Chapter Text
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
“who you are”
“I’m sorry, Luke. I can’t,” Visenya said softly, not looking up as she turned a page in the massive book sprawled across her lap. The book in her lap was genuinely huge—almost as wide as her shoulders—and twice as heavy. She flipped through a page slowly, but it was clear her attention had already wandered.
Lucerys stood in front of her, his expression dropping like she had just denied him the last sweet at the feast table. “What?” he said, voice pitching higher as his brows drew together. “Why not?” He practically collapsed against the armrest of her chair, his limbs flopping in dramatic protest. “This is perfect for you! It’s the sea, ‘Enya. With Nysses! You wouldn’t even have to do much—just help guide the sailboat while she swims. That’s it!”
His brown curls fell over his eyes, making him look younger than he already was. He pushed them away with a huff, like that would somehow convince her more than all his pleading.
Visenya let out a long breath, closing the book—not because she was done, but because she knew Luke wouldn’t drop it unless she gave him her full attention. She tilted her head to look at him, her expression caught somewhere between affection and annoyance.
She replied, voice perfectly calm, smooth as ever. “Oh, you see, I have things to attend to.”
“Things to attend to?” Lucerys repeated suspiciously, scrunching his nose as he squished his cheek against the armrest of her chair. “Like what?”
She finally turned away, sparing him the briefest glance. “Lady things,” she said, tone light and breezy, the barest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of her lips.
Luke froze, eyes narrowing as the gears turned in his head. He looked completely unconvinced. “Lady things?” he echoed flatly, like the words personally offended him.
Visenya simply nodded, the picture of serene dignity.
For a moment, he said nothing. Then his whole face fell into a dramatic pout, his brows knitting together, his mouth turned down like a sulking child denied dessert. His cheeks puffed out slightly as he frowned harder. He looked, quite frankly, like a disgruntled chipmunk.
Visenya nearly snorted. She held it back with the discipline of someone raised at court, but her eyes sparkled with the effort.
“You can’t trick me with that,” Lucerys said with deep offense, jabbing a finger in her general direction as he pushed himself off the armrest. “That’s the same excuse Mother uses when she doesn’t want to attend meetings. She always says it’s ‘lady things’ and then she disappears for hours and comes back smelling like perfume and metal. You’re trying to trick me!”
He let out a long, exaggerated whine as he slid off the armrest and sprawled across the cold stone floor, face-first like he was collapsing under the weight of the world. His limbs flopped out like a fallen marionette. Visenya didn’t even flinch at the display. She simply arched a brow and glanced at him from the corner of her eye.
With a quiet sigh—half fond, half tired—she dropped the massive book with a soft thud and leaned over the side of her chair to peer down at him. He hadn’t moved, still dramatically glued to the floor like it would swallow him whole.
“Luke.”
Nothing. Just silence and the occasional sniffle of despair.
“Luke,” she repeated, a bit more pointed this time.
After a moment, his muffled voice came from the stone, “What?”
She tilted her head, amused despite herself. “Be honest,” she said, voice softer now. “Do you only want me to come because you’re nervous? Because it’s your first time sailing with Father, and you’re scared you’ll mess it up?”
There was a pause. A long one. The kind of pause that spoke louder than any denial could.
Then, “No…” he said weakly. His voice cracked just enough at the end to betray him completely.
Visenya’s lips twitched. “Luke,” she said again, a little firmer, knowing he was lying.
He didn’t answer this time, didn’t even lift his head. Just pressed his cheek more stubbornly into the floor like if he stayed still long enough, she’d drop the subject and let him disappear into the stone tiles. She waited. Nothing.
She sighed again, longer this time, and settled back into her chair. Her eyes lingered on his small, curled-up form. For all his dramatics, Lucerys was still just a boy trying to be brave in a world that asked too much of them far too soon. He wanted so badly to be capable. To be ready. And sometimes that meant pretending he wasn’t scared, even when the fear was written all over him.
“Luke,” she said at last, her tone edged with just enough firmness to make him stop groaning into the stone. “Look at me.”
