before the Conquest, the siblings made a pact — Visenya as the eldest, would serve as a protector, Aegon would unite and rule whilst Rhaenys would bear the responsibility of continuing the line — They wished to avoid dividing the family into two branches that could engage in conflict for power, weaken the dynasty and destroy the Realm."

This revelation caused Laena to frown in confusion. Hadn't that been precisely what transpired with Maegor usurping Aenys's son and throwing the whole Realm into war? "Then why bear Maegor at all?" Why would Aegon and Visenya create the very outcome they wished to avoid?

"The answer is simple," Rhaenys replied, her tone as even as a calm sea. "One child wasn't enough — Aegon needed an Heir and a Spare, as every monarch does. And with Aenys so weak and sickly, there was no guarantee he'd live to adulthood, let alone to continue the dynasty and take the Crown — It was a precaution, nothing more."

Septa Rhaella furrowed her brow, her fingers tracing the edge of her rosary. "What I cannot understand," she began slowly, "is why — if Queen Visenya was so mistrustful of the Maesters and their dealings, she would allow Maegor to wed Ceryse — The Hightowers have always been the Faith's steadfast allies and greatest patrons, she was surely aware of it."

Visenya didn't answer at once, but when she did, it was with a calm, practiced certainty. "Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer." Laena blinked, letting the words settle over her, the wisdom of the explanation dawning slowly in her mind. Her grandmother, however, nodded in approval. 

"It makes sense," she declared, tapping her fingertips against the table. "Think about it — Visenya was deeply displeased — livid, even — when Aenys declared Aegon his Heir over Rhaena. She reportedly stormed out of the Great Hall when their betrothal was announced as it slighted her son. If the pact truly existed to prevent the rise of a second branch of Targaryens, then her belief that Maegor and Rhaena should wed was logical — It would unite the two branches into one, preserving the family and the Realm for generations to come — And it would restore the Valyrian custom of primogeniture, with Rhaena as Queen."

Rhaenys tilted her head thoughtfully. "Since her wishes weren't fulfilled, perhaps the marriage to a Hightower was the next best choice," she mused. "At the very least, it allowed her to keep a close eye on those she mistrusted most."

A slow, sly smile spread across Jocelyn's face. "It wasn't just about keeping an eye on them," she emphasised. "It was about keeping them in check. The marriage was a threat — a means of control. Ceryse Hightower wasn't simply a wife, she was a hostage — a chain around her family's neck in case they sought to retaliate."

Laena shifted uneasily in her seat, feeling a faint pulsing in her temples — So much scheming... Though the others didn't seem to mind it — the subtle threats masked as gestures of goodwill, the layers of meaning in every word and action.

However, it was too fast for her to follow.

A single choice could hold a dozen meanings, a compliment might be a veiled insult, and a seemingly simple marriage pact could start or end a war, all depending on the context.  

She exhaled and sank back in her chair, declaring defeat to the labyrinth of politics. She long ago resigned herself to the knowledge that she lacked the will, or perhaps the wit to navigate such waters — Better to let Visenya, her mother and grandmother untangle these webs. They were better suited to it — sharper, hungrier. 

Laena would watch, listen, and follow their lead — as she always had.  

Her friend pulled her back from her thoughts, her voice even but insistent as she steered the conversation back to their earlier discussion. "We moved too quickly from the matter of King Aenys and the Maesters' possible involvement in his death — We assumed before that the Maesters only worked against Targaryen women and children, but now we entertain the notion that men may be their targets as well. If that is true," she paused, her tone lowering, "then is it a stretch to assume my grandsire might've been one of them?"

Everyone exchanged glances, but no one dared to answer as Laena pondered her cousin's words — It was true that no one in their family had ever passed in such a manner — neither Targaryen nor Velaryon. The 'burst belly,' they called it, but there was no record of it in their bloodlines. Baelon had been fine one moment, hale and hearty, and then the next he was gone. 

Visenya's hands folded neatly over the leather-bound diary of her namesake. She swallowed, plainly hesitant to speak before revealing, "My father has wounds — Cuts on his hands and his back that don't heal, no matter what salves or treatments the Maesters prescribe."

The room seemed to freeze, the air growing taut with unspoken tension before the Baratheon woman chuckled dryly. "The Iron Throne cuts him, doesn't it?" she inquired, both mocking and curious.  

Laena watched as the Princess blinked at the clouds beyond the window before answering simply, "Yes." The faint cackles that followed drew her attention as disapproval flared in her chest. She sent her grandmother a sharp look, willing her to stop.

It wasn't the time for jests or mockery — not when Visenya was speaking so openly. Alas, Jocelyn ignored her entirely, murmuring something under her breath with a satisfied, almost careless expression.  

It was Rhaella who finally eased the tension. "It's a possibility worth considering," she acknowledged. "If the Maesters played a hand in the death of one King and escaped unnoticed, they might well feel emboldened enough to try again."

The elderly woman then folded her hands over her lap, her calm demeanor a balm to the room's unease. "Still, we must be cautious — There are illnesses no one can cure, and childbirth is dangerous enough even without interference. We can pore over scrolls and records until our eyes bleed, but we'll never know for certain which child was fated to live and which was doomed by nature."

Rhaenys's pale lilac eyes softened as she looked at Visenya, whose focus remained fixed on the clouds. "Rhaella speaks true," she agreed gently. "Without confessions or written proof, it would be impossible to be certain — And such evidence is unlikely to ever come to light."

Visenya's response to the softness offered was swift and cutting — her anger breaking through like an unsheathed blade. "I'm well aware of that," she snapped, rejecting the comfort as though it were an affront — Her hands tightened over the journal in her lap, the knuckles turning white, before she exhaled, forcing the tempest within her to subside. "Three of my brothers and a sister were murdered, and two more were born as blood — Yet, I was allowed to live — Rhaenyra was allowed to live. Why?"

Her question hung unanswered making Laena's breath hitch, her lips parting as though to speak — but she thought better of it.  

She went on, visibly bitter. "Don't tell me it was because my mother was bedded too young. That excuse is as tired as it's convenient — Yes, she was a child when she wed, but she bore two healthy children before everything went wrong — Two healthy children!" Her voice rose, then faltered as she regained control, her dark purple gaze fixing them all. "Why us, then? Why were we allowed to live when the others weren't?"

The elderly Septa parted her lips to reply before Laena cautiously ventured, cutting her off, "Why were we all allowed to live at all? If the Maesters and the Hightowers consider us a threat, why haven't they wiped us out by now?"

Her mother leaned forward, her eyes narrowing as if weighing her words. "Because it'd be too obvious if we all vanished at once, or even within a single generation. It would raise questions — stir suspicion." She took a deep breath before continuing, "But, if they're patient and methodical, no one would bat an eye when, after two centuries our families quietly disappear — The world will simply believe that Valyrian children are difficult to bring forth — that Valyrian women are cursed with a bad fortune in the birthing bed."

The Septa cleared her throat, drawing their attention whilst her calm gaze settled on the Targaryen Princess. "Vaegon and I developed a theory after observing the Hightowers," she admitted, as though finally ready to answer the Heiress's questions. "We don't believe they wish to destroy us outright — not entirely. Rather, they intend to wed into the family."

Before any of them could request more information, the woman simply raised her palm to stop them. "Consider the matches they've offered over the years — A Hightower was proposed for King Maegor, Prince Baelon — and even for you, Princess." She tipped her head forward in Visenya's direction. "They're waiting for the right opportunity. Their aim was likely to wed a Hightower daughter to a Targaryen son — a child of Viserys and Aemma, perhaps. That would bind the bloodlines together, giving the Hightowers a claim to our lineage and legacy. Alas, Lady Lynesse bore no daughters, only sons and her childbearing ended sometime after Princess Rhaenyra's birth."

Visenya held the Septa's gaze, exhaling slowly as if piecing the puzzle together. "When that failed — when they could no longer hope for a match, it no longer suited them for my parents to have a son."

"That is our belief," Rhaella concluded, tipping her head forward. "What of Alicent?" Laena asked, puzzled. "She is a Hightower? Couldn't she have served their purpose?"

Her grandmother dismissed her inquiry with a shake of her head. "Alicent Hightower is of the second branch — She'd be utterly worthless in their schemes, especially with you, Visenya, and Rhaenyra alive to make far better matches."

The Targaryen Princess snorted softly, although there was no humor in the sound. "Worthless, was she? And yet she wed the King." Her tone dripped with disdain which made Jocelyn smirk, her amusement clear now. “No other King would've allowed it,” she insisted lightly. "Only Viserys — None of the others would've been foolish enough to take her."

Rhaenys cut short the insults to the King's name, her thick black braid falling past her shoulder as she tilted her head and hummed softly, "So that’s their aim — to dilute Targaryen blood by weaving their own into our line."

"It's a clever plan, I'll grant them that," Laena's grandmother mused, leaning back against her chair. "Strip away the mating marks, and what have we been taught? Targaryens wed Targaryens, not out of sentiment, but for power — To keep the ruling name Targaryen — to preserve the purity of their blood and to ensure they remain bonded to the dragons. Too much mixing with outsiders would threaten all of that. It would open doors for other, ambitious families to gain access to dragons — And once a dragon bonds with someone, what's to stop them from laying claim on the throne as well?"

She trailed off, "The only exceptions have been families from Old Valyria — Velaryons and Celtigars, as their blood is close enough not to weaken the connection. But the Hightowers?" She tsked with disapproval. "They seem to want the opposite — If they had their way, Targaryens would lose their most valuable weapon — The one thing that allowed them to conquer and unite the Seven Kingdoms — dragons."

The Baratheon Lady took a sip of wine before settling the cup down. "What are they even without dragons? — No better than the Starks, the Lannisters, or any other family with a castle and a name — Simply ordinary."

Laena's amethyst irises dropped to her hands, which rested in her lap. Her long fingers trailed absently over the golden rings that adorned them, the gemstones glinting faintly in the firelight as a shadow crossed her expression.

She never thought of it like that. How much of a danger it was to simply be Valyrian — She never considered it, preferring to bask in it instead — In the beauty, the privilege, the wealth, the freedom. 

Unconsciously, she fully admitted to having felt untouchable, especially with Vhagar at her side.

However, now that their lives were threatened for simply existing, no amount of privilege, riches, and freedom seemed worth it — Not if it meant having to live in fear, constantly looking over their shoulders at every shadow, wondering if their friends were enemies and their enemies friends.

What pulled her from her spiraling thoughts was a sudden, sharp movement to her right — Visenya bolted to her feet with a swiftness that drew every eye in the room. She crossed the space with purpose, her indigo eyes alight as she reached for the scrolls spread across the table between Jocelyn and Rhaella.  

The Septa arched a curious brow, her voice serious yet unhurried. “What is it you're searching for, Princess?" The Heiress offered no reply at first as she flipped between scrolls with a growing urgency — At last, she voiced her question, "Did the children who passed bear mating marks?"

The inquiry sent ripples of confusion across the room, prompting Laena's grandmother and the Septa to exchange a glance. "Why does it matter?" The Queen Who Never Was asked sharply, lilac eyes narrowing.

The Princess looked up briefly, eyes briefly locking with Rhaenys's own before she revealed, "Because Baelon bore a mating mark on his hipbone — I saw it with my own eyes."

Laena's confusion only deepened, though a flicker of hope stirred within her. She stayed quiet, waiting for her friend to elaborate as she observed her closely. There was a spark in Visenya now — For the first time in a long while, the Heiress seemed alive, her mind working swiftly and precisely, and her focus absolute. It reminded her of the girl she had first befriended — of the woman she had long feared was lost.  

She dared to hope that her friend might be finally returning.  

Visenya placed the scrolls back onto the table with a sharp exhale, clearly finding no answers within them. She straightened, her hands resting on the edge. "Baelon was meant to live, and he bore a mark — What if…" She paused, scanning their faces, "What if children destined to pass before their time never bear marks? — What if they appear only on those meant to survive?"

The implication of her words left them all stunned. Even Jocelyn, ever quick with a sharp tongue or skeptical remark — sat quietly for the first time since Laena had met her. Her mother spluttered, her usual poise shaken. "It's... it's a sound suggestion — A theory worth exploring. We could—"

"Research the old records," Rhaella interrupted firmly as if struck with an idea. "If I'm not mistaken, a book of all noted mating marks exists?" Visenya nodded, and for the briefest moment, Laena felt a flicker of warmth in her chest.

She's back, she thought, keenly focused on her friend as a small, hopeful smile graced her lips, The Visenya I knew was finally back.

"You're correct," Visenya revealed calmly, but purposefully. "The book resides on Dragonstone, with the Valyrian priest who keeps it."

Laena leaned forward, her hands gripping the arms of her chair as she eagerly suggested, "Then I'll go fetch it myself." She was already imagining the rush of wind as she soared on Vhagar’s back — the thrill of purpose after so many days of restless waiting. "I can be there by nightfall. What is to be done with it? Should I—"

Everyone turned to Visenya, waiting for her response — her command. And just like that, the fire that had lit her indigo eyes only moments ago was gone, replaced by a dull, distant neutrality. "Nothing is to be done," the Princess declared flatly.  

Laena's smile faltered, her hope snuffed out as quickly as it had ignited — So she wasn't back after all. She blinked, attempting to conceal her disappointment, but the anger bubbling beneath the surface was harder to hide.  

Her friend straightened her posture and stepped back from the table, her tone quiet but resolute, "I'll write to the castellan of Dragonstone. He'll speak to the priest and see that the book is sent here." Without awaiting a response, she spun on her heel and strode from the room.

She stared after her cousin, her hands tightening into fists in her lap. It was truly getting rather tiring to witness Visenya retreat — to see her refuse to act, not to mention the endless waiting and inaction that had come to define their days. 

Not being able to stop herself, Laena shot to her feet, her chair scraping against the stone floor as she bolted out of the room. Her pulse quickened with each step, her skirts swishing furiously around her legs as she followed after the Princess.  

"Who are you and what have you done with the real Visenya?" she called out, demanding an explanation which practically forced the Heiress to abruptly stop in her tracks and turn to her, bewildered. "What in the Seven Hells are you on about?"

Laena didn't slow her pace, closing the distance between them and almost colliding with her cousin. "The Visenya I know isn't afraid of anything," she insisted, her chest heaving with the weight of unsaid words. "She never gives up — She schemes, she plans, she acts — She doesn't sit around waiting for issues to solve themselves!"

The Targaryen girl scoffed, brushing past her as if she were swatting away a fly. "You've no idea what you're speaking of."

"Oh, don’t I?" she shot back, moving to block her path. Her voice grew louder, echoing off the stone walls, "I know you've been sitting there like a ghost in your own skin, doing absolutely nothing. I know your mother — your own mother — was murdered, and yet here you are, leaving letters for priests instead of doing something — anything, to seek justice!"

Visenya's jaw tightened, her eyes shutting as though attempting to block the raging assault of Laena's words whilst she pressed on, her words cutting deeper with every syllable, "You're not yourself, Visenya. Perhaps you've forgotten who you are, but I haven't. I know the girl you used to be — the girl we need you to be. Not this hollow, frightened—"

"Enough!" The Princess shouted, expressing completely twisting. Her indigo eyes shone with grief so raw it was like an open wound, and she appeared less like the composed and cunning person everyone had known and more like a cornered animal — desperate and furious.

"What do you want from me?" She hissed, rage burning so fiercely in her irises that Laena nearly stepped back. "Do you believe I don't love my mother enough to tear this world apart to avenge her? — Do you believe I don't love her enough to burn Oldtown to the ground and hang their Maesters from their precious towers?"

The Velaryon girl opened her mouth to speak, but no words came. Her friend took a step closer, her finger jabbing hard against her chest. "You think I don't lie awake at night, plotting and seething and wishing for vengeance? — You have no idea—" Her voice cracked, pushing her to take one shuddering breath.

"You have no idea of the weight I'm carrying — None!" She continued, tone quieter although no less furious. "You have no idea what it means to be me — To sit at the center of it all, knowing that one wrong move could destroy everything and everyone I care about."

Visenya then drew back, visibly restraining herself from saying more. Her hands clenched at her sides, her entire frame trembling with the effort to contain her emotions. After a long moment, she turned away, gathering her skirts with trembling hands. "Don't speak to me of things you don't understand," she spat coldly before retreating.

For the first time in her life, Laena found herself at a loss for words.

The silence that followed was heavy and suffocating, broken only by the fading sound of her cousin's footsteps. With naught left to do, she quietly returned to the chambers where the others awaited — the weight of her exchange with Visenya heavy on her shoulders. 

She felt the sting of guilt gnawing at her — the feeling she didn't wish to acknowledge — Guilt and anger both, hot and stubborn — Anger at Visenya for not speaking plainly — Anger that she had to push so hard only to be met with walls instead of answers.  

She sank into her chair with a long, weary exhale, her hands bracing the armrests as if they might keep her from sliding into despair. "She wants naught to be done," Laena muttered bitterly. "Not now — not yet — not ever, it seems. She'd rather wait for the Maesters to come for us all. Perhaps she'll welcome them with tea and honeycakes while we await our deaths.”  

"Perhaps because it's the only correct decision? — Lying low is precisely the move we should be making right now," her grandmother pierced her with her story gaze, her fingers tapping in a slow, deliberate rhythm against the table.

Laena sat upright, eyes narrowing. "And why not act?" she inquired, gesturing wildly. "I understand we have no solid evidence or facts, but isn't Queen Aemma's death proof enough? Baelon's? Doesn't the late Queen's letter mean anything? Are we to sit on our hands while they plot against us? — We have dragons, for Vhagar's sake! We could fly to Oldtown and show them what we're capable of."

"Oh, you sweet summer child," Rhaella uttered with pity from the corner of the room. The Valeryon girl whipped her head toward the Septa, her fury flaring anew — but before she could respond, her grandmother slammed her hand flat against the table, the sharp crack silencing the room.  

"Enough," Jocelyn said firmly, her tone brooking no argument. "That plan of yours is the last one we'll be considering." She was prepared to argue, but, her mother stepped in to prevent the argument before it even began — Rhaenys spared her mother a single, warning glance, forcing her to retreat.

Her pale lilac eyes then flickered to her, addressing her ever so patiently, "Listen to me, Laena," she began, "Using force against Oldtown, the Citadel, the Faith — it wouldn't only be unwise, it would be catastrophic — Do you know why Aegon the Conqueror left the Starry Sept untouched? Why he knelt before the High Septon to be crowned?"

Laena said nothing, her lips pressed into a thin line, but her silence was answer enough. "Because the Faith commands more loyalty than any Monarch, Lord, or House," Rhaenys continued. "The moment you burn their towers or spill their blood, you make them martyrs — And martyrs are far more dangerous than any army."

"The Faith of the Seven isn't merely a religion," The elderly Septa added softly, "It's an institution that gives the people structure, guidance, purpose — Their lives are hard enough without it, take that away, and you'll have rebellion from every corner of the Realm." 

"Even the Conquerors needed the High Septon's blessing to rule. That's why Aegon accepted his coronation in the Starry Sept and agreed to adopt their practices — He couldn't afford to be seen as a foreign heretic by the people," the Baratheon lady continued steadily. "The Faith, in return, found the justification for the Targaryens' rule, and they defended it, even when they didn't agree with it — If they hadn't, the Realm would've torn itself apart long before now."

Laena's anger dimmed as the weight of their words sank in, but frustration still gnawed at her. She sat back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest as she stared at the table ahead. 

So the Faith of the Seven and the Crown must stand together, work together, and trust one another to ensure peace in Westeros, she thought to herself, not bothering to hide her dissatisfaction.

Finally, she looked up, letting out a breath and shaking her head. "So what now?" she questioned, her voice tense. "If we cannot act — if we cannot strike, what now?" Her mother firmly answered, "We wait."

Laena clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms — The answer was like ash on her tongue. Waiting felt like dying a slow death, but she could see in their eyes that there was no room for argument — waiting was, after all, the only course of action.

And so, she said nothing more. 

 

 

 

 

_____

 

 

 

 

driftmark, 112AC
visenya targaryen

Visenya lay in her assigned chambers on Driftmark, curled beneath furs that did little to stop the chill of the sea air from seeping into her bones. She shifted to face the window, gaze fixed on the full moon that hung low in the night sky — like a silver beacon that rendered the stars invisible. 

She clutched her uncle's tunic to her chest, the fabric soft and worn from countless nights spent sleeping in it — his sage scent lingering faintly, though her own now overwhelmed it. It was a foolish indulgence, she knew — sentimental, even. Yet here she lay, clinging to it like a child would to their mother's skirts.

She buried her face in the cloth, breathing him in as if the mere act could steady her thoughts and bring her comfort.

Her indigo eyes, so sharp and calculating in the presence of others, were glassy with exhaustion. She couldn't sleep — She refused to, out of fear that her itching body would take advantage of her unconscious mind, climb on Arrax's back, and give in to her impulse to set Oldtown aflame.  

Visenya's mind already burned with visions of it — The whole city reduced to ash and rubble, a fitting pyre for all the treachery birthed within its shadow. Oh, how simple it would be to mount her dragon and let his fire cleanse the rot. 

Her whole body ached to do it — Her hands curling into fists at the thought. But no matter how her blood burned for it, she stayed her hand as the consequences of giving in would be no less than catastrophic.

She had always been a creature of logic, dissecting every possibility, turning it over and over, inverting and flipping and pulling apart each thread of a situation until she understood its every weave and twist — She liked learning new things and figuring out how to apply them in different scenarios — It was what she had been trained to do — what Olenna, Tywin, and Oberyn had instilled in her. 

Logic, calculation, cold reason — these were her tools, her armor. 

Emotions were a liability — a chink in her defenses. There was no place for them in strategy as actions born of emotion were predictable, and predictability was a weakness she couldn't afford. 

She was aware of this — She was aware.

And yet, here she was, trembling with the desire to act — to destroy — to burn.

Visenya was used to fighting battles in her mind long before they ever took place — not just in the Red Keep, but in the entire Westeros — She fought everywhere, all the time. In her mind, everyone was her enemy and everyone was her friend. She had lived her life believing that by doing this, she could control the chaos, and anticipate every move, every betrayal, every knife in the dark. 

And yet, despite her foresight, she'd been utterly blindsided — Not because she was unprepared, but because they defied even her darkest imaginings. 

Gods, why after all she had endured — after all she had built, was her resolve crumbling? Why did she long for destruction without a care for the consequences? — Why were the tamed emotions she long ago locked up in the cells of her mind fighting to break free? 

She shook her head — It mattered not as she would never allow them to escape. She couldn't because every life she had taken, every death she caused, every person she ruined, every harsh and brutal decision she made — would suddenly come crashing down on her.

Hells, even her treatment of Alicent over the years would haunt her.

Visenya had been sent to the past to prevent the passing of dragons — She came back armoured with ways in which to treat and undermine the people responsible for starting the war in the first place. She was prepared to battle an experienced liar with a thirst for power and far too reaching hands for somebody of her station — the woman who made Rhaenyra's life a living nightmare due to her bitterness and envy.

Contrary to her belief, she was met with an innocent girl with trembling hands — a child who stammered over her words when put on the spot. 

She was expecting to face a player, and instead, she was put up against a mere pawn.

Still, Visenya refused to change her course— Instead, she pushed the Hightower girl away and moved her as she would any other piece on the board until she became as much her pawn as she was Otto's.

She even justified it — every manipulation, every slight, and every cold word telling herself that it was necessary — that it was for the greater good. But the truth clawed at her, undeniable and unrelenting — Visenya was no better than the Alicent she had read about in the books — She, too, had preyed upon innocence — She, too, had wielded power against those weaker than herself.

Her fingers tightened around the tunic in her hands — She couldn't afford to think this way. The two of them were positioned against one another as rivals by history, and by men whose power was tied to their own and would forever remain so — They were pawns in a game played by forces far beyond their control.

The last thing she wanted was to know her — to feel for her, because one day, she was going to have to put an end to her.

Alicent wasn't a mare girl to her, she could never be — she was a rival, a threat, an adversary. To see her as anything else would be to invite ruin.

Because it was far harder to kill an innocent girl than a conniving, power-hungry stepmother who was responsible for the beginning of the fall of House Targaryen.

Her grip on the tunic tightened, her indigo eyes burning as they fixed on the moon — She wished to stop feeling — to cease thinking and retreat into the cold logic that had always been her shield.

Suddenly, a soft knock through the dimly lit chambers, cutting through the stillness of the night. Visenya slowly maneuvered her hand underneath the pillow to grip at her dagger that rested there, her heart pounding in her chest.

"Visenya?" Leo called out in a low murmur, his tone gentle but insistent against the heavy wood, "Are you asleep?" Visenya let out an exhale, relaxing as her fingers uncurled from the weapon lying beneath her head.

She didn't answer at first, her gaze fixed on the moonlit window as she kept her breath steady to betray no sign of wakefulness, hoping to all Gods that he would leave her be. Momentarily, she thought she was in the clear, until the door creaked open, spilling a sliver of candlelight into the room.

Of course he wouldn't leave, she snorted to herself, her eyelids fluttering shut. 

"Princess Rhaenys called for a meeting and is requesting your presence," her friend revealed as he stepped further inside, the candle in his hand casting flickering shadows on the walls. Visenya didn't turn, though she saw no point in pretending to be asleep any longer. "At this hour?" she inquired, her voice low and rough.

"I couldn't find rest, and I doubt anyone else could either," the knight replied with a wry smile she couldn't see. "Except for Lady Jocelyn, of course — How Laena managed to wake her without losing an arm remains a mystery," he jested lightly.

She sniffed, though it was hardly a laugh. "I find no difficulty resting either — Too bad for you all, though," she uttered, burying her nose deeper into the fabric of Daemon's tunic. "Come now, Vissie. I know you better than that — You're not truly going to sleep," he countered.

As he didn't get a response, he stepped closer, setting the candle down on a nearby table. "Cease ignoring me, I can see your eyes gleaming in the moonlight." When she stubbornly still stayed silent, he switched the topic of conversation, "I heard what transpired between you and Laena."

"I don't wish to talk about it," Visenya voiced flatly, stiffening beneath the furs at being reminded of how she lost her composure and snapped at her friend a few hours prior — admittedly, not her finest moment. Leo hummed to himself, "You never do."

A beat of silence stretched between them, the sound of the waves crashing against Driftmark's shores filling the chamber. The knight exhaled, exasperated now. "Are you truly not going to join the meeting?" he pressed. Visenya nodded simply, "Mhm."

"This is most unlike you," he exclaimed, his dark brow creasing in concern. "On the contrary," Visenya began, her tone laced with quiet venom as her lips humourlessly twitched, "This is the most like myself I've been in years."

Leo hesitantly lingered near the door, his fingers brushing the hilt of the sword he carried as he studied her covered back. "I understand this—" She cut in sharply, "It's not just about this."

He didn't understand, none of them did, she attempted to convince herself. And how could they? she questioned herself.

"I know," he insisted. He inhaled sharply, refusing to back down as always. "It's about your father, your sister, the Crown, and this frail alliance we've cobbled together — About the Hand of the King, the court of snakes and vipers, and the passing of your mother and brother — About your position, and the Seven Kingdoms — About your uncle, wounded and far away — It's about the whole ghastly relentlessness of it all, and the fact that it never stops." 

Visenya swallowed, jaw clenching with such strength that she thought her teeth might break. The onslaught of his words made her eat her previous words up. She shut her eyes tightly, almost curling into herself — not wishing to register a single thing. 

Alas, her silence was answer enough.

The swung open again, although this time the sound of it echoed with a loud thud as another figure entered. "Are you two coming, or not?" Laena questioned impatiently, arms crossing as she leaned against the doorframe. "You're the only ones left."

The knight glanced at the Velaryon girl, but offered no response before turning his attention to Visenya when she quietly denied his earlier words with a shake of her head, "If you truly understood, you wouldn't be standing here."

"I understand," he insisted firmly. "But you're running from it, Vissie — You cannot keep avoiding this, looking the other way and hoping it resolves itself. You must figure out how to move forward, or we're all dead."

"That's correct, Leo. It's all my responsibility, isn't it?  — Visenya Targaryen, the schemer, the genius, the mastermind — Always ten steps ahead, always with a plan to save the day." The laugh that escaped her lips was bitter, and mocking as she abruptly sat up, the furs slipping from her shoulders.

"No one said that," The Tyrell man defended, as Laena cut in, realising what the conversation was about, "I won't lie to you, Vissie," she said with more measure and understanding, stepping fully into the room. "We do expect too much from you — Perhaps we always have."

"Then leave," she hissed, her indigo eyes glinting with fire as they flicked between her two friends. "Both of you — I need no lectures tonight." Laena suddenly planted herself near the foot of the bed as she sharply refused, "You cannot keep shutting us out!"

"Leave me alone!" Visenya repeated, her breath picking up as her voice rose, raw and furious. "No!" the Velaryon girl snapped back, just as fierce. "We've come too far for you to retreat into this solitude — If you think we're going to let you push us away now, you're madder than Maegor." 

"Please don't argue," Leo interjected softly, looking at both of them pleadingly, though neither girl paid him any mind. "We're not arguing!" they both barked at him, their heads turning toward him which made him wince and raise his hands in surrender.

Visenya closed her eyes for a moment, exhaling sharply through her nose. "I cannot do this right now," she said finally, her voice trembling with a weariness she couldn't hide any longer. "I want to be alone," she emphasised.

The knight tilted his head, brow creasing as he pressed softly, "Why did you let me in then?" He gestured towards the Velaryon girl and himself. "Why haven't you forced us out yet? We both know you could do it easily if you truly wished to."

Her lips pressed into a thin line, eyes narrowing as she drew the blanket tighter around herself — as though it could shield her from his words. "What are you attempting to say, Leo? What point are you so desperate to make?" she inquired, more harshly than she intended to.

"I think that you're frightened," he voiced, unflinching. Visenya stared into his warm, calm blue eyes, feeling her anger rising — She couldn't stand the kindness and understanding she found in them. "Frightened?" She scoffed, "You think me frightened?"

"Yes," Leo replied simply. He moved closer, not allowing her to look away from his searching irises, so unyielding in their gentleness. "Something terrible has happened to you and yours — Your world has shattered, and turned upside down overnight. And yet…" He paused, trailing off. "We've been here with you — For you."

Laena interjected upon following his train of thought, "We part ways at night, only to come together again at dawn — And we're still here, Vissie — None of us are giving up. None of us are walking away."

Visenya let out a quiet, shuddering breath, her gaze dropping to the floor. She felt their words pressing in on her like an invisible weight, relentless in their insistence.  

"We're here for the same reason,” the Velaryon girl continued, softer now as if realising the effect the conversation was having on her. "This isn't just about you, it's about all of us — This burden doesn't rest on your shoulders alone."

The Tyrell man nodded in agreement, his expression turning grave. "I won't lie to you, Vissie, I'm frightened as well — for my family, my mother, and siblings. We've slighted the Hightowers enough to make us a target, especially in the recent moons — If they can strike at the heart of House Targaryen, Gods only know what they might do to a lesser house."

She blinked, feeling her heart drop as his words caught her completely off guard — She had been so consumed by the loss of her mother, and the chaos within her own House, that she hadn't even considered the ripple effect. 

Gods, emotions again — they made her blind.

"We wish to be here for you," Laena's voice cut through her thoughts, making her look up at her friend, startled. "Any one of us would like to be — But you don't trust my mother, you don't trust Leo, you don't trust me." She shook her head quietly. "You don't trust anyone but yourself — even though you've always had us in your corner."

She frowned — Trust was a fragile thing, and Visenya had long since stopped giving it away. It had been shattered too many times, broken into too many jagged pieces which left her wary of everyone, even those who swore loyalty to her — to the point that she began believing that she could only trust and rely on herself.

She was the only person who would never betray her.

That's why she preferred solitude — There was no need for raised walls or defenses. She could slump before the mirror and admit all her troubles without the fear of betrayal or judgment. She could speak to it of herself — admit her truth.

And yet...

"I like being alone," she mumbled, lips twitching. "I practically taught myself how to do it," she admitted, feeling the lump form in her throat as she played with her fingers in her lap. "Perhaps," Leo agreed gently, "but I don't believe you wish to be alone — not anymore."

The words struck her like a blow, taking her breath away. Her mouth parted, but no sound came out as the knight's gaze remained steady, nonjudgmental — and for the first time, she felt the walls she had built around herself retreat. 

Tears welled in her eyes, hot and unbidden. She despised it — She despised that they could see her like this, that they had stripped her defenses away so easily. 

But gods help her, she couldn't hold it back any longer. 

Visenya's voice was low at first, but it cracked as she spoke, growing unsteady with every word that left her. "I don't remember what she sounds like." When her friends exchanged a look, she clarified, "My mother." Her eyes fixed on the empty hearth. "I can never get it quite right in my mind."

Laena and Leo pursed their lips and waited, letting the silence stretch until she continued with her lips trembling like a leaf caught in the wind, "I keep going back — I keep replaying the moment where I forced my way into the birthing chambers. I see it every time I close my eyes, but it’s never quite the same.  Each time, I make a different choice — I say something different, I move faster, I… I do something to save her."

Her breath hitched. "But no matter my determination — no matter my efforts, I lose her every time. She… she slips through my fingers like smoke." Her voice cracked, and her shoulders began to tremble. “I never save her — I always fail her in the end. And it's my fault—"

"Visenya," the Velaryon girl interrupted gently, calling her name in protest as she stepped forward, concern etched plainly on her beautiful face. "No," Visenya shook her head in denial and protest — She was guilty, she wouldn't have anyone attempting to convince her otherwise. 

"You don't understand — I should've noticed. Gods above, I should've noticed!" Her voice rose, sharp and raw. "There were signs! — So many of them, right in front of me! But I was too blind, too self-absorbed to see them — too caught in my own head, my own thoughts, my own bloody pride!"

Visenya's breathing grew ragged and shallow. She pressed a hand to her chest, her fingers clutching the fabric of Daemon's tunic, desperately attempting to channel the comfort from the garment. "It’s killing me" she gasped, a lump forming in her throat. "It's—"

"Vissie…?" Leo murmured cautiously, and uncertainly. "I'm alright," she choked out, trying to convince herself, and them — though she clearly wasn't. Her hands trembled, her breaths coming fast and uneven, and her face pale as death. "I'm alright, I'm—"

She couldn't even push her words out anymore so she began waving her hands towards herself while doing her best to collect her breaths. She swore she would be returning to her old self any second now — she had to. 

There must be a point when the breaking pieces ceased breaking.

The knight shook his head and approached the table, ignoring her protests. He dipped his fingers into a cup of water resting there and then returned to her side. "Hush now," he said firmly, his tone calm but commanding. "Focus on breathing."

Before she could flinch or retreat, his cool, damp fingers brushed through her hair, trailing down to her neck. The sensation startled her, but it grounded her too — She closed her eyes, taking a shuddering breath as the icy rivulets trickled down her skin.  

"It's like you said," he mused, his tone steady and soothing. "You're alright." Visenya didn't respond right away — She sat there, trembling, her breathing slowly evening out as the panic ebbed away like a tide.

"I can feel you all looking at me," she said finally, revealing a tad bit of her troubles. "I can sense your stares. Your eyes are always on me, watching, waiting — as if you expect me to pull a trick from my sleeve — as if I might, at any moment, give a command, open a door, or uncover some unforeseen path that will lead us out of this dead-end corner."

Her gaze dropped to her hands, which lay limp in her lap. "And I'm aware I have no one to blame but myself. After all, I've tiresomely worked my whole life to build an image of a reliable and unshakable person for myself, haven't I? — A genius whose world cannot be toppled — who always has an answer, a plan." She laughed bitterly, and apologetically for the disappointment that she would, no doubt, bring them. "But this time I have nothing to offer — No answer, no solution. My mind is simply… blank."

She didn't lift her gaze to them, dreading having to witness their reaction to her failure — That was until Laena spoke, "Then let us help." The firm insistence in her voice made her look up in pure surprise.

Her lips twitched in protest, her face hardening as if preparing to dismiss the offer outright. She even almost snorted — Help? She cast a doubtful glance between the two of them, but her friend's earnest gaze and the knight's quiet confidence gave her pause.  

Before she could refuse, the two of them shared a glance and ran to grab the same stool — a silent competition which the Velaryon girl won, hugging it to her chest with a triumphant grin on her lips. Leo grumbled something under his breath before crossing the room and dragging a different chair noisily across the stone floor. 

Visenya watched with amusement the graceful way in which Laena took her seat, settling across from her with hands folded neatly in her lap, while the Tyrell man threw himself down with a casual flop that made her brows rise.  

For a moment, they sat in silence, a strange little council convened in her chambers. The silence stretched, heavy with expectation, until the knight finally blinked and inquired dumbly, "So… what exactly are we supposed to do?"

It should've annoyed her — Gods, it should've infuriated her — their insistence on playing at something they couldn't possibly comprehend. Instead, the absurdity of it all broke something loose inside her, causing a sharp and unexpected laugh to escape her lips.  

Laena and Leo exchanged wary glances, before casting her a questioning look, as though she'd grown a second head which only made her laugh harder. The sound came bubbling up — unstoppable and spilling over until her ribs ached and her eyes welled with tears.  

"Visenya," her female friend uttered cautiously, possibly wondering if she had gone mad. Visenya barely managed to rein herself in, wiping at her eyes. "Forgive me," she gasped, though she still shook with the occasional chuckle. "It's simply... this — All of this. Gods, it's ridiculous, isn't it?"

Leo's brows furrowed, although his lips quirked upward in a small smile. Laena, however, leaned forward, ready to begin. "Alright, then, start simple. When you scheme — when you plan — where do you begin? What's the first step? What's the goal?"

The question made her hesitate, her laughter fading into a contemplative silence. as her gaze drifted upward to the ceiling. Her mind began to spin again, reaching, racing through a hundred different possibilities, weighing outcomes, searching for—

"Visenya," Laena called her name sharply, snapping her fingers to gain her attention. "Just one step," she repeated, firmly though not unkindly. "Not the next hundred — Begin with one."

The knight leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Say the first thing that comes to mind. Don't think too hard — just spit it out."

Visenya frowned, unsure whether to bristle at their insistence or indulge them. She contemplated what to do, but decided, that it wouldn't hurt to try their methods — She drew a breath, opened her mouth, and without thinking, blurted out, "We must to secure Dragonstone."

The room fell silent for a heartbeat, then her friends exchanged wordless looks of quiet triumph. "Dragonstone it is, then," Leo mused, rising from his chair with a decisive nod.

"Just like that?" She stared at him, bewildered by how quickly they'd taken her words as law. "Just like that," the Velaryon girl agreed, standing as well. She placed a hand on her shoulder, warm and comforting. "You gave the first step — The rest will follow."

Visenya found herself at a loss. 

For days she had fought to claw her way out of the mire of her thoughts, unable to see a path forward — And now, with so little effort, the words had slipped from her mouth as if they'd been there all along.  

Before she could dwell on it, Leo began heading toward the door. "I'll gather the others. They'll need to prepare for the journey," he declared. Laena smoothed her skirts and nodded, her hand still on Visenya's shoulder. "And I'll stay here to help you get dressed."

She didn't even have time to protest as her friend already opened the chest near the corner of the room, pulling out a set of black riding leathers that Rhaenys so kindly let her borrow. 

As her cousin laid the garments out on the bed, she felt a strange pang in her chest — It wasn't sorrow or guilt but something quieter, gentler — It was gratitude. She watched as she moved about the room with quiet efficiency, pulling gloves and boots from their places, as though it were the most natural thing in the world to prepare her for such a task.

It struck her then how utterly blind she had been. 

It wasn't her duty to shoulder everything alone — Her task was to think of the larger picture, to concern herself with the matters of Realm and the world. The smaller details, the countless pieces that made up the whole — that was why she had them. 

She had always believed she needed to think of everything — and in doing so, she had burned herself out.

Visenya stayed silent as Laena helped her into the leathers, tightening the straps and adjusting the fit. When it came time to lace the back, she spun to the mirror, watching her friend's focused expression as she worked.

As her cousin helped her into the leathers, tightening the laces at the back, Visenya felt an unexpected warmth blooming in her chest. A sense of gratitude so fierce it nearly stole her breath. "Thank you," she said quietly, "For not giving up on me."

The Valeryon girl glanced at her through the reflection, her hands pausing for a brief moment. "What kind of friend would I be if I did?" she snorted with a grin. "I'm with you, Vissie — until my last breath."

Visenya swallowed hard, her throat tightening with emotion, but before she could respond, she was tugged forward. "Come now, the others must be waiting."

When they reached the hall, they found the rest of the group already assembled, though most appeared half-asleep. Laenor yawned loudly, rubbing his eyes, "Why are we going to Dragonstone in the dead of night?"

Visenya stepped forward, adjusting the glove that didn't quite fit her as she replied, "Because we need a place where we can speak freely — A place where we can move without fear of spies reporting to Otto or anyone else." She paused, her gaze sweeping the room. "And what better place than Dragonstone? — The seat of House Targaryen and the very place from which the Conquest began."

"And you're certain it's secure?" Laenor frowned sceptically. Jocelyn smirked, her tired eyes glinting with sudden energy. Jocelyn, who had been leaning lazily against the wall, suddenly smirked, looking far more awake. 

"Secure?" she repeated slyly. "We're not certain of anything." She turned to Visenya, her smirk widening into a grin of approval. "That's why we're going — To rid of any threat and make the island secure ourselves."

Visenya's male Velaryon cousin blinked, clearly taken aback. "Who do we have to get rid of?" Septa Rhaella exhaled hopefully, "Probably no one." The Baratheon Lady interjected, her smirk widening, "Or, most likely, potentially everyone."

Notes:

I developed a habit of updating every 6 months, haven't I? Well, it's better now than never, right? :)

Tomorrow is my birthday so I wanted to give myself an early present by giving you more content so we can interact once again as it's one of my favourite things in the world. <3

Hopefully, the chapter was worth the wait.

When I started publishing this fic, I was in such a bad mental state that I really just wanted to escape from reality, so I created a fantasy story in my mind that kept me going. Now that I'm quite content where I am, it's getting extremely hard for me to want to return to that fantasy as I finally want to be a part of the reality. That's why updating has been such a pain and is always delayed.

Anyway, if we don't meet each other again before the new year starts, I wish you happy holidays & all the best to you & your families. Happy New Year & Marry Christmas to everyone who is celebrating!

Thank you for being so patient and understanding with me. Thank you for being a part of this (very slow) journey. Thank you for not giving up on me. Love you <3

Chapter 55: Gods Worth Serving

Summary:

In which:

— Visenya is faced with some tough decisions while dracarying her way through Dragonstone
— Daemon is having a crisis because nothing ever goes right in his life
— Alicent isn't that fond of Valyrian culture or Gods

dragonstone, 112AC
visenya targaryen

Visenya stood in the smoky gloom of the Dragonmont's cavernous hall, the flickering light of braziers casting jagged shadows across the walls. Ser Alfred Broome knelt before her, his armour glinting faintly and his light brown hair appearing almost coppery in the wavering glow.

His lips moved frantically, but the words didn't reach her ears, drowned out by her thoughts — Alfred the Traitor, her mind repeated as she stared down at him indifferently.

She hadn't even been aware of his presence among Dragonstone's garrison until recently — Had she known, he would've been banished or burned long ago. After all, any man so easily swayed by the promises of lordship, lands, and wealth wasn't worth keeping around.

In Visenya's previous life, Ser Alfred was known for turning against Rhaenyra, aiding Aegon the Usurper in capturing the Queen which ultimately led to her death — He had even nearly killed Lady Baela Targaryen, and been close to disposing of Aegon the Third.

Alfred the Traitor indeed.

Even though that life wasn't this life — even though the man wasn't yet guilty of those crimes, Visenya couldn't afford to keep him alive — Too much was at stake, and far too many enemies already lurked in the shadows. She couldn't waste time looking over her shoulder, fearing the knife he might plant in her back.

Unfortunately, the knight's fate had been sealed long before he knelt here today, trembling like a leaf.

Her lips parted, her voice a murmur that carried through the still, smoke-laden air, "Dracarys . " The command was as final as the snap of a closing book, leaving Arrax to release a stream of fire from his maw, engulfing Ser Alfred in an instant.

The man's screams were short-lived, swallowed by the roar of the flames — His figure crumpled, blackened, and then collapsed into a pile of ash and scorched metal that mingled with the remnants of others who had knelt in that same spot before him.

Beside her, Laena coughed, waving a hand before her face to ward off the acrid stench of burned flesh that curled in the air. Visenya spared her a glance before turning sharply on her heel, her cloak swirling behind her — The glow of the dragonfire faded behind her as she strode toward the cavern's entrance and stepped into the blinding sunlight.

"Bring in the next," she called sharply. Laenor and Leo moved swiftly to obey, their faces glistening with sweat. Between them, they dragged the limp body of the Maester of Dragonstone, his robes dragging through the dirt.

Before they could haul him inside, Septa Rhaella stepped forward, her expression taut with disapproval. "This is madness!" she cried out. "You have no proof that this man has betrayed you! He is a healer — a scholar, loyal to his craft and his Gods. If you deem it a crime for one to serve knowledge and the Seven, then why haven't you executed us yet?"

Visenya halted mid-step, turning to pierce the woman with an intense stare before her indigo irises flickered toward Archmaster Vaegon standing beside her — They weren't the first to question her judgment today, but they were the first to do so openly.

"No proof?" she repeated calmly. "When my uncle was disinherited and came to Dragonstone, Otto cut every line of communication between us — Letters meant for him never reached him and messages meant for me vanished — That didn't happen without help."

The unspoken accusation hung heavy in the air — Otto had to have had aid from within Dragonstone. Slowly, she pointed toward the unconscious Maester. "Who else could it have been? Who else handles the letters — the seals?"

Rhaella's gaze flickered, uncertainty flashing across her face as Laenor released his grip on the Maester, letting the old man's body slump to the ground. He straightened, planting his hands on his hips. "So, he's a snake, then? — One that needs its head removed?"

Visenya nodded curtly, but her sharp eyes flickered between Rhaella and Vaegon yet again, searching for any sign of dissent — Admittedly, she had always been wary of the Septa due to her devotion to the Faith. However, this time there weren't any warning bells that rang with disloyalty in her mind.

It was something else.

Why now, of all times, did Rhaella choose to protest, when she had stood silent as Rhaenys burned the Maester of Driftmark this morn? — What was different about this man that made the woman plead mercy?

No answers came to her as Laena appeared from the entrance to the Dragonmont, the light of the sun catching in her silver hair. "What is the hold up?" she inquired, tapping her foot against the ground impatiently. "Vhagar is restless — and I'm not inclined to keep her waiting."

The Tyrell knight stepped forward, grimly gesturing to the two figures standing apart from the rest. "They're protesting," he explained shortly. "The Archmaester and the Septa believe the man should be spared."

The Velaryon girl arched a brow, the barest curl of a smile playing on her lips, though it held no humor. "A debate over the life of a traitor, is it? — How quaint." She swept her gaze over the assembled group before suggesting, "Let's vote to settle this, then."

Everyone exchanged silent glances as the Lady continued, "Who wishes to spare him?" Rhaella's hand rose almost immediately, her amethyst eyes filled with determination — And Vaegon's followed, his expression betraying a shadow of doubt.

