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Chapter Text

In 114 AC, the halls of the Red Keep were filled with the sound of a fierce cry — Visenya Velaryon had been born, around eight minutes after her twin brother, Jacaerys.

The little girl had her mother’s pale skin, and a fine layer of silvery hair covered her head — so light it was barely visible. Her eyes were a magnificent shade of violet, strikingly different from her brother’s, whose hair and eyes were dark like Sir Harwin Strong’s, just like Luke and Joffrey.

Even from a young age, her fiery spirit matched her name, given in honour of the Conqueror Queen herself.

Visenya Velaryon was strong, wild, and gods, utterly stubborn. Some whispered that even if she were Daemon’s own daughter, they wouldn’t be more alike. Their similarities only deepened after the Prince wed her mother following the tragic death of her father, Sir Laenor.

During her childhood, Princess Visenya lived in King’s Landing with her family. It was odd, the fondness Queen Alicent seemed to have for the girl — always gifting her lavish gowns and expensive jewellery.

Whenever Visenya played with her aunt Helaena, the Queen would always visit. Rhaenyra never spoke much about it, but quietly she was thankful that at least her only daughter seemed safe from the sideways glances and whispered doubts about her birth, with the Queen herself acting as a shield.

Visenya and Helaena were very close, spending days and nights in each other’s company as the only girls in that great castle. Though her aunt had strange habits, Visenya enjoyed the time they shared. They read the enormous books from the library, attended lessons together, practised their High Valyrian, hunted disgusting insects, and always found a way to escape their embroidery classes.

Her relationship with her other uncles was a different matter. Aegon was a prick — constantly cracking jokes about her being a “strong girl.” Most times he was ignored, unless he turned his japes toward Visenya’s brothers — and when that happened, the prince was lucky to walk away with just a few scratches.

Visenya was a dragon — she loved her family and protected her brothers fiercely. They all knew who their true father was, but that knowledge endangered their mother. So she did everything she could to crush the rumours.

She and Aemond shared more than just Targaryen blood — neither of their dragon eggs had hatched.

Much as she loved her brothers, it stung when they mocked her for not having a mount. That pain was something she shared with her youngest uncle, and their shared hurt brought them closer. Whenever the shame of being without a dragon weighed them down, they found solace in one another. It was no longer just Helaena and Visenya — now Aemond too began joining the girls in the afternoons, after his sword training.

The bond between the three of them deepened. Visenya was captivated by swordplay, but Queen Alicent forbade her from training — claiming it was no business of a proper princess. So Aemond, in secret, began teaching her everything he learned. It became their shared secret — another thread tying them together.

Unfortunately, everything changed at her aunt Laena’s funeral, when Aemond slipped away in the dead of night to claim Vhagar.

Visenya had been asleep at the time, exhausted from the day’s events. She was jolted awake by shouting and the sound of people rushing through the halls — her younger brother Luke had slashed out her uncle’s eye, and in a fit of rage, Queen Alicent wounded her mother while she tried to shield her children.

The next day, her father Laenor was dead, his face so burned it could not be recognised. In secret, Princess Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon were wed in a Valyrian ceremony, and from that day on, Princess Visenya of House Velaryon lived on Dragonstone.

Chapter Text

The air vanished from her lungs and a sharp pain struck her stomach as the princess rolled across the short grass of Dragonstone. Her mother’s husband stood over her, clutching a wooden sword and eyeing young Velaryon, who was gasping on the ground, trying to push herself upright.

— Your opponents won’t wait for you to stand. — said Daemon in Valyrian.

With one hand braced on her knee, Visenya rose, gripping her wooden sword tightly, scowling at Daemon. She clenched her jaw and resumed her defensive stance, bracing for the prince’s next strike.

He twirled the mock blade between his fingers and began to circle the little princess, her feet shifting to follow his every step. Without warning, the prince lunged again — Visenya barely managed to parry, the blow narrowly missing her face. The force of the strike made her stumble, and Daemon seized the moment to knock her back to the ground once more.

— Seven bloody hells! — the princess shouted.

Daemon laughed, and that only made Visenya more furious. She scrambled to her feet, wooden sword in hand, and charged at the prince with the full intention of striking him. He dodged easily and used his leg to sweep her off balance, sending her crashing back down again.

— Emotions are enemies in a fight. — he said in Valyrian.

Visenya lay on the ground, biting her lip to keep from crying. She was proud — too proud.

When she’d first told Prince Daemon of her desire to learn the sword and defend herself, he had said he would train her — but only if Rhaenyra gave her blessing. It took four long days of pleading before her mother finally relented, on the condition that the training be kept separate from her brothers, to spare Visenya any serious injury.

Well, as for injuries — that was a little secret between Daemon and Visenya. There was no learning without pain, no progress without bruised knees and scraped skin. At the end of each afternoon’s training, the prince would take the princess to the maester’s study and personally tend to her wounds.

Daemon would never admit it, but he admired his stepdaughter’s determination — she reminded him of a wild dragonling, fierce and untamed. Deep down, he wished his own daughters bore the same fire, the same hunger for blood.

Baela was with her grandmother on Driftmark, while Rhaena had remained with her father on Dragonstone. The girl often stayed close to her cousins-siblings, alongside Rhaenyra and the wet nurses. She had a fondness for music, poetry, and the histories of old Valyria.

Rhaena was a lover of books and every bit the proper maiden, as Visenya always said. She reminded her so much of her mother, Laena. Baela, on the other hand, had been raised by their grandmother Rhaenys ever since the funeral.

Daemon approached his stepdaughter with slow, deliberate steps, lowering himself to one knee so he was level with her where she still lay on the ground. He let the wooden sword fall and pulled the little princess into his arms, gently stroking her long hair, now coming loose from its braid.

— You won't become a warrior in eight days of training — he said in Valyrian.

— But I can't even stand — she replied tearfully.

— You're nine years old, and in five days you’ve managed to defend yourself for the first time. Be proud.

Daemon loosened his embrace and guided the girl to look him in the eye.

— You hold your sword properly. You don’t know how to move your feet in combat yet, but you already know how to take the right stance — and I haven’t even taught you that.

Visenya bit her lip, embarrassed, and looked away from her stepfather.

— Aemond taught me. — she said softly.

— That’s fine. Now come inside — rain’s on the way.

He helped the girl to her feet and they walked back toward the castle side by side. Daemon stopped one of the handmaids on the way and ordered a hot bath be drawn for the princess. Then they parted ways, as he turned down the corridor carrying the wooden swords.

Visenya headed to her room to wait for the servant with the hot water. Not long after, two middle-aged women entered her chambers with buckets of near-boiling water — just enough to fill the tub that sat in the corner by the fire, which had already been lit before she arrived. They carried oils and scented essences for her skin. They helped the girl undress and unfastened the braid caked with dirt and grass.

The water was still far too hot for most to touch, but Visenya liked it that way — scalding heat was a relief to her sore body. The handmaids couldn’t bathe her until it cooled a little, so they began with her hair. A comb and oil were used to work through the knots, a bit of soap to cleanse away the dirt, and a lavender essence to leave it sweet-smelling.

The whole process lasted just long enough for the water to be bearable. With cloths and soap, the two women washed the princess’s body, never once commenting on the bruises that mottled her abdomen, back, and legs — the marks left by her recent training.

In the beginning, the princess had thought the roughness of her stepfather’s methods was meant to break her will. But today she understood — he wanted her ready. He wasn’t being cruel. A true enemy would be ten times worse. He was preparing her for what was to come. If she wanted to be a warrior, she would have to be treated like one.

Clean and dressed, the maids had scrubbed the tub and left the princess alone with her thoughts as she stared out at the night sky, once filled with stars, now quickly overtaken by clouds and the occasional flash of lightning.

That was where she wished to be — up there. Beyond wanting to be a warrior, she was also a Targaryen. She longed for a dragon of her own, to fly, to feel the wind tear past her as she soared. It seemed so marvellous. Now she was the only one without a mount. Even Aemond had claimed one — at the cost of an eye, yes, but he had succeeded.

To say Visenya didn’t envy him would be a lie. They had shared a certain bond, both of them having suffered the misfortune of unhatched dragon eggs. But now her uncle had claimed a dragon, the dragon of conquest no less, while she had no options. Her mother had tried to console her — promised that when Syrax laid another egg, it would be hers, and surely the gods would allow it to hatch. But Visenya didn’t want to wait. If Aemond could find a dragon, why couldn’t she? Why not even a hatchling?

That question haunted the little princess.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a maid calling her to supper. As she was led toward the small hall, her brothers and cousin joined her, full of laughter. Life on Dragonstone was doing wonders for her family. No more nobles whispering behind their backs, no more sideways glances each time they turned a corner. They no longer had to deal with Sir Criston Cole neglecting their training while letting Prince Aegon beat Rhaenyra’s sons senseless.

Life was good here. Visenya often wondered why they hadn’t come sooner, but the answer was rather clear to her.

She missed King’s Landing. The city had been unkind to her family — but not entirely to her. She had Helaena, who was with her every day, and then suddenly she was taken away. Visenya missed her aunt. She missed Aemond. She missed her grandsire, who would always ask the servants to fetch a slice of strawberry tart for her while she sat quietly, watching him carve his model city. She missed the queen, who would always stroke her cheek whenever they crossed paths — no matter how many times they passed each other in the Red Keep, Alicent always touched her face gently in affection.

Life in King’s Landing had been good for her — but she understood why her family had chosen Dragonstone. Even if it made her heart ache.

She took her seat at the table beside Rhaena and her twin. The conversation flowed easily, and supper was pleasant. That night marked one of the first times she saw her mother smile a true smile. Visenya noticed her stepfather watching her throughout the meal. Their eyes spoke quietly across the table. Daemon wanted to be sure he hadn’t pushed her too hard. He might’ve seemed indifferent, unconcerned in the eyes of others, but he worried for Rhaenyra. He always had. And now that care extended to her children. They weren’t his by blood, but to him it felt as though they were. He wished each of them had silver hair, so that his beloved wouldn’t have to suffer so deeply for the children she bore.

At the end of that supper, the maester brought in several letters delivered by ravens. While the children were preparing for bed, Rhaenyra called her daughter over, asking her to stay behind. There were two letters for her — one from Queen Alicent and one from her uncle Aemond. Princess Rhaenyra hesitated to hand them over without checking their contents first, afraid of the words they might contain, afraid that the two Greens might insult her little girl. But in the end, the letters were addressed to her. Rhaenyra had never liked being controlled and knew her only daughter was much the same in that regard, so she placed both sheets into her hands, and Visenya ran off to her chambers, excited to read them.

The first one opened was the queen's.

My dearest Visenya,

I’m saddened by our sudden separation. The heat of the moment and a mother’s rage made me lose my head. Do not think for a moment that your brothers’ actions have diminished the affection I feel for you. You may always return home if you so wish. I hope your life at Dragonstone is a good one, and that it won’t be long before we see each other again.

Alicent.

Visenya hugged the letter to her chest. She truly loved the queen. She’d never known her grandmother, so Alicent was the closest thing she’d ever had to that feeling. Taking tea with her and her aunt had always been one of her favourite things to do — being spoiled by the queen had become second nature to her, even if her mother constantly warned her to be cautious.

Aemond’s letter remained sealed. Visenya wasn’t afraid — not quite. It was something close to fear, perhaps. Did he hate her now? Did he, unlike his mother, blame her for what her brother had done? Had he turned into a prick like Aegon, mocking her now that he had a dragon?

Those were some of the questions swirling through the girl’s mind as she finally gathered the courage to break the seal and let her eyes skim across the parchment.

Aemond didn’t blame her. He wrote that he missed her, that he wished she were there with him. Now that he had Vhagar, Aegon wouldn’t dare mock her again, because her younger uncle would protect her. He also wrote that once he became a proper rider, he’d take her flying — and then, together, they could go anywhere.

Chapter Text

The foul weather dragged on for days. The already-bonded dragons would leave on their own to hunt for food while their riders remained in the halls of Dragonstone. The winds were far too strong for any rider, especially an inexperienced one, to keep control of their mount in such conditions.

Sword training was held in one of the many empty chambers of the castle. Jace and Luke had their sessions in the morning, followed by diplomacy and High Valyrian lessons in the afternoon. For Visenya, it was quite the opposite.

A few hours had passed since luncheon, and not only was the fatigue from all the movement and sparring weighing on her, but her stomach was grumbling for a break. Sandwiches and a bit of wine were brought in by the servants. Visenya ate so quickly she needed a sip or two of wine just to help the food go down. Daemon watched her with amusement, the princess entirely unaware of his gaze, far too focused on shovelling in food.

Daemon didn’t allow her more than two sips of the wine, with the perfectly reasonable excuse that she was still a child.

Now with a full belly—at least enough to prevent her from vomiting on his boots—Prince Daemon moved on to mental exercises. He quizzed her on how to handle different types of opponents. What would she do if her foe wielded a spear while she held only a sword? Close the distance, of course. And what if the enemy was a knight skilled with both sword and shield? An archer?

They debated for hours on how the young princess ought to conduct herself in every possible scenario. Of course, this was all theory—words in a quiet room, nothing like the chaos of a real fight. But that reality would return soon enough, once the weather cleared and she and her stepfather resumed their afternoons outdoors.

Before the lesson could end properly, one of Princess Rhaenyra’s personal handmaids interrupted them. Daemon was being summoned by his wife and had to leave his stepdaughter early that day.

With no other way to fill her afternoon, Visenya made her way to the castle’s library, where her brothers were having their lessons. The maester was patiently trying to teach her twin the correct pronunciation of a simple phrase, but he struggled immensely with their mother tongue—his tongue just didn’t seem to move in the right way to form the words properly.

If Visenya didn’t have a dragon, then her brother couldn’t speak Valyrian—and that was the small consolation she clung to in order to torment him.

— You’re terrible at this — she said in Valyrian, stepping into the room.

— What? — he asked, confused.

— I caught the ‘terrible’ part —said Luke.

— You already understand more Valyrian than our older brother.

Visenya grinned mischievously as she flopped into one of the padded chairs. Jace glared at her, annoyed. Why the fuck did he need to learn a dead language anyway? The whole bloody place had gone down with Valyria. It made no sense. Their ancestors had fled that ruin, so to the abyss with this stupid tongue. Only the Targaryens and the Velaryons still spoke it—there was no reason to learn more than the basic commands a dragon would respond to. That was Jace’s logic.

Luke, though struggling just the same, loved the way Valyrian sounded when spoken. He often watched their mother and stepfather converse in the old tongue—it was something beautiful. He had spied on his older sister’s training as well and heard her and Daemon slipping between the old and the common tongue with ease.

He envied his sister’s fluency in Valyrian—and deep down, Jace did too. All the afternoons Visenya had spent with Helaena and Aemond, they’d spoken almost entirely in their native tongue. It was their secret way of bonding, their own little world where even the servants and guards couldn’t fully understand what was being said.

Jace, growing frustrated with his inability to grasp the language, gave up and reached for a book about the noble families of Westeros.

— You’ll never learn if you give up that easily —said Visenya in Valyrian.

— Seven hells! Speak my language! — Jace snapped.

— I did. You’re the one who should be understanding it instead of giving up like a little coward. How will you speak to your dragon?

— And what do you know? You don’t even have one.

Jace knew that small sentence would sting his sister. It was enough to make the young princess storm out of the room without so much as a backward glance, her steps heavy with anger. The elder prince wore a sly grin across his face, while the youngest bit his lip, a flicker of guilt tugging at his chest. He couldn’t wait for Arrax to grow large enough to ride—to finally know what it felt like to fly. He wanted to do it alongside his brother, his mother, and Daemon. He wanted Visenya there too, flying with them. But the gods hadn’t yet deemed her worthy of a dragon, and Luke knew how deeply that wounded her. After this, it was likely he wouldn’t see her for days, save for the shared meals their mother insisted the family take together.

Visenya didn’t care about the downpour or the wind lashing against her face. She just wanted to get as far away from her brother as possible. At times, he could be every bit as much of a cunt as their uncle Aegon.

Her skin was already covered in gooseflesh from the relentless cold. She walked and walked until she stumbled into a large cavern, seeking shelter from the storm. That was the plan—to stay there, out of the rain. But soon the wet clothes clinging to her body began to draw the warmth from her limbs. She started to tremble, her teeth chattering. If she didn’t warm up soon, she’d surely fall ill.

The cave stretched far deeper than it had first appeared. A kind of doorway had been carved into the stone, though it was set so far from the castle that it stirred questions in her mind. But now wasn’t the time to dwell on them. Maybe deeper inside, the cold would be more bearable.

Thin streams of water ran down the walls of the cavern, leaking in from the torrent outside. The place was pitch black, no torch or flame to light the way. But Visenya didn’t fear the dark like her brother Luke once had when he was younger.

She kept moving, deeper into the shadows.

Maybe it was just her imagination, but she thought she heard footsteps—coming from a different direction.

And then… a voice.

A familiar one.

Singing.

A song in the Valyrian tongue.

Drakari pykiros

(Fire-breather)

Tikummo jemiros 

(Winged leader)

Bit by bit, the voice grew louder, and Visenya caught sight of her stepfather—his heavy cloak soaked through, hood lowered, clutching a lit candelabrum as he ascended a narrow flight of steps.

Yn lantyz bartossa 

(But two heads more)

Saelot vaedis 

(For a third to sing)

Hen ñuha eleni

(From my voice)

A few guttural growls echoed through the cavern, snapping the princess out of her awe and forcing her to take several steps back toward the stone arch she’d just crossed.

Perzyssy vestretis

(The fires spoke)

Se gelyn irudaks

(And the price was paid)

Anogrose 

(With blood magic)

From afar, she saw Daemon kneel slowly, lowering the candelabrum to the stone floor, his eyes fixed above. As he straightened again, never once breaking the rhythm of the song, his voice wove through the shadows.

Peryzyro udryssi

(With words of flame)

Ezimptos laehossi

(With eyes so bright)

Harossa letagon

(To bind the three)

From the darkness, a great dragon emerged, its flame spilling upwards and painting the ceiling in light and fire. Visenya let out a sharp gasp, instinctively ducking low in fright, shielding herself with her arms.

Yet still, her stepfather sang.

Aot vaedan

(To you I sing)

Hae merot gieruli

(As one we gather)

Se haros bartossi

(And with three heads)

Prumysa sovili

(We shall fly as we were meant)

Gevi daeri

(Beautifully, freely)

The dragon lowered its head just enough to stare down at the prince who had just finished his song. Its glowing gaze was fixed firmly on the man, who never once flinched before the enormous beast. That wasn’t Caraxes. So what dragon was this that Daemon was visiting on a rainy night like this?

The fire soon ceased, revealing the faint silhouette of the beast turning in the darkness to lay down, its back to the man. Visenya stayed crouched, trying to adjust her violet eyes to the darkness and get a proper look at the creature. But then she noticed Daemon had turned his head toward her. The spot where she was hiding was cloaked in full shadow—surely it was only coincidence that the prince’s gaze happened to drift in her direction?

As silently as she could, she crept back the way she came until she reached the cave’s entrance. The rain had eased slightly, but the wind was still fierce, enough to make the whole island seem to tremble.

Hugging herself tight, Visenya stood there, mustering the courage to brave the storm and return to the castle. But just as she took a breath to step forward, a hooded figure stepped out from the far side of the cave, startling the girl into a small gasp.

— What are you doing out in this storm? — Daemon asked.

Only then did it truly dawn on her how pathetic she must’ve looked—soaking wet, shivering, and sick just because she’d been angry with her brother. Visenya didn’t want to answer. She didn’t want Daemon to think her more childish than she already was.

— A-and what are you doing here? — she tried to deflect.

Daemon narrowed his eyes at the girl—dripping, shaking, her lips beginning to turn blue. As he stepped closer and touched her face, he realised that though she was freezing, her cheeks burned hot. Of course a soaked child caught in a storm like this would be running a fever.

— Let’s get you back, little wet dragon. — he said in Valyrian.

The prince knelt to her level and opened his heavy cloak. He slipped his arms under hers and lifted her up into his embrace. Visenya wrapped her legs around his middle and rested her head against his chest. Daemon drew the cloak back around them both, shielding her from the cold, and made haste toward the castle.

As they passed through the doors, Rhaenyra was already waiting for them, prepared to head to the dining hall. But before his wife could utter a single word, Daemon opened his cloak, revealing the small, soaked princess. Alarmed, Rhaenyra rushed to take her daughter into her arms, and upon noticing her state, she immediately ordered a servant to fetch the maester and to bring hot water for the girl's bath. Daemon made his way to the chambers he shared with his wife to do the same and change into dry clothes.

Since the age of four, Visenya had been bathed by handmaids—but that night, it was her mother who did it. The water was near scalding, and Rhaenyra sank her feverish child into it, gently washing her, cleansing her hair, and then wrapping her in a thick, plush robe she had received as a gift from her grandsire, sent from Essos. The princess sat by the hearth with her daughter nestled in her arms, waiting for the maester to arrive.

The elderly man brought with him a tonic for the fever and a handful of herbs which, he claimed, when placed beneath the soles of the feet, helped to draw illness from the body.

Rhaenyra laid her daughter in bed. Throughout the ordeal, the girl slipped in and out of sleep, dazed by the fever. With the maester's help, she managed to coax the earthy-tasting tonic down her throat and stuffed the herbs into the socks the child wore. Then the queen dressed her in a thick nightgown and tucked her under heavy blankets.

Rhaenyra remained seated by her daughter’s side as the girl drifted in and out of brief slumber. Upon her next waking, Visenya’s handmaid returned with a bowl of hot broth to nourish her lady. With her mother’s aid, Visenya ate slowly. When she was nearly done, Daemon opened the chamber door and paused, watching the two silver-haired figures beside the bed.

— You need to eat too, Nyra. — he said.

Rhaenyra’s uncertain gaze flicked between her husband and her ailing daughter.

— I’ll stay with her until she falls asleep, if that eases your mind. Go and eat.

Reluctantly, Rhaenyra gave her daughter the last spoonful of broth and stood, kissing her brow tenderly. She left the room with the handmaid in tow, leaving only Daemon and Visenya.

The prince stepped closer as the girl lay back, struggling slightly to pull the heavy blanket over herself. He helped her and sat beside her in silence.

— Who was that dragon? — she asked, her voice hoarse.

— Have you ever read the book about House Targaryen and their dragons?

The girl only nodded.

— Do you know which dragon belonged to King Jaehaerys? — Daemon asked.

— Vermithor. — she answered.

— That’s right. It was him.

— Why were you singing?

— When I was younger than you, I heard the King sing that song to Vermithor. He said it calmed him. That dragon was always a savage beast.

— Is that why they call him the Bronze Fury? — she asked, curious.

— I suppose so. Vermithor’s lived here since the King died, so I visit him now and then.

— Does he get lonely? — Visenya asked.

—When a rider dies and the bond between him and his dragon is strong, the beast may grieve for a long time. Some even waste away from it. Vermithor chose to isolate himself.

— Being alone is awful. Can I visit him too?

— Your mother wouldn’t like that. He’s dangerous. — Daemon warned.

— What if she doesn’t find out?

Daemon smiled at the girl’s question. They truly were alike. He agreed to take her with him once she recovered from the fever, and the two swore to keep it a secret from Rhaenyra.

The little one’s eyes were already fluttering closed as she asked Daemon to sing her that Valyrian song, and so he did.

By the time he finished, she was already curling into sleep. As he brushed a strand of silver hair from her brow, he noticed her fever had started to go down.

— Goodnight, little she-dragon. — he said in Valyrian.

— Goodnight, daddy.

That one small word utterly disarmed the prince. With the princess deep in slumber, he left the room with a faint smile on his lips, stepping once more into the dark halls of the castle.

Chapter Text

That was the first morning in many days that the people of Dragonstone woke without the sound of rain. The sky was nearly clear, and the joyful roars of dragons taking flight in the good weather echoed across the island. Syrax and Caraxes danced together in the skies, prompting some of the servants to pause their duties just to watch the mated pair in flight.

Visenya woke with an unfamiliar weight on her arm. As sunlight spilled into her chambers, she opened her eyes and was met with the sight of a dark head of hair very close to her own—her arm was being hugged. Jacaerys was asleep in bed beside his twin sister.

When she tried to speak, Visenya felt her throat burn, so she simply tugged at her arm to wake her brother. He startled awake, and she noticed his cheeks flush as he realised where he was. She watched him open and close his mouth a few times, likely trying to explain himself, but she interrupted him first.

— Water. — she croaked.

He leapt from the bed and rushed to the table where a jug of water rested. He poured a cup and quickly returned, handing it to her.

After drinking, Visenya stared at him as his face remained pink.

— Why did you sleep here? — she asked.

— Mum said you were sick. — he replied.

— So?

— Sorry…

Visenya crossed her arms, still watching her embarrassed brother avoid her gaze.

— You shouldn’t have said that. — he added.

— Why not? It’s true.

— But it upsets you.

That caught the girl off guard. Jace had never apologised for making those kinds of remarks that always managed to upset her. Perhaps he realised he was the reason she’d fallen ill, after upsetting her so much.

Soon Visenya’s maid entered the room with a tray of food—enough for both siblings to eat—and they did so in silence.

It took a few more days for the princess to be completely rid of her cold, and as promised, Daemon took her to see Vermithor after her daily training.

He gave her one of his shirts to wear, so the dragon wouldn’t be as alarmed by her scent. She was so excited that she ran ahead most of the way, heading to the alternate entrance to the cave her father used.

As they made their way toward the chamber where the great dragon rested, Daemon kept Visenya behind him. The dragon rose, furious at being disturbed from his slumber.

And at once, Daemon began to sing that same song.

Visenya had asked him to sing for her so many times while she was ill that she now knew the song herself, and alongside the prince, she began to hum it softly.

Soon Vermithor sensed her presence and lowered his head to get a better look at the girl. He released a warm breath in her direction as she remained tucked behind Daemon’s legs.

The dragon let out a thunderous roar, but despite her fear, the little princess stood firm, staring into Vermithor’s dark eyes.

Daemon said not a single word as he watched the exchange between the two.

Vermithor seemed as though he might come closer, but instead turned his back—just as he had the first time Visenya had seen him.

The prince placed a hand atop her head, giving a silent signal that it was time to leave. Before stepping down the first stair, Visenya turned her body towards the dragon.

— I’ll return tomorrow, Vermithor. — she said in Valyrian.

*****

Five Years Later

The name day of Prince Jacaerys and Princess Visenya was fast approaching.

They were about to turn fourteen, and though still young, the princess had grown into a formidable swordswoman.

Visenya now trained alongside her brothers, and among the knights, there were whispers that the princess could already best most of them—and that by the time she reached adulthood, not even Daemon would be her equal. Gods have mercy on her enemies the day she took to the skies atop a dragon.

Since that rainy day, Daemon and Visenya had visited the Bronze Fury every single day. They would go to him and sing the song he had grown to love.

On a warm night when sleep eluded her, Visenya caught a glimpse of the dragon flying out to hunt—and she saw just how massive he had become, second only to Vhagar in size.

Thinking of the dragon of conquest inevitably led her thoughts to Aemond. In all those years, they hadn’t seen one another, and the letters they once exchanged had grown sparse.

The prince was nearing eighteen, and his responsibilities now reflected that. He was tasked with patrols, always accompanied by his massive she-dragon, and though he travelled often, he had never come near Dragonstone.

Even so, he never failed to send her a gift on her name day.

That morning, a merchant ship requested permission to dock at the island. Many chests were offloaded from it.

Gifts from Rhaenyra and Daemon to their children, brought all the way from Essos, made the twins’ eyes sparkle with curiosity as they watched from a high window. But as always, they knew their mother would never allow them to open the chests until the small feast held every year.

Unlike her brother, Visenya dashed down the stone stairs all the way to the shore to witness the arrival of the presents up close.

King Viserys had sent a token of affection for his grandchildren as well. As for Queen Alicent, there was only one parcel—marked with Visenya’s name.

After the merchants had unloaded everything onto the sand and the knights began carrying it up to the castle, they were set to depart again for King’s Landing. One of the men, however, lingered behind. When the knights were no longer nearby, he approached Visenya.

— Valar morghulis. — he said.

He placed a small parcel into the girl’s hand, and she looked at him, startled.

— Valar dohaeris. — she replied.

The man then walked away, heading for the rowboat that would take him back to the ship.

Clutching the small package against her chest, Visenya watched him go. Footsteps in the sand behind her put her on alert, and with a subtle motion, she slipped the package into the pocket of her trousers before turning around to see who it was.

— You and your brother aren’t getting out of training just because your name day is near. — Daemon said.

— Then you should be telling him that. — she replied.

With a smirk, she approached the prince, and the two of them began walking toward the small training field.

— I’ll be going to Driftmark tonight. I’m taking Rhaena to visit her sister and grandparents, but I’ll be back before the feast. —Daemon told her.

Visenya only nodded in response.

Daemon’s relationship with his daughters was, to say the least, complicated. The prince rarely saw Baela, save for her name day, and Rhaena, who lived with them, remained emotionally distant from her father.

As the years passed, the prince had grown noticeably closer to his stepdaughter, leaving Rhaenyra to deal with his daughter alone. That rift gave way to a quiet resentment on Rhaena’s part—fueled by jealousy over her cousin's bond with Daemon.

Visenya had been so absorbed in their closeness that she hadn’t considered how little attention Daemon gave his own daughter because of the time he spent with her. On her eleventh name day, the princess had asked for just one gift—that Daemon spend time with Rhaena. The request had clearly stunned him until he realised just how poorly he’d treated his daughters.

Since then, he'd made a habit of taking Rhaena to Driftmark and staying there for a few days at a time.

As their walk came to an end, Visenya saw her brothers already preparing, wooden swords in hand. Joffrey sat on the ground beside a handmaid, watching everything with wide-eyed fascination.

Visenya picked up her sword and began her bout with Luke. As soon as Daemon gave them the go-ahead, she launched herself at her brother. With some effort, Luke managed to stay on his feet, dodging her relentless strikes.

Her movements had grown more fluid—almost like a dance. She spun and struck, barely giving him a moment to breathe. Then, in a brief lapse, Luke tripped over his own feet and fell, Visenya pointing her sword at his chest to claim the win.

From a distance, she could hear Joffrey clapping his little hands, cheering for his sister. Luke pouted on the ground until she stepped forward and offered her hand. He gladly took it, and she pulled him to his feet.

They paused to watch Jace and Daemon train. Once again, the father brought the wooden blade down hard across the elder brother’s back for failing to execute a movement properly.

— Dead. — Daemon declared.

Jace was huffing as he returned to his stance. And so the morning passed like that, until it was time for the midday meal, when they gathered with their mother—who now bore a heavily swollen belly.

It would be the first child of the princess and Daemon. After years without success, the maester had begun to suspect Rhaenyra might no longer be able to carry a child, but one morning, to everyone’s surprise, the princess had announced she was with child.

Rhaena was thrilled about visiting her sister and wouldn’t shut up about it. Her feud with Visenya, it seemed, had come to an end.

As ever, lessons were chaotic since Visenya had joined her brothers. Luke had already mastered the basics of High Valyrian, while Jace still struggled. Since the day Visenya had fallen ill, the twins had held a silent truce on insults, and she did what she could to help Jace with the language—though he was so bloody stubborn that she often found herself on the verge of throttling him, sending the poor maester to the brink of madness during their lessons.

It was nearly nightfall when Visenya spotted her cousin hauling two bags for the journey to Driftmark. Without a word, she took one of the bags from Rhaena’s shoulder and walked alongside her.

From a higher point on the island, they could see Caraxes already waiting as they made their way up.

— When you come back, we could choose the baby’s egg. — Visenya said.

— I’d really like that. — Rhaena replied.

At the top, they saw Daemon stroking the red dragon’s head. The girls handed over their bags so he could secure them to the saddle. Visenya was slightly surprised when Rhaena pulled her into a farewell hug, and she noticed a small smile on her father’s face at the sight of the two girls getting along again—especially knowing it had been his fault they weren’t.

The prince simply tousled Visenya’s hair and narrowed his eyes as he told her not to go see Vermithor on her own. And, as always, she agreed—even though every time her father was away on these little trips, she sneaked into the dragon’s cave. She didn’t get too close, but she’d sit near the stairs and spend long stretches “talking” to the beast, who now did little more than snort and grunt. Deep down, Daemon knew full well that Visenya never obeyed that order—because if it were him in her place, he wouldn’t either.

She watched her father help Rhaena into the saddle, climbing up after her as he fastened the leather straps for a safe flight. With a word of command, Caraxes soared into the sky.

It was nearly time for supper, and the princess knew there wouldn’t be time to see Vermithor before her mother noticed she was missing. So she decided she’d do it in secret, slipping out when she was meant to be asleep in her chambers.

When she returned to her room, two of her handmaids were already preparing her bath and greeted her as she undressed.

Only then did Visenya remember the parcel in her pocket. She slipped it beneath the bedcovers to hide it, intending to open it once the women had left. As she pulled off her blouse, she began untying the band she’d taken to wrapping around her chest. Her breasts had started to grow recently, marking every blouse she wore and causing no small amount of discomfort—especially when she noticed how visible they’d become.

Her bath was nearly scalding as always, and once she had been washed, she ordered the women to leave her alone in the tub. Visenya remained seated in the hot water with her eyes closed until the temperature dropped too much for her liking. She stepped out of the tub, wrapped herself in a robe, and made her way to the bed in search of the mysterious parcel.

She undid the knot and opened the package. Inside was a small piece of parchment and a leather pouch no larger than her palm. Upon unfolding the parchment, she immediately recognised the rough handwriting.

Hope you’re wearing my gift when we meet again.

- Aemond

Curious, she opened the little leather pouch to reveal a necklace. The chain was fine and made of gold, and the pendant held a sapphire, the gem cut in a raw, unpolished style.

Visenya ran her fingers over the necklace, marvelling at the piece. She quickly opened the clasp, struggling a bit to fasten it by herself. When she stood before the mirror, she smiled, imagining what her uncle would say the day he saw her wearing his gift.

Chapter Text

For some reason, Visenya thought it best to keep that necklace hidden beneath her garments. She didn’t want to lie to her mother about the origin of the gift—especially since that fateful night had become the catalyst for the great shift in her family’s fate.

Over the years, Aemond’s gifts had always been simple things, but this necklace carried a weight the princess couldn’t explain. So, the way she dealt with it was to keep it a secret.

It had been two days since Daemon had departed, and training had been left in the hands of one of the knights who served their family. The man wasn’t a poor instructor by any means, but it was the constant challenge her father posed that truly lit a fire in Visenya.

She trained with her brothers, but her usual spark was missing, and it didn’t go unnoticed. For the first time in a long while, they actually thought the session had been easy.

As usual, she went to visit Vermithor after sparring. Over time, the dragon had grown less grumpy with her presence, and she could swear he had started to enjoy her company. Each time she visited, her gaze drifted to the saddle fastened atop the dragon’s back, imagining whether she could truly climb it and fly. It had been five years since she first met Vermithor, and with each day, that desire burned stronger within her.

In a sudden surge of courage, she walked until she was standing quite close to the dragon.

— I will be your rider — she said in Valyrian.

The dragon merely turned his head in her direction and remained lying down, his enormous eyes seeming to assess every detail of the girl standing before him. Visenya took slow, careful steps towards one of the wings where a leather strap from the saddle hung down. She grabbed it and began to climb using her feet to push off from the dragon’s side. Within three steps, Vermithor stirred, shaking his body just enough to send her falling hard onto her back.

A low grumble from the beast sounded almost like laughter at the girl’s failed attempt.

Gritting her teeth, she stood and approached again. She began to climb, and before she could even make it halfway, he shifted his wing, throwing her balance and sending her sliding back to the ground.

— Obey me, Vermithor! — she cried in Valyrian.

For the third time, Visenya seized the leather straps. She looped them tightly around her hands and bit down on her lip, eyes locked onto the dragon who continued to ignore her. She climbed again. He moved again. But this time, she clung to him, arms wrapped around his massive frame, using the saddle as leverage. She pressed on, climbing further. The closer she came to the top, the more he writhed, trying to dislodge her.

On the eighth attempt, Visenya finally reached the saddle and managed to sit, tying herself to the beast before he could throw her off once more.

— You will not be alone anymore. Fly, Vermithor — she commanded in Valyrian.

The dragon huffed, and Visenya held on tightly as he rose, shaking her violently. She clung on with all her strength as his steps grew faster and faster, until at last he burst from the cave he had chosen as his lair. He spread his wings and made for the cliff’s edge—when he launched himself into the air, Visenya squeezed her eyes shut.

When she dared to open them again, the dragon was already gaining altitude, soaring higher and higher.