He didn’t. But she continued anyway.
“Last time we were out there, it wasn’t perfect. But we didn’t drown, did we?” She leaned back into her chair, folding her arms across her chest. “It was a mess at first, sure. But we figured it out. You figured it out.”
Still, no response. Just the steady sulking of a boy too proud to admit she might be right.
Visenya sighed. “You’re seasick. That’s not the end of the world. Most people are. It doesn’t mean you’re weak, and it doesn’t mean you’re not cut out for it.”
Her voice softened. “You don’t have to be good at everything all at once. You don’t wake up one morning and suddenly become the perfect heir. That’s not how it works. You grow into it—slowly, and with a lot of mistakes. That’s the whole point of learning.”
She tilted her head, watching his small frame lying there. “It’s okay to be scared. But you don’t get to let fear decide for you. That’s not what a good heir does. A good heir shows up, even when it’s uncomfortable. Even when it’s hard.”
There was a pause. A long one. Then, slowly, Lucerys rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling, his pout still firmly in place but a little less dramatic now.
“Alright…” he mumbled, voice barely above a whisper.
Visenya blinked at him. “So you’ll stop pestering me?”
A beat.
“Yeah…” he grumbled, clearly not thrilled but accepting defeat.
“Will you get up now?”
“…Yeah.”
Luke, with all the reluctance in the world, slowly pushed himself off the cold floor, standing upright like it took all the energy left in his small body. His shoulders slouched, and his lips were twisted in a pout of defeat. Visenya rose from her chair with a soft chuckle, walking over to him with an ease that made it seem like she’d been waiting for this exact moment.
She reached out and gently tugged at the front of his tunic, smoothing out the creases he’d wrinkled from his dramatic display. He stood there stiffly, his eyes flickering anywhere but her face, clearly trying not to let her see that the attention made him feel a little better. Or that he was flustered.
With a fond grin, she pinched both of his cheeks between her fingers. He yelped in protest.
“Visenya!” he whined, flailing weakly at her hands, “I’m not a baby!”
“Mmhm,” she said, clearly unconvinced as she released him and then proceeded to ruffle his dark curls into a wild mess. “You’re a strong, brave heir to Driftmark. The future of your house. But also… an absolute baby.”
He huffed and tried to fix his hair, glaring up at her through a storm of curls now tumbling over his eyes. She laughed, light and airy, and something in her chest softened as she looked at him.
“Stay safe out there, alright?” she said more gently now, brushing a loose thread off his shoulder. “Keep your hands steady. Don’t panic. And for the love of the gods, try not to capsize the boat.”
His mouth fell open, aghast. “I— I won’t!” he exclaimed, eyes wide with betrayal, “Do you think I’d just—flip it on purpose?!”
Visenya blinked, her grin not fading. “Just a friendly reminder.”
He narrowed his eyes at her, puffing out his chest as if to prove he could, in fact, be serious. “I’m going to do fine. Father will see.”
She nodded, her voice softening. “I know you will, Luke.”
He blinked, the fight draining out of him a little as he looked up at her. For a moment, he didn’t say anything—just nodded, then turned on his heel, cheeks still pink, and marched toward the door like he had something to prove.
Visenya watched him go, her smile lingering long after he was gone.
She really did love her brothers.
Visenya stood in the doorway of her chambers, arms crossed loosely over her chest, the late afternoon light slanting behind her and casting a long shadow into the room. Her expression was unreadable—curious, perhaps, but also far too composed for someone who had just walked in on their handmaiden tearing apart her bedding in clear distress.
On the other end of the room, Hildy was bent over the side of the bed, hands moving quickly, almost frantically, though she was trying to keep her movements measured. Her brows were furrowed, lips drawn into a tight line, and she didn’t even hear the princess at first.
“Are you looking for something, Hildy?” Visenya asked, her voice smooth, deceptively casual.
Hildy looked up sharply, caught. Then, just as quickly, she forced her face into a calm mask. “It’s alright, princess. I just… lost a small piece of paper. I’ll find it. It’s nothing important.”