"And who would see him burn?" Laena questioned, her hand going up, joined swiftly by Leo's. Laenor followed suit whilst Visenya steadily raised her arm last.

"Well," the Lady began almost smugly, "It's decided." Her brother bent to grasp the man's arms, dragging his limp form along the cold stone floor. "Best we hurry before the old snake wakes," he uttered as the knight came to his aid.

They returned to the heart of the Dragonmont, careful to avoid stepping on any bone fragments lying around. The Maester stirred as the Velaryon and Tyrell men carelessly dropped him to the ground.

He groaned, his eyelids fluttering open as confusion clouded his features. He attempted to rise, but his legs faltered beneath him. "Princess," he rasped, his voice cracking as he looked at Visenya. "What is the meaning of this?"

She stepped forward, not bothering to answer as she repeated the line for what felt like the hundredth time that day, "I, Visenya Targaryen, Princess of Dragonstone and Heir to the Iron Throne, sentence you to death." The elderly man's eyes widened in disbelief, his mouth moving as though to protest, but no sound came.

From behind Visenya, a low rumble echoed through the cavern — Two enormous eyes, luminous and unblinking, appeared in the darkness, making the Maester tremble. Arrax rose to his full height, his jade-green scales gleaming like molten emeralds in the torchlight. His nostrils flared, smoke curling lazily from his maw.

The man scrambled to his feet in a futile attempt to escape. "No, please!" he cried, stumbling over himself as he turned to flee — Alas, his pleas were cut short by her calm command, "Dracarys."

The dragon's roar filled the cavern before flames burst forth, consuming him in an instant — His screams echoed briefly before silence reclaimed the space.

Laena wrinkled her nose, turning her face away from the sight. "Is that the last of them?" she asked, voice clipped. Leo tipped his head forward in a nod. "Aye, the Maester was the last."

"Good," the Velaryon girl exhaled as though a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She then bent her head to sniff at her garments before gagging. "I reek of death! — It'll take at least ten baths to rid me of the stench!" she complained.

Visenya's lips twitched, a rare flicker of amusement breaking through her stern facade. She spun toward Arrax, her mount lowering his head to meet her gaze. "You've done well," she praised quietly, her hand reaching up to stroke the warm, smooth scales of his snout.

Suddenly, her female friend approached her, gaining her attention. "Do you think dragons have a hierarchy?" she inquired curiously whilst removing the leather gloves from her hands.

She glanced at her, taken aback by the randomness of the question — She paused in her ministrations, earning a low growl of displeasure from the dragon, who nudged her hand impatiently. She resumed petting him as she considered Laena's query.

"Wolves and lions have their ranks — so do crows," Visenya began slowly. "Perhaps dragons do as well, though they aren't like other beasts — They're solitary and yet…" She trailed off, her gaze drifted to her mount, who blinked at her with an intelligence that seemed almost human. "They are social in their own way." She then shrugged. "Who's to say?"

The Pearl of Driftmark hummed, tilting her head as if imagining such a hierarchy. "No one ever thought to study it," she added. "If they had, perhaps we'd have an answer."

Somewhere deep within the mountain, another rumble echoed — though whether it was the growl of another dragon or the mountain itself, they couldn't say. Visenya cast a glance over her shoulder toward the seemingly endless darkness stretching forward before humming, "What brought this question to mind?"

Laena brushed a streak of ash from her indigo leathers as she shifted to her side. "When we departed for Dragonstone, I noticed Vhagar holding back and waiting for Arrax to take flight — even though I'd commanded her to rise," she exclaimed, "And when we landed, Meleys tarried as well — circling until your dragon touched down even though she's the fastest of them all. It's as though they deferred to him."

Visenya raised her perfect pale brow, fingers continuously tracing the warm scales. "Vhagas's age might be what slowed her," she suggested skeptically. "And perhaps your mother simply reined Meleys in?"

The Velaryon girl's lips twitched in annoyance as she crossed her arms over her chest defensively. "Vhagar may be ancient, but she's no doddering beast!" she insisted, "I know my dragon, Vissie — She waits for no one!"

The faintest flicker of amusement flashed in her indigo eyes, her hands rising in surrender. "Peace, Laena — I meant no slight." Her friend relaxed with a huff before Visenya nudged her shoulder, her lips tilting up. "You smell like a charnel house," she teased.

"Like you smell any better!" The Lady shot back as they laughed together, their voices echoing faintly in the tunnels. "Well," she uttered, stretching her limbs. "I'll leave you to your brooding — I've ten baths to take before I feel remotely human again."

She watched her retreat before turning back to Arrax. "Good boy," she murmured, running her palm along his snout. The dragon huffed and shifted, his massive form sinking into rest at last.

When she emerged from the Dragonmont, she found that everyone had already dispersed save for Vaegon who remained waiting for her, his severe expression unreadable.

"I trust you don't take my vote as a slight, great-niece," the Archmaester mused, falling into step behind her as they made their way to the castle. "I don't," she replied curtly, though she could admit herself surprised by his stance.

The elderly man clasped his hands behind his back. "Good — It was caution, not defiance. Ending the life of a Maester…" He trailed off, his words careful. "It won't serve us well in the long run."

"He was a traitor whose life couldn't be spared," she pointed out coldly, her hardened gaze fixed ahead. "Even so," her great-uncle pressed, "Dragonstone is without a Maester now — It won't go unnoticed."

As they passed the castle gates, she took the opportunity to counter, "We have no need of a Maester here." The knights of the garrison bowed as she strode past, their gazes subtly averting.

Vaegon followed, his frown deepening. "Every great House has a Maester in its service, as Dragonstone has for over a century — To break with that tradition now, especially so abruptly, will raise questions — We seek to conceal our suspicions, not lay them bare. If we refuse their service outright, those who conspire against us may take notice."

Visenya's jaw tightened — She understood his logic, but her current distaste for the Citadel burned hotter than the fires of her dragon. "I would sooner place my trust in an Essosi healer," she argued bitterly, her steps echoing against the stone as they entered the keep.

A part of her bristled at his persistence, tempted to ignore his advice purely out of spite — But she dismissed the thought as quickly as it came, unwilling to let herself slip into pettiness.

"Not all Maesters are part of this scheme," her great-uncle reminded her, his tone even — though his face was flushed from the climb up the endless stairs of the Sea Dragon Tower. "Some are ignorant of it entirely — let alone complicit."

She stopped before the heavy oaken door to her chambers, spinning to face him. She studied his lined face, noting the faint sheen of sweat at his temples as her brows knitted together in suspicion.

What was with Vaegon and Rhaella both for coming to the sudden defense of the Maesters?

"Do you already have a replacement in mind, great-uncle?" she inquired, wondering if he had already found a suitable candidate that he wished to introduce — wondering if that was the reason he protested against her turning her back and giving up on the Citadel.

"Perhaps I do," the elderly man inclined his head, somewhat hesitantly. "And who might that be?" Her lips pressed into a thin line as she considered his answer. "Maester Gerardys," he revealed simply.

The name stirred something in her.

Visenya's eyes narrowed as she attempted to recall where she had heard it before. Gerardys , her mind repeated — If she remembered correctly, the man served Dragonstone in another life — during Rhaenyra's time.

Memories swam before her eyes — he was the one who had amputated King Viserys's fingers to save his life — a man who remained fiercely loyal to Rhaenyra during the war, going so far as to die for her, slain by Aegon and Sunfyre — he was a man trusted enough in the matter of childbirth by those he treated that he had been flown away in a desperate bid to save Laena's life, though he had arrived too late to spare her from childbed fever.

And most importantly, under his care, Rhaenyra had borne five healthy children and lived.

There was never a sign of treachery on his record.

Her eyes flickered with recognition which Vaegon's sharp gaze had no trouble catching — Alas, before she could reply, the sound of footsteps interrupted them as Lady Jocelyn and Princess Rhaenys approached from the far end of the hall, their silks rustling faintly.

Visenya gave them a curt nod, then turned back to Vaegon. "Summon him to Dragonstone," she declared. He shook his head in response, expression unreadable. "We cannot summon a new Maester until the Citadel has been informed of the death of the previous one," he explained pointedly. "And his body must be returned to Oldtown for the rites."

She cursed inwardly, realizing the complications her actions had created — Of course, that was why Vaegon had voted to spare the man's life. Killing the Maester had been clean and quick, but it left her playing catch-up with the pieces of the board.

"I will handle it," she said finally, attempting to conceal her frustration with herself. Her great-uncle studied her for a moment longer, seemingly displeased with the way she was handling situations now — by acting on her instincts and then considering the consequences later.

She offered no apologies though.

Let them disapprove all they like. They haven't been her — haven't considered her position — haven't been stuck in their heads, living through millions of situations all at once — haven't almost lost their minds whilst forming entire plans for twenty years ahead.

Most importantly, they haven't failed so miserably that they were the indirect cause of their mothers' downfall.

The approach had to change — She had to change, to adapt to be able to survive and deal with the weight of her guilt. There was no past, no future — only present. Visenya was here, living in this very moment, and watching everything like a hawk.

Nought will ever escape her notice again.

She won't have yet another person die on her due to her negligence.

Never again.

Recognising her quiet, yet determined resolve, Vaegon gave a stiff bow of his head and turned to leave, through the disapproval was etched into his features — However, before he could depart, Jocelyn called out, "What of Driftmark? — They'll require a new Maester as well."

The Archmaester paused mid-step, his shoulders stiffening. He didn't dare look at her directly as he flatly suggested, "Maester Eliseo, perhaps?"

The Baratheon woman raised a skeptical brow, folding her arms across her chest. "Eliseo?" she scoffed. "Are the Velaryons so far removed from your thoughts that you would purposely suggest a half-wit of a Maester to join their service, Vaegon? — Or, perhaps, you still believe they aren't the targets of the scheme?"

"Contrary to what you seem to believe, Jocelyn — I have no ill intent toward the Velaryons," the elderly man insisted, his pale eyes turning to slits as he finally faced her.

The woman smirked, her tone dripping with sarcasm, "Oh, of course not — I can see that clearly." She gave a mocking nod, daring him to speak further as Rhaenys sighed heavily, quietly warning her, "Mother."

But Jocelyn shrugged off the warning. "What?" she asked, feigning innocence. "Vaegon has never been family-oriented so what has changed?" Her stormy gaze flickered between Visenya and the Archmaester. "Perhaps he sees himself in the Princess — He resonates with her solitude — her treatment at the hands of her father and thinks to aid her because of that bond." She continued sceptically, "But the Velaryons? — No, there's no reason for him to lift a finger for them."

Vaegon's face betrayed no emotion, but his clenched fists spoke volumes. "I don't wish to spill Valyrian blood, and I will not suffer accusations to the contrary. My reasons for suggesting Maester Eliseo were sound as he is a considerable candidate — If you doubt me, speak with Rhaella. She will confirm it."

"Oh, I will — Be sure of it," Jocelyn promised, her lips curling into a sly smile. Before the petty squabble could continue, Visenya snapped, "Enough!"

She spun to Jocelyn, her expression rigid. "If it would ease your mind, we will keep an eye on Maester Eliseo and thoroughly check his records to ensure his capability — If you are so concerned, feel free to judge the man yourself. You will confirm whether he is suitable for Driftmark or not."

The Lady let out an indignant huff but inclined her head in agreement with the terms. Satisfied, Visenya turned her attention back to Vaegon. "As for Gerardys," she began, “write to him — See if he would be willing to accept a transfer to Dragonstone when I find a way to call for him."

Her great-uncle offered no argument. He merely bowed, gathered what dignity he could, and swept from the hall, his thin, pale hair catching the torchlight as he descended the winding stairs.

She watched him go, her shoulders sagging slightly — Their arguments had been a constant source of tension, an ever-gnawing wedge that she was growing tired of trying to mend and it was slowly but surely ebbing at her patience.

As the sound of his footsteps faded, she turned to Princess Rhaenys, who stood silent but watchful. "Is there aught I can do for you?" she asked.

The Queen Who Never Was nodded, though her gaze briefly flicked toward her mother in reproach. "There is," she answered before Visenya gestured toward the door to her chambers. "Come. We'll discuss it inside."

The three of them entered the room, the heavy oak door groaning as it shut behind them. They were greeted with a sight of black walls that bore carvings of scaled beasts and grand furniture that smelled musky due to neglect — It wasn't as orderly as she would've liked since her belongings had yet to be fully moved from her previous quarters or stored away to their proper places in this one.

Though she couldn't blame the maids for the state of the rooms, since the women dutifully prepared the chambers once belonging to Aegon the Conqueror for her arrival as it was customary for the Heir to reside there — It was, after all, Visenya's mistake for not being clear that her chamber of choice would be the one once belonging to her namesake, and later to Daemon.

She ignored the clutter in favor of the long table at the center of the room that was strewn with papers, letters, and maps. Visenya motioned for Rhaenys and Jocelyn to sit, then rifled through the pile in search of a particular parchment bearing a list of the castle staff.

"We must replenish the kitchens, and the stables," the Queen Who Never Was began. “We lost too many to the skirmishes."

Visenya nodded absently as the servants were the least of her issues — She could always call upon the people whom she was still indebted to for doing her some favours and even offer their families a safe passage to Dragonstone so the village could be repopulated.

"I'll summon my loyal servants from King's Landing as well as those who once served in my mother's household," she decided. "Many were transferred to my service after my father wed Alicent, but they can be brought here."

Rhaenys arched her black brow. "Are you certain that's wise? Those women were close to Aemma — Could they not have slipped something into her drink or food?"

"Unlikely," She waved a hand dismissively. "Otto dismissed them from Alicent's service before the wedding — He wouldn't have done so if they were of use to him."

The Baratheon Lady snorted, her tone thick with skepticism. "Or, perhaps, he released them to cover his tracks — Did that not occur to you?"

Visenya's expression hardened. "They hail from the Vale," she defended firmly. "They were my mother's companions since childhood — women she trusted with her life. They traveled with her to King's Landing and stayed by her side through thick and thin — I won't doubt them without cause."

The older woman shrugged her shoulders, her storm-grey eyes glinting with faint amusement as she pivoted to the next topic. "Well," she began, "in any case, we require more than servants — Half the garrison was turned to ash when you decided to burn it down, Princess. We need knights, archers, crossbowmen — a proper defense. The empty spots won’t fill themselves, and Dragonstone must always be prepared."

Visenya inclined her head in agreement, though her mind had already leapt ahead — Fifteen knights to fill the garrison , she thought, double the crossbowmen, and at least a dozen men-at-arms were needed to fortify the walls.

The castle currently stood perilously hollow, its once-formidable halls now echoing with silence. She tucked the reminder into the back of her mind as her hands sifted through the pile of parchments before her — At last, she found the list she sought, her quill already poised to strike out the names of the unfit and unreliable.

"I could summon some of the Gold Cloaks," she offered finally. "They are already familiar with Dragonstone and its defenses due to my uncle, and their loyalty lies with me by default — Most importantly, they would require no further training or tests of allegiance."

The suggestion earned a sharp frown from Rhaenys, who sat stiff-backed across the table. "Gold Cloaks aren't yours to command," she reminded firmly.

Visenya's eyes lifted from her parchment, her brow furrowing. "They are," she replied evenly, though her words carried the faintest edge of irritation. "They serve the Crown, yes, but I am the Heir. They—"

"They're sworn to King’s Landing," the older Princess interrupted, her tone hardening. "To the King," she emphasised. "If there comes a day when the Crown's interests clash with yours, where do you think their loyalties will lie? — Not here. Not with you."

She exhaled sharply and pressed her fingers to her temples — Of course, she was correct. The Gold Cloaks, for all their supposed loyalty, would obey her father's word over hers if pressed — after all, he was the one paying their wages.

If she meant to hold Dragonstone against all comers, she would need men who answered to her and her alone — Her own knights, her own garrison, bound not by duty to the Crown but by fealty to the Princess of Dragonstone.

"And you must assemble your own household as well," Jocelyn added before she leaned forward, her stormy eyes narrowing in consideration as her fingers drummed lightly against the table. "Tell me, why haven't you gathered one yet?"

The question hung in the air, and for a moment, Visenya remained silent, her expression unreadable — The truth lingered on the tip of her tongue, but she swallowed it down.

She couldn't tell anyone of the hours she spent skulking through the secret passageways of the Red Keep, nor of the meetings held in shadowy corners with her spies, and especially not of the nights she spent sneaking out into the city to oversee the brothels she owned — A household would jeopardise all of that as it meant having watchful eyes on her, and being asked questions she couldn't afford to answer.

Instead, she offered a half-hearted shrug. "My parents attempted to when I was younger," she replied quietly. "They wished for me to be surrounded by ladies-in-waiting, but I refused them every time. I preferred solitude — books over company. They never pressed the matter though, not when they were so preoccupied with their efforts to produce a son."

"And who," The Baratheon Lady began sharply, "has seen to your baths? Your wardrobe? Your letters, your staff, your public appearances? — Who ensures that you are always presentable, that everything around you runs smoothly and without chaos?"

Visenya looked away, exhaling sharply. She could sense the woman's disapproval from a mile away. "I manage," she admitted at last, though the words rang hollow even to her own ears. "I handle most things myself — The servants take care of the rest."

Jocelyn's fingers stilled before she huffed, "You are the Heir to the Iron Throne, Visenya," she reminded her coldly. "You cannot do everything by yourself. And you cannot afford the appearance of disarray — not now , not ever . A proper household is not a luxury — it's a necessity."

"You'll have to get over yourself," she continued, as though she couldn't quite believe Visenya never considered this before. "Your position is precarious, and building — no, creating a household is the fastest way to turn the tide in your favor. Allies, loyal retainers, and trusted support — these are what you need around you, not empty chambers and servants too afraid to speak your name."

Visenya inclined her head in reluctant agreement, though her expression hardened. "You're not wrong," she exclaimed, "but this situation is far too delicate to invite strangers into it — Trust cannot be extended so easily. Too much is at stake." Her gaze dropped to her hands, fingers idly tracing the soft pink scar on the shell of her palm. "I cannot have ladies flanking my sides when I must vanish without a trace — when there are things I must do that no one can learn about."

Rhaenys, seated with her usual poise, pursed her lips as she listened. "That isn't smart," she countered, voicing her disapproval. "You cannot build walls around yourself and expect to survive. You need people who will stand by you, Visenya — not shadows."

She lifted her chin, meeting the older Princess's pale gaze. “And I will choose them — carefully and in time," she promised. "But not now." Her voice was resolute, but beneath her calm exterior, doubt gnawed at her.

She was aware of the risks — she knew what failure could mean.

And yet she had to proceed this way.

Lady Jocelyn rolled her eyes, no doubt ready to argue further, but her daughter shifted the conversation without missing a beat. "If you won't discuss a household," she started, "then let's speak of something else — Dragonstone."

Visenya's brows rose, her curiosity piqued. "What about it?" She leaned forward, the flicker of a smile gracing her lips. "You wish to secure Dragonstone as your own, but securing it isn't enough — You must make it strong, independent — untouchable by the Crown and its coffers."

Her expression darkened, immediately recognising that the discussion was about Otto Hightower and the threat he posed. "Go on," she urged, though her mind was already turning and weighing possibilities.

"With Otto so near the King, there's no telling what he might do," the Queen Who Never Was continued. "He could cut your allowance or seize control of Dragonstone's finances outright. You must be prepared for the worst. Build your own fortress — not just of stone and steel, but of gold."

Visenya remained silent, though her thoughts churned — She was already working toward that goal, though in ways she could never admit aloud. The brothels she quietly managed, the jewels she sold —sold gifts she had never worn nor wanted — all of it was part of her plan.

Still, she inclined her head, curious to hear what Rhaenys had to say.

"No one has truly lived here in decades — Daemon comes and goes, and before him, it was my father, Aemon," the woman pressed on. "The place has been neglected, abandoned — its potential wasted. But it wasn't always so, especially when we resided here," she gestured toward herself and her mother.

"What do you mean?" Visenya inquired, brow furrowing as she leaned back in her chair.

"Before the Conquest, and even after, Dragonstone was more than a seat — It was a source of wealth," Rhaenys explained, "The dragonlords mined dragonglass and gemstones from the volcano's depths, and they sold them to fund their ambitions. The soil, too, is rich — perfect for crops, though it hasn't been tilled in years. And the natural resources have been left to rot."

She listened, her indigo eyes narrowing. The ideas were sound — better than sound, in fact, but a question lingered at the edge of her thoughts. Why was she telling her of this?

And just like that, she understood.

These weren't simply ideas, they were plans and dreams — Dreams Rhaenys once had for herself, back when she was her father's Heir, destined to inherit Dragonstone and all its promise. Before Aemon died — before her entire world changed.

A pang of unexpected guilt struck her. She straightened in her chair, meeting the Princess's eyes with something close to reverence. "Thank you for sharing this," she said sincerely, "You've given me much to consider, and it's certainly worth discussing further."

Jocelyn snorted. "Oh, we're far from done, girl," she replied, lips curling into a mischievous smile. "We've only just begun."

Visenya felt her mouth twitch upward, surprising herself — There was something oddly refreshing about sitting still, absorbing ideas rather than crafting them on the fly — For once, the weight of command didn't rest solely on her shoulders and it felt almost... liberating .

"We're yet to discuss the port." She tilted her head in question. "The port?" she echoed, brow arching. "Is there some issue with it I've not been told of?"

Rhaenys hummed softly. "Not an issue, precisely, but there is room for improvement — Expanding it, renovating it, and creating a dedicated naval route from Essos to Dragonstone — that would be worth the effort."

Visenya leaned back in her chair, considering the suggestion — A naval route from Essos to this part of Westeros would be something only Dragonstone, Driftmark, and, perhaps, Claw Isle could manage. However, there was something that wasn't quite clear to her.

"That route already exists — from Essos to King's Landing?" she voiced. "And yet we're talking about making Dragonstone independent of the capital, aren't we?" The Baratheon Lady nodded but countered swiftly.

"You mean to remove King’s Landing from the equation entirely," she concluded slowly. "You wish for the ships from Essos to land first at Dragonstone, Driftmark, and Claw Isle before distributing goods to the rest of Westeros, including King's Landing?" Jocelyn inclined her head, a smirk playing on her lips. "Precisely."

Visenya frowned, her thoughts moving quickly now — Dragonstone, Driftmark, and Claw Isle formed a natural barrier between Westeros and Essos, but there was another chokepoint: the Stepstones.

Her gaze sharpened. "None of this will be possible while the Stepstones remain in their current state." The elderly Lady leaned forward, her fingers tracing the rim of her goblet. "Then handle it."

"The issue is already being addressed by my uncle," she reminded as the Baratheon woman laughed sharply, the sound almost mocking. "If by ‘ addressed' you mean him nearly getting himself killed, then yes, he's certainly addressing it."

Visenya's indigo eyes flashed as she shot her a cold, sharp look. Rhaenys, however, opted to exhale in a quiet warning, "Mother..." Alas, Jocelyn only leaned back in her chair, unrepentant.

"Even if I wished to intervene, my father won't send aid — Lord Corlys had been hounding him for moons, and he's refused at every turn. Now that my uncle is involved, he's even more resolved not to act," Visenya revealed, turning her gaze to the fire as her hands curled into fists at her sides. "He considers the entire war a folly — a distraction to keep Daemon out of trouble."

Her words were bitter, her anger rising as she thought of her uncle lying in a coma, fighting for his life, while her father dismissed his efforts as little more than child's play.

"What are you going to do about it, then?" Jocelyn challenged boldly. Visenya blinked, taken aback. "I own no army to send." The woman's dark brows arched. "Don't you?" she questioned pointedly.

At her confusion, she gestured impatiently. "Houses Bar Emmon, Celtigar, Staunton, and Sunglass are directly sworn to Dragonstone and its Prince — or Princess, in this case — not to King's Landing or the Iron Throne." Rhaenys added swiftly, "And there are other Houses which are, too, suffering from the conflict — Houses that would rally to the cause if asked."

Visenya studied the two women. "Baratheons?" she guessed after a moment. "One of many," the older Princess confirmed with a nod. "The Stormlands are restless — They would fight."

She mulled over their words. "You're correct," she conceded at last. "Some Houses are mine to command, but the Baratheons aren't — I cannot simply call upon Storm's End to defy their oaths and raise banners against their King — That's treason, and I doubt Lord Boremund would risk his House to fight battles unapproved by the Crown."

She didn't allow either of them to get a word in as she continued, repeating and emphasising her statement from earlier, "I'm aware the Stepstones must be dealt with, but my father won't move — He is as unmoving as stone when it comes to aiding my uncle."

The Lady smirked faintly. "So what will you do, Princess? Sit idly by while your uncle fights and bleeds? — Or will you secure your claim before your father leaves you with naught but ashes?"

Visenya's jaw tightened, her patience fraying. "And what is your goal here, exactly? — One moment, you lecture me to secure my position and the next, you urge me to risk everything — my titles, my claim, and risk my father's ire by defying him outright. So which is it, Lady Jocelyn?"

A weighty silence fell over the room, the crackle of the hearth and the distant crash of waves against Dragonstone's cliffs the only sounds in the chambers. Mother and daughter exchanged a glance — the kind that carried entire unspoken conversations.

"The truth of it, Princess, is that your claim is far from secure. The birth of a son changes everything — Should Viserys name Aegon his Heir, your position as Princess of Dragonstone will be forfeit," Jocelyn broke the silence, losing her patience for the game entirely. "You must prepare for that eventuality — If he disinherits you, demand Dragonstone as your compensation."

The Queen Who Never Was sighed, her weariness palpable. "Mother, enough," she murmured, rubbing her temples as if the woman's bluntness gave her a headache.

"No, I won't temper my words for her sake!" she snapped, turning her fiery gaze back to Visenya. "You know your position is precarious, girl — If you haven’t considered the possibility that you could be replaced, then you are a fool. But I don't believe you are a fool, are you?"

She felt her heart sink as the weight of their implications settled over her — This was the reason they spoke of making Dragonstone independent , she thought almost bitterly. They're hedging their bets — preparing for the day my father casts me aside.

The Baratheon woman's voice softened, though her words didn't, "Have you truly not thought of this before?" She could only muster to swallow in response, her throat dry.

She hadn't — not in the way she described. But they knew naught of the steel in her heart — the lengths she would go to take what was hers. Even if her father disinherited her, she would find a way to be the monarch when the day came.

She was meant to be the Queen — She had been born for it, and she is going to claim her rightful place in blood if need be.

The Realm will be safe, her family will be safe — And most importantly, her mother's death shan't be in vain. Aemma's every dream — every belief and every wish will come true.

It must.

She will be a greater monarch than any of her father's sons — dead or alive, murdered or breathing, those who came and those who are yet to come — could ever be. She will rule the greater Seven Kingdoms than he could ever have built.

She shall be the Queen and her mother's blood will have been well spent.

It was the only way she could allow herself to move forward — to move past this.

Before she could muster a response that didn't involve explaining how she was prepared to become a child killer, the guard at the door cleared his throat. "Septa Rhaella," he announced, stepping aside to let the woman enter.

The Septa glided into the room, her grey robes swishing softly against the floor. She inclined her head briefly before addressing Visenya. "Your Grace, I bring news — The Valyrian priest we hoped to have a word with, has been summoned to King's Landing by the King himself. His chambers and the temple were empty, and the book on the mating marks you requested was nowhere to be found."

"Gods damn it," the Baratheon Lady uttered under her breath, her frustration plain. Visenya frowned, wondering the reason why her father summoned the Valyrian priest — of all people, to the capital.

"It's not the end of the world," Rhaenys calmly attempted to smooth the atmosphere. "The book will return with the priest in time — We can consult it then." The Septa inclined her head again and excused herself, leaving the three of them to their plotting.

Visenya drew a deep breath, forcing herself to refocus. "Even if I were to travel to Storm's End, I have naught to offer the Baratheons in exchange for their support — Lord Boremund's son is already wed, and there are no other children of age to invite to my household. Ser Borros has only daughters, and they're but babes — much too young to serve as my ladies-in-waiting. Not to mention, there are no sons I could wed to secure an alliance — Without something to offer, what can I possibly ask of them?"

Jocelyn scoffed, a sharp, cutting sound that sliced through the tense air of the chamber. "You do have something to offer them," she said, her voice laced with exasperation. "A pardon — Promised by none other than the Heir herself, in case Viserys sees fit to intervene and orders them to heel."

Her breath caught, eyes widening at the audacity of the suggestion. She shook her head almost immediately. "I cannot guarantee that!" she protested, her words tumbling out in a rush. "Otto Hightower clings to my father's ear like a leech — Every whisper of mine is drowned beneath his. And my position—"

"Fragile?" The elderly Lady interrupted strongly, “That much is obvious, child — But how much longer do you intend to use it as an excuse? Your position will remain fragile so long as you act as though you still suckle at your father's teat, pandering to his whims like some meek little girl!" she snapped. "You aren't some soft-spoken maiden of the Crownlands. You're Visenya Targaryen of the blood of Old Valyria — You're a dragon, so be a dragon!"

Visenya opened her mouth to argue, but the words faltered on her tongue — Her reproach, harsh though it was, struck true.

How often had she attempted to sway her father, only to find herself retreating into the shadows upon realising she was losing the battle to his Council? — On the matter of the Stepstones, it had been Lord Corlys who had pressed the case — his words carrying the weight of urgency while she had merely lent her voice in support.

In truth, she had never truly considered the Stepstones her concern.

In the previous life, she knew that Viserys had done close to nothing, and the matter had resolved itself — more or less. But this was no past she had simply read about in the old tomes — this was her reality.

This was now — And now, Daemon had nearly died.

Daemon, who had dared where her father had hesitated — Daemon, who spent months away, battling to resolve the issues of the Realm in the name of the brother who had disinherited him — Daemon, who had almost passed and broken his promise to return to her.

All for her father — her father who didn't offer his support even when he almost got slaughtered.

Daemon had nearly been lost to Viserys's silence, to his neutrality — As Aemma had been lost — As Baelon had been lost. The grief and rage bubbled up within her, the kind she had never felt before.

She had only ever read of the Doom of Old Valyria — but now, she was certain that she knew what it felt like. It felt like this.

She couldn't lose Daemon, too. She wouldn't — Not him.

Just not him.

Visenya drew a deep breath, her decision already made. "I shall write to Houses Bar Emmon, Celtigar, Staunton, and Sunglass," she declared. "As well as to Baratheons — They should be expecting my visit."

Her hand immediately reached for the empty parchments scattered on the table, when Rhaenys's voice broke through the charged air. "You should take Laenor with you," the Queen Who Never Was suggested quickly.

Her hand stilled mid-reach before she turned, narrowing her eyes at the older Princess. "I can manage a political meeting on my own," she replied coolly, wishing to decline. "I've done so before, and I'll have no trouble doing it again."

The woman inclined her head in an acknowledgment. "No one questions your ability," she insisted. "Your negotiations in the Iron Islands were nothing short of masterful. But, it would do well to present a united front — A Velaryon and Targaryen side by side. The fact that my son is part Baratheon will most certainly soothe tempers in Storm's End."

Visenya's lips pressed into a thin line, her suspicion growing as her gaze flicked between mother and daughter. While the latter maintained her composed facade, Jocelyn's head had snapped toward Rhaenys with a look of barely concealed warning.

Her indigo gaze lingered on the Queen Who Never Was, who seemed wholly undeterred by her mother's disapproval. Her expression remained serene, which in turn, made Visenya's unease grow — though she couldn't quite place its source.

"I don't need him," she repeated at last, her voice quieter now but no less firm. "You don't," she agreed readily. "But there is no harm in having him, and there is much to gain — Laenor is of age now, and he intends to take Seasmoke and join the fighting soon enough. Travelling to Storm's End with you is but a brief detour on his path."

The reasoning was sound, and Visenya sensed it — Yet she couldn't shake the feeling that the suggestion was more than it appeared. Still, she found herself nodding, "Alright."

 

 

 

_____

 

 

 

bloodstone, 112AC
daemon targaryen

Daemon ran through the abyss, his breaths sharp and laboured as his boots slammed against a ground he couldn't see. The darkness was alive — pressing on him from all sides, vast and unending.

He was being chased by the coldness — He could feel it like icy fingers reaching for the back of his neck, and though he dared not look, he knew it watched him.

It always watched.

There was no light ahead, no end to the void — only the sound of his own ragged breathing and the thunderous pounding of his heart. His lips were dry and cracked, and his legs burned as though he'd been running for hours, yet he couldn't stop.

He mustn't stop.

The flapping of raven wings rose behind him, a sound so loud it threatened to deafen him — The cawing, harsh and cruel, pierced the stillness, forcing Daemon to sprint harder and faster.

The necklace around his neck burned hot against his skin — the chain beneath his tunic a brand of fire that pulled at him — tugging him forward like an invisible hand, refusing to let him falter.

Finally, a shape appeared before him — an impossibly large door carved from black stone. The sight of it filled him with equal parts hope and dread, yet he ran to it, his hands slamming the doors open with a force he wasn't aware he possessed.

A blinding light burst forth, making him stumble. Daemon shielded his eyes with one arm as he froze in place, his breaths still coming in gasps — Slowly, his vision adjusted and he was able to see that he was, somehow, impossibly, in his chambers on Dragonstone.

The room was both familiar and unfamiliar with his belongings present, but displaced. He inspected around, realising that the table was pushed aside, and a couple of unfamiliar chests overflowing with garments rested by the wall — Strangely, it appeared as though the chamber had been claimed by another.

"Daemon," a voice called, as soft as a whisper. He sharply turned towards its source and then he caught sight of her — his niece, his Visenya.

She was lying on the great bed, her white chemise damp with sweat and her silver-gold curls clinging to her flushed skin. She appeared utterly spent, her indigo eyes heavy with exhaustion — yet when she gazed upon him, there was a light in her expression he'd never seen before.

"You're here," she uttered, her voice trembling with relief, and something he didn't dare think true — joy. "I'm here," he confirmed, taking a cautious step forward — as though she might vanish if he moved too quickly.

The pull he had felt in the darkness was gone, replaced by the overwhelming urge to be near her — touch her — to assure himself she was real and right in front of him.

As Daemon drew closer, he noticed the servants hurriedly bustling about as they carried bloodied sheets and damp cloths — Momentarily, he registered a faint scent of sweat and iron lingering in the air, though he cared not for it — his focus wholly on his niece.

He stood over her now, his hand trembling as he reached out to tuck a damp strand of hair behind her ear. He found relief in the feel of her smooth skin — She was here, he realised, she was here and this was real.

The realisation allowed him to breathe again.

She utterly took him by surprise upon leaning into his touch, her eyes fluttering shut as she nuzzled into his palm — her expression soft and content in a way he had never known from her.

"Are you well?" Daemon inquired uncertainly. Visenya nodded, a small smile curving her lips. "More than well," she reassured him, her irises shining like two freshly polished jewels. "I'm... perfect." Her words made his chest tighten, though he couldn't say why.

Then he heard it — a soft, insistent cry and his head snapped toward the source of the sound which was resting in her hold. His breath caught in his throat when he realised what his niece held in her arms.

It was a babe — swaddled in soft black linens, its tiny fists clenched as it wailed.

Pale tufts of hair that crowned its head were so light they almost showed no hint of gold — so like his own, and when its eyes opened, they gleamed a deep, dark purple — the exact colour of Visenya's own.

Daemon stared, his heart thundering in his chest as he took in the sight — The babe was perfect — impossibly perfect, with a button nose and rosy lips that trembled with each cry. It was robust, with lungs that demanded the world's attention.

His niece hushed it gently, rocking the babe and shifting it closer to her chest before glancing up at him, her smile widening. "It's a boy," she revealed in a chuckle, practically brimming with pride and wonder. "I told you it'd be a boy! And here he is — Our son."

Her words struck him like a blow, and for a moment, all he could do was stare, his mind reeling — Then he saw it: the silent tears glistening on her flushed cheeks.

"Why are you crying?" he questioned, borderline panicked as his thumb went to brush them away, with a touch of softness that he dared not show before. "What's the matter?"

Visenya laughed softly in response — a sound that made his chest ache. "It's nothing," she shook her head dismissively, her voice cracking as more tears fell. "I'm just... so happy."

Her answer left him undone. He sank onto the edge of the bed, his body instinctively leaning forward, wishing to rest against hers — to be as close to her as possible—

Daemon awoke with a start, his chest heaving as though he had been running for his life — his skin slick with sweat, and his long, tangled silver hair sticking to his forehead. The necklace — Visenya's necklace, was caught in his fist, the silver warmed by the heat of his hand.

Gods, for a moment, he didn't know where or when he was — The dream clinging to him like cobwebs, the memory of it vivid and unsettling. His voice rasped as he called out for her, "Visenya?"

But — much to his disappointment, no answer came.

Instead, his lilac eyes adjusted to the dim, flickering light of a brazier tasked to illuminate the interior of his black tent. Realization struck him, the fragments of memory falling into place — He wasn't on Dragonstone, not in her arms, but somewhere far from the comforts of home.

The rustling of fabric drew his attention before a young woman stepped into his view, her hair as pale as moonlight, and her eyes sharp and worried. Balla , his mind supplied — the witch who had saved him.

"Prince," she uttered in bastard Valyrian, her pronunciation awful. "You're awake," she uttered, hurrying to his side. Her practiced hands were immediately set to work at lifting his tunic to inspect the wound at his side.

Daemon flinched at her touch, the coolness of her fingers against his skin unwelcome. "What are you doing?" he demanded, though his voice lacked its usual bite — still thick with the remnants of sleep.

Balla paid him no heed, her gaze fixed on the stitched gash that marred his torso — She moved with the efficiency of one accustomed to wounds, checking for signs of infection. Her slender fingers then travelled to his neck, brushing against the faint scar there which made his jaw tighten.

"Still having trouble with night terrors?" she asked calmly. Before he could reply, however, another voice cut in, "Night terrors?" Valerius snorted. "Sex dreams, you mean..." he corrected teasingly.

His head snapped toward the Celtigar knight who was seated near the tent's entrance, his pinkish irises glinting with amusement as he polished his breastplate. "What are you doing here?" Daemon growled, his patience wearing thin.

Val shrugged, not bothering to look up. "Someone has to ensure you don't pass in your sleep." His words were intended to be taken lightly, even though the knight wasn't remotely jesting.

"I won't die in my sleep," he retorted, swinging his legs off the cot. "You might," the knight countered, his tone maddeningly casual. "You've been quieter than usual — And quiet doesn't suit you, my Prince."

Daemon was about to curse at him to get him out of his sight when Balla spoke again, "The dreams aren't from infection." She revealed with certainty that didn't escape them, her hands lingering over the wound one last time before retreating.

The Celtigar man glanced up, his interest piqued. "And how can you be so certain, witch?" he questioned, though there was no malice in his tone nor in the way he addressed her.

Balla straightened, her expression troubled with suspicion. "Because there is no infection. His wounds are clean — Almost healed even." Her gaze flicked to Daemon. "Though your temper might yet kill you."She said it so sweetly and casually that it made Val chuckle.

Daemon scowled, brushing her hands away firmly, though not harshly. "Enough," he huffed before standing up. His muscles ached as he stretched, his body protesting the movement after days of rest.

She sank to her knees beside the cot, her head bowed as though in thought. Valerius, however, wasn't so easily dismissed. "If it isn't infection, then perhaps it's the blood magic," he speculated. "Tell me, witch, what price does your sorcery demand?"

Balla bit her lip, chewing on it, whilst not daring to meet their eyes. "We don't know the price until it's paid," she admitted unsurely. "...Sometimes, it can be life."

Daemon deliberately moved to the corner of the tent where his belongings were piled, pulled off his sweat-drenched tunic, and tossed it aside. The air felt cool against his bare skin, and he glanced down at the wound on his side — The stitches held, the flesh around it red but not swollen.

His hand then moved to his neck, brushing against the faint, raised discoloration where another wound had been — The memory of the battle remerged, the sharp sting of an arrow piercing him, and the wet heat of his blood spilling onto his skin.

He grunted, letting his hand fall to his side — When he turned back to them, he caught Balla's gaze flickering away, her cheeks flushing as Val sharply spun, his expression shifting from sardonic amusement to one of horror.

"Tell me," he demanded, voice tight. "Did you end someone's life to save him?" His pinkish irises darted to Daemon before returning to her. "Or worse — was that fish we ate for lunch a sacrifice?"

Her cheeks flushed, not with embarrassment this time but with anger — Her mouth parted to respond, but the knight pressed on, each word more insistent than the last. "Well? Was it?" he demanded.

Daemon groaned audibly, rolling his eyes as he moved away, leaving them to their bickering. He rummaged through his belongings, searching for a clean set of clothes, before abruptly stopping at the small table.

With his back to them, he pressed a palm against his chest, just above his heart — The discomfort was there again, he noted — a deep and unsettling ache that robbed him of his breath. He inhaled and exhaled slowly, attempting to will it away whilst his fingers absentmindedly massaged the spot.

He was half glad that the two of them were too engrossed in their argument to notice.

"No," Balla snapped at Valerius heatedly. "That's not how it works! Blood magic requires an exchange, yes, but the price must be equal to the act performed — And, for the hundredth time, I didn’t bring him back to life because he hadn't died! I healed him — I stitched his wounds shut. That's all!”

Daemon pretended not to listen, but every word sank into him like a stone into water. He tilted his head down, casting a glance at his chest — The skin there was smooth and unmarked, yet the pain persisted. It felt deeper than flesh — as though the ache lived within him — like an eternal bruise that refused to heal.

"So, what then?" the Celtigar man interjected, leaning forward with renewed interest. "The wound simply — what? Opens up on someone else?"

The witch scowled at him, but before she could respond, he lifted his tunic halfway, inspecting himself for any mysterious injuries — The movement made her flush crimson and squeak in protest as she turned her head away.

"If it had," she muttered through gritted teeth, "you would've felt it!" The knight smirked, clearly enjoying her discomfort. "You seem awfully flustered for someone who's seen her fair share of men bare-chested," he teased. "Doesn't bother you when you're patching us up though, hm?"

"That's different!" Balla argued, folding her arms tightly across her chest. "And you're imagining things!" She pointedly avoided Valerius's infuriating grin and continued, "To answer your question — yes. Something always transpires with blood magic — It simply leaves its mark."

Her gaze drifted to Daemon, the flush fading from her cheeks as her expression grew thoughtful. Her teeth caught her lower lip, and she added, almost hesitantly, "But sometimes… it isn't physical."

Daemon stilled at her words, his mind turning the phrase over — Not physical. He ran a hand down his chest again, searching for any lingering trace of the pain, but found nothing — No scar, no discoloration. It had to be internal, though he wondered if the damage went even deeper than that.

A new thought clawed at the edges of his mind — one he didn't care to share with the others — His dreams. Once, they had been black and empty, a void he welcomed as he laid his head down. However, ever since the battle, they appeared vivid — jumbled and strange — half nightmare, and half longing.

There was always a voice, calling his name, and the brilliant red thread that stretched taut and kept pulling him back to life — A bloodied raven perched on a blackened wall and the icy gleam of blue eyes that constantly watched him.

And Visenya — There was always Visenya.

Her face haunted his sleep, her touch a phantom he couldn't shake — He had dreamed of her bearing his son, her belly swollen with their child. And he had dreamed of horrors — the cries of an infant cut short, the wails of a woman he couldn't reach.

Was it punishment, he wondered? — For surviving? — For cheating death? His mind had become a battlefield, and the more he tried to make sense of the dreams, the more their meanings eluded him.

His niece's face lingered in his thoughts — The way her image blended with the nightmares unnerved him. It was almost as though his deepest desires had fused with his darkest fears, leaving him disoriented and haunted.

Not physical , he thought again — If the price of blood magic wasn't taken from his body, then perhaps it had taken root in his soul.

Daemon's jaw tightened as he attempted to push the thoughts away. "Enough," he said gruffly, his tone brooking no argument. "Both of you — If I wanted to listen to petty squabbles, I'd be back in the Red Keep."

Balla stiffened, her face tightening with a mix of hurt and frustration while Valerius smirked but said nothing. The knight resumed his place near the brazier, his whetstone gliding over the edge of his blade now.

He exhaled sharply, his hand brushing against the necklace at his throat. Not physical , her words echoed in his mind, no matter how much he wished to banish them. Whatever price the witch's magic had claimed, he couldn't yet say, but he felt it — buried deep within him, like a shadow that wouldn't leave.

The silence in the tent stretched, heavy as a storm cloud — Then Daemon sharply turned toward his two companions, his hand brushing against the hilt of Dark Sister. "Is it possible that something is happening with my mating bond?"

The knight blinked, his expression shifting with interest as the witch stiffened where she sat. She folded her hands in her lap before she rose halfway, then froze — as if reluctant to approach him. "What do you mean? — Have you felt something?" she inquired tentatively.

Daemon didn't answer immediately. He pressed his lips into a thin line, unwilling to admit the truth of it. All of it felt felt too personal — too raw to voice aloud. Instead, he fixed them both with a hard stare, his brow lifting as though demanding answers without offering any of his own.

They exchanged a glance, a silent conversation passing between them. After a moment, Val nodded toward her, gesturing for her to speak.

"It's not impossible," she admitted cautiously. "Though I've never heard of it before — But magic works in ways we don't always understand." Her gaze lingered on him, searching for something in his expression. "What have you felt?"

For a moment, it seemed as though he might refuse to reply. Finally, with evident reluctance, he confessed, "Pain — A kind of pain I can't place... I'm not certain it's mine."

The Celtigar's eyes widened, and he was on his feet in an instant, abandoning the armor and sword he had been tending to. "Do you think your mate is in pain?" he questioned seriously.

He stiffened, his face betraying nothing, though inside he felt the blow keenly. He had spent years searching for her — Through the feasts and festivals of Westeros — through the sprawling cities of Essos, he had hunted for her, yearning for the bond that would anchor him in a world that often felt unmoored.

And now the thought of her out there, somewhere, suffering in a way he could neither understand nor ease — it was unbearable . Daemon's hands curled into fists, his nails biting into his palms — For all his strength, for all his skill, he was powerless to protect her.

The thought filled him with a deep, seething anger, not at her but at himself. He was always failing — always falling short. At saving his father, his goodsister — at protecting his nieces — at keeping the leeches of his brother and securing the legacy of his family — at finding his mate.

Daemon shook his head abruptly and with an angry tug, he pulled his tunic over his head, not bothering to adjust it properly before striding toward the tent's exit.

"Where are you going?" Val called after him, stepping forward. "To the meeting," he simply replied without looking back.

The knight frowned, both confused and exasperated. "No — I have a war council to attend," he emphasised before pointing at him. "You have a meeting with your bed because you're in no condition to do anything else."

Daemon stopped in his tracks, turning to glare at him. "I'm not some child to be coddled, Celtigar!" he growled. "I'm aware of my limits — I know what I can and cannot do." With that, he reached for Dark Sister, the blade glinting darkly in the dim light as he strapped it to his hip.

He moved to leave again, the tent flap fluttered closed behind him. To his surprise, he found the camp alive with the sounds of war's aftermath — steel sharpening, men groaning in makeshift beds, and the faint murmur of strategists debating next moves.