Vermithor was hers.

He let out a thunderous roar and circled the island three times before descending. Visenya could hardly describe what she felt—it was as though a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Now, she too was a dragonrider. Aegon could no longer call her a false Targaryen, as he had all throughout her childhood.

She unstrapped herself and the dragon crouched slightly to make the descent easier. Back on solid ground, Visenya ran her hand along his neck until she reached his head, which remained perfectly still as he watched her.

— You are mine — she said in Valyrian.

He blew a warm gust of air in her direction, then slowly turned and made his way back to the cave he called home.

It didn’t take long for her to hear the sound of approaching footsteps and clinking armour. Of course her mother would demand her presence after that display.

Flanked by two knights, Visenya was escorted to her mother’s chambers, where Rhaenyra lay on a chaise near the window with a clear view across the island.

— Princess — one of the knights greeted her mother.

With a simple wave of the hand, Rhaenyra dismissed them, and the maids followed soon after, leaving only mother and daughter face to face.

— Would you care to explain why you were mounted on one of the most ferocious dragons to ever live? — Rhaenyra asked.

— No congratulations? — Visenya tried to ease the tension.

Her mother’s face twisted into a scowl, and the girl shrank, lowering her head.

— Visenya...

— I was safe, I swear. He never tried to harm me — she said.

— I am glad you claimed a dragon, but I’m disappointed in how you went about it. You could’ve been hurt—or killed.

All the joy Visenya had carried since soaring through the sky deflated under her mother’s words. Rhaenyra wasn’t entirely wrong, but she ought to understand how her daughter felt.

Rhaenyra reached out her hand, beckoning her closer. Without argument, Visenya stepped forward. Her mother took her hands and looked her in the eye.

— A dragon is no servant, and no toy. They have thoughts, feelings, and wills of their own. They can be unpredictable. So you must understand—I will not allow you to fly alone with him until you are properly trained.

That was Rhaenyra’s final decision.

*****

Two years later

At sixteen, Visenya Velaryon bore the form of a woman. Her curves had grown pronounced, her breasts full enough to reveal a neckline that was both alluring and dangerous—though only the foolish dared entertain such thoughts without knowing the princess’s temperament.

She was fire and blood incarnate. Visenya and Vermithor were a feared pair; their reputation had reached even the ears in King’s Landing.

Their hearts beat as one. Visenya understood her dragon, and he, in turn, could sense her emotions as clearly as his own. They took to the skies under moonlight, and by morning, tales would spread of pirate ships burnt to ash and sunk beneath the waves. Her swordsmanship now rivalled her father's—no knight on Dragonstone could best the princess in combat.

It had been two days since Visenya had properly seen her mother. Her youngest brother, Aegon III, had fallen ill. The maester had diagnosed him with Shivers, and the boy writhed in bed through the worst of the episodes, sometimes foaming at the mouth. Rhaenyra had not left his chambers since. The maester tried every known cure, but nothing seemed to work.

Daemon all but forced his wife to eat at least once a day. She was wasting away beside her fevered child, holding him through each violent convulsion to keep him from injury.

All of Dragonstone held its breath. Some feared the illness might spread; others simply pitied the princess who refused to relinquish her grip on her suffering son.

It was a wonder Aegon hadn’t yet died—grown men often perished from the illness within a day. Perhaps it was the dragon’s blood that kept him clinging to life.

That morning, one of the wet nurses sat at the dining table with little Viserys, trying to coax the young prince into eating his porridge instead of playing. The other children pushed their food around their plates, too anxious to eat.

They feared for their youngest brother. It seemed all but certain that he wouldn’t survive, and none could fathom the ruin that would bring their mother.

Visenya stood from the table and left them behind. She stormed into the maester’s study, the door slamming open with such force that the old man nearly fell from his stool.

— P-princess? — he stammered.

— Is there truly nothing to be done? — Visenya demanded.

— I fear I can do no more than manage the fever… to ease the prince’s suffering — he replied.

— And the Citadel?

— I beg your pardon? — the maester asked, baffled.

— Someone there must have an answer.

— A raven would take too long. The prince wouldn’t survive the wait…

— But a dragon wouldn’t — she said, already turning to leave.

Visenya strode through the corridors until she reached the throne room, where her father sat slumped on the throne. He looked as wretched as his wife, head bowed low between his knees.

— I’ll fly to Oldtown — she said.

Daemon lifted his face to look at his stepdaughter. The dark circles beneath his eyes were deepening.

— Visenya, your brother won’t survive another night.

— But I have to try. He’s endured more than a grown man already—don’t tell me not to go.

Daemon said nothing. He only lowered his head again in silence.

Visenya’s heart burned with fury at his silence. How could he give up so easily?
Coward. That was the word on the tip of her tongue. After all the speeches about family and blood, he was just giving up on his son?

But something clicked in her mind—perhaps silence was better. She didn’t need anyone standing in her way.

She left the throne room and made her way to her brother’s chambers. Her mother was seated in a chair, cradling the unconscious child in her arms.

— Mother?

Rhaenyra looked up at the girl. Her face was twisted with pain and exhaustion, her strength failing, her heart slowly shattering as she watched the life slipping from Aegon’s little body.

— I’ll fly to Oldtown. Some archmaester must know something.

— Nya, we’ve done all we can — Rhaenyra murmured.

— Let me try.

Visenya stepped closer and knelt before her, placing one hand on her brother’s feverish cheek. His skin burned like coals, and though his breath was faint, it was still there.

Rhaenyra squeezed her eyes shut, fighting the tears.

— May the gods guide you — she whispered at last.

Visenya kissed them both on the forehead and sprinted back to her chambers. She pulled on her leather trousers, a black blouse, and a red decorative corset, then strapped on her boots and threw a thick cloak around her shoulders. She took the dagger Jace had gifted her on her fifteenth nameday and secured it to her belt. Near her bed lay her Valyrian steel sword—the one Daemon had gifted her two years ago. The metal had once belonged to Queen Rhaenys’s blade, melted down and reforged into a slightly slimmer shape to fit Visenya’s hand. She took it, holstered it at her hip, then grabbed a satchel, tossing in a few gold dragons, silver stags, and a change of clothes just in case.

The Velaryon girl dashed outside the castle and placed two fingers to her mouth, letting out a sharp whistle—the signal she’d trained Vermithor to answer.

Before the dragon arrived, Jace and Luke rushed out through the castle gates, chasing after their sister who had torn through the halls like a storm.

— What’s going on? — asked Luke.

— I’m going to the Citadel. Someone there must have a cure — she answered.

— I’m coming with you — said Jace.

— No. Stay with mother. Daemon’s already shut himself away, she can’t be left alone. Promise me.

The brothers exchanged a look. Luke seemed resigned to her command, but Jace pressed his lips together, clearly displeased.

When the sound of beating wings echoed in the distance, the three of them turned to see the Bronze Fury descending and landing a few paces away.

Finally, Jace nodded. The boys embraced her quickly, and she ran to the dragon, who was already crouching low to ease her ascent.

— Fly. — she ordered in Valyrian.

*****

Vermithor wasn’t the swiftest, but he was resilient. Visenya knew she could reach Oldtown and return to Dragonstone within the same day if the Citadel could provide her an answer. She had never prayed or believed truly in the gods, but this was the first time she begged them to grant her little brother a chance.

Knowing she was nearing the city, she guided the dragon into a descent. Everyone would know a Targaryen was near if she approached mounted, and no one needed to know what was happening in her household.

The dragon descended into a mountainous area—perfect for staying hidden.

Visenya thanked him for the flight by stroking the scales along his neck. She pulled up her hood to hide the tell-tale silver hair and walked to the nearest village, about half an hour away. She hired an old carriage that took her to the gates of her final destination.

With swift steps, she moved through the streets until she reached the maesters’ school. The twin sphinxes that guarded the gate made it nearly impossible to miss. With firm footsteps, the princess entered the stone building and approached a desk where an old man seemed to be transcribing a book.

— Women aren’t permitted in the Citadel — said the man.

— Fuck your bloody rules — Visenya said.

The man looked up and met her violet eyes. His gaze rose slightly, catching a few rebellious strands of hair slipping from under her hood.

— Princess… Visenya, I presume — said the old man.

— You presumed right. I need to speak to a maester, urgently.

— I’m sure Dragonstone has one of our brothers — he muttered, returning to his writing.

Angered by his attitude, Visenya clenched both fists and slammed them onto the table, drawing his attention again.

— My brother is ill, and the maester at Dragonstone cannot cure him.

— What affliction? — the old man asked.

— Shivers.

— Then your brother will be dead soon, princess.

— It’s been nearly three days and he’s still fighting. Find someone competent, unless you want my dragon to melt this place to ash.

The man huffed and stood, the chains of his robes clinking as he vanished from sight. Visenya bit her lip anxiously, pacing back and forth for nearly twenty minutes until the man returned with another—an archmaester by the robes he wore.

— Princess — he greeted. — My colleague explained the reason for your visit. There is a treatment we’ve been studying these past years. It has proven effective in many cases of the Shivers. I can prepare it for you—if it means your dragon stays far from here.

— How long? — she asked.

— By sunrise tomorrow.

Why didn’t they have that bloody remedy ready? Well, at least there was a small chance for Aegon now—whatever. She agreed and informed them she would return the next morning.

Her heart was racing. Her brother had to last one more night until she came back. It had to work. It needed to.

She headed toward the city centre in search of a tavern. She’d spent the entire day on an empty stomach and now, with the initial tension fading, her belly growled in protest.

It was the first time she found herself alone in a city. She clutched the coin pouch tight under her heavy cloak and weaved through narrow streets, dodging drunks already spilling into the roads. Luckily, it didn’t take her long to find a place to eat.

It wasn’t entirely decrepit, and the food on some tables still steamed, which was promising. She walked up to the counter, ordered a plate and a mug of ale.

It wasn’t long before a woman with a plunging neckline brought the food to the princess’s table. Visenya tugged the hood lower to ensure it wouldn’t fall and began to eat. If she hadn’t been so famished, she wouldn’t have touched the slop, but at least it was warm. The ale was even worse—it reeked like horse piss, and she wouldn’t be surprised if it were actually laced with some.

One of the most revolting dinners she’d ever had, no doubt, but it was enough to get her through the night. When it came time to pay, she used the opportunity to ask the woman where she could find a place to sleep. It wasn’t far, judging by her directions. She thanked her and set off for the spot, her body aching from sitting in the same position for hours. All she wanted now was to sleep, even if it were on a hard bed.

Visenya wandered through a few alleys before she realised someone was following her. He was tall—that was the only thing she could discern, as he wore a cloak much like hers, obscuring his frame.

Despite all the training, this was real. She’d never faced anyone without Vermithor nearby—and now she was alone. Carefully, she raised her left arm and placed a hand on the hilt of her dagger. She turned the next corner and melted into the shadows, waiting for her pursuer.

Within seconds, the man appeared. She yanked the dagger free and shoved him against the wall, blade pressed to his throat. The height difference between them was obvious. The man kept his head bowed, face shrouded in shadow. She heard a low chuckle escape him, and as he finally looked up, the first thing she noticed was the eyepatch—and the scar beneath it.

— Been a while, niece.

Chapter Text

Aemond was wrapping up his patrol in the Reach and making his way towards Oldtown. He would spend the night in one of the many Hightower estates. Vhagar was exhausted from the long journey and, once she landed in a small field, refused to take flight again. Prince Aemond trudged slowly toward the city, leaving the old she-dragon to recover.

Despite how tiring they were, Aemond liked his patrols—they kept him away from King's Landing, where he had to watch his father rot away, lost to the world under the haze of milk of the poppy he consumed daily. His face was gaunter than Aemond had thought possible, and what little hair remained clung desperately to his scalp. Nearly two years had passed since the old man last carved his model cities. Before that, he’d called for one of Visenya’s handmaidens, mistaking her for the granddaughter who used to sit silently watching him for hours in childhood.

Visenya.

How was she after all this time? Had she received his gift? Aemond wondered.

It wasn’t only the dying father—it was also the controlling mother and grandfather. Aegon, ever the drunk, doing little more than haunting brothels night after night.

Helaena was the only reason Aemond ever wanted to return home. He couldn’t leave her at the mercy of all of them. The last word he’d had from Alicent was that she intended to marry the siblings. He had to ensure Aegon didn’t harm her.

Before heading to the residence he usually occupied in Oldtown, he stopped by the Citadel to collect a medicine the maester of King's Landing had requested for his father. Since he was nearby, he’d deliver it personally. He was greeted by a man copying down a book, and since it was common for someone to fetch remedies for the king, Aemond was shown inside to await the Archmaester.

While the old man handed over the medicine and asked the prince to deliver a message to his colleague in the capital, Aemond heard footsteps and the clinking of chains approaching—it was the same maester who had greeted him earlier.

— Archmaester, we have a problem. Perhaps the prince could help us —he said.

— What’s happened? — Aemond asked.

— Your niece is here, my prince. She threatens to burn the Citadel to ash if someone doesn’t meet her demands.

Aemond almost smiled. Visenya was here—and with a worse temper than when she was a child, by the sound of it.

— And what might the princess’s demand be? — asked the Archmaester.

— One of her brothers has Shivers, and she insists a maester aid her, claiming our brother on Dragonstone was inadequate.

The prince paused for a moment. Who would be so ill that she’d come herself? Jace? Luke? Or one of the other bastards born of his half-sister...

— Is there a cure? — Aemond asked.

— Well, we’re conducting research, and there is a herbal mixture that has shown some promise...

— Give it to her — the prince cut the archmaester off.

— My prince, the herbs are rare and extremely costly. We need more time for study…

— Give. It. To. Her — Aemond repeated, slowly, his eye fixed on the man.

The archmaester swallowed hard. He and his colleague exchanged a look, silently weighing whether a handful of the most expensive herbs in the realm was worth drawing the ire of the one-eyed prince. The answer was obvious. Gods, no.

The old archmaester bowed low before the prince and, accompanied by the other, departed to tend to the princess. Aemond let them go several paces ahead before following at his leisure.

From the shadows, he watched the cloaked figure. She had grown, that much was certain, though she still stood about a head shorter than him—perhaps fifteen centimetres or so. Her clothes concealed most of her body, leaving only her boots visible.

With the brief exchange finished, the girl left the Citadel with a promise to return at sunrise. Curious, Aemond lingered a few moments before trailing after her, leaving the two old men behind without another word.

He tucked his father’s herbal concoction into his belt and followed the princess at a measured pace through the winding streets. She moved with no clear direction, as if unfamiliar with the city, until eventually stepping into a tavern.

He remained outside, watching her movements through the grime-caked window. She kept her hood up, and he still hadn’t seen her face.

After her meal, she exchanged a few words with the barmaid and set off again, winding through the crooked alleys of Oldtown. Aemond followed, his steps silent. When she turned down a narrower lane, he quickened his pace just enough to catch her attention—he saw her stiffen, alert now.

It had been years since he’d felt this alive. It was like a hunt, and she, his little niece, was his quarry. She rounded a corner, and fearing he might lose her in the dark, he moved faster—only to be caught off guard as she spun on him and pressed a blade to his throat.

Visenya’s eyes widened as she realised the man who had been following her was her uncle—the one she hadn’t seen in years. Slowly, she lowered the blade and took three steps back, while he continued to stare at her.

— Since when... — she began to speak.

— At the tavern — he lied.

Aemond had no intention of telling her he’d been tailing her since the Citadel, nor that she only had the medicine because he’d forced the maesters’ hands. Especially not when he still didn’t know which of her brothers was the one lying sick.

— Took you long enough to notice, but you defended yourself well. Seems Daemon taught you something — he said.

Visenya raised her chin and met his gaze. How had she not noticed she was being watched? She was far from satisfied with herself. She thought she knew nearly everything, but now realised she was still just a child compared to her uncle.

— What brings you to Oldtown? — Aemond asked.

— Came to fetch a remedy. You?

— The same... Are you ill? — he asked again.

— No. It’s Aegon, my mother and Daemon’s first son.

Knowing it wasn’t Jacaerys or Lucerys who’d be saved by the medicine he had strong-armed the maesters into handing over brought Aemond a certain sense of relief. He still held onto the grudge for the eye he’d lost, and the thought that the bastards wouldn’t be the ones to benefit at his expense was, frankly, satisfying.

— You returning to Dragonstone already? — Aemond asked.

— At first light — she replied.

— Got somewhere to sleep?

— I do. I don’t need your help. Good night, uncle.

Visenya turned to continue towards the inn the tavern woman had mentioned, but Aemond wasn’t about to let her spend the night alone in some random place in a city he knew damn well she’d never been to before.

The prince stepped around and blocked her path, forcing Visenya to halt abruptly to avoid walking straight into him. He offered her a room at the house he’d be staying in, which she immediately refused.

— If Rhaenyra knew you were alone in a strange place, don’t you think she’d be worried?

Aemond decided to play dirty. He knew how deeply Visenya cared for her family, and seeing her hesitate confirmed that she hadn’t lost that part of herself. Despite the years, she’d grown up isolated on that island, with no one but her kin and a few loyal retainers. Of course her bonds would have deepened, not weakened.

— The youngest son sick, and the only daughter far from home. She’s likely thinking of you already. Making sure you’re safe tonight would be the least I could do for your mother — he went on.

She bit her lip, weighing every word he’d just said. He was right. She hadn’t noticed him until it was too late. And sleeping alone... her sleep was deep—Daemon used to joke a dragon could roar in her ear and she still wouldn’t stir. If someone broke into her room, she’d be defenceless. Once again, the princess questioned her own skills. She was good at defending herself, yes, but so much time in a place without danger had dulled her edge. She and Daemon would need to deal with that once they returned home.

At last, she relented and followed her uncle to the house where they’d stay. The entire walk was silent.

The residence was a fair distance from where they’d been, perched in the higher part of the city. The streets no longer stank, and the few drunkards leaning against the walls wore fine cloaks and polished boots.

Visenya saw a house considerably grander than the others. The stone had been dyed a deep green, marking the house’s allegiance. Her mother’s warning rang in her ears— beware the Greens —but her uncle wouldn’t hurt her… would he?

Upon entering the house, they were greeted by two handmaids. Visenya overheard Aemond asking them to prepare a bath for her, after which they could retire. While the servants busied themselves with the task, the princess gazed out over the city through the large window in the room, with her uncle joining her.

— Vermithor, then? — he asked.

— He’s difficult, but a good companion.

Aemond didn’t respond, but from the description, he thought the dragon sounded just like her. A servant came to inform them the bath was ready, and the prince led her through the house to one of the chambers. Upon entering, Visenya was surprised to find her uncle following behind.

— What are you doing? — she asked.

— Entering my chambers.

— But... what?

— This house is only used when I come. Would you like me to wake the handmaids to clean out another room for you, carry up another tub and...

— No! — she cut him off.

Visenya might have had a sharp tongue and an awful temper, but one thing she had never done was mistreat those who served her. She wouldn’t dream of waking a servant in the middle of the night just because she wanted something. She didn’t do that at home, and she certainly wouldn’t do it with staff loyal to her grandmother by marriage.

— Could you at least give me some privacy? — she asked.

— I’m tired. I’ll stay on the sofa.

He pointed to the piece of furniture on the other side of the room, out of sight from the tub. Visenya huffed in frustration but accepted it, as it was far and hidden enough.

— If you so much as look, I’ll rip out your other eye. — she threatened.

Aemond turned without replying and, as he walked away, smiled to himself. How could the thing that had infuriated him for years now be so amusing when it came from her lips?

He lay down on the sofa. But what Visenya hadn’t noticed was the mirror mounted on the wall that reflected the entire bath, and Aemond could see everything clearly.

Visenya shrugged off her cloak, letting it fall to the floor, untied the holster from her hip and leaned the sword against the wall. The dagger was placed on the table where the oils and soap sat, just in case she needed to use it. She twisted her braid up into a bun and got rid of her boots and the corset that had been layered over her blouse to complete the outfit.

Lying on the sofa with his arms folded behind his head, Aemond watched Visenya from behind, taking in her every movement. He saw her begin to unfasten the buttons on her black blouse, letting the fabric fall to the floor and revealing her bare back.

He clenched his jaw, holding himself back from getting up and going to her.

He watched as she loosened her trousers and slid them down, exposing a stunning arse—round and flawless, her pale skin almost begging to be reddened by his hand.

He could feel his cock throb inside his trousers.

His last memory of Visenya was of a quarrelsome little girl, and now standing before him was a fierce woman. The plump rosy cheeks had given way to a more refined and delicate face, the once wide-eyed girl now held a seductive gaze, her full lips nearly pleading to be taken.

He certainly hadn’t expected their reunion to unfold like this. He hadn’t imagined feeling so drawn to the niece who had grown up at his side. Aemond was cold, reserved, and the only talk ever heard about him in court was how skilled he was with a blade. There were no rumours because he was rarely seen. He wasn’t foolish like Aegon. People feared him—so how the fuck could he be this entranced just from seeing Visenya’s naked body?

The princess stepped into the tub and began to bathe. Aemond didn’t look away for even a second, placing his hand over the erection straining against his trousers, trying to stay in control. Minutes later, when Visenya stepped out of the bath and reached for a robe, his eyes locked on her breasts—between them, a sapphire pendant caught the light. He was about to fucking lose it.

— Are you dressed? — he asked, though he already knew the answer.

— Yes.

Aemond stood and kept his back to her, muttering something about needing to sort out something important and that he’d be back in the morning.

Visenya was left a little confused but grateful to have the room to herself.

Aemond locked himself in one of the empty chambers far from hers and unfastened his trousers, freeing his erection and gripping it. He considered going to one of the brothels, but who was he fooling? No whore could compare to her. None of them would satisfy him. He wanted her. Only her.

But he couldn’t have her that night. He’d seen how uncomfortable she’d been having to bathe in the same room he stayed in—it was obvious Visenya had little to no experience with men, and he didn’t want to frighten her.

With his hand, he began to stroke himself in slow, deliberate motions, up and down his cock, eyes shut, replaying every second of that bath. He imagined walking up to her, fucking her in the tub, marking her arse with his hands, teasing her pink nipples with his teeth until she moaned his name. He pictured himself on his knees, tasting her until her legs gave out beneath her.

He gasped as he came, the release spilling over his hand.

That was far from the first time the prince had touched himself thinking about that bath.

Chapter Text

Visenya woke before the sun had even risen. She was alone. Her uncle hadn’t returned.

The princess hadn’t expected their reunion to be like this—chaotic. She’d imagined returning to King’s Landing for Aegon and Helaena’s wedding and seeing everyone again there.

They could have talked, eaten and drunk together. But who was she kidding? It had been years since she left, things had changed, everyone had grown and matured.

She didn’t feel comfortable around Aemond like she had in childhood. He was no longer the gentle boy who drank tea and read books with Helaena and her. Now he was a man, a prince with responsibilities, a dragonrider, and—judging by the rumours—a very skilled warrior.

Seven years separated them. Perhaps if they’d stayed together, things might’ve felt normal. But that wasn’t what fate had in store.

She wondered how the others were. Had her uncle Aegon become even more of a twat? How was Helaena, and why was their grandmother forcing that poor girl to marry such a prick?

And what of her grandfather’s health… was he still carving those massive models that had once fascinated Visenya with their intricate detail?

Now wasn’t the time for nostalgia. She put on the other set of clothes she’d brought with her, strapped on her sword and dagger, and pulled her cloak over the top. None of the servants were awake yet. She simply took an apple from the fruit tray and tossed the core into a shrub as she left the house.

The moment she stepped outside, she saw her uncle sitting on the steps, staring up at the sky. The sun was beginning to rise. She walked over and stopped in front of him.

— Thank you for the room — she said.

He nodded silently. Visenya took a deep breath, debating whether to say anything else. Her uncle didn’t seem open to conversation; perhaps he’d grown even more closed-off over time. So the princess began walking towards the Citadel.

— Niece — he called in Valyrian.

She halted at the last step without turning around, hearing him approach and circle to stand in front of her. Even with her on a higher step, she still had to tilt her head up to meet his gaze, and gods, how that annoyed her.

— Will you be at the wedding? — he asked.

— Yes, though it’s a shame the groom is Aegon.

He snorted softly, his eyes dropping to the slight neckline of her blouse. The golden necklace lay there while the pendant remained hidden beneath the white fabric she wore. His fingers traced slowly down her neck, grasping the jewellery and lifting it just enough to reveal the sapphire.

Visenya shivered at the touch but didn’t pull away. She caught the focused look in her uncle’s eyes as he stared at the necklace he’d sent her two years ago.

— Any particular reason it’s a sapphire? — she asked.

— Yes. Perhaps one day you’ll find out.

He let go of the jewel, leaving it exposed, then ran his fingers through her loose hair, sweeping it back and pulling up the hood to cover it. He leaned in, lifting her chin, and placed a warm kiss on her forehead.

— Fly safe — he said in Valyrian.

Visenya nodded, and he stepped aside to let his niece pass. And she was gone.

The princess was taken aback by her uncle’s gesture. For a brief moment, she’d sworn he was going to kiss her for real. How foolish she felt—Aemond was already twenty years old; compared to him, she was like a child.

She hoped he’d noticed the way she’d been staring at him the whole time. Beyond his height, his shoulders had broadened, his posture was proud and commanding, and if the tales of his skill as a warrior were true, then his body must’ve been just as impressive. How many women had already lain with him and seen all that for themselves?

Visenya hadn’t realised how close she was to the Citadel, her thoughts steeped in wicked fantasies. She slapped her cheeks with her palms to snap back to reality and remind herself of why she’d come—her little brother.

She quickened her pace and pushed open the great wooden door. The Archmaester was speaking with a younger man who looked to be a novice, judging by his robes. The old man greeted her, and the young one’s eyes widened the moment he heard the word “princess.”

The Archmaester handed her two vials—one with a liquid mixture and the other a thicker paste.

— Give the liquid for your brother to drink and rub the paste on his chest. May the gods help him.

— Thank you.

She wrapped the medicines in the shirt she’d worn the night before to keep them safe and tucked them into her bag.

She rushed out of the Citadel and didn’t stop until she reached the gates of Oldtown, drawing the attention of a few guards along the way. Placing two fingers in her mouth, she whistled as loudly as she could—a move that looked quite suspicious to them, likely thinking her a thief calling for her accomplices.

One of the guards at the gate grabbed Visenya’s arm just as she was passing through. The tug caused her hood to slip, her loose hair spilling out and revealing her face.

Visenya turned, furious, to glare at the man who dared to lay hands on her. The knight stared back, lingering on her silver hair and violet eyes.

In less than a minute, Vermithor appeared, roaring as he sensed his rider’s anger. He landed just outside the city walls and kept walking until Visenya commanded him to stop.

She yanked her arm free from the guard, who seemed to freeze under the weight of Vermithor’s presence. Visenya also noticed the wet patch darkening the man’s trousers—perfect, he’d pissed himself in fear.

She laughed at him and strode over to her dragon, fully aware of the burning gazes on her back. Vermithor lowered himself, making it easier for his rider to climb into the saddle. Once she was strapped in, she didn’t even need to speak—he already knew it was time to return to Dragonstone.

As he beat his wings and rose into the sky, Visenya heard another roar to her side—Vhagar was rising too.

— Let’s show that old beast who we are — said Visenya in Valyrian.

Vermithor roared and beat his wings harder, climbing so high he soared above the clouds. It was as if they floated above a white sea, calm and still. Up there, it felt like nothing else existed—no Blacks and Greens, no strife, no sickness, no quarrels…

About fifty metres away, the old she-dragon burst through the clouds. Visenya turned her head and saw her uncle looking at her too.

Vermithor growled and shifted beneath her. Visenya leaned forward and ran her hand across his bronze-hued scales.

— Focus! We’re going home — she ordered in Valyrian.

Vermithor and Vhagar flew side by side until they neared King’s Landing. Without warning or farewell, Aemond commanded his dragon to descend, and from then on, Visenya and her companion were alone on the flight to Dragonstone.

Vermithor landed near the castle gates. Visenya dismounted quickly and ran inside as fast as she could. Ignoring everyone in her path, she sprinted to her brother’s room, bursting through the door all at once. Her mother and father were seated by the bed where Aegon lay.

She rushed to the bedside, fearing the worst—until she noticed the faint rise and fall of his chest.

She flung her bag onto the bed and emptied it out, grabbing the shirt that held the vials. Her parents watched in a daze as she moved. First, she grabbed the vial of liquid.

— Sit him up — she ordered.

Daemon rose and lifted the small boy, forcing him to sit. Visenya uncorked the vial and held her brother’s cheeks to open his mouth. She poured the liquid in, and he coughed as it went down. Only then did Rhaenyra seem to register what was happening.

— Will that… will it help? — she asked.

The younger princess simply nodded. She wasn’t sure if it would, but for that archmaester’s sake, she hoped it bloody would.

She picked up the second vial with the sticky paste, lifted her brother’s shirt, and spread some onto his chest, rubbing it in with slow, circular motions.

— I’ll stay with him. You both need rest. — she said.

— Nya…

— Come — Daemon cut Rhaenyra off.

He placed an arm around her back and guided her out. The Queen was in a dreadful state.

Visenya pulled the shirt back down, lay beside her brother, and pulled him onto her chest. She wrapped them both in blankets and shut her eyes.

She was so exhausted she hadn’t even realised she’d fallen asleep, not until something tugged at her shirt. She jolted awake, afraid her brother was in crisis again—only to be met by his wide, round violet eyes staring back at her.

— Nya, my belly’s hungry — the little one said.

Visenya let out a loud breath and pulled her brother tight against her chest, hot tears streaming uncontrollably down her cheeks.

His body no longer burned like before. And he was awake.

She softened her embrace and ran her fingers through his tangled hair. He looked up at her, confused and sleepy, then raised his little hands and brushed them across her face.

— Nya, are you hurt?

— No, my love. I’m just happy — she replied.

He pouted, clearly confused about how his sister could be happy while crying.

Visenya noticed it was still dark outside, but Aegon was asking for food. She wrapped him in the blanket they’d been using and carried him in her arms. His head rested on her shoulder, and he looked ready to fall asleep again at any moment.

Even though the fever had broken and he was awake, the illness had gripped his body for many days—he would still need time to recover.

The princess kissed the top of his head and made her way to the castle’s large kitchen. Thankfully, the oven fire was still glowing. She grabbed a small iron pot and poured in the leftover soup—likely the previous night’s dinner—then placed it on the iron stove, occasionally stirring the thick liquid with a spoon.

Aegon yawned, but the scent of the warming broth caught his attention. He lifted his head from her shoulder and looked towards the pot, sticking a finger in his mouth as he watched.

Before the soup began to boil, Visenya scooped a portion into a bowl and carried it over to the table. She sat down with Aegon in her lap, feeding him spoonful by spoonful. He ate everything, and before she could even begin climbing the stairs with him again, he was already fast asleep.

The next morning was loud. The first to burst into Aegon’s room was Luke. Upon waking, the second prince had spotted Vermithor resting near the castle and raced to check on his brother. He froze in the doorway, mouth agape, when he saw his sister sitting on the bed with Aegon in her lap, facing her, clapping his little hands together in a game.

Luke sprinted through the halls, shouting for their parents and siblings—Aegon was awake.

And Visenya had no idea that this miracle was all thanks to her uncle.

Chapter Text

Visenya hadn’t told anyone she’d met her uncle in Oldtown. There was no reason to. She forced herself to banish all those strange thoughts from her mind, and the only thing that remained was the clear need to sharpen her senses and become a more cunning warrior.

The morning Aegon woke was a cause for celebration in Dragonstone, but Visenya quickly noticed her father had vanished halfway through the midday feast. When she got upset, Daemon would often take her walking on the beach — it was one of the few things that helped the prince find calm in dark moments.

Visenya descended the stone steps and followed the island’s coast. In the sand, she spotted her father’s footprints and followed them until she found him sat atop a log likely brought in by the sea. She sat beside him and stared out at the horizon in silence. They remained like that for several minutes until he finally spoke.

— I should’ve gone.

— You should have — she answered. — I was about to call you a coward that day, but you already looked pathetic enough.

He chuckled under his breath and took her hand, brushing his thumb over it gently.

— Thank you for not giving up on him.

— I’d never give up on any of you… well, maybe Jace — he does drive me mad.

This time Daemon’s laugh was loud, and Visenya couldn’t hold hers back either. Soon they were both laughing without even remembering what had started it.

Daemon bowed his head, biting the inside of his cheek as though trying to find the right words, but Visenya understood him anyway. It was his son. His first boy. Laena had been pregnant with a son when she begged her dragon to end her life and spare her further agony. Her body had been so broken that the silent sisters and the maesters had to work together to prepare her, and during that process, one of the men had been able to identify the tiny corpse.

Daemon had pretended not to care — or perhaps he’d been too drunk to feel anything.

Visenya had been by her mother’s side when the two younger boys were born and had seen the way her stepfather’s face lit up when he first held them. It was as though he couldn’t believe they were real — both the sons and the wife who, every time, had managed to recover after giving birth.

They talked idly for a while, until Jace and Luke appeared, calling them for training. Well, that was exactly what she needed — to train.

Her rivalry with Jace had started the moment she’d taken up swordplay. He had the upper hand in strength, but Visenya was quick and slippery. She avoided direct confrontation, dodging his strikes and waiting for the moment his guard dropped, hitting him where she knew he couldn’t defend.

She knew she couldn’t win by sheer force against her opponents, so she’d learned to observe, to wait for the right moment to strike. She knew exactly where to kick if it came to that.

Their sparring went on until nightfall. Everyone was sweating and exhausted. Visenya rubbed her shoulder as she sat on the ground, using a rock as a backrest. She needed to catch her breath before she could even think about climbing the stairs.

Daemon and Luke had already gone, wanting to check on Aegon one more time to be sure he was truly well. It was still difficult to believe he’d simply woken up after nearly five days teetering on death’s edge.

Jace came to sit beside his sister and handed her a waterskin. The twins didn’t usually spend that much time together outside of lessons — he typically preferred Luke’s company. It had always been the two of them.

Visenya noticed the creases of worry on her brother’s brow as he stared at the ground.

— What is it? — she asked.

— I overheard Mother talking to Daemon a few days ago. They’re thinking of marrying Luke to Rhaena.

— I don’t see why that would be a bad thing. They get along well. Rhaena’s reserved and Luke is very kind… they’d make a good match. And it would strengthen the ties between the families — said Visenya.

— And they would also send a proposal to our grandmother in Driftmark, for me to marry Baela.

— And what’s the problem with her?

— None — he said.

The princess tried to grasp what he was really getting at, but couldn’t quite make sense of it. The last time Visenya had seen Baela was a few months back. She’d become strikingly beautiful — her dark skin contrasted stunningly with her white hair. She always wore a blue dress that clung to her curves in a way that made it clear how much she had grown, even if she was younger than their cousin.

— I don’t know anything — Jace confessed.

— By anything, you mean women?

Jacaerys only nodded. Evening was starting to fall, and even in the dimming light Visenya could see him blushing. She laughed at him, which made him scowl and shove her down into the grass.

— What are you laughing at? You don’t know anything about men either — he declared.

— But that’s exactly what they expect of me, brother.

Jace’s expression darkened. Visenya noticed the way his jaw tightened, how uncomfortable he seemed. She sat up again, stifling her laughter at his sulk.

— And where would you even start? — Visenya asked, taking a sip of water.

The prince remained silent, pretending he hadn’t heard her.

— You’re the one who came to talk to me. If you’re going to sulk, I’ll go find Aegon — the princess said.

As she tried to get up, Jace reached out and took her hand without looking at her. Visenya sat back down, waiting for him to speak. It was obvious he was nervous — she could feel the sweat on his palm against hers.

— Kissing — he said. — I’ve never kissed anyone. Have you?

— No.

She wished the answer were different. Not that she’d ever admit that to Jace, but she wanted to lie, to say Aemond had kissed her the day before she left. She wanted to know what his mouth tasted like, if he would hold her by the waist the way she’d seen their father do with their mother so many times. If he would caress her face, touch her neck, and send those shivers down her spine that had nearly made her gasp.

Jace turned to face her, still holding her hand. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to her cheek. Their eyes met, and at last Visenya understood where he was going with all of this. She didn’t know if Jace just wanted to practise before seeing Baela, but the thoughts of her uncle had already sparked something in her.

— Go on — she said.

Jace ran his free hand along her face and leaned in, brushing his lips against hers. They were a little cold — she noticed.

She felt his tongue graze her lips, and by some unfamiliar instinct, she parted them, allowing his tongue to meet hers. It was strange and confusing. Visenya didn’t know what she was feeling; she liked the sensation, but it was her brother there. She knew it was customary among the Valyrians to have relations with their own siblings, so much so that her uncles were going to get married in a month.