Visenya clicked her tongue softly, her head tilting just slightly to the side as she pushed off the doorframe and stepped further into the room. Her eyes, sharp and searching, stared at Hildy, then landed on the crumpled slip of parchment in her own hand—the one she had found a day before, the one she hadn’t quite managed to forget about.
“Like this?” she asked, holding it up between two fingers.
Hildy froze. Her eyes met Visenya’s, and for a moment, neither of them moved. The air shifted—quiet, tense, as though the room itself had taken a breath and didn’t dare exhale.
Slowly, Hildy straightened up, smoothing the wrinkles in her apron as she stepped forward. “Yes… yes, princess. That’s the one,” she said, her voice quiet but steady, though her eyes betrayed her. There was a flicker of something—worry, fear, maybe guilt—passing through them like a shadow too quick to catch.
“I just found it lying around,” Visenya said, her tone still sweet, light, but there was something in her smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Didn’t seem like much at first, but… I thought you might want it back.”
She held it out between them.
Hildy reached forward slowly, taking the paper with delicate fingers. Her hand lingered for a moment as she accepted it, her face calm, but her pulse visible in her throat, fluttering.
A heavy pause.
“You… you didn’t read it, did you, princess?” she asked, as lightly as she could, tucking the parchment into the folds of her skirt. Her tone was careful, almost casual, but Visenya noticed the way her fingers curled just a little too tightly around the paper.
Visenya blinked at her, then tilted her head again, smile unwavering.
“Well,” she said slowly, “that would be terribly rude of me, wouldn’t it?”
Hildy’s mouth opened slightly, maybe to speak, maybe to breathe—but Visenya wasn’t finished.
“And anyway,” the princess added, her voice soft as silk, “why would it matter? Is there something on that paper you don’t want me to see, Hildy?”
The question hung in the air like a thread pulled too tight.
Hildy swallowed, her composure faltering just the slightest bit before she forced a smile—small, tight, strained at the edges. “No. No, of course not, princess. It’s just… personal. Nothing of concern.”
Visenya didn’t say anything. She just watched her for a long moment, blinking slowly, her expression unreadable.
“Mm,” she hummed, turning away as if the matter had been settled, though the weight of her presence still lingered. “Very well then. I won’t pry.”
But her smile remained as she walked toward the window, and Hildy, now standing still in the middle of the room, let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding—fingers still clutching the note like it might vanish.
Hildy turned away quickly, her back to Visenya as she gently folded the letter and slipped it into the hidden pocket sewn into her skirts. Her movements were careful, deliberate, like she was trying not to tremble. She smoothed the fabric down, as if that small act might calm the fluttering panic that had begun to rise in her chest.
She thought it was over. She thought she was safe.
But then—
“Hildy.”
The name stopped her like a knife to the spine. Her breath hitched, and she turned slowly, her hands folded politely in front of her, trying to keep her face calm.
“Yes, princess?” she answered, her voice soft, even.
Visenya hadn’t moved from where she stood, but something about her posture had shifted. She was no longer the bright-eyed, playful girl Hildy helped dress in the mornings. There was a sharpness in her now—cool and precise, but not unkind. Just observant. Just aware. She tilted her head slightly, a small smile playing on her lips, one that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
“Who’s Natalie ?” she asked, voice smooth and quiet, like a gentle breeze just before a storm.
Hildy froze. It was the kind of stillness that couldn’t be faked, the kind that came from a gut-deep fear you didn’t want to admit existed. Her lips parted, then closed again. Her eyes flicked to the ground, then back up to Visenya’s face, searching, almost begging.
“I…” she started, but nothing came out. She swallowed hard.
Visenya didn’t press further. She didn’t raise her voice or make demands. She just watched—curious, calm, waiting.
“It’s just a name,” Hildy said finally, her voice barely above a whisper.
Visenya raised her eyebrows slightly, clearly not satisfied with that answer, but she didn’t call her out. Not yet.