He strode forward, expression set in stone as his Valyrian steel sword bounced lightly at his hip. Soon enough, he heard Valerius's quick steps before the knight managed to catch up — though always keeping his distance and following a step behind.

The Velaryon war tent loomed ahead, its banner flapping listlessly in the salted breeze. As Daemon ducked inside, the heated voices within fell silent as all eyes turned toward him — some curious, and others wary.

"Ah, the prodigal Prince returns," Vaemond drawled out from the centre of the tent, his hands clasped behind his back in a posture of calculated authority. The corner of his mouth curled in mockery. "We were beginning to wonder if you'd traded the battlefield for a bed permanently."

Daemon ignored him, moving toward the map table where Lord Corlys stood, his hands braced against its edges — But, as he realised with time, the Velaryon knight wasn't so easily deterred.

"You once proclaimed this war couldn't be won without you," he continued, taking a half-step closer. "And yet here we are — still fighting, still breathing. Imagine that — It seems we've managed well enough without you."

Valerius tensed beside him as Daemon's fingers brushed the edge of the table. He turned to face Vaemond, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You're alive, that is true," he agreed briefly, "but for how long? — I've seen crabs more formidable than you."

The Velaryon knight's expression darkened, his voice growing sharp, "And I've seen Princes who don't rely on witches to keep their hearts beating."

Daemon's hand shot out, gripping the man's tunic and pulling him forward — to the point their noses were nearly touching. The tension in the tent crackled like wildfire as he hissed, "Say that again!"

"Enough!" The voice cut through the tent like a blade — Lord Corlys stepped between them, his weathered face stern. He placed a firm hand on Daemon's chest, pushing him back slightly, then turned to his brother with a warning glare. "Stand down, Vaemond."

"And Daemon, control your temper — We have more pressing matters than your pissing contests." With that, the Prince released the knight with a shove, as the younger Velaryon stumbled back, straightening his tunic with a sneer.

The Sea Snake ignored him, turning his full attention to Daemon. "You look well enough," he exclaimed approvingly, his tone softening slightly. "How is your recovery, my Prince? Truly?"

He hesitated, his hand brushing over the center of his chest as if to remind himself of the pain that still lingered there — Despite it, he straightened, his pride bristling at the question. "I'm fine," he said replied curtly.

"Good." A faint smile ghosted across Corlys's lips, though his eyes remained serious. "It's a relief to have you back on your feet — We'll need every sword in the days to come." There was a murmur of agreement from the gathered men, though Vaemond snorted softly, earning a sharp look from his older brother.

"As I was saying," the Lord continued, turning back to the map spread across the table, "our last engagement was… costly. Most of our men were slaughtered in the ambush — Supplies are thin, and morale is even thinner."

"Not all of us were fortunate enough to be saved by our witches," the Velaryon knight uttered, though his words were loud enough for the room to hear. Daemon's hand tightened on Dark Sister's hilt, but it was Valerius who spoke first, ready to argue, "She saved his life — That should be more than enough for all of you."

"Aye," another voice chimed in, this one belonging to one of the younger knights at the table. "But what's to stop her from ending it just as easily? — She's a witch. She could be more dangerous than we know."

There was a ripple of uneasy agreement through the room, and several men began speaking at once, their voices rising as they debated what should be done with Balla. "Kill her, I say," one man growled. "It's safer that way." And then another countered, "She's dangerous, yes, but she's useful — We might require her assistance again."

Daemon angrily slammed his hand down on the table, successfully silencing the room. "She stays," he declared firmly, entirely uninterested in hearing other, lesser, opinions, "She's under my protection."

"And what happens when her magic turns on you?" Vaemond challenged, his eyes flashing. "Or worse, on all of us?" The Celtigar knight boldly took a stance, "She won't!"

Before the argument could escalate further, Corlys raised his hands, his voice cutting through the tension. "Enough! — We are wasting time bickering over this! The witch stays — for now. But we keep a close eye on her."

There were murmurs of grudging agreement, and the focus returned to the map on the table. "We have no time for this nonsense!" he continued. "The last attack nearly broke us, and the next one might finish the job if we're not prepared — This isn't the time for in-fighting! So I suggest we focus on the pirates at hand and leave the matter of witches and grudges for another time."

"No plan will make up for the fact that we lack the men and supplies to see it through — We need reinforcements, and we need them now ," the Celtigar knight mused calmly, though sceptically, his sharp gaze flicking between the gathered men.

He turned his eyes deliberately toward Daemon, his intent clear even without words. The look spoke of expectation, of a silent demand — Write to your brother. Call on the King.

But Daemon met his gaze and did nothing — His face was as unreadable as carved stone, and he pointedly turned back to the map, refusing to acknowledge Valerius's unsaid plea.

One by one, the others in the tent shifted their attention toward him, their stares weighted with the same unspoken demand — He could feel their eyes boring into him, but he didn't so much as twitch. He stubbornly kept his arms folded over his chest, his jaw set.

It was the Seasnake who finally broke the growing silence, "You're correct," he agreed, straightening from his place at the map. "We need men — Which is why I've already taken steps to secure them."

Daemon's brow furrowed slightly, though he remained silent. "I've been writing to the Sealord of Braavos," he confessed, his tone calm but tinged with the satisfaction of a man holding an ace in his hand. "Jaenyx's ships went missing some time ago, and his men were taken as slaves by the Crabfeeder and his ilk."

He stiffened at the name. Jaenyx of Braavos — The name carried weight across the Narrow Sea, whispered in equal parts with reverence and fear. He was no minor figure, with his wealth and power extending well beyond the shores of Braavos.

Daemon shifted his stance slightly, crossing his arms tighter over his chest, and listened as Val hummed thoughtfully, "The Crabfeeder has grown too comfortable, then — A mistake, to be sure, but one we might use to our advantage."

Corlys inclined his head. "Precisely — As I've come to know, many in Essos are angered by the Crabfeeder's betrayal. It has left Jaenyx particularly inclined to… negotiate."

Vaemond, who had been leaning against the edge of the table with an air of skeptical detachment, straightened. "And?" he inquired curiously. "Have you managed to secure Jaenyx's aid, brother — or are we merely speculating?"

"Negotiations are ongoing," the Seasnake admitted without giving much information, though he added, "Alas, progress has been made." The answer made Daemon frown. He should've been pleased — relieved, even — but his thoughts churned darkly.

Reinforcements from Braavos meant outside interference and outside interference meant claims — If Jaenyx sent men, he would expect something in return. The Stepstones were already a tenuous prize — but now, they could be lost entirely, divided between Braavosi merchants.

And if he returned to Westeros empty-handed, or worse — with the Stepstones beholden to Essos, what use would he have been in this war?

What use would he have been to Visenya?

His fists clenched at his sides as Vaemond sceptically pressed, oblivious to the storm brewing in Daemon's mind, "What is the price for his soldiers and supplies? — Surely, the Sealord of Braavos doesn't send aid for free."

The Seasnake's face betrayed a glimmer of pride as he replied. "I've offered my daughter, Laena, to wed his son — A fine match, wouldn't you agree?"

His scowl deepened at that — His dislike of how the situation was unfolding was instant, though he said nothing. Corlys's younger brother, ever the opportunist, clapped him on the shoulder with a wide grin. "A fine match indeed!" he agreed. "It's about time, I'd say — She's already eight-and-ten, and more than worthy of a husband!"

The Lord Velaryon, though pleased with himself, raised a hand to temper Vaemond's enthusiasm. "The betrothal is not yet finalized — so hold your congratulations for now. But thank you, brother."

His scowl deepened when he noticed the glint of satisfaction in the Seasnake's eyes as he accepted his brother's premature congratulations. Of course, he's pleased with himself, Daemon thought darkly. This isn't just about the war — it's about showing Viserys what the Velaryons are truly worth.

The Sealord of Braavos, one of the most powerful men in Essos — would gain not just one of the most eligible maidens in the Seven Kingdoms, but also the ancient Valyrian bloodline and a dragon. Not just any dragon either — but Vhagar, the oldest and largest living beast in the world.

This was no ordinary betrothal — it was a declaration. Corlys was offering what Viserys had dismissed. He was showing the King and the Realm what his House could command and their true worth.

Daemon silently cursed his brother yet again — his decision to choose Alicent Hightower over Laena Velaryon had been a slight too great for the Seasnake to forgive — The insult was etched into the history of their House now, a wound still raw despite the King's subsequent efforts to mend it.

The bride price for Alicent was naught more than a mockery, he thought bitterly. His brother offered the Hightowers her weight in gold which was far more than any daughter of a second son of a minor House was worth. Even then, it was a pitiful compensation at best — as the Velaryons demonstrated that the bride price for Laena could bring an entire war to its knees — Her betrothal alone could secure soldiers, ships, and supplies enough to tip the scales in their favor and rebuild her House's fortunes for generations to come.

His fists tightened at his sides, the tension in his shoulders visible. He glanced at Corlys, who was radiating a quiet, vindictive pride. It was clear now that this was more than strategy — this was a power play.

It was a pointed jab at the King who had spurned their House.

And yet, the Seasnake's pettiness threatened to undermine everything Daemon was fighting for. The Stepstones weren't a prize to be shared with Essos or the Braavosi. They were meant to belong to Westeros — and more importantly, to Daemon. Whole — The thought of outsiders claiming their own shares, or worse, staking claims to dragons through this union, made his blood run hot.

Valerius, ever perceptive, glanced sidelong at him, studying his stony expression. He leaned in slightly, his voice low enough that only Daemon could hear. "You don't like this, do you?"

He tsked, his lip curling into a half-snarl. "Is it that obvious?" he replied, voice dripping with sarcasm. The knight smirked faintly, but before he could reply, Corlys spoke again, drawing their attention back to the matter at hand.

"Whether you like it or not," the Seasnake began, his gaze sweeping the room, "we cannot win this war alone. Reinforcements aren't a luxury — they're a necessity. If you have a better solution, I'm all ears — If not, then I suggest you prepare yourselves for what comes next."

Daemon's teeth ground together — He had no doubt this was as much about settling old grudges as it was about securing victory. Corlys had been blocked from expanding Velaryon power in Westeros when Viserys refused Laena's hand, so he had turned his sights eastward.

And now — with this betrothal, the Seasnake had not only secured potential reinforcements but also taken a jab at the King himself, proving that his daughter could command a price far greater than anything the Hightowers could muster.

He said nothing more, the words on the edge of his tongue discarded as he pushed past Valerius without so much as a glance. The meeting was over anyway — at least in any meaningful sense. There would be no further discussion of strategy, no hard calculations on how to divide their meager supplies to last another week — only backslapping and self-congratulations, none of which Daemon cared to witness.

A power-reaching leech , he thought darkly, his lips curling into a faint sneer.

He strode out of the tent, his long legs carrying him swiftly away toward the lair of his dragon — Caraxes had been a looming presence in Daemon's mind — an ache he'd chosen to ignore since waking from the fortnight-long coma that had nearly claimed his life. He had avoided the beast deliberately, though he couldn't say why.

Guilt, perhaps — Or shame.

The red dragon lay coiled in the shadows, his body half-buried in sand and soot. One golden eye slid open as Daemon approached, gleaming like molten gold in the sunlight — For a moment, the creature observed him, as though weighing whether his presence was worth acknowledgment.

Daemon halted, his breath hitching faintly as Caraxes turned his too-long neck with a slow, sinuous grace, closing his eye again without so much as a grunt. So this is what I deserve , he thought bitterly — A cold shoulder from even you.

He stepped forward regardless, his boots crunching softly on the sand. Daemon raised a hand and placed it against the warm scales of his mount's jaw — the rough texture grounding him in a way nothing else could.

Then, in the soft cadence of High Valyrian, he began to speak — His words were low and heavy with unspoken gratitude as he praised Caraxes, recounting the stories he'd heard — how the dragon had torn through the enemy lines, hurling fire at the Crabfeeder's forces even after Daemon had been shot from the sky.

He could almost see it — his beast shrieking in fury, his anger so palpable it became flame and death, rending the battlefield apart as he descended in search of him. The thought was both terrifying and humbling, and Daemon found himself pressing his hand more firmly against his scales as if to offer reassurance.

Caraxes huffed, a plume of smoke escaping his nostrils, his golden eye sliding open yet again. For a moment, Daemon thought that was the silent acknowledgment of his presence — Alas, his mount reared back, his body unfurling like a tempest. The sand melted and fell away as he rose to his full, monstrous height.

Daemon froze, his hand still outstretched. He didn't flinch as Caraxes lowered his massive head, baring his jagged teeth. The dragon's maw opened wide, revealing the flicker of flames deep in his throat — a sight that had been the last for so many of his enemies.

Suddenly, a furious shriek tore from his mount's throat, the sound reverberating through his very bones. The sheer force of it sent Daemon's hair flying back, his expression twisting into a grimace at the foul breath that assaulted his senses — But he stood his ground.

When the dragon finally fell silent, Daemon stepped forward once more — This time, he placed both hands against the dragon's jaw, leaning his forehead against the warm scales. "I'm alive," he reassured softly, "I'm awake, and I've made a full recovery — Don't doubt it.”

Caraxes rumbled low in his throat, a sound of disapproval that vibrated through his hands. Luckily, the dragon didn't pull away this time, his golden eye watching Daemon intently — as though searching for the truth in his words.

"I won't die as Aemon did," he murmured in what felt like a vow. "You have my word." His mount's eye narrowed slightly, the scrutiny in his gaze almost human — Then, slowly, Caraxes nuzzled against him, the motion surprisingly gentle for a creature so fierce.

Daemon smirked faintly, his hands sliding along the red scales in slow, soothing strokes. "It will take far more than this to be rid of me," he said wryly. "We aren't finished yet, you and I."

He let out a low, approving rumble, his body relaxing as he settled back onto the sand. Daemon remained leaned against his dragon's massive form, his thoughts turning dark and calculating — Corlys's negotiations with Braavos needed to be stopped. The Sealord's involvement would only complicate matters, and he had no intention of letting the Velaryon Lord seize control of the situation.

A plan began to form in his mind — an idea in the shape of a person. Reggio Haratis, the Prince of Pentos — a familiar face among the Essosi nobility whose guests Daemon had been in his youth.

The Crabfeeder's rise threatened more than simply the Stepstones — it threatened the balance of power across the Narrow Sea. If Braavos wished to meddle in this war, Pentos might be inclined to counter them — especially when one of the Free Cities might get access to dragons in the aftermath. Pentos wouldn't and shouldn't stand idly by, and Daemon was more than willing to remind Reggio of that fact.

A slow, dangerous smile spread across his face as he continued stroking Caraxes's scales. "We aren't finished yet," he repeated, the words carrying a promise — a threat, and a spark of something far more dangerous.

 

 

 

_____

 

 

 

king's landing, 112AC
alicent hightower

Alicent sat in the dim nursery, her hands folded tightly in her lap with her burgundy gown pooling around her feet. The soft murmur of the fire in the hearth was the only sound in the room — save for the gentle gurgles of her son, Aegon, as he lay in his crib.

His small fists waved in the air, his toothless mouth curling into a smile as though he found the very air delightful whilst his silver hair caught the firelight, glowing like a crown of starlight.

She leaned forward, resting her chin in her hand as she watched him, her expression betraying her thoughts — Surely, there was nothing missing in him. How could there be? His every feature echoed his father — from the sharp curve of his nose to the purple of his eyes.

He appeared as if he had stepped straight from a Valyrian tapestry.

And yet Viserys seemed blind to it.

Ever since the Maesters had confirmed that Aegon bore no mating mark, her husband had been distant — The proud father who once cradled his son and showed him off even to the servants now refused to so much as hold him. He spoke of waiting and seeking answers, as though Aegon were some riddle to be solved rather than their son.

Alicent exhaled sharply, reaching out a hand to adjust the blanket around him. Her heart ached with a mix of anger and confusion. What did it matter that Aegon lacked a mark? He was still a Targaryen, through and through — His blood, his features, his very being spoke to that heritage.

But no, for Viserys, it was not enough.

Without that mark — that proof of divine favor, her husband looked at their son as though he were a shadow of what he might've been.

Alicent didn't understand it, not truly — She had grown up with her parents whispering of the Seven's blessings — not of dragons and marks and Gods that demanded ink on the flesh. To her, the Valyrian Gods were distant, foreign things, no different from the idols of the Summer Isles or the strange faiths of the Free Cities.

And yet she couldn't entirely dismiss them — How could she, when she had seen Rhaenyra's mark with her own eyes? She had shown it to her once in the privacy of her chambers while speaking of its sacredness — of how it was a glimpse into the soul, a tether to one's destined mate.

Rhaenyra had even searched for a mark on Alicent's own skin, her fingers brushing over her back with admiration that made her cheeks flush — But there had been nothing, and her friend's face had fallen, disappointment etched into her beautiful features.

Still, she had remained hopeful as though a mark might appear overnight — as if she might wake up one day transformed into someone she was not.

The babe cooed again, and her thoughts snapped back to the present. She clenched her hands tighter, her nails digging into her palms. She wouldn't allow Viserys to see Aegon as lesser — If her son was without a mark, then so be it. It wasn't a curse, nor a failing. It was simply who he was.

And if the King couldn't acknowledge that — if he couldn't accept his son's normality, then what did that say about how he viewed her? She bit her lip, her thoughts tumbling over themselves. Did Viserys see her as lesser, as well?

She had always known she wasn't Aemma — that could never be Aemma. Not with her Valyrian blood and her shared mark with Viserys — not when she had been his equal in every way. Alicent was Andal, of Hightower stock, her blood unmarked by dragons or Valyrian Gods they held so high in regard.

If Viserys thought Aegon's lack of a mark made him lesser, then surely he must think the same of her.

The doors to the nursery creaked open, drawing her attention from her son. The King entered first, his pace slower than usual — as though the weight of his own thoughts bore down on him. Behind him trailed a man who could only be the Valyrian Priest her husband had spoken of in cryptic half-sentences over the past week.

"Good evening, Alicent," her husband greeted her softly, the name slipping from his lips as if he were unsure whether he was allowed to utter it. She rose swiftly, smoothing her skirts and offering a curtsy. "Your Grace."

Viserys waved her off gently, his hand motioning for her to sit. "There's no need for formalities. Sit, please — Rest." She straightened, forcing a gracious nod. "Thank you, my King." She then settled back into her seat, folding her hands tightly in her lap as she observed the man who had entered behind her husband.

He gestured toward the unfamiliar figure beside him. "Alicent, this is Matagar — the High Priest of Dragonstone." She inclined her head in greeting, though her brow furrowed ever so slightly.

The Priest stood still, his head tilted as if amused by her deference. He didn't bow, nor did he speak — Instead, he watched her with an unnerving smile, his amethyst eyes glinting with a light that made her feel as though her very thoughts were laid bare before him.

His attire drew her gaze, and though she tried to suppress the thought, her lips pressed together in faint disapproval — His beige garment hung loosely, reaching his ankles. The fabric appeared worn and stained as if it hadn't been washed in decades.

It wasn't unlike her chemise , she thought with some irritation, though hers at least bore the dignity of being clean. Across his lean frame, a reddish cloth was draped, its placement odd and asymmetrical — wrapping around his waist and slung over one shoulder. He also carried a wooden staff taller than he was, its surface smooth but unadorned.

He looked more like a shepherd than a Priest , Alicent noted, and immediately chastised herself for the unkindness.

But how could she not compare him to the Septons of the Faith of the Seven, who wore plain white robes bound with simple belts? Their humility was meant to reflect the purity of their devotion while Matagar's appearance, by contrast, seemed a deliberate rejection of order or propriety.

When His Grace introduced her as his wife, Alicent nodded stiffly, offering the man what she hoped was a polite smile. Matagar, however, neither bowed nor inclined his head, merely gazed at her as if studying a curious artifact. Then, without a word, his attention returned to Viserys, leaving her feeling dismissed.

Her jaw tightened, though she schooled her expression into one of polite indifference. It's not my place to take offense , she told herself, though the dismissiveness stung — Respect was owed to her, as Queen if not as a woman, and yet the Priest seemed entirely disinterested in showing her any.

"Your Grace," the strange man began, his voice smooth and lilting, like a melody played on a harp. "I wondered when you would call upon me — It has been some time now, has it not?"

Viserys visibly stiffened beside her, his hands clasped tightly behind his back. "You've been expecting my summons?" he inquired uneasily.

"Of course," Matagar mused. "The separation from one's mate is an agony few can bear — To have the bond severed, especially by death…" He tilted his head, the corners of his lips curving upward as though he spoke not of grief but of some divine inevitability. "It's a pain that lingers in the soul — like an ember that won't die. I must say, Your Grace, I'm pleasantly surprised you endured it for so long."

Alicent witnessed her husband flinch as if struck. The proud shoulders of the monarch seemed to fold inward, his posture collapsing under the weight of the words. "I… I do what I must," Viserys murmured.

"Do you?" Matagar inquired, yet there was no malice in it — only a curious detachment. "The Gods would say otherwise. To live so long apart from the soul bound to yours... it's not living at all. Surely, Your Grace, you must feel it — the death inside you.”

Alicent clenched her hands tighter in her lap, her nails biting into her skin. She wished to interject — to tell this Priest to stop — to remind him that the King had a wife who sat beside him now. Alas, she said nothing.

His face was pale, his lips pressed together in a thin line which caused her heart to twist with anger and pity. She despised seeing him like this. But she hated even more the cause of it — the specter of Aemma, always looming, always there .

The High Priest of Dragonstone tilted his head slightly. "I'm entirely grateful to have been given an opportunity to aid you, my King — However, I must warn you that naught can silence a restless soul. The ache will remain, it always does — For as long as what is missing remains unfound," he said casually, almost dismissively.

Viserys spluttered his face coloring with a mix of frustration and discomfort. "That's… not the reason I summoned you, Matagar," he revealed at last, his words stumbling out in uneven fragments.

The lean man blinked in confusion, though his ever-present smile never faltered. "Then with what else may I assist you with, Your Grace?"

Her husband cleared his throat, his unease evident as he began to speak. "It concerns my son — Aegon." He glanced briefly at Alicent, but his gaze didn't linger. "He… bears no mating mark."

At this, Matagar's brow arched in surprise, his ever-smiling lips twitching faintly upward. "Oh?"

Encouraged by the Priest's apparent interest, the King pressed on, "I worried it might mean something... ill, in the eyes of the divine — A sign of rejection, perhaps? Or punishment?" His voice dropped lower, as though even speaking the words aloud made the possibility more real. "I thought, perhaps, different rules might apply. My wife, after all, is of Andal blood — Aegon isn't entirely, or even mostly, Valyrian."

The words struck Alicent like a blow. She lowered her gaze, blinking rapidly to quell the sting in her eyes. And there it is , she thought bitterly. What I have always known to be true — He sees me as lesser.

Her hands tightened into fists on her lap, and she felt the sharp sting of her nails digging into her palms. Her mind raced as guilt took hold, creeping into every corner of her thoughts. — Is it my fault, then? Is this why he keeps Aegon at arm's length — why he looks at him with so little affection? Have I cursed my son simply by being his mother?

Matagar's words cut through her downward spiral, "Oh no, my King. The Gods of Old Valyria don't discriminate in such a way — Blood is blood — A single drop of Valyrian ancestry is all that is required for the Fourteen Flames to acknowledge one as their own."

Viserys exhaled sharply, relief washing over him, though it was tinged with lingering unease. "But what could explain it, then?" His purple irises shifted back to the Priest, desperate for answers. "I've never heard of a Valyrian child born without a mark — Never ."

The Dragonstone's Priest placed a long, thin hand on his chin in thought. "In truth, neither have I," he admitted, his tone carrying no alarm, only detached fascination. "For all my years of study in the ways of the Fourteen Flames, this is unknown to me — A curiosity, indeed."

He stepped forward, his robes brushing lightly against the stone floor. "May I examine the child myself?" The King nodded eagerly, the tension in his shoulders softening. "Yes, of course. Please."

Her husband's approval made Alicent freeze, her heart pounding in her chest. She opened her mouth to protest, though her voice was weaker than she intended, "Aegon has already been examined by the Maester — And you yourself, Your Grace."

Viserys shrugged off her words with a dismissive wave of his hand, his focus entirely on Matagar. "The High Priest's judgment is the only one that matters here, Alicent — He's the only one who might be able to help us."

He dismissed me again. Her hands trembled as she watched him stride toward the crib. She felt her protests swell in her chest, but they lodged in her throat, unspoken. As if my concerns mean nothing — As if I am nothing.

His Grace lifted their son from his crib with surprising tenderness, the boy cooing softly in his arms. The babe's wide purple eyes blinked up at his father, oblivious to the tension in the room. Alicent watched, her breath catching as Aegon was handed over to Matagar.

The High Priest took the child in his arms with care, his strange smile never wavering. He held the Prince as though cradling some sacred artifact, his amethyst eyes glittering with that unnerving light as he gazed down at the boy.

She shot to her feet, her hands reaching out instinctively toward her son, though she stopped short of touching him. "Please," she began, her voice low and trembling. "Be careful with him."

Matagar glanced down at her, his expression serene. "Fear not — The Gods wouldn't forgive me were I to bring harm to one so precious."

The words should have comforted her, but they didn't — There was something in his tone, in the way he held her child, that set her on edge. And yet, she could do naught but watch as he began his examination, her heart pounding in her chest like a caged bird.

The man hummed softly and Alicent strained her ears but caught nothing of the meaning of the words spoken in another language. Aegon stirred, his tiny body wriggling in protest which propelled her fingers to twitch.

When Matagar turned the babe over to inspect his back, his whimpering escalated into a full-throated wail — Yet the Priest appeared utterly unbothered, continuing his tuneless hum, his face serene.

Alicent’s throat tightened the urge to intervene clawing at her. He doesn't even flinch — doesn't pause. As if my son's distress means nothing. Her hands fidgeted, clenched, unclenched, her knuckles white with the effort to hold back.

Finally, he straightened, his tone as airy as ever as he proclaimed, "You seem to be correct, Your Grace," he addressed Viserys with an unhurried calm. "The boy bears no mating mark."

The King said nothing, his lips parting slightly as if to speak, but no words came. Matagar, for his part, made no show of concern — He simply extended the child back to Viserys, but before he could react, Alicent stepped forward and took Aegon from the High Priest's arms.

Her movements were swift, almost possessive, and she immediately began rocking the boy. "Hush," she uttered soothingly. Much to her surprise, her son's cries began to subside — His small body relaxed against her, and for the first time, he quieted in her arms.

A flicker of something unfamiliar stirred in her chest — Relief? Pride? He's never done this before , she realized. Always fussy, always straining away from me. But now... She cradled him closer, her pace slow as she carried him back to the crib.

Once her son was settled, she lingered by the cradle, one hand resting on its edge. Her gaze flicked to Matagar, then back to Viserys. She expected her husband to demand a second examination — to remark on how cursory the High Priest's inspection had been — Alas, Viserys said nothing.

It was the Dragonstone's Priest who broke the silence. "Even Valyrian bastards are born with marks," he mused aloud as if thinking to himself. The words struck Alicent like a slap. "Aegon is no bastard," she stammered, her heart pounding with silent fury.

Viserys stepped forward quickly, his voice placating, "Of course, Alicent. Matagar meant no offense." He glanced at the High Priest, his tone almost apologetic. "He was merely speaking to the rarity of this… anomaly."

The man's amethyst irises lingered on Alicent, unblinking, before he turned back to Viserys. "Indeed," he agreed, his smile returning — though it carried a shadow of something unspoken.

She swallowed hard, her pulse thrumming in her ears before lowering herself slowly and placing Aegon back into his crib with trembling hands. He stirred briefly but remained quiet, his small chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm.

"Tell me, Your Grace," Dragonstone's Priest began, addressing Viserys once more, "are you aware of how the marks come to be? — How the mates are chosen?"

His Grace blinked, his brow furrowing. "I… no," he admitted after a moment. "It's not something I've ever thought to question — It has always been so, hasn't it? Valyrians are born marked. That's simply the way of it."

Matagar inclined his head though he elaborated on the myth, "In the beginning," he began, "human nature wasn't as you know it now. There weren't two sexes, but three: man, woman, and the union of the two — or in rare and exalted cases, three. This union was the race we now call Valyrians."

Alicent furrowed her brow, her lips pressing into a thin line. She shifted on her feet, Aegon's soft whimpering the only sound breaking the High Priest's narrative. "The Valyrians were beings of terrible strength and might, with double or triple the limbs, and multiple faces. The thoughts of their hearts were great, and their power even greater — Eventually, the Fourteen Flames grew fearful of their creations and sought to humble them. And so, the Valyrians were divided — cleaved in half and condemned to wander the world incomplete, forever yearning for their other halves."

Alicent's fingers gripped the crib, her mind conjuring grotesque, almost incomprehensible images. A being with double limbs, and multiple faces? — How could anyone believe such a thing? She glanced at Viserys, expecting him to share her unease, but found a glimmer of fascination in his eyes instead.

The Priest seemed to notice it as well, his mouth curving faintly. "Yet," he continued, "Meleys, the Goddess of Love and Fertility, took pity on them, and in kindness blessed the broken Valyrians with marks — so that they might find their destined counterparts more easily."

Her stomach churned — The notion of her son's fate being bound to this myth left her cold. However, before she could voice her displeasure, the Priest shifted his attention to the King. "I have shared only the briefest version, Your Grace — The full tale, with all its details, can be found here."

From beneath the folds of his reddish cloak, he withdrew a weathered, leather-bound book whose corners were frayed, and the cover was cracked with age. He held it out, and Viserys accepted it with a care Alicent had rarely seen him show, his plump fingers brushing over the cover as though he were handling something sacred.

She felt a surge of frustration — How could he entertain such absurdity? Her gaze dropped to her son, his flushed cheeks still streaked with tears. Clearing her throat, she spoke again, "And what of my son? What does this mean for him?"

Matagar offered a faint smile. "The heart of every Valyrian sings a song, incomplete —until another heart whispers back." Alicent forced herself to endure the sickening poetry lines the man was adamant about keeping before prompting him to continue, "So? — Will Aegon always be incomplete? Is his soul but half a thing?"

The High Priest tilted his head slightly as if considering her words. "It means that there is a sacred space between souls — a connection born of many lifetimes — a silent implication of complete acceptance — an unspoken understanding — a knowing without asking — a pause, a breath, a moment in time so pure and so clear that it can only be felt between mated souls which knew one another long before they needed skin to spend their lives in."

"It means that your son won't know that as he's without a mate," he had said evenly. "There's naught physically wrong with the Prince per se — He's simply... like you."

Her breath caught in her throat — The words, though spoken with an air of positivity, struck her as a veiled insult. Like me? What does that mean? Her hands tightened around the folds of her skirt as she struggled to maintain her composure.

Viserys, by contrast, appeared unfazed. He had hardly lifted his gaze from the ancient tome Matagar had placed in his hands, his fascination with the text eclipsing all else. The revelation about Aegon's fate seemed to slide off him like rain against a stone. Alicent glanced at him, her frustration mounting. How could he remain so indifferent to their son's future?

"What happens, then," His Grace asked, his voice calm, almost casual, "if the mates never find each other?" The question caught her off guard. She blinked, staring at her husband in disbelief — What relevance could this possibly have now?

The Dragonstone's Priest received the book back from the King with a bow of his head. He cradled it in his arms like a sacred relic before responding, "Mates always find one another, Your Grace — They're drawn together by forces beyond mortal understanding, woven into the tapestry of fate by Meleys herself."

Viserys raised his brow, visibly skeptical. "Always? Surely not — Many Targaryens lived and died without finding their counterparts. Maegor, for instance, or Vaegon... even Daella. There're countless examples."

Matagar hummed, a serene expression overtaking his features, "And yet, they did meet my King — They must have. Mates are inexplicably bonded, destined to cross paths over and over again, even if it takes lifetimes to understand what they are to one another — Such is the will of Meleys."

Alicent's husband spluttered, stumbling over his words as he sought clarification. "So, Maegor met his mate? And Saera, Viserra, all my aunts and uncles?" The Priest proudly nodded, confirming. "Sometimes, the path to finding one's mate is rocky, curvy, and far from a straight line — Sometimes, it's even influenced by other people — by forces that delay the process. Additionally, mates won't truly find one another until their souls are ready to greet one another forever."

Viserys clenched his jaw, shifting uncomfortably on his feet as the man continued, oblivious to the King's growing discomfort. "There's a belief that mates must grow separately — that they can only be united once they complete their own journeys. The harmonious physical union can only happen once both have learned their lessons alone," he said. "Then, they will be ready to serve a higher purpose together — For the rest of their lives, they will require each other to meet the challenges the Gods have set before them."

Matagar turned his piercing amethyst eyes to the King, smiling in a way that sent a chill down both Alicent and Viserys's spines. "Once that happens, naught will be able to stop the mates from finding one another — The Gods themselves will fight for them to be together."

Viserys gulped, looking away, visibly unnerved. Alicent, on the other hand, simply watched with silent curiosity. She found the whole ordeal strange, though she didn't speak.

Instead, she turned her gaze to her son, silently thankful that if this strange religion had any significance, her son bore none of it — He was a child of Westeros, born into the faith of the Seven, and that was where she would prefer him to stay.

Furthermore, if the Gods of Valyria couldn't see his worth, then perhaps they weren't Gods worth serving.

Notes:

hi! so i didn't manage to update by the end of the year, but at least i'm here now! i'll be honest when i say that vis & daemon's povs were ready for a while, but i struggled with alicent's pov ://

hopefully, you liked the chapter! & at least you didn't have to wait half a year for the update :)) jk

visenya going against viserys is something both unexpected and expected? like, she can take so much before having to take matters into her own hands, though, we will see how bloodraven feels about this when he appears in a couple of chapters.

i added a little visaemon future moment as a tease ;)

alicent was hella funny in the end ngl. her being absolutely disgusted with valyrians & their religion is exactly how i imagined her to be.

thank you for reading & see ya next time! love ya!

Chapter 56: Calm Before The Storm

Summary:

In which:

— Rhaenyra learns how to operate in a war camp
— Visenya secures aid for Daemon
— Laenor is the best hype man ever

mountains of the moon, 112AC
rhaenyra targaryen

The air was sharp and biting in the mountains of the Vale, the wind whistling through the jagged peaks above them. Rhaenyra stood in the packed dirt of the makeshift training yard with a small, wooden practice blade in her hand.

She turned it in her palm, unimpressed. "And this is supposed to help me?" 

"Only if you learn to use it," Lady Gwendys Corbray replied, crossing her arms over her chest. "You're not strong enough for a sword, Princess. But with a blade like this? You don't need to be."

"You're holding it incorrectly," Lady Kaina Waynwood chided, her dark curls escaping her loose braid with every move she made. She reached forward and adjusted Rhaenyra's grip. "If you swing like that, you'll lose your fingers before you ever land a blow."  

She sighed. "Why does it matter? I have Syrax." Gwen raised her dark brow, patiently attempting to make her point, "What if you ever find yourself on the ground, without your dragon?"  

"Then I've made a mistake long before the fight began," the Princess said dismissively. Gwen's twin brother, Leowyn, let out a mock gasp. "Gods save us! The Princess doesn't need to learn how to fight, for she will never be caught unprepared!" He grinned, tossing his practice sword from one hand to the other.  

"You laugh, but it's true," Nyra quipped. "Do you believe those who die in battle do so because they planned to?" Ser Rylon Hunter chimed in, casually leaning on his blade. "They all presumed they'd win — They all thought themselves smarter than their enemies."  

Rhaenyra turned to him, watching the breeze sweep his golden curls aside. "You make it sound as if combat is inevitable."  Kaina considered her words before shrugging, "On a battlefield it is."

The brown-haired woman nodded in agreement. "If you are in enemy territory, and you find yourself separated from your dragon—" she began. "Which won't happen," The Princess interrupted. "—then you must know how to kill quickly."  Gwendys finished, utterly unbothered by the interruption.

Nyra looked at them, exasperated. She rolled her eyes and gave in. "Alright — What am I meant to do?" Kaina gave a small, satisfied nod. "If you're ever required to use your dagger on another person, you must aim for the places that will end the fight quickly."

She tapped the side of her neck, directly below her jaw. "Here." Then, she shifted to touch the place beneath the collarbone, and after that, her inner thigh. "And of course, the heart."

"Essentially, aim for the places that are difficult to stop bleeding," the brown-haired woman mused. "Or, if you cannot kill, then aim to injure. The inside of the elbow, the back of the knee — strike there, and you can make a man drop his weapon or fall to the ground before he even realises what transpired." 

Ser Leowyn, observed with clear amusement before leaning toward his friend. "Is this what they teach ladies in the Vale? How to cut throats and injure limbs like assassins?"  

"It's effective," Kaina defended flatly, her grey gaze narrowed. "But unnecessary," Ser Rylon countered. "You wish to end a fight quickly? Forget small cuts — A dagger is just as efficient in gutting a man." He mimicked a sharp upward thrust to the stomach. "Straight in and up through the ribs."  

"And what if she misses?" Gwendys challenged. "What if her opponent is armored?" Her twin grinned, bumping his shoulder with Rylon's in jest. "Then she's already lost."

Kaina shook her head. "Men. You always think the best way to win is to fight like a brawler," she mocked before gesturing toward Rhaenyra. "But the Princess isn't like you — She's smaller. She requires speed, not brute force."  

"Speed means nought if she cannot land a hit," The golden-haired man shot back. "She should be aggressive — To overwhelm them before they overwhelm her."  

Not wishing for the argument over the best way to train her to escalate further than it already had, Rhaenyra snapped. "Gods, enough!" She then turned towards the two women, impatient to get started. "Just show me what to do."  

Kaina nodded, taking her stance. "Alright — Come at me." The invitation made Nyra hesitate which led the olive-skinned girl to smirk. "You wish to learn, don't you? — So come."  

The Princess listened and lunged without warning, wooden dagger ready. However, she appeared to be too slow as Kaina was easily able to dodge. She caught her wrist and twisted, making Rhaenyra nearly lose her grip on the weapon. "Too predictable," Kaina said. "Try again."  

She gritted her teeth and struck again — this time feinting left before slicing right. Her opponent barely dodged this time, her grey eyes sparking with approval. "Better."  

Ser Leowyn who observed from the side, shook his head disapprovingly. "All this fancy movement is of no use — She must be more direct." Kaina snapped back, "Alright, then you teach her." She then retreated to stand by Gwendys. The knight grinned and stepped forward. "Gladly."  

Within moments, the friendly lesson devolved into chaos.

The ladies squared up against their male counterparts, bickering over the best way to train her — Gwendys instructed her to use precision and control her speed, Kaina had her focusing on footwork, while Ser Rylon barked at her to cease being delicate and simply swing.

"You're too slow, Princess!" The heir to Longbow Hall called out as Rhaenyra managed to dodge a swipe from her opponent. "If she slows down, she'll be precise!" His betrothed argued back. "No — She'll be dead," her twin brother countered.  

"This is ridiculous!" She exclaimed, twisting away from another blow. Exasperated, she wildly swung toward the knight — only for him to sidestep at the last moment. She lost her footing, and before she could recover, Leowyn knocked her legs out from under her.

The very next thing she knew, a sharp pain exploded in the back of her head as she hit the ground hard. The laughter stopped, a hush falling over the clearing, broken only by Rhaenyra's shaky breath as she stared up at the sky.

Then, suddenly, Rhaenyra noticed a shadow looming over her. She squinted her eyes, unsuccessfully attempting to determine who the person was until they spoke, "Pathetic." She blinked, realising that Lady Rhea Royce stood over her, arms crossed and gaze cold.

"You're in enemy territory," the woman, technically her aunt, said, tone clipped. "Surrounded by warriors who have been raised with steel in their hands — And you treat this as if it's a child's game?"  

Rhaenyra's jaw tightened in protest. However, before she could think of a retort, Lady Rhea continued, "You Targaryens," she sneered. "You always rely on someone else, don't you? — A dragon, a sword, a shield — always assuming someone will be there to save you when the moment comes." She shook her head. "You won't always have your beast nearby, and when that moment comes, you'll be as weak and helpless as you are now — lying in the dirt."  

"I think that is quite enough, Lady Rhea," Gwendys interrupted, not unkindly, but with warning. The dark-haired woman snorted, "Did I say anything untrue?"  

"She is a Princess," Kaina reminded her. "We weren't truly fighting." Rhaenyra's aunt cocked her head. "That is precisely the issue," she said coolly.  

Ser Leowyn cleared his throat, uncomfortably glancing between the Princess and the Lady of Runestone. "It wasn't our intention to knock her down—" Gwen cut in sharply, glaring up at him, "You shouldn't have."

Rhaenyra, who remained on the ground, scowled. "Cease speaking about me as if I'm not here." Kaina reached down and offered her hand. "Please feel free to ignore her," she muttered sweetly, pointedly eying Lady Rhea. 

The Princess hesitated — then took her hand, letting herself be pulled to her feet, the ache in her legs a sharp reminder of her misstep — Still, it was her pride that smarted more than her body.

As she brushed the dirt from her riding leathers, her gaze trailed after her aunt who strode away with her chin high and her steps certain, exuding a cold detachment that seemed to repel everyone in her path. 

No wonder uncle Daemon cannot abide her company, she found herself thinking as she watched the dark-haired woman disappear into the distance. Yet, as quickly as the thought came, a small frown tugged at her lips.

Her uncle had never spoken kindly of his wife — he barely spoke of her at all unless it was to mock her. He'd bragged openly of her supposed faults — called her coarse, called her barren, made sport of her in court.

Perhaps Lady Rhea's scorn wasn't born of hatred for Targaryens but of hatred for the man who had bound her to them.

Rhaenyra exhaled softly, brushing the thought away like dust from her glove — Whatever the cause, it was none of her concern.

Turning her attention back to her companions, she found Gwendys sternly lecturing her brother, who looked appropriately chastened under her glare. "You would’ve seriously injured her," she barked. "You must apologise."

"I was going to!" Ser Leowyn protested, his arms crossed as if that might shield him from her scolding. Alas, he wasn't looking at Rhaenyra — his eyes remained stubbornly fixed on Gwen, as though waiting for something.

That seemed to only rile her further. She scowled, stabbing a finger toward his chest. "Gods, don't look at me! Look at her!" He blinked, realising his blunder, and quickly raised his hands in surrender. "Alright, alright!"

He spun to Rhaenyra, his pale, freckled face flushing as he rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly all boyish awkwardness. "My deepest apologies, Princess," he said earnestly. "Truly, I meant you no harm — I simply forgot to pull back when I should. It won't happen again."

She waved him off with a flick of her wrist, her voice light but laced with tired amusement. "Don't waste your words, Ser — There's nought to forgive."

Like a hound seeking its master's approval, Leowyn immediately turned to his twin for confirmation that he had done well. She pinched the bridge of her nose and muttered, "Gods help me," before relenting and offering him a faint, begrudging smile.

Rhaenyra's lips twitched, the beginnings of a smile threatening to form despite herself. She turned to Kaina, brushing the last of the dirt from her hands. "Is there any chance we could continue training inside? I'd rather spare myself the humiliation of further public displays — and Lady Rhea's commentary."

The olive-skinned girl pursed her lips, considering it for a heartbeat, before making a face that told her the answer before she even spoke. "I'm afraid there's not much room inside the tents — You'd barely be able to lift your weapon without knocking something over."

Ser Rylon piped up with a smirk, "Besides, you'd be tripping over her boots the entire time! She leaves them lying about and forgets they ever existed."

Rhaenyra sighed in defeat, the truth undeniable — When she'd first been welcomed into the women's tent, she'd been warned to mind her step, for Kaina's boots were more dangerous than any sword in the camp. Truthfully, she'd yet to stumble upon them herself, but with her luck, she'd surely do so at the worst possible moment — likely when her life depended on not falling.

"That's simply not true!" she defended, her braid whipping over her shoulder as she spun toward the golden-haired man. "I'm quite aware where my boots are, thank you very much!"

"Oh?" he arched a brow, his grin broadening. "Where are they now, then?" Kaina faltered, visibly rummaging through her memory. "Well… I left them near my cot. Or maybe by the fire pit. Or—"

Ser Leowyn laughed, clapping his hands together. "Gods be good, you truly don't know!" She crossed her arms, flustered, but refusing to yield. "They're somewhere in the tent, I'm sure of it!"

Rhaenyra found herself relaxing as she watched them bicker, her earlier frustration ebbing away. "Alright," she said, exhaling in mock exasperation. "We shall train here, in the snow, amongst the boots I cannot see but will surely find with my face when I fall."

The Heir to Heart's Home grinned. "Now that's the spirit!" Kaina huffed, but the spark in her eyes betrayed her amusement. 

However, before another word could pass between them, a soldier approached, leading their lively circle to fall quiet. The older man dipped his head in respectful greeting, his gaze settling directly on Rhaenyra. "Princess. Commander Joffrey has invited you to join him in his tent."

Invited — She caught the careful phrasing at once, and the deliberate omission of summoned.

Of course, he wouldn't dare summon her now — not after she had made her standing clear to him — That she outranked him in every way, and it pleased her to see that he had finally come to terms with that fact. Her spine straightened ever so slightly, a quiet swell of pride blooming in her chest.

Perhaps he had learned something after all.

Mistaking her thoughtful silence for hesitation, Gwen drew near and gently placed a hand on her shoulder. "You can refuse him, you know," she murmured, her voice low enough for only her to hear. "He cannot order you about, Princess. And after your last… meeting—" she grimaced, "—I wouldn't blame you for staying away."

Rhaenyra arched a brow. "An understatement," she snorted dryly.

As soon as she slid from Syrax's back and onto the muddy ground, her legs nearly buckled beneath her. The snow had melted into thick slush, soaking into her boots, but she barely felt the cold — Her entire body thrummed with adrenaline, so much so that she thought she might breathe fire herself if she attempted hard enough.  

With a sharp inhale, she crouched down, willing the trembling in her muscles to subside. Upon hearing footsteps approaching, Rhaenyra looked up to find a cluster of soldiers standing before her, their expressions a mix of disapproval and barely concealed confusion. 

Her triumphant smile faltered.  

"The commander requests your presence," one of them announced stiffly. 

Rhaenyra flicked her gaze toward Syrax, who let out a piercing shriek, sending several men scrambling back. She swallowed down the rush of satisfaction it gave her, straightened her spine, and gave a curt nod before following them toward the camp.  

As she strode through the rows of tents, she felt the weight of countless eyes on her. Soldiers murmured in hushed voices, their gazes lingering as though she were some strange spectacle — Alas, she was determined to mask the tremors still lingering in her thighs and held her head high.

When she stepped inside the command tent, she realized at once that this wouldn't be a private conversation as the place was already packed — Lords and commanders of various houses surrounded a barely standing wooden table, where parchments and marked maps lay scattered. 

However, Rhaenyra barely had time to register their faces before a sharp voice cut through the air. "What in the Seven hells are you doing here?"

The man who spoke stood at the head of the table, platinum-blond hair falling slightly over the glassiest blue eyes she had ever seen and his armor bore the sigil of House Arryn. It was the commander — Ser Joffrey, Lady Jeyne's cousin, she concluded.