She accepted the kiss thinking perhaps it was something normal in their family. But still, it felt odd.

Even as she enjoyed the kiss, part of her wanted to push him away, knowing this was Jace — irritating, exasperating Jace. But the desire that had awoken in her while thinking of her uncle held her back.

Jace leaned further over her, guiding Visenya down into the grass. He laid his body atop hers and released her hand, sliding his arm around her waist, making her gasp. That seemed to spur him on — he bit her lip and kissed her again, this time more desperately. His hand slipped beneath her blouse, seizing one of her breasts and drawing a muffled moan from her that made his cock harden.

With a certain care, he brushed his fingers over her nipple when he realised how much it affected her.

He brought his mouth down to her neck, kissing her there as he reached for the knot of the shirt that still concealed her chest. With one tug, her breasts were completely exposed.

Jace pulled back slightly, staring at his sister’s flushed face. She was panting, and he saw how she was squeezing her thighs.

For Jacaerys, it could be very strange to see his own sister like that, but the secret was that it wasn’t really her he was seeing there.

He lowered his face to her breasts, nibbling one of her nipples before sucking on it. Startled, Visenya had to put a hand over her mouth to stifle a moan—no one could hear them. She felt her insides heat up and was confused when she suddenly wanted to lower her hand and touch herself to feel her own warmth.

Jacaerys continued squeezing her breasts until Visenya pulled him back into a heated, deep kiss.

— Move your hand down — she said, breathless.

Like an order, Jace obeyed, trailing his fingers down until they reached her most intimate place over her trousers. He delighted in the sound she made when he finally found exactly where she wanted. Struggling slightly, he undid the ties of her trousers and slipped his hand inside Visenya’s clothing, reaching the wetness there. He brushed his fingers gently, feeling her writhe beneath him.

He lowered his hand a little more but stopped when he heard her wince.

— Sorry — he said.

He raised his fingers again and paused when she moaned louder, even as their kiss never broke.

He began making slow circular motions, feeling her body grow hotter with each passing moment—until Visenya dug her nails sharply into his arms, breaking the kiss and throwing her head back.

He felt her hand tremble. He kept touching her with the tips of his fingers, watching her body jerk in response.

— Aemond...

The world seemed to pause for a moment. Jace stopped touching her, and Visenya lay back, staring at the starry sky with a petrified expression. He withdrew his hand from inside her trousers and slid off her, sitting back down where he had been before.

In that moment, all Visenya could think of was wanting to live in a cave like Vermithor had for years. Her face was hot and undoubtedly flushed bright red. She didn’t know how she would face Jace after what they had done—especially now that she had confessed her desires for their uncle.

She thought Jacaerys would explode with anger and shout at her. Instead, he laughed. He laughed so hard he had to hold his stomach.

Visenya pushed herself up to sit and adjusted her blouse to cover herself again.

— The one-eyed? Are you serious? — he asked incredulously.

— I-I...

Jace raised a hand to stop her.

— I’ve held myself back all this time from calling you Baela, and you tell me his name when you come in my hand?

In case there was any doubt that Visenya was embarrassed and blushing, now there was no way to deny it—she punched Jace's arm, making her brother complain.

She stood up, straightening her clothes and brushing the grass out of her hair.

— You can’t judge me, you touched your sister — she said.

— And you let it happen, — he argued.

— I wasn’t thinking about you, — she retorted.

— Same here.

In a silent agreement, they never spoke of it again. Visenya turned her back on her twin and headed straight back to the castle, flinging herself onto her bed. She buried her face in the pillow and screamed.

She wanted it to be Aemond. It should have been him to touch her, but just the thought of their uncle made her mind spiral.

And she knew she would see him soon enough—she’d be heading to King’s Landing, spending days near him. She felt pathetic, unable to control her own instincts in the face of the desire she harboured for him. She felt even worse when she convinced herself that he would never see her as a woman.

Her mind drifted back to the sensation she’d felt earlier when her body had exploded, and she’d whispered his name... Her hands slid down, slipping inside her trousers to her still-wet core. She touched herself and, once again, thought of him.

Chapter Text

Visenya thought it best to pretend nothing had happened. She treated her brother as usual, and it seemed he understood, following her lead so that, at least in the eyes of others, their relationship appeared unchanged. Whenever they were alone, the princess always avoided being near him or would simply leave the room.

In the breaks between training and her lessons with the maester, she would look for the nannies to spend some time with Joffrey, Aegon, and Viserys, or she would fly off with Vermithor, who sensed the tension in his rider — he would always grunt impatiently whenever she approached. He could feel her need to fly and be far away from everything. Perhaps the dragon felt the same. He’d spent so long in isolation that soaring through the skies again and resting atop the island’s mountains seemed to breathe new life into the Bronze Fury. He was even less grumpy these days, allowing Vermax and Arrax to lie close by without snapping at them.

The place she and her dragon visited the most was the Vale — the true home of her maternal grandmother, Aemma.

The princess had asked a few times what her grandmother was like, and on one of those occasions, Daemon had told Visenya that Rhaenyra and Aemma were quite alike — though Aemma’s expression had been gentler, even while remaining stern about the duties of the royal family.

Visenya had descended to the Eyrie only once, and she was warmly received by her grandmother’s kin.

It was something that warmed Rhaenyra’s heart — to see that, despite Visenya’s years of living with Alicent and her habit of referring to her as ‘grandmother’, it hadn’t made her forget the woman the princess had once loved so dearly. Family truly meant something to a Velaryon.

Flying above that place gave Visenya a different sort of feeling. She wouldn’t have minded living somewhere like that. The howl of the wind was pleasant, and the cold breeze made her long to sit in front of a hearth with a good book in hand.

But reality called. She knew that soon a merchant ship would arrive, bringing fabrics and jewels so that everyone could prepare for the wedding in the capital. She had to force Vermithor to return earlier than she wanted, which left the dragon sulking. Not even the five sheep Visenya had asked the dragonkeepers to bring managed to lift his mood again. Not that she could blame him — she was just as cranky about all the preparation herself. Princess Rhaenyra had commanded her sons to behave with proper decorum during the eight days they’d spend at court.

Rhaenyra missed her father terribly and would use the time to strengthen their bond, as well as present the younger sons to the king, whom he had not yet met.

Visenya barely had a chance to breathe once she stepped into the castle. The handmaids shoved her into her mother’s chambers, wrapping bolts of fabric around her body and debating what her gown should look like. Rhaenyra seemed to be enjoying her daughter’s sour mood.

It took the whole day just to decide which fabric was best. Only the next day would they even begin to discuss the design.

Exhausted, Visenya refused supper, opting instead for a hot bath and bed. She thought she’d fall asleep quickly, but to her dismay, sleep seemed to abandon her that night. The sheets clung to her legs with maddening discomfort. She even considered getting dressed and flying off with her dragon, but when she rose and looked out her chamber window, she saw him slumbering peacefully, and she abandoned the idea.

Her mind wandered to many places as she sat there on the windowsill.

She was anxious to return to King’s Landing, to see everyone again and attend a feast where the guests weren’t just her parents and brothers. Brother.

Even pretending nothing had happened, the memory of that day on the grass with his twin refused to leave her thoughts, no matter how hard she tried. He’d used her, and she had used him. It had been a perfect arrangement, if you considered that nothing beyond that had occurred and no real line had been crossed. Visenya was still a maiden.

— She didn’t know why she was doing it, but she walked through the dark corridors of the castle until she stopped in front of her brother’s door. Pressing her ear to it, she made sure Lucerys wasn’t inside — the younger brother had the habit of staying in Jace’s chambers after supper until bedtime. No sound came from within.

She took a deep breath, hand on the handle, her mind screaming a million reasons to turn back to her own room. What would her mother do if she knew her intentions? Using her brother to feel pleasure while imagining it was her uncle touching her... it was wrong in so many ways. And yet, so tempting, it made her push the door open and step inside, catching Jace’s attention. He was sitting at his desk, reading a book. He didn’t say a word upon seeing her — Visenya had been avoiding him since that day, and now she had come to him, so it was hers to explain.

She bit her lip, embarrassed to be there, regretting it the moment she stepped in. But she was already inside, and, to her misfortune, Jace wasn’t asleep — he had seen her. She closed the door and leaned back against it, hands behind her, staring at her brother.

— Already know everything you need to do with your future wife? — she asked.

— What are you doing?

— Being an idiot…

— You’ve been that for a few days now — he replied.

— Do you want to carry on with this? — Visenya asked.

— If you do.

— We’ll need to set some rules — she said.

He gestured with his hand for her to go on.

— No one can find out.

— That’s obvious.

Visenya rolled her eyes and continued listing the terms. They couldn’t cross the line — and he knew what that meant. Their family was already heavily criticised, and the moment they set foot in King’s Landing, people would be pointing fingers again. She couldn’t afford not to bleed on her wedding night, no matter who the groom might be. They also wouldn't see each other during their period. Jace agreed to everything, still seated at his desk, looking at her with that smug expression that made it clear he was enjoying this far too much, given it was her who came up with it all. Visenya was already starting to get annoyed at his arrogance.

— She slid her fingers along the straps of her nightdress and pushed them aside, letting the fabric fall at her feet and revealing her naked body. Jace clenched his jaw, only then rising from his chair.

The cold night breeze coming through the window made her skin prickle and her nipples harden. Jace walked slowly towards his sister, trailing his fingers down her neck, over her breasts, along her waist until he reached her arse, grabbing it firmly and pulling her against his chest, making her hold her breath.

— You can call me Baela if you like — Visenya said.

Jace laughed against her lips before kissing her. He slid his hands down to her thighs, lifted her into his arms and carried her to his bed, laying her down with her legs hanging off the edge. He kissed her neck, sucked her breasts, licked her stomach and then knelt between her legs, facing her slick heat.

— Stop staring — she grumbled.

— Stop being a pain in the arse… Baela.

*****

Visenya, Jace and Luke were readying their dragons for the short flight to the capital. The other dragons of the family would follow as well, but their riders would travel by ship—obviously, the younger ones were not yet able to fly. Rhaenyra had decided she wanted to enjoy the sway of the sea, and Daemon would accompany her.

Rhaena was in Driftmark, having left just over a week ago to stay with her mother’s family, from where they would all travel together to King’s Landing. A raven had arrived just a few nights ago from Lord Corlys Velaryon. He had accepted Princess Rhaenyra’s proposal to betroth the granddaughter they’d raised to Jace, and when they reached the capital, the princess would present the match to the king for his blessing. It was a mere formality, but the betrothal would only be made official once King Viserys gave his word.

Visenya noticed her twin brother looked uneasy, like he wanted to say something, but with Luke present, it was impossible. She glanced at their younger brother, searching for some excuse to send him off, and spotted that he wasn’t wearing his gloves.

— Your gloves? — she asked in Valyrian.

Luke patted at his clothes looking for them, and when he realised he’d forgotten them, he ran back into the castle.

— Don’t leave without me! — he called out in Valyrian.

Visenya waited until he was out of sight and then turned to face her twin, waiting for him to speak.

— When we return, Baela will be living here — he began. — And I...

— You want to be faithful to her, and whatever it is we’ve been doing has to stop — she finished.

He looked at her, surprised, while Visenya had a smug little smile playing on her lips.

— Good for her. She’ll have a decent husband, and I hope that doesn’t change as you get older.

— Thanks…

Visenya flew Vermithor just beneath her brothers, as was their custom—he was the largest dragon, and it was a form of protection for the smaller ones.

Soon, Meleys and Rhaenys joined their grandchildren in the skies. The journey passed without incident. The queen who never was was the first to land at the Dragonpit, the brothers followed shortly after, and Visenya kept Vermithor airborne for a few more minutes until the other three were settled. She’d already decided she wouldn’t leave him chained in that dark place. He had grown too used to his freedom, and she would not force him into captivity. All the way there, she spoke to him about staying out of the city and waiting for her call.

When she finally dismounted, the dragonkeepers approached, and Vermithor let out a warning growl. They tried to calm him to no avail, and Visenya smiled when he backed down only after she laid her hand upon his long neck.

— He won’t stay in the pit — she declared in Valyrian.

The keepers merely nodded and backed away, allowing Vermithor to rise into the air once more as his rider stepped aside.

A carriage awaited near the stairs; her parents must already be en route to the Red Keep, while her brothers and Rhaenys were waiting inside the vehicle.

But after all that time away, she had no intention of returning to the city shut inside a box. No, she needed to feel the rush.

A careless knight had left his horse tied nearby as he chatted with a fellow guardsman. He was one of those assigned to escort them. Rather than climbing into the carriage with her brothers, Visenya untied the horse and mounted it. With a light nudge of her heels, it broke into a gallop, and all she heard behind her were the knight’s panicked shouts.

The wind in her hair and the chaos of the city washing over her filled the princess with a wave of nostalgia—she was home again.

She galloped through the busy streets of King’s Landing and upon reaching the gates of the Red Keep, she saw old Ser Harrold speaking with a younger knight. He spotted the princess approaching alone on horseback and his expression darkened immediately.

— A carriage was sent to fetch you and your brothers, princess — he scolded.

Visenya smiled, clearly amused, and for a moment, it was as if Sir Harrold were seeing young Princess Rhaenyra standing before him once again. He ordered the gates opened, and she led the horse through. The old knight helped her dismount.

— The Queen wanted you to see her the moment you arrived — he informed her.

— And where is my grandmother?

— In the Queen’s ballroom, my princess.

— Brilliant, a ball. Thank the gods my mother had the foresight to bring ten extra dresses — she crossed her arms with an exasperated huff.

She turned on her heel and started making her way into the fortress with Sir Harrold following behind. He glanced at the princess — now a grown woman — clad in trousers rather than a gown, and he understood her frustration.

Before even reaching the ballroom, Visenya heard Alicent’s voice echoing through the corridors, barking orders and scolding servants to make sure everything was perfect.

The princess leaned against the archway at the entrance and watched her grandmother from behind until one of the servants whispered something to the Queen, prompting her to turn and finally take notice.

The moment she saw her, Alicent broke into a wide smile, raised her arms and walked straight towards her granddaughter, wrapping her in a warm embrace before cupping her face with both hands.

— By the Seven, you’re a woman already.

— And you’re still as beautiful as if the years had never passed — said Visenya.

Alicent linked her arm with her granddaughter’s and pulled her into the ballroom, chatting away about the days of celebration ahead: tonight a ball, tomorrow a hunting festival, the day after that knightly duels, followed by a grand feast at midday stretching long into the night. On the fifth day, a wine fair; the sixth, the women would stay with the bride while the men joined the groom in a kind of farewell gathering; and on the seventh day, after preparing all morning, the betrothed would marry in the late afternoon with only their kin as witnesses — and then join the rest of the guests for a banquet. And finally, what Visenya despised most: the bedding ceremony, marking the beginning of the couple’s wedding night.

The princess saw it as a degrading spectacle — the bride stripped by strangers, sometimes even men, carried to the chamber as others stood outside with ears pressed to the door, making lewd remarks and listening in on every sound and moan that followed.

By the Gods, if she ever had a husband who agreed to such a thing, she swore she’d be a widow before the night was over.

Chapter Text

As soon as word of Visenya’s antics reached Princess Rhaenyra, she ordered her daughter to the royal chambers. Visenya already knew she was in for a proper bollocking.

Her mother was seated at a small table, while her father lay sprawled on the bed, grinning the moment he saw her enter the room. He wasn’t going to scold her over something as petty as stealing a horse — but to her mother, she had broken one of the few rules she imposed on her children.

— I only asked two things of you and your brothers: manners and decorum. And the first thing you do when you set foot in the city is steal from a knight — said Rhaenyra.

— But the horse’s here, the knight just had to walk back.

— Visenya! You humiliated him. He’s a green knight, just starting out. Do you know what the commander will do?

— And what would you have me do?

The princess folded her arms and stared her mother down. It was a harmless bit of fun — she couldn’t understand why her mother was being so damned strict about it.

Daemon watched the two from the bed. The resemblance between him and Visenya was undeniable. She shared his sharp tongue, his disdain for fools. It was the same nature that had barred him from being chosen as his brother’s heir.

He didn’t waste empathy on those he didn’t care for. He was a prince, with dragon’s blood in his veins — superiority was bred into him.

But unlike her father, Visenya was simply naïve. She did such things because she thought they were funny — not to cause harm, not out of malice. And that was what Rhaenyra was trying to teach her. She asked her husband to leave them alone and shut the door behind him, which he did, ruffling Visenya’s hair as he passed.

Rhaenyra gestured for her daughter to sit beside her, and she did so with a dramatic huff.

— You’re a princess, a mirror for the people. If you steal from a knight, shame him, you open the door for others to do the same. And once the knights are no longer respected, that disrespect will fall on us as well. You are responsible for your actions, but that knight will be the one punished. What I want from you is responsibility. Own the consequences of what you do — don’t let others pay the price.

It hit her like a cold slap. Visenya felt awful — defeated. What she’d thought was just a harmless prank could actually cost someone dearly, and she hadn’t thought of anything beyond her own amusement. Her mother was right.

Rhaenyra could see her words had struck home, that her daughter hadn’t acted with malice. She reached out and took Visenya’s hands in hers.

— I know you didn’t mean any harm. But you need to start thinking before you act. You can go now.

The princess nodded, leaving the room with her mother’s words ringing in her ears. Her steps led her to the training yard, where many knights were sparring. Some of the older ones greeted her, remembering her from when she was little — and the havoc she’d caused, especially when she smacked Aegon for the things he used to say about her and her brothers.

She looked for the commander of the troop, who was barking orders at the young lads still too green to hold a real sword. As she approached, the eyes of the yard turned on her, and the knights stared, mouths agape, at the princess.

During the time Visenya and Jace had been involved, the princess’s self-esteem had soared. Her brother often praised her body and her curves, which led her to pay more attention to herself. She began spending longer in front of the mirror and discovered her own charms. She liked the way her breasts created a beautiful cleavage when she wore the typical decorative corset over her shirts, so she now dressed in ways that made them more noticeable. She tied her hair so that her fringe framed her face, giving her a look that was both mature and angelic. She noticed how tighter trousers accentuated her arse and drew the attention of men. And that was exactly how she looked when she decided to head to the training yard to try and help the man she’d humiliated.

The squires couldn’t take their eyes off her until their commander snapped at them to clear off.

— Princess, what brings you here? — he asked.

— It was my fault your knight lost his horse, so…

He raised a hand, cutting her off.

— Forgive me, Princess, but if he’d been doing his job properly, it wouldn’t have happened. That Lannister boy needs to toughen up.

— Lannister?

— His father brought the lad here to turn him into a knight and beat the softness out of him. If you want to do something, an apology will suffice — but I won’t be lifting his punishment.

— And where is he? — she asked.

The man pointed to the corner, where the boy sat on the ground cleaning blades and polishing armour. She thanked him and walked over, the knights eyeing her the whole way.

He was handsome — blond, blue-eyed, with the faintest trace of a beard trying to make itself known. He was muttering a string of curses under his breath, staring at the ground, until he noticed a pair of boots stopping in front of him. He looked up and forgot to breathe at the sight of the beautiful princess who’d landed him in trouble. Everything had happened so quickly with the arrival of the Velaryons that Thomas hadn’t even caught a proper glimpse of Visenya — only the back of her and her silver hair dancing in the wind as she took off with his horse.

— I’m not here to get you out of your punishment, but I’d like to say I’m sorry. I didn’t consider the consequences — said Visenya.

— P-princess — he stammered. — There’s no need for apologies. The fault was mine.

— I got you into trouble.

He stayed quiet, eyes averted, trying not to look at her — certain that if he did, he wouldn’t be able to stop. She noticed that, and a little plan began to form in her mind.

— Lannister, right? Do you have a name? — she asked.

— Thomas, Princess. Thomas Lannister.

— Your family’s been invited to the wedding too. What about you?

— I’ll be at tonight’s feast as a guest. The rest of the time I’ll be on duty — he replied.

— Are you a good dancer, Thomas? — she asked, smiling.

His cheeks turned a bright shade of red as he nodded, unable to form a single word.

— Would you accompany me tonight? It won’t make up for what I did, but we might have a pleasant evening.

He opened his mouth several times but couldn’t get anything coherent out — the words came out so jumbled and stuttered they were impossible to understand. Visenya bit her lip, amused by the flustered young knight, and cut him off.

— I’ll take that as a yes. Ask Sir Harrold where to find me. Until the feast, Thomas Lannister.

She turned and walked away, leaving the poor lad looking utterly dumbfounded.

Visenya took a few minutes before getting dressed to visit the King — her grandsire was resting in his chambers ahead of the feast. As she approached his room, she saw two guards posted outside, standing watch. They bowed their heads in respect as she passed through the doors.

The old model keeps were still there, abandoned, gathering dust in the hope they might one day be carved again. Visenya walked quietly through the room until she reached the King’s bed. He was awake, reading over some papers that looked like documents, and only noticed her presence when she was close enough to touch.

His appearance was far worse than she remembered, but it didn’t diminish the affection she held for him. The King smiled at the sight of his only granddaughter returning to his chambers. She sat in a chair beside the bed and took his hand, and he quickly put aside the papers to focus entirely on her.

— You look so much like your mother did when she was young — he said.

— I heard she was called the Realm’s Delight, so I’ll take that as a compliment.

— If you’d stayed here, you might’ve inherited the title.

— Grandpa...

He gave her a sad little smile, patting her hand gently.

— I received your mother’s raven. I always thought she’d marry you to Jace — he said.

— He’s insufferable. I’d murder him within an hour of the wedding.

The old man laughed, clutching his belly, and Visenya smiled at the sound.

— What punishment did the poor lad who lost his horse get? — he asked with a side glance.

— Polishing swords and armour — she bit her lip, trying not to laugh. — I apologised and heard he was invited to the feast as well, so I asked him to escort me. I’ll try to make it up to him tonight.

— Visenya... — the King looked at her sternly.

— We’ll talk and have a few dances, nothing more, I swear.

The King gave up arguing, knowing full well his granddaughter was just like her mother.

He called out to the guards to bring her some strawberry tart while Visenya recounted how she’d tamed Vermithor and spoke of the little journeys she’d taken near Dragonstone — even the time she flew to the Vale, which made the old man’s eyes soften with memories of his late wife.

They spoke for nearly an hour until Eleny, one of Visenya’s personal handmaids who had come with them from Dragonstone, arrived to fetch her for preparations.

She said her goodbyes to her grandsire and promised she’d wear a gown to the feast. Eleny took the princess to a chamber where her mother was already being bathed by her own handmaidens. They would be getting ready together.

— Gods, where’ve you been? — asked Rhaenyra.

— Went to see Grandpa.

Visenya undressed while the maids prepared the hot bathwater. She stepped into the steaming tub, and the women set to work on her hair — washing it, perfuming it, and then beginning to cleanse her body.

— Daemon will be along soon to escort us — her mother reminded her.

— About that... Thomas Lannister will be accompanying me.

— And who exactly is that? — asked Rhaenyra, her tone wary.

— The knight I stole from when we arrived.

Rhaenyra stared at her, mouth agape, while the younger princess scrambled to explain herself. In the end, her mother simply warned her to behave and stepped out of the tub to get dressed.

Visenya wore a matte black gown, its bodice and loose sleeves fashioned to mimic dragon scales, while the skirt fell in a smooth, elegant drape. The traditional corset cinched her waist and lifted her breasts, lending her an appearance far more mature than her years.

Eleny curled Visenya’s hair into soft waves and painted her lips a deep red, her eyes shaded lightly in black. She braided a few loose strands from either side of her head, pulling them back over the waves to frame the princess’s face perfectly. The sapphire necklace remained, despite the maid’s repeated attempts to convince her to wear something more delicate — but Visenya refused.

Rhaenyra donned a deep red dress with a cinched waist and a black dragon embroidered in gemstones across the skirt. The two of them were stunning. As Rhaenyra’s hair was nearly finished, Daemon entered the room. That was when Visenya had to confess she wouldn’t be accompanying her parents. He sulked immediately — right until Ser Harrold knocked on the door, calling for the younger princess. It was the perfect excuse for Visenya to flee her father’s glare.

He led Thomas to her chamber and left as soon as the princess emerged. The Lannister looked dashing, in dark trousers and a blood-red doublet with golden detailing — the colours of his House. He offered his arm, and Visenya took it, walking by his side towards the ballroom.

Throughout their walk, Visenya noticed Thomas stealing glances at her, as if he couldn’t quite believe who it was clinging to his arm.

— What is it? — she asked.

— I didn’t know it was possible for you to be even more beautiful, princess.

Visenya raised her brows, amused, and smiled at the compliment.

— You’re not on duty tonight, Thomas. No need to keep calling me princess. I’ve got a name. Use it.

— Forgive me, prin… Visenya.

They paused at the grand entrance, waiting to be announced. Every head turned toward them.

— Lord Thomas of House Lannister and Princess Visenya of House Velaryon.

Visenya was pleased to be the centre of attention — for a good reason this time. The room buzzed with admiration for the beauty of the princess.

Her brothers and their betrothed were already present, casting curious glances at the man accompanying their sister.

Among the guests, one figure near the royal table caught Visenya’s eye. He wore a dark green tunic under a heavy black coat. His long hair had been slicked back, partly tied behind his head, and his leather eyepatch covered one side of his face. His knuckles were white from how tightly he gripped his goblet. He was trying to decipher who the man was that dared escort his niece.

Visenya saw the scowl shadowing his face and simply smiled at him as she clung more tightly to Thomas’s arm, who was now nearly as red as his doublet. She pulled him toward the table where her brothers sat and offered a quick introduction. Baela laughed aloud when she heard the story behind why her cousin had brought a Lannister as an escort.

And not for a moment did Visenya stop feeling the weight of someone’s stare upon her.

Thomas did not sit at the royal family’s table for obvious reasons. The King and Queen were seated at the centre, facing the guests. To Alicent’s left sat Helaena, wearing a distant expression. She offered only a faint smile to her niece after so long apart. She clearly wasn’t thrilled about the wedding — but knowing the groom, no one would be.

Next to Helaena was Aegon, the groom. He had been shooting looks and winks at Visenya since she stepped into the hall, practically devouring her with his eyes, and the princess had to restrain herself from hurling one of the table knives at her idiot uncle.

Beside the groom was him — her uncle Aemond — wearing the same stern expression as always. Visenya hadn’t noticed the small argument that had broken out between her uncles, resulting in Aemond landing a discreet punch to Aegon’s ribs. The groom bent over the table to stifle a groan, and from that moment on, he no longer dared look at his niece. Seated beside the youngest son of the Queen was the Hand of the King, Otto Hightower.

To the King’s right sat Rhaenyra, with whom the monarch was chatting animatedly, along with the princess’s brother and husband, Daemon.

Jace and Baela were seated closest to their father, followed by Luke and Rhaena, who seemed to be deep in discussion about some book. Next to her cousin sat Visenya, and beside her were her grandparents, Rhaenys and Corlys, who had been convinced by the King himself to take seats at the table.

Visenya felt slightly out of place — nearly everyone was paired off or had someone to chat with, while she sat alone, prodding at a piece of duck on her gilded plate. She had thought this would be fun. When would the fun start, then?

A few couples were already dancing near their tables, swaying lightly to the music, but the princess’s escort was farther off with his own kin. She turned her head slightly in an attempt to spot him and found him laughing with an older blond man. Luckily, he seemed to sense her gaze and lifted his eyes to meet hers.

Visenya offered a small smile, tinged with a touch of envy at the lively conversation he was having. She turned her attention back to her plate and plucked a single grape from the platter on the table.

She jumped slightly when a hand suddenly rested on her shoulder, and when she looked up, she was met with that lovely pair of blue eyes.

— Pardon me. Care for a little walk, princess?

— Of course — she replied with a smile.

Visenya pushed her chair back and rose to her feet, immediately aware of the eyes following her — her mother’s among them. She gave a small shake of her head, a silent I’ll behave . Daemon, meanwhile, was glaring at the Lannister boy, who swallowed hard as he offered his hand to the princess — which she took cheerfully.

He led her through one of the doors that opened onto the outer gardens, and once outside, the sounds of conversation were muffled by the quiet calm of the night.

— Looked like you were calling for help — he said.

— And I was — she laughed. — Now my brothers are all betrothed and fawning over their future wives. Not that they don’t deserve it, but…

— You felt left behind — he finished. — My father tends to do the same, banging on about becoming a great knight. My brothers outshine me, and I’m always left in the shadows.

— I suppose all families are the same.

— Except yours is mad enough to ride beasts.

— Excuse me? — she raised her eyebrows. — Dragons are smarter than most men.

— They wouldn’t have their horse stolen, would they?

— No, they’d have eaten the thief first.

They both laughed as they continued their walk through the garden.

Aemond had been restless ever since his niece had left the hall escorted by that Lannister. Why was she with him? Her brothers were both betrothed — could he be a potential suitor for her? No. Aemond would not allow anyone to get that close to her.

The feast would be served shortly, and he noticed when Daemon stood, saying he would fetch his daughter. A few minutes later, he saw them return, and caught the moment Visenya leaned in to whisper something to the Lannister before returning to her seat.

The King gave a fine speech in honour of the betrothed and their children before the food was brought out. After dinner, as tradition dictated, the newly engaged couple began the dancing, followed by the rest of the family.

Aemond had thought this might be his chance to lead Visenya onto the floor — but found himself sorely mistaken when the boy who had escorted her stepped forward and offered his hand, which she accepted without hesitation.

Chapter Text

Visenya and Thomas were chatting animatedly about all sorts of things when she heard her father calling her in High Valyrian, letting her know that the food would soon be served. The young couple followed the elder back to the great hall, and just before Thomas left her at her table, the princess leaned in and whispered in his ear.

— Take me for a dance, I don’t want to sit around all night.

He nodded in agreement, and both returned to their respective places. Visenya noticed her younger uncle’s eyes on her, his expression still as grim as ever.

She’d wandered the castle all day and hadn’t seen him once. He knew her family would be coming today, had even asked her when they met in Oldtown if her half-sister’s kin would be attending. He knew she’d be here and yet hadn’t sought her out, not even once.

He wasn’t obliged to come after her, of course, but he hadn’t even greeted her at the feast. He’d done nothing but glare at her like she’d done something wrong. Visenya was growing restless, eager for that damned dinner to end so she could dance with the Lannister.

Thomas was kind, funny, handsome, and aimed to become a knight of the realm. He hadn’t believed her when she’d said she knew how to wield a sword, taking her hand and studying her palm, noticing the small calluses there. She’d even joked, challenging him to a duel she secretly hoped would truly happen.

As the conversations dwindled and the music swelled, the betrothed couple stepped into the centre of the hall. Visenya noticed how her aunt kept that same distant look in her eyes. The Velaryon girl longed to take her hand and flee from that place, whisk her away from all of it, and keep her far from Aegon.

Visenya had barely arrived in King’s Landing and already heard the same thing from every serving girl — how twisted and pathetic the king’s firstborn son was. Poor Princess Helaena, bound to him in marriage. Naturally, all those comments had been whispered well out of the Queen’s earshot.

Aegon led his sister across the floor with the most bored look on his face, not even pretending to hide his disdain for the match. But by Queen Alicent’s will, he would have to go through with it. Visenya pitied her aunt for having to marry him, but she also felt a wave of relief that it wasn’t her standing at his side. She knew such unions between families were common, and with how her uncle had always been cruel to her, she dreaded the day her grandmother might suggest such an arrangement — to forge a false peace between the Blacks and the Greens.

The Velaryon princess was snapped out of her daze when she saw her father rise to ask her mother for a dance, her brothers soon following his lead, inviting their future brides as well. When she turned her gaze back to the dance floor, she saw the young Lannister weaving through the guests toward her. He offered his hand for the second time that night, and she accepted eagerly.

One of Visenya’s favourite things — apart from flying and training with blades — was dancing. She closed her eyes and let the music carry her, body swaying in time with the rhythm. She thanked the gods she had a partner tonight; otherwise, she’d have to beg her father or brothers to take a turn with her. Jace nearly always refused, just to tease her. Daemon would relent eventually but never gave her more than a single dance. Luke, bless him, usually gave in out of pity when he saw her glum and unpartnered — though he still had much to learn, occasionally stepping on her toes and leaving her barefoot and massaging her aching feet by night’s end.

Thomas had a steady grip, confidently resting his hand on Visenya’s waist as he led her across the hall. He truly was a fine dancer — perhaps they were the best pair there, for the other couples slowly cleared the space, leaving them practically alone, twirling to the tune. The princess and the knight exchanged smiles and kept dancing until her high-heeled shoes began to ache.

Thomas seated her in a chair tucked in the corner of the hall and went to fetch some wine to cool them down. In that moment, the princess's eyes wandered across the room in search of someone in particular — but there was no sign of the younger uncle. Nowhere. She also noticed her grandfather had already retired; he’d looked tired since Aegon and Helaena had begun their first dance.

Visenya had Thomas by her side that evening. She shouldn’t have been thinking about an uncle who hadn’t even bothered to greet her.

The Lannister returned holding two goblets and a small pitcher of wine so full it was nearly spilling. Visenya smiled at him and suggested they return to the gardens — and so they did.

As soon as they reached the grass, the princess kicked off her torturous shoes, carrying them in one hand while the other held her full goblet of wine, until they reached a bench where she could finally rest.

They sat, drank, and talked. Just as they were finishing off the last of the wine, her brothers and cousins found them, bringing with them two more brimming jugs of the stuff. The six of them squeezed onto the two garden benches, laughing loudly and drinking freely.

Visenya could feel her cheeks flushing red and her vision going a bit blurry. It was an amusing sensation, especially as she noticed her youngest brother was already unbuttoning his doublet, worse off than the older ones. Even with the wine clouding her mind, she still felt responsible for him and paid no mind to his protests as she snatched the goblet from his hand and forbade Jace from letting him drink more. Rhaena, who had only had half a cup herself and was one of the more sober ones, looked relieved when her cousin took control of the situation — her brother was already showing clear signs of drunkenness.

Thomas was one of those who had drunk the most, yet he remained utterly unaffected, as though he hadn’t taken a single drop. He was the most responsible of the lot and declared it was time to end the night. Jace and Baela were still steady on their feet and made their way back into the keep. Visenya was a little light-headed, but perfectly capable of reaching her chambers on her own, so she asked the Lannister to help her brother instead. The fair-haired boy kissed the back of her hand before guiding the younger Velaryon away, his future bride trailing behind.

The princess debated whether she ought to go straight to bed, to be rested for that bloody hunting tourney she’d be forced to endure the following morning. She hadn’t even remembered to ask Thomas if he’d be among the guards for the event. There was still a bit of wine left in the jugs, and she poured the remainder into her goblet, downing it in just a few gulps. Now her night was truly over… or perhaps not.

As soon as Visenya rose from the bench, the world spun, and she had to pause until her senses returned. She’d never drunk this much before. Her body felt hot, and she was desperate to get out of that damned dress. She ought to go straight to bed, but she thought maybe the chill sea breeze might help settle her before sleep. What she really wanted was to call Vermithor and fly, but even in her current state, she knew that would be a terrible idea — the beach would have to do.

She walked barefoot, leaving her shoes behind in the halls of the Red Keep, heading for the secret passage that led down to the shore. She’d found it during one of the many times she’d snuck away with Helaena to avoid embroidery lessons.

She made her way along the stone tunnel, the cool ground beneath her feet offering sweet relief after a night in heels. Within minutes, she could hear the crashing of the sea. She stepped out onto the beach, feeling the damp sand cling to her skin. Lifting the hem of her gown, she walked forward. Her plan was simple — sit by the water until the wine wore off enough that she wouldn’t risk bumping into her mother in the corridors and catching a scolding.

That plan was quickly abandoned the moment she spotted a man with long, silvery hair sitting in the sand, gazing up at the stars. She bit her lip and, like a mischievous child about to commit a prank, she crept silently up behind him. She wanted to show him that she could surprise him for once. Holding her breath and stifling her giggle, she reached forward to cover his eyes.

Unluckily for the princess, the prince’s reflexes were sharper than hers. He grabbed her arm, flinging her down and pressing a blade to her throat, pinning her legs with his.

— We really must stop meeting like this. — she said, laughing.

He pulled the dagger back once he realised it wasn’t an attack, and got off his niece with an exasperated huff. Visenya stayed on the sand, giggling, while Aemond raised an eyebrow at the sight of her flushed cheeks.

— How much did you drink? — he asked.

— Maybe one or two… jugs.

He rolled his eye and grabbed her by the arms, pulling her upright and forcing her to sit.

— Go to your chamber. — he ordered.