Hildy licked her lips, glancing to the side. “She was a friend. A long time ago. Before I ever came to the Red Keep.”
“A friend?” Visenya echoed, softly. Her tone wasn’t mocking.
Hildy nodded, her hands wringing together now. “Yes. A friend.”
For a moment, there was silence between them, thick and fragile, like glass just waiting to shatter.
“She must’ve been important,” Visenya said after a while. “For you to still write her name.”
Hildy looked down. “She was.”
Another pause. Longer this time. The air in the room was heavy, like it was holding its breath along with them.
“Just a friend, then?” Visenya asked, her voice soft—almost like a song—but with a note of something sharper buried beneath it. Her hands were folded neatly in front of her, the same way Alicent’s always were when she was trying not to show her temper.
“Yes, princess,” Hildy replied quickly. Too quickly.
Visenya hummed again, tilting her head slightly. “No daughter I should know about?” she said, as if she were asking about the weather. As if it didn’t matter either way. As if she hadn’t been thinking about that name— Natalie —over and over in her head.
Hildy stilled, the warmth draining from her face. Her eyes locked onto Visenya, wide and frightened, as if she’d just been caught standing on the edge of a cliff with nowhere left to run.
“No, princess—” she began, but the words barely made it out.
“Don’t lie to me, Hildy.”
The words cut through the room like a blade. They weren’t loud, but they didn’t have to be. Visenya wasn’t shouting—she didn’t need to. Her voice was quiet, but it carried something deeper. Something raw.
Hildy didn’t move. Her lips parted slightly, but she said nothing. She looked like a statue—frozen in guilt and shame.
“You’ve been hiding things from me for a while now,” Visenya continued, stepping forward, each word tugging at the seams of her composure. “Secrets. And I understand that. You’re allowed to have secrets. You’re your own person. I just didn’t think it would be… this kind of secret.”
“Princess—” Hildy started again, her voice cracking under the pressure of something unspoken.
“You were right here,” Visenya went on, her voice trembling now, the practiced calm slipping like a frayed ribbon. “Every day. You helped me with my hair, tied the laces of my dresses, tucked me into bed when I was too tired to move. And all that time, you looked me in the eye—and never told me.”
Her breath hitched, the pain she had been trying to keep buried starting to rise.
“I trusted you,” she whispered, blinking rapidly. “I trusted you with everything. And now I find out… there’s a whole part of you I never even knew existed.”
She looked up at Hildy again, her expression no longer unreadable, no longer the carefully trained mask of the composed princess. Now, her face was cracked open, raw and vulnerable.
It wasn’t just betrayal she was feeling. It was heartbreak.
Hildy took a small step forward, her own eyes starting to glisten. Visenya stared at the floor, breathing slowly, trying to keep herself steady. But her hands trembled at her sides.
“You should’ve,” she finally said, her voice quiet. “You should’ve told me.”
Hildy’s voice broke as she shook her head, her eyes already glistening. “I couldn’t. I just… I just wanted to protect you,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “We both did. We only ever wanted you safe.”
But Visenya was already shaking her head, her brows pulling together, her lips trembling as her own voice rose—not in anger, but in pain. “I didn’t need protection,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper, but loud enough to feel like thunder in the silence of the room. “I needed you . You were right here all this time, Hildy, and you never told me. I needed you from the beginning—”
Her words hitched, her breath catching as the first tears finally spilled over.
“I needed you, and I didn’t even know to look for you.”
Hildy choked back a sob, stepping forward like her body was moving before her mind could even catch up. “I didn’t know you remembered,” she said, her voice trembling. “I thought… I thought you were just Visenya. That it was gone. I didn’t want to give you a truth that would only hurt more. I thought it would be better if you didn’t know. I thought you’d be happy here.”
Visenya shook her head slowly, the ache in her chest swelling into something that felt too big to hold. “But I wasn’t,” she whispered. “I thought I was alone. All this time, I thought it was only me. That I was the only one who knew, the only one who remembered something I couldn’t even name. I thought I was losing my mind. I thought no one would understand—”
Her voice cracked again, this time into something quieter, almost like a child. “I thought no one knew me.”