Before she could respond, he stepped forward, his tone seething with restrained fury. "Tell me, Princess, do you enjoy courting death?" His words dripped with scorn. "Or did you simply decide that the Mountains of the Moon weren't treacherous enough, and thought, ah, yes, let me fly into an active battle instead?"

The sheer derision in his voice left her momentarily stunned. He didn't pause — didn't even let her breathe before continuing his tirade. "Do you think this some game? That your dragon makes you untouchable?" He scoffed, eyes flashing. "You had no orders to come here! If something had happened to you, if you had fallen — who, exactly, do you think would bear the consequences? Me! Do you believe Lady Jayne would forgive me if I let the Princess of the Seven Kingdoms die under my command because she couldn't follow a simple gods-damned order?"

Rhaenyra could only stare — not because she had no retort, but because she was too stunned to form one. No one had ever dared to speak to her like this — Not her father. Not her mother. No one — And yet here stood Joffrey Arryn, berating her as if she were a reckless child who had wandered too close to the fire.  

Her shock must've been apparent because the man let out a sharp breath and raked a hand through his hair, shoulders tense with frustration. "I won't have a Targaryen Princess dying on my hands," he ground out. "Not because of her own foolishness."

Foolishness.  

Heat flared in Rhaenyra's chest, crawling up her throat like dragonfire. She clenched her jaw, fists tightening at her sides, but before she could unleash the words simmering on her tongue, Ser Joffrey turned to the men flanking the tent's entrance. "Take her back to the Eyrie. Immediately."

Just like that, armed men were stepping toward her, ready to return her to the safety of the Eyrie castle. Her entire body went rigid, her breath shuddering out in disbelief. Then, she finally spoke — blurted out more likely. "No."

The atmosphere in the tent shifted entirely. The soldiers who had moved toward her hesitated, glancing at each other in uncertainty. But Rhaenyra saw nothing — felt nothing — except the burning heat of her own fury and the fair-haired man standing before her.  

Ser Joffrey's fingers curled around the edge of the table, his knuckles turning white.

Still, she refused to falter.  

Her voice was steel when she spoke again, each word laced with quiet, simmering rage.  "I'm the Princess of the Seven Kingdoms,” she reminded him, purple eyes blazing. "The Heiress to the Vale, and you don't command me, Ser."

His jaw flexed, and then, slowly, a sharp smirk curled at the corner of his mouth. "No, I don't," he murmured in agreement, his voice softer now — but no less dangerous. "But Lady Jayne does."

Rhaenyra's breath hitched, her heart pounding, not only from anger — but from the undeniable truth of his words. Because he was correct — Here, in the Vale, acting as its Heir, she was under her cousin's command. 

If she didn't think of something quickly, she was about to find herself ordered straight back to the Eyrie. And that — after everything — wasn't an option.  

She straightened her posture, lifting her chin in quiet defiance. "Indeed," she admitted, forcing herself to swallow past the dryness in her throat. The urge to reach for the rings she usually wore — to twist them between her fingers for comfort — was almost unbearable. Alas, she had no jewelry now, nothing to anchor her hands, nothing to distract her. "However, Lady Jayne will not send me away," she continued, her voice steady, "not once she hears what I have witnessed today."  

Ser Joffrey's piercing gaze remained fixed on her, unreadable yet unyielding, and she could sense the others watching too, waiting for her to continue. She immediately thought of Visenya — her sister, her fiercest guide — What would she do? What would she say? How would she turn the tide?

Rhaenyra took a slow breath before launching into her explanation, her words laced with unshaken conviction. "It was quite a view from Syrax's back — watching the crumbling lines of soldiers, the desperate struggle of your forces..." 

Her tone sharpened. "Yet before the battle was lost, Syrax's fire melted the stubborn snow and ice, at last giving you the advantage you've been searching for these past weeks — If not for my dragon and myself, you might not be standing here now.  And you would scold me for coming?"

She saw Ser Joffrey shift — saw him part his lips to retort, but she cut him off with a glare and pressed on. She wasn't finished — not until she had said her piece, just as Visenya would've done. "For moons, you made no progress. In fact, you moved backwards," she pointed out, "But as soon as I arrived, you won." She took a step forward, unyielding. "I'm needed here, so I'm not going anywhere."  

The knight exhaled sharply through his nose, tilting his head as he studied her. "Tell me, then," he began after a pause, voice edged with mockery. "Have you brought weapons? A tent? Warmer clothes? Or have you simply thrown yourself into a war camp with nought but your dragon and your pride?"

Silence fell between them as Rhaenyra shifted on her feet, unwilling to admit the truth out loud — She'd been so eager to act, to prove herself, to seize the moment — so desperate for control over something — that she hadn't even considered what she would require once she arrived.  

His expression darkened, as if her silence was all the answer he needed. However, before he could deliver another cutting remark meant to undermine her, a voice rose from the crowd. "There is space in my tent for the Princess," Lady Gwendys Corbray spoke, stepping forward. "And if she requires warmer clothes or weapons, I'm certain we can find something suitable."  

Rhaenyra turned sharply toward the woman, the tension in her shoulders easing just slightly at the sight of a familiar face in a sea of disapproving ones. Lady Gwendys's expression remained calm and composed even under Ser Joffrey's displeased gaze.

The Princess nearly smirked — He had expected to crush her defiance, to have her escorted back like an unruly child. Instead, he was being undermined by his own allies.  

The knight let out a short, sharp snort, as if unimpressed, before shaking his head and turning away. She could see the shift in his posture, the slight deflation of his shoulders— because he realised that he had lost this fight.  

Indeed, their last exchange had been far from cordial. His disapproval, his temper, his insistence on sending her home — it had lingered like a sour taste on her tongue. Still, it wasn't as though she could avoid him forever.

With a quiet sigh, Rhaenyra shook her head. "It's alright," she insisted. "I'll go. I've no wish to stir unnecessary trouble." Gwen studied her for a beat longer, concern still knitted across her brow, but finally relented, stepping back with a nod.

So, she left the comfort of her companions, following the soldier through the camp's narrow pathways until they reached the commander's tent. He held the flap open for her and she stepped inside without hesitation.

She was greeted by two guards who stood at attention inside, their faces impassive whilst Ser Joffrey sat by the table, hunched slightly as he inspected his longbow, his thumb running over the polished wood. 

When one of the soldiers announced her presence, the knight's head snapped up. His pale brows lifted briefly in surprise before he rose to his feet, offering her a bow of his head. "Princess."

"Ser," she returned coolly, polite but distant. A brief silence settled between them, not quite hostile but certainly not warm. 

He cleared his throat, shifting his stance as though suddenly unsure what to do with his hands. "Thank you for joining me," he said, gesturing toward the chair across from him. "Please—sit."

Rhaenyra crossed the space and sank into the offered seat, her hands folding neatly in her lap. She doubted this was merely a friendly invitation — Whatever he wanted, she had no interest in hearing another plea for her to return to the Eyrie. 

That battle had already been fought — and won.

Ser Joffrey settled across from her, scratching the back of his neck, then ran a hand through his pale locks, ruffling them slightly before reaching for a pitcher. "Water?" he offered, lips twitching in a half-grin. "I'd offer you something finer, but I fear it would be unbecoming of me to present a Princess with such… humble fare."

Her fingers tightened into fists in her lap, her purple eyes narrowing into slits. "Perhaps I shall lower myself to accept, Ser," she mused, a faint edge of mockery colouring her voice. "Even a Princess must endure hardship now and then."

The response was harsher than she'd intended, but she didn't retract it. No — she held her ground, nostrils flaring, her pride too raw to yield. For a heartbeat, she nearly stood, ready to abandon the tent entirely — The audacity of this man! Alas, her body betrayed her, her legs stubbornly rooted in place.

Through clenched teeth, she hissed, "Water will be just fine." His smirk vanished like morning mist. His mouth parted, as though to defend himself, but instead of words, a weary sigh slipped free. 

When it came, his reply, was a poor attempt at smoothing the tension. "Of course, Princess." His half-hearted smile faltered before he turned to the nearest guard. "Fetch us water." The soldier, sensing the tension, moved briskly. 

Soon enough, two cups, filled to their brims, were placed between them. Rhaenyra seized hers with a quiet urgency and drank deeply, only now realising just how parched she had grown since the morning's training — The cool liquid did little to soothe the fire still burning in her chest, though.

Silence crept back between them, persistent and suffocating. Even after she set her cup down, the air hung heavy. She busied her fingers by tracing the delicate, swirling patterns etched into the vessel, pretending to admire its craftsmanship.

Ser Joffrey shifted, clearly ill at ease, and finally blurted, "How have you settled in?" His voice was pitched too high and careful — A poor disguise for the fact that he had no idea how to approach her.

Her brow arched — the slow, deliberate rise of someone quickly losing patience. "Is that truly what you wish to know?" she inquired. "Whether I am comfortable enough here in the cold? Whether I can bear to sleep in a tent, to eat like the rest of you, to endure the wilderness? — Is that it, Ser? Are you waiting to see if the soft, pampered Princess will crack beneath the weight of such hardship?"

The spite that always lingered beneath her skin now surfaced fully, as sharp and wild as her dragon’s flame.

Did she hate it? Gods, yes. She despised the freezing nights, the thin blankets, the stale bread, the endless aching in her muscles — But she despised the thought of him expecting her to hate it even more. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction. She would die proving she could thrive here!

The knight's eyes widened slightly, and he shook his head at once. "No—that isn't what I—" However, Rhaenyra's face remained perfectly still, her expression carved from stone as she studied him with measured disdain.

His hand tore through his hair again in frustrated surrender, his composure slipping further. "Gods, that was on me," he muttered, shoulders sagging as if the fight had left him.
"I meant no offence," he confessed, his voice quieter now, stripped of the earlier defensiveness. "Truly, Princess. I only meant to ask — genuinely — if you were well, if you are in need of anything. That was all."

For a moment, she said nothing, her purple gaze fixed upon him, studying, weighing. She had never been adept at reading people — Patience eluded her for the mundane task of tracing the subtle dance of expressions, of searching the meaning behind timing and tone.

However, if the court in the Eyrie had taught her anything, it was that such a mundane task was necessary — That it was just as important, if not more so than memorising laws and customs. And something — something — in his easy posture and careful wording didn't quite sit right.

She narrowed her brows, suspicion creeping into her voice. "So you summoned me to…discuss the bedding of straw? The sharp chill of the wind through the canvas? The daily rations?"

There was a faint, knowing lilt to her question, as if daring him to lie to her. Ser Jeffrey’s hand immediately raked through his hair, a nervous tic that had by now given him away more than once. "No," he exhaled, resigned. "You're correct. That's not why I asked you here." He shifted, gaze flickering away from hers. "I wish to apologise."

That caught her attention. "Truly?" she questioned in disbelief. "I didn't welcome you as I ought to have — As any host would welcome a guest. Let alone a Princess." He admitted, hand absently rubbing the back of his neck, as if the words physically pained him.

"I—" the knight began, then faltered. "I was… angry. Pressured. Exhausted — We've been battling these raids for moons. I've watched my friends freeze to death — watched them bleed out on the snow while I held their hands, knowing we'd gained nought for their sacrifice."

"I've felt like I've been losing this battle since the day we marched from the Bloody Gate. And then you arrived — without warning, without preparation. And I—" He caught himself, pressing his lips into a thin line. "I realise now I was harsh — Too harsh. And none of that—" he gestured broadly, "—none of that excuses how I treated you."

There was no performance in his face now, no calculated play for her favour. Just raw exhaustion and regret, and for a long moment, Rhaenyra simply stared at him.

She couldn't bring herself to forgive him — not yet. Perhaps not ever. It wasn't in her nature to so swiftly release a grudge, especially when it had bruised her pride so keenly. But neither was she blind to the weight he carried.

Perhaps, this once, she could simply appreciate his honesty.

Rhaenyra slowly relaxed in her chair, her rigid posture easing as her gaze wandered. Something behind Ser Joffrey caught her eye — a row of bows, neatly arranged along a wooden rack at the back of the tent. What truly drew her attention were the delicate carvings etched along their wooden curves— birds in flight, twisting vines, small blooming flowers, each detail carefully worked into the grain.

Rather than linger on the apology, she chose to extend the olive branch in her own way. "They're beautiful," she remarked, genuine curiosity flickering in her eyes.

The knight glanced over his shoulder as though he'd forgotten the bows were there. He blinked, briefly caught off guard by her compliment. "Thank you," he uttered.

Rhaenyra tilted her head, her braid slipping over her shoulder as she pressed, "You carved them, correct?" He scratched the back of his neck again, the faintest tinge of sheepishness creeping into his expression. "Aye. In what little spare time I have."

Without waiting for further prompting, Ser Joffrey rose from his seat and crossed the tent, carefully selecting one of the bows from the rack, the shapes of small falcons etched along the wood before extending it to her.

She accepted it, her fingers tracing the delicate lines, the smooth craftsmanship of the grip, and the notches that held the string — It was truly a work of art. "I don't believe I've ever seen a bow this lovely," she admitted sincerely.

His lips tugged into a crooked smile. "It's a small comfort when the weather and the war have worn everything else thin." 

Then, his blue eyes flicked toward a distant corner of the tent where a simple straw-stuffed target stood, half-forgotten. With a tilt of his chin, he gestured toward it. "Care to try your skill, Princess?"

Rhaenyra considered for a heartbeat, then smirked faintly. "If I put a hole in your tent, you'll only have yourself to blame." Ser Joffrey chuckled, motioning for her to come forward. "Come, then. Stand here." He patted a spot on the rug-lined floor, squarely facing the target. "You've held a bow before, I trust?"

"I have," she confirmed, taking the arrow he handed her. "Though I've yet to see if that makes me capable of hitting anything I actually aim for."

She set her feet, Gwendys's firm but patient voice echoing in her mind, reminding her to focus on her stance, her breathing, her technique. Her fingers settled naturally into place as she nocked the arrow. She drew the string back, adjusted her position ever so slightly, and let the arrow fly.

It struck the target — but well off-center, sinking into the outer edge with a dull thunk. Rhaenyra clicked her tongue in mild disappointment. "Well," she uttered, turning to him with a small shrug, "I did say you'd only have yourself to blame."

Ser Joffrey neither mocked nor praised her. Instead, his curiosity seemed genuine as he crossed his arms loosely over his chest and asked, "Who taught you?" She revealed, "Lady Gwendys."

He nodded as though the answer confirmed something. "Ah, that makes sense." Her head tilted, curiosity glinting in her eyes. "How so?"

He plucked another arrow from the small bundle at his side as he approached, standing directly in front of her now, their distance shrinking noticeably. "The way you were so focused on your stance instead of the target," he explained, twirling the arrow between his fingers before handing it to her. "It's something a hunter would teach — Someone who values patience and precision in the body first."

Rhaenyra took the arrow, feeling its familiar weight in her hand. She prepared to nock it again, but he slowly circled her, his boots soft against the rug until he came to stand right behind her. His hands settled on her — one resting lightly on her elbow, the other steadying her waist and guiding her back toward the target. Surprisingly, she felt the warmth of his touch through the layers of her riding leathers.

"You've good instincts," the knight hummed quietly, his thumb gently pressing into the crook of her elbow. "But you're too quick — Too eager." She made to lower the bow, ready to listen, but he gave her a soft nudge instead, urging her to hold her form, to stay. "Try again," he insisted.

His breath ghosted against her ear as he leaned in, "The eye," his voice dropped to a near-whisper, "is more important than the hand. In battle, no one has the time to perfect their stance or their angle — that comes later, with practice. What matters is that you see your target — truly see it, and understand what you're aiming for."

Ser Joffrey's hand subtly lifted her arm, just slightly and she let him. "Forget the outer circles," he continued softly, "They don't matter — Sight the center, breathe with it. That's all."

She felt a final, grounding squeeze to her hip and then he stepped away, giving her space. Rhaenyra let her breath come and go, steady and measured — the way Gwendys had taught her, but this time she wasn't thinking about her feet or her shoulders — only the red center of the target.

Nyra let the arrow fly. Thunk. Dead center.

She blinked, straightening in surprise, her lips curling into a slow, pleased smile as she turned toward him. His grin matched hers. "Well done," he said, inclining his head in sincere approval. "Though don't get too comfortable, Princess. The beginning is often promising — it's keeping it that way that proves the real test."

Rhaenyra's smile deepened, the spark of competition igniting in her chest. "Then I suppose I shall simply have to keep practicing, Ser."

Joffrey gestured toward the quiver. "Shall we?" She plucked another arrow, a playful glint in her eye. "We shall."

 

 

 

_____

 

 

 

storm's end, 112AC
laenor velaryon

 

Laenor strode toward the clearing where Seasmoke and Arrax rested. The crunch of gravel and dirt beneath his boots was sharp in the quiet air, and he carefully avoided stepping onto the fresh spring grass, its green still fragile from the thaw. 

His pale silver-grey dragon lifted his head at his approach, his bright blue eyes gleaming with quiet mischief as he subtly sniffed the earth — and stole glances at Arrax, who remained perched against a rock, feigning indifference but keeping his sharp bronze eyes locked onto his rider.

It wasn't only the dragons waiting in the clearing, however. His mother was there, locked in conversation with his cousin, Visenya. The third person was Septa Rhaella, who stood a little apart, her gaze lifted to the cloudy sky, silent and seemingly detached from the discussion at hand.  

If his mother was lecturing his cousin on proper decorum and strategy for their upcoming negotiations with Lord Boremund Baratheon, then Visenya had Laenor's deepest sympathies. The Gods only knew how long he had suffered through the same ordeal last night, forced to recite every painstakingly detailed point before Rhaenys even let him think about sleep. 

The mere memory sent a shudder through him.  

As he drew near, his dragon rumbled in greeting. Laenor ran a soothing hand over his snout, the warm scales smooth beneath his fingers. Seasmoke purred, a deep, contented sound that brought a smirk to his lips.  

His moment of peace was interrupted by Visenya's voice carrying across the clearing. "If Ser Clement Celtigar sends word during my absence, don't respond until I return," she instructed Rhaenys. "Unless, of course, the letter is urgent — then send it to Storm's End at once."

Laenor's mother gave a measured nod, though her lips pursed ever so slightly, faint lines creasing at their edges. Visenya stepped toward Arrax's saddle and pulled a pair of black leather gloves from a pack. As she slid them on, she continued, "If any of the villagers request an audience—"

"I'm well aware of the responsibilities of the Princess of Dragonstone," Rhaenys interrupted smoothly, voice even, though laced with a quiet edge of annoyance. "I'm perfectly capable of managing them in your absence."

He didn't miss the way his cousin stiffened for just a second before nodding, her expression unreadable. "Alright."

Taking advantage of the momentary pause, he stepped closer to his mother whose rigid posture from mere seconds ago, softened the moment she turned to him. Her shoulders eased, and her pale lilac eyes warmed — However, there was something else there as well — a subtle tension still lurking in her features, creeping in despite her best efforts to mask it.  

Laenor grinned and wasted no time in attempting to lighten the mood. "No need for another lecture, Mother — I memorised everything you said," he teased, his voice laced with exaggerated confidence.  

Rhaenys snorted, unimpressed but amused. "Do you?" she asked dryly. "Gods be good, that would be a first." The tension in her eyes eased a tad but little more, and he counted that as a victory.  

He grinned wider, emboldened. "Truly, I do. — I even remember the exact words I'll say to Lord Boremund. Shall I recite them for you?" His mother Rhaenys let out a breath — not quite a sigh, but close — and shook her head. "Spare me."

She pulled him into a fierce embrace, holding him tightly — too tightly, as if sheer force alone could keep him here, safe at her side. And in a way, Laenor knew that was exactly what she wished.  

She had never approved of his decision to leave for the Stepstones — She had argued, reasoned, pleaded, but he remained just as stubborn as his father. He didn't have a death wish, despite what she might think. He simply couldn't sit idly in the safety of Driftmark while his father struggled, possibly dying, miles away. He and Seasmoke had the power to help — so how could they not?  

Truthfully, he would've left sooner had his age not been the thing keeping him tethered. Alas, he was six-and-ten now, a man grown — There was nought holding him back and his mother knew it.  

Laenor felt her shaky exhale against his shoulder and made to step back, fully realising that if he didn't do so now, he'd never find the strength to leave at all. Rhaenys let him go, but not without tracing his face with her eyes, memorizing him.

When she finally spoke, her voice wavered. "Be safe," she pleaded before swallowing to steady herself. "Stay out of trouble and listen to your father. Don't attempt to play a hero. If it comes to that — save yourself." Her expression hardened as she gave her final order. "And no matter what happens, you fight from the skies. Always. Don't — under any circumstances — engage on the ground."

He pressed his lips together, biting back the argument that rose instinctively to his tongue. Instead of arguing that he was a skilled swordsman perfectly capable of holding his own and not some reckless boy rushing into war without thought — he simply nodded.  

His mother lifted a trembling hand to cup his cheek. "My sweet boy," she murmured, barely above a whisper. "Come back to us." The words lodged something sharp in Laenor's chest, and before he could stop himself, he protested, "I'm not a boy anymore."

Rhaenys only shook her head, a sad smile ghosting her lips as she withdrew her hand. "You will always be my boy." He opened his mouth to argue further, but Septa Rhaella's calm, measured voice cut through the wind, drawing their attention away. "If you're doing this for vengeance, Visenya — it won't fill the hole your mother left behind."

Visenya's back was to them, her single long braid swinging with each movement as she adjusted the straps of Arrax's saddle. Though her expression was hidden, her posture was tense, her shoulders rigid.

Without a word, both Laenor and Rhaenys moved toward them. At the sight of their approach, Arrax pushed himself up onto his limbs, his bronze eyes flashing as he tracked Rhaella's movements toward his rider. His wings twitched, tail flicking across the ground in warning.  

It was clear that whatever had been said, it had unsettled more than just his cousin.  

Rhaella remained unfazed as she continued, "That emptiness will only grow larger — and one day, it will consume you." Visenya remained silent as her dragon let out a low growl, leading the septa to wisely halt and retreat before she could provoke the dragon further.  

He silently made his way toward his cousin. Alas, as soon as he stepped closer, Arrax's sharp bronze gaze snapped to him, regarded him as though he were a mere insect — something to be crushed beneath his claws should he dare come any nearer.  

Seasmoke stirred in response to the perceived threat, spreading his wings, his muscles coiling in preparation. However, Arrax barely acknowledged him. Instead, he bared his enormous, black, needle-like teeth, a guttural growl vibrating deep within his throat. The warning was enough for Seasmoke to hesitate, before backing down in quiet defeat.  

Laenor exhaled, slowly raising his hands in surrender, signaling that he meant no harm. It was only when Visenya's fingers smoothed over his shimmering green scales that her dragon finally relaxed, though his wary gaze lingered.  

His cousin turned to him then, expression unreadable. "We must take our leave if we wish to make it to Storm's End before nightfall."

He hesitated, not satisfied with having to let this go — If there was tension between them, it must be addressed before they faced his extended family. They couldn't afford to stand divided when seeking an alliance as important as this. 

"I gather that the septa meant no offense," he spoke before she could mount her beast. Visenya snorted, unimpressed. "You don't even know what she said."

That was true, Laenor admitted to himself. However, he knew for certain that Rhaella was a voice of reason in their councils, despite her unwavering devotion to the Faith of the Seven. Whatever was spoken, he doubted it was meant to truly wound. And yet, it clearly had.

So, with an easy shrug, he suggested, "You could always tell me." His cousin spun to look at him, silver brows raised in mild suspicion. Momentarily, she seemed poised to scoff or to brush him off. Instead, she assessed his intent, before she finally indulged him.  

"I'm growing increasingly tired of the doubt — of the questioning glances — of the way you all treat me as if I'm a child on the verge of some great mistake," she confessed. "Frankly, it's insulting that you are set on believing me ruled by emotion — as though I'm impulsive and reckless when that's far from the truth." 

Laenor blinked, genuinely taken aback — In his opinion, the words impulsive and Visenya didn't belong in the same sentence. His cousin never acted without thought — if anything, she thought instead of acting. Even when she did act, it was with careful precision, and never without calculation.  

Laenor could hardly say the same for himself — If he had been in her place, if he had endured what she had, he wouldn't have remained still or been so composed. And yet, Visenya had — Her silence, though at times unnerving, was deliberate. Controlled — Lethal, even.  

Which was why her words unsettled him.  

"No one would blame you if you were impulsive." She shot him a look of skepticism. "Honestly, I think we all expect you to be impulsive." He tilted his head, watching her closely. "The fact that you aren't is what’s throwing us off."

Visenya furrowed her brows before dismissing him with a curt shake of her head. "You make no sense." 

Laenor exhaled sharply, forcing himself to soften his tone. "Your mother was slaughtered. Your siblings were killed as well — And for a time, you were adamant that we do nought. Then, all of a sudden, you're pushing to secure Dragonstone, executing traitors, and defying the King...." He hesitated, watching her reaction carefully, "It seems… impulsive."

The flicker of offense in her expression told him he had chosen his words poorly. Regretting it instantly, he rushed to correct himself. "I meant no insult,” he added quickly. “Rage is expected, especially in your situation. Anger is a powerful weapon, but you must wield it carefully — Control it.”  

Visenya's posture eased, the tension in her shoulders melting into something more contemplative. Her frown softened as she admitted, "This isn't about some impulsive rage, Laenor — I'm not defying my father or joining a war because I lost control."

He tilted his head, curiosity piqued. "Then why?" Instead of giving him a straightforward answer, she turned to question him. “Tell me, who do you believe to be the most powerful person in the Seven Kingdoms?”  

Laenor didn't even have to think. "The King." His cousin shook his head. "Incorrect." 

He blinked, frowning and ready to argue. However, she didn’t give him the chance. "Power resides where people believe it does, not where it logically should," she exclaimed. "Right now, the most powerful person in the Realm isn't the King — it's Otto Hightower."

Laenor stared at her, speechless.  

"For years, I allowed it," she continued. "I stayed in the shadows, made my moves quietly — But that has gone on long enough." A slow smirk curled her lips, fire burning bright in her indigo eyes. "It's time I show the Realm who truly holds power in the Seven Kingdoms."

And in that moment, he believed her.  

This wasn't recklessness nor a cornered animal lashing out — This had been brewing for years. Visenya Targaryen was simply done waiting — done asking permission, from her father or anyone else. 

Upon their arrival at Storm's End, they were received with royal courtesy, as expected. Ser Borros and his household greeted them with pleasantries, then escorted them to their chambers to freshen up before the evening's feast.  

Laenor, for one, was grateful — Smelling of dragon while meeting potential allies was hardly ideal, and besides, the stench of smoke and scales was beginning to make even him uncomfortable.  

Once he was satisfied with his appearance, he made his way up the winding stone steps to his cousin's assigned chambers and waited outside. He had barely settled before the door opened, revealing a tall woman with dark hair, storm-grey eyes, and a gown the colour of rich gold.  

Behind her, Visenya emerged, a polite smile gracing her lips.  

The finely dressed woman — draped in the colors of House Baratheon — dropped into a deep curtsy before the Heir to the Iron Throne. "Your Grace," she spoke reverently, voice laced with awe. "I'm honored beyond words for this opportunity."

Laenor, however, found himself utterly lost. His eyes flickered between the two women, suspicion creeping in — Whatever arrangement had been made, he had no knowledge of it.  

As he studied the unknown woman before them, the answer became clear. It was Lady Elenda Baratheon — Ser Borros's wife. And something told him she was here for far more than mere pleasantries.  

Visenya gestured for the woman to rise, dismissing her gratitude with a wave of her hand. "You shouldn't be thanking me," she insisted. "It's I who should be thanking you for your hospitality — welcoming us into your home on such short notice is no small thing, and it won't be forgotten."

Lady Elenda beamed, her pleasure evident. "Think nought of it, Your Grace — The Stormlands belong to your family, and as such, you will always be welcome here."  

The Princess acknowledged her words with a grateful nod, then exchanged a few brief parting remarks before the lady excused herself. As she departed, Laenor watched his cousin stride toward him, two guards provided by Lord Boremund following her at a respectful distance.  

He let his gaze sweep over her, taking in the dark gown she wore — absent of Targaryen red, just as his mother had predicted. Not a single piece of jewelry adorned her, only the somber black of mourning. She could've only now left a funeral — and in a way, she never truly had. The anniversary of her mother's passing loomed over them, yet she showed no sign of shedding her grief.  

Still, the dress was beautiful in its own way. The fine cuts and intricate embroidery gave the illusion of dragon scales clinging to her form, a quiet but undeniable declaration of power. And though she wore no crown, her silver hair had been braided and pinned in a way that made it seem as if it were one.  

"You look lovely," Laenor said as she reached him. Visenya arched a brow, her eyes flicking over his attire. Her expression faltered, freezing for a split second as she realized that they matched.  

He shifted under her scrutiny, tugging at his sleeve — His usual sea greens, blues, and purples were absent. Instead, he was dressed entirely in black, per his mother's insistence — He had protested, arguing that the color washed him out, but Rhaenys had been unwavering.  

She finally met his gaze, something unreadable flickering in her eyes. "You don't look so bad yourself," she mumbled at last.  

Laenor grinned and offered his arm, expecting her to take it so they could enter together. But she only tracked the motion with a raised brow before stepping past him, one pace ahead. He took no offense, noting how tense her shoulders were. She was undeniably nervous — perhaps not about the dinner itself, but about the conversation that was to come.  

Clearing her throat, his cousin switched to Valyrian, speaking low enough that the guards trailing them wouldn't overhear even if there was a chance they understood. "Don't mention the Stepstones," she instructed. "Not the dire situation, not the victories, not the losses."  

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes — If she began lecturing him the way his mother did, he might just throw himself off Storm's End's highest tower. "Noted," he replied in High Valyrian, though his accent was rougher than hers.  

Visenya didn't stop there. "And speak nought of our plans for the Stepstones, either — We mustn't appear desperate for aid."  

As they reached the heavy wooden doors leading to Lord Boremund's private quarters, Laenor opened his mouth to assure her that he understood, but she cut him off. "You know what?" she murmured. "Simply enjoy the food and wine and let me be the one to speak."

She patted his shoulder before stepping past the guard and into the room. Laenor let out a sharp breath, already predicting that this dinner would be unbearably long before brushing his sleeve and following her inside.  

Lord Boremund Baratheon, his great-uncle, stood waiting alongside his son and Heir, Ser Borros. The two men appeared as if they had been carved from the same stone— both broad and solid, with thick black hair. The only real difference between them was the streaks of grey in Lord Boremund's beard and the lines of age etched into his brow.  

They were welcomed with honor and abundance, as was expected for the Heir to the Iron Throne. The long tables groaned under the weight of a lavish feast — venison roasted with garlic and rosemary, fresh-baked bread, oysters and crab hauled in from the coast. Servants moved swiftly between the guests, rolling in barrels of dark ale and strong wine, filling cups before they could be emptied.  

Visenya stood over the seat left of the head of the table, her posture straight, her expression composed. Across from her, Borros was already settled in his chair, chugging ale as though he meant to drain the barrel himself. He barely acknowledged their arrival, but Lord Boremund greeted them warmly, his tone light despite the undercurrent of expectation beneath it. Laenor took the seat beside his cousin as his great-uncle sat at the head of the table. 

For a while, the evening passed as any other. — They ate, they drank. Boremund inquired after Rhaenys, speaking fondly of his niece before turning to ask after Laena's well-being. The conversation drifted through safer topics: Borros's toddler daughter, Cassandra, still a babe in the nursery. The weather. Courtly gossip. 

It was almost pleasant — the illusion of an ordinary supper among kin.  

Alas, it was a game — a calm before the storm.  

When the last of the plates were cleared and more wine was poured, the Lord of Stormlands leaned back in his chair, fingers drumming lightly against his goblet as he studied Visenya, his dark blue eyes gleaming with interest. "I received your letters," he spoke at last.  

The Princess reached for her napkin, dabbing at her lips before setting it aside. She didn't lean forward, didn't shift in her chair — She hadn't touched her wine either, Laenor realized — not even once. "Then you must realise why we're here," she replied smoothly. 

Boremund hummed, taking a slow sip of ale before setting his cup down with deliberate care. "I do. — What I don't know," he continued, gaze sharpening, "is why those letters bore the seal of Dragonstone, and not that of the King and the Crown."

Laenor instinctively tightened his grip around his goblet, silently cursing — They were exposed.  

His mother and grandmother had been insistent that Visenya handle the correspondence and negotiations with Boremund — not Rhaenys — because her letters could be interpreted as carrying the will of the King, and by extension, the Crown itself. Though Boremund adored his niece and had always stood by her, it was doubtful he would go so far as to defy and betray the King to aid her husband. That was too great a risk to ask of him, and Rhaenys knew it.  

He took a slow sip of wine, observing his cousin — She hadn't so much as twitched at the revelation, not a single flicker of alarm passing over her features. "Does it matter?" she inquired.

The older man's lips twitched in faint amusement. However, it was his son who answered first. "It matters when the letters pretended to carry the will of the King," Borros snapped, voice rough with drink and indignation. His cheeks were flushed, his jaw tight with anger, leaving Laenor to be impressed that he could form a coherent thought after all the ale he had consumed.  

Boremund continued where his son left off, his gaze shifting between Visenya and Laenor, weighing them both. "You came not as a messenger of the King, but as his willful daughter, acting without his leave," he observed. "You request of me to send my men to war — men with families, lands, duties — And on whose command? Yours?"

His statement wasn't unkind, though it was firm. 

Laenor swallowed — They had miscalculated. They expected the Lord of the Stormlands to be pragmatic, but they severely underestimated his caution. He was no Borros — no fool who could be plied with wine and honeyed words.  

Visenya, however, remained unfazed.  

"I didn't come on my father's orders," she admitted easily. "That's true." She paused, then tilted her head slightly, voice turning thoughtful. "I come on behalf of the Realm. And I don't require my father's permission to tell you what you already know — that this war must end."

Ser Borros slammed his cup against the table with a force that sent droplets of ale flying. He scoffed. "Then let the King end the war himself!" he demanded. "Where has the Crown been these past moons while our ships burned? — Why has the King left us to suffer these losses alone?"

The Princess's jaw clenched, her indigo eyes burning with quiet intensity. "The King is a busy man, as I'm certain you realise," she replied simply. "He has the other Six Kingdoms to look after — and atop it all, he has only recently lost his mate and son."

Laenor noted the slight hitch in her breath — It was as if the words physically pained her— as if it took every ounce of will to defend her father. Yet, she offered no apology for his lack of action either.  

The younger man cursed under his breath, dissatisfied, while his father cast Visenya a curious look, one brow arched. "And yet, he has also gained a new wife — and a new son." He winced, watching Visenya swallow before she confirmed, "He has."

Silence settled over the hall for a moment and a servant moved to refill Borros's cup. Laenor seized the moment to speak. "The Crown does wish to aid you," he insisted, setting his goblet down. "That's the reason why we're here."

From the corner of his eye, he saw his cousin snap her gaze toward him, her expression incredulous — She had told him to stay silent, to let her handle it. However, from where he sat, it didn't seem like she was handling it at all.  

The older man scoffed, leaning back in his chair. "If the Crown wished to aid us, your father would've ridden to Storm's End himself," he countered. "Or at the very least, sent a raven bearing his seal." His gaze flicked to Visenya. "Instead, you arrived in a desperate attempt to clean up his wrongdoing."

There was no rebuttal to that, it was all correct — The King had ignored the suffering the war for the Stepstones had inflicted upon the Stormlands, Driftmark, and beyond for far too long.  

This felt like a dismissal, and Laenor was ready to call it quits — They had given it a try, hadn't they? There was no shame in walking away.

Alas, Visenya took a slow breath, shifting the conversation before it could slip beyond her grasp. "Your ports suffer," she observed coolly. "Your merchants go without trade, your ships sit broken at their docks. The war is already bleeding you dry — Every day that passes is another day of lost coin, lost men, and lost opportunity." Her gaze flicked between father and son. "And yet, you choose to sit still?"

Boremund's eyes narrowed and his son let out a sharp bark of laughter, as if the notion were absurd. "And what is it you offer?" he sneered. "The honor of fighting a war in the place of others? — Should we thank you by accepting your invitation to die on your behalf?!"

Across from him, the Princess tilted her head, not a hint of offense on her face. Instead, she repeated Borros's words back to him, as if she needed to hear them again to acknowledge their absurdity. "Die on my behalf?" 

Then, with lethal calm, she mused, "The Seven Kingdoms have all suffered at the hands of the pirates — some more, some less. None of it matters anymore, because the Crownlands' Houses have already risen to fight back — The Eyrie and the Reach have pledged their aid — supplies, weapons, coin," she revealed. "I'm inviting you to join us — To stand against the force that has wronged you." She leaned forward just slightly. "Or have I misjudged the Baratheons?"

Laenor swallowed and nudged her foot beneath the table in silent warning — She was toeing the line, the pride of the Baratheons wasn't something to be provoked lightly. Visenya, however, ignored him entirely. Instead, she let out a quiet, knowing laugh, unfazed by the darkened gazes fixed upon her.  

He watched in horror as his cousin attempted to stifle her laughter with deceptive sweetness. "My sincere apologies, I meant no offence — I was merely voicing an honest question." But then, with a casual tilt of her head, she admitted, "I simply find it intriguing that you'd rather let other regions with no direct stake in the war reap its rewards — How you'd rather sit idle while Driftmark expands its fleets, and the Crownlands tighten their grip on trade, while you remain unchanged — Strong, yes, but no more powerful than before."

Laenor could've melted into his chair and disappeared — He wished to evaporate, to slide under the table and pretend none of this was happening. He even pinched himself, half-praying he'd wake and this was all simply a bad dream. 

But it wasn't.  

Borros's face darkened, his cheeks turning an angry shade red as he fumed beside his father. Boremund, however, remained quiet, eying the Princess with keen interest before finally speaking. "What exactly are you offering for our aid?"

He exhaled, relieved that at least the Baratheons were listening now. However, before Visenya could respond, the younger man impatiently drummed his fingers against the table and cut in. "A betrothal, perhaps?" he suggested. "Between my daughter and your brother? Now that would be an offer worth considering — It might even make us forget your insolence."

The words hung in the air, and Laenor saw how his cousin's hands clenched into tight fists on her lap. Her knuckles turned white before she relaxed them. She let a beat of silence pass before she responded, tone cool, "I'm certain my brother would've been nought but honoured… Alas, he is dead."

A flicker of confusion crossed Borros's face. His brows furrowed, arms crossing over his chest. "As for my half-brother," she went on, "His future isn't mine to decide, but my father's — He's still the head of our House, after all." Another calculated pause, then a smile, sharp and sweet. "For now."

Laenor held his breath as the words settled over the room that reeked of dissatisfaction. Then, without warning, Visenya stood. Her hands pressed lightly against the table as she straightened to her full height. "I see now that your minds are already set," she said, almost unbothered. "Perhaps I request too much."

He quickly rose to his feet as well, glancing at her in silent confusion, utterly taken aback. This wasn't like her at all — Yes, Borros had made it clear what price they expected — a betrothal, a marriage alliance that would bind them to the Targaryens in blood. And yes, it was a steep demand. However, it ought to mean something that Boremund agreed to hear them out instead of outright refusing their visit.

So why was she giving up now of all times?  

The Lord of Stormlands hesitated only briefly before rising to meet her. He took the hand she offered, giving her a polite nod as she thanked him for his hospitality. And then Visenya paused, sighing in mild regret. "It's a shame though," she mused, tilting her head, "We have given it so much thought into including you in our plans for port reconstructions and the change of naval routes. But, I suppose it doesn't matter now."

Laenor stiffened, blankly observing as she stepped toward Borros, extending a hand in farewell. However, the moment her words registered, Boremund's expression shifted, His brows drawing together. "What plans?” he inquired.  

The Princess hesitated — just enough to make it seem like she hadn't meant to reveal anything. Then, slowly, she spun to face the older man, as if weighing whether to reveal more. Finally, after keeping them on the edge just enough, she let the words fall with a regretful sigh, "The plan was to conquer the Stepstones and turn them into a crucial trade stop for Dragonstone, Driftmark, Claw Isle, and Stormlands — Tarth in particular."

She paused to let the weight of her words settle. "I wish to make those four ports the most powerful in the South," she continued, her tone carrying a quiet conviction. "Every trade route from Essos would pass through them before reaching the other Kingdoms, cities, and towns."

Laenor's breath caught in his throat, his brows shooting up to his hairline — Gods, that wasn't the plan!  

However, it seemed to work as the shift in the room was immediate and undeniable. The previous resistance, the simmering irritation, all of it was replaced by something curious.

Boremund broke the silence first, scratching his beard in thought. His gaze was sharp as he considered her words. "You mean to make Stormlands a major power in trade?" Visenya's lips curled into a faint smile — She was dangling an opportunity before him like a carrot before a rabbit, and Laenor saw right through it!

"With the Stepstones secured," she explained smoothly, "we would control the trade routes — The spoils of war would then fund the reconstruction and renovation of all four ports, strengthening our fleets — with the financial aid of the Crown, of course."

Silence stretched between them as the two Baratheon men exchanged glances. Then, finally, the older one exhaled, shaking his head with something between reluctant amusement and contemplation. "You'd fund the rebuilding of our fleet as well?" he questioned, almost daring her to hesitate.  

"Yes." Visenya met his gaze steadily. "And what of my granddaughter?" he inquired. “Is it true what you promised my gooddaughter? — That you will take Cassandra as your ward once she comes of age? — That she will be raised in court, by your side?"

So that's what Lady Elenda and his cousin had been speaking about in her chambers, Laenor concluded.

The Princess laced her fingers together, resting them against her middle. She inclined her head in acknowledgment, unrushed and utterly neutral. "Lady Cassandra will have the best tutors the Seven Kingdoms have to offer — just as I did. She will have the highest marriage prospects one could attain without being of royal blood," she vowed. "I'll see to it myself."

The Lord of the Stormlands exhaled, leaning back in his chair. He seemed at war with himself for a moment, but the battle proved to be brief. "Then you shall have the Stormlands," he declared. "We will fight."

Laenor could have leapt from his seat in triumph — Gods, they did it. No, she did it!

His cousin had played Boremund and Borros like a well-tuned instrument, guiding them into her hands with a mastery that left him speechless. And yet — when he looked at her, expecting even a flicker of satisfaction, he saw nothing of the sort. No triumphant smile. No pride. If anything — She almost looked displeased.  

By the time they realized the hour of the owl was upon them, they were still buried in negotiations — debating the number of soldiers the Stormlands would provide, refining the exact terms of Visenya's offer, and arguing over the precise wording of their agreement.  

Laenor, for one, was grateful when Boremund at last suggested revisiting the terms in the morn, once they were all well-rested. His brain was fried, his body heavy with exhaustion — Between the grueling flight through the storm and the tedious hours spent listening to squabble over legal phrasing, he had nearly fallen asleep at the table. Only a few moments of amusement had kept him from dozing off — mostly whenever his cousin, with her disarmingly sweet tone, put Borros firmly in his place. 

As they stepped out of Boremund's private quarters, he marveled at how alive and sharp Visenya still seemed, as if she were ready for another battle of wills while he was barely able to keep his eyes open. 

Rubbing his face, he exhaled heavily. "That went well, at least." His cousin's shoulders slowly slumped. "Not as well as I'd hoped" she admitted for the first time.

Laenor turned to her, staring as if she'd suddenly grown two heads — Not well? She had secured the support of the Stormlands for Gods' sake, how could she not see this as a complete victory?  

She must've recognised his confusion because she let out one heavy sigh, and murmured, "Before the meeting, I explicitly told you not to let our desperation show. And yet — that's precisely what I did." Her voice was quiet, edged with self-reproach. "I practically begged them for help — I offered too much."

She bit her lip, clearly chastising herself, leading him to frown. From his perspective, it hadn't appeared like desperation at all — If anything, she had played Boremund and Borros so expertly that they had walked willingly into her trap.  

Hoping to ease her mind, he reminded her, "We needed their support, Vissie. You know that." She appeared weary but tipped her head forward in reluctant agreement — only for her frustration to return just as quickly. "I never should've suggested it!" she proclaimed. "Gods, what have I done?"

Now, fully concerned, Laenor ceased walking. Without a word, he placed his hands firmly on her shoulders, offering silent reassurance. "They wouldn't have taken any lesser deal," he said earnestly. 

And truthfully? Given how casually Borros had suggested a betrothal at the start, he had been certain they were done before they had even begun — The original terms they had planned to present were laughably small in comparison to what the Baratheons expected.

He watched as Visenya chewed on her lip, still unconvinced. With a tilt of his head, he questioned, "Is this about coin? — Because Driftmark will aid in funding the fleet's repairs." He was certain of it. After all, they were allies — and the war was as much hers as it was theirs.

Visenya only shook her. "It's not about coin," she confessed. "I handed them power on a silver platter by involving them in our naval and trade plans." She snorted bitterly before adding, "At least I managed to secure Cassandra as a future ward — otherwise, this meeting would've been nought short of a disaster."

Laenor frowned. "Will you cease with the negativity already?" he scolded, exasperated. That, at last, finally led her to look up at him. Seizing the moment, he shook her shoulders lightly, hoping to physically shake some sense into her.  

"Cousin, you won the Stormlands over!" he reminded her, utterly amazed. "I would've given up much sooner!" She remained unconvinced, so he pressed on, his voice rising with disbelief. "You managed to unite the Crownlands, Stormlands, the Vale, and the Reach — that's more than half of the Seven Kingdoms! That's an incredible feat!"  

He held her gaze, practically pleading with her to understand — Because wasn't this the whole point? Hadn't she aimed at proving Otto Hightower and the rest of the Realm exactly who the most powerful person in the Seven Kingdoms was? Well, in his eyes, this proved it beyond question.  

Visenya let out a breath, rolling her shoulders as some of the tension eased from her frame. "I suppose the achievement is… alright," she allowed after a while.  

Laenor scoffed, shaking his head. "Alright? You convinced the Stormlands to send three thousand men across the Narrow Sea to fight this war in your name!" She arched a brow, unimpressed, and countered, "Five thousand would've been ideal."

He didn't even bother dignifying her argument with a response. Instead, he simply grinned and praised her some more, "You are extraordinary. Brilliant, even!"

He spotted it then — the amusement flickering in her indigo gaze — the way some of the weight lifted from her shoulders. She huffed, clearly fighting a smile, "I really am not."

Laenor narrowed his eyes playfully. "Accept the compliment, because I refuse to take it back," he mockingly threatened. His cousin gave it a moment of thought before relenting. "Alright."

Then, the corners of her lips tilted up as she added, "You're not so bad yourself." Before he could even offer, she slipped her arm through his, allowing him to escort her back to her chambers. 