— I’m hot. — she whined.

— Go to your chamber. —he repeated.

— No! You can’t order me around… You liar.

— What? Liar?

— Yes. You’re a big fat liar.

He pressed a hand to his forehead, pinching the space between his brows as he tried to stay calm in the face of his drunken niece.

— And would you care to explain when I supposedly lied? — he asked again.

— You. — she poked his chest. — You promised to take me flying and never, never did.

— You’ve only just arrived in King’s Landing, and now you’ve got your own dragon.

— Yes, I just got here — and you didn’t even come see me. You’ve never visited me.

Of course, she hadn’t meant just that night in particular. Visenya stood, lifting her gown, and began walking towards the sea. Aemond let out an exasperated breath and followed after her, catching hold of her arm.

Visenya yanked herself free of his grasp with a sharp tug and turned away from him, ignoring his presence as she continued walking, feeling the gentle waves break over the shore and kiss her feet, soaking the hem of her dress.

The prince grabbed her again, and this time she tried to push him away, but it was useless — he was far stronger than she was.

— Let go of me! — she shouted.

— You’ve had too much to drink. You’re not going into the water, not at this hour.

— As if you care.

— Scream all you like, but if we’re to talk, it’ll be tomorrow  when you’re sober.

— I don’t want to talk to you. I want to talk to Thomas. He’s a proper knight.

Visenya spat the words like venom, and they struck a nerve in Aemond, igniting a wave of fury inside him. He clenched his jaw, sick of this entire situation, sick of imagining his niece so close to another man — and worse, hearing her speak that man’s name.

He had no patience left to deal with Visenya in this state. It didn’t matter what he said; she’d only hear what she wanted to and keep rambling whatever came to mind.

Without another word, Aemond stooped and grabbed Visenya by the legs, hauling her up and over his shoulder like a sack of flour. She let out a squeal of surprise at the sudden movement.

She kicked and pounded at his back, but the prince wasn’t the least bit fazed. He strode back towards the secret passage, through the keep’s corridors, with Visenya muttering and striking him all the while. He climbed the stairs as though carrying his struggling niece was nothing.

He knew she was staying in the same chamber she’d had as a child. He shoved the door open and was greeted by the wide-eyed stare of the girl’s maid, who froze at the sight.

He stepped inside and dropped the princess unceremoniously onto the bed, where she immediately launched into a stream of Valyrian curses.

— She’s drunk and needs a cold bath. Give her something bitter to eat and lock the door. I don’t want her wandering about. There’ll be strangers in the castle all week. — he said.

— Y-yes, my prince. I apologise on Princess Visenya’s behalf for her poor behaviour. — Eleny said, bowing low.

Visenya’s cheeks were still flushed, her hair tousled from the way Aemond had handled her, her gown damp from the sea — and yet, it was one of the most beautiful sights the prince had ever seen. He wished it were him who could care for her, despite all her protests that night.

—We’ll speak tomorrow. —he said at last.

He left the room, shutting the door firmly behind him, and ordered the first trusted guard he saw to stand watch outside his niece’s chamber.

*****

Her headache was dreadful — as though twenty dragons were roaring in her ears. Her stomach churned, and she wanted nothing more than to crawl back beneath the sheets and rid herself of all the clothes she had on. At least it was trousers and not some frilly gown.

Eleny was finishing plaiting the princess’s hair before lifting it into an intricate bun, leaving two loose strands to frame her face.

The end of the previous night had been an utter disaster — she’d lashed out at her uncle, and he’d hauled her back to her chambers like a petulant child. It only reinforced what she already feared: that the prince thought her immature and childish.

Eleny was glancing at her sideways through the mirror as she fixed the final pins into the hairstyle.

— Did you tell my mother?

— I should have, but I said nothing and won’t. Judging by the look on your face, I’d say you’ve learnt your lesson. — Eleny replied, finishing the style.

— Thank you.

The maid stepped away to fetch a glass of orange juice, insisting the princess drink it, claiming it would help cure the hangover. Visenya then asked her to call for Sir Harrold so he could arrange a horse for her.

— I’m not going to do anything foolish, but if I have to sit in a carriage and listen to Jace and Luke jabbering, my ears will start bleeding.

Eleny laughed and told her to wait in the room while she fetched the knight and informed her mother about her going alone. Visenya knew the maid would come up with a good excuse to stop her mother from asking too many questions.

The princess sat on the windowsill, enjoying the morning air. She had no idea what the day would bring.

She didn’t know if she’d run into Thomas or whether they’d have the chance to speak again, but she did know that at some point, she’d have to face her uncle and apologise for her behaviour. And she wasn’t sure if she’d be brave enough to have the proper conversation he’d proposed — when she was sober.

Perhaps she ought to drink again just to have an excuse and avoid the talk altogether — but the sharp throb in her skull quickly made her abandon that thought. Gods, wine hangovers were the worst in the world.

A horse with a coat black as pitch had been readied for her. With Ser Harrold’s help, the princess mounted the beast and began the ride toward the hunting fields beyond the city walls, accompanied by knights. As she entered the forest, she sensed someone approaching and heard the hoofbeats of the other horses growing distant. When she turned her head to see who it was, she regretted it instantly — Aemond.

She swiftly turned her face forward again, tightening her grip on the reins as she realised he wasn’t going to pass her by — he was going to ride beside her.

— I'm sorry.

At first, he said nothing, merely lifting the brow above his good eye, remaining in silence as a form of punishment. He’d intended to keep it that way until they reached their destination, but when he noticed the shameful expression on his niece’s face, he relented with a simple, “It’s fine”.

They arrived at the great field, dotted with tents, merchants, and men preparing their arrows for the hunt. Visenya was distracted by all the activity until she noticed her uncle standing beside the horse she still sat upon. She then realised he was waiting to help her down.

She slipped one foot from the stirrup and swung her leg over to dismount, feeling his hands on her waist as she descended backwards. She turned to him, murmuring a soft, “Thank you”, still embarrassed from the night before. He nodded and took the reins of her horse, leading it toward the makeshift stables.

She spun on her heels and headed toward the largest tent in the camp, where her family would be gathered. Not only were they there, but several noblewomen had formed a circle and were already gossiping about everything under the sun. Visenya widened her eyes as she heard her own name mentioned, only relaxing when she realised the comment was merely speculation about how she and the Lannister might make a handsome couple. Nothing about her disgraceful display with her uncle was said — thank the gods, no one besides Eleny had witnessed it.

The princess continued on, locating her mother, her cousins, and her paternal grandmother. She seated herself with them, and thankfully, no one commented on her appearance. Eleny had done an excellent job masking the dark circles beneath her eyes.

The men lingered outside, sharpening blades and preparing for the hunt. Rhaenyra silently thanked the gods that her daughter showed no desire to take part in such sport, unlike herself when younger. She’d been fortunate to have slain that boar without injury and had shared the tale with her daughter days before they left, hoping to dissuade the younger princess from venturing into the woods. But Visenya found no joy in killing animals for entertainment — simply to see who could take the biggest prize. It was too savage. She limited herself to bringing sheep and goats to Vermithor now and then — and even then, she often left it to the dragonkeepers.

When the King and Queen arrived, everyone gathered outside to await the monarch’s address that would mark the beginning of the festivities.

— I am glad to see you all here today, gathered for this hunt to honour my sons. I am eager to see who among you will seize the greatest quarry. Furthermore, I would like to take this moment to announce that my grandsons, Jacaerys and Lucerys, shall from this day forth be betrothed to my lovely nieces. May their unions be prosperous.

There was a round of applause at the king’s words, and though some lords offered congratulations through gritted teeth, they dared not voice their contempt for the bastards they’d long scorned. Not in the presence of the king — the very man who had, in defiance of all tradition, named a woman as heir to the Iron Throne. His preference for his daughter was plain, and naturally, that favour extended to the only grandsons he acknowledged. No one would risk falling out of favour now.

The king had announced the betrothals of the brothers, and Visenya found herself anxious, wondering when her time would come — and to whom.

Chapter Text

Staying in that tent full of women and children was tedious, to say the least, in Visenya’s opinion — nothing but gossip and trivial conversation. Rhaenyra and Rhaenys seemed fully engrossed in the royal betrothal the king had just declared, while Queen Alicent was surrounded by ladies from prominent houses, all fawning over her.

The most eager of them all was a Baratheon girl, falling over herself to heap praises on the queen and her sons, especially the one-eyed prince, singing of his every supposed virtue. Visenya rolled her eyes at each and every comment from the eldest daughter of Borros Baratheon, the new Lord of Storm’s End. It was painfully obvious how desperately the girl was trying to curry favour with the queen, hoping for her endorsement in some marital arrangement. It was all so clumsy, so transparent.

Visenya had had enough. Her head still throbbed from the wine of the night before — she longed for a bit of peace and quiet. She told her mother she’d go out for a while, swore she’d stay well away from the hunting grounds and promised a knight would accompany her. Well, she only really meant to keep that first part of the promise.

She made her way to the stables, untying the reins of her horse and mounting with ease. She checked that the dagger she usually carried was in place, then pressed her heels to the creature’s flanks, setting off in the opposite direction of the hunt. All the shouting and clamour was soon behind her, and she finally had her moment of peace.

A million thoughts began to race through her mind. Jace was the heir, his marriage had to be carefully arranged. Luke, soon to be Lord of Driftmark, would inherit the title from Laenor, who had died so tragically. And her? What about Visenya? What would become of her? Would she be married off to whomever her parents chose, without so much as a whisper of her own opinion? And afterwards? Would she become the Lady of some castle and pop out child after child — if she were lucky enough to survive the births?

It all seemed so bloody unfair. She wanted to seek her own adventures, leave her own mark upon the world. Would her mother, once she was queen, allow her to cast it all aside and serve the realm as a dragonrider instead? It sounded far more appealing than being used like some glorified broodmare — which was precisely how the noble houses saw her.

She knew her mother had been receiving marriage proposals for her since she was very young. Even with the whispers that Visenya was a bastard, she bore the unmistakable features of House Targaryen, and was favoured by the Queen Consort. That made the lords conveniently forget the rumours and imagine she might gift them dragonriding heirs.

Rhaenyra and Daemon had never spoken to her about it. Not even after she bled for the first time. Custom dictated that once a girl became a woman, she should be betrothed at once and married soon after to begin producing heirs. But her parents had never pushed that fate on her. These thoughts had never troubled Visenya before, but now, with her brothers pledged — even Luke, younger than she — the unease began to gnaw at her.

She barely bothered steering the horse anymore, letting it take her wherever it wished. She’d wandered far from the hunting camp, to a place she barely recognised. She knew that the horses used by knights almost always found their way back to King’s Landing on their own. The animal came to a stop at a small lake, dipping its head to drink. She dismounted, letting the horse graze and rest, then sat herself beneath a tree, closing her eyes and letting the quiet wash over her, the birdsong her only company.

Her peace was shattered by the snap of a branch underfoot. She opened her eyes at once and drew her dagger, rising to scan the area. The sounds drew closer until she saw a man in armour walking alongside his horse. He removed his helm — Thomas.

— A princess shouldn’t be this far out without an escort. — he said.

— Put on a wig and a dress and I might start calling you mother, you’re sounding just like her.

— Then Princess Rhaenyra must be a wise woman.

Visenya rolled her eyes, sheathing the dagger and brushing the leaves from her trousers. Thomas tied his horse alongside her black one and, with one hand resting on the hilt of his sword, strode over to her.

— I saw you looked like you needed space, so I kept my distance. But it got too quiet. Thought something might’ve happened.

— I’m fine, thanks for coming anyway. I’ve no bloody idea where he brought me. — she said, pointing to her horse.

— Did you get back to your chamber safely last night? — he asked.

— Yeah… — she lied. — Lucerys didn’t, by the looks of him this morning. — she deflected.

— Well, when I left, he hadn’t puked yet.

They laughed, and Visenya felt a sharp throb in her forehead from the lingering headache. She pressed her fingers to her temples, gently massaging them, while the Lannister gave her a grin and went over to his saddle, retrieving a flask and handing it to her.

— Looks like you overindulged as well.

He handed her the flask, and when Visenya took a sip, she grimaced — expecting something more interesting. To her disappointment, it was just water.

The nausea from the drink was slowly giving way to hunger, and her stomach growled loudly enough to make her wince in embarrassment — especially when the Lannister chuckled, clearly having heard it.

He suggested it might be time to head back, and both mounted their horses, riding towards the camp. Visenya asked him a few questions about what life was like at the Rock — in short, a large, boring castle where the sea made too much noise if you were unlucky enough to have a room in the depths. In contrast, when he asked about Dragonstone, Visenya couldn’t help but go on and on — about Mount Dragon and the wild dragons that dwelled in its caves, the eggs her father occasionally found from Syrax and handed over to the keepers, and the beach that gave her an almost immediate sense of calm.

Thomas listened intently to every word until they arrived back at camp. Visenya could tell straight away that her mother had been looking for her. Fortunately, she hadn’t returned alone, so technically, she hadn’t broken her promise. She dismounted alongside the Lannister, who took both horses to the stables, while the princess made her way to Rhaenyra.

— Should I be worried? — she asked.

Visenya took a moment before she caught on to the hidden meaning in her mother’s words. She grabbed her mother’s arm and shook her head.

— The most contact we had today was drinking from the same flask. — she replied.

Rhaenyra looked pleased with the answer and led her to the large table where the king was already eating. She noticed her father and brothers had also returned to eat. No sign of Aegon, but she did catch sight of Aemond returning with Cassandra Baratheon trailing after him like a bee to honey — chattering away as he gave short, uninterested replies. They walked straight past the table and into one of the tents.

She ignored it, sitting down and slicing a piece from the roast haunch in front of her. Daemon and Viserys were deep in conversation when the queen asked her granddaughter to fetch her son, who had just passed by. Visenya muttered an agreement, rose from the table, and headed for the tent she’d seen her uncle enter. She pulled back the flap.

— Your mother…

She cut herself off at the sight. Cassandra’s dress was undone at the front, her breasts nearly exposed, while her uncle held her by the arms. The princess took a deep breath, plastered on her best smile, and spoke calmly.

— Your mother, the queen, requests your presence at luncheon, uncle.

She turned on her heel, closing the tent flap behind her, and marched back to the table with firm steps. She sat down and stabbed a piece of pork, shoving it into her mouth. Seconds later, Aemond appeared, taking a seat at the far end of the table, eyes fixed on his niece — who didn’t even turn her head to look at him.

Alicent, seated beside Visenya, began talking about the ball the night before — how lovely her granddaughter looked, and what a beautiful dance she and her partner had performed.

— Oh yes, Thomas is quite wonderful. If not for my shoes, I think we might’ve danced all night. — said Visenya.

Aemond clenched the knife in his hand, jaw tight. His niece had walked into that tent at the worst possible moment — and now she was back to talking about that bloody Lannister.

— He’s a good lad? — Alicent asked.

— Yes, very well-mannered. He’s on guard duty today, actually. He accompanied me on a ride earlier.

— And rather handsome too. Are you considering suitors already?

Visenya didn’t get the chance to answer. Aemond slammed his hand on the table, drawing all attention as the conversation around them died. He shoved his chair back and stormed off into the woods. The queen tried to cover the awkward silence by continuing to ask questions about Thomas until the meal was finished.

After a short rest, the men began preparing for the hunt again. The princess noticed her twin brother standing a little apart from the others and went over to him. Jace was finishing cleaning his sword and stopped when he saw her approach.

— What was that all about with the one-eyed twat?

She shrugged and told him what she’d seen when she went to call Aemond for lunch. Jace could tell it had unsettled her and tried to cheer her up by pointing out how Thomas seemed to be completely enamoured with her.

— You’re a beautiful woman and could have any man in the realm, and you’re still bothered after seeing him with a woman who, let’s be honest, probably isn’t his first?

— Shut up — she said, laughing. — I only invited Thomas to try and get under his skin.

— I know. But now the Lannister won’t stop looking at you, so enjoy it while it lasts. If he’s as good as you say, who knows — you might even have a future. And stop thinking about that other arse. I’m the only one who gained anything from this.

Visenya widened her eyes as she smacked her brother’s arm, who only laughed at her. He finished getting ready and headed off with their father and brother back into the woods.

Perhaps Jace was right — she hated to admit it, but that was the truth. Her uncle was older, and undoubtedly had had many women before she’d even bled for the first time. It was ridiculous, this fantasy she’d built up since they’d reunited in Oldtown.

Thomas seemed like everything a girl her age dreamed of. Maybe there was no harm in enjoying his company before returning home.

There was still the entire afternoon ahead, and Visenya didn’t know what else to do to quell her disinterest. She noticed her mother speaking with the queen a bit apart from the others, and judging by their expressions, they weren’t arguing. On the contrary — her mother was giving subtle smiles. The princess hoped the two women had found some kind of truce.

She straightened her posture when she saw her mother approaching.

— We’re leaving early. Your grandmother and cousins are coming with me. — her mother said.

— I wanted to stay until they got back.

— I know. That’s why I asked the queen to keep an eye on you.

Visenya rolled her eyes at being treated like a child, and her mother did nothing more than kiss her forehead and remind her to behave before walking off to the carriage with the other Targaryens. When the princess looked around for her grandmother, she saw the queen already busy entertaining the court ladies. Perfect, she thought.

She could slip away just far enough to call Vermithor and fly him until late afternoon, when it would be time to return to the Red Keep. Thomas seemed busy enough not to notice her sneaking through the trees where they’d walked only hours earlier.

Everyone was so caught up discussing the game brought back by the hunting party at lunch that no one seemed to notice the princess’s sudden disappearance — everyone except one.

Visenya was fuelled by adrenaline at the thought of flying again. She ran as far as her legs would carry her until they grew tired, taking a different path where the forest was less dense and led to the edge of a cliff — the perfect spot to call her dragon. She brought her fingers to her lips, ready to whistle.

— Afternoon flight?

A rough voice from the forest startled her, stopping her just in time.

Aemond emerged from the shadows of the trees, approaching his niece who stood close to the cliff’s edge. Luckily for him, she had nowhere to run — she’d have to listen.

— Shouldn’t you be out hunting? — she asked.

— Shouldn’t you be near my mother?

She fell silent, biting the inside of her cheek, contemplating ignoring him and calling for Vermithor anyway.

— I said we’d speak today. — said Aemond.

— Perhaps Lady Baratheon’s more interested. — she retorted.

Aemond let out a frustrated sigh and took a few more steps toward his niece, who crossed her arms and stared him down.

— That was a misunderstanding.

— Oh, was it? A woman stripping in a tent alone with you means what, exactly?

— That she wanted to bed me. And when I said no, she started taking her clothes off in desperation. I grabbed her arms to stop her, and that’s when you walked in.

— That’s a brilliant story. — said Visenya, rolling her eyes.

— And you’re far too bothered by it. — he said, smirking slightly.

— Why would I be? We’re nothing. Not even friends. And you made sure of that.

She raised her fingers to her mouth and whistled, calling for Vermithor.

— Visenya, I never meant to — Aemond’s voice rose.

Vermithor came soaring up from below, close to the cliff’s edge. He took only seconds to appear, as if he’d sensed his rider needed him even before her call. The dragon landed near her with a growl, keeping Aemond at bay until she climbed onto the saddle and strapped herself in. Without waiting for a command, Vermithor launched off the cliff with her, wings cutting through the wind as they rose above the clouds — leaving the prince far below.

Chapter Text

The sky had already turned shades of orange when Vermithor landed in the pit for his rider to dismount. Visenya’s mind was racing, her heart a maelstrom of emotions that seemed to have no end — no calm, no peace, none of the quiet she so often sought.

It baffled her how much this still affected her, even after all these years. She’d come to terms long ago with no longer being a part of Aemond’s life. She’d told herself it was foolish to think anything could stay the same once they were grown. And yet it still hurt — the way he’d all but forgotten her.

So many hours spent together as children, now reduced to mere memories.

Visenya took a deep breath before climbing down from the dragon. She pressed her face against his snout, feeling his warm breath, whispering her thanks for the rescue. She’d never been good at handling conflict — especially not this kind. She stepped back, watching as the dragon beat his wings and launched himself skyward, flying off beyond the city walls.

Ser Harrold was on horseback beside a carriage, standing guard. Visenya offered only a nod of greeting before climbing in and waiting to be taken to the Keep.

She went straight to her chambers and asked Eleny to draw her a bath, which the maid did in silence. The princess lingered in the water until it was nearly cold, then dressed in something comfortable and threw on a black cloak before heading to her mother’s quarters.

She knew the men wouldn’t be back from the hunt yet, so she’d have a quiet moment alone with her mother. She knocked, and when the door was opened by a handmaid, she saw her paternal grandmother and cousins arranging flowers in the room.

Rhaenyra was seated in an armchair, some ribbons in her lap, when Visenya walked over silently and curled into her lap, resting her head on her shoulder like she had as a child. The elder princess was surprised by the gesture, but said nothing — she merely wrapped one arm around her daughter’s waist and the other stroked her long silver hair.

Visenya heard the footsteps of the others as they left the room, the door finally closing behind them.

— Do you want to talk? — Rhaenyra asked in Valyrian.

Visenya simply shook her head, clinging to her mother’s neck while Rhaenyra continued running her fingers gently through her hair. They stayed like that for long minutes until Daemon walked in, saying something about a great stag he’d taken down — but he stopped short the moment he saw his daughter and wife.

Rhaenyra said nothing, just gave a small gesture with her hand for him to leave, which he did, albeit reluctantly. Visenya heard the door close once more and raised her head to look at her mother.

— Have you ever felt left behind? — she asked.

— When your grandsire married my best friend, and every year she gave birth to a new brother. I always thought he’d go back on his word, take the title of heir from me and give it to Aegon.

— What was it like... not having your friend anymore?

— It felt like betrayal. I tried to make peace with her after the wedding, but it was never the same — Rhaenyra said, brushing a lock of wild hair behind Visenya’s ear. — I know you’re not talking about your brothers.

— Is it wrong?

— No... I’m living proof that it isn’t. But you can’t let your feelings destroy you. Move on, if you don’t want to deal with it anymore — or find the courage to face it and settle the matter once and for all.

Visenya always found it remarkable how perceptive her mother was. Anyone who spent enough time close to her surely noticed things before she did herself — but the way Rhaenyra always knew how to handle her daughter was truly something else.

Something Queen Alicent deeply envied. She loved Visenya, but never truly knew how to handle her. She thought spoiling the girl would be enough — but it wasn’t just looks Visenya shared with Rhaenyra. Their impulsive tempers and unyielding spirit were almost identical, and that was partly why Alicent kept the girl close. The queen missed her childhood friend. She and Rhaenyra had never flown on Syrax together or shared cake — and that, Alicent would always regret.

When the queen went to visit the newborn twins, the first she laid eyes on was Jacaerys. The moment she saw the dark hair, she knew — Laenor Velaryon was not that boy’s father. Rhaenyra had lain with another man and birthed bastards. Alicent was appalled, wondering how her old friend could shame the royal family so openly. She herself had done her duty, however unwillingly — why couldn’t Rhaenyra?

Alicent tried to mask her dismay as she moved to the next cradle, where the girl born the previous night lay. She was a touch taken aback to see the child’s pale hair — the complete opposite of her brother’s. The babe was wailing so hard her face was bright red. The queen bent over the cradle and scooped her into her arms, and at once, the crying stopped. It was around that time Alicent devoted herself to the Faith of the Seven — she took that moment as a sign.

Visenya had yet to change for bed, but was already lying down. Her mother’s words still echoed in her head, and she hadn’t decided what to do.

Let go of this unrest and carry on — perhaps even with Thomas — or keep clinging to the impossible and chase after her uncle. Gods, maybe what she'd last said to him had been enough to drive him away for good. Perhaps that would be for the best.

She glanced over at the supper Eleny had brought her. The food was all picked over, more played with than eaten. She’d nibbled at the things she liked most, leaving the rest. Her eyes lingered on the slice of tart the servant said had been sent by her grandsire. With a sigh, she sat up in bed and reached for it, folding her legs beneath her. The first bite had barely passed her lips when she heard a knock at the door.

— I said I’m not hungry, Eleny — Visenya called out.

The doorknob turned and the door creaked open. Visenya straightened at once, her expression hardening as she stared at the man standing in the doorway. He’d changed clothes — something warmer for the night — and his hair was still damp from what must’ve been a recent bath.

— What are you doing here? — she asked, stabbing her fork into the tart again.

— I recall promising you a flight, years ago — Aemond replied.

— You think a ride on dragonback will fix this?

— No. But perhaps a conversation might. If you’ll let me speak.

— Go away — she said, returning her focus to the tart.

Aemond exhaled slowly, watching her with her head bowed, poking at the strawberries in her dessert.

She had no idea how hard it was for him to even be standing there, facing her. Deep down, he knew she was right. He hadn’t sought her out in all these years. And when they reunited, he’d foolishly believed nothing would change — that she’d still be the lively girl who went wherever she pleased. But how terribly wrong he’d been.

When they saw each other again in Oldtown, he realised just how much of a woman she’d become — and she was wearing the necklace he had given her. He thought it meant something. Then he saw her walk into the hall last night with another man, and a small flicker of rage had lit within him, even though he had no right to feel it.

He’d wanted to rise from that table, punch the Lannister boy in the face, and carry Visenya away. He’d wanted that dance with her. But in the end, he’d been a coward. Always had been. He’d buried every feeling, smothered every desire, focusing only on duty — so that at the very least, he wouldn’t disappoint his mother. So that maybe, just maybe, his father would look at him the way he looked at his half-sister.

— One chance — he said.

Visenya took a deep breath, scooping another bite of the tart into her mouth before setting the plate aside. She raised her gaze to her uncle, debating whether it was truly worth it — this whole damn mess — and if she was ready to risk being hurt all over again.

— What you said about Cassandra Baratheon… is it true? — she asked.

— Yes — he answered without hesitation.

She rose slowly from the bed, reaching for a thick cloak and a pair of boots, pulling them on.

— One chance — she said.

Vhagar rested in a secluded patch beyond the city. The ancient she-dragon was far too large for the pit, so she had her own domain out where the towers and stone gave way to earth and sky. She lifted her head lazily as she sensed their approach, blinking at the pair drawing near.

Aemond gave two firm pats to her massive neck and grabbed one of the ropes to climb up. He paused halfway, stretching out a hand to Visenya. She accepted it. Mounting a dragon that wasn’t her own felt… disloyal — like she was betraying Vermithor. It was all too strange.

Aemond climbed into the saddle first, giving a firm tug to guide Visenya in front of him. He settled her against him, securing the straps around her hips and legs before fastening his own.

She could feel the heat of his chest against her back, his breath brushing the nape of her neck — and every soft exhale sent a little shiver down her spine that she fought desperately to ignore.

— Fly — he commanded in Valyrian.

The old beast roused herself with a grunt, lumbering out of her lair. Then, with one mighty heave, she launched into the air. Vhagar, larger even than Vermithor, rocked more with every beat of her wings, forcing Visenya to grip the saddle tightly. Aemond’s hand slid around her waist, steadying her as though he feared she might fall.

The dragon climbed higher and higher until they pierced through the clouds, soaring above them in the silvered night. The moon was full and bright, casting a pale light on the world below. Vhagar spread her colossal wings wide and glided, the air still and cold. Visenya shut her eyes, just for a moment, letting the wind kiss her face, letting the feeling wash over her — that old thrill, the freedom she adored.

— I missed you — she said softly.

Aemond hadn’t expected it. He’d thought she’d remain silent until he gave her something, anything. But she broke the silence first.

— In those first years at Dragonstone, I used to stare at the horizon… every morning when I woke, every night before I slept. I used to swear I’d see her coming over the cliffs one day — Visenya said, trailing her hand gently across the dragon’s scales.

— I’m sorry I didn’t come to see you.

— Why didn’t you? — she asked.

— I…

His voice died before it ever really began — he didn’t have the courage to say what needed saying. The truth he’d carried since the night she’d confronted him on that beach, drunk and hurting.

She scoffed with a laugh, like she’d expected as much. Of course he wouldn’t say it.

— I was scared — he finally admitted.

Visenya frowned slightly, turning her head just enough to see her uncle’s face, still wearing that same stone-hard expression as ever.

— You were always loved in King’s Landing. You could go there without a single fear. That night… Rhaenyra defended her brother. Daemon tried to break up the fight. Jacaerys stood by his side. You weren’t there — and only my mother even tried to speak for me. I was the monster for claiming a dragon, even though I was humiliated for not having one. And they… they were all around you.

She kept facing him, watching as he found the nerve to keep speaking.

— I was a boy. And I was afraid to face all those who turned on me. As the years passed, I stopped thinking I had any right to come near you. I thought we’d remain distant, that we’d only see each other again at this wedding. But then, there you were, in Oldtown. And I realised… I didn’t want to be just another stranger to you.

— I wish I’d been there that night — she said.

— I wish you had too.

Visenya turned forward again, her hands gripping tightly at the saddle. She could understand, in part, why he had stayed away. But that didn’t mean she could forgive him, not for leaving her in the dark for so long.

— Anything else you feel like clearing up? — she asked.

— I wish I’d danced with you at the feast — he confessed.

— I didn’t see you once after the music started.

— I… I got angry. I couldn’t bring myself to ask you.

Visenya smirked, biting her lower lip to keep the laugh inside — but Aemond caught it. He turned her face gently so she had to look at him.

— Well, thank the gods Thomas did his job, then.

He let her go, realising she’d just taken the blade he’d handed her. He’d admitted to jealousy, and clearly, that had been her aim all along. In a way, it was a relief — but the fact she’d met that same Lannister today still left a sour taste in his mouth. Still, she was looking at him now, smiling at him, and he wasn’t about to risk that by stirring her anger again.

She shifted slightly, settling into place and leaning back against his chest. Aemond relaxed the moment he felt the contact. That flash of memory from the night weeks before tried to claw its way back, but he forced it down — Visenya was so close that any… change would be far too noticeable.

They stayed in the sky for nearly an hour, though it felt like mere minutes to the Targaryen. But it was late, and she was clearly tired — she yawned every few minutes. He flew them back to King’s Landing, helping her dismount from Vhagar before escorting her back to the Keep.

There were no servants in sight at that hour, and he was grateful. He didn’t want rumours spreading about his niece returning home so late.

They climbed the stairs slowly, stopping outside her chamber door. Visenya opened it and stepped inside, turning back to face him where he stood just outside.

— Are we being honest now? — she asked.

Aemond simply nodded, waiting.

— I was jealous of Cassandra… After seeing her fawn over your mother all day, I thought maybe…

— She’ll never mean anything to me.

He reached out, touching her cheek, still cold from the flight. They were being honest — she’d said so herself.

His hand slid to the back of her neck, holding her as he leaned in. She inhaled sharply, her eyes wide, and for a few seconds, he debated turning and walking away — gods knew he thought about it — but when he felt her trembling fingers clutching at his shirt, he allowed himself to give in.

He pressed his lips to hers, and for a moment it felt like she’d ignited — the chill of her skin gone, burned away by the heat that sparked between them.

His mouth moved against hers, the kiss deepening as one hand gripped her waist. She gasped, and he seized the chance, tasting her properly. She clutched tighter at his shirt as he backed her into the nearest wall, their bodies flush, her frame shaking under his.

He wanted to toss her onto the bed, tear away every stitch of clothing, kiss every inch of her skin, and lose himself completely inside her — but a rare flicker of sense pulled him back. He broke the kiss.

Her lips were swollen now, plump and red, and she was panting as she stared at him, cheeks flushed.

— I need to stop. If I keep going, I won’t be able to hold back. I can’t dishonour you.

— You wanted to keep going? — she asked.

— Fuck…

He lowered his head, nestling his face into the curve of her neck, breathing in her scent like it was the only thing keeping him alive.

— You’ll still be mine.

Chapter Text

Aemond placed a kiss on Visenya’s forehead before leaving the chamber without looking back — by the gods, he’d never held himself back as much as he had that night.

The night Visenya had bathed had been easier to endure than this — this night, when he had finally touched her. It wasn’t even a fraction of what he truly wanted, but it was all he could allow himself for now. He’d had to return to his own quarters and relieve himself before the impulse to go back to her overwhelmed him.

The following morning, he went to his father's chambers, and by fortune, the maester had already finished tending to the King. The man bowed and left the two Targaryens alone.

— Aemond, my son, has something happened? — asked Viserys.

The King was seated on the bed, fastening his shirt, eyeing his son with concern.

— I wanted to ask you something.

— Then ask — said Viserys.

— Why didn’t you allow Rhaenyra to marry Daemon?

— And what’s brought about this sudden interest in your sister?

— There’s a purpose — Aemond replied.

Viserys studied his son with a puzzled expression, trying to uncover the true motive behind the question. But as ever, his second son remained an enigma — even to Alicent.

The King gave his reasoning: Daemon had been far older, and Viserys disapproved of most of his brother’s actions. At the time, Daemon had just been widowed from Rhea Royce, and it would have been poorly received if he married his niece, who was at least ten years his junior. Moreover, Rhaenyra was the heir, and the King had feared that Daemon’s obsessive desire for the crown might lead him to harm her.

— In the end, I merely delayed the inevitable, and I see now that I made a mistake. Perhaps her life would have been easier had Daemon been her husband from the start. There are only four reasons I don’t regret the choice I made.

— Four? — Aemond asked.

— Yes. Jace, Luke, Joffrey… and Visenya. Was that your purpose?

Aemond exhaled, glancing away from the King. He hadn’t realised he was being so obvious — even to a father who rarely paid him mind.

— Does she want the same? — Viserys asked.

— I hope so.

While the prince and the king spoke some distance away, the Targaryen sisters were struggling to properly fasten the old-looking, silvered armour around their cousin’s body.

— Remind me again why we’re doing this? — asked Rhaena.

She was on her knees, holding the greave to Visenya’s shin while Baela worked on tying it in place.

— Because we’re sisters, and soon you’ll be my sisters-in-law — Visenya answered with a grin. — And if I get caught, I won’t give you two up.

— If you get caught? The correct phrase is when . This is madness — said Rhaena.

— A little madness runs in our blood — said Baela.

— When a Targaryen is born... — began Visenya.

— The gods toss a coin in the air... — continued Rhaena.

— And the world holds its breath to see which side it lands on — Baela finished.

The three of them laughed. Even though Rhaena still looked unconvinced, she helped her sister finish dressing Visenya. It was the third day of festivities — the day of the tourney.

Jousts and single combat would be the main attractions of the day. Knights from all over Westeros had come to show their skill, and with luck, some might win a place in the Kingsguard. Commoners had the chance to be taken on as squires by one of the noble Houses.

Baela pulled a sword from under her own bed, wrapped in a worn piece of cloth, and handed it to her cousin. Visenya couldn’t risk using her Valyrian steel blade — it would be recognised by her father in an instant — so she had to settle for a lesser blade, though at least it was sharp.

— I still want to know how you managed to sneak all this in — said Visenya.

— Tell me the reason behind your sudden cheeriness, and I might be persuaded to give up a secret or two — Baela replied.

— And why would there be a reason? It’s a beautiful day, I’m going to duel, our beloved kin are going to be wed...

Rhaena rolled her eyes and muttered, — Tell me another tale.

Visenya was glowing that morning, still giddy from the events of the night before. Though she longed to share it with someone, she hesitated. Aemond’s final words had made his intentions clear — but he had already let her down once. She hadn’t yet forgiven him, and a kiss wasn’t enough to erase years of resentment.

Her eldest cousin tied her hair into a simple bun, placed a thin fabric cap over it to hide the silver strands, and handed her the helm.

Never in her life did the Velaryon girl imagine they would actually help her with this mad scheme of disguising herself as a man to enter the lists. But Baela had been far too excited by the idea, dragging her younger sister along into the disaster.

The sun was already high, and nearly everyone had gathered in the stands surrounding the small coliseum erected inside the walls of King’s Landing, awaiting the start of the matches. The duels would come first, and the princess was eager for her first challenge.

She knew her brothers wouldn’t compete, and her father would only take part in the joust, clad in his black faction armour.

She noticed the breastplate had some wave-like carvings upon it, and for her entrant name, her cousins had scribbled down “Knight of the Tides.” How original, she thought. She wouldn’t be using a shield like most, though a few wielded lances and hammers, and a handful, like her, bore only a sword strapped at the hip. Visenya was far smaller than the other men waiting to be called; she hoped to be mistaken for a scrawny boy. She couldn’t speak — opening her mouth would give her away, and she couldn’t afford to be caught before winning at least one bout.

The mail that draped beneath her helm, covering her eyes, was miserably uncomfortable — but she couldn’t take it off. It was the only thing concealing her violet eyes.