“I knew you,” Hildy whispered, tears streaking down her cheeks now. “Even when you didn’t remember yourself, I knew you. You were still you . You were still her.”
She reached out, her hands trembling, and gently cupped Visenya’s face. Her thumbs wiped away the tears even as her own kept falling.
“Oh, Nattie,” she said, so softly it almost didn’t sound real. “Don’t cry…”
Visenya froze.
The name echoed in her mind— Nattie.
Not a princess. Not a pawn. Not a child of fire and legacy.
Just a girl with pieces of another life inside her, held together by aching, confused memories that had never stopped whispering at her in the dark.
She looked up at Hildy, the image blurring through her tears. She didn’t know if she was shaking from anger or grief or relief. Maybe all of them.
“You let me believe I was someone else,” she said, her voice hoarse, almost broken. “But I was never really her, was I? I was always… me. I was always Nattie.”
Hildy nodded through her tears. “You were. You are. I just—I didn’t want to risk breaking you. You’d been through so much, and I thought if I said it, if I reminded you… maybe it would all come back too fast. Maybe it would crush you.”
Visenya pulled away gently, stepping back just enough to breathe. “But it hurt more not knowing,” she said. “It hurt more thinking no one saw me.”
Hildy wiped her face quickly, as if trying to steady herself. “You were never alone, not really. I was always watching. Always near. I never left.”
“But you let me feel like I was forgotten,” Visenya whispered.
Silence stretched between them.
Hildy looked down at her hands as if the words were too heavy to carry. Her voice was barely above a whisper. “I thought about telling you, so many times. Every day. But Winston… he said it was kinder not to. Said it would be easier, that if you started your new life fresh—untouched by the past—you’d be happy. That maybe we’d hurt you more by reminding you of who you used to be. And I believed him. I thought... I thought maybe just watching from here would be enough. That it would be enough to see you live.”
She paused, her breath catching on the edge of her words. “And at first… I really did think you were gone. That you were someone else. That Nattie was just… gone. Visenya, that’s all I could see. This proud, sharp, clever girl who looked nothing like the one I raised. You wore crowns and silks and you walked like someone who had dragons in her blood. But then—”
Hildy looked up at her, eyes swimming with tears. “Then I started to see you again. Little things. The way you fold your arms when you’re trying not to cry. The way you laugh at your own jokes when no one else does. The way you protect people without even realizing it. I saw her— you —in every one of those moments. And I knew. You were still my Nattie. You still acted like her, sounded like her. You just looked different. But the soul… the soul was the same.”
Visenya’s throat clenched as her tears slipped down her cheeks. She looked at Hildy like she was seeing her for the first time, and yet somehow had known her all along.
“I’m not really Nattie anymore,” she whispered, barely able to say the words. “I don’t even remember all of her. Just pieces. Feelings. Dreams that don’t make sense.”
Hildy stepped closer, her face soft with a grief that had waited too long to be spoken. “I know that,” she said gently. “I know you’re not the same girl I held in my arms, or read stories to under candlelight. I know you’ve changed. That this world has shaped you differently. But that’s never changed my heart.”
She reached up, brushing a tear from Visenya’s cheek with trembling fingers.
“Because somewhere, no matter how deep it is buried, a part of your soul is still Nattie. Still mine. Still the little girl who sang to the stars and got scared during thunderstorms. My Nattie. My baby.”
That broke something inside Visenya.
Her lip trembled, and she let out a sound that wasn’t quite a sob, but wasn’t far from it. The tears came freely now, heavy and unrelenting, not just from grief, but from the ache of finally being seen —not as a princess, not as an heir, not as some girl who cheated death, but as herself.
She leaned forward, into Hildy’s arms, into the warmth she didn’t realize she’d been craving all this time. Hildy held her, gently but firmly, like she’d never let go again.
And for the first time in what felt like lifetimes, Visenya let herself be held.