Notes:

hello, dear readers! it's been another half a year. studying and working two jobs is very humbling, that's all i'm going to say.

can we all collectively agree how this new friend group of nyra's is absolutely awesome? our girl is finally surrounded by the right people! and look at that, she met her future hubby no 2 & immediately got into a fight with him 🤪

visenya giving her 150/100% so she can secure help for daemon means everything to me. the fact that she crossed her own boundaries and immediately broke her every rule for him is insane & i cannot wait to see y'all react when the army finally arrives to him

laenor is the best hype man of all time, let's all agree on that! spread the positivity my guy cause vissie needs it a lot!

anyways, i hope you guys enjoyed the chapter. i physically couldn't fit daemon's pov on pentos and his failure to secure an alliance here, but it will be added as a little flashback in the next chapter!

also, in the next chapter, we shall see: the army arriving to daemon along with laenor who will reveal that vissie knows about maesters' conspiracy (daemon is shaking rn), otto hightower trying to turn viserys against visenya after he hears that she is actively recruiting the people to join the war & finally rhaenys having a really check cause ain't no way vis will ever agree to marry her son ;))

Chapter 57: You Are Not Alone

Summary:

In which:

— Daemon receives the army he so desperately wanted
— Otto is scheming to take Visenya down
— Rhaenys's plans for Laenor's marriage fall apart

pentos, 112AC
daemon targaryen

"I don't come as a beggar," Daemon declared, sweeping his gaze across the chamber, "I come with a warning." 

The fat merchant who had already drained two goblets of wine scoffed, "Your warnings mean little when our gold still flows."

"Does it?" he countered, jaw tightening. "You believe yourselves untouched by the war in the Stepstones, yet already it has cost you." His eyes then slid to Reggio, the Prince of Pentos. "You and I both know Essosi ships have been attacked — that the Triarchy has turned their sights on your merchants."

A ripple of unease stirred the room. "You lie," the other merchant denied, his face darkening. Daemon gritted his teeth before turning again to his friend. "Tell them."

Reggio hesitated, his breath slow and measured as he considered the men before him. Then, at last, he gave a small nod. "…It's true," he admitted. "A handful of Essosi ships have been seized."

A steady murmur rose in the chamber until a noble sitting closest to Daemon rose a hand, quieting the room with a single gesture. "A handful," he echoed dismissively. "That's no war — it's the risk of sailing in open waters." He squinted. "The Seven Kingdoms allowed Craghas Drahar to grow bold and that is the fault of your own King — Perhaps you should argue for aid in King's Landing instead of here."

Daemon's nostrils flared — They still didn't understand, he realised, and they wouldn't until their own throats were in the noose.

"You think this only a Westerosi issue?" His voice rose, edged with fury. "Do you honestly believe the Crabfeeder will stop at the Stepstones? — That Myr, Lys, and Tyrosh will be content with what they have stolen? — No. They'll only grow stronger until we take them out, root and stem."

His gaze locked with his friend's as he was certain that Reggio was the only man in the room with sense. "The Seven Kingdoms once approved of the Triarchy," Daemon reminded them. "Because they cleared out the pirate dens, and made the Narrow Sea safe — And look at what that brought us! They're attacking our ships, enslaving our people, halting trade, strangling our economy."

The Prince sighed, slowly rubbing circles against his temple. "…You aren't wrong, my friend."

A flicker of something dangerous surged through Daemon's chest — hope.

"I have considered it," he admitted, "but what you ask would make enemies of my neighbours. The Free Cities survive by balancing their interests — If I stand with you, I stand against them." He shook his head. "That isn't a fight we can afford."

Daemon felt the ground slipping beneath him.

"You know what's coming, and still, you would rather stand idle!?" he inquired incredulously. "I would stand prudent," Reggio corrected. Daemon barked a laugh. "You call it prudence — I call it cowardice."

The fat merchant sneered. "Perhaps we should let you burn the Triarchy yourself. That is what you desire, isn't it? — To claim your war, your spoils, your Stepstones? This isn't about protecting Pentos, but your own ambition."

He turned on him, eyes burning like twin embers. "And if it is?" he snapped. "Would you rather the Stepstones in the hands of a man who would ally with you — or into the hands of the Triarchy? If it's power you fear, you're looking at the wrong fucking threat."

The Prince of Pentos exhaled, rising from his seat. "I won't send my armies," he began, voice heavy with finality. Daemon stilled. "But I won't starve your war — Your ships will find safe harbor in my ports, and my merchants will supply your men at a fair price. That's all I can give you."

The room slowly settled, but Daemon didn't. A lesser man would've been grateful, but he wasn't lesser.

His pulse thundered in his ears, his hands curling into fists — He had come for an army, and would leave with nought but scraps.

His body burned under the unforgiving sun, sweat sliding down his bare chest in shining rivulets.

Failure.

Failure.

Failure.

He had nothing — no army, no victory, and not a shred of patience left for anyone who dared stand in his path.

Worse yet, he was alone — so utterly alone.

Daemon swung Dark Sister with brutal force, the blade knocking his opponent to the ground with a dull thud.

"Again," he barked, his lip curling in disdain as he surveyed the men before him. "I thought you were supposed to be decent fighters, at the very least — Yet the whores in the Street of Silk might make for better competitors."

Not a single man dared to move.

The soldiers stood silent, circling him wearily at a distance, their gazes flicking toward one another hesitantly — None of them wished to take the brunt of his rage, not that he could blame them.

Daemon had been like that all morning — heated, restless, and desperate to strike at something — at anything, since his return from Pentos.

From the sidelines, Valerius hummed thoughtfully. "At least we know your strength has returned," he mused lightly, as if the weight of the moment didn't concern him — And it likely didn't as he was the only one unafraid to remain within his reach.

The spectators whispered amongst themselves cautiously before a single soldier — bold or foolish — stepped forward. Daemon blinked, not even recalling his name.
"My Prince," the man ventured, carefully, "perhaps we should conclude training for the day. The men must be drained and—" He spun on him at once, cutting him off sharply, his displeasure clear, "We finish when I say so — Not at your fucking heed." 

Despite his warning, the soldier pressed on, clearly desperate to speak sense into him. Before Daemon could unleash the full brunt of his fury, Valerius intervened with an easy grin, his voice playfully scolding. "I believe the Prince already answered, friend — Best you don't make a habit of pestering him."

Though his smile remained, Val's eyes were sharp with warning. The man hesitated then, torn between duty and self-preservation.

Fortune, however, seemed to favour him as a younger knight sprinted across the camp, breath ragged, and face pale with urgency. "My Prince!" he called out, stumbling to a stop before Daemon. "Lord Corlys—sent me—to warn you—scouts—they've sighted ships—sailing towards us."

Daemon's brow rose, his temper momentarily quelled by the boy's gasping delivery. He studied him with narrowed eyes as Val stepped in, his usual casual demeanour vanishing. "What ships? Speak plainly, lad."

His mind began to race — He hadn't seen true battle since his injury, not that there had been any. There were only skirmishes and minor clashes with the Triarchy's scattered pirates, but nought more — The war had gone still, though tension remained thick in the air.

The boy gulped, chest heaving. "The scouts—they couldn't tell. The ships—none bore a flag we recognised from a distance."

Daemon absorbed the news, his pulse quickening. It could be the Triarchy or their allies, he silently mused before shaking his head — It didn't matter, not when the threat was sailing straight toward them.

The young knight hesitated, nervously fidgeting as he attempted to finish his message. Lord Corlys told me to—" However, Daemon didn't wait to hear it. He spun on his heel and barked to his soldiers. "Armour up! Take your positions by the sea at once — Move!"

"That's exactly what..." the boy trailed off, mouth hanging open in surprise. Valerius chuckled, tousling his hair like a man patting his loyal hound before he tossed Daemon his shirt.

Around them, the soldiers scattered, some moving swiftly whilst others fumbled in panic as the weight of a possible battle settled upon them.

Daemon dragged the linen over his head, the fabric clinging to his sweat-damp skin. His fingers worked quickly to fasten the plates of his armour, motions precise and practiced. He then seized his helmet which awaited on a nearby rock. 

The Celtigar knight approached, nudging his shoulder with a grin. "Ready?" Daemon tossed his long braid behind his shoulder, securing it away from his face before firmly clapping Val's back in return. "As ready as I'll ever be."

No more words were needed between them — they simply slid their helmets in their place and sprinted to their posts.

Daemon's men — soldiers assigned to him, formed the first line of defence in battle. They were hardened fighters who had learned to rely on their strength and skill more than discipline. Yet as he approached Caraxes, something struck him — they had memorised their positions perfectly, the defensive formation holding with no usual scrambling or confusion.

He could almost credit Corlys for that — The Lord of the Tides might be a power-hungry leech, but he couldn't deny he was a formidable commander who had smartly used Daemon's recovery to drill the men.

His dragon greeted him with a throaty, snarling screech that echoed against the stone walls. The beast nudged him with the tip of his snout, eager and restless.

Daemon let his hand slide along the dragon's jaw, before pulling Caraxes's head low to prevent him from craning his long neck to peer over the rocks and give away their hidden position.

As he checked the saddle straps, his blood surged, sharp and immediate. His eyes swept the jagged stone around him in search of an opening between the rocks that might give him a glimpse of what approached.

He despised blind waiting like this as he couldn't determine the number of enemies — or measure their weapons — or prepare himself to either face a single ship or an entire fleet.

Daemon's gaze flicked to the far right — to where Valerius stood with blade in hand, his posture rigid. He called to him, voice barely more than a whisper. "What do you see?"

The Celtigar knight squinted toward the horizon, counting silently under his breath. "It's difficult to tell…"His brow furrowed. "Eight… no—nine. Ten ships."

Daemon's throat tightened in realisation — Ten ships could carry from three to four thousand men. "Fuck," he hissed, hand sliding to Caraxes's saddle as he prepared himself to mount — If they were to stand a chance, he would need to strike first — to burn the ships before they could land.

Above him, one of the soldiers perched atop the rocks called down. "My Prince! Their flag is nought like I've seen before! It's… It's colourful — not a banner I recognise!" A heartbeat later, the soldier corrected himself, "No — wait. There's more than one! Each ship has a different banner!"

Daemon's brow furrowed in utter confusion. It made no sense, not until Valerius called out in surprise, "One of those ships carries my family's banner!"

One of the soldiers perched above shouted down, "I think… I think I see the Baratheon flag as well!"

His frown deepened — It all sounded too absurd to trust their word alone, so he strode toward Val, climbing onto a ledge to see for himself.

Sure enough, ten ships were sailing in their direction with the lead vessel bearing a massive, strange banner sewn together from smaller flags. It took a couple of moments for him to realise it was a patchwork of Westerosi Houses — gleaming at its centre was the red three-headed dragon of House Targaryen, surrounded by a stag of Baratheon, the falcon of Arryn, the golden rose of Tyrell, the red crabs of Celtigar… and more, though the distance kept them hazy.

"What in the name of all Gods…" Valerius muttered. His gaze cut to Daemon, suspicion flickering in his pinkish eyes. "Did the King change his mind? — Did he send them?"

Before he could shape an answer, Caraxes stretched his wings wide and loosed a deafening screech. Daemon spun sharply to see that his dragon's attention was fixed on the cloudy sky — on something only he seemed to sense.

A moment later, he saw it too — a silver-grey dragon slicing through the clouds, its scales gleaming pale against the sky. It was no wonder that scouts had trouble spotting Seasmoke, hidden as it was among the shifting clouds.

"I have no fucking idea," he, at last, responded, the weight of uncertainty knotting in his stomach because if Seasmoke flew with them, it meant ships sailing forward weren't part of some ploy by the Triarchy, but their allies.

How, though? Daemon hadn't bothered writing to his brother, hadn’t requested his aid — He knew better than to waste ink on Viserys — knew, bone-deep, that his brother would deny him. 

So what in the Hells was this?

The Stormlands, half the Crownlands, the Reach, the Vale… united? — To aid them? It seemed impossible.

His soldiers began abandoning their posts one after the other, the realisation dawning on them just as it had on him. Corlys and his men emerged from the second line of defences, drawn forward by the sight of the approaching Westerosi banners.

It wasn't long before Seasmoke landed on the beach, sending sand whipping into the air. Laenor dismounted in a fluid leap, landing heavily with a soft grunt. He began to mutter complaints to himself whilst massaging his sore thighs.

Upon hearing their footsteps, the Velaryon boy's gaze quickly shifted up to find his father. He straightened, a spark of excitement slipping past his composed exterior before he crossed the beach to him.

Daemon and Valerius provided some privacy for Corlys to greet his son before they joined them. "What happened?" Lord of Driftmark questioned, keeping his hand on Laenor's shoulder. "How did you manage to persuade the King to send aid?"

The boy's brows pinched in confusion, as though his father had asked something utterly ridiculous. "We didn't," he said simply.

Daemon's brow arched in consideration — Perhaps the Stormlands had finally grown tired of losing their trade to Triarchy ships, but the Tyrells? The Arryns? The Crownlands? — None of them had stake enough to come of their own accord. 

If not on the orders of his brother, then why?

"Why are they here then?" he asked, stepping forward.

Laenor blinked at him, clearly caught off guard to find himself the focus of Daemon's full attention. His gaze briefly dropped in a rare flicker of shyness before answering, "We came on the orders of the Princess of Dragonstone."

For a moment, he could've sworn his heartbeat ceased entirely.

He turned, his gaze tracking the ships that steadily inched closer to shore. He couldn't help but silently marvel at her defiance, her audacity — at the fact she dared when her father hadn't. Still, a flicker of unease crept into him as he hoped Visenya wouldn't land on his brother's bad side for this.

"She raised an army of five thousand," the Velaryon boy revealed, voice laced with quiet awe. "Sent food, weapons, wine… everything you need." His grin turned half-sheepish as he added, "She even sent sheep for Caraxes — said they were his favourite."

Daemon huffed a soft laugh, the corners of his mouth betraying him as they tugged upward. Of course, she would — It was no wonder Caraxes had taken to her from the very beginning.

Valerius was the first to shake himself from the haze of surprise, his gaze sweeping the skies, as though in search of something. "And where, pray tell, is the Princess?"

Laenor glanced at him, unconcerned. "On Dragonstone," he answered. "She sends her regards." He reached behind his breastplate, pulling forth a handful of sealed missives, and passed them to Corlys.

"She won't be joining us in person," he went on, "However, she's named Prince Daemon as the commander of her army — He's to act in her stead, and speak in her name."

Daemon's head snapped toward him so quickly he nearly felt the crack in his spine.
Disbelief plastered plainly across his face, and he almost requested of the boy to repeat himself, just so he could be certain his ears hadn't played some cruel trick ok him.

Had she truly done that?

His harsh edges softened, all at once. The weight in his chest cracked, splintered, melted into something else at the realisation that she trusted him — Even after moons of failure, of missteps, of broken promises —she trusted him. 

She trusted him to be her voice, her sword — To lead in her name.

His breath caught, a lump forming in his throat.

Before Daemon could speak, Laenor pressed a folded piece of parchment into his palm. There was no envelope, no seal or signature — there didn't need to be because he would recognise her hand anywhere.

He slowly unfolded it, eyes tracing the neat lines of her script — She didn't provide paragraphs full of instructions, didn't give demands, didn't place expectations on his shoulders, didn't give just to take something else away because she felt it was owed to her.

In fact, the parchment contained only four simple words.

You are not alone.

Daemon stared down at them, his grip tightening on the paper as though it might vanish if he let go. His throat burned, his hand trembling faintly. A swell of something fierce, something new, surged in his chest — a determination he hadn't felt in moons. 

He would prove her right, he vowed — that her faith in him wasn't misplaced  — He would show her that he was not a failure, nor a disappointment — that he was of value.

And he would die before letting her down.

Laenor cleared his throat, drawing Daemon's attention at once. "I've one more message for you," he said a little too quickly.

Daemon folded the parchment, tucking it carefully behind the plates of his armour before extending his hand, ready to receive the next missive. The boy blinked at the gesture, visibly uneasy. "It's not… written."

"Then speak." The Heir to House Velaryon's eyes darted between Corlys and Valerius, clearly reluctant to speak in their presence. His weight shifted from foot to foot before he finally mustered the courage to ask, "Perhaps… it would be best if I spoke with you alone."

Val's brows shot up, now thoroughly intrigued as Daemon scoffed, half out of patience already. "We haven't got the whole day, boy — Out with it."

Laenor sighed, defeated, and took a careful step away from him as though he feared the man might strike him where he stood. He then raised his hands in surrender, "I ask that you keep in mind that these aren't my words, I'm simply delivering them as I was ordered to."

His stare narrowed which only prompted the boy to stall by rambling on, "She made me rehearse it until I've memorised it word for word — Which was at sunrise, by the way, so I've gotten little to no—"

Daemon's glare grew with intensity, urging the boy to spit it out already. Finally, he relented, blurting the message in one breath, "'If you so much as think of breaking your vow to me, I shall fly to Stepstones myself, find a way to drag you back to life just so I can kill you myself — kinslaying be damned.'"

A beat of silence enveloped them before Valerius threw his head back and roared with laughter. Even Corlys cracked a rare, amused smile as he shook his head. Daemon, though, shifted on his feet, biting the inside of his cheek to keep his own smirk from betraying him.

Of course, she'd say that.

As the four of them began to make their way towards the rest of the soldiers now gathered on the shore, Corlys gently steered his son with a firm hand around his shoulder, his voice softening as he inquired, "Tell me, son, how is your mother? — Your sister?"

Laenor's mood fell at once, his shoulders slumping. "They're not well," he confessed. "None of us are — Not after what we've learned."

Lord of Driftmark ceased walking at once, the grip on his son's shoulder tightening in concern. Daemon halted as well and even Valerius slowed beside him.

Suddenly, the boy's eyes widened, as though he'd just recalled something of great importance. "They know," he blurted, frantically looking between them. "She knows," he emphasised to Daemon.

His gaze sharpened. "She knows what?" Laenor cast him a look. "We all know of the schemes of Maesters."

And just like that, all the warmth previously enveloping Daemon, vanished in an instant, as if a bucket of cold water had been poured on him. His mouth ran dry, his skin turning pale.

Fuck.

 

_____

 

king's landing, 112AC
otto hightower

The sunlight filtering through the solar windows provided the chamber with a golden softness. The smell of warm bread and ripe fruit lingered in the air, mingling with the occasional soft babble of the Rowan babe, crawling in determined circles across the carpet.

"She'll not sit for a moment," Lady Falia Rowan laughed, brushing a wisp of her daughter's hair from her brow. "I turn my head and she's already halfway across the room."

Alicent watched with a faint, uncertain smile before engaging in the conversation — Good, Otto thought. His daughter will, at last, cease being in voluntary confinement and refusing to engage with anyone other than her family. 

He couldn't afford her withdrawal, and the lack of court appearances — He hadn't tirelessly worked to place her in the position of power just so she could ruin it all by refusing to act her part and hide in her chambers because she felt ashamed of something she shouldn't be.

She was the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, for Gods' sake! — The mother of the King's firstborn son! She should act like it!

Otto huffed and turned to the Heir of House Rowan. "Ser Robert," he called, drawing his attention. "If you would — come, help yourself. The apples from Oldtown are rather fine this season, and I'd hate to see them go to waste."

The honey-coloured man rose, not even casting a look toward his wife as he joined him at the side table, where bread, cheese, and fruit lay neatly arranged.

Otto selected a slice of cheese, turning it in his fingers. "I hear the Reach yields fine produce this year — The Tyrells must be pleased with the season's bounty."

Robert gave a polite nod as he reached for an apple. "Their markets thrive, Lord Hand. We've been fortunate."

"Indeed. And I understand your House has been most helpful in moving goods southward." He smiled mildly, as if making idle conversation. "The roads between Longtable and Highgarden have been especially busy, have they not?"

The knight appeared at ease as he answered, "Trade has been steady. We sent some shipments recently — grain, cloth, timber. Mostly what the Tyrells requested."

Otto's gaze remained fixed on the cheese as he sliced it carefully. "Ah, yes. The Tyrells have many needs these days, I'm certain — Curious, though. It seems they were in quite a hurry to have those shipments moved on."

"There was some urgency, yes." Ser Robert then paused, but only briefly, offering a crooked grin. "They paid well for the speed, though."

He offered a soft hum, pretending to be vaguely interested whilst he was observing the knight like a hawk. "I wonder — what pressing need could they have, when the Realm is at peace?"

Robert shrugged lightly. "It's not for me to question, Lord Hand — The goods were bound for—" He stopped himself, eying him wearily. His brow furrowed slightly, lips pressing in a thin line. "I only handled the arrangements to Highgarden."

Otto glanced at him with the faintest, most cordial of smiles. "Of course — And from there?" The long-haired man hesitated, as if battling with himself before he insisted, "The  final destination isn't any of my concern."

He nearly rolled his eyes.

Instead, he took a slow bite of the cheese, chewing thoughtfully as if pondering the taste. "I only ask because, in these times, it's essensial to understand the movement of goods across the Realm — The shadow of the Stepstones' war still lingers in many ports, after all, and it would be a shame if we wasted any precious supplies."

Provide me something useful — Crack, Otto silently urged him, observing the way the knight shifted his weight, visibly uncertain.

He had found it strange when Lord Rafe Bar Emmon requested the King's leave to return home in the name of personal matters. Then, Ser Clement Celtigar did the same, claiming his father was unwell. The pattern continued — One after another, courtiers from Crownlands Houses abandoned King's Landing.

Curiously, Otto found that every single person who had left belonged to a House directly sworn to Dragonstone.

He might've been inclined to consider it a mere coincidence had he not realised that none of his spies residing on Dragonstone responded, no matter how many times he wrote.

Otto began investigating then, reaching out to his contacts from other Kingdoms to assess the situation only to be warned of sightings of dragons where they shouldn't be — of treacherous private audiences and gatherings of an army consisting of people from Stormlands and the Houses that returned from the capital.

It wasn't a coincidence — not at all.

Everything had grown quiet for a while, and that should've been an indication that the Princess was scheming something, especially with the way she abandoned King's Landing, in the middle of the night, with her tail between her legs.

Frustratingly enough, the King would never believe him without solid evidence, which is how he found himself interrogating Ser Robert.

"I hadn't thought it strange," the knight uttered after a while, clearly on the verge of confessing. "Nor would you," Otto said, almost warmly. "You're not in error, Ser — You fulfilled your duty to Highgarden, and nought more. I only hope that duty does not ensnare you in schemes beyond your sight."

Robert eyed him cautiously, and then finally admitted, "I believe the shipments were bound for Dragonstone."

His smile was mild, but his eyes were glinting with victory. "I thank you for your honesty, my friend — It's no great matter. Of course, all will be well."

He clapped him gently on the arm, just once, before turning back toward the table where his daughter sat, awaiting the Rowan babe that crawled straight toward her whilst babbling nonsense.

Despite the presence of people in the chamber, he smirked in satisfaction — Princess Visenya might've thought herself a genius, but she had forgotten to cover her tracks, and now he would use it to ruin her.

Because, when the King finds out that his daughter disobeyed him upon sending an army to a war he strictly forbade participation in, he would certainly have plenty of things to say — none good.

At last, Viserys will finally see Princess Visenya as she truly was — a girl unworthy of the position he bestowed upon her. If Gods were good, the King would even strip her of the inheritance that she shouldn't even have at this point.

He will see reason, Otto was certain — He will name Aegon as his Heir.

He had patiently waited for the day to pass — to gather his allies, thoroughly prepare his speech, and settle on a strategy they'd use to broach the subject with the King. 

After all, a loss isn't an option when such a good opportunity presented itself.

The sun had long since dipped beneath the walls of the Red Keep when Otto summoned the King and his most trusted advisors to the small council chamber. The table was already laid with wine and parchment when he arrived, his satisfaction carefully tucked beneath layers of polite concern.

The King sat heavily in his chair, already weary from the day's audiences. He looked around the table with mild curiosity but little patience. "Well, Lord Hand, you've drawn us from our chambers at this hour — What grave matter compels us now?"

Otto bowed his head. "Your Grace, I wouldn't have summoned you unless I believed the Realm's stability was at stake." The King's brows drew together. "What's happened?"

He straightened, folding his hands atop the table. "I bring word of a military movement — one raised not by your order, but by Princess Visenya's."

The chamber stirred as Viserys's frown deepened. "Visenya? What nonsense is this?" Lord Beesbury, as expected, immediately scowled, "If this is yet another attempt to sully Her Grace's name—"

Otto held up a calming hand. "Peace, my Lord, I present only facts — It has come to me through reliable sources that an army of five thousand strong has been gathered from the Crownlands and the Stormlands, assembled without your knowledge or command, and sent to the Stepstones to wage war."

Viserys's mouth parted in disbelief. "That… that cannot be." Lord Lyonel, however, lifted his brow slightly. "What proof do you have of this, Lord Hand?"

Otto's lips twitched, having expected the question. "I've traced the movement of supplies — through the Tyrells, through intermediaries, and ultimately to Dragonstone. — I have witnesses who placed Arrax and Seasmoke at Storm's End mere days before the Stormlords rallied their banners."

The King's chair scraped loudly as he shifted forward. "And you are certain of this? You are sure?" He nodded firmly, "I am. Princess Visenya has gone to war, without your leave, Your Grace — Without even informing you."

It was infuriating to witness Viserys staring at him — as if searching for some fault or lie in his composed face, when all Otto had ever done was serve the Realm and the King to the best of his abilities.

However, the fact that he couldn't argue brought a surge of satisfaction that tasted like early signs of victory.

"She'd never act against you, Your Grace — She is fiercely loyal," Lord Lyman Beesbury hastily defended. "Surely there is some explanation."

"Perhaps she thought the cause urgent," Lord Strong offered thoughtfully. "The Crabfeeder's remnants continue to harass shipping lanes, after all — Perhaps she believed the threat required swift action."

"Believed," Otto echoed, his voice laced with scorn. "Believed herself judge and King both, it seems." Viserys's purple eyes snapped to him. "You believe she acted with malice?"

"I believe she acted with impulse," Otto corrected smoothly. "With rashness — With the unchecked pride of youth. She has overstepped, Your Grace — She levied armies without your consent, and usurped your authority."

Beesbury shook his head fiercely. "She acted to protect the Realm."

"And yet," Mellos chimed in, his voice grave, "the laws of the Realn are clear. No one — be they Prince, Princess, or pauper — may levy war without the King's consent. To do so is to act above the law. And to act above the law… is to place oneself above the King."

Otto allowed a small, as though reluctantly agreeing. He then pressed forward, his tone softening with false regret. "Your Grace, I don't bring this to you out of malice — It wounds me to speak so of your daughter."  He sighed, folding his hands over his stomach. "But what are we to do with a future Queen who believes herself above counsel — who wages war on her own whim? This isn't the steadiness of a ruler — This isn't the composure of a monarch."

Lord Lyman bristled, "She's young. She's passionate—" The Grand Maester cut in, "And it's the very passion of youth that makes her dangerous — A ruler must temper their impulses," he insisted. "The laws were written for a reason — A woman ruled by her heart cannot rule the Realm."

"We are too deep in speculation! The matter of the supplies could yet be a coincidence. The sighting of dragons — unconfirmed," Lord Lyonel countered, turning to the King. "We'd be remiss to judge without hearing her account — What is the harm in calling her back to explain herself?"

Otto momentarily wished to scowl before eagerly pouncing on the suggestion — it would be a sight for sore eyes to witness her being disinherited in front of the very same people who had sworn to her. "Indeed. Let her return — Let her explain why she believed herself above the King's word."

"She has never disobeyed me before," the King muttered, shaking his head. "Never. She has always been dutiful, loyal. Why would she—?" Otto cut in smoothly, "Perhaps, she has grown confident in the idea that your favor will shield her from consequences."

Ser Tyland Lannister, who had been watching the room with quiet interest, finally spoke. "If she had indeed waged war without your leave, Your Grace, she has undermined your Crown — There's danger in allowing such disobedience to pass without answer."

Lord Lyman barked, "You'd have the King punish his own daughter for defending his Realm?" Otto turned to Viserys, ignoring Beesbury entirely. "It's not punishment I advise, Your Grace — It is clarity. She must understand her place."

Viserys was breathing harder now, his disbelief giving way to a rising flush of anger. "She is my heir. She—" He cut himself off, "Write to her — Now. Command her to return to King's Landing immediately. I'll have an accounting of her petulance by her own tongue."

Otto bowed his head, suppressing his satisfaction. "It shall be done, Your Grace."

Beesbury rose halfway from his seat, his voice strained. "You'd condemn her without hearing her side?"

"I'd have her here," the King growled, his temper fraying. "She'll explain herself to me. And she shall answer for this."

 

_____

 

dragonstone, 112AC
rhaenys targaryen velaryon

Rhaenys pressed her palm to the Painted Table, her patience fraying as she watched Laena pace across from her in sharp, angry strides, her silver curls bouncing with each step.

"He is young, wealthy, well-born—" she attempted to persuade. "Mhm. He sounds like a charming pair of shackles!" her daughter snapped, nostrils flaring.

"Laena," she interrupted firmly, "you haven't even met the man."

"I need not meet him to know what this is," she shot back. "My father would sell me to the highest bidder if it bought him a few more ships!"

Rhaenys rubbed at her temples, fighting the urge to groan. "You'd do well to remember that the outcome of the war may very well rest on your shoulders."

From the doorway, another voice cut in dryly, "Then we're in dire, dire circumstances." Jocelyn entered the chamber, a smirk tugging at her mouth. 

Laena whirled to her, eyes flashing. "It's a marvel how the mere mention of marriage sends the entire Realm swarming to me like vultures to a carcass!"

Rhaenys's mother snorted. "You've a gift for the poetic, at least." She crossed the chamber with a leisurely stride, keeping her gaze on her granddaughter. "Now, would you be a good girl and leave us for a moment? I didn't climb all those steps to turn around and leave."

"Gladly — The matter's settled anyway as my answer won't change!" She huffed, gathered her skirts with a dramatic flourish, and stalked off, head held so high Rhaenys feared she might float away.

As she furiously slammed the doors shut on her way out, Rhaenys silently cursed Corlys for leaving her to deal with this situation alone — especially as he was the one causing the disarray. 

Jocelyn sank into the seat beside her, laughter still warming her voice. "Thank the Gods you managed to find your mate before they could arrange a match for you," she mused. "I wouldn't wish this discussion even on my worst enemy."

Rhaenys offered a dry hum of agreement — The Valyrian marks might be blessings, but for people who don't find their mates before they're required to wed, they could even be considered a curse. It was an extremely difficult discussion to have with your children, and she feared this was only the beginning.

Her mother drummed her fingers against the Painted Table. "Do you even realise that you must do this twice?" Her grin widened. "I can only imagine how Laenor would react when he hears what you have in store for him."

She lifted a brow. "Laenor will accept it." Jocelyn nodded, though she appeared unconvinced. "And what of the wife you've chosen for him? — How will she take it?"

"With understanding." Rhaenys squinted at her. "It's a sound proposal, there's no argument about it — It would soothe Corlys's fury after the heavy insult we suffered at the hands of Viserys, and bind our families at last."

"It'd be a fine solution for House Velaryon," she agreed, then tilted her head. "However, Visenya would be receiving the short end of the deal."

She straightened, her tone sharpening. "My son is of Valyrian descent, a dragonrider, and the Heir to the richest House in Westeros — that hardly makes him a poor match."

Her mother remained infuriatingly calm. "He'd make a fine choice for a husband. But a Consort? For Visenya? That's another matter entirely." She dismissed with a wave of her hand. "Need I remind you what is expected of her? She must bear Heirs. And with Laenor's… preferences—"

"He will do his duty," Rhaenys said firmly. She blinked, the hint of a grimace tugging at her mouth, as though restraining the urge to call her a fool. 

"Let us assume he can provide her with children... What of court? You know your son. He's no schemer. He knows nought of politics — He'd sooner chase the horizon with his fleet than play the games required of him," Jocelyn pressed, "Court will only grow with tension as time passes. Eventually, it will evolve into a battlefield — What then? He'll be lost, unhappy. Worse yet, he'll become yet another burden for her to bear."

Rhaenys's jaw clenched. "How can you speak such things of your own grandson?" Her mother waved her off, snapping, "Spare me, daughter. You claim that you wish to aid Visenya, yet you're focused entirely on what serves House Velaryon, offering no consideration for her at all."

She stared at her mother, stunned into silence, the haunting words Vaegon spoke to her, echoing in her head — "You’re a Velaryon. You have been since the day you met Lord Corlys."

Her mother had defended her then, yet she seemed inclined to throw the words back in her face now. She parted her lips, to argue — to demand that she take them back, but Jocelyn cut her sharply.

"No." She jabbed a finger at her. "You begged me to stay — You requested my assistance in untangling the Maesters’ schemes, and I’ve been providing you with precisely that — with ways to navigate this treacherous road as a Targaryen would — just as I was taught to." Her voice crackled with restrained fury. "It's about time you follow in my footsteps, don't you think?"

Before their argument could escalate, the guards outside pushed open the heavy doors to reveal Princess Visenya and Archmaester Vaegon — the two of them engaged in a deep conversation, seemingly oblivious to the heated exchange that had filled the chamber moments before. 

They approached the Painted Table together before Visenya offered a quick nod of greeting. "Apologies for the interruption,” she began, waving two parchments in the air. "But we have… a situation."

Rhaenys leaned away from her mother, choosing to focus on Aemma's daughter instead in hopes of quelling her anger. "What kind of situation?" she inquired.

"My father has written." The girl revealed. "He demands I return home." Jocelyn hummed in consideration, silently motioning for the parchments which Visenya handed over.

She observed as her mother's gaze swept over the words. The angry frown previously present on her face faded into quiet amusement. "This reeks of Otto Hightower," she snorted. When the letter was passed to Rhaenys, she hummed in agreement, coming to the same conclusion. "Indeed."

Visenya folded her arms. "I fear I've tested his patience enough — I cannot afford to disobey him outright, but I cannot leave either — not yet. There's still so much to be done, and we've yet to find a way to turn the tide."

Before even providing them with proper time to find a possible solution, she gestured between herself and Vaegon, who stood quietly at her side. "For that purpose, we've devised a plan — One that would provide me with more time on Dragonstone without directly disobeying his order."

Rhaenys raised a brow, intrigued. "We?"

The Princess offered a faint smile. "In truth, it was mostly great-uncle." Jocelyn's stormy eyes narrowed wearily, though she remained silent as Visenya gestured for the Archmaester to explain.

Vaegon cleared his throat, as if readying himself for a long monologue before speaking a single sentence, "We've created a diversion using a plague." 

Mother and daughter exchanged a glance, equally as confused as they were curious. However, when it became clear that he had no intention of elaborating, Visenya took it upon herself to continue, "We thought to use the former Maester of Driftmark as a link — And the story will be that the sickness traveled from the Stepstones to Dragonstone aboard his ship."

They listened closely as she explained how they had an idea to utilise the storm that hit last week to create a reason why his ship would've been forced to dock at Dragonstone rather than risk sailing to High Tide. As for the already deceased Maester — he would've treated the wounded on the Stepstones, and contracted the disease there before unknowingly bringing it to their shores.

"And," the Princess pressed on, "if we pretend that many people contracted the sickness on Dragonstone, we can explain the reason why we've disposed of so many — Furthermore, the manner in which we did so—"

"Would be because burning corpses prevents the spreading of sickness," Rhaenys finished in her stead, her mind quickly catching up.

Visenya tipped her head forward in a small nod. "It'd also provide me a perfect excuse not to return to King's Landing as there's no telling whether I'm infected."

She found herself quietly marvelling at how neatly the plan fit together. After all, no one in King's Landing could disprove it. Everyone who might speak otherwise — guards, servants, Maesters — were already nought but ash, still scattered on the floors of Dragonmont. 

The story would explain the deaths, the burnings — everything. It held.

"A brilliant idea, isn't it?" Aemma's daughter praised, turning to Vaegon who offered a simple, thankful nod, though the faintest flicker of pride showed on his face at her approval.

Jocelyn's expression was less impressed — In fact, she appeared faintly disturbed that the two of them had managed to concoct such a scheme in the time it took to climb the stairs. Still, she exhaled and begrudgingly admitted, "It's certainly an... interesting solution."

"Now that we have the matter settled," Visenya began, circling the Painted Table, "I'd like a word with Princess Rhaenys."

No one dared mistake it for a request, so they quickly prepared to take their leave. Jocelyn flicked her daughter a curious glance before sweeping from the hall, and Vaegon followed, offering a brief bow before disappearing down the steps.

Truth be told, Rhaenys wasn't worried as she assumed Visenya wished to be briefed on every minor detail from the past few days — on every raven, and whisper she missed during her brief stay at Storm's End. 

She gathered her thoughts, preparing to recount each tedious missive which was why — when the Princess took a seat that Jocelyn occupied moments before — and began thanking her, she was stunned into silence.

"I'm immensely grateful for all you've done for me," Visenya said sincerely. "For welcoming me into your home — for providing me with a safe place to grieve — for your counsel — for teaching me more about the weight of my station than my father ever did."

Her indigo gaze was so open, and so full of gratitude that for a heartbeat, Rhaenys saw young Aemma sitting before her — The memory suddenly seized her, before reality pulled her back.

She swallowed. "However, I won't repay your kindness by wedding your son." Her words lowered in volume, though they rang with finality.

Rhaenys didn't speak at first — It wasn't at all surprising that Visenya had discerned her intentions, no matter how carefully she had hidden them. Still, the blunt rejection stung.

"Laenor is a good man—" she began only to be met with Visenya's agreement. "You're correct." There was something in her eyes —something almost soft, touched by a recent memory. "If I learned anything at Storm's End, it's that you're correct — He's indeed a good man."

However, her gaze dimmed, tinged with regret. "He's good and yet, simply so... ordinary — So is your daughter."

The words caught Rhaenys completely off guard — For a breath, she thought it a sharp and cutting insult, but the Princess's voice carried no malice. In fact, it was tinged with something else entirely — something closer to envy.

She fell silent, her gaze distant, as if battling something within herself. After a long moment, she opened up, "Lately, I've started to believe… that perhaps, it's a gift." She gave a soft, humourless chuckle. "Do you know how much I wish that my first thought each morning was about when I might next ride Arrax?" Her smile twisted, touched with resentment. "But it isn't — In truth, it isn't even my hundredth thought."

Rhaenys studied her carefully then, and she understood — perfectly, in fact. It was always the extraordinary ones — the gifted ones — who suffered most because they always hungered for more — because they could never be still, never be satisfied — because they fought endlessly for something just out of reach.

In that quiet moment, she found herself silently grateful that she and Corlys, so driven and restless — so extraordinary, as she put it — had somehow produced children who weren't like them — children who found joy in colour, in sailing, in soaring among the clouds on dragonback — children who found joy in simply… existing. 

It was a blessing that they'd been spared the weight of such hunger.

Visenya cleared her throat, her voice turning sincere. "I suppose I'm simply curious as to why you've been so determined to take that from them — Why you insisted for Laena to wed my father — Why you now wish to bind me to Laenor. You must realise they couldn't bear it. It would break them."

Rhaenys leaned back in her chair and sighed. "The answer is simple, Princess — Peace." She shook her head softly. "My husband's anger is slow to cool, and his pride, even slower to mend—"

Visenya scoffed, exasperated. "Let me be frank with you, Princess, in the world where I must worry whether my food or drink has been poisoned, Lord Corlys's wounded pride is the least of my concerns."

Just like that, the openness between them vanished in an instant. The Princess rose from her seat, taking a few steps forward. "I wish for us to remain friends," she said, though the distance in her stance betrayed the growing caution in her voice. "However, I'm not my father — I'll not tolerate scheming behind my back."

Rhaenys sat straighter, frowning. "I haven't schemed against you." Aemma's daughter looked at her pointedly, "Laena is now betrothed to the Sealord of Braavos's son. We're both intelligent enough to know what that means — Don't insult me by pretending otherwise."

She pursed her lips at that, shaking her head in denial. "I played no part in that," she offered truthfully.

Visenya didn't reveal whether she believed her or not — She didn't need to as her demeanour hardened with every word they exchanged, her patience thinning by the heartbeat.

"I'm hardly interested in hearing excuses," she exclaimed cooly. "Either you'll keep your husband in line, or I shall be forced to order my uncle to gather the armies I sent and abandon the Stepstones." she cocked her head to the side. "I assure you that it would take but a single letter from me for Daemon to return, leaving Lord Corlys and your son with no chance of survival, let alone winning.”

Her voice didn't waver at all as she continued, "The future of Westeros rests in my hands now, and I won't have my plans ruined by ambitious men who believe themselves owed some piece of a dragon."

Rhaenys sat in stunned silence. There were a hundred arguments she could make — a hundred reasons to find why her husband was essential for her, why she'd be a fool to dismiss House Velaryon, starting with losing their coin, their fleets, their dragons.

But should she?

Visenya had her own leverage — her own power that they couldn't do without.

Even if Rhaenys had wished to argue, Visenya offered her no chance. She gathered the parchments still resting on the table and swiftly turned towards the stairs.

She paused on the first step, glancing over her shoulder. "Let me remind you, Princess," she said, her tone a careful balance of warning and promise, "that I have gone to great lengths to ensure all dragon power, including the eggs, remains entirely within my grasp. What I choose to do with that power… will depend entirely on the actions of House Velaryon going forward."

Without waiting for a response, she disappeared down the steps, her footsteps echoing into the stone.

Indeed, she thought bitterly. Visenya was conditioning them — Either they'd stand beside her, work with her, for her, and be granted the power of dragons for the next generation — or they'd choose otherwise and lose it all — lose the very power that had conquered the Seven Kingdoms.

Rhaenys was so deep in thought she didn't notice her mother until she heard her low whistle appreciatively from the doorway. "Seven save us," Jocelyn drawled with a smirk she didn't bother to contain, "I think I might actually like her."

Notes:

hello, dear readers 🤍

the last time i released two chapters in the same week was like 2 years ago which is insane! anyway, you may notice that the chapter is shorter - 8k words to be exact. well, i'm going to start shortening them as much as i can because it's so much easier if i want for us to get to visaemon as soon as possible. though, that will be hard as a writer who probably overexplains things, but oh well. if y'all mind how much the writing style had to change to cut down literally half of a chapter's worth word count, idk what to tell you

as for the chapter, i have nothing much to say except for this:

vissie willing to have a honest, open conversation with rhaenys just so they can come to an agreement together: ☺️
rhaenys: corlys's pride, corlys's anger, corlys this, corlys that
vissie: 🤬🤬🤬

she's a certified corlys disliker & so am i.

the fact that the very first person visenya offered her trust with no strings attached, no spies send to confirm his every more, etc — is daemon is sending me places 🥹

to able to speak to rhaenys like this takes guts, power & leverage out of which vissie has all 3. there'll be no schemes behind her back no more because they can't screw each other over without screwing each other over. they both need one another which is such an interesting dynamic to write & have!

until next time 🤍

Chapter 58: Neither Are You

Summary:

In which:

— Visenya causes Viserys a heart attack
— Rhaenyra has a wake-up call
— Bloodraven is kicked to the curb

king's landing, 112AC
viserys targaryen

The cellar beneath the Red Keep was colder than Viserys remembered. The torches lining the walls sputtered in protest, their light too weak to fully pierce the darkness.

Perhaps that gave the space an ancient, powerful look to it — Or perhaps it was the skull of the Balerion the Black Dread which loomed in the gloom before him like a silent witness to his shame.

His hand trailed absently along the familiar groove of the nearest stone pillar, his gaze anchored on the empty eye sockets of the great beast that had once burned cities to ash — on the enormous black bones of the dragon that once belonged to him.

He had come here countless times — to pray, grieve Aemma, to remember what it meant to be a Targaryen — but tonight, the weight in his chest felt heavier than ever before, the guilt eating at him.

It shouldn't have taken him six whole moons.

The child should've received his blessings at his second or third moon — That was the Targaryen tradition. But Aegon… Aegon was born without a mark — his skin unmarred by the sacred symbol that was supposed to be etched upon him from birth.

Viserys ground his teeth — His hesitation had robbed the boy of this ritual — of this sacred connection to their ancestors. Worst of all, he'd denied Aegon his place among the blood of Old Valyria because he had faltered.

"It's well that you brought him here now, Your Grace," Matagar expressed with a slow, bemused smile. "The blood remembers, even when the father forgets."

He stiffened. "I didn't forget." The High Priest chuckled softly, the sound weightless. His amethyst eyes flicked lazily to the baby swaddled in the arms of the nursemaid. "Time is like water, my King — Whether you swim or drown, the tide continues to move without you."

Viserys exhaled harshly, turning his gaze away. "Is it even correct, Matagar? — To bless an unmarked child?" he inquired shamefully. 

The Priest's grin widened, his hands fluttering with theatrical dismissal. "A Targaryen he is in both flesh and fire — The blessing is his by birth. The song will recognise him." 

"But he was born… different," he remarked carefully, unconvinced. Matagar swayed on his heels, as though the ground beneath him belonged to another world entirely. "Marks appear where the Fourteen deem them fit to, Your Grace... but the blood always remembers."

Viserys's throat tightened — He'd been so eager for the arrival of a son — a boy to carry his name, his line, his legacy. Yet now that he had one… he couldn't untangle his disappointment from his love.

It's hardly the boy's fault, though... No, it was his fault — his weakness, his hesitation, and his selfish, gnawing doubt. Aegon scarcely had half a year to his name and Viserys already found a way to fail him.

The faint shuffle of slippers behind him pulled him from his thoughts. "Must this ceremony truly happen, Your Grace? Aegon has already received the blessings of the High Septon," Alicent wondered, her voice soft but strained.

He turned, taken aback by her interruption. "Aegon is a Targaryen — It's our tradition," he simply said, observing as her brown eyes uneasily flicked around the chamber, particularly lingering on Balerion's skull as though the beast might rise from the dead right before her.

"I realise how... unnatural it must feel to be separated from him. He's still so young, after all." Viserys reached out, briefly touching her arm in an attempt to offer comfort. "It will grow easier, I promise you — especially with more children."

His wife's lips parted as though she meant to argue, but he had already turned away, striding toward the waiting nursemaids. He gestured for them to bring Aegon forward as Matagar began lighting the fourteen black candles that formed a wide circle before Balerion's skull. 

The High Priest moved with no particular hurry, humming in Valyrian. Was it a prayer? A song? — Viserys couldn't tell. He only knew that his pulse had begun to quicken with anticipation.

The old man knelt, pricking his palm with a small, worn knife. Blood welled from the cut and dripped in slow beads onto the floor as he circled the candles, anointing each with a droplet before lowering himself to his knees once more.

The nursemaids passed a fussy Aegon into his waiting arms and his voice gradually rose, his chanting deepening into a hypnotic melody. Matagar's head tilted back, his eyelids fluttering shut as his body swayed with the rhythm of the ancient tongue. 

Alicent stepped forward, her voice steady but insistent. "Perhaps another should hold him. It may not be safe — he could slip—" Viserys raised his hand sharply, halting the nursemaids before they could intervene. "The blessing isn't yet done."

"But he's elderly! What if he hasn't enough strength to carry Aegon as he sings his songs—" she pleaded, voice tightening. "Nonsense." He dismissed, gaze never leaving the scene before him. "Matagar has done so countless times before and never once faltered — He has blessed both my daughter and Aegon shall receive the same courtesy." 

His wife clenched her hands at her sides, lips pressing into a thin line, but she said no more. Good, Viserys thought as his attention returned to High Priest who dipped his bloodied finger and painted a single, unbroken line across Aegon's smooth forehead.

When the last syllable faded into silence, Matagar slowly pushed to his feet, his joints cracking as he blew out each candle in the same order he had lit them before passing Aegon back to his nursemaids.