She noticed some of the men bowing, and then she saw him arrive. Aemond was clad in a dull silver armour with the Targaryen sigil upon his chest. The plating made him look even larger than he already was. Like Visenya, he carried nothing but a single sword. She forced herself to bow as he passed, to avoid raising any suspicion, and kept as much distance as possible, fearing he might recognise her — or worse, question her.

The King, the Queen, and nearly the whole family were seated at the centre of the stands, shaded beneath a fine canopy.

Aemond and she were the only two absent from the royal box. It was known the prince would be competing, but she… she’d placed a finger down her throat after breakfast to feign illness, ensuring her absence from both the duels and the jousts. She was especially thankful to her cousins for persuading Princess Rhaenyra that Visenya needed rest and that her staying behind in the keep wouldn’t worsen her supposed condition. Visenya felt guilty for deceiving her mother like that, but she was desperate to put all her years of training to real use after having Daemon by her side for so long as a mentor.

The men stood in tense silence, waiting to learn who they’d be facing, while the organisers looked to be arranging the match-ups. Visenya felt a shove to her side and turned to see a man twice her size clad in gleaming armour, a dark blue sash across his chest, and a giant kraken painted boldly over it.

— Little boys can get hurt around here — he said.

As much as she wanted to snap back at the brute, she knew better — she had no chance against him and couldn’t risk blowing her disguise so quickly. She turned her back on him and moved to a more secluded corner.

One of the royal knights, acting as judge, began calling out the competitors. First up were the eldest son of House Stark and a lowborn who called himself the Knight of the White Bear.

The poor fool barely stood a chance against the Northerner. The Stark was quick — clearly dressed far lighter than he would’ve been in his homeland, giving him a speed advantage.

A few more duels followed until Prince Aemond’s name was called. Visenya’s heart skipped a beat when it was announced that his opponent would be that same Greyjoy who’d tried to provoke her earlier. He was taller than the prince, far broader too, and carried a hammer.

The man grinned like a madman at the prince as they walked from opposite sides of the arena to its centre. Visenya noticed them speaking, but she couldn’t make out the words — the distance and the roar of the crowd, thrilled by the Targaryen’s appearance, made it impossible. She didn’t know what was being said, but Aemond’s face hardened completely. It was the first time she had ever seen her uncle look truly dangerous. There was fire in his eye — whatever the Greyjoy had said had awakened a thirst for blood.

Visenya stifled a worried grunt as she saw her uncle dodge a brutal swing of the hammer. Aemond didn’t strike back — he dodged, again and again, as if toying with the man in front of him, who grew increasingly enraged by the prince’s mockery. Aemond was playing with him — delaying the inevitable, savouring it.

The larger man was so overtaken by fury that he never even came close to landing a hit. In a careless moment, he left himself open, and Aemond’s blade sliced into his side. The blow brought the Greyjoy to one knee as he struggled not to fall. He tried to stand, but Aemond was faster — his sword cleaved the man’s right hand clean off, the one holding the hammer. The Greyjoy howled in agony, clutching his mutilated wrist, while the victor calmly sheathed his sword and turned his back on the bleeding man, who was soon carried from the field by squires.

The crowd fell into stunned silence at the savagery of it. No one had expected the contests to turn so brutal. Visenya silently prayed that her opponent would be less of a beast. But truth be told, she was desperate to know what words that man had uttered to rattle her uncle so deeply.

The audience was still reeling when the Knight of the Tides was called next, set to face a lowborn from Storm’s End. He was slightly taller than the princess, but scrawny — perhaps not a difficult opponent.

They entered the arena to cheers, jeers, and wild shouts from the stands. Visenya stopped just a few steps away from the pool of blood left by her uncle’s fight.

Both combatants took their places, and the knight-judge gave the signal to begin. The Stormlander rushed at her recklessly, giving Visenya the clear advantage. She dodged with ease and struck his back with her sword. The blade didn’t cut through his armour, but it would certainly leave a bruise come morning.

The lad came at her again, though this time with more caution, keeping his guard tighter. Visenya dodged his strikes, and the most dangerous moment came when he tried to sweep her legs after she ducked to avoid an overhead blow. She barely kept her footing, and it became clear that, as the minutes passed, the bastard was growing more confident — his strikes more precise. She needed to end the fight quickly, or she’d lose her first match.

She dropped her guard deliberately to bait him, and it worked. At the last second, she twisted her body and grabbed him by the helm, forcing his head up and exposing his neck — just where she placed the edge of her blade, making him yield.

Visenya was met with applause, and she forced herself not to look directly at her father, resisting the urge to see if he was pleased by her performance. She left the arena to make space for the next fighters and quickly noticed her uncle was no longer among the competitors.

One by one, the knights were bested, and Aemond won each bout he faced. Visenya’s ribs ached from her last match — she had fought the Stark. She knew from the start she was no match for him, but she refused to back down. They danced around each other for nearly fifteen minutes before the Northerner caught her off guard, knocking her to the ground and placing the tip of his sword at her chest — ending the fight. They shook hands before stepping out of the crowd’s view, and the princess had already decided it was time to return to her chambers before her body cooled and the pain worsened.

But to her surprise, the Stark followed after her, trying to spark conversation. She replied only with gestures, slipping into the crowd in an effort to lose him.

Her arm was suddenly seized, and she jumped, reaching for the sword at her hip — but when she was turned around, she found herself face to face with her father, who was glaring. Without a word, Daemon made the Stark turn on his heel and focus on his next matches.

Daemon pulled the Knight of the Tides away from the nosy onlookers and dragged her into a quiet corner.

— Take off that ridiculous helm, Visenya — he said.

She swallowed hard before raising her hands to the helmet and lifting it, revealing her sweat-soaked face. Daemon stared at his daughter with a stern expression. He took her chin in his hand, turning her face to check for any bruises, then tapped her ribs lightly, prompting a grimace of pain from her.

— What were you thinking? — he asked.

— About using what you taught me.

— I taught you to defend yourself, not to throw yourself into matches against men twice your size. What do you think would’ve happened if it was your hand lopped off out there?

— But nothing happened, and I won three fights against men bigger than me — she said.

He let out a deep breath, rubbing his temple, then slung an arm around her neck, pulling her into an embrace that drew a pained grunt from her — which made Daemon chuckle.

— I’m not saying this to scold you. You’re lucky your mother didn’t realise it was you, and luckier still to walk away with just a bit of pain… I’m proud of how far you’ve come. But don’t pull a stunt like this again.

She nodded, burying her face in her father’s chest as he helped her out of the armour. He pressed her to reveal who’d helped her come up with such a scheme, but true to her word, Visenya didn’t utter a single name.

*****

Another feast, another night where Visenya was dressed like a true princess in her blood-red gown, its neckline charmingly low, showing off her breasts. Her hair was braided to perfection, and her ribs were being crushed by the corset, making it difficult to breathe through the pain.

Visenya walked with her family to the banquet hall, and as her name was announced, she felt the eyes settle on her. From a distance, she saw Thomas smiling.

Fuck. Thomas. She’d completely forgotten about him amidst the whirlwind of emotions and recent events in her life. She needed to talk to the Lannister, but it wouldn’t be tonight. She only wanted to sit down, eat a little, and collapse into bed.

As she approached the table, she caught Aegon’s lecherous grin raking over her from head to toe as if no one else were in the hall — or perhaps he simply didn’t care that anyone might notice how he lusted after his niece with his betrothed seated right beside him.

Visenya ignored her older uncle, letting her gaze scan the table for the one she truly wanted to see — but he wasn’t there.

The rumours about Prince Aemond losing his mind and cutting off a man’s hand during a “friendly match” had spread through the realm like wildfire, and Visenya wanted to see him — to ask what in the Seven Hells had happened.

The princess ate little and drank only a single goblet of wine before the exhaustion of the day hit her full force, her eyelids heavy with the wine’s help. Her body felt leaden — she longed to strip out of her dress and sink into her sheets.

She wasn’t the only one who needed to retire. Aegon was so drunk he’d begun speaking gibberish, forcing the queen to order Ser Criston Cole to drag the prince to his chambers, against his will.

Visenya took advantage of the chaos to excuse herself, catching her father’s wink as she left the table.

Climbing those stairs felt like a slow torture. The corset felt like it was binding her tighter with every step, her bones seemingly crushed, and it felt like an age before she finally reached her chamber. She stepped inside and immediately kicked off her shoes. The elaborate braid Eleny had done was now pulling at her scalp and beginning to cause a headache, so before the dress, the hair had to go. She was just finishing the final plait when she heard the door open — and turned around to an unpleasant surprise.

Aegon stood there, his cheeks red as if someone had slapped him, wearing that coyote’s grin — the one he wore when about to pounce on prey.

— What are you doing here? — asked Visenya.

— Why, I’ve come to spend some time with my dear niece.

He stepped further into the room, prompting Visenya to rise from her vanity at once, instantly alert. His eyes gleamed, scheming, as he stared at her like a starving lion, biting his lower lip.

— Tell me, niece... if I lay with you, wouldn’t you have to marry me?

— I would never lie with you or marry you. Get out of my chambers. Now.

He let out a mocking laugh, beginning a slow march toward her. Unfortunately, her dagger was just out of reach. She turned, hoping to make a dash for it, but a sharp pain ripped through her scalp.

Aegon had caught her by the hair, yanking her back to stop her escape. Visenya screamed from the pain and flailed, trying to break free. Then, suddenly, her father’s voice rang in her head.

She threw her weight backward, stomping hard on his foot. Aegon cried out, but instead of letting go, he used his grip on her hair to slam her to the ground. The impact knocked the wind from her lungs, and the pain in her ribs sharpened until she could barely breathe.

She rolled over — and Aegon was already on top of her, pinning her wrists down with a grin, laughing. He bent down and managed to kiss her. Visenya had never felt so powerless or so furious. She bit his mouth hard enough to draw blood, which trickled down his chin. He pulled back, grinning, then bent down again, licking at her neck while she struggled beneath him. Even drunk, Aegon was stronger.

Every touch made her skin crawl. She felt his hands bruising her wrists, his breath reeking of wine as he licked her, trailing lower and lower until he was nearly at her breasts. Panic began to take hold — he might actually get what he wanted. No matter how she thrashed and screamed, he didn’t stop, merely repositioned to keep kissing her.

No one heard her. No one was coming. And she couldn’t wait for rescue.

Visenya lifted her head and smashed it into Aegon’s with a crack that made him reel. She took advantage of the moment, raising her knee to drive it hard between his legs. He let out a scream and rolled off, clutching himself.

Visenya got up as fast as she could and ran.

She didn’t think. She just moved, throwing herself against the door so it burst open with a bang. And there he was, sitting by his window, looking at her in stunned silence.

Her hair was a mess, her gown slightly torn, and her heart ached more than her body.

Visenya couldn’t hold it in any longer — thick tears streamed down her cheeks as she hugged herself, still feeling his hands on her skin.

Aemond leapt to his feet, rushing to her and scooping her into his arms, panic flooding him at the state she was in.

— What happened? — he asked.

— He… he tried… to touch me.

Her body shuddered with sobs, making her words harder and harder to understand.

— Who? Who dared lay a hand on you?

— Aegon.

Aemond felt his blood boil. He would kill him.

— No — don’t. Don’t leave me alone.

He froze at once, looking into those violet eyes he adored, now red and swollen from her frantic crying. She clutched at his tunic, desperate. He reached out, pushing his chamber door shut, then wrapped his arms around Visenya as she clung to him like her life depended on it.

— Get it off. Get it off me — I can still smell him.

She tugged at her gown in a frantic attempt to rid herself of it. Aemond had imagined — dreamed — of undressing her, but never like this. He had never thought he would be tearing open the buttons of her gown just to help her escape the torment of feeling that bastard’s presence on her skin. He let the fabric fall, unfastened the corset, yanking loose the laces until he could peel it off. Now she wore nothing but a thin white chemise.

Aemond lifted her into his arms and carried her to his bed, laying her down gently before climbing in beside her. He pulled the sheets over them both, cradling Visenya to his chest. She still trembled, and soon the fabric of his shirt was soaked through with the princess’s tears. He held her close, as if the very act could shield her from the horrors of the world.

Chapter Text

Feeling Visenya’s shallow breaths against his chest as she slept was the only thing that dulled the fury burning inside Aemond. He had already warned his brother to stay away from their niece and to respect his wife-sister on the night of the feast. He was certain Aegon had understood the message. But when Visenya had entered his chambers sobbing over what Aegon had tried to do, Aemond had wanted to kill him. He would have done it too, if he’d stepped out of that room in that moment.

But Visenya needed him — and thanks to that, he was able to think more clearly. Aemond was well aware that his brother had forced himself on servants before, sometimes without their consent, and that their mother paid those women to keep quiet. She always protected him. A death this close to the wedding, and he’d be executed for treason. Or worse — someone might have seen him near Visenya’s chambers and accused her. Killing the king’s firstborn son… the worst part was that only those who lived close to Aegon truly knew how rotten he was.

Aemond carefully moved his arm, shifting Visenya off him, and tucked the covers around her before leaving the bed. He grabbed the travel satchel where he kept rope and a dagger, took them, and shut the chamber door behind him as he left.

Visenya hadn’t realised that two of the prince’s trusted guards had hidden themselves in the shadows nearby, witnessing and hearing everything until the Targaryen had closed his door. No orders were needed. They already knew no one who posed a threat to the princess would step foot inside that room.

He stormed through the corridors towards her chamber, noting the knocked-over vanity chair, the dagger she must have tried to reach tossed far across the floor, and the puddle of vomit Aegon had left behind. Aemond headed to his brother’s room and found him sprawled across the bed, asleep or unconscious — he couldn’t tell.

The younger prince took advantage of the state he was in. He bound Aegon’s wrists and ankles before dragging him out of the room and down the stairwells to a remote and rarely used chamber. The room had no windows, was damp and filthy, with only a few old crates scattered about.

Once inside, Aemond slammed the door shut and dropped his brother onto the floor with no regard, rousing him with a groan of pain.

Aemond raised his boot and drove it into his brother’s stomach, making him curl up and gasp for air.

— Wha…

The younger prince crouched down and seized Aegon by the hair, forcing him to look up.

— You… you son of a bitch, you tried to touch her — Aemond spat.

— Oh, so the little slut ran crying to you, did she? Did she suck y…

Before Aegon could finish his sentence, Aemond smashed his fist into his face, splitting his lip instantly.

— I warned you to stay the fuck away from her!

Aegon gave a mocking laugh, even as Aemond glared down at him, trembling with rage. The contempt in Aegon’s voice only made the younger prince thirstier for blood. Aemond let go of his hair and began landing blow after blow with both fists. The first crack was Aegon’s nose breaking. The second was likely a rib, but Aemond didn’t stop, ripping scream after scream from his brother as blood gushed from every strike.

He didn’t stop until Aegon began to cry, begging him to stop.

Aemond left him there, broken and sobbing in a puddle of his own blood, locking him inside that filthy little room. He knew the beating wasn’t enough to kill him, and in a part of the castle so seldom visited, no one would hear him.

He returned to his own chambers and found Visenya still asleep, resting in a calm he wished would never end. He wished she would never have to suffer again.

He took the water pitcher and poured it into the basin he used to wash his face each morning. He plunged his bloodied hands into it, scrubbing his fingers to remove the dried blood before climbing back into bed.

Visenya had turned away from him. He lay down and pulled her into his arms, holding her through the night. And with the scent of lavender that always lingered in her hair, he finally drifted to sleep.

The air felt strange when Visenya opened her eyes for the first time that morning. She wasn’t in her own chamber — and slowly, the worst memories she could possibly have came crashing down on her all at once. She saw an arm draped around her waist and panic surged through her. She scrambled to break free and get out of that bed, her body trembling as she dropped to the floor, pressing herself against the wall, hiding her face between her knees.

She felt a pair of hands touch her arms, and instinct screamed at her to fight, to scream, to run.

— Visenya, it’s me.

She raised her head slowly and saw Aemond kneeling in front of her. His hair was down, and he wasn’t wearing the patch he always used — so Visenya could see what lay in the hollow where his eye had once been: a sapphire. The same stone that adorned the necklace he’d sent her two years ago.

She lifted a hand and gently touched the long scar that marked his face, losing herself in the deep blue of that gem.

— You’re safe — he said.

— What if I see him again?

— Then I’ll be by your side.

— Swear it? — she asked.

— On my life.

Aemond then leaned in slowly, capturing her lips in a soft kiss. Visenya slid the hand that had been on his face to the back of his neck, and finally, the feeling of Aegon’s body pressing down on hers began to fade.

Aemond broke the kiss and looked into her face, his fingers reaching up to touch the necklace she wore.

— I bought this the same year you left King’s Landing, but I didn’t have the courage to send it until your fourteenth nameday. I bought it thinking it could be something that connected us… but later, I thought the idea was foolish.

— Do you still think it’s foolish? — she asked.

— Do you wear it often?

— I’ve never taken it off.

— Then maybe the idea was a little less foolish after all.

*****

Visenya remained in Aemond’s chambers, still too afraid to leave. No one, save her maid Eleny, was permitted to enter, and the girl had been made aware of the full truth, swearing not to breathe a word of it to the princess’s parents until Visenya herself chose — or chose not — to tell them.

Prince Aemond was making his way to the queen’s apartments when he overheard murmurs among the servants that Prince Aegon had vanished, and the queen had commanded the entire castle to search for him before the midday feast.

The queen was attended by her ladies, but the moment her youngest son stepped into her chamber, it was clear the maids were to leave.

— Aegon will not be seen wandering the castle until the wedding — he said.

— What? What’s happened? — Alicent asked.

— He entered Visenya’s chamber.

— Seven hells, he didn’t…

— No! He didn’t succeed, she escaped and she’s terrified. Aegon is lucky Daemon knows nothing of what happened.

— Will she tell?

— That’s what you’re worried about? You’ll toss her a few gold dragons and hope she shuts her mouth? — Aemond stared his mother down. — You say you love her, that you wish she’d grown up here in the Red Keep with us, but when Aegon nearly dishonours her… hurts her, you still rush to protect him?

Alicent stared at her son in stunned silence. She had no answer. It was true — she loved Visenya like a granddaughter, the only one she had. But her thoughts always turned to Aegon, to the image of the family, to the appearances that had to be maintained. How many times had she covered up his misdeeds with the servants? Every time they hadn't gone to his bed willingly, she had done the same — a small pouch of coin and a cup of moon tea. That was the way of it. But now, it had been Visenya. And still… the instinct to protect Aegon had been her first response.

She said nothing.

Aemond had wanted to believe his mother would act differently, knowing Visenya was the victim. But deep down, he had always known the ending would be the same.

— Visenya will stay in a chamber near mine. And if there is a next time, it won’t be the maester tending Aegon — it will be the Silent Sisters.

When Prince Aemond returned to his chambers, Visenya was seated at the table he usually used for meals when he wished to be alone. Eleny was behind her, brushing and braiding her hair, and she was already dressed in a black gown.

The prince greeted them with nothing more than a nod before retrieving the attire he meant to wear for the feast and disappearing behind the screen to change. It struck him how domestic the scene appeared — a woman being tended by her maid while the man dressed nearby. They might well have been a married couple, long accustomed to sharing a chamber.

Unlike his mother and brothers, Aemond had little fondness for the colour green. He wore it only when asked, and only on certain occasions. After what he had heard from the queen earlier that day, there would be no green for him — only the black he always preferred.

When he stepped out from behind the screen, Eleny was already curtsying her way out, leaving the two alone. It was clear that Visenya was forcing herself to go. The smile she so often wore was absent.

Aemond stepped toward her, brushing his fingers over her cheek in a gesture of tenderness.

— You don’t have to go — he said.

— If I don’t, my mother will ask questions. And I won’t be able to lie about what happened. We both know how that ends.

— Daemon would kill Aegon and face the consequences, and you want to protect your father.

The princess merely nodded, and Aemond pulled her into his arms. She closed her eyes, grounding herself in his scent, trying to erase the memory of the other — the one that sent her into a panic. When they separated, the prince offered his arm, and together they walked toward that cursed feast.

Whispers and glances followed them all through the corridors as they made their way to the gardens, where the second day’s hunting feast was being held. There were cruel remarks about the princess arriving with yet another man in the span of days, and plenty of curiosity surrounding Prince Aegon’s sudden and unexplained absence.

Visenya tried to pretend she heard nothing, while Aemond clenched his jaw, barely resisting the urge to slice out every tongue that dared speak ill of her.

They bowed to the king and queen before sitting down. Visenya noticed her grandsire’s subtle smile, and how Alicent could not meet her eyes.

Rhaenyra regarded her daughter with barely concealed judgement, while Daemon muttered something unintelligible. Luke looked displeased to see his sister on the arm of the uncle he had once maimed, but Jace — though clearly not fond of the sight — winked at his twin before turning back to Baela.

Once most of the guests were present, the king rose to speak before the main course was served. When Aegon’s name was mentioned, Visenya squeezed Aemond’s hand beneath the table and took a deep breath. He rubbed her fingers gently with his thumb in a wordless gesture of comfort.

Visenya had not asked what Aemond had done to his brother. She’d seen him leave in the dead of night and return nearly an hour later. She did not want to know the details. She was simply grateful Aegon was not present. She didn’t know how long that reprieve would last, but she swore to herself she would overcome this. And if it came to it, it wouldn’t be her knee he’d have to fear next time — it would be her dagger.

She forced herself to eat something, though her stomach had been in knots since morning. She drank only water and kept her mind distant, listening only to the blurred echoes of the conversations around her. She was brought back to the present by Aemond, who whispered that he would return shortly.

Seizing the moment, she let her eyes wander the garden. In the distance, she spotted Thomas, who quickly averted his gaze when he saw her. She needed to speak with him — and perhaps distracting herself with another matter would help.

She rose and made her way through the gathered guests, descending a few steps until she stood at the edge of the garden’s bustle. Thomas turned slightly, watching as she approached.

— Beautiful as ever, princess — he said.

— Thank you — Visenya smiled.

She leaned against the stone wall, running her fingers gently across the petals of the nearby flowers, breathing in their scent.

— Something’s happened? — he asked.

— Yes, but I don’t want to talk about it. Actually, I owe you another apology.

— I feel used — he replied.

Visenya was slightly surprised by how quickly he’d understood what she was referring to. Perhaps she and her uncle hadn’t been as discreet as she thought.

— I’m sorry. You’re a good man. Any girl would be lucky to have you as a suitor.

— Know any?

— Not at the moment. But stay away from Cassandra Baratheon, she’s a bitch.

— Thanks for the warning — he laughed. — But if you need a guard, or a friend, I’ll still be here. I know my place, and I’ll respect it.

— It’s always good to have a friend.

A shadow fell over them. They looked up to see Prince Aemond watching, his expression dark and unreadable. Visenya gave Thomas a light pat on the arm before ascending the steps to rejoin her uncle, who clasped her hand and drew her close as they approached the couples dancing to the music.

Aemond placed one hand on Visenya’s back, possessively guiding her with slow, deliberate steps.

The gossip shifted quickly, with ladies whispering excitedly about the two. No one had ever seen the prince dance with any woman but his mother or sister — and now, with Visenya back at court, the talk turned to whether the Velaryon bastard might be wed into the greens as part of some alliance or truce.

From across the garden, Queen Alicent watched her son and granddaughter. Perhaps bringing the realm’s second-largest dragon to King’s Landing would serve the queen — and the Hand — well.

Chapter Text

The king was returning to his chambers after lunch for an afternoon rest before the evening festivities. His loyal wife, Queen Alicent, accompanied her husband and the gold cloaks to his room, helping him lie down and dismissing the guards once the king was settled.

She helped him out of his heavier clothes and pulled the blanket over him, sitting on the bed and catching the king’s attention.

— For a long time I’ve thought this feud between our family and Rhaenyra’s should come to an end, and now that the children are grown, perhaps it finally can. — Alicent said, taking Viserys’s hand.

— I’m glad you think so, my wife. — the king replied with a smile.

— Everyone’s noticed the way Aemond and Visenya look at each other. They’ve been friends since they were children. Perhaps a good marriage might blossom from that old friendship.

— Funny you should mention it. Aemond brought this up to me recently. — Viserys said.

— Did he? — Alicent replied, surprised. — He’s said nothing to me.

— Not everything a boy tells his father should be repeated to his mother, Alicent. But we’ll talk about it later. I need sleep.

The queen agreed, kissing her husband’s forehead before leaving the room.

Aemond had never been known to take an interest in women, always dodging any talk of marriage. During the hunt tournament, the queen thought aligning with Storm’s End might benefit the greens. Though she disliked Cassandra at first sight, she chose to support the match, as the girl was Borros’s eldest daughter. But to her misfortune, Aemond didn’t even glance at the Baratheon girl.

Alicent had begun to fear her son might not be drawn to women at all— until she realised how obsessively he fixated on Visenya. Obsessively enough to beat his own brother and lock him away from everyone’s eyes. And after watching her son dance with her granddaughter, Alicent became certain she could use Visenya to tame her increasingly reclusive son, especially after the girl had left King’s Landing. And with her, the potential to claim Bronze Fury— further bolstering the crown’s power.

The queen thought she might lean on her old connection with Rhaenyra to convince her stepdaughter to allow the union. They hadn’t been at each other’s throats since the day of the hunt tournament, when the princess had entrusted Alicent to care for her daughter in her absence— something that didn’t quite happen, as Visenya vanished after Vermithor was spotted in the skies and returned to the Red Keep from the pit.

Hightower walked through the corridors of the fortress until she entered the small dining room the blacks used when they weren’t with the rest of the court. Rhaenyra, Daemon, and the three younger sons were there with their wet nurses.

— Your Grace. — Rhaenyra nodded.

Daemon kept eating the cheese in his hand, raising an eyebrow as he spotted Alicent.

— Where are the other children? — she asked.

— Jace and Luke are walking in the garden near the ballroom with their betrothed. Visenya and Aemond are flying. I thought you’d know.

Alicent forced a smile, noting how her stepdaughter tried to jab at her with that comment. She ignored it and invited her for a walk. The queen noticed Daemon gave Rhaenyra’s hand a squeeze before letting go, allowing her to walk beside the queen consort.

The two walked side by side in silence until they reached an outer part of the castle, where the heart tree of King’s Landing stood. They stopped before the great weirwood, staring at it as if no time had passed, as if they were still the girls learning from the septa.

— This feud between our families must come to an end. — Alicent began.

— You wanted my son’s eye. — Rhaenyra replied.

— Rhaenyra, please. Don’t tell me you wouldn’t have done the same if Luke had been hurt in Aemond’s place.

The princess said nothing, staring at her stepmother, who turned to face her directly.

— Even after all this time, your daughter and mine are still friends. And we both know they want to be more than that. I was forced into my marriage, and you into yours with Laenor. Let them be together, because they want to be.

— Visenya will choose her own path. I won’t interfere unless she asks it of me. You’re right that she should be with someone she wants. So if she brings it up, then we’ll speak of it.

*****

Aemond and Visenya were on the same beach where they had argued on the night of the ball. Both were dressed in their leather riding gear, heavy cloaks draped over their shoulders, with swords strapped to their hips alongside daggers.

— In that letter, you said we could go wherever we wanted. — Visenya began.

— And where do you wish to go?

— They say Pentos is one of the richest cities in Essos, and they value my father’s friendship.

— Then to Pentos we shall go. — Aemond replied.

The dragons flew side by side, casting vast shadows over King’s Landing. It was not uncommon to see dragons in the skies, but two of the largest flying together was something that drew attention. Everyone knew who Vhagar and Vermithor belonged to— so even among the smallfolk, it was known that the prince and princess had some kind of bond.

They flew out toward the sea. Visenya guided Vermithor down until his wings skimmed the surface of the saltwater, sending spray into the air and filling her senses with the scent of the sea.

Vhagar stayed aloft, flying high and behind the other dragon. Aemond had a clear view of his niece as she ran her hand along the bronze-hued scales of her mount, just before they began to climb again.

It was nearly nightfall when they reached Pentos. They landed near the harbour, where there was enough space for both Vhagar and Vermithor to let off their riders before soaring back into the sky in search of a temporary lair.

Even at night, the city pulsed with life. A sizeable crowd gathered to watch the dragons. As Aemond and Visenya approached, the prince laced their fingers together, and the people parted to make way for them.

The common tongue in Pentos was Valyrian, and Visenya wondered how her brothers would manage in such a city.

They wandered through the streets, passing food stalls, cloth vendors, and jewellers. The princess grew curious about some sweets and bought a small parcel, nibbling on them as they strolled.

A commotion drew the attention of the crowd. Large men with bronzed skin and long, dark hair began to take over the space. Aemond draped an arm around his niece’s shoulders, pulling her closer in a protective gesture.

— Who are they? — she asked.

— Dothraki. They’re a nomadic savage people, speak their own tongue. 'Khal' is what they call their king, 'Khaleesi' the queen. They're said to be the most brutal warriors— longer the hair, greater the warrior. — Aemond explained.

— Did you take inspiration from them? — she asked with a grin, brushing her fingers through his hair.

Aemond raised an eyebrow at her, gave a dry chuckle, and tried to steer her away from the savages. But it seemed an entire khalasar had descended on the city that night. He moved carefully, avoiding contact with any of them, not wishing to provoke trouble and endanger Visenya.

The princess stopped at a stall filled with rings, admiring them as Aemond stood just behind her. The Dothraki voices grew louder in their unfamiliar tongue, until four men and a woman— who looked like a slave— approached them.

The man at the front said something while staring at Visenya, and Aemond’s hand immediately went to the hilt of his sword.

— The great Khal Haro wishes to gift the white-haired woman. — the slave woman said in Valyrian.

Visenya turned to look at them, stepping forward to stand beside her uncle, who clenched his jaw as he glared at the men before them.

— Tell your Khal he should be gifting his Khaleesi. — Visenya replied in Valyrian.

The woman whispered something to the man she’d called Khal, who devoured the princess with his eyes as he listened to the translation, then gave his reply.

— Khal Haro says he’s trying to. — she said in Valyrian.

Visenya’s eyes widened as Aemond lost all composure, drawing his sword, prompting the other three men to unsheath their crescent-shaped blades. The princess placed her hand on the hilt of her own Valyrian steel sword and drew it as well, making the Khal offer a crooked smile at her boldness. To his eyes, she was merely a scrawny woman he wanted to fuck beneath the stars, having never seen a young white-haired girl before.

Tempers were flaring. The entire khalasar stood close, watching how it would unfold, whispering that the one-eyed man would be slain by the bloodriders and the woman would become their plaything until they tired of her.

The townsfolk were shoved aside by the city guards, clearing a path for a small group of men clad in silk and gold. They walked straight into the heart of the conflict, stepping between the Dothraki and the Westerosi royals.

They spoke in the savages’ tongue. The man called Khal scowled at the words spoken by a rotund man in the group and let out a furious shout.

The others joined in the conversation as Aemond and Visenya exchanged glances, clueless as to what was being said. At last, the Dothraki turned to leave, though the Khal cast one last look back at the princess, holding her gaze until he disappeared from view.

— Prince and Princess, it is an honour to receive you in Pentos. I am Lohan, a member of the magistrate’s council. We hope there will be no further... incidents with the Dothraki. — the man said with a deep bow.

— Thank you for intervening, but why did you? — Visenya asked.

— We rather enjoy having Prince Daemon as a friend, and he would be less inclined to remain so if the girl he raised as a daughter were harmed in our city. Now then, shall we put away the steel?

Still scowling, Aemond sheathed his blade, followed by Visenya. The men belonged to the magistrate’s council, and according to them, the chosen prince had arranged fine lodgings for the royal guests. Visenya accepted before her uncle had the chance to open his mouth and refuse, as she knew he would.

They were escorted by the guards to a small manor with a view of the sea. The place exuded a wealth that could rival even the Red Keep. The table was set like a grand banquet despite being for just the two of them. Every sort of dish was offered, and a fragrant wine was poured into their goblets the moment they sat.

— Why did you accept? — Aemond asked.

— Because they helped us avoid a conflict, whatever the price might be. And if my father’s reputation is strong enough that they’d defy the King of the Savages for my sake, I want to keep it. We never know when alliances might be of use. — she answered.

— Alliances?

— My father mentioned something about the Triarchy trying to rise again. — she replied.

— Hmm.

The part about the Triarchy was true, but of course Visenya was also thinking of the conflict between the Greens and the Blacks. Deep down, they both knew that once King Viserys passed, Princess Rhaenyra might not be well received as his heir, not when there were trueborn sons of the king. Just like Princess Rhaenys— the Queen Who Never Was— her mother could be passed over for the throne. And that was a war she knew her parents would fight.

It was not a thought Visenya wished to have— not with her uncle sitting across from her, knowing full well they might one day find themselves on opposite sides. She tried to change the subject, steering the conversation toward lighter matters, asking where they might visit the next morning before returning to Westeros— where she would no doubt be punished by her mother and made to stay close to Rhaenyra until the wedding as penance for running off to another continent without so much as a word.

Aemond was deep in thought, trying to figure out the best way to bring up the subject of marriage. After watching a Dothraki try to court the woman he desired so brazenly, his blood had been boiling ever since.

— How will your brothers' wedding be? — Aemond asked.

— Taking an interest in my brothers now, are you? — she replied, arching an eyebrow.

— If I spend my whole life hating them, I get the feeling I’ll never see you again.

— I think it’ll be something simple. Likely a Valyrian ceremony, like my parents had. — she said with a soft smile.

— No seven days of feasts?

— That’s overrated. We have Valyrian blood, and we've been taught our heritage. So why follow the Faith of the Seven?

— So, you want a Valyrian ceremony as well? — he asked, lifting one brow.

— Would my future husband agree to it, I wonder?

— He’d be a fool to say no to you.

Chapter Text

Visenya woke with the first rays of sunlight and the movement of servant-slaves coming in and out of the room with fabrics and jewels. She sat up in bed, rubbing her eyes to adjust to the brightness, and as soon as she did, all the servants stopped what they were doing and bowed.

— It’s not necessary — she said.

The women nodded, and one of them stepped closer with a light blue fabric in her arms. The woman spoke the common tongue and told Visenya it had been sent to her as a gift from the chosen prince, all in the name of maintaining Daemon’s friendship.

The princess touched the fabric— it was thin and cool, and she couldn’t quite understand how she was meant to wear it. Whenever she had to wear dresses, it usually involved a chemise, long stockings, a corset, sometimes petticoats, and finally a heavy gown.

The servant noticed the princess’s confusion and said she would dress her. Visenya then stood and removed the nightgown she’d worn to sleep. To her surprise, nothing else was to be worn beneath the blue fabric. The servant began to wrap it around her body, using a thicker strip to cinch her waist, then wound it upwards to shape her bust. As a finishing touch, she fastened two golden dragon-shaped pins just below the shoulders, resting above the swell of her breasts.

Visenya turned to face her reflection in the mirror and was surprised by the result. She hadn’t imagined all those wraps would turn into such a beautiful dress. She felt light, yet oddly bare, knowing she wore nothing beneath it. Her fingers brushed the necklace she wore, seeing how well it matched the ensemble. The servant then brought her comfortable shoes that disappeared beneath the fabric. Once ready, Visenya thanked the woman and the rest of them left. She chose to leave her hair loose, and before stepping out, she gave herself one final glance in the mirror.

Aemond wore a navy tunic— it wasn’t to his liking, but as Visenya had said, they had helped them, and he wouldn’t irritate his niece. He was chewing on a piece of bread when the sound of footsteps drew his attention. When he turned around, he couldn’t take his eyes off her.

Visenya looked stunning— anyone who saw her might say she was queen of some Essos city, even without a crown.

The princess smiled at her uncle as she approached the table and plucked a peach.

— What shall we do this morning? — she asked.

— Not let any bloody savage lay eyes on you — Aemond replied.

— Oh, but I’ve already been proposed to. I didn’t even get the chance to answer.

Aemond stood then, eyes fixed on his niece, stepping close enough to feel her breath warm against his neck.

— And what are you going to say? — he asked.

— I don’t know… I’ve no other suitors, and I could become a Khaleesi. Tell me, uncle, what do you think?

The prince brought his right hand to her chin, gripping it firmly as he examined every detail of her delicate face. He lost himself in those violet eyes, and for a moment, he considered stealing her away and staying in Essos forever, far from all the court’s scheming.

He’d spent years trying to make his mother proud, and she’d never shown even the slightest satisfaction with her son. The only time she’d truly been a mother was the day he lost his eye. But after all these years, Aemond had come to realise that all Alicent’s rage had more to do with someone close to Rhaenyra having harmed something that "belonged" to her. Of course the one-eyed prince hated Jacaerys and Lucerys for what they did— he wanted revenge by taking the younger bastard’s eye. But he could abandon all of that if it meant his beloved niece would stay by his side.