She sniffled, her voice soft and fragile, like a breeze tugging at the curtains. “How… how did you even find me?”
Hildy smiled gently as she wiped a tear from Visenya’s cheek, her touch as familiar as it was foreign. “You really want to know?”
Visenya gave a small nod.
“Well,” Hildy began, her voice dipping into a low, almost amused tone, “you died first, sweetheart. Hit by a truck—silly thing, big and stupid and fast. I remember getting the call. A month later, me and your father… we got into a car accident. Same kind of truck. It's ironic, really. The universe must have had something in mind. Maybe it wanted to keep us together.”
Visenya blinked at her, the edges of her mouth twitching despite the tears that still clung to her lashes. “We should be glad trucks don’t exist here, then.”
Hildy laughed—a real laugh, the kind that wrinkled the corners of her eyes. “Gods, yes. If they did, we'd be cursed all over again.”
Visenya laughed too, a quiet, breathy sound that escaped her lips almost accidentally. It felt surreal—watching the woman she’d known half her life as a composed, efficient handmaiden laugh and cradle her like a mother would. Well… not “like.” She was her mother. Somehow, impossibly, wonderfully, it was true.
“I know it sounds mad,” Hildy said after a moment, her voice softening as she smoothed a hand down Visenya’s hair. “But at this point, what in our lives hasn’t been?”
Visenya looked up at her, curious and aching. “Tell me.”
“I was born as Hildy Khartz,” she began, a far-off look in her eyes. “To a minor Northern house. Nothing grand. Just another daughter among many, and one my father was more than willing to send off to the capital. But the moment I opened my eyes in that cradle, I remembered. Not all at once—little pieces came first. A tune here. A name. A face. But then the visions came. Clear as day.”
Visenya didn’t speak. She listened, holding her breath.
“First, I saw your father. As Winston. He was older in the dream, as I remembered him. Same crooked smile, same way of standing like he’s always bracing himself for the next blow. And then—” she smiled, voice trembling “—I saw you. As Visenya. As you . Nattie. And I just knew . Knew I had to find you, that somehow, somewhere, you’d come here too.”
She took a slow breath.
“So I took the chance. When my father announced he was offering one of us to serve at court, I volunteered before he could pick someone else. It was risky. It could’ve been years before I even caught a glimpse of you. But I had to try. And when I arrived—” she chuckled “—you were right there. A little fierce thing, with that stubborn chin and those sharp eyes. I knew right away.”
“And I chose you to be my handmaiden,” Visenya whispered, voice thick.
“I would have begged to be assigned to you either way. I watched over you, even when I wasn’t sure if you’d ever remember. I thought… maybe this life was meant to be yours. Maybe you were meant to live it without the weight of your old one. But even if you never remembered me, I wanted to stay close. I just… couldn’t lose you twice.”
Visenya bit her lip, her throat tight. “And Dad?”
“I found him a little later. He was already with House Velaryon, serving as a knight. When I told him who I was, he looked at me for a long time. Said, ‘You’re joking.’” She chuckled. “But when I said your name… that was all it took. He believed. He knew .”
There was a long silence between them.
Then Visenya blinked, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. “If I died first… why are you older than me here?”
Hildy looked at her with a laugh in her eyes and shook her head. “Now that’s one question I can’t answer. Maybe fate thought I needed more time to be ready for you. Or maybe time works funny between worlds. Who knows?”
Visenya breathed out a quiet laugh and leaned into her again. “That’s a pretty bad explanation.”
“I’m your Mom, not a scholar,” Hildy teased, pulling her close. “I’m allowed to be a little useless sometimes.”
Visenya smiled, her eyes closing as she melted into the warmth of her mother’s embrace. She didn’t need all the answers. Not right now. She just needed this—this moment, this love that had found its way back to her, across lifetimes and fates.
And for the first time in this life, she didn’t feel lost.
Visenya leaned back, her fingers idly tugging at a loose thread on her sleeve as a soft smile played on her lips. “I guess I’m pretty lucky now, huh?” she murmured, her voice light with something that felt like wonder. “Technically, I’ve got two mothers… and two fathers.”