It felt otherworldly, Viserys thought — Like he'd witnessed something old, something sacred. His heart thundered, a tremble passing through him momentarily. He exhaled a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

"That was quite... exceptional, wouldn't you agree?" he inquired, still half-lost in the moment. Otto, who stepped to his right, offered a faint smile and agreed, "It was certainly... a unique experience, Your Grace."

They watched as Matagar stumbled, nearly toppling the bundle of extinguished candles he was collecting. The High Priest, however, caught himself, sheepishly brushing his robes and resuming his humming as if nothing had happened.

Viserys turned, taking a slow step toward his gathered councilmen when his Hand blocked his path. "My King," he said, voice lowering in quiet suggestion, "now that the blessing is complete, perhaps we might begin preparations for Prince Aegon's formal presentation to the court?"

He stiffened, guilt gnawing at him anew — He'd kept Aegon cloistered away, as though he were ashamed of him. But he wasn't — Not truly. So, he was compelled to nod, though a weight settled on his chest. "Yes — Yes, it's time."

Otto's expression warmed with approval, though his next words slipped forth with a practiced casualness. "Perhaps the Queen could oversee the arrangements?"

Alicent, who was passing nearby, halted mid-step. Her eyes widened, surprise flashing across her features as though her father had cast her into open waters.

Viserys hesitated, hardly wishing to appear mistrustful, yet he was. "Alicent has never...  Visenya always handled such matters." His wife's cheeks flushed as Otto tilted his head, his tone softening. "But what could be more fitting, Your Grace? She is the mother of our Prince. Surely, no one could honor him more fittingly than she."

He glanced at her, his hesitation lingering. "She would be aided, of course," his Hand continued smoothly. "Where she falters, I shall see she's well supported — Not all burdens need fall to her hands alone."

"Very well. See to it." Viserys sighed, finally conceding, and then stepped past him. However, Otto trailed alongside him. "Shall it be a hunt, perhaps? Or a tournament? — A grand spectacle in the Prince's honor?"

He waved his hand, weariness pulling at his frame. "No, no… this year's been heavy enough. Let it be a feast, nought more."

"A feast, Your Grace?" he repeated, smile faltering. "A simple feast," he confirmed. "It'll be enough."

Before his Hand could protest further, Lord Lyonel Strong approached, his expression troubled in that particular way which often heralded bad news. Viserys's brow furrowed in concern — Such a look in his face was rare — Rare and never welcome.

Trailing behind him was Lord Lyman Beesbury, his aged features lit with a warm smile that spoke of nought but relief and joy from the ceremony they'd just witnessed. "The blessing was most moving, Your Grace — Truly magnificent."

Viserys's heart, still heavy with guilt, found comfort in that. He returned the sentiment with a grateful smile. "Thank you, Lyman. It pleases me to hear that."

But Lyonel's face didn't lift with pleasantries. His hand remained clenched around the folded missive he carried, its wax broken. "What's the matter, my Lord?" His smile faltered.

Lord Strong hesitated, then lifted the parchment slightly. "A letter from the Princess Visenya, my King — It arrived not an hour ago."

A flicker of irritation crossed Viserys's mind— written back. Not returned, as commanded. Not come home as she ought to have done. She defied him still!

Otto stepped forward. "A letter," he murmured disapprovingly. "When a King summons his Heir, she shouldn't answer with ink." He continued, his tone lighter, "Still, Your Grace — you acted wisely. This will see the matter resolved one way or another!"

He was only half listening. Viserys truly wished to be angry — to stay angry, alas,  something in Lord Lyonel's expression gnawed at him. His Hand pressed on. "When shall we expect her return?"

Lord Strong's grip on the parchment seemed to tighten. "Your Grace… there is grave news from Dragonstone." The words caused his heart to stumble in his chest —  Grave news, he repeated to himself. "Speak," he rasped.

Even Beesbury's joviality slipped into quiet concern as Lyonel explained, "Maester Sowyer of Driftmark was sent to the Stepstones to tend to the wounded — In doing so, he contracted a sickness — one that has now spread across Dragonstone. Multiple people are ill."

The world tipped, Viserys's vision sharpening and narrowing all at once. His throat dried instantly. "How many?" he demanded, his voice rising. "More than a dozen have already died."

The cellar seemed to shrink around him, the air thick and suffocating. Gasps echoed around as Lord Lyman visibly recoiled in horror. "Dead?" he gasped, his face draining of color. "By the Gods…"

Otto waved a hand dismissively, his scepticism blatant. "Surely the matter isn't so dire — Coughs and fevers aren't uncommon in places of war!"

"Men have died, Lord Hand!" Lord Lyman's voice rose with indignation. "And the Princess is surrounded by it!" Viserys's pulse thundered in his ears. "What of Visenya?" His voice cracked. "Is she— is she—"

"No signs of illness so far, my King," Lord Strong revealed carefully, but his eyes betrayed his unease. "However… the sickness spreads swiftly — Many lie in isolation, in dire need of care."

His Hand crossed his arms, his tone level. "It's perhaps not as severe as the letter suggests — People are prone to exaggeration in such circumstances."

"The two maesters of Driftmark and Dragonstone have both succumbed to the sickness," Lord Strong deadpanned, his stare firm. "This isn't some idle rumor."

Viserys's breath caught in his throat — No longer a Maester. There was truly no one to aid her there. His daughter was stranded, utterly alone in a castle consumed by plague!

Lord Lyman jabbed a finger at Otto. "You speak of caution, but what you desire is inaction! The Princess faces a deadly plague, and you would have us wait? — And risk her life?"

His lips twitched into the faintest frown. "I merely advise restraint — Panic serves no one! The Princess could still—" However, Viserys had heard enough. He extended his hand sharply. "Give me the letter at once!"

Lyonel passed it to him with haste, and Viserys unfolded the parchment with fumbling fingers. His eyes devoured the lines — each word stabbing deeper into his chest.

His daughter, his firstborn — Oh dear Gods, she spoke only of the lives she failed to save — of the men and women who had served her loyally and trusted her with their care. She mourned them all, lamenting how she had been forced to burn the bodies herself, all in hopes that the pyres would, at last, halt the spread. Yet, the sickness crept through Dragonstone halls, sparing none — taking knights, Maesters, servants, sailors. 

He read that she was afraid, yet she asked for no forgiveness — only requested that should she not survive, the ashes of the dead be returned to their families — so that their service could be honoured — so that their families would have something of theirs to mourn. 

There was little to nought of her own suffering, not even a plea for help — Only grief and regret. It brought tears to Viserys's eyes — Oh his daughter! So gracious and generous even in such circumstances! Only ever thinking of the well-being of others!

She had been battling to hold Dragonstone together — fighting to protect her people to the best of her ability, while he, her father, sat in his halls thinking her stubborn — thinking her disobedient, and selfish.

His breath grew ragged, his heart seizing in his chest. "My daughter… my daughter…" The words fell from his lips in a broken chant as pain stabbed through his ribs. His hand shot to his chest. "My daughter—" The ache spread, collapsing him on his knees.

Lords Lyonel and Beesbury rushed to catch him as he staggered, his legs no longer able to hold him upright. "Quickly—a chair! Bring water!" Lyman barked at the passing maids.

A servant even sprinted from the cellar to summon Maester Mellos. Viserys weakly shook his head, attempting to refuse the service, but Lyonel simply pressed the goblet of water into his trembling hands. "Drink, Your Grace."

He obeyed, barely able to lift the cup to his lips. All he could think of was his Visenya — She could die. He could lose her — He sent that letter in anger, blaming her for such vile things. Gods, he had thought she had turned against him!

Lord Beesbury hovered near, wringing his hands in distress. Otto, ever composed, knelt beside him. "We must bring her home, Your Grace," he urged. "It's the only way to ensure she receives the proper care."

Lyman snapped. "She could bring the sickness here — to all of us!" The Lord Hand ignored him and kept pressing. "The best Maesters are here in the capital. She would be safe under our care—" He barked back, "She would doom the city!" 

Viserys's voice, though faint, cut through their argument. "Enough." He took a moment before turning his pale, sunken eyes to Lyonel Strong. "What… what can we do?"

The man straightened, deep in thought. "Perhaps we could have a new Maester sent to Dragonstone? — One particularly skilled in treating illness?" 

Otto's mouth twitched in disapproval. "My King, we've already lost two of Westeros's finest Maesters! We cannot afford to risk more. The Citadel cannot—"

"So we should risk my daughter's life instead?!" Viserys roared with fury before settling into a fit of coughs. When he calmed enough to speak, he continued, "I—I cannot lose her. Not... not after Aemma..."

She was his daughter — his firstborn. His Visenya. 

He clutched the parchment to his chest, the ache in his ribs flaring again, but he welcomed the pain. It was all he deserved, after all.

He whispered a silent prayer—not to the Seven, nor even to the Fourteen Flames — but to whatever Gods might still hear him — Please bring her back to me.

As his Hand opened his mouth to object again, he silenced him with a simple gesture of his hand. He turned to Lyonel, his voice firmer now. "Send word to the Citadel. They will dispatch their finest to Dragonstone, at once!"

 

 

 

_____

 

 

 

mountains of the moon, 112AC
rhaenyra targaryen

Rhaenyra was pulled from the warmth of heavy furs by the frantic tugging at her arm. "Princess! Princess! Wake, we're under attack!"

She groaned, struggling to blink away the haze of sleep. Once she managed to open her eyes, she found Gwendys's face hovering above hers, her brown eyes wide with panic. "We must leave! Now!" 

"Wha—" Rhaenyra croaked, sluggish. "What's the matter?" Gwen tied her hair in haste. "Mountain clans have discovered our camp — They're upon us!" 

Her heart gave a lazy thud, her mind crawling to catch up. She rubbed her eyes, annoyed at the interruption. "Mountain clans? I thought—" The woman hissed then, practically dragging her upright. "Forget that! Move!" 

The clang of steel and the distant roar of Syrax finally reached her ears, jolting her into half-consciousness. "Get dressed, quickly!" the lady barked, already throwing a thick riding cloak over her shoulders.

Rhaenyra scrambled to obey, pulling on her boots and lacing them poorly in her haste. Her hands shook as she grabbed the Valyrian steel blade that her mother had gifted her long ago — Admittedly, she'd mostly brought it for the comfort it offered as she didn't know how to wield it properly. 

But now, she clutched it like her life depended on it.

"Where's everyone—" she mumbled, still mildly disoriented as she stumbled toward the tent's entrance. "Already gone! Move!"

In her hurry, she missed the boots scattered by the entrance — Her foot snagged, twisting beneath her weight as she pitched forward with a yelp. Pain burst up her ankle, and she silently cursed Kaina whose footwear she managed to find at the worst possible moment.

"Hells!" she gasped, clutching her leg, but Gwen had little time and patience for her complaints. "Up! We must go!" Rhaenyra forced herself upright, biting back the sting in her ankle as she hobbled outside.

The cold slapped her awake at once. The chaos of the world around her aided as well — She observed as men scrambled to fight, shouting orders she couldn't decipher. Her heart thundered, but when her gaze found Syrax beyond the camp, a surge of fierce pride swelled in her chest.

Her golden lady shrieked, swinging her massive tail anxiously. She flapped her wings in short, distressed bursts, uncertain whether to take flight or stay on the ground.

Nothing shall harm us, Rhaenyra assured herself, confident in her bond with Syrax more than she was in anything else — Not when I have her. Let them come. They'll break upon dragonfire! 

With that, she limped toward her dragon, the snow crunching under her hurried steps. However, her golden lady suddenly turned, her body twisting with a roar as a couple of raiders broke through the edge of the camp and charged straight for her.

Fire burst from her jaws, searing the night in brilliant orange. She even swung her tail at the oncoming men, throwing them back only for more to take their place — Still, Rhaenyra thought they'd be safe. 

They cannot win against a dragon — They never can.

Then, a sharp hiss sliced past her ear before an arrow embedded itself in the snow beside her foot. Her breath caught, head snapping toward the direction from which it arrived, only to spot a man barreling toward her with his axe raised.

Rhaenyra pushed forward faster, gritting her teeth as her twisted ankle screamed in protest. She half-ran, half-limped, desperately attempting to control her panic — I must reach her... Just a little further...

Syrax lowered her body to let her climb, but her golden lady remained frantic, her massive frame shifting and jerking as she fended off attackers. 

She tried to mount, grasping at the saddle's straps, but her dragon reared suddenly to avoid another onslaught. The motion threw Rhaenyra backward, and she landed hard on the frozen ground, the air punched from her lungs.

No, no, no — She scrambled to stand only to find that her feet couldn't support her weight. Fearfully, she glanced back only to see that the man was almost upon her.

Her blade! Gods, where was her blade? She reached for it, her hands slipping against the hilt as she finally gripped it, raising it shakily in front of her like it would somehow ward him off.

Rhaenyra's chest heaved. Remember your lessons— aim for— aim for— But the words escaped her. Whatever knowledge she acquired simply vanished, drowned by the wild panic crashing through her.

She was going to die here, she realised as the man's axe swung down.

Then, a wet, gurgling sound interrupted the weapon's descent — He stiffened, an arrow now jutting clean through his throat. His axe clattered uselessly to the snow as he toppled over, choking on his own blood.

Rhaenyra stared, wide-eyed, feeling as if the world was spinning around her. At the sound of approaching footsteps, she prepared for another onslaught — However, as she craned her neck upward, she found that Lady Rhea stood over her, lowering her bow with a scowl. 

"What in the bloody hells are you doing?!" the woman barked. She could only gape, her mouth working soundlessly.

"You don't even know, do you?" The Lady of Runestone snarled, stalking closer. “If you paid half a mind to what's been happening around you, you'd learn how to bloody well defend yourself!"

Rhaenyra's tongue felt thick in her mouth, her thoughts sluggish, stuck on the image of her near-death. "I... Thank—" she choked out. "Don't thank me," she snapped, already turning away. "Jump on your damned beast and do what you arrived here to do!"

That jarred something loose in her. Syrax.... The battle.

She scrambled to her feet, ignoring the sharp protests of her ankle, and desperately reached for the saddle — Her golden lady had steadied herself now, but Rhaenyra's foot wouldn't allow her to lift herself.

Lady Rhea huffed in irritation, muttering under her breath, "You Targaryens are truly more trouble than you're worth..." She strode over and clasped her hands together to offer assistance. 

With her aid, Rhaenyra managed to grab onto the saddle and swing her leg over the dragon's back. As she, at last, settled down, a sharp cry split the air. She looked downwards only to realise that an arrow grazed Lady Rhea's calf, forcing her to collapse onto one knee.

"Rhea!" she cried, reaching out, ready to jump from Syrax's saddle. "No!" The woman barked, successfully stopping her. "Go!" she continued, drawing her bow with gritted teeth. "Leave! Now!"

She hesitated, frozen with guilt and fear as she watched the Lady of Runestone release arrows that found their targets faster than she'd ever witnessed someone do. "Go, damn you!" 

The dragon screeched, wings unfurling in a spray of snow. Rhaenyra gritted her teeth, forcing herself to look away, her throat thick with the weight of helplessness as she grabbed the reins. "Fly, Syrax—Fly!!"

 

 

 

_____

 

 

 

She hovered in the sky long after the screams had died down and the clang of steel gave way to the distant crackle of dying fires — Her fingers were cold, her body aching, but she refused to descend — at least until she scouted all the ridges, trails, and dark crevices where the raiders might still linger.

It was the fourth — no, fifth time she'd recognised a signal fire lit below, urging her to return. And again, she ignored it.

She wasn't ready.

She justified to herself that it was strategy — one last sweep for the camp's safety — but in truth, her hands still trembled from the memory of an axe swinging toward her head. Luckily, the cold above provided clarity, and the height offered a chance to avoid her own thoughts.

So she took it — and was determined to keep taking it until she couldn't.

Eventually, when she could no longer pretend she was searching for threats, she guided her golden lady down, the dragon's great wings stirring snow and ash as they landed. 

Kaina waited by the ridge, her dark curls haloed red in the light of the sun. Her expression was unreadable as she stepped forward, though her grey eyes narrowed just a touch. "We signalled you to descend half a dozen times — What took you so long?"

Rhaenyra slid down from Syrax's back with a wince. "I was scouting the perimeter. I thought it wise to double-check for more raiders." Her voice lacked conviction even to her ears, but she dared hope that the woman would leave her be.

Luckily, she didn't press. She simply turned on her heel and gestured for her to follow. "Come, Princess."

They walked together through the half-repaired camp side by side. Even if she was aware that the battle was over, she continued glancing over her shoulder, scanning the shadows between tents — the movement of figures, the flicker of every torch like it might birth another enemy from flame.

As they passed a cluster of tents, she spotted Ser Adrian Redfort with his unruly red curls, a skin of warm ale in hand. Beside him rested Ser Rylon and Leowyn, their faces flushed from drink and adrenaline. When they saw her, their grins split wide.

"To the Princess!" one toasted.

"Don't forget the dragon!" the other added.

"Yes, and her dragon!!"

Soldiers echoed it, whooping, laughing — It startled her, yet she mustered a small nod, accompanied by a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. They drank in her name as if she'd won them the battle, but all she'd managed was to survive — Barely even that.

More nods and greetings followed from men who'd never looked twice at her before last night. Gods, some even bowed! Curious, she leaned toward Kaina, her voice lowered. "What's happening?"

The lady glanced sideways. "You've turned the tide of the battle, Princess — You and your dragon pinned the raiders long enough for us to regroup. We even captured some alive, and well... they talked."

Rhaenyra stopped short. "You what?!" She inquired incredulously, already preparing to march into Ser Joffrey's tent and cause chaos. "You already questioned them?! Without my presence?!"

Kaina fixed her with a patient, but expectant look. "Rest assured, that it wasn't the kind of questioning you'd wish to be present for, Princess."

It took a heartbeat too long for the meaning to sink in. When it did, her mouth parted in a soft, dumbfounded, "Oh." Tortured — They were actually tortured. "Yes," the lady mumbled dryly, "Oh."

They said nothing else as they continued toward the command tent, though the churning in her stomach returned. She wasn't certain what disturbed her more — the brutal efficiency of it or the fact that part of her wished to have been involved, even in something so cruel.

A couple of knights were exiting the tent as they arrived, one of them cradling a bloodied rag. They, too, offered Rhaenyra respectful nods as they passed which, surprisingly, didn't get any easier to accept. 

Inside, they found Joffrey stripped of his cloak, his fine tunic streaked with grime and sweat. He was standing at the centre whilst Gwendys hovered beside him, helping secure a bandage around his bloodied knuckles. A few other people flitted around, fetching cloth and salves.

She winced at the sight of his hand, the skin torn raw, and already swelling. Then, her purple eyes moved to study him — He appeared tired — more disheveled than she'd ever seen him. Yet even in that exhaustion, there was something proud in his bearing. 

When Joffrey noticed her, he tilted his chin. "Leave us," he commented. The tent emptied at once, all except Gwen who visibly hesitated. Still, she had no choice but to collect her supplies and depart with the rest.

Rhaenyra stepped forward slowly, staring at the stained cloth around his hand. "You're injured," she spoke dumbly, not quite certain what else to say. He glanced at the bandage with a shrug. "It's well worth it, considering what we managed to learn."

She raised a brow, her voice tight. "That came from one of the prisoners?" Joffrey met her gaze steadily. "It did." Something in his voice was unapologetic — as if he dared her to question his methods.

She didn't.

After a while, he crossed his arms. "Have you been briefed yet?" Rhaenyra shook her head. "We couldn't get anything from them at first. They're clansmen, after all — Wild. Proud. They don't fear pain the way others do. However, eventually, one of them provided us with a name."

She frowned. "Whose?" Joffrey ran his uninjured hand through his platinum strands in that familiar way of his. "Are you familiar with the recent inheritance disputes of House Arryn?"

Rhaenys blinked, surprised but quickly able to recall the stories whispered in the court of the Eyrie, though never loudly enough for Jeyne to overhear.

It was a tale involving her great-grandfather, who named Lady Jeyne a Lady Paramount of the Vale after her father and brothers perished in raids. King Jaehaerys upheld her claim despite her cousin, Ser Arnold's petitions — The man attempted to steal her rightful inheritance from under her nose twice since — Once even by tricking her into a marriage with him — Luckily, she always managed to outwit him.

"Yes, I'm well-versed," she answered slowly.

Joffrey's eyes glittered with something sharp. "Then you're aware of the kind of man he is."

She didn’t reply — She didn't need to.

"He's behind all this," he exclaimed simply. "He's been allying himself with mountain clans for months — arming them, directing their movements, stirring unrest across the Vale..."

Rhaenyra stared. "To what end?" Joffrey tilted his head. "To weaken Lady Jeyne, of course — To make her rule look feeble. He must believe that if the land falls into enough chaos, the Lords and even the King will demand her removal and install him instead."

"So he's sacrificing the lives of his people and the stability of the land he so wishes to rule in hopes of claiming a title?" She questioned, exasperated.

The knight nodded grimly. "The men like him always claim they wish for the power to be able to protect, but the moment they don't get what they feel owed to them..." He gestured at the battlefield outside. "This is what it leads to."

Her stomach turned. She couldn't help thinking again of that axe swinging toward her face — Of Rhea Royce taking an arrow to the leg — Of the blood in the snow — Of soldiers who lost their lives long before she even arrived at the camp.

They were all in great danger — some even in their graves — because of a man who claimed he wanted to serve his people. There was nought noble to it — only ambition and pride.

"What are we to do now?" she inquired at last. Joffrey stood, wincing a little as he adjusted his wounded hand. "We find him and capture him — He's to be brought before Lady Jeyne so she can pass her judgment." His mouth twisted in satisfaction. "I imagine he won't be walking away unpunished this time."

She nodded slowly — It sounded just, however, it hardly felt like justice. So many lives were lost, the lands were stretched thin of supplies, the tension rose between the Valemen — and who would be required to repair every issue despite not being the cause of it? Lady Jeyne.

The rest of the day passed in a blur. 

Rhaenyra remained in the command tent, quietly sitting at the edge of it all, feeling like a ghost in her own skin. She watched and listened as they planned their next steps, though most of the time her mind drifted to other things — blood in the snow, the crunch of boots behind her, the weight of her blade in her hands as they trembled too violently to be useful.

By the time night fell again, the world was quiet — too quiet even. She lay in her cot, still dressed, still restless. Her body was beyond exhausted, yet every time she closed her eyes, the memories of the axe — the man, and the scream she hadn't had time to voice replayed in her mind.

Strangely, she was grateful that the sleep eluded her — the last thing she wanted was to face that man again in her dreams.

Eventually, Rhaenyra rose in silence, careful not to wake anyone. She fetched her Valyrian steel blade and stepped out into the open air, which bit at her cheeks. She walked a little ways out, just enough to be alone. 

She held the weapon like she had earlier — awkwardly, and a bit too tightly. Rhaenyra attempted to remember Kaina's lessons, Gwendys's corrections — Where to stand. Where to aim. How to move. However, nothing stuck. 

Of course it hadn't — not when she'd been treating it like dance lessons her Septa organised. "I should’ve paid more attention," she muttered under her breath, swinging the blade wrong.

Suddenly, a voice behind her broke the silence. "You should be resting in case they come again." Rhaenyra whirled around, startled. Her first instinct was to hide the blade behind her back, like a child caught with something forbidden.

Lady Rhea stood just beyond the glow of the torch, her arms folded over her armoured chest. She regarded her with irritation and... something else. Her calf was wrapped, and a limp could be noticed in her stance, but she looked no less solid — no less formidable than before.

Rhaenyra blinked. "I… thought I was alone." The woman snorted. "Clearly." She looked down at her feet, not certain how to proceed with the conversation. "How was your patrol?" she inquired uncertainly.

She cocked her head to the side. "Uneventful." The Lady of Runestone studied her. "The Camp's secure." She glanced at the blade half-hidden behind her back. "And yet, you're still awake, swinging a sword like it'll keep you from dreaming."

Well, that was the idea, Rhaenyra thought to herself. She didn't respond, just stared. Then, before she could stop herself, she asked a question that's been gnawing at her. "Why did you save me?"

The woman arched her brow. "Because, as much as I despise to admit it, you're needed here." Before Rhaenyra had a chance to feel an ounce of satisfaction, she corrected herself, "Or rather, your beast is."

Rhaenyra deadpanned at her bluntness, and nodded, accepting the truth of her words. She swallowed. "You were correct, by the way — My lessons were… pathetic and... pitiful. I didn't really try."

"I noticed," Rhea replied dryly. Rhaenyra ignored her, continuing, "I truly thought I wouldn't need them — That no one would ever get close enough to hurt me."

"And yet, they have," she mused, carefully observing her. She shrugged helplessly. "I don't wish to die, but... if I ever come close to it again, I want to do it on my feet, with a blade in hand — Not crawling in the snow, begging to be rescued."

A silence stretched between them. Then Rhea slowly nodded. "Good." She stepped forward and gestured to the blade. "Now put that down before you cut your fingers off."

Rhaenyra blinked. "What?" The Lady of Runestone waved her hand dismissively. "Get the practice one — You’ll dismember yourself with Valyrian steel."

She hesitated, then obeyed, slipping back inside the tent and returning with the wooden practice blade. To her surprise, Rhea had already moved into position, her stance firm despite her injury. 

She looked Rhaenyra over like one might inspect a horse before riding it. "Here's the deal. You waste my time, I walk — I shan't go easy on you because your blood is ancient and magical." she mocked. "Understood?"

Rhaenyra lifted the wooden weapon and sharply nodded. "Understood." She breathed in and out, focusing all her attention on here and now. "Good — Now stand like you don't wish to die."

 

 

 

_____

 

 

 

dragonstone, 112AC
visenya targaryen

Visenya had long abandoned the notion of sleep — Nights bled into days, yet her mind continued turning, chasing solutions where none could be found. 

Each meeting ended the same — They conspired, they plotted, they tore through possibilities until their tongues were dry, yet no path emerged that didn't reek of ruin. So, they parted ways only to repeat the same pattern the next morning.

Tonight was no different — She lay in her chambers after a particularly gruelling day, eyes tracing the patterns on the ceiling as she counted every move on the board, envisioning each piece in play. She thought of allies worth swaying — of secrets to sow, and fires to stoke.

And then… nothing. Somewhere between a plan half-formed and a name half-remembered, her eyes fluttered shut. It was peaceful — too peaceful. That should've been the first sign this wasn't a proper dream. 

At first, she thought it a rare mercy. After all, Visenya didn't dream — or when she did, her nights were haunted by the screams of her mother, the sharp snap of leather and bone as she plummeted from dragonback, or Daemon's corpse arriving by ship, lips grey and skin bloated.

She thought the peaceful silence of this black, formless void — far better than the echoes of such horrors. But this wasn't peace nor a dream. It felt different, as if she were awake inside it.

Suddenly, a low and familiar voice sounded behind her, steeping in disapproval. "You walk a path not meant for you." Visenya sharply turned, her half-undone silver braid swinging across her shoulders.

The figure behind her stood as still as stone, utterly untouched by time — He remained tall and lean, his gaze crimson and unblinking. 

"Bloodraven," she breathed, annoyance blooming in her chest like wildfire. Her arms crossed over her chest. "I'm touched. It's been, what — a decade give or take? And here I thought you'd died." His expression didn't stir, nor did his cold gaze flicker. 

"I’m doing well, all things considered," she continued, the sarcasm dripping like venom. "Still alive — Still fighting. Since you never bother to appear when you're actually needed, I thought I'd inform you of my progress."

Bloodraven exhaled, neither in apology nor with concern. "I appear when I must — when the course must be corrected," he exclaimed cooly. "And you, apparently, require reminding of the reason you are here."

Her brow arched, the mockery deepening.
"Reminding? — Was it not you who saw fit to tie my fate to this war, to this family, to this—" her hand swept through the blackness surrounding them— "this burden?"

He lowered his gaze in clear disappointment. "You were chosen because you'd place the Crown, the Realm, and the world above all else — Above love. Above kin. Even above yourself." His tone remained even, yet it struck her like a slap. "But now you've gone too far."

Visenya's fists trembled at her sides, her teeth grinding as her thoughts spiralled — Too far?

Had she truly gone too far by attempting to save those she cared for — by protecting what little she had left? By scheming to stop the Maesters before they could claim more of her kin? By raising an army and marching them to a war the King refused to acknowledge? By choosing to carve a new history rather than blindly tread the one laid before her — just as he'd once advised her?

Her teeth clenched as her mind clawed through the wreckage of recent years — No. If he'd told her the truth from the beginning, she'd never have had to make those decisions. She wouldn't have been forced to flee King's Landing under the cover of night, leaving the Red Keep and the Iron Throne vulnerable to Hightower influence. 

All of it — every fucking turn — was because he'd been determined to keep her in the dark.

Visenya's gaze flicked upwards, cool and steady despite the rage simmering beneath her skin. "Tell me, did the Maesters conspire against Targaryens in the past of my first life as well?"

She had to know.

If she'd sown the seeds of this treachery herself — if her choices had set the wheels in motion — then perhaps her mother's death wasn't a thread woven long before her birth. Perhaps it was she who'd pulled it loose.

He blinked slowly, seemingly hesitating. Bloodraven refused to respond, which was an answer enough. "You knew! You knew and hid it from me anyway," she accused, her voice losing all gentleness. "Why? Did you hope I'd sit idly and do nothing?!"

His arms folded behind his back as he straightened. "It's not so simple," he began, voice measured. "Too many Targaryens... Too many dragons — They're as dangerous to the world as too much ice. And the balance must be preserved — You're aware of this."

She stared at him, her gaze darkening as disgust coiled in her gut. "And you expect me to let them die for that? — For balance? Because you said so?!" Bloodraven blinked, surprised — and for once, caught off guard. "Visenya—"

"No," she snarled, cutting him off, voice rising with every word. "Don't. I agreed to be your puppet — I agreed to your schemes and I played your little game because I wanted to earn a peace in death — Because I had nothing. No cause to go on. No will to continue." She jabbed her finger into his chest hard enough to make him flinch. "But I refuse to do it if it means more innocent people die as my mother did!"

Her breath came fast and sharp as she glared up at him. She briefly wondered where that came from, but the answer arrived quickly.

Because somewhere along the way, she found cause to go on, and the will to continue.

She'd begun to live instead of simply existing because of them — because of the very people Bloodraven now expected her to forsake — Daemon. Rhaenyra. Laena. Leo. Laenor. Vaegon. Rhaenys. Jocelyn. Rhaella.

Servants, knights, paramours, lords, and ladies — so many names, so many faces. 

They'd put their faith in her — believed in her when even she struggled to do so.

Visenya forced herself to breathe and step back — She'd been willing to shoulder this burden. Willing to save the Realm and the world. Willing to do everything alone if she must.

Neither are you, Daemon had written her back in a letter that rested on the table beside her bed — and he was correct because she wished for loneliness no more.

She was pulled from her thoughts when Bloodraven voiced coldly, "Aemma wasn't your mother." 

Before Visenya could stop herself, her hand struck his face with such force that his head turned sharply to the side. Her palm left a vivid red imprint across his cheek — one that nearly matched the birthmark already marring that side of his face. His composure slipped, red eyes widening ever so slightly. 

If Blackfyre had been near, she would've run him through without a second thought. Alas, she was alone in a void of endless black. There were no blades or fire here — no way to bleed him but through her fury.

Her voice shook as she hissed through gritted teeth, emphasizing each word as if she were driving nails into his skull. "She is my mother." Her chest heaved, rage tightening every muscle in her body before she corrected herself, "Aemma was my mother — Don't ever presume to speak or think otherwise!"

Bloodraven merely shook his head, as if chastising a child who didn't understand the rules of the game she was playing. However, she refused to be dismissed. 

"Allow me to explain something that you never grasped even in your many years of life — either because of your insolence or bastardy." Visenya stepped closer, chin lifted in defiance. "Targaryens are the Crown."

A humorless smile ghosted her lips. "And if you believe I've already gone too far, you cannot begin to fathom the depths I'm willing to sink to — nor the depravity I'm capable of committing to protect those most precious to me."

She'd spend so long wondering why she was alive after all that had befallen her— after the deaths, the betrayals, and the endless weight of duty. There was a reason she'd been chosen for this — Was there not? At last, she finally understood.

Perhaps she lived because she was meant to do what no one else could.

"I'll do both — I'll break the Madsters and the Faith's hold on this Realm — and I'll save the dragons," she declared, standing taller than ever before. "And I shall do it on my terms." Bloodraven's face soured like he'd bit into a lemon. "Then you will lose," he countered flatly. 

But Visenya didn't waver. The corner of her mouth simply curved upward — If he truly believed that, then he never knew me at all — Because if there was one truth about her, then it was this: she always found a way. 

And this time, she wouldn't be alone. She'd do it with the aid of her family — her allies, her people. Most importantly, she shall do it without him.

"I'll win," she vowed. "Do you know why?" She stepped forward one last time, eyes gleaming. "Because unlike you, I don't thrust my responsibilities onto others and call it duty — I take the matters into my own hands, and I carry it."

Suddenly, her eyes flew open, her chest rising and falling in quick succession as she stared up at the ceiling, the blackness of the dream lingering behind her eyes. Visenya reached for the cup of water on the small table by her bedside and drank greedily. 

Sleep wouldn't find her after this, of that she was certain — nor did she wish for it to. She'd seen quite enough of Bloodraven for one night.

Throwing the covers aside, she reached for her robe and shrugged it on, tying it tight at the waist. Visenya gathered a few empty parchments from the table, along with a vial of ink and a freshly cut quill before slipping from her chambers into the cool corridors of the keep.

If rest wouldn't come, she might as well get a head start — There was much work to be done after all. 

However, when Visenya reached the chamber of the Painted Table, she found it wasn't empty — not even at this early hour. Lady Jocelyn sat by one of the long, narrow windows, with a nearly empty jar of wine and a half-filled cup before her — from which she sipped as if committing the last few drops to memory.

She paused at the threshold and cleared her throat. "Forgive me for the interruption — I assumed no one would be awake at this hour." Jocelyn snorted in amusement. "You underestimate an old woman's nostalgia then… and her need for wine at the hour of the nightingale."

Visenya pursed her lips, uncertain. "It's of no matter. I shall find another chamber." She turned to leave, hoping to find some cold, candlelit chamber where parchment would be her only companion. 

However, before she could, the older woman waved her hand dismissively. "Nonsense — There's room enough for another brooding soul in here. Sit." She even gestured toward the chair beside her.

Having never been alone with her before, she found herself hesitating — Rhaenys was always around, her presence a buffer that served well considering that Visenya couldn't for the life of her understand the woman's motives, nor discern her true intentions. 

But now, she had little choice — To refuse would be to offend, and she had an inkling that Jocelyn wasn't someone one slighted without consequence. So, with a soft exhale, she stepped forward and joined her by the window.

"Wine?" the elderly woman offered, raising the half-filled cup in her hand. Visenya shook her head. "No, thank you." Jocelyn shrugged and poured the last of the wine into her cup. "Your loss considering that I raided Dragonstone's better stash — I'm certain you'll find it in yourself to forgive me for it."

Her lips twitched despite herself. Jocelyn Baratheon was many things — unpredictable, sharp-tongued, perhaps even a little mad — but she was also strangely amusing.

She intrigued her from the moment they met. She was, after all, a half-sister to King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne, and the mate of Prince Aemon — A woman who'd grown up at court under the vigilant eye of Visenya's great-grandmother.

Even so, she'd never found the time, nor the patience, to properly pick the woman's mind — Not that she'd believed Jocelyn would've allowed her to.

The old woman swirled the wine in her cup before turning to her with a peculiar glint in her eye. "Would you like to hear a story?" Visenya's brow lifted in disbelief. "A story?"

She immediately recognised signs of a carefully laid ambush, and steeled herself for yet another lecture, likely about wedding Laenor. Surely, Rhaenys must've spoken to her mother about their discussion, and now Jocelyn had come to press the same point. 

"Mhm. About your grandparents," Jocelyn revealed, much to her surprise. She shifted in her seat, drawing her shawl more tightly around her shoulders, then squinted toward Visenya. "Tell me — are you of age yet?"

She opened her mouth to respond that she'd be six-and-ten in a fortnight, but the woman was already waving her off with a flick of her hand. "Matters not."

Intrigued beyond measure, Visenya settled into her seat — She'd had the privilege to meet Baelon, if only for a handful of years before his passing. But Alyssa… she remained a mystery. 

Her grandmother wasn't spoken of at all — not even in passing — not by Baelon, not by court — not even by Alysanne who always shared stories of her children. Alyssa existed only in books — only in brief lines and quiet footnotes with her children far too young to remember her, and her mate too consumed by his grief to summon her name.

And here sat Jocelyn Baratheon, half-drunk and offering her the story no one else had dared to tell — So, Visenya folded her hands atop the empty parchment and listened, heart quiet but ready.

She began to speak, her voice laced with a rare thread of nostalgia. "Alyssa… was wild." She swirled the last of her wine in the cup. "Untameable in ways Westeros wasn't built to handle — She never had the patience for courtesy, never cared for the customs that came with silk gowns and septa sermons."

“To his credit,” Jocelyn continued, “Baelon never once attempted to change that — He loved her as she was — In fact, they were so in tune with one another that they only ever argued once."

Visenya raised a brow at that. "Only once?" The older woman nodded solemnly, then let out a short laugh under her breath. "It was over something ridiculous, of course." She narrowed her eyes, amused. "Do tell."

Her mouth twitched, as if she were holding back something far too improper. "She was about your age when she grew curious about…" Rhaenys's mother trailed off, then made a vague gesture with her free hand. "…marital acts, as they say."

Her nose crinkled in distaste, and Visenya smothered a grin. The woman appeared so thoroughly scandalised by her own words that it only made the story more delightful.

"I shall spare you the details that would make a Septa faint." She cleared her throat, composing herself. "It began innocently enough — Alyssa bargained with Baelon to leave for dragon rides alone, take moonlit walks just the pair of them — Then she requested kisses, and eventually... more." 

Visenya's smirk deepened. "And grandfather indulged her?" Jocelyn answered with a fond shake of her head, "Oh, always. Baelon adored her — let her get away with half of the chaos she conjured. Alas, he drew the line at crossing... certainly thresholds before they were wed in the eyes of the Gods."

"Much to her dismay, I imagine," she guessed, slightly leaning forward. "Exactly."

She paused before grinning again, broader this time. "So, Alyssa — clever little menace that she was — tricked him into taking her to a brothel."

Her eyes nearly bulged from their sockets. "She what?" She nearly choked in disbelief as the elderly woman threw her head back and barked out a laugh.

"To this day, I don't understand what she intended to achieve," she said between wheezing laughter. "Whether it was meant to provoke him or test him — All I know is that their parents were livid. Baelon, even more so — It became a bloody scandal for about a day and a half — until poor Aemon had to step in and smooth everything over. As always."

At the mention of Aemon, Jocelyn's expression faltered. Her eyes dulled enough for her to wonder whether she'd finish the story at all — But then the old woman drew in a breath and continued.

"Aemon always cleaned up after everyone, even when it wasn't his responsibility to do so. He was never one to complain — however, they all relied on him more than they should've — That… idea for Baelon and Alyssa to wed quickly? That was his as he feared gossip would spread by the nest of whispering tongues that we call court." 

Visenya remained quiet, listening as the older woman softened again. “He was protective — fiercely so. But he was also bound by his duties — to the Realm, to the Crown, to his parents — which often resulted in him being pulled in opposite directions."

She fell silent, staring into the dregs of her wine. Then, slowly, the elderly woman turned her sharp gaze back to her, as though measuring her. "You remind me of him," she admitted plainly.

Visenya blinked, startled — Of all the comparisons she’d heard, that was new. People always told her she was most like her grandfather. But to be compared to Prince Aemon… by Jocelyn herself? — It was a compliment, a weighty one at that.

She was about to speak — to question her why — when her demeanour shifted again. The brief flicker of warmth and amusement in her eyes vanished like morning mist. "Alas, his situation was different from yours."

Visenya's expression sobered, her spine straightening as she replied with certainty. "I know that." Even so, she leaned forward, unwilling to leave it at that.

"Then you must understand," she pressed firmly, "what you're attempting to accomplish is far from easy — It isn't kind. And if you're not committed to seeing it through to the very end — consequences and sacrifices be damned — then you ought to abandon it now, before it's too late."

Her storm-grey gaze pinned her in place. "If you fail — if you falter — what little ground women have gained since you were named Heir won't only be lost — it will shatter. They'll be forced back further than they've ever been." She paused. "And another chance like this? It may not come again for decades — Perhaps not in your children's time — Perhaps not even in your grandchildren's."

Visenya's nostrils flared as she straightened her back, irritated that Jocelyn spoke to her as though she were a child — one who knew nought of the world nor the weight upon her shoulders. "I'm aware what's at stake," she snapped. "I understand it better than most — And I'll succeed."

The woman observed her before she offered a slow, reluctant nod. The tension in her shoulders eased, but her words didn't falter. "For the longest time, I believed Aemon's legacy had been lost — That his will, his fire, his drive to reshape the world perished with him when Rhaenys refused to step forward and claim it."

She glanced sideways. "It turns out I may've been looking in the wrong direction all along," Jocelyn murmured. "Perhaps his will was simply waiting for the correct vassal."

Visenya was grateful in ways she couldn't even begin to name — And, perhaps, a little guilty for misjudging the woman so thoroughly. The wine was most likely loosening her tongue, yet she couldn't bear to cast her words aside as some drunken ramblings.

The elderly woman didn't stop there, however. "I've lived a long time,” she admitted more tenderly than ever before. "And I've more than I can speak of — Too much. It... it makes you close your heart, as if that's the solution for ending all pain." 

She sighed, the weight of years pressing down on her frame. "But your love — your love for your mother, your family, your people… It... moved me." She chuckled bitterly. "It woke something in me I'd thought long dead — I’ve been hollow for years, and yet, you made me feel again. That's no small thing, girl — That's power."

Visenya blinked, the words echoing in her head — Your love is powerful. It made me feel. Suddenly, she was struck with an idea. 

Her eyes shifted slightly, mind already racing ahead, but she hadn't spoken yet — and Rhaenys's mother noticed. She narrowed her eyes and snorted, clearly annoyed. "For the love of the Gods, I hope you heard all that because I've no intention of repeating it."

She looked up, lips twitching in amusement.

"I heard every word," she assured. She squinted at her, unconvinced. "Then what's with the face?" Visenya turned to meet her gaze. "I think," she said slowly, "you may've just given me an idea on how to counter the Maesters and turn the tide in our favour."

Jocelyn raised a curious brow, "From a sentimental old woman's ramblings?" Her lips curved into a smile. "Yes. I think it's time we cease playing their game and force them to play ours instead."

Notes:

i swear to god, every time ao3 shuts down i lose a braincell worrying about it coming back 🥴

anyways, hi dear readers! i sincerely hope you enjoyed reading this chapter. it was supposed to be posted like 2 days ago, but ao3 has been fucking with me. oh, well... at least it's out!

visenya playing viserys like a fiddle is one of my favourite things to write, especially with otto being like this in the background: 🤨🙄

also, otto throwing alicent (& unknowingly himself) under the bus by suggesting they be in charge of the feast? let's just say that chapter 60 will be fun to write. love it when hightowers get humbled by visenya.

we're almost done with the eyrie plot & can i just say, i love rhea?! it's genuinely going to be hard to write her death

whoever liked bloodraven, how are you feeling after the chapter? 🤭

see ya next time!!

Chapter 59: As High As Honour

Summary:

In which:

— Corlys gets a taste of his own medicine
— Visenya collects her debts like infinity stones
— Rhaenyra eats up Ser Arnold Arryn

Notes:

i'm so happy to announce that i've planned out the rest of act 2!! it'll end at chapter 67 — aka immediately after the hunt. we're so very close to visaemon & i promise that you aren't ready!!! 🤍

we'll start act 3 with a brief dorne plot while daemon finishes the war & rhaenyra and alicent butt heads in king's landing. after that, it's visaemon time. we won't be getting vis's tour for a husband as i've played around with the plot & found a better time for the tour to happen.

stepstones, 112AC
daemon targaryen

Daemon stood over the makeshift table littered with maps as the war council slowly gathered around him — each man taking his place. They all moved carefully and observed closely because he held all the power now and they knew it.

To his right stood Valerius, his smirk ever-present as he looked around, far too entertained by the tension, while to his left sat Lord Boremund. Ser Clement Celtigar scanned the map from beside his son whilst Lord Eustace Staunton and Rafe Bar Emmon exchanged weary glances from further down the table.

At the opposite end, Lord Corlys's mouth was drawn tight, his hands pressed hard against the wooden surface as his brother appeared ready to explode. Between them silently rested Laenor, his boyish posture stiff. 

Daemon didn't bother looking at any of them, though, entirely focused on the parchment before him which showed the cave system that connected the Stepstones — The soldiers had crafted it on his orders after scouting entrances, and now it was further adorned by ink which marked the tunnels they'd sealed over the past few days.

"Ser Clement," he spoke, eyes still tracing the inked map. "Have your men completed the stoneworks on the eastern flank?" The older man straightened. "They have," he replied curtly. "The passage is sealed, so are the southern ridges — Only the cliffside vent remains open."

He nodded — That had been the goal all along, to barricade all but one exit. Admittedly, it'd taken them hours of meaningless debates for most to agree to his plan, but now that they were so very close to succeeding, Daemon found it rather difficult to contain his satisfaction.

The air stank of damp wool, seawater, and watered wine as the wind howled outside, rattling the command tent. Daemon leaned forward, one hand resting near the tunnel he'd specifically inked in black. "We barricade every entrance to starve them of light, air, and any chance of escape. Then, we light the last cave mount on fire — If flames don't end them, the collapsing rocks will."

His suggestion was, unsurprisingly, greeted with a long silence. He anticipated it, though — the idea was brutal, yet if done correctly, it'll allow them to return to their homes in but a fortnight.

Lord Eustace blinked. "You mean to let the stone do our killing?" Daemon rolled his shoulders, feeling the scar on his neck pull. "Would you rather lose another fifty men battling pirates in the dark?" he inquired defensively.

"We've never scorched a whole island before — What if the flames spread? What if we trigger landslides?" Vaemond argued. "We're at risk of burying our own men!"

"Then we'll bury fewer than we lose in daily skirmishes," Valerius's father countered. "The terrain is unstable, yes — and that's precisely why it will work. If we force the fire through the vent, the caves will turn to tombs."

"What we speak of is slaughter," Corlys said with disapproval. "There are other ways to root them out." Daemon raised a brow. "Do share them, Lord Corlys."

The Lord of Driftmark stepped forward. "We flush them from the caves, corner them with ground forces, and block the island's exits so they cannot escape." He went on, "We take prisoners and interrogate them to learn their numbers and plans—" 

"Correct me if I'm mistaken," Lord Boremund interrupted coolly, "but from what I've gathered, you've been losing men every day doing exactly that." 

"So you believe this madness preferable to striking them properly — one swift command before the Sealord's men arrive?" he snapped, turning to him. Daemon cocked his head, eyes narrowing angrily. "Which command? Yours?" Corlys stiffened. "This is my war."