Fuck the greens and the blacks. He wanted his Visenya with him. He wanted to lie with her every night and watch her body change as she carried his children, and he would love her in every moment of their lives and kill every fucking man who dared to desire her.

— Marry me — he said in Valyrian.

Visenya widened her eyes, utterly taken aback by her uncle’s words. She hadn’t expected him to be so blunt about the matter, given their history of always skirting around the topic— even now, when they were undeniably more intimate.

She raised her hand toward the eyepatch he wore and removed it, revealing the sapphire embedded where his eye once was. The skin around it was slightly warped by the scar her younger brother had inflicted all those years ago— the very wound that had driven a wedge between them.

— A Valyrian wedding? — she asked, tracing her finger along the deep mark on Aemond’s face.

— Whatever you want — he replied.

— Today.

It was Aemond’s turn to be caught off guard. A faint smile curled at the corner of his lips— she wanted him just as much as he wanted her. And why wait? They’d deal with the consequences later. Once a Valyrian wedding ceremony was done, the laws of Westeros held no sway over it— and the prince would make sure they never would.

— Or are you scared? — she teased.

Still holding her chin, Aemond crashed his mouth against hers, claiming her lips and pressing her against the table. Their tongues moved in perfect, hungry synchrony, stoking a fire within them hotter than any hell. He broke the kiss only to bite her lower lip as Visenya panted.

— Summon a priest — he shouted.

— Who are you talking to? — Visenya asked, confused.

— There are always servants lurking nearby.

Over the cool fabric of her dress, a beige tunic was draped, fading into a crimson gradient as it flowed down the skirt. The princess’s hair remained loose, though a delicate ornament had been placed atop her head. Her hands still trembled since the moment she’d heard her uncle ask for her hand in marriage.

It all felt unreal— like at any moment she’d wake in her chamber at the Red Keep and realise it had been nothing more than the dream of a foolish girl who still dared to believe in love. She understood what political marriages meant. She’d always known her mother would never force her into anything— but in her heart, Visenya was fully aware she’d do whatever was necessary for her family. And if that meant wedding some withered old man who couldn’t even see his own cock anymore, she would have done it.

But that morning, she was being prepared to marry her uncle— far from everything. Far from her mother, her father, her brothers... and in her mind, she begged they wouldn’t hate her for her impulsiveness. But she would not apologise for her decision.

She took a deep breath before leaving the room and walked through the house until she reached the balcony, where Aemond was waiting for her. He wore garments similar in style to hers, and had remained without his eyepatch since Visenya had taken it off. That sapphire gleamed, always drawing her attention.

Visenya stopped in front of him. Beside them stood a priest and a small table bearing a dragonglass dagger and a goblet of wine.

The old priest began to speak in Valyrian, commencing the ceremony. Aemond picked up the dragonglass and raised it to Visenya’s lips, slicing a shallow line at the centre of her lower lip. She did the same for him, and their foreheads were marked with blood.

The prince cut across his own palm and passed the blade to Visenya, who mirrored the act. They joined hands, fingers lacing together, and the priest bound them with a strip of red cloth while he continued the sacred rites. Visenya reached for the goblet, drank, staining the rim with her blood, and Aemond drank from the same spot, mingling the red with red.

The priest concluded the vows, giving them leave to seal it with a kiss. Slowly, Visenya lifted her face toward her uncle. With his free hand, he cupped her cheek and kissed her. The sting of the cuts was proof enough— it was done.

Aemond Targaryen and Visenya Velaryon were, officially, husband and wife.

*****

The handmaidens had just finished filling the tub with hot water when the newlyweds stepped into their temporary shared chamber. With a quick nod from Aemond, they slipped out in silence, closing the door behind them and leaving the pair alone.

The sight stirred Aemond’s memory, taking him back to the first time he saw his niece again after seven long years— how he’d touched himself that night, watching her bathe.

Visenya stood with her back to him, clearly nervous about the turn the day was about to take.

She wasn’t afraid, but something that had lived in her mind for so long was finally about to happen. Every time she and Jace had met in secret, they had held back, teetering on the edge but never crossing the line. Everything they’d done had felt incredible— the act itself had to be even more so. But she wouldn’t know until marriage, and now she was a wife. Aemond’s wife. The wife of the uncle she had longed for.

Aemond plucked the ornament from her hair and tossed it aside, running his fingers over the buttons of the beige robe, undoing each one slowly. That soft blue dress was before him again. He slid the dragon-shaped pins free, revealing the bare skin of her back. He ran his hand along it, watching as goosebumps rose beneath his touch, and that made him smile.

— You may bathe, if you wish — he said.

Visenya blinked at the unexpected offer but nodded. She stepped toward the tub and slipped out of the rest of her dress on her own while her husband sat on the bed, staring at the floor. She felt... odd.

She sank into the hot water, turning her back to him, eyes shut as a thousand thoughts spun through her head. The splash startled her— Aemond had joined her, stepping into the tub without a word. She opened her eyes in surprise to see him there.

She bit the inside of her cheek, considering going to him. Bracing her hands on the rim of the tub, she shifted closer, drawing his attention, though he made no move. She reached out to touch his face, but the prince caught her wrist before she could.

— We’re alone. What’s the matter? — she asked.

He exhaled slowly, closing his eye as he released her arm. Visenya cupped his face in both hands, hardly believing how close they were.

When Aemond finally opened his eye again, the tension in his body eased at the sight of her beautiful smile. She reached to touch his scar, but he turned his head. Visenya pulled her hand back, stunned, and sat down again, farther from him. She looked wilted, heart sinking— her husband had rejected even the softest touch.

— I’m not rejecting you — he said.

— Doesn’t look like it — she muttered sadly.

— It’s your first time. I’m trying not to lose control and hurt you. But if you keep touching me like that while you’re naked, I won’t be able to hold back.

She looked up, their gazes locking. Visenya had no idea how much her uncle wanted her— how hard it was not to drag her onto his lap that very moment. Gods, he wanted to fuck her. His cock was already throbbing painfully. He was grateful she’d closed her eyes when she moved close; those big violet eyes could see straight through him, like they could uncover all his filthiest secrets.

— Go to the bed — he said softly.

She bit her lip, a little shy to bare herself fully, but they were husband and wife now. She knew this scene would become familiar in time— if only she knew how much Aemond longed for it to be.

Visenya draped her arm over her chest, cheeks flushed as she stood from the tub, her uncle’s eye never leaving her. She reached for a towel, wrapped it around herself, and walked to the bed, sitting with her back straight and her breath tight. Behind her, she heard the splash of water as Aemond stepped out, tying a towel low around his waist before approaching and kneeling before her.

— I won’t hurt you — he whispered.

— I know.

He stood, lifting his hand to her face and kissing her— fierce, desperate, as if he needed her to breathe. He leaned over, lowering her onto the bed, his hand tugging the towel from her in a single motion, revealing the body that now belonged to him.

His mouth found her neck, trailing kisses down to her breasts, licking and sucking the soft flesh until she gasped, her moans delicate and breathy, driving him mad.

He rose from the bed and knelt again between her legs, grabbing her thighs and biting the soft inner skin, leaving a mark that made her gasp and swat at him with a pained little cry.

He kissed the spot he’d bitten and slowly moved higher, until at last he could see all of her.

Visenya felt Aemond’s breath against her, sending shivers across her skin— she could hardly believe it was truly him this time, not one of her vivid, sinful fantasies.

She gasped when she felt his hot tongue on her. The sensation of his mouth on her was unlike anything she’d ever experienced. His grip on her thighs was tight, possessive, while he tasted her slowly, deeply. Visenya bit down on her lower lip, clutching the sheets as her eyes fluttered shut, surrendering to the pleasure her husband was drawing from her body.

Heat bloomed inside her, and she cried out when his tongue dipped to her entrance, teasing her mercilessly. He returned to her clit with slow, torturous strokes.

— Faster — she whispered.

He obeyed, quickening his tongue, licking her as her wetness grew, soaking the sheets beneath her. Her legs began to tremble and her back arched off the bed as that overwhelming wave of pleasure tore through her. Her cunt clenched and burned like a brazier set alight, and she couldn’t hold back anymore— her cry echoed through the chamber as her body went soft, her release spilling down her thighs.

Aemond rose, wiping her slick from his chin and smearing the rest onto his cock, using it as lubricant. Visenya still lay there, trembling and breathless, and her entire body shuddered again when she felt her uncle’s hard cock rub against her swollen clit.

— My wife is so sensitive — Aemond murmured, his voice low and thick with hunger.

Visenya opened her eyes and saw him above her, chest heaving, anticipation tightening every muscle in her body.

He slid his cock down to her entrance, drawing a deep breath to steady himself before pressing in, meeting resistance— her maidenhead. Visenya clenched her jaw to bear the pain. Her husband leaned over her, one hand holding her face, and kissed her— desperately, hungrily— as he pushed deeper, feeling her walls stretch and pulse around him.

Her cry of pain was swallowed by his kiss, but a single tear slipped down her cheek. Aemond stilled, staying buried inside her, continuing to kiss her lips softly while his free hand held her hip. He could feel the tension radiating from her body. Gods, how he wanted to fuck her senseless, but not this time. This time, he would go slow.

Her nails dug into his arms, gripping tight. When her hold began to loosen, he took it as permission and slowly pulled out, then eased back in, spreading her wetness deeper with the motion. She moaned into his mouth again— this time, the sound was no longer just pain, but something else. The pleasure of finally being filled by her prince.

Aemond broke the kiss, drawing back to grip her hips with both hands. He started moving, slowly, barely withdrawing at first. He watched as Visenya bit her lip, trying to suppress the sounds she was making.

— Don’t hide your voice — he said.

She looked at him, trying to shed the last scraps of shame. Her mouth parted, and this time she let the sounds escape— pure pleasure echoing into the air. His thrusts deepened, his rhythm growing stronger, more desperate. Soon, the only things to be heard in that room were the rhythmic slap of skin on skin and the sinful, breathy moans of a princess being fucked.

Visenya felt that heat build again, curling in her belly, and she squeezed her breasts as her second climax tore through her. The sight of her like that— flushed, wild, overwhelmed— was too much. Aemond spilled himself inside her, groaning through gritted teeth, burying himself to the hilt and staying there, panting as she lay beneath him, flushed, sweating, undone.

He pulled out carefully and watched as the mixture of his seed and the last trace of her blood leaked from her cunt, dripping down her inner thighs and pooling on the sheets.

Visenya was his. And he was hers.

*****

It was already past midnight when Vhagar and Vermithor landed on the shore near King's Landing. The young couple slipped into the Red Keep through the secret passage, thinking they could sneak away to the prince’s chambers unnoticed— but less than five minutes later, they were caught by the guards and escorted straight to the throne room. The Iron Throne stood empty, but beside it were Alicent and Otto Hightower. Further ahead stood Rhaenyra and Daemon, still in their nightclothes, robes hastily thrown over to appear somewhat decent.

— You’ve been gone for nearly two days! Do you have any idea how worried we’ve been? Where were you? What did you do? — Alicent shouted.

Princess Rhaenyra said nothing as she stepped closer to her daughter. The room was dim, lit only by a few scattered candles, but it was enough for the mother to clearly see her daughter’s face. She reached out, brushing her thumb across Visenya’s lower lip, feeling the cut there.

— They’re married — Rhaenyra answered.

Chapter Text

As satisfied as Queen Alicent might have been with the union of her son and granddaughter, she couldn’t overlook the fact they’d done it in secret. She had wanted their marriage to be something displayed proudly to the realm, just as she was doing with Aegon and Helaena. That way, the people would believe the families supported the match. But now, if the prince of the greens — always seen as loyal despite his air of mystery — had gone so far as to elope with his niece, it might lead Aegon’s supporters to believe he was under Visenya’s influence. That would make him appear an ally to the blacks, and such a perception could cost them the legitimacy Alicent and the King’s Hand had worked so hard to build.

She would have to find a way to quell such thoughts at court — this was the opposite of what she'd hoped to achieve with their marriage.

Still, they had Visenya and Vermithor in King's Landing. That was something she could manage later.

Aemond didn’t speak a word, nor did he bother trying to explain himself. But Visenya was the opposite when it came to her family — she cared deeply about their opinion. So the prince went alone to his chambers, while his wife followed her parents to theirs. Rhaenyra and Daemon didn’t utter a single word on the way, not until the doors to their room were closed behind them.

— Why did you run away? — Rhaenyra asked.

— I didn’t run away — Visenya replied.

— Did he force you? I’ll cut that one-eyed bastard’s head off! — Daemon roared.

Prince Daemon strode toward Dark Sister, resting atop the table, but Visenya moved faster. She rushed ahead and grabbed the sword, clutching it tightly to her chest.

— No! It wasn’t like that. He didn’t force me. He didn’t hurt me. We didn’t run away to marry — but it happened. It happened, and I don’t regret it.

Rhaenyra and her husband exchanged a glance, speaking without words. Daemon exhaled deeply, sinking into the nearest chair, rubbing his temples while Rhaenyra stepped toward her daughter and gently took the sword from her arms, returning it to the table.

— Explain — she said.

So Visenya told them everything —about the childhood desire to go wherever she pleased, her wish to see Pentos, where her cousins had been born, the knowledge that her father still had allies in the city and that she would be safe there. She spoke of the Dothraki, and how furious Aemond had become, and finally of the proposal he made that morning —one she had accepted without hesitation, unwilling to wait any longer to be joined to him. She told them how gentle he had been when consummating the marriage.

Daemon’s face remained unreadable throughout, as though he were weighing whether to march to his nephew’s chambers and kill him for lying with Visenya, or accept that his daughter had wanted this of her own accord.

With Baela and Rhaena, it had been different. He knew those boys —they were good lads, because Rhaenyra had raised them well, and he’d taught them what he could. But with Visenya… They’d waited so long to marry her off because they trusted no one to care for her properly. She was strong, yes, and could look after herself to a degree —but the duties of a wife were a different matter entirely. Daemon had seen the way Aemond looked at her, and Rhaenyra had already warned him of a possible attachment between the two. But a secret marriage? That was a bitter thing to swallow.

The prince stood from his chair, walking over to his wife and daughter. He placed his hands on Visenya’s shoulders and pulled her into his chest, gently running a hand through her silver hair.

— No matter what happens, you can always come home. And if he hurts you, I’ll kill him — Daemon said.

— No, you won’t — because I’ll do it first — Visenya replied.

Daemon laughed, holding her tighter before finally releasing her into Rhaenyra’s arms.

He’d always known this day would come —he just hadn’t wanted to believe that when he returned to Dragonstone, Visenya wouldn’t be going with them.

Aemond wore nothing but a pair of thin cotton trousers as he sipped from a goblet of wine, waiting for his wife. He hadn’t put the eyepatch back on since the day she’d taken it from him when he asked her to marry him. He wasn’t entirely sure why, but for the first time, he felt comfortable without it. That had never happened before. He’d always hidden the old wound — for many reasons. He found it grotesque. But Visenya would always stroke the scarred side of his face, her eyes fixed on his.

So Aemond made up his mind once and for all to stop hiding. He threw the patch into the newly lit fire, watching it curl and blacken in the flames.

The door creaked open behind him. He didn’t need to turn to know it was Visenya. She entered his chamber with a lightness in her steps that hadn't been there before. She seemed relieved — freer. She walked straight to him, plucked the goblet from his hand, and downed it in one gulp.

— If you must know, I had to snatch Father’s sword before he came to cut off your head.

— Then I owe you my life, my wife.

Wife. That word had quickly become her favourite.

She set the goblet on the table and ran her hands across Aemond’s chest. He inhaled sharply at her touch. She had such power over him — more than he ever cared to admit.

Visenya stood on her toes to reach his mouth and claimed it with hers. Aemond’s hands traced her curves, feeling the shiver that ran through her as his fingers moved. He slid his hands lower, gripping her thighs, lifting her until she wrapped her legs around his waist. That’s when she felt his arousal pressing against her — and she grinned into the kiss.

Aemond laid her down on the bed, letting one hand trail down her side until it reached her hip. He tugged at the hem of her thin gown, slipping his fingers underneath, then down further until he reached her pleasure, watching her gasp and spread her legs a little more in response. When Visenya felt his fingers touch her, she smiled into the kiss.

— Tonight I’m going to ride you — she said.

*****

It was the sixth day of celebration, with only one remaining before Aegon and Helaena were to be wed — further uniting the strength of the Greens. That had always been Alicent and Otto’s plan. A pity, then, that her youngest son and the granddaughter she loved so dearly had managed to overshadow that union entirely.

King Viserys had once tried to persuade the Queen Consort to wed her firstborn to Visenya, to bind the families together. Alicent had even considered it. But the proposal was swiftly dismissed by the Hand of the King, Lord Otto Hightower. He believed Rhaenyra’s bastard daughter would wield too much power if married to Aegon, and worse, that her tainted blood would stain the royal line. Helaena, he said, was the better match — keeping things within the family, as it should be.

Though Alicent held genuine affection for the young Velaryon girl, her father’s voice always loomed in her mind — whispering that when war came, the “granddaughter” she adored would be the one to stab her in the back, just like the childhood friend she once loved. When she began to notice Aemond’s interest in Visenya, she saw it as another opportunity — a way to bring the girl back to King’s Landing. Alicent still saw in her the Rhaenyra she had once cherished. And now, with the Bronze Fury once again ridden by a dragonlord, it was the perfect time to bring the Realm’s Delight back into the fold.

Aemond had risen early. He felt the weight on his chest and the legs tangled with his. Visenya still slept soundly beside him after a night spent tangled in sheets and limbs. She remained a little sore from their first time together, so they'd taken it slow — and in doing so, they had stretched the night long into the small hours. Not that Aemond minded. There was no reason to rush. He didn’t want to hurt her. Going slow was... good.

The princess groaned faintly when he shifted her to the side, but didn’t wake. Her now-husband rose, washed himself with the water that had gone cold during the night, and dressed in his usual leathers. He pressed a kiss to her forehead — she didn’t even stir — then left the chamber, greeted by a subtle nod from the guards standing watch over his wife.

He marched through the stone halls towards the filthy little room where his brother had been rotting since the night he left him there. Unfortunately, the day had come to set him free — the cursed day of Aegon’s farewell to bachelorhood, with his wedding to take place before the morrow's end.

The king’s eldest son lay sprawled across a crumpled rag that passed for bedding. The bruises around his eyes had started to fade from black to green. His split lip was healing, and his nose had been set back in place — the maester must have visited a few times over the past days.

Aemond kicked his leg, waking him with a start. Aegon immediately regretted moving so abruptly, groaning in pain as his not-yet-healed ribs protested.

— You reek of shit. Take a bath so you don’t shame your bride-to-be — said Aemond.

Aegon shot him a glare as he used the wall for support to rise. But before he could take a single step, Aemond shoved him back, pinning him against the cold stone. One arm pressed hard across his throat, forcing him to lift his chin and meet his younger brother’s gaze.

— If you so much as think about Visenya, the next place you’ll be locked up is the crypts.

The elder son said nothing — he merely dropped his eyes.

Aegon had always mocked his younger brother. All through childhood, he and their nephews had made jokes at Aemond’s expense. Aegon had even hit him during training sessions with Ser Criston Cole watching on. But now the younger brother was taller. Stronger. Crueller. And anything concerning their niece had become a dangerous trigger for him. Aegon had learned that the hard way — and knew better than to provoke Aemond again. He wouldn’t survive a second time.

Aemond stepped aside, letting him pass. Aegon moved slowly, clutching his ribs, which were surely bruised worse than his face — if not broken. It took him what felt like an eternity to reach his own chambers, where a steaming tub and soap awaited him. A maester stood nearby, holding a satchel of herbs for the pain.

Eleny was bombarding Princess Visenya with questions as she bathed her, some far too sordid for her to answer — but Visenya was grateful to have someone she could talk to about it at all. She had no idea how her cousins would react, considering their shared history with her husband on the night he took Vhagar. At the very least, she doubted Jace would judge her — not after everything they’d done in secret.

Aside from her marriage, Visenya had brought with her a few dresses from Essos that had captivated her with their lightness. Eleny struggled a little to wrap the fabric around the princess’s form, but the final result was stunning — black cloth embroidered with delicate thread and cinched at the waist with a golden belt that gave her the look of a true Valyrian. Her hair was mostly left down, save for two small braids along the sides.

It was still early for the ladies to gather, so Visenya decided to use the time for a quiet moment alone with her aunt.

She knocked softly on the chamber door and heard a muffled “Come in” in Helaena’s sweet voice. Her aunt was still in her sleeping clothes, turned away from her. Visenya noticed a few green dresses laid out on the bed, as though she were trying to choose between them.

— Any of them would look beautiful on you — said Visenya.

— I don’t need to look beautiful. I just need to hide — replied Helaena.

— Hide?

Visenya’s confusion turned to shock when her aunt turned to face her. The sheer fabric of her nightdress revealed a stomach swollen enough to be unmistakable — Helaena was pregnant. She hadn’t noticed it before; her aunt had always worn heavy, structured gowns, and more often than not, she stayed seated during all the festivities.

—When Aegon drinks, he comes to me at night. He stopped after Aemond spoke to him — and came back limping. But then my belly began to grow. This wasn’t supposed to happen until after the wedding.

If Visenya had ever felt hatred for her uncle, it only deepened upon learning that her aunt had been his victim — just as she herself had nearly been.

She stepped forward, taking Helaena’s hands in hers before wrapping her in a hug. She felt the older girl tense under her touch but gradually soften, her arms encircling Visenya’s waist as she rested her head on her niece’s shoulder.

— Congratulations on your wedding — said Helaena softly.

— Thank you. I wish you could marry for love, too.

— Do you love him? — Helaena asked.

Visenya paused before answering, nodding slowly. That was when she realised that she and Aemond had never actually spoken the words — it had always been shown through actions, never said aloud.

— Aegon won’t hurt you again — Visenya said quietly.

— Black eclipses green.

— What?

— The green spool ran out, but the black kept weaving — Helaena murmured.

Visenya spent the day by her aunt’s side, accompanied by the queen and her mother, who didn’t exchange a single word throughout. Baela and Rhaena remained somewhat distant, joined by their grandmother, though Visenya couldn’t shake the feeling that they wanted to tell her something. She just hoped it wouldn’t turn into a quarrel.

As evening descended, the women began making their way towards the banquet hall, where the men were already awaiting them. Helaena and Alicent entered first, followed by Rhaenyra, Visenya, Baela, Rhaena, and Princess Rhaenys, in that order. After them, the remaining ladies of the court took their places.

Visenya caught sight of Aegon beside their grandsire and clenched her fists to still her trembling hands. She would be at the Red Keep from now on and she wasn’t going to let Aegon frighten her. She’d made a promise to her aunt that she wouldn’t let him hurt her again. She had to be strong for both of them, and she would be.

Her expression softened when she saw her husband waiting closer to where the blacks were seated. She wanted to thank him for that. She hadn’t seen him leave that morning, so it was only now that she noticed he was still without the eyepatch he used to wear. She couldn’t suppress the small smile that tugged at her lips, proud that he was no longer hiding.

Jace greeted his sister with a roguish grin. Daemon must have told him by now. Luke, on the other hand, avoided her gaze, prompting Visenya to make a mental note to speak with her younger brother later.

Everyone took their seats as the king, with some difficulty, rose to his feet.

— I'd like to thank everyone who's continued to grace us with their presence over these six days of celebration. Tomorrow, my children will seal their bond in marriage, becoming one. I couldn't be happier. I’d also like to take this moment to announce that my son Aemond and my granddaughter Visenya have married in a Valyrian ceremony. It seems young love waits for no one, but I am glad to be alive to witness such a union — said the king.

A murmur spread throughout the hall as the newlyweds became the centre of attention, replacing the betrothed couple in everyone’s gossip. The mysterious prince had wed the niece he hadn’t seen in years. Visenya could practically hear Cassandra Baratheon grinding her teeth from how hard she clenched them.

Unfortunately for Queen Alicent, this was precisely the outcome she had feared. She thought quickly, deciding to do what she believed would best keep the greens’ supporters loyal to her family.

— I’m delighted to be celebrating not one, but two marriages. Our family is stronger and more united than ever, and now we have a new dragon to defend our beloved city and those who dwell within it.

— Zaldrīzes buzdari iksos daor — said Visenya.

The hall fell into complete silence at the princess’s words. No one but those of Valyrian descent and the maesters understood the phrase she had spoken. The black faction, along with Aemond, wore proud smiles, while Aegon and Helaena stared wide-eyed. Like the rest, the queen and the Hand remained lost in confusion.

— A dragon is not a slave — Visenya clarified.

Chapter Text

The Queen, Alicent, paced back and forth inside her chambers after that night’s disastrous supper, and once again her father, the Hand of the King, repeated himself.

— I told you, this love you harbour for that girl will be our undoing.

— Enough! — Alicent shouted.

— We fought too hard to get here. History is repeating itself. Visenya is stabbing you in the back just like Rhaenyra did in the past. They’re more alike than you ever imagined — said Otto.

— I’ll deal with it tomorrow. Now please, leave me to think — Alicent asked.

Otto Hightower huffed before striding out of his daughter's chambers, slamming the door behind him.

Alicent collapsed into a chair, her hands covering her face as she sighed, wondering how things had spiralled so far, so quickly — and all because of something that ought to have been a blessing to her family. But she hadn’t counted on one very volatile variable — Visenya.

That same night, the young couple returned to their chambers. Aemond said nothing about his wife's earlier remark. His mother had already crossed far too many lines, and it was high time someone said something. Not even his father, the King, could keep her in check. At dinner, Visenya had shown everyone she would not be manipulated by the Queen like the rest of the court.

They passed through the corridors, and the princess stopped at the top of the staircase that split the floor where her family usually resided — to the west were the chambers of her parents and siblings.

— Go on ahead — said Visenya.

The prince didn’t reply. He simply placed a warm kiss on his wife's forehead before heading towards the eastern wing of the Red Keep.

Visenya walked down the long corridor, her gaze fixed on her feet over the worn carpet that covered the entire floor. She’d taken that path countless times before — during her games with Jace, when she and her brothers returned from the Dragonpit escorted by Sir Harwin Strong, carrying an egg for newborn Joffrey. When she last walked that hall, servants were dragging their trunks to the ship bound for Dragonstone, where she would stay for seven years until her return. Moonlight slipped through the gaps in the curtains, helping the candelabras light the way to Luke’s chamber door.

Visenya raised her hand and took a deep breath before knocking twice on the heavy wooden doors. Quick footsteps followed, and soon the door opened to reveal the princess’s twin. When Jace saw his sister, he stepped aside, opening the door wider, and Visenya caught sight of Luke sitting in a chair near the hearth.

— Could you give us a moment? — Visenya asked Jace.

He nodded, giving his sister’s shoulder a gentle squeeze before leaving for his own room.

Visenya entered Luke’s chambers and shut the door behind her. The youngest of the siblings seemed to hold his breath as he watched the princess approach and take a seat beside him.

Lucerys struggled to keep his eyes from drifting to Visenya, forcing himself to focus on the flames crackling in the fireplace. The princess wetted her lips a few times before finally managing to say something solid to her younger brother.

— I wish I’d been there that night… but I don’t know if it would’ve changed anything. I know Rhaena was upset she never got a chance to try and claim Vhagar, but you had no right to attack Aemond — said Visenya.

— But he...

The princess raised one hand, cutting Luke off mid-sentence.

— I’m not finished. He struck back. You were frightened for Jace and tried to protect him — I understand. You did what you thought was right at the time. And even as a child, you protected your older brother. But in doing so, you maimed your uncle — the one you and Aegon always mocked for not having a dragon. A fucking dragon. How do you think that made him feel? You can’t know the answer. But I do.

Lucerys said nothing as he lowered his head, listening intently to every word his sister spoke. He had no answer. He had never mocked her, because he’d seen firsthand how deeply it affected her — but Jace and Aegon had, time and again. For hours, Visenya would vanish, only to be found somewhere in the castle with her face soaked in tears after being ridiculed by her older brother and uncle. After those episodes, she was often seen with Helaena and Aemond in the library or wandering the gardens.

But despite it all, every time Aegon called them bastards, Visenya defended them tooth and nail. Luke knew he had no right to be angry with his sister.

— He’s my husband now. The husband I chose. I’m not picking sides in this fight between you lot, but if you really care about me, let it go — because I don’t want to lose you. I love both of you.

The princess placed her hands on her knees to stand and saw that her younger brother was still exactly as he’d been when she began to speak. It felt as though she’d been talking to a wall — Lucerys hadn’t even looked at her.

She sighed in frustration and left his chambers, heading to the one that now belonged to both her and Aemond. She passed the four guards stationed in the corridor and at the door, entering the room to find her husband already seated on the bed, waiting for her.

She pulled at the laces of her dress, letting it fall with a few swift movements, and slipped into a white nightgown before climbing into bed. She wrapped her arms around her uncle’s waist and rested her head on his chest.

— All right? — he asked.

Visenya simply nodded, closing her eyes and trying to erase the memory of that hellish day. Her aunt, pregnant with the child of a future rapist husband. Her grandmother parading her around like a trophy as though she supported her. And now her brother — the same one who’d always been so tender with her — couldn’t even lift his head to meet her gaze. In Essos, it had felt like paradise. In Westeros, it was nothing but hell. Perhaps they truly should flee — and this time, take poor Helaena with them.

*****

Aemond still lay in bed, several scrolls spread across the sheets — reports that had arrived over the past few days from outposts across the Crownlands. For the most part, the issues amounted to little more than local bandits. But according to the latest report from the Storm's End region, a few ships from the Triarchy had been sighted moving close to the Westerosi coast before turning back across the Narrow Sea, apparently heading toward Lys.

Visenya was seated at the vanity Aemond had ordered brought in the day before. Eleny was weaving an elaborate braid in her hair, preparing to lift it into a bun. The princess wore a matte leather outfit, the sort typically fashioned for men, though this one had been tailored for her. It was tighter, accentuating her curves, with a belt that cinched her waist even more. She was planning to invite her father to one final spar before the wedding and her departure the following morning.

Three knocks echoed against their chamber doors, drawing the attention of all three present. None of them had summoned anyone.

— Enter — Visenya commanded.

The door opened, and Talia, the Queen’s personal maid, stepped into the room, accompanied by one of the prince’s four guards.

— Prince — she greeted Aemond. — Princess. The Queen requests your presence for breakfast in her chambers.

— Just me? — Visenya asked.

— Yes, Princess.

— I’ll be there shortly. You may go, Talia.

— The Queen ordered me to escort you — said the maid.

Visenya turned back to the mirror on the vanity, watching Eleny, who hadn’t paused once in working on her hair. She angled her face slightly toward her grandmother’s servant.

— I know the way, Talia. Leave.

The woman seemed torn between staying and obeying, but seeing that the prince had ignored her from the moment she entered and that Visenya was now focused entirely on her own maid, Talia had no choice but to leave, the guard following close behind.

Visenya huffed in frustration and rose as soon as Eleny withdrew her hands from her hair.

— You picked this fight. You can’t run from it — said Eleny.

— Who said I would? — Visenya replied.

— And you’re not going to say anything?

Eleny stood with her hands on her hips, staring at Prince Aemond, who was absorbed in the many documents laid before him. Upon realising her comment was aimed at him, he raised one eyebrow.

He could hardly believe a servant dared speak to him like that. But after all, she was his wife’s maid — had been with her since childhood — and from what he could tell, the two had always got on well. So, it wasn’t surprising that her temperament mirrored Visenya’s to some extent.

— She can fight her own battles. I only ask she avoid a fatal blow — Aemond said, turning his attention back to the parchment in his hand.

The doors to the queen’s chambers stood open, the rich scent of freshly baked bread, eggs, bacon, and tea drifting out — everything Visenya loved in a proper breakfast.

She entered slowly, watching the handmaidens place the last dishes on the table while the queen stared out of the window. As soon as Visenya was noticed by the servants, Alicent turned around as well.

— Your Grace — Visenya greeted.

— Leave us — commanded the queen.

The maids hurriedly left, closing the doors behind them, and Alicent made a gesture for the princess to sit, taking the chair opposite her. Visenya kept her eyes fixed on the queen as she sat, fingers entwined over her belly as she leaned back in the chair.

— I’m not going to apologise — said the princess.

The queen drew a deep breath as if swallowing all her anger, then took the teapot and poured a cup for her granddaughter and another for herself. She cut a steaming slice of bread and held out her hand for Visenya’s plate, which the princess handed over silently. The queen served her with some butter and a handful of scrambled eggs before returning the plate.

Visenya picked up her fork, stirring at the food while Alicent served herself and began to eat.

— Not going to say anything? — Visenya asked.

The Queen Consort set down her cutlery with delicate precision, resting her elbows on the table as she folded her hands just beneath her chin. Her violet eyes fixed on the princess, and a sudden, distant memory struck her—of years past, when Alicent and her daughter would come to her chambers nearly every morning.  

— You humiliated me — said Alicent.  

— You treated me like a hunting trophy — Visenya replied.  

— I did no such thing! — the Queen exclaimed.  

— Yes, you did. When I said Vermithor was no slave, I wasn’t speaking only of him—I meant myself, Helaena… Aemond. Aegon raped your daughter, and yet you’ll still force her to wed him by evening. He tried to do the same to me, and I know you were aware. You couldn’t even look me in the eye until the day I returned, wed, and you thought to use it to your advantage.

— I must protect my family.

— By letting your daughter suffer?

Visenya rose, slamming her hands down on the table, spilling some of the tea from her cup and startling her grandmother, who tried not to show it, keeping her eyes fixed on the princess the entire time.

— Aegon is still immature, he’ll learn…

— You’re unbelievable — Visenya cut her off — As long as I’m here, Aegon won’t lay a finger on my aunt unless she wants it.

— I appreciate that.

The princess furrowed her brow, confused by the queen’s words. Alicent looked worn out, disoriented, her face paler than usual. She stood, arms opening to draw Visenya into an embrace. Visenya bit her lip, uneasy at the queen’s unusual behaviour for the situation, but cautiously she stepped forward as her grandmother wrapped her arms tightly around her, the familiar scent of lavender surrounding her.

— I’m sorry for everything. I never wanted you to feel used, I never wanted Helaena to be in this position. Everything spiralled out of my control and I don’t know what to do… please, my granddaughter, don’t hate me.

Alicent’s voice wavered; part of those words were true, even if her motives lay elsewhere. Everything had indeed slipped beyond her control, and she didn’t want to be hated by the girl who reminded her so much of her old friend — the little girl who had drawn so many smiles from her in childhood and softened the heart of her withdrawn son. But she needed to win Visenya over to her side as soon as possible.

— I don’t hate you, but many of your actions have saddened me — the princess said.

— I know.

After the disastrous yet somehow enlightening breakfast, Visenya found herself distracted from training, watching her brothers spar from a distance. How she would miss those moments.

Jace was a few centimetres taller than Luke and more solidly built, giving him an advantage over the smaller boy, who dodged his attacks with surprising skill. Some of the moves Visenya used most often, Jace had taken up as if they were his own. The princess had lost count of how many nights they had stayed past bedtime because Luke begged her to teach him those steps that looked more like a dance.

— Are you sure you’re going to stay here?

Visenya was pulled from her thoughts by her father, who had just arrived carrying two wooden swords.

— Well, if Aemond went to Dragonstone, that castle would fall in seconds, so… — she said, laughing.

— Eleny told me about your wish for one last training session.

The prince handed one of the swords to his daughter, who took it and moved to the centre of the yard, followed by her father. The knights, squires, and brothers all stopped what they were doing to watch the prince, the realm’s trickster, and its delight raise their practice swords.

Visenya took a defensive stance as Daemon immediately advanced. She shifted her body to the side, using only the edge of her sword to parry her father’s blade, who spun around and resumed his starting position.

The princess faced her father as if he were an enemy, gripping the hilt of her sword tightly as he charged. Their blades crossed, faces inches apart. Daemon gave his daughter a tender smile, as if nostalgia had already begun to take hold of him even before his departure.

He pushed her back with force and raised his sword to strike, but the princess was faster. She bent her knees, taking advantage of the muddy ground to slide along her father’s side and struck his leg hard with her sword.

The prince cursed in pain and stepped back, clutching behind the knee that had been hit, while Visenya held a victorious smile.

Applause from above caught everyone’s attention — there was King Viserys, escorted by three of his gold cloaks. Soon, the knights present joined in the applause for the princess. Even Daemon dropped his sword, conceding victory to his daughter.