Hildy chuckled, crossing one leg over the other as she leaned comfortably into the armchair across from her. “Mm, it’s a bit strange, though, isn’t it? Calling me ‘Mom’ in public?” she teased, raising an eyebrow at her daughter with that familiar spark.
Visenya grinned, biting back a laugh. “No, yeah. It would feel weird. You’re kind of… stuck in my head as ‘Hildy’ now.”
“And that’s alright,” Hildy said warmly. “I don’t mind. Hildy got to be close to you in a way your mother never could in your last life. I’ll take that any day.”
A quiet settled between them. Not heavy, but thoughtful.
Hildy’s eyes softened, her voice growing quieter. “I’m glad Rhaenyra and Laenor love you the way they do. I’ve seen it, every day. That kind of love isn’t forced. It’s real. It’s… deep. That was the one thing I used to worry about. That if we weren’t there, no one would ever love you the way you deserved. But now, I know—without us, even in another world, another body, another name… you were still meant to be loved.”
Visenya stared down at her hands, thumbs brushing over each other. “I’m glad too,” she whispered. “They’ve been good to me. Rhaenyra treats me like I’m a piece of her soul. And Laenor… he’s always been kind, even when I’ve been difficult. I love them, I do.”
She paused, her smile faltering a little. “But sometimes I feel like… like I stole something. Like the real Visenya, the one who was supposed to be born here, was pushed aside just so I could exist. And I didn’t ask for it, but I still took her place. It’s like I stepped into someone else’s shoes and never gave them back.”
Hildy’s brows furrowed as she got up and crossed the space between them, kneeling down in front of Visenya. Her hands found her daughter’s, firm and warm. “Listen to me,” she said gently but with that same fierce love she’d always had. “You didn’t steal anything. There was no ‘real’ Visenya waiting in the wings. You are her. Maybe not in the way others would expect. Maybe not by blood. But you didn’t take— you became .”
Visenya blinked, her eyes beginning to water again. Hildy continued, brushing her thumb over the back of Visenya’s hand.
“Oh, my girl,” she murmured. “The moment you opened your eyes in this world, you were Visenya. Not because someone gave you her name. Not because you took it. But because you built something out of it. You made it yours.”
“But what if I wasn’t meant to?”
“What if none of us were?” Hildy said simply. “None of us planned to end up here. None of us asked for a second chance, or a second life. But we were given it anyway. And you—you could’ve been bitter, confused, cold. But you weren’t. You learned to love them. You grew into this world, not just as a guest, but as someone who belongs.”
She took a breath, brushing her hand gently along Visenya’s cheek. “Visenya Velaryon isn’t a stolen identity. It’s the name of a girl who carries strength, kindness, stubbornness, and heart. And you’re all of those things. You didn’t take someone’s place—you became someone new. Someone whole. Someone loved.”
Visenya blinked fast, her throat tight, words tangled up in her chest.
Hildy smiled and pulled her in close, wrapping her arms around her. “You’re not a mistake, and you’re not a thief. You’re my Nattie… and you’re Visenya too. Both can exist. And both are worthy.”
Visenya leaned into the embrace, burying her face in Hildy’s shoulder. And for a moment, she let herself believe it. That she wasn’t some ghost walking around in someone else’s skin. That she wasn’t just borrowing a life.
For a long moment, neither of them said anything. Hildy simply held her as Visenya let herself cry quietly, not out of sadness, but relief. And maybe something a little like forgiveness—for herself, for the weight she didn’t even know she’d been carrying.
Eventually, Visenya chuckled through her tears. “Okay. You win. I’ll stop being so dramatic.”
“You? Dramatic?” Hildy scoffed, grinning. “Never.”
Visenya laughed, wiping at her face. “Ugh, you’re terrible.”
“And still your mother,” Hildy teased, standing and ruffling her hair.
“Unfortunately.”
But she was smiling when she said it. And this time, it reached her eyes.