"It was," he corrected smoothly. "Until Visenya sent five thousand men under my command — Until I fed and clothed your army. You may've started this war, Lord Corlys — but I'm the one who'll end it."

"Have you heard that, my Lords?" Vaemond laughed, gesturing to him, exasperated. "And you'd trust him to command us all? — The very man who once played King of Flea Bottom and left blood in brothels?!"

Daemon silently raged, his hand instinctively wrapping around the Dark Sister's hilt. However, before he could act on his deepest desire to shut Corlys's brother up for eternity, Ser Clement quipped, "I trust the man with the army, a dragon, and the support of the Heir to the Iron Throne." 

"Laenor is a dragonrider as well," he barked, glancing at his nephew pointedly. "He could lead the strike — We hardly need Daemon to turn the Stepstones to ash just to amuse himself."

The boy, to his credit, shifted uncomfortably in his seat, clearly wishing the floor would swallow him. "I—I didn't ask for command." His uncle cut in sharply, "No, but if there's to be a bold strike, better you than him!"

After witnessing how all the men watched Vaemond as if he'd suddenly grown two heads for daring to suggest such a thing, Daemon straightened. "You'd rather your nephew lead five thousand to death then? — He is far from ready, and you know it."

Corlys looked around, likely realising that he was losing this battle. He took a breath and questioned, "So you truly think burning them is the only path?" Lord Boremund offered a nod. "It's the most effective," he answered plainly. "And if Gods are good — we could end the war before winter comes."

"Perhaps, but how we'll do so is inhumane," the Velaryon knight shot back. "There must be sellsails in those caves who'd surrender if given a chance — You'd be burning men who've thrown down their swords!"

"Then they should've thrown them down sooner," Daemon snapped. "I care not for the cries of cowards who wore a pirate's flag yesterday and now beg for mercy — They destroyed our supply lines, slit our throats in the dark, and chained sailors to rot in hulls!" His voice rose with each word. "They shall burn for it — All of them!"

Lord Rafe hesitantly looked between the two sides. "And if the Crabfeeder escapes again?" His lilac eyes darkened at the thought alone. "He won't — not this time." 

He'd be damned if he allowed that to happen now that they finally had the numbers to utilise the plan he'd had in mind for a while — They'd taken every preventative measure they could think of, and went to great lengths to ensure its success.

It must succeed — It simply had to.

Valerius, who lounged near the edge of the slope, arms loosely crossed, suddenly spoke in a teasing manner, "If you start smiling, my Prince, you'll terrify the men." Daemon's mouth twitched. "I haven't smiled."

"Your silence is smug enough," the Celtigar knight replied, before turning in the direction of the wind that kept tousling his long hair — That he'd no grounds to deny.

Why shouldn't he be smug? — Here they all stood on the edge of the long-awaited breakthrough that'd lead them to the final victory — all because of him no less. In his opinion, he wasn't acting smug enough.

Corlys, who stood stiffly behind them, glared at the sealed cave as if he could will the stone to break. "Your confidence is a dangerous thing, my Prince." He didn't turn. "Oh, is it now?" he asked, thoroughly amused.

"You play the warlord well for a man who required his niece's coin and name to stand at this cliff," he continued as if he hadn't heard his question. 

Surprisingly, Daemon found it easy to ignore the jab — Perhaps because he realised this was the man's final ditch effort to get a rise out of him, or perhaps because he was so consumed by the anticipation of a victory that he simply didn't care. 

Whatever the case may be, Corlys couldn't ruin this for him — nobody could.

"And yet here we stand," Daemon dryly chuckled, spreading his arms wide, "watching my plan unfold anyway."

Lord Eustace cleared his throat, visibly unimpressed. "Gods, must we bicker like crones at the market?" Lord Boremund crossed his arms over his chest and grunted, "Let them speak — Every man here shows his colors eventually."

Lord of Driftmark then sharply turned toward his uncle by marriage. "You, of all men, should know better than to back him — You've known me since youth. Have I not earned your respect?"

The tall man simply raised his brow. "You've earned many things, Lord Corlys — Pride among them." The head of House Velaryon jabbed a hand toward Daemon. "I earned this war! — And yet, he turned it into a spectacle!"

"He turned it into victory," Ser Clement corrected dryly. "Yes, victory bought with fire and ego," Vaemond agreed sarcastically, causing Daemon to smirk tauntingly. "My ego, yes. Fire, yes — Victory? Still mine."

He appeared about ready to combust much to his satisfaction when Corlys spoke sharply, "You're not King, Daemon." He cocked his head to the side at that, offering a crooked smile. "Not yet."

But if everything went according to the plan, he'd be one by the end of the day — He'd have fended off the pirates, conquered the Stepstones and most importantly, he'd have completed his goal in securing lands that he could offer to Visenya.

His words caused a ripple of unease to spread through the group — However, Lord Boremund remained the only brave soul to step forward and confront him about it. "Careful, my Prince."

"Why? You disagree?" Daemon demanded, eyes narrowing dangerously. "I disapprove of you flaunting my support in Corlys's face and acting as if it makes you untouchable," he said irritably. "Don't test how far my loyalty stretches, my Prince — And don't forget who I'm actually here for."

That made him pause, but not for long — Visenya had entrusted him with an army, and he was handling them the way he saw fit — by asserting his dominance and making his intention of claiming the Stepstones as his own clear. He cared not for the soils of war, only for these barren lands that'd prove him to be a worthy and useful match for her.

Most importantly, he needn't explain himself to them — they were here to serve him, and thus his niece, not the other way around.

Lord Rafe glanced between them before muttering, "If we're done comparing manhoods, I believe we have a victory to secure."

To that, Daemon agreed — So, he didn't hesitate upon striding away from the group, his steps carrying him to the scorched plateau below, upon which Caraxes awaited. His dragon welcomed him with a low growl, his crimson scales shimmering in the sunlight.

He mounted in one fluid motion, and they rose to the sky without ceremony, the red beast's wings slicing through the mist as Daemon guided him in a wide arc toward the entrance to the cave which remained open. 

They circled the heavy rocks once, and then twice in warning as soldiers began to dart away in waves. Once he was certain none of his men were near — and once he was finished admiring what he'd orchestrated, Caraxes dove.

"Dracarys," he shouted without needing to, as his dragon already parted his jaws to release the flames that poured into the mouth of the cave like the breath of a God. The rocks shook with a sudden blast, and then collapsed in on themselves, vanishing beneath smoke and fury.

From the cliffs, Daemon could hear his soldiers roaring in victory — Thousands of voices arose at once with laughter, screams, and cheers. Swords banged against shields, men raised their fists, and stomped their boots on stone. 

He wasn't certain he'd ever heard sounds so sweet.

Later that day when everyone and everything calmed down — including the steam that curled from the sealed caves, and collapsed tunnels — Daemon found himself waist-deep in the Narrow Sea, ash swirling off his skin in gray coils. 

Beside him, Val dunked beneath the sea's surface before emerging with a satisfied sigh and pushing his golden hair from his face. "You know," he said, flexing his arms with exaggerated pride, "I always believed I'd look good war-wounded — It adds a certain tragic charm, don't you think?"

He snorted, dragging fingers through his long silver hair in hopes of untangling the knots crusted with ash and sea salt. "Your mate will be weeping in the streets at the sight of you."

"She'll be weeping on me," the Celtigar knight corrected with a wink. Then his grin softened. "Though, truth be told… she'll probably scold me first." Daemon glanced at him sideways. "She scolds you?"

"Like a septa on a fasting day," Valerius said cheerfully. "Every cut will be my fault, and every bruise the result of my 'carelessness' — He’ll worry herself hoarse, I've no doubt." He trailed off, expression warm. "Still… there's comfort in knowing someone awaits back home."

He was quiet for a time after that, his thoughts drifting to Visenya whom he'd vowed to return to in one piece. When Val noticed hands stilling in his hair, he jested, "Not that you'll be sharing tender kisses with Lady Royce anytime soon."

Daemon's mood immediately soured at the mention of the bronze bitch, and he sent the man a withering look. "I'd rather kiss Caraxes." He grinned. "You'd have more luck with the dragon."

He scoffed under his breath and resumed dragging his fingers through his hair with a grimace — Gods, it'd become exceedingly harder to maintain his long hair as of late. It took too much effort to wash away the ash and soot, and he sometimes even felt as if it was stuck in his locks permanently.

Balla once asked to aid him with it, and he'd given her such a look that she never bothered offering help again — So if he didn't find others adequate for it, and he couldn't do it himself either, he might as well cut it.

Though, before he could request that Valerius throw him a blade, the sound of approaching steps made him look up — He found Laenor carefully striding toward them, his eyes flicking from Celtigar to Daemon. The boy's usual cheer was absent, and he appeared rather uncertain.

"Laenor," Daemon addressed him, not unkindly. "You didn't happen to bring a comb, did you?" He blinked. "A—no. I… I just—wished to say, that was… You were incredible today... on Caraxes."

Valerius winked and retreated toward the shore. "I'll give you two a moment — I need to remind my men that I'm alive and handsome." Daemon snorted, but didn't dignify that with a response. Instead, he looked up at Velaryon Heir with casual interest. "And?"

Laenor shifted awkwardly. "I—uh. I wanted to ask again about knighthood." Before he could dismiss the boy again, he went on, "I'm no longer a child — and I wish to fight with a sword in hand, not only from dragonback."

For a moment, Daemon said nothing. He emerged from the sea and reached for the linen wrap he'd left on a stone before petting the boy's shoulder — a little too hard to be affectionate. "You are young," he reminded him. "Too young even — You require more time, and more training."

The Velaryon Heir frowned as he followed him. "You were knighted at the age I am now," he argued quietly. "Those were different times," he dismissed lightly. "And I was a very different boy."

Laenor's jaw tightened slightly, but he nodded. "Of course." Daemon offered him a knowing smile. "Not now, but perhaps soon. We shall see." The boy stepped back, his expression politely masked. "As you say, my Prince."

As he turned to leave, Lord Corlys emerged from behind the rocks nearby — not even attempting to hide that he'd observed the entire exchange. "You just enjoy dangling what my son wants before him," he accused as Daemon passed by him.

He almost snorted — Of course, he'd find a way to make this about him.

"I enjoy many things," he replied vaguely. "Not all of them are about you." Still, the Lord of Driftmark insisted on following him up the slope toward the tents. "We built this war together, we fought as allies—"

"Until you attempt to make me useful to your ends," Daemon cut him off sharply. "And you're not using Boremund now?" he shot back. "Of course I am, but at least I'm not lying about it!"

Corlys exhaled in an attempt to rein in his temper, mouth pressing into a thin line. "We can still find a way to stand side by side — The war isn't over. There's still the fallout to manage." He offered, "I'd rather not be at odds with you, Daemon."

He turned to him as he draped the towel over his shoulder. "Then you shouldn't have tried to play me." The man stepped closer. "Offering Laena's hand in marriage in exchange for an alliance with Bravoos wasn't done to spite you, but to help us end this war!"

Daemon almost rolled his eyes — As if he'd ever trust that the Seasnake didn't have alternative motives. He might not have the patience to play the game, but that hardly made him a fool.

The Lord of Driftmark extended his hand in what felt like a peace offering. "Let us work together again — This alliance isn't worth fracturing over some petty feuds." His gaze cooled as he turned away out of pure spite. "I'm certain it isn't — at least to you."

 

 

 

_____

 

 

 

dragonstone, 112AC
visenya targaryen

Dragonstone hadn't buzzed with so much presence in what felt like a couple of moon turns. The absence of servants, guards, and Maesters had offered a much-needed isolation in their time of need — However, those days were now behind them. 

Decisions had been made, and an uncertain path had been carved forward — one that would no longer rely on keeping the schemes of Maesters hidden, at least not fully — Still, the matter of who would be entrusted with the fragments of truth had nearly torn the council apart.

The question led to arguments that dragged into the night — Who deserved to be brought in — to be allowed a glimpse of what the Citadel had kept hidden for decades? 

Eventually, they settled on Houses Celtigar, Staunton, and Bar Emmon — all of whom were sworn to Dragonstone and still loyal to it. And House Tyrell, bound to her not by duty, but by something more rare and valuable: mutual respect — not the empty kind spouted from Lords' mouths, but the kind that'd been proven in fire.

The women had arrived in place of their fathers, brothers, sons, and husbands — many of whom now fought in the Stepstones in her name. Only Lady Jeyne and Rhaenyra remained absent, though Visenya didn't dwell on it — The two of them would be briefed, and soon. 

For now, though, she stood in the great throne room of Dragonstone, her eyes fixed upon its entrance as she awaited the arrival of her final guest — Lady Amanda Tyrell. Her foot tapped lightly against the black stone floor, betraying her restlessness.

Every so often, her gaze flicked toward the far end of the chamber, where her great-uncle stood, deep in conversation with Maester Gerardys.

His arrival had been unexpected — a consequence, ironically, of Visenya's own manipulation. She hadn't intended to stir her father into such panic that he'd demand a Maester to be sent to Dragonstone — and yet, she couldn't deny that it'd worked in their favour. 

Vaegon had all but leapt at the opportunity to bring Gerardys here. He even insisted on making the request himself to ensure no other Maester could be sent in his place — So, Visenya allowed it. 

She'd also tasked the Archmaester with briefing the man in full. After all, if they were to move forward, Gerardys must be aware of everything — And if anyone could make the Maester understand the depth of the conspiracy along with its dangers, it was Vaegon. 

Despite straining to catch any hint of emotion on Gerardys's face as the Archmaester murmured to him in quiet tones, his expression remained frustratingly unreadable — with no recognition, doubt, anger, or anything at all.

Visenya had been so focused on the two men that she'd entirely forgotten about the woman standing beside her until she spoke, "Are you certain my presence won't be required in King's Landing, Your Grace?"

She turned, blinking in surprise as she found Cira's hesitant expression. "You needn't worry," she reassured. "I once vowed to keep you safe for all your days — I haven't forgotten that, and I don't intend to do so now."

It was the truth — even if a part of her knew that Cira's testimony could bolster their cause greatly. Still, she couldn't ask the woman to relive her pain for the sake of men who'd look down on her for even daring to speak.

The midwife nodded faintly, lips parting as though she might respond, only to shut them again. Then, quite suddenly, she blurted, "I want to go."

Visenya's breath caught — There was a tremble in her voice, yes, but the determination within it rang louder. Her eyes softened with sympathy as she gently placed her hand on Cira's shoulder. "You've already done enough." 

"Have I? Truly?" She swallowed hard. "Because I could've spoken up when it mattered most — could've been stronger, could've trusted myself… but I haven't — And I'll regret it for the rest of my life." Her voice cracked slightly. "I did naught then, but I have the chance to do something now. So... allow me to take it."

Of all the things she'd come to expect, this was the last of it — because Cira, who'd once allowed herself to be so easily dismissed, was now standing before her, shaking, yet refusing to back down.

"If you're certain—" she began only for the midwife to chime in, "I am, Your Grace." Visenya nodded slowly, squeezing her shoulder. "Then I'd be honoured to have you stand with me."

Tears filled Cira's eyes as she offered Visenya a look of gratitude so full that it required no words at all. Then, with a quiet breath, she turned to join the other guests who gathered for wine and refreshments. 

She'd scarcely disappeared before Leo stepped through the doors into the hall. She smiled faintly and lifted her hand to beckon him forward. His face brightened at the sight of her — and he approached at once, brushing a hand through his hair in an attempt to smooth it, only to ruffle it further.

Visenya tilted her head slightly as she took him in — He appeared... barely held together with the dark circles underneath his eyes, and his doublet wrinkled — Whether that was due to the journey to King's Landing or the sheer amount of tasks she'd assigned to him, she wasn't certain — but guilt began to settle in her chest all the same.

"How was the trip?" she inquired gently. Leo exhaled through his nose, not bothering to hide the exhaustion. "Uneventful," he replied plainly.

He rubbed his eyes before offering the report, "I spoke with Ser Harwin — According to him, the men who attacked Cira have already been dealt with." Visenya frowned, brows pulling together. "We searched the cells, just in case — questioned the guards, even. However… there's no record of them anywhere."

She pressed her lips into a tight line, neither angry nor disappointed — She'd long since accepted that locating those men would be a long shot — especially when the Gold Cloaks were trained to silence trouble quickly and without fuss. It would've certainly helped to question them, and extract confessions that'd tie them to the Hightowers or Mellos — Alas, it hadn't been their only option. 

Nor would it be their last.

"We managed to detain the others, though — They're all in the cells, waiting for you," Leo continued after her lack of response. Visenya offered a small nod, eyes absently scanning the great throne room. "Good."

"Mysaria sends her regards," he added with a small tilt of his head. "And… she questioned whether she should begin planting the... seeds of doubt, as she put it." She firmly shook her head, though her thoughts remained elsewhere. "Not yet."

She needn't explain that the timing was delicate — now more than ever. It was probably for the best to wait until she returned to the capital — possibly even until the trial itself ended. 

Visenya rubbed at her temples, the first sting of a headache blooming between her brows. "I apologise if I've let you down," her friend murmured beside her, his words hitting her like a slap. She lifted her gaze sharply. "You haven't let me down at all, Leo — In fact, you've done exactly what I requested of you."

His brows drew together. "Then why do you appear... disappointed?" Visenya let out a slow and weary breath. "Because the more time passes, the less I'm certain this plan will work," she admitted.

There it was — the doubt she so rarely gave voice to.

"Does a better plan even exist?" the knight inquired curiously. She didn't respond right away — It was true that there were other routes she could've taken, such as spreading whispers of the Maesters' corruption through Mysaria's web of brothels. 

However, if the whispers began there, they'd first reach the ears of the smallfolk — people who rarely interacted with Maesters, and even less with those in power. Their target was the nobility — They must be the ones questioning — They needed to doubt.

And the swiftest way to get them to do so was to sow that doubt among their own — through nobles who already believed in Visenya and would spread the truth — or rather the carefully chosen fragments of it — to others of their station.

Her eyes flicked across the throne room again, observing as Jocelyn and Laena interacted with Lady Elys Celtigar — the mate of Ser Clement — and their daughter-in-law, Lady Eleanor. They were the perfect targets, she realised.

Still, Visenya's voice was low with reluctant resignation when she finally admitted, "No, most likely not." Perhaps it was time to accept that she'd done everything she could. Now, the rest would come down to trust — not in others, but in herself and her ability to sway people to her side.

Luckily, before she could fall deeper into her spiraling thoughts, Leo suddenly left her side. She turned to see what'd drawn him only for her heart to soften at the sight of Lady Amanda sweeping inside with elegance. Beside her walked her daughter, Lady Liya, and trailing behind them was Princess Rhaenys, flanked by two guards.

Her friend reached them first, embracing his mother and sister each in turn as she quietly straightened her spine and followed after — Both Amanda and Liya dropped into deep, well-practiced curtsies the moment their eyes found Visenya.

"Your Grace," they greeted in unison, the words clean and synchronised. She gently gestured for them to rise, expression oddly warm. "Please — That's hardly necessary."

"Lady Amanda," Visenya greeted first, dipping her chin. "Thank you for answering my summons on such short notice." Her mother's half-sister waved her off with a light laugh. "You aided us in our time of need, sweet girl — This is naught in comparison."

She offered, "Still, I'm pleased you've come." Her gaze then shifted to Liya Tyrell whose presence felt watchful rather than shy — There was also something old and knowing in her eyes that Visenya didn't expect.

"Lady Liya, if I remember correctly?" The girl nodded with grace that was almost too refined for her age. "Yes, Your Grace," she answered softly, her voice melodic. "It's an honour to be presented to you."

She couldn't help the slight smile that tugged at her lips. Politeness, she could stomach — but this was genuine poise.

"You must both be exhausted from your journey," she suddenly said, gesturing toward the side of the chamber where refreshments had been laid out. "Please — make yourselves comfortable."

Before either of them could respond, Rhaenys — who'd taken her place at Visenya's side — waved over at her daughter across the throne room. "Laena can show you to your seats."

Right on cue, her friend swept in with a grin, introduced herself with a courtly dip of her head, and — in true Laena fashion — sent her a playful wink before looping her arm through Liya's. "Come," she invited, "Let's get you some wine before the meeting begins." Leo followed after them as well, leaving Visenya standing alone beside Rhaenys.

It didn't take long before the Princess broke the silence. "She’s a graceful girl," she commented lightly, her gaze still on Liya, who was now listening attentively to something Laena was whispering. "Polite — Raised for court even."

Visenya merely hummed in acknowledgment, watching as Amanda greeted her sister, Lady Elys — across the room. 

"You already have an unspoken alliance with Lord Lerris," the woman went on casually, "You're particularly close with Amanda — and, you trust Leo." She raised a brow at her. "Meaning?"

Rhaenys clasped her hands behind her back. "Meaning," she said, "when you finally begin forming your household — which you must do eventually — Lady Liya would be a fitting addition as a lady-in-waiting — It'd cement the Tyrell's role in your cause and place a loyal ally ever at your side."

Visenya blinked, considering the suggestion — She hadn't given it much thought before, but now that Rhaenys laid it bare, she could see the merit — not just strategically, but personally. She hummed thoughtfully, "I'll send a proposal to Lord Lerris — See if he approves the arrangement."

The dark-haired woman snapped her head toward her in clear surprise. "You will?" Her lips twitched with amusement. "Why do you sound so surprised? Did you expect me to argue?"

"I expected you to refuse — as you always have when suggestions about your household are made," the woman bluntly admitted.

She gave a small shrug. "That might've been true before, but the circumstances have changed — If I am to allow others into the truth of it, then I may as well begin choosing those I trust to stand beside me — openly." 

And, if the past few moons had taught her anything, it was that if entrusted to the right people, tasks were completed faster, and with more efficiency — The idea of forming a household to absorb some of her daily responsibilities was, in itself, both terrifying and strangely exhilarating. She'd be able to focus solely on the political intricacies of court life, while others managed the mundane and the ceremonial.

That alone would free her to strategise in peace — to think, to plan, to act.

Visenya cleared her throat softly, casting a sidelong glance at Rhaenys. "Since you haven't taken off to Driftmark with Laena yet, I take it that means you've made your decision."

She didn't push — not too directly, at least — but she also needed clarity. Her continued presence was answer in itself, yet she required it to be spoken aloud so there'd be no guessing or hoping, only facts.

The woman steadily met her gaze. "Driftmark is sworn directly to Dragonstone, is it not?" She exhaled a short breath through her nose. "I suppose." The Princess shrugged with maddening nonchalance. "Then our place is here — with you."

A quiet moment of understanding shared without the need for excessive words passed between them. "We've reached an agreement then," Visenya murmured.

Their gazes met briefly, and for once, no challenge lingered between them. There were no veiled warnings or political manoeuvrings, just two women — two Targaryens — choosing to stand on the same side.

From the corner of her eye, she suddenly noticed Vaegon awkwardly lifting his hand, trying not to interrupt, but clearly seeking her attention — So, she quietly excused herself from Rhaenys and approached her great-uncle who was still standing with Maester Gerardys.

"Great-niece," he shifted his weight, clearly unused to this much social delicacy. "Allow me to introduce Maester Gerardys — the man I've spoken to you about."

Visenya turned her attention to the Maester, taking in his heart-shaped face, streaked black hair, and calm, intelligent eyes. She inclined her head politely, and he returned the gesture with reverence. "It's an honour to meet you — I've heard… a great many things about you."

Her lips curved into a knowing smile. "Over the years, I've learned not to expect all of them to be flattering — no matter how much I wish otherwise."

To his credit, Gerardys didn't scramble to reassure her with lies, instead, he remained refreshingly candid. "Some were, and some weren't," he said simply. "But the Maesters who had the privilege of tutoring you spoke only of your intelligence and wit — Those who spread the more… questionable tales had never once been in your presence — Which speaks volumes, if I may say so." 

She blinked, surprised — and more than a little pleased as it wasn't often she met someone who chose honesty over honeyed flattery.

"Vaegon has mentioned your vast knowledge and your accomplishments more than once," she replied with a light smile. "He has great respect for you — That speaks volumes as well."

Visenya then turned to her great-uncle, eyes softening in a wordless gesture of gratitude. "Thank you." He blinked, mouth parting as if he might protest or try to linger — but then, he quietly withdrew, disappearing down one of the halls without protest.

Once he was gone, she gestured for Gerardys to walk with her, guiding him past the refreshment tables, where her guests were still engaged in lively chatter — but she maintained enough distance that no idle ears could overhear what was to come.

She cleared her throat, eyes flicking across his expression as she began with quiet sincerity, "I imagine some of the things you've heard from Vaegon must've sounded… unbelievable — Perhaps even mad."

The Maester considered her — then, with surprising calm, he replied, "They were. And, yet they weren't."  He grew serious, his tone cautiously lowering, "The theories he presented to me about certain plants and practices — they all align with what the Citadel knows. It isn't that your conclusions were far-fetched — On the contrary, they make too much sense, and that is what troubles me." 

He chose his words with care, speaking vaguely enough that if someone were foolish enough to eavesdrop, they'd hear nothing damning — a sign that only affirmed Visenya's initial instinct: this man was not just thoughtful, but discreet. 

Gerardys's brows furrowed then, his gaze curious in a way that didn't feel accusatory — merely... genuine. "Which brings me to the question — If you distrust the Citadel as you do, why invite me here? Why offer me the post as Dragonstone's Maester?"

Visenya inhaled deeply, already anticipating the question — though not yet prepared to answer it in any way that'd fully satisfy a man like him.

She could've given him a hundred reasons — could've explained that Dragonstone required a Maester to keep up appearances in order to make the rest of the Realm believe all was normal behind the closed doors whilst she searched for the concrete proof of the Citadel's treachery. 

But instead, she offered the simplest, truest answer possible, "You were recommended by Vaegon." He blinked, lips twitching in faint surprise. "Only that?"

"Among other things," she conceded. "I require loyalty — now more than ever. I need knowledge, and someone who can be trusted with it." There wasn't a more elegant way to phrase what came next. So, she simply blurted, "More importantly, I wish for you to become maester of Dragonstone so you can join our cause."

She watched him closely, studying every flicker of his face for hesitation, fear, outrage — And yet, there was none. If anything, he seemed... contemplative, and strangely calm despite knowing that if he refused her offer, she'd have no choice but to end his life in the name of preserving their findings.

He didn't appear unsettled, so Visenya pressed on, "I realise that what I'm asking of you is far from simple — You'd be turning your back on everything you've ever known, your brothers at the Citadel, your studies — and the entire system that raised you. You'd be required to walk away from it all."

Gerardys was quiet for a while — So long that she began wondering if she'd overstepped. But then, he admitted, "It'd be difficult, yes — but not in the way you may think."

She blinked, caught off guard, especially when he looked up at her with something gentler — something more open, almost sad. "It would've been hard if you were requesting that I betray my purpose, but you're not."

He stepped a little closer, hands still folded neatly behind his back. "I became a Maester to heal, to help — to save people, Your Grace. Not to watch them be broken apart by those who claim to serve them," he clarified. "I never intended to serve rot or secrecy — I just never realised how deep it ran."

Visenya could've genuinely smiled at that — There weren't many people in the world who'd choose to change sides on principle alone. Yet Gerardys had never truly been on the side of corruption, had he? He'd simply never been shown the truth of it.

Even so, she must make one thing clear.

"I won't lie by promising that I wouldn't be hurting people as well," she warned him. "Some of what I must do will be ugly, Maester — I'll have to destroy what exists before anything can be rebuilt. That's… the only way."

He didn't flinch — didn't even blink. He simply shook his head. "And in doing you, you'll be healing the world. That's what matters — and that's what I'm choosing to follow."

 

 

 

_____

 

 

 

eyrie, 112AC
rhaenyra targaryen

Rhaenyra stood in the middle of the women's tent in her stiff riding leathers. Her long hair was braided off her face, and her gloves were tugged tight. She was prepared — She'd trained, flown, and nearly bled beside them — She'd be damned if she allowed herself to be cast aside now.

And yet, Joffrey had the gall to suggest just that. "Perhaps it's for the best if you sit this one out," he'd said, voice infuriatingly calm as his fingers nervously tapped against the hilt of his sword.

She almost stomped her foot — almost. Instead, her fists clenched at her sides. "I wish to go," she declared, ready to argue — even beg if it came to that. 

She needed to be present when they arrested Ser Arnold. Not only for the glory — though she'd be lying if she claimed that wasn't part of it — but because this mattered. Because she couldn't shake the feeling that she'd somehow spurned the man to attack when he had — The timing of Jeyne's invitation for Rhaenyra to take place as her Heir, and the start of the raids was far too suspicious to be accidental, after all.

So, she must see this through.

Alas, Joffrey only exhaled and shook his head. "There's naught for the dragon to do in a cave," he countered flatly. "This mission requires subtlety — and your dragon is hardly subtle." 

Rhaenyra stared at him, cheeks hot. He wasn't necessarily incorrect — but she still despised that her usefulness only extended as far as her dragon. 

He must've noticed the shift in her expression, because he stepped forward, his tone softening. "You've done more than enough, Princess — We would've been entirely too focused on surviving to be able to capture them, yet you provided us the edge we needed to uncover this — Your presence changed everything. But now… now it's time to go home."

Home — to the Eyrie, away from where the story ended.

Before she could lash out, a flicker of movement behind the Arryn knight caught her eye — It was Rhea, who sat on a makeshift chair, her arms crossed over her armoured chest, and her brow arched in a silent demand: Let it go.

Rhaenyra's jaw clenched — Her pride screamed in protest, yet there was a part of her that saw the truth in it all — saw it, despised it, and accepted it. 

"…Alright," she muttered, causing Joffrey to blink in disbelief. "Truly?" She forced herself to tip her head forward in a nod. 

When he, at last, exited the tent, the dark-haired woman let out a dramatic sigh. "You look like a kicked pup," she observed, voice as dry as sand.

Rhaenyra ripped her glove from her hand and flung it to the ground with a frustrated growl. "Because it's unfair! — I should be there!" she insisted. "I contributed to winning this, did I not? Even you admitted so."

Rhea didn't flinch — She merely eyed her with an unimpressed glare. "And now you want a crown of glory to go with it?" she questioned. "Gods spare me. You're far too impatient, girl — If you continue like this, you'll end up with a sword through your gut."

She opened her mouth, her temper itching to rise — however, the woman cut her off, jabbing a finger toward the makeshift stool where her bandaged leg rested. "Do you honestly believe me eager to be sent back to the Eyrie like some sick old crone?" she snapped. "Many of my men are dead, yet I won't be able to see to it that the man responsible gets brought to justice because I didn't know when to sit the fuck down and thus, caused an infection!" 

Rhaenyra said nothing — she couldn't. The sting in her words wasn't aimed to wound, yet it still found its mark.

After a beat, the woman calmed, though her mouth remained tight. "Count your victories and your losses — Hold them all close, and never forget what it feels like to neither lose nor win. Learn from it so your mistakes don't repeat — and next time, you won't find yourself unprepared."

The sound of wood striking bark echoed through the lower courtyard of the Eyrie as Rhaenyra spun, pivoted, and sliced — her practice blade hitting the marked trunk before her with decent force. Her movements were sharp and precise, yet her mind was elsewhere entirely — She was merely repeating steps without thinking about them, and it showed.

"Where's your mind, girl? Because it's certainly not on your opponent," the Lady of Runestone voiced from behind her, causing her to falter mid-movement. 

She blinked at the trunk as if surprised to find it still there, and then turned to face Rhea, who — by all logic — shouldn't be anywhere outside of her assigned chambers, resting. Rhaenyra tilted her head, exasperated. "It's but a tree."

"So? Steel or bark, it matters not — The second you forget what's in front of you is the second you die," the dark-haired woman gestured wildly, nearly unbalancing herself with the motion. "Now move — Focus."

Rhaenyra rolled her eyes and turned back to the tree, the irritation that appeared the moment Joffrey cast her out of the camp still simmered under her skin. She went through the forms again: step, twist, strike, duck — They were all clean, yet still lacking.

A long, suffering sigh came from behind.

"Must we physically be in a camp, surrounded by enemies for you to give a damn?" Rhea snapped. "Or perhaps we should stage an ambush right here, see if that jolts some life into you."

"I'm trying!" She bit back through her teeth. "Not hard enough!" the Lady of Runestone barked. "I swear, if I must limp over there and show you how to pivot again—"

Rhaenyra sharply turned, the weapon trembling in her hand — This was absurd!

She wouldn't even be here if she'd been trained properly in her younger years — if anyone thought to prepare her for more than sitting in silk and smiling while the men decided her fate.

Everyone had always wanted her soft, polished, quiet, and Rhaenyra hated it — It wasn't even the absence of control that bothered her, but the knowledge that others had such power over her simply because she was a girl.

Why were women expected to be so fragile? Why was their weakness encouraged and then mocked once it took root?

Her breath was sharp in her throat, heart still pounding with frustration as she froze mid-strike, something suddenly gnawing at the back of her mind — No woman in King's Landing, or beyond was permitted to touch a sword. Let alone join a battle. Except her sister, of course, but Visenya was an exception — always had been. 

Even so, that was one woman in the capital — Here, there were dozens.

She lowered the weapon and turned to face Rhea. "How come women here know how to fight?" Before she could answer, a voice cut in behind her, correcting her, "We know how to hunt." She spun to find Lady Tarla Royce striding toward them, her dark cloak trailing behind her. 

"It's part of our culture, Princess," she explained, coming to stand beside her cousin. "If you'd arrived in the Vale during a time of peace, I wager that would've been the first thing they'd teach you — before court protocol, laws, or even taxes."

Rhaenyra tilted her head, confused. "But… you hunt animals. Not men." Tarla's lips curled, but her eyes shone with amusement. "When they're coming at you with a blade, ready to end your life — tell me — what exactly is the difference?"

She said naught at first, simply blankly stared ahead as she remembered the man with the axe — Particularly the way he'd charged her, the way his teeth were bared — the way he didn't view her as a person, just prey.

"I… suppose there isn't one," she admitted quietly. And the more Rhaenyra thought of it, the more it made sense — The women of the Vale only ever used bows, daggers, and hunting blades, not swords like knights. She pointed out as much.

Rhea, who observed her with crossed arms, nodded. "Yes. Because swords were made for men." She blinked at her. "They're long, heavy, and weighted for strength — But we'll never be stronger than them, or taller, or heavier. So if we play their game — their way — we'll lose every time."

She jabbed her finger toward Rhaenyra's chest, like a tutor scolding a squire. "But we're faster. We're nimbler — We bend where they break. That's our strength — That's our weapon."

Her gaze dropped to her hands — couldn't help but remember how much Gwen and Kaina obsessed over her footwork — how Rhea barked at her about angles and reflexes until she saw stars. Yet, when Ser Rylon and Leowyn attempted to teach her, they'd only ever focused on brute strength, on the clashing of blades and the victory through force.

Rhea, clearly growing tired of the philosophical turn, turned to Tarla with a raised brow. "Did you join us for a reason, or just to interrupt the only lesson she was actually understanding?"

The younger woman rolled her eyes, clearly used to her cousin's bark. "I thought the Princess might want to know that Lady Jeyne's passed her sentence." Rhaenyra straightened. "And?" 

"The guards are dragging him to the sky cells as we speak," she revealed. "And," she added with a pointed glance at Rhea, "I came to fetch you — You're meant to be on bed rest. The Maester's been turning the whole castle upside down to find you so he can change your bandages."

The Lady of Runestone muttered something obscene under her breath, grimacing as she shifted her weight to stand. "You're impossible," Tarla snorted, yet reached to support her nonetheless. Rhaenyra stepped forward as well, offering her arm — and for once, she accepted it without complaint.

Once Rhea was safely in the hands of a Maester, Rhaenyra changed her route and headed toward the dungeons. She arrived just as Lady Jeyne was emerging from one of the cells. "Is it done?" she inquired, a bit breathless.

Her cousin didn't appear surprised to see her. "It is," she replied, offering no elaboration. Even though she was naught by calm, Rhaenyra could read people well enough by now to recognise that Jeyne was actually seething beneath the surface. 

She stepped closer, her gaze sliding toward the iron bars Jeyne had just stepped away from. "What punishment did you settle on?" she asked, perhaps too casually to be innocent.

The Lady of the Vale didn't bother looking back at the cell. "He's to spend the rest of his days rotting in the sky cells," she revealed. "After failing yet another attempt at usurpation, I had him and his issue permanently removed from the line of succession to the Vale — That's merciful enough, won't you agree?"

There was satisfaction in her voice now, though, the tension in her shoulders hadn't loosened — not even slightly. And then, as if summoned by the mention of his fate, he appeared behind the bars.

Rhaenyra's first thought was that he looked naught like Jeyne — Ser Arnold was older, and filthier. His pale blonde hair clung to his sweat-slick skin and his cold blue eyes glinted with something cruel. 

Gods, he resembled Joffrey, she realised.

Her cousin pointedly glared at him. "Had I been another, I'd have cut off his head and been done with it — Alas, I'm no kinslayer… and he's hardly important enough to make me one."

Her words were brutal, yet they hardly unsettled the man — if at all. Ser Arnold stepped closer to the bars, expression curling into a sneer. "You may've locked me away, but you'll never escape me," he rasped. "Not truly."

Rhaenyra tensed, but Jeyne didn't even blink. "Have you heard something, dear cousin?" she questioned, turning to her with mock-innocent eyes. "Because I haven't," she hummed. "Must've been the wind."

Rhaenyra bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing as her cousin gestured for them to head back up. However, she'd unintentionally shifted the man's focus onto her, and before they could leave, he spoke again.

"So... this is the girl you'd name to succeed you?" he inquired, looking her up and down like she was something to be inspected — a thing, not a person. "You've usurped my rightful place and now you wish to put a Targaryen on the falcon throne? — A female one, no less."

Whatever he saw in her, it clearly displeased him. Though, before Jeyne could defend her choice, Rhaenyra stepped forward — She wouldn’t allow a bitter old man with a bruised ego strip away what she was. "My mother was an Arryn — That blood runs through me whether you like it or not."

The Lady of the Vale then urged her toward the stairs, sensing the tension brewing in the dungeon. "Rhaenyra," she called out softly, "come." However, her feet were firmly rooted to the ground and she refused to be moved.

Ser Arnold's gaze narrowed. "Yet I see none of the Arryn in you," he spat. She raised her brows and let out a short breath of laughter. "That's hilarious considering I was just thinking the same of you."

The fury flickered behind his eyes as he clenched the bars, though Rhaenyra paid it no mind. "As high as honour — Those are the words of House Arryn, are they not? So tell me — where was your honour when you plotted treason not once, not twice, but thrice? When you defied your King's orders? When you dragged your own kin and people into bloodshed because your pride couldn't bear a woman ruling what you believed owed to you?"

Her lips twitched. "You tried every trick, every underhanded game — and still, you lost," she mocked.

"Silence!" he suddenly bellowed, slamming his fists against the bars so hard the sound cracked through the corridor. Rhaenyra flinched in surprise, but she refused to back down. She stood tall — chest rising, and jaw set.

"Does an animal apologise to a meeker creature for being at the top of the food chain?" he growled. "No — They accept their role and have a feast because it's their place — Just as it's mine." He spat, "And I won't be questioned nor undermined by a soft female, too simple to grasp the weight of what's required to protect a legacy. You know nothing!!"

Rhaenyra watched him thrash behind the bars, spit flying, and fists crashing against iron in a tantrum unbecoming of a man who once dreamt of rule — And in that moment, she felt naught but disgust. How could someone like that have ever thought himself worthy? And more than that — how many men like him still stood in the path of women like Visenya? Like Jeyne? Like herself?

"You claim women are too soft to rule, yet some of the strongest people I know are women." She stepped forward, not close enough for him to reach her, but close enough that he knew she wasn't afraid. "And men like yourself who speak otherwise? — They're not brave, just frightened that women are simply too strong." 

She didn't spare him another glance as she joined Jeyne by the stairs. Her cousin gave her a look of quiet approval as they ascended the steps together, leaving Ser Arnold behind to roar for their attention.

After a while of climbing, his voice stopped reaching them, and Jeyne took that opportunity to speak, "You've changed, cousin." 

Rhaenyra perked up at the observation — She had changed. The girl who'd flown to the Vale on Syrax nearly a year ago felt like a stranger to her now. But the truth was — she was still in the thick of it — still learning, and growing — Still battling to become someone worthy of what she'd been offered.

"Though, I do regret the circumstances under which you were forced to do so..." she added neutrally, which made Rhaenyra wince — She'd known the lecture was a long time coming, and she'd prepared herself to the best of her ability.

"You disobeyed a direct order," her cousin said, shifting from praise to disapproval by the time they reached her private solar. "I deliberately told you to stay put, yet you didn't — You could've been killed, Gods dammit! And the King would've had my head for it — worse yet, your sister!"

"Do you even understand that you placed yourself in danger for a conflict that wasn't yours to fight?" There was no venom in her tone, just cool disappointment which somehow made it worse. Yet, she stood firm. "It was my fight though," she argued softly.

Jeyne narrowed her eyes as Rhaenyra went on, "One day, the Valemen might be mine to protect. So tell me, how was it not my fight?" She took a deep breath, reining in her temper. "I'm sorry if my disobedience caused you trouble — But I refuse to apologise for leaving."

She thought she'd regret making such bold choices that many disagreed with, but to what end? — It was in the past and it mattered no more. She acted — and whatever that made her, she could live with it.

"The people needed aid — and I helped the only way I knew how," she finished with a shrug. Jeyne exhaled, visibly conflicted. There was something in her gaze now — Pride, maybe, or relief. It flashed across her face and then disappeared with such haste that she thought she imagined it. 

"You'll still be reprimanded," she declared, turning to pour herself wine. "Actions have consequences, Rhaenyra — Even when they end well. You must understand that." She nodded in acceptance. "I understand."

Her cousin paused, then turned back to her, wine in hand. "Well, I'm rarely ever incorrect, but in this instance, I'm glad that I've decided to trust Visenya's word instead," she admitted genuinely.

That gave Rhaenyra pause. She tilted her head to the side at the mention of her sister, though she didn't bother inquiring about her involvement in this, fully aware that Jeyne would give a vague answer as she often did.

Instead, she let it go — at least for now, and jested, "She has a habit of always being right, doesn't she?" The Lady of the Vale smirked despite herself. "Unfortunately."

"Speaking of her," she mused, setting her cup down, "Your sister requested our presence at Dragonstone at once." Rhaenyra straightened, her heart giving a small leap. "She did?"

"Yes. However, I cannot leave the Vale just yet — There're matters to be settled, loose ends to be tied after the raids, men to bury, homes to rebuild..." She nodded slowly, absorbing every word. "So, you shall leave without me." 

She blinked, completely taken aback. "But what of the Vale?" Rhaenyra inquired, hesitating — She expected her stay here to be far longer. "My training's hardly finished. There's still—"

"You'll return," her cousin interrupted. "There's indeed a long road ahead if these lands are to one day be yours, but you forget that your education needn't happen only here — You can learn from anywhere if you truly wish to, especially at Visenya's side."

Rhaenyra blinked, uncertain but accepting as she watched Jeyne shrug with a smirk, "Gods know you'll get no rest under her watch."

Notes:

hello, dear readers 🤍 this is a late release, but i'm glad i waited & redone visenya's pov. i actually had to do it a couple of times as i always found something lacking. it was extremely difficult since the whole idea was to give you some easter eggs on what visenya's approach to mellos's trial will be while also keeping you guessing so you'd he just as surprised as he is when it happens.

anyway, daemon is so petty in this chapter & i'm living for it. his plan was very brutal, but it'll be the reason he comes back home sooner than in canon (not as soon as he hopes, though) 😩

vissie's pov was more of a filler which i used to tie some loose ends & bring back every character that she'd earned the loyalty of. though, i don't regret it as we had a leo appearance after a long time!

can you believe this is the last we'll be seeing of rhea? the next time we hear her name, it'll be to announce her death 🥴 it's too bad as i actually really like her

who's ready for a vissie x nyra reunion in the next chapter?! and more importantly, the beginning of laenyra?

Chapter 60: An Eternity

Summary:

In which:

— Rhaenyra receives Aemma's letter
— Otto has a second son syndrome
— Visenya, Rhaenys and Rhaenyra absolutely body the Greenies

dragonstone, 112AC
rhaenyra targaryen

As Rhaenyra descended onto Dragonstone upon Syrax, her golden lady let out a sharp cry, as if calling for someone. She slid down in a single jump — careful not to strain her ankle, which still throbbed with pain whenever she placed too much weight on it.

To her surprise, her dragon's elegant shriek was met by another — deeper, rougher, yet achingly familiar roar. Her heart leapt. It was Arrax, she realised.

A smile spread across her lips before she could stop it, a rush of excitement blooming in her chest so fiercely it nearly took her breath. It'd been a whole year since she last saw her sister, and now, it felt almost unreal that they'd finally meet again.

Even with her eagerness pulling at her, Rhaenyra stayed behind as the dragonkeepers approached to take Syrax to the Dragonmont — She always did, wishing to make certain her lady was well attended to. Still, her anticipation remained visible in the way she nearly skipped along the stone path leading to the volcano.

And then she laid eyes on her.

Visenya emerged from the smoky caverns, a gleaming silvery-white dragon egg resting in her hands as she conversed with one of the keepers — When her sister's gaze found hers, however, her voice faltered mid-sentence. 

She gawked as scarcely believing the sight before her. "Nyra..." she breathed out, and then her lips broke into a wide grin. Rhaenyra's own heart swelled. She didn't even think — she simply ran. Her sister rushed to meet her as well, until they met halfway and fell into each other's arms.

"Oh, Nyra..." Visenya murmured again, her embrace tightening, loosening, then tightening once more. Rhaenyra laughed lightly, the sound bubbling out of her as she pressed close, drinking in the scent of lemon and honey that always clung to her sister's hair.

Long moments passed before they drew apart — though not fully, their hands still lingering, and their foreheads near touching. "Gods, you've grown taller," Visenya said, wonder flickering in her indigo eyes as they swept over her.

"Have I?" She chuckled, tilting her head in consideration. "I believe so." Her sister reached to brush a loose strand of hair that escaped from her before tucking it behind her ear.

Rhaenyra's lips quirked. "Yet I'm still not as tall as you." A smile tugged at Visenya's own mouth as she waved her hand dismissively. "That's naught to mind." 

When they, at last, loosened their hold on one another and stepped apart, her gaze dropped to the egg gleaming in Visenya's hands. "What's this for?" She reached to examine it — but, when her fingers closed around it, she found that it was oddly void of warmth. "And more importantly... why is it cold?" she frowned.

She could vividly recall what Visenya had once taught her — that the warmest eggs were nearest to hatching, so they were the ones that should be chosen. But this one felt completely lifeless — In fact, she suspected it'd turn to stone in time, if it hadn't already.

"It's a gift," her sister replied vaguely, a playful curl rising on her lips. "Chosen specifically because it'll never hatch," she added with a wink like it was some jest — though there was something in her tone that left Rhaenyra more perplexed. 

Before she could press for more, Visenya exhaled and handed the egg to the dragonkeeper at her side. She then looped her arm through hers. "Come — We've much to speak of."

Rhaenyra's puzzlement gave way to delight once more. She eagerly nodded, her pulse quickening as they strode toward the smoking towers of Dragonstone. "We do."