Jace approached, ruffling his sister’s hair, while Luke remained at a distance.

*****

Eleny was tightening the last laces of Visenya’s crimson bodice, making her breasts appear even more defined and enticing to the eye. She tied the red sash, studded with tiny black obsidian stones, before running her hand over the flowing skirt of the same shade as the bodice. The dress was sleeveless, leaving much of her skin bare, and despite the colour, she hadn’t abandoned her sapphire necklace. Eleny also curled her platinum hair into soft waves, securing it with only two golden pins to keep her face unobscured. Her lips were painted a vivid red, and her eyes were darkly smudged, making the violet of her irises stand out even more.

Aemond wore a black doublet threaded with gold, paired with a shirt of the same colour. His hair was slicked back as usual, now without the presence of the eyepatch.

He devoured his wife with his eyes as Eleny finished applying her makeup and spritzing lavender essence on her neck; he couldn’t wait to drag her to their chamber, tear that dress off, and stain those perfect red lips.

When the servant finished, she smiled at the princess, satisfied with her work, and gathered the cosmetics. Aemond took his wife’s hand and inhaled deeply at her neck, causing her skin to prickle.

A sharp cough from Visenya’s personal servant sounded as she opened the door, and Visenya led her husband out. They made their way to the Great Hall where the ceremony based on the Faith of the Seven would be held. Except for the bride and groom, they were the last to enter the hall.

All eyes turned to them as they appeared. Rhaenyra’s serene face watched her daughter and half-brother holding hands, while Alicent looked at them as though they were the ones getting married that day.

The young couple stood in the centre of the hall as Aegon and Helaena, the latter in her high-waisted, voluminous skirt, entered.

The newlyweds sat at the banquet table while most of the lords and ladies came to congratulate them before heading to the centre of the hall to dance. Aegon was likely already drunk judging by his flushed face, while the bride focused on a chicken thigh with mashed potatoes on her plate.

Visenya shot daggers at her elder uncle all night, and he didn’t so much as raise his gaze to meet hers after the first glance earlier that day.

Aemond poured another cup of wine for his wife, who felt a hand on her shoulder before she could take it—and to her surprise, it was Lucerys.

— May we dance? — he asked.

— Of course.

Visenya rose, feeling the eyes upon her, and accepted her younger brother’s hand, moving to the centre of the hall alongside the other couples. She placed her hand on his shoulder, and Luke’s hand went to her waist, as they began the steps slowly.

Lucerys had changed a lot in a short time. Though only fifteen, his boyish face had almost vanished. He was a few centimetres taller than his sister and, to Visenya’s surprise, hadn’t once stepped on her foot.

— Sorry about yesterday — he began. — I couldn’t say anything then, but I know you’re right, and that I should’ve tried to make amends. I took Rhaena’s side blindly, ignoring reason. We’ll never be as close as before, but I want you to know that after your training with Father, I sought out Aemond and apologised.

— Really? — she asked, surprised.

— He just nodded, but I think we have a truce.

Visenya released the hand Luke used to guide her through the dance and pulled her brother into a tight embrace. He quickly blushed, being the centre of attention. The high table also turned its eyes to the Velaryon siblings. Aemond didn’t watch them, but his expression was calm, and Princess Rhaenyra breathed a little easier that night.

— I love you too — Lucerys said, breaking the hug to finally look his sister in the eyes.

Chapter Text

As dreadful as the marriage was, these were Visenya’s final moments of being so close to her family as they’d always been. She savoured every second—danced with her brothers, her cousins, and her parents. Aemond remained at the table, watching his wife as her face lit up in the presence of his family’s enemies. He wished she could wear that same happiness in King’s Landing, but he knew that, in the end, she’d struggle against the pull of returning to Dragonstone. He hated the city himself.

He was always finding excuses to take Vhagar and fly for days on end, delaying his return for as long as possible. But he didn’t want to leave on his next mission and have Visenya remain behind on the same day her family would depart.

The princess was lifted and spun around the hall by her father, while Rhaenyra clapped with joy before being swept away to dance by Jace.

Soon, the elder couple retired back to their seats to rest, leaving the children behind. Besides the talk Visenya had with Luke, no other words were spoken—nor were they needed. The joy shared by the five of them was genuine.

A sudden hush fell over the richly adorned ballroom as Ser Thomas Lannister, clad in his most lustrous armour, strode purposefully to the centre of the hall.

The murmurs of the guests didn’t die down as Thomas walked with determination toward his goal. Alicent Hightower and her father Otto remained seated at the high table, exchanging looks of disapproval at the scene unfolding before them.

Thomas knelt before Visenya, his gaze locked with hers. The hall fell utterly silent as he began to speak, and his voice carried through the air like a blade through silk.

— Princess Visenya of House Velaryon, amidst the joy of this union, I must do what my heart commands—a solemn oath. I swear my sword to you and your legacy. I vow to fight in your battles, defend your name, and follow your orders, no matter how grim, even if it means standing against any enemy.

The guests were stunned by Thomas’s declaration, and glances of curiosity and awe spread through the crowd. Visenya looked at him with a mix of gratitude and surprise, grasping the weight of the moment.

— Sir Thomas Lannister, your words are noble and bold. I accept your oath and welcome you as a loyal ally. May your blade remain sharp and your devotion unwavering as we forge the path ahead.

As Thomas rose, applause rippled through the hall. Those who had witnessed his vow acknowledged the courage and resolve he had shown. The Queen and the King’s Hand, though far from pleased, were forced to watch as the alliance between Thomas and Visenya—one that had sparked at the feast’s opening night—gained newfound recognition.

Though this solemn vow momentarily stole the attention from the wedding itself, it also cast a new light upon the future of the Seven Kingdoms.

Aemond watched intently as Thomas Lannister approached his wife, a stern expression on his face. The hall was packed with nobles, all eager to witness how the scene would unfold. The prince felt a mix of fury and jealousy bubbling within him, questioning Thomas’s intentions and what gave him the gall to address Visenya so boldly in front of so many guests—and right before his eyes.

Visenya, however, stood tall and composed, her gaze locked onto Thomas’s as he knelt before her. Her silver hair cascaded in perfect curls over her shoulders, and the crimson gown she wore only enhanced her formidable beauty. Aemond couldn’t help but notice the glint in Thomas’s eyes—a blend of admiration and reverence.

A murmur of surprise rippled through the crowd as the young Lannister pledged his sword to the bastard princess. Aemond felt the tension thickening in the air as he kept his eyes fixed on his wife.

He caught the fleeting glance exchanged between Visenya and Thomas—a silent understanding that sent a wave of irritation through him. Visenya remained composed, lifting her hand towards Thomas. Aemond clenched his fists at the sight, feeling his blood surge with heat, jealousy boiling beneath the surface.

Aemond was a proud, possessive man, and the notion of another man pledging devotion to the woman he loved stoked the fire within him.

Visenya accepted the oath with poise and grace, her soft, confident voice filling the hall.

Thomas’s eyes shone as he bowed before her. Aemond could not deny his wife’s talent for ensnaring hearts—but he wasn’t used to sharing her affection with anyone outside their blood.

As Visenya exchanged a few friendly words with Thomas, Aemond stepped forward, a cold expression carved onto his face. He cut into the conversation, his stare fixed and harsh upon the Lannister.

— Thomas Lannister — he began — I hope you understand the weight of the loyalty you’ve sworn to my wife, and that your fidelity must be beyond reproach.

Thomas didn’t seem in the least surprised by Aemond’s confrontational tone. He stood his ground and responded firmly.

— I’ve sworn my sword to Princess Visenya, my prince. My loyalty is with her.

Aemond was not satisfied. His jealousy twisted into anger, and he couldn’t resist the urge to challenge Thomas’s nerve.

With a swift motion, he drew his sword, the blade catching the flickering light of the candelabras.

— Then prove it — Aemond growled, his eye ablaze with fury — Prove you’re worthy to wield a blade for my wife. Fight me, Lannister.

Thomas Lannister swallowed hard, but his eyes burned with resolve. He drew his own sword and assumed a defensive stance.

— If that is your wish, my prince, then I accept your challenge.

Daemon appeared behind his daughter, grabbing her by the arm and pulling her back, putting a safe distance between her and the two men now squaring off in the hall. Their blades clashed, the sound echoing off the stone walls. Aemond was a seasoned and deadly warrior, but Thomas proved himself a capable opponent.

The two fought with ferocity, each striving to assert his dominance. In the end, Prince Aemond emerged victorious, his sword pressed to Thomas’s neck, a thin trickle of blood running down.

Aemond looked down, his chest heaving with heavy breath.

— You’re brave — Aemond admitted, the jealousy ebbing now. — But never forget who truly owns your loyalty.

Aemond lowered his sword and stepped away, leaving Thomas on the floor of the hall as whispers and gasps erupted like wildfire among the nobles.

Visenya watched in silence, her gaze a storm of worry, pride, and excitement. She moved toward Aemond and placed a hand gently on his arm.

— You don’t need to doubt me, my love — she whispered, her voice soft and reassuring. — My heart and body are yours, and always will be.

Aemond looked at his wife, the ache of jealousy slowly giving way to calm. He took her hand, offering a faint smile, finding peace at last. Whatever oaths or challenges came their way, the bond between them was unbreakable.

Like his wife, Aemond wasn’t particularly concerned with the consequences of his actions — he was a prince.

Still holding Visenya’s hand, the one-eyed prince led her away from the feast in silence, slipping into the Red Keep. No words passed between them until the heavy doors of their chambers shut behind them.

Aemond stepped behind her, yanking the laces of her bodice with such force that the fabric tore, baring her chest.

Visenya said nothing, only gasping at the roughness of his hands — a violence that had stirred her ever since the fight with her newly sworn knight.

He ripped the rest of the dress from her body, letting it fall in tatters around her feet. One hand landed hard on her arse, the smack echoing in the room and drawing a sharp cry from her lips.

With his other hand, he wrapped around her throat, not tight, just enough to make her feel it as he pulled her back against him, teeth grazing her earlobe in a teasing bite.

The hand on her backside slid forward, fingers finding her cunt — and Aemond chuckled through his nose when he felt how wet she already was.

— What got you wet, wife?

— You, fighting.

He bit down on his own lower lip and turned her to face him. His fingers slid up to her clit, circling it with maddening slowness before plunging two inside her at once, making her moan loud, head tipped back as far as his grip on her throat would allow.

He slid his fingers in and out of her, feeling her slick coat his hand as her cheeks flushed, her chest heaving with each breath, and her pink nipples stood stiff, as if begging to be bitten.

He pulled his fingers from her cunt despite her murmured protests, still gripping her throat as he leaned in to claim her lips—nipping, sucking, and kissing until they were swollen and naturally red, no need for the pigment she usually wore.

Visenya melted under every touch of her husband, her body aflame with desire. She craved his dominance. He bent her forward over the table they often used for their private meals, gripping her hair possessively as he shoved down his breeches and positioned himself at her entrance, thrusting inside in one brutal motion that tore a silent scream from her lips.

He didn’t give her time to adjust, pounding into her with slow, hard strokes that quickened with each passing second, the table groaning under the force of it.

Visenya felt herself burning up from within, her walls clenching tightly around his cock. Her legs were starting to give out as she gripped the table’s edge with desperation. Each slap he landed on her arse made her cry out, her juices dripping with every strike, her moans echoing through the room.

The prince seized her hips, driving into her until she writhed, struggling to stay upright. He tugged her back by the throat again, forcing her to stand straight. She was sweating and spent, barely holding herself together, but Aemond didn’t relent. Still buried inside her, he walked her to the bed, made her get on all fours, then leaned over to kiss her neck, earning a needy moan in response.

One hand found her clit, fingers circling the sensitive bundle as he thrust into her again. Her legs trembled violently, nearly collapsing as she screamed in bliss and fell apart around him. Aemond had to push himself to finish; he was drunk on her pleasure and didn’t want it to end, but she had no strength left.

He forced himself to come, spilling his seed deep inside her.

He withdrew with care, and she collapsed onto the bed. Aemond fetched a clean cloth to wipe away the spend trickling from her, then stripped off the rest of his clothes and slipped into bed, pulling her close, their bodies flush once more. Before he could settle in fully, the princess had already drifted off to sleep.

*****

In the chambers of Rhaenyra and Daemon, mother and daughter sat together for one last breakfast before the departure. The future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms sat with her daughter, Visenya, sharing an intimate moment between them.

The light of the morning’s first sunrays bathed their bodies at the laden table, casting a warm and welcoming glow about the room.

Rhaenyra looked into Visenya’s eyes, a glimmer of joy within her gaze. With one hand gently resting on her belly, she smiled at her daughter.

— My dear, there’s something I wish to share with you. I’m with child again, my girl.

Visenya’s eyes lit up with surprise and joy. She rose from her seat at once and went to seize her mother’s hands, her expression alight with enthusiasm.

— Mother, that’s wonderful — said Visenya, in Valyrian.

Rhaenyra smiled, a soft shine in her eyes from the life growing within her.

— I had a dream—I dreamt she would be a girl, and my heart tells me it’s true — said Rhaenyra.

Visenya was enraptured by the vision and love her mother shared with her. She paused a moment in thought, then smiled as a new idea formed in her mind.

— Then, if it is a girl, we could honour my grandmother — said Visenya.

The elder princess clenched her jaw and held her breath, her eyes widening slightly at her daughter’s words, a flicker of dread in her chest. Rhaenyra wondered whether Alicent had truly influenced Visenya enough to suggest such a thing.

— We need more women on Dragonstone, and… perhaps Aemma wouldn’t leave you so troubled as I once did — Visenya finished.

Rhaenyra looked at Visenya, moved by her daughter’s suggestion, her eyes brimming with tears that began to roll down her pale cheeks.

— I think it’s a beautiful idea — Rhaenyra replied. — Aemma would be a perfect name for this new life, a remembrance of the strong women who came before us.

Mother and daughter embraced, sharing a moment of connection. Together, they celebrated the joy of the new life to come, and the memory of beloved Aemma, who would live on in their hearts through the name chosen for the babe.

The two left arm in arm, and Thomas awaited the younger princess, standing guard. Rhaenyra couldn’t deny that it brought her a certain peace to know her daughter had captivated one of the knights who had once sworn to her own cause—the same knight she'd scolded after he’d stolen a poor man’s horse.

The Lannister followed the silver-haired women at a respectful distance, allowing them space until they reached the castle courtyard, where the rest of the family awaited. Visenya embraced each of them, receiving a wet kiss from the young Aegon and Viserys.

Visenya’s brothers shared affectionate glances with her.

— We’ll miss you, sister, but we know you’re following your heart. Just remember we’re always here for you, no matter what — said Rhaena.

Visenya smiled at her sister, with whom she’d once shared animosity over their father’s favouritism. It gladdened her to see how much closer they’d grown over the years.

When it came Daemon’s turn, he pulled his daughter tightly against his chest, as though unwilling to let her go.

— I still mean what I said—your home is always with us. Whenever you wish to return, you need only come. We’ll be waiting to fly together — he said.

The princess fought back tears. She did not regret her decision to marry and remain in King’s Landing with her husband, but her heart ached watching her family leave.

With one final heartfelt embrace, Rhaenyra and Daemon said their farewells to Visenya and departed for Dragonstone. As the ship and her family’s dragons disappeared into the distance, Visenya watched from atop one of the towers, her kin shrinking on the horizon until they were gone—Eleny at her left, who had stayed to serve her princess, and Thomas at her right, now sworn to serve her for life.

The princess knew her life was about to change—but she also held hope that this new journey would lead her to her own story.

*****

Aemond had departed for his vigil before dawn, bidding farewell to his wife with the promise that he would return as swiftly as possible. At that moment, the princess had only the company of her lady-in-waiting and her knight. The two women were contentedly enjoying a dessert beneath one of the many canopies scattered throughout the gardens, while Thomas stood guard nearby.

The princess’s knight caught their attention as he moved, stepping forward to block the path that led towards them.

— Prince Aegon — Thomas greeted.

Visenya set down the plate she had been using and rose to her feet, positioning herself behind her knight, with Eleny immediately at her side.

— Niece, might we have a moment?

Chapter Text

If Visenya’s eyes had the power to kill, Aegon would surely be among the dead already.

The princess stared at her uncle with fury and disdain, restraining herself from grinding her teeth in the presence of the older man. She couldn't comprehend how he had the audacity to stand before her after everything he’d done. Surely it was because her husband was away — but if he thought he could catch her off guard again, he was sorely mistaken.

Thomas kept his right hand raised slightly, hovering close to the hilt of his sword. Visenya didn’t know if he was aware of what had happened prior to this encounter, or if he simply read the atmosphere well enough to recognise the discomfort of the woman he had sworn to protect.

— Sir Thomas, remain here. I must speak with my uncle Aegon alone — said Visenya.

Thomas hesitated for a moment, visibly uneasy with the request. His duty was to protect the princess, and it was clear something was amiss.

— Princess, it is my charge to protect you at all times. Allow me to accompany you.

Visenya arched an eyebrow, her expression unwavering.

— This is a private conversation. I don’t want you hearing what I have to say to my uncle — Visenya concluded.

Though clearly displeased, the princess’s knight gave a curt nod. Eleny too remained behind as Visenya moved past Aegon, ignoring him completely. The Targaryen prince turned to follow his niece into a quieter area of the garden, beneath the shade of the trees.

The princess crossed her arms, her dagger now visible at her belt, and fixed him with a look of pure contempt, waiting for him to speak first.

— My mother told me about… your concern for Helaena.

— Concern? — Visenya sneered. — You hurt Helaena. And not satisfied with that, you tried to hurt me as well.

He opened his mouth to speak, but Visenya gave him no room to explain.

— You can try to justify your actions, try to apologise, but none of it changes the fact that you’ve become a… monster.

— I know I was wrong. It was a moment of weakness — Aegon tried to defend himself.

— Weakness? — Visenya snapped. — You call it weakness to harm the woman you were supposed to protect? Your wife! You dishonoured her, and got her with child before even marrying her. And everyone’s only concern was hiding the bloody bump, not her well-being!

— Visenya, I didn’t mean to hurt her. It was a reckless impulse, a mistake I swear I’ll never repeat, I swear it.

Visenya raised her hand to silence Aegon, her expression growing colder and more merciless with every word he uttered. She wondered how he could spout such hollow excuses.

— I will not hesitate to face you if you ever try to force yourself on her again — or on me. I will not be subdued. I’ll slit your fucking throat before you even think about getting on top of me ever again.

Aegon lowered his head, looking ashamed and defeated. Only one person had ever managed to make him feel like this — his mother, the queen — but when the words came from her, they were usually followed by a sharp slap across the face.

Would’ve rather taken a beating than heard those words. He’d always felt like a disappointment to both his parents. He was never anything more than a child born out of duty. The king needed him and his siblings to be born so House Targaryen wouldn’t appear weak with only one living heiress. But unlike him, Aemond — even being younger — was the responsible one, the brother entrusted with missions, with the weight of protecting the realm and upholding peace. Helaena had always been... Helaena. The strange one who somehow managed to capture the affection of their mother, their grandsire, and even the niece standing in front of him.

The prince carried a lost, sorrowful look.

The only time he felt anything was when he was fucking — it didn’t matter who. That was when he felt in control. When he stumbled home drunk, there was always Helaena, who didn’t fight back because she didn’t understand what was happening. And the night his niece retreated to her chambers after the tourney and the knights’ jousts, a dark little idea lit up in his mind — to take his niece for himself, rid himself of his sister-wife, and steal from his younger brother the woman he so clearly desired. It was the perfect plan. That is, until Visenya fought with everything she had to escape her uncle’s clutches and flee.

When he hit the ground, doubled over from the pain of being struck in his cock, and saw his niece running, bile surged up his throat and he vomited all over the carpet.

He threw the chair to the floor and grabbed the dagger she’d reached for — but, true to his cowardly nature, flung the blade away before scurrying off to hide in his chambers like a rat. When his brother came for him and locked him away in that dark room, with only a maester to tend to his injuries, he’d been forced to confront how utterly pathetic he was.

Visenya continued to stare at him with revulsion as the prince remained silent. When she moved to leave, Aegon finally found the nerve to speak:

— Niece, I cannot help but notice the sorrow in your eyes. I’ve seen you trying to be strong, but I know behind that façade lies a loneliness no one else can understand.

Visenya swallowed hard before looking at her uncle again. For a moment, she thought he was simply trying to provoke her again, calling her strong as he had in the past. But there was something else in that sentence — a flicker of sincerity she’d never admit to. At least, not to him.

— Sounds like you’re talking about yourself, uncle — she replied firmly.

— Perhaps I am. But you know the truth. Only those who understand can see.

*****

At her grandsire’s request, Visenya joined the family who remained in King’s Landing for supper. She had already bathed and changed into something warmer for the evening — a loose-fitting gown with little adornment, elegant yet cosy, its sleeves falling just past her elbows. Her hair was left down, free of any trinkets or pins.

Sir Thomas followed Visenya at a short distance until they arrived at the small dining chamber. King Viserys was already seated in his customary place at the head of the table, with Alicent to his right. Beside the queen sat Helaena. On the king’s left, one chair remained empty, though Aegon sat in the next, and to Aegon’s left was the Hand of the King, Lord Otto.

— My granddaughter, come sit beside me — said Viserys.

The princess forced a smile and drew a deep breath to fulfil her ailing grandsire’s wish, even if it meant sitting so near to Aegon. The closeness unsettled her, but she maintained her composure, determined not to reveal that her uncle’s mere presence was unbearable.

By her side, the king began a cheerful conversation, reminiscing about the days of old and the reign of the late King Jaehaerys. Visenya admired Viserys and cherished the time she could still share with him. She did not know how much longer such moments would be granted — the king appeared sicker with each passing day, and that night, half his face was covered in bandages.

Yet even now, her eyes kept flicking towards Aegon, who seemed absorbed in the conversation to his left. His final words to her lingered in her mind like a splinter.

Across the table, Queen Alicent was deep in conversation with her father, Otto Hightower, while Helaena seemed preoccupied with her own thoughts, lost in her own world.

Though her grandsire’s attention was wholly upon her, the young Velaryon felt increasingly isolated. Everyone at the table seemed immersed in their own chatter, their own preoccupations.

She looked back to Viserys, who continued to speak, blissfully unaware of the tension between his granddaughter and his son. Visenya longed for an opportunity to excuse herself and return to the warmth and solitude of her chambers.

She glanced sideways at Thomas, who stood posted near a wall in the corner of the room. He offered her a small, knowing smile — a silent promise that he was there for her. All she needed now was for her grandsire to finish his meal, so she could give her excuse and leave as soon as decently possible.

Though she tried to remain focused on Viserys, her eyes drifted now and then to her aunt, who kept pressing her lips together as if holding something in.

With every small twitch of discomfort or stifled sigh, Visenya’s concern for her aunt grew. Perhaps it was something to do with the pregnancy, she thought. Now, without so many courtiers and nobles around, Helaena seemed more at ease, no longer hiding herself — but her belly was far larger than it ought to be for the time she’d told her niece had passed.

Visenya didn’t remember much from the time her mother had been pregnant with Joffrey — she’d preferred to play and run wild through the Red Keep back then — but she had paid closer attention during the pregnancies of her younger brothers, Aegon and Viserys. She knew something wasn’t right with Helaena. Eleny had already told her she’d overheard whispers among the other handmaidens about the frequent visits from the maester to the elder princess. He believed that, like Rhaenyra, Helaena would bear twins in her first confinement.

Helaena seemed to notice her niece’s gaze and offered a calm expression before turning her attention back to her supper. The tension and concern lingered in Visenya’s heart, though she tried to keep up appearances, smiling politely at her grandsire. But her protective instincts refused to let her ignore what she was seeing. As supper neared its end and the king had already taken his leave, Visenya decided she could no longer sit idly by.

She rose discreetly from the table, excusing herself with courtesy, and walked over to Helaena.

— Helaena, please, let’s go to your chambers. Let me summon the maester. We can’t ignore your pain — Visenya whispered to her.

The elder princess hesitated for a moment, but finally nodded, grateful for her old friend’s concern. Together they left the dining hall, escorted by Ser Thomas Lannister, leaving the others behind.

No sooner had they entered Helaena’s chambers than Visenya ordered her aunt’s maid to fetch the maester while her knight remained outside the door, granting the two princesses their privacy. It wasn’t long before the elderly man arrived, dressed in his traditional robes, grey hair tied neatly back, and walked calmly into the room, bowing in greeting.

— Princess Helaena. Princess Visenya — the maester said politely.

Helaena followed his instructions, lying down carefully, while Visenya remained close, offering her support.

The maester began his examination under Visenya’s watchful eye, asking questions about symptoms and any recent discomforts.

With patience, he listened closely to Helaena’s soft responses. After their conversation, the old man stood and addressed the two women with a composed expression.

— There is no cause for worry. The pains she’s feeling are common during pregnancy and show no signs of complication. I recommend proper rest, and I shall prepare a herbal infusion to ease the discomfort. Be sure to take it regularly — he said calmly.

Helaena nodded. The younger princess gave him a silent nod of thanks. With the examination complete, the maester took his leave, leaving Visenya and Helaena alone once more.

— It’s all right, Helaena — Visenya said gently, stroking her aunt’s swollen belly.

Helaena smiled, comforted by her old friend’s presence and support.

*****

After returning from a night flight, Visenya felt calmer. Back in the chamber she shared with her husband, she was alone, gazing out at the dark horizon littered with stars. A wave of longing swept over her — it felt strange not having Jace, Luke, and Rhaena’s company after supper. She remembered their teasing, the whispered secrets, and the moments of shared mischief only siblings could understand. Visenya wondered what life at Dragonstone was like now with Baela there. Her cousin was more like her — brave, fierce, cunning... She wished they’d had more time to build a friendship. She’d wanted to go with Rhaena to Driftmark a few times, but it was her cousin-sister’s time to reunite with her mother’s kin. Visenya already took up so much of Daemon’s time; she didn’t feel it was right to take time away from her grandparents and Baela too.

The image of Jace surfaced in her mind — his dark hair, that mischievous grin, and the secrets they would carry to the grave together.

Then came Luke’s face, with those wide brown eyes and that gentle look of his, always finding some excuse to rest his head in her lap and have his soft hair stroked when they sat by the fire. And lastly, Rhaena — silver-haired, expressive-eyed, the youngest of the three, but with a wisdom and compassion far beyond her years.

The princess slipped on her thin nightdress and wrapped herself in the bed linens, caught in the throes of nostalgia, wishing she could visit her family soon.

Visenya lay in a restless sleep, her body flushed and her mind aflame. A sense of helplessness and panic surged through her, jolting her awake with a gasp, sweat beading on her forehead and her throat parched.

She looked around, still disoriented, and realised it had only been a dream — a dreadful nightmare, she kept repeating to herself — though the anguish clung to her. The princess sat upright in bed, trying to steady her breathing.

In the dream, she had seen her husband stabbed in King’s Landing. The scene had been chaos — blinding and frenzied. Visenya watched, powerless, as he fought for his life, tried to run to him, but her legs had turned to lead and her body wouldn’t budge. The vivid image burned in her mind, and she trembled at the memory of it.

Heart still racing, she rose from bed, grabbed her silk robe from the screen nearby, and rushed to the window, desperate to ground herself in reality — to push away the image of Aemond bleeding.

As she stared out before dawn, she saw Vhagar returning from Storm’s End.

The great she-dragon descended to her usual perch. For a brief moment, Visenya felt her heart lift at the sight — but the dread from the dream still lingered. She knew Aemond would be back at the Red Keep soon and decided she would not wait to see him again.

Visenya hurried out of her chambers barefoot, darting through the quiet, sleeping corridors of the fortress. One of Aemond’s guards, posted at the door, noticed her sudden movement and chose to follow her.

As she ran, the weight of her nightmare pressed on her chest, blending with the anticipation of Aemond’s return. An unshakable sense of foreboding clung to her.

Reaching the outer gates of the Keep, Visenya caught sight of Aemond approaching on horseback.

The few guards about at such an early hour turned their eyes on the princess — in little more than her nightclothes — staring shamelessly at her form. But one murmured word from Aemond and they all turned their backs, withdrawing from the courtyard.

Their eyes met, and for a heartbeat the world vanished. Aemond’s guard who had followed her lingered a few steps behind, respectfully keeping his distance so they might have their moment.

Visenya ran across the cold, muddy yard on bare feet, straight into Aemond’s arms. He dismounted quickly and held her tight. Tears of relief and fear streamed down her cheeks as she murmured broken, half-formed words, and the prince gripped her firmly, his arms wrapped round her slender waist.

They stood there, locked in an embrace beneath the towering gates of the Red Keep, and Visenya’s heart began to calm. The fear left by the nightmare slowly ebbed, chased away by the solid warmth of her husband.

Aemond’s guard stepped away discreetly, leaving them to their reunion as the rising sun cast vibrant hues across King’s Landing.

In silence, Aemond kept one hand on her back while the other slid beneath her legs, lifting her. Her feet were filthy and freezing, like the rest of her barely covered body. He held her close to his chest and carried her back inside to their chambers.

Kneeling, he gently cleaned her feet, and Visenya trembled still. Shamefaced, she told him about the dream — her voice small and shaking, like a frightened child.

Aemond stood and embraced her protectively. Visenya buried her face in his chest, listening to the calm beat of his heart beneath her cheek — a steady reminder that he was alive, and here.

— I swear I’ll do everything to come back to you whole and safe. No matter what — said Aemond.

The princess lifted her gaze to meet his, finding truth in every word he spoke. The sapphire that connected them seemed to shine brighter in the morning light.

— I love you — she said in Valyrian.

The prince blinked in surprise — it was the first time she had said the words so plainly. His hand cupped her cheek as he lowered his face to meet her lips. It felt like their first kiss again — so much longing, so much love, and so much... fear. The moment pulsed with intensity as they surrendered completely to one another, as they always had.

— I love you, wife — he also replied in Valyrian.

Chapter Text

Deep down, Visenya Velaryon was a woman caught in the constant push and pull between duty and her most intimate desires.

Her love and loyalty to her family were unbreakable, but she also understood that sacrifice was necessary to fulfil her role in King’s Landing.

The king had grown increasingly withdrawn, confined more and more to his chambers, his mind dulled by poppy milk. Within mere days, Princess Velaryon had learned the bandages on the king’s face hid and protected a wound that festered on his cheek — a wound that worsened each day no matter what the maester tried. Nothing worked. All that could be done was dull Viserys’ agony, and even then not entirely.

Despite her frequent letters to her parents and brothers, the ache of longing never truly left her chest — though the correspondence brought fleeting relief.

Rhaenyra was worried over her father’s health, all while having to mind her own — her belly now swelling with child.

Daemon, if his wife’s dream proved true, was already thrilled at the thought of another little she-dragon. The wedding of her siblings was also just days away, and the thought of seeing them again kept the princess in high spirits. That — and the daily sword training she’d begun with Sir Thomas, despite her husband’s early objections.

Visenya never saw herself as a woman entirely beholden to the traditional role of a wife. She had a fierce will and a sharp, undeniable presence. She loved Aemond — gods, she did — but she would not be overshadowed by him.

The prince was near unmatched as a warrior. He possessed immense strength and remarkable agility, gliding across the training yard with a predator’s grace. His fighting style was bold, unrelenting — a mirror of his fearlessness. Had Aemond not been told beforehand that Thomas Lannister was someone his wife held in esteem, the man’s head would have been lopped off at the wedding of her brother and sister, his remains tossed to Vhagar as a token.

Under the tutelage of Sir Criston Cole — the queen’s sworn shield — Prince Aemond had grown lethal both on the ground and in the skies. The politics and jealousies of court had kept Visenya’s brothers from receiving the same attention from the knight. If not for Harwin Strong, they’d barely have known how to hold a blade before Prince Daemon took it upon himself to train them.

One evening, when Princess Rhaenyra had drunk too much in her daughter’s company, Visenya learned of her mother’s brief tryst with Criston — how she had refused to flee with him, and how he had slain her father’s lover at their own wedding feast.

Yes — lover. Visenya had never been a foolish girl. A little naïve, perhaps, but far too observant — and, truth be told, she had a knack for finding herself in the right place for catching a servant’s bit of juicy gossip.

She knew her father spent far too much time with the squires. And after overhearing a few cruel remarks from the handmaids about Laenor and Rhaenyra’s bastard sons, the puzzle had quickly begun to make sense — the reason her father sought men, and the reason her mother had chosen to bed one who wasn’t her husband. It was the only way to have heirs. But, to the eldest princess’s misfortune, only one of her four children bore the features of Old Valyria.

Visenya had never been close to Harwin Strong, apart from the few times he’d pulled her off Aegon during one of their brawls. They didn’t spend long in the same room otherwise. Still, she had felt her brothers’ sorrow when news came of his exile — and later, of his death in that grim fire. Despite Laenor’s absence, Visenya had always felt closer to him. She knew Harwin was her true father, but something in her heart told her to keep close to Velaryon.

Laena, Harwin, Laenor, and Aemond’s eye. Four events, separate on the surface, yet entwined in such a way that they altered the lives of the Blacks forever — their world changed overnight.

Returning to King’s Landing had recently pulled the princess away from her family, but for the first time, it had been a choice. She had decided her own path.

When they weren’t locked away in their chambers, Aemond and Visenya flew together, trained together, and, when the princess had to dress for court or supper, they enjoyed the sarcastic company of Eleny — whose sharp tongue the prince had grown surprisingly used to.

The princess’s handmaid was only a few years older than Visenya. Eleny had been around thirteen when she came to Dragonstone with her mother, who had been chosen to serve Princess Rhaenyra. She never knew her father. Rhaenyra thought it wise to place a young companion near her daughter’s age by her side, and so the dark-skinned, black-haired girl remained close to Visenya, becoming her confidante and friend. Before her fourteenth nameday, Eleny’s mother succumbed to a fever, despite the maester’s treatments. The girl feared she’d be sent back to King’s Landing alone, abandoned to her fate — but Rhaenyra had been kind. And Visenya, in many ways, was her mother’s daughter. Though she still held suspicion towards dragonblood kin, that one act of mercy bound Eleny to them. She swore her loyalty until the end of her days.

Just as Visenya worried for her mother, sending letter after letter asking after her health, she also found herself spending more time with Helaena. They resumed the habit of taking afternoon tea together. The younger woman noticed how her aunt drifted further and further into her own world — more so than when they were children.

— Three hearts, two black and one turning fast. The spindle’s nearly spun.

That was what the princess’s aunt said every time she saw her for the first time that day. Visenya began trying to understand her. Her words weren’t the babble of a madwoman, not to anyone who paid attention. There was meaning behind them — she just hadn’t yet uncovered what it was.

Two days before their journey to Dragonstone, Aemond was more irritable than usual, and it showed in Vhagar. The great she-dragon wouldn’t settle for a moment during flight, nor when left to feed or rest.

The prince refused to tell his wife what was bothering him, though she’d noticed it began after his last spar with Sir Criston.

He always looked at Visenya with that same twisted expression — part fury, part disgust. More than once, she’d had to order Thomas to stand down when he decided the time had come to confront the Queen’s sworn shield.

As much as she loved a good fight, she wouldn’t waste her strength on that one. She wouldn’t give that bitter, hollow man the satisfaction. Let him rot in his rage — a rage born because Rhaenyra had chosen duty over some foolish fantasy with a man she barely knew.

If he wanted to be bitter ‘til the Stranger took him, so be it. Visenya would watch, silently, until the day he dared speak to her directly. But that very day — the same day her husband stared silently out the window while she left for training before dusk — the Queen’s knight was seen with a split lip and blood crusted on his nose.

*****

Many of Visenya’s clothes were still on Dragonstone. Her parents had sent some of her belongings aboard her grandfather Corlys’ ship — things they knew she’d miss — but it was undeniable that a good number of her garments remained on the island. Even so, Aemond’s small pack sat ready atop the table, prepared after they'd emerged from their... bath together.

— Don’t pull that face, it’s only for a few days — just for the wedding and a bit of rest from the road, then we return — said Visenya.

Aemond was restless and torn at the thought of going to Dragonstone with his wife for the wedding of their nephews. He had never once set foot on the island. Memories of past fights still haunted him, especially the one that had cost him his eye.

The wounds of the past were still raw. Aemond could vividly recall the night Luke had taken his eye in that scuffle following his claim on Vhagar. The moment had scarred him both in body and in soul, the mark on his face a constant reminder of the fury between the two families — and how bloody and ruinous their quarrels could be.

The prince felt a storm of anger and bitterness churning inside him. His proud and stubborn nature often stopped him from being the first to yield. But for Visenya... for her, he’d tear the world apart.