She'd debated whether she should tell her all that transpired during her stay in the Vale, and nearly decided against it — at least, against the full truth. There were details better left unsaid, for her sister would be furious if she knew Rhaenyra had defied Lady Jeyne's orders and joined the battle, untrained and wholly unprepared as she'd been.

Yet now, as she stood beside her sister, all her hesitation melted away — She wished to tell her everything. 

As they climbed the steps of the Stone Drum, Rhaenyra could hold her tongue no longer. "You won't believe what I've experienced in the Vale!" Visenya's answering smile was warm, but her reply gentled her thrill. "I want to hear every word — But there is something we must speak of first."

She opened her mouth to ask, but the words withered as they crossed into the Chamber of the Painted Table — and she realised they were far from alone. 

Princess Rhaenys stood in quiet discourse with an older, dark-haired woman who sipped her wine with a look of wry amusement. Nearby, Laena lounged in a chair as she listened to a Septa prattle on — and, at the far end of the room, an elderly man in Maester's robes was bent over a tome beside her great-uncle Vaegon.

Rhaenyra's steps faltered, her smile dimming as unease swept through her — None of those people had reason to be present, and yet they were. She turned to her sister, "Why are they all here?"

The sound of the great doors closing behind them seemed to stir the chamber as one by one, all their heads lifted — At once, they all rose, offering her distant nods of greeting before dispersing in different directions, leaving the room empty save for the two of them.

Visenya stepped forward without a word and gestured for her to follow. She paused briefly at the Painted Table to collect something from a small, ornate box, and then crossed to one of the four tall windows. "Sit," she urged. 

Rhaenyra obeyed, sinking onto the cushioned seat opposite her, though she couldn't shake the feeling that something was incredibly wrong — She could see it in the way Visenya neatly folded her hands in her lap, as though bracing herself. 

For once, her sister seemed… uncertain, but Visenya was never uncertain.

"I have something for you," she spoke at last, her voice low and strangely brittle. She drew forth a sealed envelope and extended it toward Rhaenyra, who took it slowly, confusion plain across her face — She turned it over, seeking some mark or a name that could aid her in discovering more, only to find none. 

"It's from our mother," Visenya revealed, and just like that, her throat tightened. She stared down at the envelope, brows drawing together in bewilderment. "Why are you giving it to me now? — Why not after the funeral?" 

"Because I hadn't been aware of its existence then," her sister answered honestly. "Not of yours, nor mine — I found them long after you were sent to the Vale. And..." she trailed off, hesitating. "The contents are rather… sensitive. I couldn't trust them to a raven."

Her curiosity roared to life, burning through the sudden fog of grief as she moved to break the seal. However, Visenya's hand shot forward, successfully halting her from doing so. "Wait!"

Her sister swallowed, her fingers trembling around Rhaenyra's as she swallowed hard — All the brightness that had lit her face before was gone, replaced by something akin to grief. "Before you open it, there is something I must tell you first."

And as she began speaking, Rhaenyra's heart plummeted into her stomach. For a fleeting moment, she dared hope this was some cruel dream — that she was still in the Vale, safely tucked beneath her furs, where these words couldn't reach her.

But with every passing breath, the hollow in her belly widened until the ache became a living thing inside her — It stripped away every comforting delusion, until she could no longer pretend this was anything but real. The pain tethered her to the moment though, holding her upright in the long hours it took for Visenya to reveal everything.

When the first shuddering sobs wracked her, her sister offered to stop, but Rhaenyra refused. She wished to know — needed to, even if it tore her apart and left naught but shreds behind.

So Visenya continued, halting only when her wails broke loose again — Then she'd gather her close, hold her tight, and rock her as though she were a child seeking solace in her mother's arms. And when her tears stilled enough, her sister would speak again, until there was naught left to tell.

Yet even that wasn't the worst of it.

The final blow arrived when Rhaenyra broke the seal on the letter and read the words her mother had written before her death — She'd truly thought herself beyond surprise at that point — that naught could wound her more than she already was.

Gods, she was so incorrect.

My Dearest Nyra,

If you're reading this, then the Gods have already taken me from this world. Writing these words is the most painful thing I've ever done — for no mother ever wishes to say goodbye to her child this way. And yet, I must leave behind what I cannot say aloud — I must leave behind truth, and love, and perhaps a few regrets as well.

You were the surprise I never expected to come so quickly — yet you felt like the completion of something whole. There are many things I wish to tell you, but above all, this: you are loved — utterly, endlessly, beyond all measure. You always have been, and you always will be — even in moments when you felt otherwise.

I realise that you and your sister never saw eye to eye — I know you struggled in her shadow, and perhaps even in my own when I held her so close. So, you turned to others, and that is naught to be ashamed of — For you were a child trying to feel safe, trying to be seen. I understand that more than you'll ever know.

Still, Nyra, I must ask something of you — something I've no right to demand but must anyway: forgive your sister.

Visenya isn't easy to love — she burns too bright, speaks too sharply, and carries too many burdens — She was never allowed to be soft the way you were, even so, she's always loved you — quietly and fiercely. She'd never say it aloud, but I've seen it — in the way she watches over you, the way she protects you even when you don't see the danger yourself. 

She loves you, my little dragon, and you'll need one another now more than ever before for I've kept something from you — terrible truths that I never wanted you to carry, but now you must. 

There are those within the kingdom — the Maesters, the Hightowers, perhaps even the Citadel and the Faith — who've conspired against our family in secret. For years they've worked in the shadows, seeking to weaken our line. They masked their cruelty behind knowledge and faith, but their aim was always power.

They poisoned me, darling girl — Slowly. They stole your brothers and sisters from me before they could take their first breath. And now, they have stolen me from you as well.

I know you — I know the fire that burns in your heart, and the fury that rises in you like a tide — I know your first instinct will be to fly, to strike, to burn. And I understand, but please, Rhaenyra, don't let your rage rule you. 

You mustn't face this blindly — Step back. Breathe. Think. Listen. There are people who've known of this long before you — People who've been working quietly and carefully to uncover the truth. So trust them to guide you. 

I wish so desperately to hold you again — to smooth your hair and remind you that you're still so young. You needn't carry this alone — Allow others to carry it with you.

I'm proud of you — so endlessly proud — not because you're perfect, but because you're bold enough to be imperfect and still keep trying. That takes more courage than most understand.

I'll always be with you, my love — In your laughter, in your temper, in your fierce, furious heart. Carry me there, and I'll never truly be gone.

With every piece of my soul,
Your Mama, 
Aemma

The letter splintered her into a thousand pieces she could never hope to fit together again. 

She didn't know how long she wept, only that when her tears finally ran dry, Visenya told her they must burn the letters — both of them, and the blanket they'd stitched together with their mother for Baelon. Rhaenyra recoiled at once, clutched the letter to her breast like a lifeline as she protested that by doing so, they'd be erasing the last scraps they had left of them.

The very thought nearly sent her to her knees. 

But then, the harsh reality struck her once she realised they couldn't erase someone who was already gone — There was no meaning in clinging to these sentimental items because nothing could bring Aemma and Baelon back. They were dead — already far beyond reach.

So, with the numbness in her heart, she agreed.

They built the pyre in the yard at sunset, accompanied by those who'd fled the chamber earlier. Rhaenyra almost requested solitude for this private moment, but then she realised something — They weren't present for formality's sake, nor duty to a royal house, but because they had loved, and mourned Aemma as deeply and personally as she had.

That, somehow, made it easier to bear.

Still, her vision remained blurred and half-lidded, her throat raw from crying — Hells, she was uncertain that had it not been for Visenya's warm hand holding hers, she wouldn't be capable of standing upright! 

Then, her sister pressed a candle into Rhaenyra's palm and kept another for herself before gently guiding her forward — At the pyre's edge, she squeezed her palm as they lowered their flames to the waiting wood together.

Rhaenyra observed how the parchments blackened, and the blanket slowly unraveled in a rush of gold sparks until there was naught left but smoke and cinders. 

Her lip trembled, causing Visenya to step in and embrace her. "I love you," she whispered into her hair. "We will find a way to overcome this — I promise you that." 

She truly wished she could believe her, but in that moment, it was difficult to do so.

Not so long ago, she thought she'd moved past her mother's death — at least as much as anyone could. After all, time had dulled the sharpness of her grief until it was little more than an ache — ever-present but less consuming than at the beginning. Now, though, what she believed to be a healed scar suddenly ripped right open, inviting the old pain for a visit.

Rhaenyra considered herself lucky to have her sister who stayed with her through the night, otherwise, she wasn't certain she'd survived it — Yet when she opened her eyes in the morning, she found herself alone.

She could only guess Visenya had matters to attend to, so she didn't fault her for leaving — But, Rhaenyra had no such duties, so she was content to stay in her bed for hours — to rot with her spiralling thoughts as she wondered whether Alicent was aware of the scheme, or even if she played a part in it.

She might've lain unmoving the entire day —curled in on herself had it not been for a soft, tentative knock on her door. Lady Laena peeked through, her eyes flicking toward the bed as if afraid to rouse her.

It took more effort than she'd thought possible to summon her voice — And when it came, it was hoarse and ragged from disuse. "Has Visenya sent you?" 

The Velaryon girl blinked, her posture loosening as she stepped inside, her deep blue skirts shimmering faintly in the sunlight. "No," she answered lightly. "I wished to see how you were faring."

Rhaenyra snorted and let her head fall back against the pillows. "How do you think?" she snapped without meaning to. To her credit, the lady didn't so much as flinch. "Considering the circumstances, I'm surprised you aren't as inconsolable as Visenya had been."

Slowly, she turned toward her, suddenly interested. "She arrived on Driftmark in the dead of night — Flew in on Arrax, then wept until she collapsed from exhaustion," Laena revealed casually as she drifted closer to the bed. Rhaenyra's brows lifted. "She had?" 

"Mhm." The Velaryon girl pointed to the empty space beside her. "May I sit?" She exhaled through her nose, lips twisting wryly. "Would you listen if I said no?" The lady blessed her with an unbothered smile and brightly replied, "No."

Rhaenyra huffed a breath — something that might've been a laugh had her heart not felt so heavy — and observed as Laena gracefully settled at her side. 

Laena fully turned toward her, her voice softening as she continued, "I tried my best to comfort your sister. I even—" She trailed off, lifting a hand to gently smooth a stray lock of Rhaenyra's hair where it curled messily against her cheek. "—stroked her hair.... But I doubt it aided much — You know how she can get..."

You have no idea, she silently thought, fingers idly tracing the ribbon at her waist as she allowed the girl's hand to linger in her hair. 

"Yes, well... she required space, so we listened. That is likely why everyone left you alone as well — to give you time to… come to terms with it all." Her eyes softened as they swept over Rhaenyra's face. "But I remembered that not everyone wishes for solitude in their darkest hours — I, for one, would despise it. I'd always prefer company to silence."

Her throat tightened as something small, and fragile shifted inside her. "Thank you," she whispered. Then, Rhaenyra sniffed softly, gaze flicking toward the canopy before drifting back to her. "I never told you that you were correct about everything you said of Visenya in King's Landing — You opened my eyes to many things."

Laena's hand stilled in her hair for a heartbeat before she resumed its slow, soothing strokes. "I may've been a touch harsh," she admitted with a wince. "But nothing I said of her was untrue."

Her tongue darted over her lips before she let out a faint, wistful laugh. “I always wished for a sister — And, instead, I got Laenor..." She rolled her eyes fondly. "Which isn't so far off, if you understand what I mean."

The faintest smile ghosted her lips at the remark, and Laena's expression softened further. "Still, it wasn't until I encountered Visenya that I truly had someone I could… relate to." 

Rhaenyra's brows drew together in quiet disbelief, "Truly?" The lady hummed. "Not at first, Gods, no — Your sister is difficult to get to know, but she is worth knowing." Laena's gaze then flicked to her, and her eyes suddenly brightened with mischief. "Did I just catch you smiling, Princess?" 

Whatever trace of a smile lingered on her lips vanished at once as she shook her head with immediate, almost childlike denial. "You didn't." A rich and warm laugh spilled from her lips. "Ah, but I saw it! And look at that — you're already feeling better."

Despite every protest she tried to summon, she did feel… lighter — Only by a sliver, but enough that the heaviness pressing down on her ribs eased. And so, with that small strength she'd found, she rose from her bed to search for Visenya.

The sound of laughter guided her down the stone corridors until she reached the Chamber of the Painted Table — There, her sister sat, one hand outstretched in vain pursuit of a parchment clutched protectively in Ser Leo's grasp. 

His shoulders shook with mirth as he read something aloud, holding it just out of her reach. "Give it back!" Visenya demanded, her voice laced with exasperation that did naught to hide the amusement in her indigo eyes.

Gods, that startled Rhaenyra more than anything else. 

To see such light in her sister was a rare thing — rarer still when shared so openly with someone outside their blood. Usually, that spark was reserved for her, Daemon… and Aemma — Yet here it was, dancing in her gaze for her friend.

She finally snatched the parchment free with a sharp tug, huffing in triumph before setting it down with exaggerated care as Rhaenyra approached. She slid into the seat beside her sister whilst across from her sat the grinning knight.

A servant girl strode toward them, carrying a jar of wine. She paused at the table, head bowed. "Would you take wine, Your Grace? Princess? Ser?" Visenya offered a polite smile. "Thank you, Fryda — but I'm quite fine." 

Rhaenyra inclined her head, murmuring her own thanks as she accepted the offer while Ser Leo shook his head. "No for me as well," he denied lightly, rising to his feet with a lingering smile. "I was just leaving anyway."

As they watched him depart, his gold cloak trailing behind him, Fryda returned with a cup of wine in hand and placed it before Rhaenyra. Then, she bowed and withdrew without a word.

Visenya leaned back in her chair, her gaze sliding toward her with something akin to guilt. "I apologise for leaving you." She shook her head at once, her voice firm. "You needn't do so — I understand."

And truly, she meant it because if she'd stayed, Rhaenyra would've allowed herself to be coddled for days. This way, she'd forced herself to rise, to move, to breathe again.

She lifted the cup and took a sip to clear the rasp from her throat, before fixing her sister with a steady look. "What are we to do?" Visenya drew in a deep breath, her shoulders slumped as she began, "Well… Mama wrote—"

The words ignited something hot and bitter within her. "What she'd written doesn't matter," she cut in with vehemence that startled even herself. "Her hopes, her dreams, her expectations for us — they died with her. But we're still here." She jabbed a finger against the table between them, "So what we want matters — And what I want is all of them dead." Her voice dropped. "Don't you agree?"

"I do," her sister answered firmly and without hesitation. "And they will be — Every last one." She leaned forward, her dark gaze locking Rhaenyra in place. "But not all at once."

She immediately opened her mouth to argue, but Visenya stopped her with a sharp shake of her head. "If we cut one head of the snake, two more will grow in its place," she said. "Trust me, sister, there hasn't been a single day I haven't imagined their screams, and their suffering — I want it as fiercely as you do," she promised. "And it will happen — But not in haste."

And she believed her. 

It was impossible not to when faced with the raging fire in her eyes — Still, in her heart, Rhaenyra longed for something swifter, and bloodier — for one clean strike to wipe them all from the board. But she trusted her sister — After all, if anyone could bring justice for their mother, it was her.

Her anger cooled, her chest loosening enough to release a long breath. "Then what?" Visenya's fingers tapped against the table in thought. "We begin with Maester Mellos — We arrest him, and put him on trial in which he'll be found guilty because he is guilty." Her tone pointedly sharpened. "Justice will be served."

She inclined her head forward in acceptance. "What do you need from me?" Her sister studied her for a long moment, as if debating something, then spoke, "I need you to be my eyes and ears in King's Landing until I get all my affairs in order — Then, we'll strike." 

She blinked, stunned. The mere thought of returning to that vipers' nest in which her father and Alicent played a perfect family turned her stomach — It'd sickened her before, but now that she was aware of what monsters coiled so close to the throne — it made her want to retch.

She didn't want to go — Hells, every bone in her body rebelled against it. But if Visenya needed her to, she would.

Still, Rhaenyra was familiar with herself enough to realise she couldn't face those serpents in the state she was in — They'd feast on her emptiness, and suck her dry of whatever spirit she had left.

So she turned to her sister. "I will go. But first — you must give them back." Visenya stilled, her brows narrowing in confusion. "Give what back?"

Rhaenyra swallowed. "When Mama died, you offered to take on all of it — My hate, my pain, my resentment. You promised you'd bear it so I could heal, and I accepted." Her voice shook with conviction. "But if I'm to do what you're requesting of me, I need them back."

For a long moment, her sister only stared at her. And then, she slowly inclined her head. "So be it."

 

_____

 

king's landing, 112AC
alicent hightower

Alicent's desk — or rather, the small table in the nursery that now served as one — was drowning beneath a sea of parchment. Draft after draft of failed seating arrangements lay scattered as she drew a line of failure across the latest attempt.

She loudly exhaled when her thoughts were once again interrupted by Aegon's relentless babbles — She'd believed working in the nursery, in his presence, would still her mind and soothe her heart — Instead, his tiny voice remained a constant reminder of why she couldn't fail.

A bead of sweat trailed down her temple as she stared at the mess before her — Luckily enough, her spiralling thoughts were interrupted by Lady Falia's gentle voice. "Your Grace, you must allow yourself a moment of reprieve."

If only she could.

Alicent looked down to find the lady crouched on the floor, and doing her best to steady her toddling daughter whilst Mara took determined, yet unsteady steps — She forced a bitter smile to her lips. "Unfortunately, the celebration is drawing near — and if I rest now, I fear I'll never finish on time."

The woman's brow furrowed with sympathy as she rose gracefully, relinquishing their children to their nursemaids. "What troubles you so, my Queen?" she inquired kindly, stepping beside her. "Perhaps I might be of some assistance."

She almost laughed at that, because how could someone from a smaller, inconsequential House like Rowan, aid her in taming the storm that was a royal feast? 

Still, she found herself compelled to answer, "Mostly the invitations, and the seating. Every choice I make leaves someone offended — Every arrangement I muster seems lacking. And my father…" she trailed into silence.

Falia's eyes flitted toward the table, scanning the chaotic sprawl of ink and paper. Then, she ventured delicately, her gaze betraying her confusion. "If I may ask... were these not the sort of skills you were meant to learn when you served as Princess Rhaenyra's lady-in-waiting?"

The question struck Alicent like a slap.

She looked away at once, jaw tightening until it ached — Yes, she'd been meant to learn, meant to watch, to study, to glean every ounce of power and grace the position afforded her — to take the gift her father placed in her hands and wield to the best of her abilities.

Instead, she squandered it all.

He'd never allowed her to forget it — Even now his voice rang in her ears "You had every opportunity — You were in her chambers, in her circle, her favor. And what did you do with it, Alicent?!"

She'd let the doors to power stand wide, and instead of stepping through, she lingered on the threshold like a lovesick child. All those hours, all that access — and she'd wasted them trying to coax Rhaenyra into virtue — on pushing her to cease scorning her lessons instead of being focused on her own.

And now, she was forced to face the consequences for her incorrect choices. 

Falia must've noticed the sour expression on Alicent's face, for she hastened to smooth her words, "It matters not, Your Grace. These things can all be learned now — It'll take practice, yes, but as a Queen, you shall have endless opportunity as nearly every celebration will be yours to plan."

The gentle optimism in her voice only deepened the sting of truth behind it — Every celebration, every feast, will be a stage upon which she'd either dazzle or falter — and then, her triumph or failure would be whispered in every corner of the Kingdom. 

Before she could form a response, the nursery doors opened, and Ser Arryk allowed entry to Mina, Alicent's cousin. "My Queen," she began urgently, "The Lord Hand sent me to inform you that your presence is expected at court to welcome Princess Rhaenyra."

She blinked, breath catching, before she managed to stammer, "Rhaenyra?" Her back straightened in an instant, heart thundering as she demanded, "Isn't she still in the Vale?" Mina shook her head. “No, Your Grace. Her dragon was spotted entering the Dragonpit just now."

Alicent shot to her feet before the echo of those words even faded. She hadn't expected this — not so soon, and certainly not without warning. Gods, Rhaenyra was meant to remain away, allowing them all the space needed for the tension to ease!

She wasn't prepared, yet there was no choice — She gathered her skirts and swept from the nursery to the Throne Room, which was already packed with the murmuring courtiers whose eyes glistened with eagerness for their Princess's return.

Even her husband arrived, the Crown of King Jaehaerys perched uneasily upon his brow as his foot tapped against the stone calmly — His flickering gaze betrayed his hope and worry, though.

Then, the crowd stilled as one as Rhaenyra entered, her dragonrider leathers clinging to her frame. She strode forward, heedless of the whispers that rippled in her wake.

Alicent's heart thudded harder — She stood near the dais, her palms damp and breath shallow as her eyes drank in the sight of the girl she'd once called friend — The girl whom she'd shared secrets and laughter, and whose silence now cut sharper than any blade.

She prayed that Rhaenyra's stony expression wasn't carved from hate — That time and distance had softened her anger, and that forgiveness might still be coaxed from the ashes.

The King descended from the throne with haste, his face alight as he brushed her knuckles with fingers that trembled with longing and relief. "My daughter... How much you've grown!" 

Alicent allowed herself to exhale in relief when she bent her lips into a smile, though it never reached the Princess's eyes — Then Viserys turned and gestured toward her, effectively startling her as he urged softly, "You ought to greet the Queen, no?" 

Rhaenyra reluctantly obeyed, turning ever so slowly toward her — Those purple eyes that once brimmed with mirth met her, and they were simply… blank. "Alicent," she called her name, offering neither bow nor courtesy.

She paid it no mind though.

Her fingers twisted against each other. "Rhaenyra... We've missed your presence very much. It hasn't been the same without you," she managed softly only for her friend to sharply turn away and ignore her in the fervour of her father, "I'd request that you grant me leave to take a proper bath, Your Grace — The journey was long, and I despise smelling of dragon."

Alicent felt her heart plummeting into the depths of her stomach at the rejection as her husband nodded. "Of course, of course," he said hastily, his voice bright with forced cheer. "We shall have a private lunch after you've rested — I'm eager to hear what you've been up to."

An hour later, they gathered in the King's private quarters for a family meal. The table was already set — the rich scent of wine and roasted meat drifting in the air, yet she found that she didn't have much of an appetite.

The sight of Rhaenyra brought back memories she couldn't shake — and the difference in their relationship from before and now was so striking that it pained her.

Because now, the Princess was naught but a statue. 

She calmly stood in a fitted gown of deep, velvety blue, a modest collar sweeping across her throat. She looked beautiful, as she always has — but her once-glinting purple eyes were but two dull stones now, watchful, and unreadable. 

She'd caught her observing Aegon for a few heartbeats, studying him as one might a new horse or an unfamiliar bird — There was no warmth there, no spark of sisterly curiosity. 

That pained her more than she'd ever admit.

Alicent lowered herself into the seat beside her husband, and opposite Rhaenyra whilst her father settled next to her — A short, awkward moment later, Otto suggested, "Shall we begin with a prayer?" 

She practically jumped at the chance. "Yes!" She hastily folded her hands and bowed her head. "May the Seven watch over this House," she intoned softly, "and keep us united in peace."

Her father followed suit, while the King mumbled something halfway between reverent and indifferent — Rhaenyra, however, didn't even close her eyes. Instead, her gaze roamed lazily over the food before her, picking at a crust of bread.

Alicent pressed her lips together, eyes still downcast — She could feel the hairs on her arms rising, embarrassed for the utter disregard.

When the prayer ended, dishes were passed, and wine was poured — yet, she could scarcely look away from the Princess who picked at her food while the rest of them dined gracefully.

She wiped her palms off her skirts and offered a hesitant smile, "It's good to see you again, Nyra — Truly." Rhaenyra's movement paused, a muscle flicking in her cheek. "Is it?" she countered, not looking up from her plate.

Her grin faltered at once.

The King used the opportunity to cheerfully fill the silence. "So... tell us of the Eyrie, little dragon. I've been imagining it — the winds, the views — it must've been magnificent." She lifted her head and replied blandly, "It was alright — I mostly enjoyed the quiet."

"That's all?" he chuckled in an attempt to preserve the conversation. "And what of Lady Jeyne? Does she remain as spirited as ever?" The Princess shrugged, though she put more effort into answering. "Indeed she does — She's an excellent teacher and a generous host. I learned much under her guidance." 

Alicent witnessed how taken aback her husband was at the formality — He wished to learn more — needed it even. It was written all over his face that he'd deeply missed her. "And were you safe? — I had feared the passes might be difficult at this time of year."

"I remained in the castle most days," Rhaenyra shrugged. "I studied. Walked the Halls. Attended court. Oversaw the petitions. Ate..." She stabbed a piece of duck, barely lifting her gaze. "The usual."

"It must've been difficult to adjust to the altitude in the Vale—" She attempted to interject lightly, only to be smoothly cut off, "I adjusted just fine." 

Viserys attempted to redirect, "I must say, the Vale has suited you." He gestured with his cup. "You've even taken to their colours! — Your mother loved that shade of blue… and you remind me so much of her now."

Alicent could see the way Rhaenyra's posture went rigid, so she blurted out, hoping to soothe, "She truly does! The blue suits you—" She spun to finally face her, a flicker of something unreadable crossed her face. "You'd know — You were always skilled at matching me to dresses."

Luckily, her father ignored the comment, acting as if it weren't worth acknowledging. "A fine observation, Your Grace." he kindly inclined his head at her before turning to the Princess. "Though I must say, you used to favour brighter colours — I recall particularly fine golden and pink silk… I wonder where they're now?"

"I've outgrown them," she snapped without grace or patience. Otto smiled faintly. "A shame then — We shall miss the girl you were." Rhaenyra snorted, "No doubt — She was far easier to manipulate." The King exhaled loudly and pointedly. "Hells… must we bicker at lunch?"

Alicent lowered her gaze again, feeling her eyes burn — not with tears, but in frustration and mourning for the friendship she'd come to realise might never be repaired.

"I meant it fondly, of course," her father attempted to explain lazily. "Of course," the Princess agreed with a hint of veiled sarcasm. He tilted his head. "You sound more and more like your sister — One might say it's becoming."

"I'll take that as a compliment, Ser," she emphasised, purple eyes blazing. "It's an honour to be compared to the Heir to the Iron Throne." Otto raised his goblet slightly, hiding the tight pull of his mouth behind it.

His Grace straightened at the mention of his eldest. "And what of Visenya?" he questioned desperately. "Has she written to you? Have things eased?" 

"The last raven said no one had taken ill in days," Rhaenyra revealed, swirling the wine in her goblet. "The worst may be over." Her husband let out a breath of relief. "Thank the Gods!"

"Your sister is strong, but she's been so alone..." he trailed off, gaze softening when it landed on his secondborn. "She must miss you so very much." The Princess smiled faintly, "As I do her." 

Viserys leaned forward then, pleading. "You'll stay some time, won't you? Rest. Allow the court to see you — I imagine they'll be pleased." His lips perked up. "Your brother certainly will be, once he learns to speak."

She paused her wine mid-sip and placed the cup down with deliberate care. "You mean my half-brother." Alicent winced as Otto raised his eyebrows, but not in surprise — He was enjoying this.

The King appeared startled. "Rhaenyra—" But her resolve only hardened. "We share a father, but not the mother — The distinction matters." Her father tsked quietly. "Surely you don't intend to split hairs on the word 'family'."

"I intend to split truth from comfort," she interrupted. The Hand shook his head. "You wound your father," he warned. "I speak plainly," she shot back. "I won't pretend otherwise!"

Viserys looked between them like he couldn't quite believe what he was witnessing. "He is your brother, Rhaenyra — He is my son," he pleaded with her to understand. But Rhaenyra was past that point. "He'll never be brother to me — He's the son of someone who was once my friend — and then became my stepmother without a word."

Alicent flinched — Please, she wanted to say — Please look at me. Speak to me. Even hate me if you must, but say something that means you remember.

But she didn't.

Eventually, she addressed her father, "I'm exhausted from the long flight — With your leave, I'd prefer to rest." The King leaned back, defeated. “Yes, of course. You're excused."

She rose walked out without looking back, but something in Alicent couldn't accept that — She couldn't allow it, not like this — not when she didn't properly try to get her back.

So, Alicent gathered her skirts and followed after her in a rush. The Princess was almost at the end of the Hall when she called for her, "Rhaenyra!"

She halted, but only to roll her eyes before quickening her pace — The sight made her stomach turn, and she practically broke into a run, ignoring the lingering stares of servants as she passed by.

"It needn't be this way, in truth," she called out again, breathless. That, at least, made Rhaenyra stop. She spun on her heel, her lovely face alight with fury. "How'd you have it be then, hm? — Should I simply forget everything that happened?"

Alicent stumbled to a halt before her, heart pounding so loudly she feared Rhaenyra might hear it. "No... No, of course not," she shook her head, words tumbling over each other. "But your father misses you," she whispered, voice breaking, "and I do as well — More than words could ever express."

For a heartbeat, the Princess didn't speak — Her purple eyes flashed, but no retort came — Thank the Gods, she thought wildly, thank the Gods for that silence, and this opportunity. 

Seizing that fragile pause, she spoke faster, "We're preparing a feast for Aegon's presentation at court... and I was hoping we could attend that together — as family."

Something shifted in Rhaenyra then, her brows narrowing in consideration. "A feast?" she echoed. "Yes," Alicent confirmed quickly, nodding so hard it hurt. "Please... just consider it for the sake of your family, your father."

For the sake of us.

Her lips parted with a huff that sounded eerily humourless. "We shall see," she replied flatly, and strode away without another glance.

She remained standing in the silent corridor, her chest heaving — It may be foolish, but Alicent couldn't help but cling to the single thing that mattered now — to the fact that Rhaenyra didn't refuse.

 

_____

 

king's landing, 112AC
otto hightower

Everything was proceeding precisely as he intended.

The grand spectacle for Aegon's formal presentation before the court was unfolding without flaw — It was a triumph by every measure, if he did say so himself. Judging by the hum of laughter, the swell of music, and the satisfied gleam in the eyes of the Realm's Lords and Ladies, others shared that sentiment.

Otto stood beside Lord Jason Lannister, who regarded him with a polished smile. "You've outdone yourself, Lord Hand," he complimented smoothly, "This is a most splendid celebration, indeed."

He allowed a flicker of modesty to touch his features as he took a measured sip from his cup to mask the faint curl of his lips. When he lowered the goblet, he graciously corrected, "The credit belongs to our Queen — I merely oversaw the proceedings."

It was a harmless falsehood, spoken for his daughter's benefit as much as his own strategy — In truth, Otto managed most details, but appearances mattered, and he wouldn't have the court whispering that the Queen shrank from her duties.

Alicent had resisted fiercely at first, yet he'd been clever enough to find plausible excuses for her retreat — First her maternal concern, and then her unrelenting devotion to organising this very occasion. Excuses held, so none dared to question them.

Jason inclined his head in polite approval. "In that case, do convey my compliments to Her Grace." Otto accepted with a nod and the faintest of smiles. "I shall."

The man's expression turned speculative as he swirled the wine in his cup. When he spoke again, his voice had lowered, weighted with pointed curiosity. "A shame, though… that we couldn't have enjoyed such a celebration moons ago, whilst the summer sun still graced us."

His emerald eyes cut to Otto — probing, and questioning, though not outright accusing. He recognised that look, and prepared himself well to respond to such prying inquiries — Why the delay in Aegon's presentation? Why has their Prince remained unseen for so long?

His expression cooled. "A shame, indeed," he agreed, before the rehearsed lie slipped past his lips smoothly, "But His Grace wasn't prepared to present the boy until he was certain the child was strong and healthy." 

Jason's brow furrowed, his head tilting in mild concern. "And… is our young Prince healthy?" Otto summoned the warmth of reassurance with effortless ease, "Perfectly so." Then, with a deliberate shade of sorrow, he added, "But surely we cannot fault our King for his caution — not after the cruel fates that befell all his sons before Aegon."

The Lord of Casterly Rock bit the bait, his confidence faltering as his eyes flickered away — past Otto, and toward Viserys who solemnly sat upon the dais, conversing with Lord Lyonel Strong.

The man drank deeply, as though to wash the taste of his misstep from his tongue. "Of course," he murmured sympathetically. 

He allowed the silence to stretch as he savoured the small triumph, before laying a firm hand upon Jason's shoulder in a gesture of quiet warning for his earlier doubt — Then, he offered a parting excuse and strode away.

Otto's sharp eyes swept the Throne room, the rhythm of the music causing his foot to tap idly as he spotted his brother who was taking his seat near the royal dais — at the very table reserved for those who mattered most, his family.

Hobert hadn't noticed his approach — at least not until he cleared his throat. "Tell me, brother, does the celebration meet your standards?" 

The words carried a lightness that might've fooled a stranger, but his brother would know better — he always did. For all his nagging doubts, ceaseless warnings, and whispered discouragements, Otto had succeeded! — And he could hardly deny himself the opportunity to boast about it. 

He turned to him, a sharp smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "It's certainly an improvement from the wedding,” he quipped.

His smile faltered, the faintest shadow crossing his face at the barb — Alicent's wedding to the King had some... minor setbacks, yes, but it was all salvaged, and restored to dignity in the end. It's certainly nothing that merited scorn!

Yet Hobert pressed on, his eyes roaming the crowd. "I see no disobedient stares tonight," he observed, pleased. "Even those fools who once swore themselves to the wrong cause now dance like loyal hounds — And most importantly, there have been no... disturbances."

That he could agree with — There certainly haven't been any disturbances clad in black this fine evening.

Otto searched the crowd until he spotted Princess Rhaenyra. No mourning black adorned her tonight — only a gown of Arryn blue, as bright as the summer sky. And around her, colourful silks danced everywhere.

No shadow lingered there — No whisper of the colour of grief.

He permitted himself a slow exhale — Yes, this was how it should be. If the memory of the King's wedding faded, then even better. Let them speak not of vows taken in haste, but of this night — of a gathering in honor of the first true son of House Targaryen in a generation.

"I told you as much would happen, brother — the Realm had bent the moment Alicent bore the King a son. Yet you continue to doubt me." The words were harsher than he had intended, perhaps — but he didn't withdraw them. Let Hobert taste the truth — that he'd orchestrated all of it and succeeded! 

His brother, of course, met the sting with his usual insolence. A smirk tugged at his lips as he drawled, "Now, dear brother, let us not rush to claim laurels we didn't weave — We both know whose hands truly fashioned this triumph."

The Lord of Oldtown inclined his head toward the dais — toward Alicent, and Otto's brow twitched in irritation as he realised what Hobert meant. 

"That girl," his brother mused, subtly gesturing to Lady Falia Rowan who was speaking to his daughter. "seems a better influence upon our Queen than any sermon you've ever preached — Sweet creature, isn't she? She even managed to coax Her Grace from her shell where even you couldn't."

The words struck him like a slap. 

"And perhaps," Hobert added, "you ought to see her placed in Alicent's household. Her presence would be... most refreshing." 

Otto's lips parted, ready to retort that he'd already considered doing so — but the words died on his tongue when he heard the herald's voice echoing around the Throne room. "Her Grace, Princess Visenya —Princess of Dragonstone, and Heir to the Iron Throne!"

The proclamation cut straight through the hum of music and mirth — The strings stilled, and the dancers froze mid-turn as all eyes swung to the great doors. The hush was so sudden he could swear he could hear the blood pounding in his ears. 

His head snapped toward the staircase, breath catching in his throat — It couldn't be! It simply couldn't, yet there she was — Princess Visenya Targaryen, he thought bitterly. She descended with a grace that mocked his fury, clad in black from throat to hem. 

Around her, whispers rippled in waves as the crowd parted to clear her path. Lords and Ladies bowed in greeting, and Otto's fingers coiled around the stem of his goblet so tightly he felt the metal bite his palm — Damn her for this!

Before he could gather his wits, the herald's voice boomed again, "Princess Rhaenys Targaryen, and Lady Laena Velaryon." The Queen Who Never Was, regal in Velaryon blue, glided down at Visenya's flank, alongside her daughter.

His gaze darted toward the head of the Hall, where Viserys had sprung to his feet, his purple eyes wide with astonishment — The Seven help him, he was moving, descending the dais with a haste driven by some fever of emotion.

"Your Grace." The Princess swept into a low curtsy, her head bowed as the black silk pooled at her feet. "Cousin," came Rhaenys's cool greeting as she bent in turn, and yet another, "Your Grace," murmured by Lady Laena.

Otto's jaw locked with fury when no one addressed his daughter — not even glanced at her! He pointedly ignored Hobert's low hiss, "What in the name of the Seven is she doing here?" And he pressed forward through the courtiers who clogged his path.

By the time he reached his daughter's side, the King was already before his daughter, his trembling hand lifting to cradle her face. "You look pale, my daughter..." His purple eyes relentlessly searched her. "Are you well?"

Pale? Otto snorted — The fool's eyes were clouded by love, for there was no pallor in the Princess's cheeks. The girl stood straight and strong, as if she hadn't recently been surrounded by a supposed plague.

Yet that damnable creature lowered her lashes, her tone softened by a weariness so artfully wrought it might've fooled even him had he not known better. "I'm well, father — But I've buried, and parted from so many that rest doesn't come easily."

Viserys's face crumpled, his hand falling from her cheek to clutch her fingers. "Of course," he breathed. "And the... situation on Dragonstone… has it truly—" She cut in smoothly, "It has been resolved, yes."

His eyes narrowed to slits as she pressed on, "Maester Gerardys was… naught short of a miracle worker — He may not have cured the sickness, but he eased the suffering of those who succumbed to it, and granted them peace before their end — I cannot thank you enough for sending him."

The King chuckled and dismissed her gratitude with a small shake of his head. "Oh, my daughter," Viserys pressed his lips to her knuckles. "It was no trouble — I only care that you've returned to us alive."

Visenya exhaled softly, casting her lashes low in a very image of shame, and spoke words that made Otto's blood run cold.

"I'm relieved to hear you say so, for I was worried you were angry with me — and that's the reason I wasn't invited to Aegon's presentation."

Otto straightened where he stood, his gaze snapping to Alicent, who was already frozen — her face draining of all colour, and her eyes wide with dawning horror.

"No—no," His Grace stammered, his fingers tightened around hers as though to anchor himself. "You must've been invited!" The Princess denied with a shake of her head, "I wasn't, Father — No letter ever reached Maester Gerardys."

A hiss of breath escaped him, loud enough to warn his daughter to rouse her from the stupor of shock — However, Alicent seemed deaf to it, her hands trembling at her sides.

And then Visenya struck again, lifting her hand to gracefully gesture toward the two women standing in her shadow. "And through my correspondence with Lady Laena, I've learned that neither were they." 

A hum of murmurs rippled through the gathered crowd as Princess Rhaenys tilted her head in disappointment. "I'm aware that we haven't been on the best of terms of late, but I believed we'd at least receive an invitation to meet your new child — We are still family, after all."

The colour flooded His Grace's cheeks as a sheen of sweat beaded upon his brow. His lips parted, closed, then parted again. "I—I haven't—" he struggled before he swung toward Otto and Alicent with wild, suspicious eyes. "The Hand and my wife were responsible for everything related to the feast — including the invitations."

A curse coiled in the hollow of his throat, but he managed to school his features to stillness, even though fury roared like wildfire in his veins — However, his daughter didn't think to do the same, and she flinched as if struck, "Your Grace—" 

But Viserys cut her off with a sharpness Otto hadn't heard in years. "Were they invited?" he demanded to know. 

"My King," he stepped forward and attempted to reason, "the invitations must've been… misplaced — Perhaps even lost for they were certainly on the list." Though, in truth, he hadn't so much as glanced at the final draft as he entrusted it to Alicent — And now, that omission was going to cost him. 

Rhaenys openly laughed. "Lost twice?" she echoed, her brow arching high. "How convenient for you." Otto's eyes snapped to hers, his stare sharp enough to flay — But the Queen Who Never Was merely met his glare with a triumphant curl of her lip.

Then, Visenya looked up at them, her lip curling downward in a semblance of wounded dignity. "I'm uncertain what I've ever done to deserve such open disrespect."

He could feel the weight of a hundred eyes on him as he continued, "We may not be the closest, but a Targaryen family has gained a new member — If not as a sister, then as the future matriarch of this family, I should've been invited to welcome him publicly."

Before he could summon a retort or weave some silken thread of diplomacy to shut her up, the Princess turned away. "I'm grateful, at least, that Rhaenyra was present so she could inform me — I'd despise to miss such an important event."

His daughter's breath hitched beside him as she watched the Princess emerge from the throng to stand at her sister's side — Alicent stared at the girl she once called friend, her eyes wide with disbelief, and utter betrayal. 

And Rhaenyra — Seven hells, she lifted her chin higher, her gaze locking with Alicent's, the ultimate defiance shining in her purple eyes — No words were needed as she'd just made clear that her place was at Visenya's side.

Otto's jaw clenched so hard it ached, his nails biting crescents into his palms as Visenya's voice rose through the hushed hall. "I may have never received the courtesy of a formal invitation, but that doesn't mean I hold any animosity toward your child, Father. In fact—" she paused, long enough for every head to tilt toward her. "—I've brought Aegon a gift.”

The collective murmur spreading through the crowd as suspicion coiled in his gut —  What trick is this now? he wondered as he observed how she gestured for two servants who carried a chest to move forward. She then knelt and slowly drew it open.

A collective gasp of wonder echoed as the 

silvery-white dragon egg peered out, its opalescent surface shimmering beneath the torchlight like moonlight — Even Otto shot upward involuntarily, though he remained concerned about her true intentions.

Why a dragon egg? His mind raced — Was it cracked? Infertile? Poisoned by some hidden treachery? Why else would she flaunt it before the court so openly?

The Princess lifted the egg high so all could see. "It's from the fresh clutch Silverwing laid," she announced proudly, "And I've chosen it myself." 

Much to his dismay, the King practically melted at the gesture, his face suffused with joy. "It's magnificent," Viserys praised. "Thank you — I'm certain it will hatch soon and Aegon will have a hatchling in his cradle, just as you and your sister had."

She inclined her head. "Of course, Father. It was the least I could do." She smiled wider, her voice honeyed with poison as she added, "Aegon may be markless, but he need not be dragonless as well — He is a Targaryen, after all."

Otto's eyes widened as the hall erupted — Gasps flared into open whispers of scandal that spread through the throng with a speed of wildfire. His vision swam red when the realisation slammed into him — Someone told her — Someone within his carefully controlled, ten-names-only circle.

Alicent's pale hands trembled against her skirts, as if to hold herself upright while her world cracked wide open — Even Viserys faltered, his joy crumbling turning to confusion and shame as his gaze helplessly skittered from face to face.

And then Visenya — The Seven curse her — 

lifted the egg, angling it toward Otto in a mocking toast. "Normally, the egg would go to the family — But I think it's best to leave it with the dragonkeepers. They know how to tend to it properly."

The slight was hardly subtle, even less so as the edges of her lips curled in a mocking, knowing way as she stared straight at him — She wished for his, and Gods help him, he gave it.

Once Visenya appeared satisfied enough with the destruction she'd caused, she turned back to her father with a seamless grace. "Aegon's presentation was, however, not the only reason I returned." The King blinked, his brows narrowing wearily. "What do you mean, daughter?" 

Her dark gaze swept the room until she seemingly spotted the person she'd hunted for — and then, she declared, "It has recently come to my attention that one of your Council members has committed a crime."

"A crime," he echoed in disbelief as the hall collectively drew breath as one. "What do you speak of?" The Princess lifted her chin. "I've come with the intention of arresting Grand Maester Mellos for the murder of Queen Aemma Arryn." 

Otto's blood ran cold the moment the word murder left her lips — He pointedly ignored the horrified cries of disbelief and uncertainty, and hastily descended the steps until he reached Viserys's side. Your Grace, this is absurd! — It's utter nonsense—"

But even as he spoke, dread gnawed at his ribs — Gods, they'd been so careful! And yet, somehow, she'd realised — Worse yet, she dared to level this charge here, with the entire Realm watching. 

But the question remained, how much has she found?

"What do you believe you're doing?" The King hissed, his voice low and venomous as Mellos stumbled forward in shock. "My King..." he began, words tumbling over each other. "You were present when—"

"Yes, my father was present when you cut my mother open," Visenya confirmed with enough force to silence him in an instant as the crowd reeled, their faces blanching at the accusation.

The Maester's throat bobbed frantically. "It's—it's a legitimate procedure!" He raised his voice in defence. "It's studied at the Citadel — I didn't kill anyone!"

"No, you're correct — You didn't kill her," the Princess agreed, her eyes blazing. "You slaughtered her when you didn't even attempt to try other solutions that could've possibly saved both of their lives." Her voice climbed in volume with each word, purposefully countering His Grace's efforts to smother the flames of scandal before the court caught fire.

"This is lunacy!" he burst out, feeling the control slipping like water through his fingers as he clawed to keep hold of it — to pull Viserys back into his grasp. "Your Grace, surely you cannot believe this!"

"It matters not whether the King believes it," she proclaimed smoothly. "If a monarch is directly involved in the accusation — he or she cannot judge the case because of the possibility of bias." The dread bloomed in his gut as she called for the Master of Law, "Isn't that correct, Lord Lyonel?"

Lord Strong uncomfortably shifted under the weight of every eye in the room. But, he managed to clear his throat and nod slowly. "It… is the case, Your Grace." She inclined her head in gratitude before pressing, "And so, who'd resume the role?"

"The role would fall to the Hand of the King," Lyonel answered carefully, much to her apparent amusement. "Ah, but Ser Otto was involved as a witness as well..." The man's brow furrowed. "Then… it'd pass to the next most senior member of the ruling House."

"That would be me, but I was present too," she hummed. "Rhaenyra is not of age yet, and Uncle Daemon is at war from which we cannot pull him for the sake of not disrupting battle lines — That leaves..."

She trailed off, observing as one by one, all their heads turned to Princess Rhaenys. 

The woman tilted her head, soaking in the attention with the faintest smirk on her lips. Then, she commanded sharply, "Seize him." And to Otto's horror, Mellos let out a strangled cry as the white cloaks surged toward him.

Notes:

hi, dear readers 🤍

i hope you've enjoyed this chapter because i certainly have! it actually might be one of my favourites. the title was inspired by the song eternity from alex warren as i felt like it suited nyra's pov so much

how do we feel about aemma's letter to rhaenyra? was the wait worth it? i feel like our dragon mama clocked both her daughters & wrote exactly what they each needed yo hear 🥹

alicent is a bit delulu here, but she has to try one more time, right? i loved writing the lunch scene though, nyra gave no fucks

if you thought daemon had a second son syndrome, you haven't met otto hightower. the mans literally started dod because he felt so inferior in his youth that he had no create a space where he had all the power

anyway, i think i found the way to keep rhea royce alive? should i? — also, just a heads up that i'm travelling to visit a friend next week & idk if i'll have time to write. i'm not disappearing so dw!!!

until next time <3

Notes:

This fanfic will follow both books and show, and yet sometimes neither.
Feel free to comment stuff that you would like to see or your general opinions. I appreciate every comment because I'm looking to improve :))