Visenya, with all her irony, had become a voice of reason in his life, always urging him to move forward and let go of what couldn’t be changed. She understood the pain Aemond carried better than anyone. But in the end, it was her husband on one side, and her beloved brothers on the other.

The weight of it all made the decision to go to Dragonstone even more difficult for the Targaryen. He knew how deeply his wife longed to see her family again — and how much it meant to her that he stand by her side. That part stirred his heart. She wanted him there. But Aemond couldn’t help but wonder whether he was truly capable of facing Luke without letting his fury consume him, even with the promise of truce on the day of Aegon and Helaena’s wedding. Or would he fall, once more, into that same pit of blood and resentment? Deep down, all Aemond truly wished was to make peace with his past.

— It’s only two days — said Visenya, caressing her husband’s cheek.

— Plenty of time for something to go wrong — he replied.

— I thought there was a truce.

— You’re right.

— My love? — Visenya called in Valyrian.

The prince’s eye softened at the sound of her voice — that tender way she said it, and in the tongue that seemed to bind them even closer.

— What happened between you and Criston? — she asked.

— Nothing much. We simply had differing opinions — he answered, irritation lacing his voice.

— Differing opinions lead to blood now?

— Visenya, please.

— I know it’s hard for you to open up sometimes, but I’m here for you, all right?

Aemond drew a deep breath before pulling his wife into an embrace, burying his face in her neck, breathing in the scent of lavender oil she always wore — a scent that had calmed him since he was a boy.

— That’s not what we should be worrying about — Aemond murmured.

— I know. It’d do her good to come with us, get away from this city for a while. But the maester said she’s close to giving birth, so it wouldn’t be safe to travel. I’ll ask Thomas to stay with her during the day. One of her guards can watch her at night since we won’t be here.

— You really trust that Lannister?

The prince’s voice still held a certain edge of irritation whenever Thomas's name was mentioned. It was clear the Lannister held some kind of devotion for Princess Velaryon. Aemond had noticed the way he looked at her during those first days of the festivities — something unspoken, almost worshipful, gleamed in the knight’s eyes. To Aemond, that was proof enough the man would protect his wife. But it also stirred a possessive flame inside him, jealousy burning bright, prompting him to always touch Visenya in the knight’s presence — to make it absolutely clear she belonged to him.

— I know the situation’s strange, but yes, I trust him.

— Hm. — Aemond grunted.

The next morning, during Visenya’s training with her sworn knight, both were already sweating and breathless, forced to pause for a moment to catch their breath. They leaned against the weapons rack provided for drills, watching the other knights and squires at their own practice.

— You know that at first light tomorrow, Aemond and I are going to Dragonstone. So while I’m gone, I’d like to ask you a favour — Visenya began.

— I’m your knight, Princess. There’s no need to ask — just command it — replied Thomas.

— You are my knight, Thomas, but I’m not your master… I’d like you to do this, but I won’t force you.

The Lannister simply nodded, waiting for his princess to speak her mind.

— You know I don’t trust Aegon. And while we’re away, there’s no one around who truly gives a fuck about my aunt enough to keep him at bay — even if he’s behaved these past few weeks. Aemond’s guards, the ones stationed outside our doors at night, have looked after her during this time. But during the day, I want you by her side. You’re gentle — I’m certain she’d be comfortable with you.

— As you wish, my princess. I’ll protect Princess Helaena.

With their training done, Visenya granted her knight some rest before his new task on the morrow. She was returning to her chambers when she crossed paths with Criston in one of the corridors. She expected, as always, that he would walk past without a word, ignoring her completely. But this time, he stepped into her path, blocking her way.

— I don’t know how you’ve bewitched him, but one day the prince will see you for what you are. Daughters always mirror their mothers — Criston said, fire flashing in his eyes.

— Still bitter that my mother wouldn’t run off to sell lemons with you in Essos, Sir?

The princess’s smug smile curled on her lips as she brushed past the knight, deliberately bumping her shoulder against his — leaving him behind, wide-eyed and speechless.

*****

The first light of dawn lit up the horizon as Visenya and her husband Aemond approached Dragonstone mounted on their mighty dragons, Vermithor and Vhagar. They soared with precision through the skies, casting long shadows over the sea below. The cold wind of early morning lashed at their faces, turning their cheeks red from the chill.

Aemond wore his usual riding leathers, with a heavy cloak and his sword strapped at his hip. Visenya donned a sea-green mantle that shimmered under the first rays of the sun like calm waters. It wasn’t a colour the princess wore often — at court, she made a point of showing her allegiance to her mother by favouring the blacks and reds of House Targaryen — but that blue-green was also the colour of her own house, the Velaryons.

As they neared the island of Dragonstone, the great castle loomed ahead, perched atop jagged volcanic rock. The ancient fortress exuded power and history, but to Visenya, it was simply home.

The bells rang out sharply as the dragons came into view, spotted from afar by the castle guards. The young couple landed in the courtyard near the stronghold, the deafening sound of beating wings echoing off the stone walls.

Aemond and Visenya dismounted swiftly with their belongings, and the two greatest dragons of the age took flight once more, gliding to rest on a distant hill beneath the shade of trees as tall as the beasts themselves.

Almost at once, the great doors of the keep opened to reveal Princess Rhaenyra. She wore a gown of black and red that stood in stark contrast to her pale skin, and her belly, swollen with five full moons of pregnancy, was prominent. Her eyes lit up with joy upon seeing her daughter, and she stepped forward, embracing her warmly and kissing her cheek. Then she turned to Aemond, greeting him with a graceful nod.

— Brother.

— Sister — Aemond replied.

— How are you both? — asked Visenya, her hand gently brushing her mother’s belly.

— We’re well, as I said in the letter you surely received a few days past — the elder smiled.

Visenya returned the smile, feeling like a doting sister already. She dared not imagine what she’d be like if she lived nearby all the time — she’d surely spoil the child rotten.

The three of them walked into the castle together, passing servants hurrying back and forth without rest. The wedding promised to be a grand and meaningful occasion, with the powerful bloodlines of House Targaryen and House Velaryon uniting twice over on the same day. Though only Visenya, Aemond, Rhaenys and Corlys had come from beyond the island, everything appeared to have been arranged with extravagant care.

As the sun climbed higher in the sky, Dragonstone filled with laughter, music, and merriment.

To Aemond, it was a strange sight. Everyone seemed genuinely happy — even the servants. He had never seen his wife smiling as she did that morning. Visenya and Rhaenyra walked arm in arm, while Aemond followed a short distance behind. Through one of the windows, he could see the outer courtyard where the altar for the ceremony was being finished and the septon was tending to the final details in preparation for the two couples.

Upon entering one of the chambers, the room fell silent at once. Daemon and the betrothed were already inside and ceased their conversation the moment the three of them stepped in. Jacaerys was the first to come forward, embracing his sister, followed by Daemon, who kissed his daughter’s forehead, and lastly Lucerys, who approached without taking his eyes off his uncle for even a moment.

There was no denying the massive elephant in the room. And to Aemond’s surprise, his half-sister began talking about all manner of mundane things, trying to dispel the tense atmosphere.

The sun stood high in the sky as the gathered guests sat beneath a canopy to shield themselves from the heat while the septon officiated the ceremony, joining Jace and Baela, Luke and Rhaena. Rhaenyra’s eyes glistened with tears as she held her youngest in her arms, and Visenya wondered if she too would be moved like this if she’d been able to attend her own wedding.

Daemon bore a proud look on his face. His daughters were marrying decent men, and he no longer had to worry about their well-being, knowing his wife’s sons were honourable.

Little Joffrey looked utterly bewildered by the ceremony and hid behind his mother’s skirts when the couples took up the dragonglass. Meanwhile, Aegon sat on his sister’s lap, oblivious to the solemn moment before him, focused instead on playing with Visenya’s sapphire necklace. And Aemond’s eye never left his wife and his nephew — thinking how one day, that could be their own child, and gods, how he yearned for that.

The hall of Dragonstone Castle was richly adorned with golden chandeliers and banners in the colours of Houses Targaryen and Velaryon. The tables were overflowing with food and drink. The families of Dragonstone and Driftmark sat in their places. Corlys looked especially animated as he spoke of sailing to Essos once more to fight the Triarchy, promising to bring back beautiful dresses for all his granddaughters. He loved to spoil all three, even if he saw less of Visenya than her cousins — he always brought her something whenever he saw her.

The hall fell briefly silent when Jace and Baela entered in immaculate attire, holding hands and beaming with joy. Behind them came Luke and Rhaena, equally radiant.

Applause and whistles rang out through the hall as they made their way to their seats, each couple taking a side of the long table with Princess Rhaenyra at its head.

— Congratulations to the four of you. I hope you’re as happy as I’ve been in my own marriage — said Visenya, smiling at them and squeezing her husband’s hand.

Applause and well-wishes followed, even from the servants, until Rhaenyra stood and raised her hand for quiet.

— I thank you all for being here to celebrate the marriage of my beloved children. But today, this celebration is even more special — she began. — Some time ago, my daughter Visenya was also wed. A secret wedding, which could not be celebrated properly. So I ask that this feast be dedicated to her as well, and to my brother, that we may finally honour their union.

— That’s truly generous of you, sister — said Aemond.

— Your love deserves to be celebrated by us all. And may their joy be joined to that of my children on this special day.

Warm applause broke out in the hall as the guests showed their support and appreciation for Rhaenyra’s words. To Visenya, it was a beautiful gesture from her mother — not unexpected, but still deeply touching. But to Aemond, it was met with suspicion. In all his years, he had never known such warmth. Watching from his seat, he found himself forced to reckon with the fact that not all of his mother’s words had proven true — Rhaenyra didn’t seem like the woman who’d slaughter their family the moment she took the throne.

But the greens...

Later that same day, Prince Aemond wandered the silent corridors of the castle. His wife had gone to spend some time with her family while he bathed. Pausing at one of the windows, he caught sight of Vermithor and Vhagar lying side by side, as if they'd been close their entire lives. Riders truly did have a strong influence on their dragons.

Footsteps echoed down one of the halls in his direction, and the prince slowly turned to see his half-sister approaching. Her face registered a flicker of surprise upon seeing him.

— I hope your stay has been to your liking — she said.

He said nothing, merely gave a curt nod in response.

— I’m sorry — Rhaenyra continued.

Aemond raised an eyebrow, intrigued by her words, unsure of what to say.

— I am truly sorry, deeply, for everything that happened between you and my sons in the past.

Aemond kept his gaze fixed on Rhaenyra, showing no emotion as he listened to each word.

— I failed as a mother by not preventing our disputes from going so far. I never wanted anyone to get hurt — least of all you, or any of your brothers.

— There’s more between us than just the fight for the throne — Aemond finally broke his silence.

— It seems so. That’s why I’m here. You love my daughter. And she loves you. I don’t want her to have to choose sides.

— You know she’d choose you without a second thought — he replied.

— Yes. You’re right.

Visenya gently traced her fingers along her husband's chestplate as they lay in the room that had once been hers within the castle. They had been enjoying the silence and the sound of the sea for some time now. The princess felt content to be back, even if only for a short while — and even happier that her brothers and her husband had behaved themselves. Aemond had been quieter than usual since she'd returned to their chambers after spending time with the newlyweds. He ran his fingers through her hair as he lay there, deep in thought. But the peace was soon broken by a knock at the door.

— Princess, a raven from King’s Landing. It seems urgent — said the maester from the other side.

Visenya rose quickly and reached for the handle, opening the door to find the elderly man already in his night clothes. She took the scroll from his hands, breaking the seal as she felt her husband’s breath on the back of her neck. It was a letter from the maester of King’s Landing — he believed Princess Helaena would be giving birth soon, and she was calling for her niece to be at her side.

Helaena’s chamber was stifling and dark, lit only by the soft flicker of candlelight dancing across the room. The princess lay on the bed, drenched in sweat and panting heavily, gripping the sheets tightly as she tried to endure the pain. Her handmaidens surrounded her, anxious and watchful.

— Be strong, my dear, you’re almost there — said the midwife.

— I want Visenya — Helaena whimpered.

Queen Alicent stood a little apart, observing her daughter. She had already been pushed away earlier and thought it best to let the handmaidens handle things. But still, a sting of jealousy twisted in her chest as she heard her daughter call for her granddaughter, and not for her.

The doors burst open suddenly, and the women inside turned to see the guards, the princess’s knight, Prince Aemond, and Visenya herself rushing into the room. The door was shut behind them by a handmaiden, leaving the men outside.

Visenya dropped to her knees at the foot of the bed and seized her aunt’s hand, which felt colder and paler than usual. Helaena trembled and clenched her teeth.

— You came — the older woman whispered.

— Of course I did.

Visenya brushed the damp hair from her aunt’s forehead, watching as she struggled to push the children out, without success. The worry in the room was palpable — even Queen Alicent looked genuinely unsettled. The younger princess then asked her aunt to sit upright, climbing onto the bed and positioning herself behind her. She drew Helaena back to lie against her chest, guiding her hands to grip her own.

Together, they counted to three, and Helaena bore down once more.

— That’s it, Princess, you’re doing wonderfully. Deep breaths, keep going — the midwife encouraged.

Within minutes, the first cry pierced the chamber — a boy. One of the handmaidens wrapped the newborn in clean cloth, and Alicent immediately extended her arms to hold her grandson, while Helaena remained in pain, another child still on the way. Roughly ten minutes later, another cry rang out — this time, a little girl.

Jaehaerys and Jaehaera were born strong and healthy.

Chapter Text

About two moons past, Lord Corlys Velaryon had begun to slowly succumb to a fever brought on by a wound to his neck, inflicted by a pirate during an ambush at sea. He and his sailors had been caught off guard. With the Sea Snake’s survival uncertain, a claim for the Driftwood Throne was raised by the brother of the current Lord of the Tides — Lord Vaemond Velaryon — who insisted that Lucerys, Corlys’s chosen heir, bore no true Velaryon blood and therefore had no right to rule the seas.

Princess Rhaenys governed in her husband's absence, but soon found herself under pressure from her brother-in-law. A raven was sent to Dragonstone to inform Princess Rhaenyra of the events that might yet unfold.

— He wants to question Luke’s legitimacy. If this begins, Jace will be called into question next, and then Visenya, Joffrey, and by extension my own claim to the throne — said Rhaenyra.

— Vaemond only cares about Driftmark and the Velaryons. He couldn’t give a fuck about our politics or who ends up on the Iron Throne. Has Otto Hightower already taken his side? — asked Daemon.

— Without a doubt. And I’d wager the queen has too — the princess replied. — Rhaenys has already gone to court. She does not support her brother-in-law.

— Of course not. She loves her granddaughters, despite everything. Rhaena will reign beside Luke on the Driftwood Throne.

— But the vipers rule in my father’s name, and from Visenya’s letters it sounds like he’s getting worse by the day. What choice do I have?

Daemon ran his hand gently across his wife’s swollen belly before a small, knowing smile curled at his lips.

— We’re going to visit our daughter.

*****

The ancient stones blurred past Visenya as she moved with practiced ease through the familiar paths of the Red Keep, her sworn knight close behind. Her heart pounded in her chest, driven by the anticipation of seeing her family again after two long moons apart.

She gathered the skirts of her pale blue gown in her hands as she neared the central courtyard. The sounds of voices and daily activity grew louder with every step. Her hurried footfalls echoed through the space, drawing a few curious glances from guards and servants alike.

Visenya then heard one of the knights announcing the arrival of her parents and brothers. She threw open the great doors with a bang, dashing down the staircase and running straight into her mother’s arms. The older woman laughed at her daughter’s enthusiasm.

She had been the only one to appear and welcome her mother. The heir to the throne should have been received with a formal escort to mark her return, but the Red Keep had grown darker of late. Queen Alicent no longer showed the same affection for her granddaughter, now giving all her attention to Princess Helaena’s children — her trueborn grandchildren.

Aegon remained the same drunken degenerate, spending more time in the Street of Silk than within the castle walls. According to Helaena, he’d only touched her once in recent days — and only with her reluctant consent. The queen had told her it was her duty as a wife. Though she hated it, the older princess complied, later saying Aegon hadn’t hurt her — he was barely on top of her for a few miserable minutes before he rolled off and passed out, reeking of cheap ale.

Aemond had returned from Oldtown in the early hours of the morning, spending what time he could with his wife before heading off to train. As always, the king remained locked away in his chambers — likely rendered half-senseless by the milk of the poppy that his Hand encouraged him to take.

Yearning to see her father again, Princess Rhaenyra and her husband followed their daughter through the winding halls to the old king’s chambers. The heavy scent of incense clung to every corner of the room. His plaster models still stood, though they had been abandoned for over a moon now — ever since his hands lost their steadiness. Once-beautiful representations of cities were now draped in dust and cobwebs.

Visenya left her parents to have a private moment with the king, and Rhaenyra stepped closer to the bed with Daemon just behind her. Viserys was vacant, slow to recognise either his daughter or his brother.

— The Sea Snake was gravely wounded in the battle of the Stepstones — Daemon began.

— When? — asked the king, brow furrowed. — You won that war years ago.

— No... the Triarchy rose again, started a new war. That’s why there are petitions concerning Driftmark’s succession.

— Petitions? Otto and Alicent are in charge now.

— Brother, listen to me. You must declare your stance so that Lucerys remains Corlys’s heir — said Daemon.

— Corlys? What’s happened to him?

King Viserys’s gaze was distant and vague, his uncovered eye unfocused, his expression betraying confusion and exhaustion. The constant use of milk of the poppy was clearly taking its toll.

His mind was clouded, struggling to grasp even the simplest facts. Daemon’s words reached him as if from the bottom of a deep, echoing tunnel.

When matters of importance were raised, Viserys barely managed to form a coherent response. He stammered, faltered, and often lost the thread of the conversation. His councillors, worried by his deteriorating state, had suggested that his Hand take charge until his mind cleared — though that clarity would never return, for the maester, under Otto’s command, kept dosing him daily with the very potion that robbed him of any awareness of the world around him.

After leaving her parents with the king, Visenya decided she wanted to spend time with her brothers — especially Luke, knowing the difficult trial that lay ahead. Her worry wasn’t only for him, but also for her mother. If Luke’s legitimacy was called into question, Jace would be next, as the eldest. The princess herself could not escape that same shadow.

The last person who had dared make a sarcastic remark about her supposed bastardy had vanished by the next morning — one of the squires. Neither Thomas nor Aemond ever uttered a word about it. She’d instructed Thomas to wait at the training grounds, where her brothers were likely to be, if she knew them well.

Turning a corner, Visenya heard an argument — more of a one-sided tirade — and then the sharp crack of a slap. The queen’s voice followed, shrill and furious.

— You are not my son!

Only then did Visenya realise she was near her eldest uncle’s chambers. She slipped behind one of the decorative suits of armour in the corridor just in time to see her grandmother sweeping past, her green dress swishing sharply as she turned down the opposite hall.

Visenya knew Aegon must have been feeling confused and wounded. He had told her once — the day her parents left after the wedding — that he could see her loneliness because he felt it too. She’d noticed that over the days: when Aegon wasn’t whoring or bedding some servant girl, he was always alone. He was alone. Confused. A complete mess. But he was still the king’s firstborn son. Even if he was a scoundrel, perhaps he could be of some use someday.

As she approached Aegon’s door, she heard muffled sobs from within. Visenya gently pushed the door open and stepped into her uncle’s chamber. He stood beside his bed, naked but for a thin sheet clutched around him. He startled at the sight of his niece, quickly wiping at his eyes.

— Get dressed — Visenya ordered, pointing at the screen. — The table’s still laid. If you take more than five minutes, I’ll leave.

Visenya sat at the table, legs crossed with elegant precision, maintaining perfect posture as she sipped from her teacup. Aegon entered the room clad in his usual dark green garb, his head lowered until he took a seat.

— How much did you hear? — he asked.

— I heard nothing — she lied. — I only saw my grandmother leaving your chambers, and her face didn’t look pleased in the slightest.

— And what’s the point of this?

He gestured first to himself, then to his niece, and finally to the lavishly laid breakfast table.

— Your loneliness — the kind no one else seems to notice, but I see it. Just as you saw mine. Maybe if you had someone to talk to, it’d help. It’s hard, I know that.

— Always so sure of yourself. A family that loves you, a husband who’d kill anyone that so much as looked at you the wrong way — Aegon muttered.

— I learnt how to survive here.

— I didn’t — he said simply.

Visenya placed her cup on the table before standing and walking over to her uncle. She took a deep breath, forcing the most sympathetic smile she could muster, and laid a hand on Aegon’s shoulder.

— Try... to restrain yourself over the coming days. It’d be something your mother might actually appreciate. Eat, get some air. I don’t think Sir Criston’s seen you on the training grounds in a while. Perhaps moving a bit would help clear your head.

The princess gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze before turning to leave, but was stopped when he caught her hand, looking up at her with something like admiration.

— Thank you — he said.

Visenya smiled before finally managing to step out of the room. She glanced down both ends of the corridor, then rubbed her hand against her dress, trying to wipe away the contact. Playing the game of court was harder than she’d imagined.

*****

Many lords and ladies had gathered in the throne room to witness the petition brought against the son of Princess Rhaenyra. The Greens stood upon the steps leading to the Iron Throne, while the Blacks were gathered before the seat that would one day belong to Viserys’s eldest daughter.

Aemond was hesitant to stand among his brothers, his gaze pulled toward his beautiful wife dressed in black, standing beside her mother, holding the hand of the very brother who had taken his eye. Both Visenya and Rhaena held one of Lucerys’s hands, steadying him as he swallowed hard, his eyes locked on the floor in a desperate effort not to falter beneath the weight of so many stares. Vaemond held a hardened stare towards the Hand, who stood squarely before the Iron Throne.

— Though it is the wish of the entire court that Lord Corlys Velaryon recover and return to command the seas, we are gathered here to face the grim task of settling the succession of Driftmark — Otto Hightower began. — And as Hand, I speak on behalf of the King in this and other matters — he added, sitting upon the throne.

Visenya clenched her teeth at the Hightower's audacity to seat himself where the King should be. She took a slow breath, offering a light caress to her brother’s hand before glancing at him.

— The Crown shall hear the petitions. Vaemond of House Velaryon, you have the floor — said the Hand.

Corlys’s brother walked forward with calculated calm, positioning himself in the centre of the hall as he laced his fingers together.

— My Queen, my Lord Hand — he greeted. — The history of our houses begins long before the Seven Kingdoms. As House Targaryen ruled the skies, House Velaryon ruled the seas. We carry salt in our blood. I have spent my entire life at Driftmark defending my brother’s seat. I am the closest kin to Lord Corlys, blood of his blood — Vaemond said, placing deliberate weight on the final phrase.

As she listened to her great-uncle accuse her younger brother Lucerys of bastardy and question his right to inherit their family's seat, all before the eyes of the court and under the Crown's scrutiny, Visenya struggled to contain the surge of fury welling up within her.

Though a flicker of outrage burned behind her eyes, outwardly she remained composed, betraying nothing of her inner storm. Visenya had learned swiftly in the past months that control over one’s emotions was paramount in the treacherous web of court politics and intrigue. Just as Daemon had once told her that emotion was an enemy in battle, so too could it be in politics. She raised her chin, staring her uncle down.

— Uncle Vaemond, your words must be handled with caution. My brother Lucerys is blood of our blood, son of the same mother and father as we. It is the duty of all of us to protect House Velaryon — said Visenya firmly. — It seems to me you speak driven only by ambition.

— Your family shall have their turn to speak, my granddaughter. Be courteous and allow Vaemond to be heard — said Alicent.

The princess turned her gaze toward the Queen, fire blazing in her eyes, though all she offered in return was a subtle nod. Aemond, for his part, would have preferred to tell his mother to hold her tongue.

Vaemond then turned toward the Blacks with a look of smug triumph.

— And what do you truly know of Velaryon blood, Princess Visenya? — he asked. — Even if I were to cut open my flesh and show you, you would still not understand it.

Visenya gripped her brother’s hand tighter, eyes fixed upon her grandfather’s brother.

— This is a matter of blood, not ambition. I stand humbly before you all as the rightful heir to my brother — the master of Driftmark — Vaemond declared, now facing the throne once more.

— Thank you, Lord Vaemond. Princess Rhaenyra, you may speak on behalf of your son Lucerys — Otto announced.

Rhaenyra let out a sigh before stepping forward, taking her place at the centre of the hall—and with it, the full attention of the room.

— If I must answer this baseless petition, then let me remind you that twenty years ago, in this very hall, I was wed to Laenor Velaryon…

The princess's words were cut short by the groaning sound of the throne room’s great doors swinging open. All eyes turned in curiosity, and for a moment, it was as if not a single soul dared to breathe—there, walking with a cane, was a fragile figure.

— King Viserys of House Targaryen, First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm — announced one of the Kingsguard.

Visenya’s heart clenched with worry, knowing well the king’s health was failing. She bowed respectfully, as did everyone present in the hall. The youngest princess held her composure, though emotion tugged at her chest as she saw her grandfather step forward with laboured, uneven strides, supported only by his cane, his gaze heavy with exhaustion.

A mixture of pride and dread welled within her as she watched him move toward the throne. It was a solemn, defining moment—everyone knew he was there to defend his daughter, Rhaenyra.

— I shall sit the throne today — Viserys said to Otto.

Silence overtook the hall as the king approached his seat, struggling to maintain a regal posture despite his evident weakness. He waved away all offers of help, pressing forward alone until his body betrayed him, and he could no longer ascend the steps. His crown slipped from his head and clattered across the stone, echoing through the chamber.

His quiet protests were silenced when it was his brother, Daemon, who came forward and offered his arm. With that support, Viserys completed the climb and seated himself on the Iron Throne. His crown was retrieved and gently placed back upon his head by Daemon, who then returned to his children's side.

— I must confess my confusion as to why we are hearing petitions on a succession already settled. The only one present who can speak to Lord Corlys’s wishes is my cousin, Princess Rhaenys — said Viserys, his voice strained.

All eyes turned to the Queen Who Never Was, and Visenya could feel her brother’s hand begin to sweat in her grasp, his nerves plain.

Princess Rhaenys stepped forward, standing beside her former daughter-in-law.

— Indeed, Your Grace — she began. — It has ever been my husband’s will that our son Laenor inherit the Driftwood Throne and rule Driftmark. Upon his untimely death, that will passed to his rightful grandson, Lucerys Velaryon. His wishes never wavered—nor has my support of them.

— Then, once again, I reaffirm Prince Lucerys of House Velaryon as heir to Driftmark, and as the next Lord of the Tides — the king declared.

Princess Rhaenys left the centre of the hall, offering a subtle smile to Rhaenyra and her family as she returned to the side of her granddaughter Baela and Jacaerys.

— You break the laws! Centuries of tradition—torn apart to name your daughter heir to the Throne! And now you dare declare who is worthy of bearing the Velaryon name? No! — Vaemond cried. — I will not allow it!

— Allow it? — Viserys echoed. — Do not forget who you are, Vaemond. You are no longer merely the second son of Driftmark.

— He is not a true Velaryon! — Vaemond shouted, pointing a trembling finger at Lucerys. — None of them are! Rule your house as you wish, King Viserys, but you will not decide the fate of mine. I will not watch my house fall to ruin because of that…

He cut himself off, glaring at Rhaenyra and Daemon.

— Say it — Daemon challenged, his voice sharp.

Seconds stretched into eternity as Vaemond grinned, full of confidence. Visenya wished she had brought her sword that day.

— Her sons are bastards! — Vaemond roared. — And she is a whore — he spat, pointing straight at Rhaenyra.

Gasps rippled through the chamber. The Queen brought a hand to her mouth in disbelief. The King rose with great effort, drawing his Valyrian steel dagger from his belt.

— I will have your tongue…

— Sir Thomas, kill Vaemond — Visenya ordered.

The princess’s voice rang clear through the hall. Before the king’s brother could even turn to face the Blacks, his head hit the floor, severed cleanly by the sword of Visenya’s sworn knight. Screams erupted through the hall—some women turned away, nobles stood in horror and disbelief at what had just unfolded. The Queen was frozen, her hand still covering her mouth. Helaena turned her back to avoid the grisly scene, Aegon stumbled a step backwards, but Aemond never took his eyes off his wife.

— Disarm him — the Hand commanded the guards.

— That won’t be necessary — Sir Thomas replied, wiping the blood from his blade on his own cloak before sheathing it.

— Let this serve as a warning to all who would dare question the honour of my family. No insult will be forgotten—and each shall be answered with fire and blood — declared Visenya.

Chapter Text

The throne room buzzed with murmurs and tension as the nobles began to disperse, fully aware that an irreversible decision had just been made. Vaemond Velaryon's blood still slicked the marble floor, a stark crimson stain as the maesters rushed to tend to the king, whose condition had begun to decline once again.

Daemon wore an expression of unashamed pride as he watched his daughter gently stroke the cheek of her younger brother, who remained too stunned to speak after witnessing what had just occurred.

Aemond was overwhelmed with pride for his wife. After she had given the command for her knight to execute the man who had insulted her family, the look on his face was one of awe and reverence. He saw in her strength, resolve, and an unshakable will to defend the honour and legacy of their house.

Aemond was truly convinced there was no other woman in the world who could compare to his wife, Visenya. She was truly one of a kind—unparalleled.

Her beauty surpassed all conventional standards, radiating a captivating aura that bewitched those who beheld her. Her silver hair, that unmistakable inheritance of House Targaryen, gleamed with a sheen like moonlight on steel. Her violet eyes were hypnotic and mysterious, conveying a fierce intensity that few could comprehend. Every line of her face seemed sculpted by divine hands, as if the gods themselves had taken care in her making.

But beyond her beauty, it was her unrelenting spirit that had made Aemond fall so utterly. Visenya was not some ordinary noble lady; she was a tempest, a force of nature who would not flinch in the face of opposition. Her resolve was like a roaring fire that drove her ever forward with bravery and cunning. Her courage left Aemond in wonder.

Though some might have seen Visenya's decision as ruthless, Aemond knew better. In a court so riddled with deceit and danger, protecting one’s kin was not just important—it was everything. He believed she had acted in accordance with the ancient Targaryen code, defending her bloodline with the fire and fury of the dragons. The insult hurled at her family had cut deep, and her response had been swift, merciless, and utterly just.

Visenya was destined for greatness, a legendary woman whose name would echo through history.

Paying no mind to any comment from his mother, the prince moved calmly to his wife, brushing a hand over her bare shoulder to draw her attention.

— Shall we let the Silent Sisters see to this without interruption? — Aemond asked.

Visenya understood her husband’s intent at once. She gave her younger brother one last, reassuring smile before breaking the contact and accepting Aemond’s arm. He escorted her out of the throne room, with Ser Thomas following in silence until they passed through the doors—then taking the opposite corridor without a word.

Aemond guided his wife through the corridors of the Red Keep to the nearest private chamber—the small council’s meeting room.

— Out — Aemond ordered the guards at the door.

Without question, the two armoured men marched away as the couple stepped inside. Aemond shut the doors behind them with a firm push.

— A council session? — Visenya asked, glancing at her husband’s breeches.

— Yes, my wife.

Aemond advanced on his wife, seizing her mouth with brutal urgency, kissing and biting her. His hands grasped the delicate fastenings of her gown, tearing them apart without ceremony as she gasped, fumbling with the clasps that secured her husband's jerkin. She tugged at them clumsily, managing to undo the garment and rid him of both it and his shirt.

The prince's mouth descended to her breasts, taking one into his mouth before he finished dragging the gown down to her feet. The princess had grown used to forgoing undergarments since their journey to Essos.

Before Aemond could lower himself further, he was halted by Visenya, who caught his face in her hands with a knowing smile.

— What stirred you, husband?

— You, giving orders, commanding. Anyone would say it was you who ruled and judged that trial — he replied.

— Then I order you to sit — she said, undoing the buckle of his belt and the fastening of his trousers.

Aemond stared into his wife's eyes, burning with desire for her. He longed to taste her, but it seemed Visenya had other plans.

As he sat upon one of the councillors' chairs, Visenya knelt between his legs, tugging his trousers down completely and releasing his hardened cock. She bit her lip, visibly salivating, before looking up at him one last time, lowering her head, and letting his length glide along her tongue.

Aemond stifled a groan of pleasure as he felt her warm mouth envelop him.

The princess used one hand to hold the base of his cock while she bobbed her head along it. Aemond gripped the arms of the chair, fighting the urge to clutch his wife’s hair and thrust until she choked. Visenya pulled back, her hand still stroking him, eyes fixed on his face as he bit his lip and clenched the chair with both hands.

— What do you want to do to me? — Visenya asked.

— Throw you on that table and fuck you.

— Then do it.

He didn’t need a second command. Aemond gripped her arm, the one still touching him, and pulled her up as he rose to his feet. He grabbed her waist, hoisting her onto the table to face him, and aligned himself with her entrance. Feeling how slick she already was, he grinned in satisfaction before thrusting fully into her, drawing a loud moan from her lips.

He slid his arms beneath her thighs, holding her steady as she let her back fall against the table. The sound of their bodies slamming together in a savage rhythm was enough to arouse anyone. Even with the doors closed, the noise could surely be heard beyond the chamber—but no one in their right mind would dare interrupt. By now, everyone knew who had claimed the Small Council chamber.

Aemond let out ragged groans as he watched her body rising and falling with each thrust, her breasts bouncing, her silver hair fanned out across the polished table, her arms draped over her face with only her parted lips visible—lips from which the most exquisite sounds he’d ever heard escaped.

Visenya was in a state of bliss. Her husband had quickly learned exactly how to touch her, how to make her unravel—the grip on her waist, his cock hitting the right spot with the force she craved.

Still holding her thighs, Aemond drew her lower on the table, then leaned over her, feeling the intense heat of her body. Visenya wrapped her legs around his hips as he continued to thrust, his cock now tightly gripped by her inner walls. The prince brought his mouth to her neck, marking her pale skin—his wife’s skin. Her hands clawed desperately at his back, leaving red trails in their wake.

He could feel she was close. Pressing in deeper, angling himself to hit her just right, he tore a strangled moan from her lips as her body shuddered—and in that moment, he let go, spilling himself inside her.

*****

The old King Viserys had insisted on gathering his family for supper. At the monarch’s wish, the blacks and the greens were assembled in the smaller dining hall. The serving girls began laying out food across the table as those present remained in tense silence. With only the king’s chair separating Princess Rhaenyra from Queen Alicent, the atmosphere was even more strained than usual.

The doors to the hall opened, and the king was carried in upon a chair by his white cloaks. Everyone rose in respect until he was carefully placed in his seat.

— How lovely it is to see you all tonight, gathered together — said the king.

— A prayer before we eat? — the queen asked, directing the question to the king.

He gave a nod, causing some discomfort for his daughter and brother, who said nothing, simply staring ahead. Visenya sighed, leaning back in her chair, feeling her husband’s hand caress her thigh over the fabric of her gown.

— May the Mother smile on this gathering with love, may the Smith mend the bonds broken long ago. And to Vaemond Velaryon — may the gods grant him rest.

Daemon gave a low, nasal chuckle as he glanced at his daughter at the queen’s final words, and Visenya, in turn, looked at her father, biting her lip to suppress her laughter.

— I'm saddened I couldn’t attend the weddings of my grandchildren, but I trust my son Aemond represented me well — said the king. — Let us raise a toast.

— Yes, father — Rhaenyra replied.

The princess raised her goblet, followed by the rest of the table.

— Finally bedding a woman, are you? — Aegon muttered to Jace.

Baela’s glare was unmistakable, as was the anger Jacaerys struggled to suppress.

— Let us also toast Prince Lucerys, who shall be the next Lord of the Tides — continued Viserys.

— You’ll be wonderful, my husband — said Rhaena.

— Undoubtedly — agreed Visenya.

Lucerys still appeared somewhat shy under the attention and the weight of the petition earlier that day.

But Aegon seemed to have already been drinking before the meal had even begun, and he wouldn’t stop making inappropriate comments about his nephew and his wife.

— Does he even know how to do it properly? — Aegon asked Baela in a low voice.

The Targaryen girl rolled her eyes and glared at her cousin, while Jace set his goblet down with a sharp clink.

Princess Visenya, even seated several chairs away, noticed at once that her eldest uncle was pestering her brother. With a serious and commanding expression, she simply spoke his name.

— Aegon.

That single word was enough to make Aegon immediately back down. He looked at Visenya, perhaps surprised by how swiftly and directly she had confronted him without needing to say anything else. But hearing his name was more than enough for him to understand he was testing her patience — and he’d seen firsthand what she was capable of when it came to protecting her family. Thomas stood only a few feet away, watching everything.

Moreover, the brief time they’d spent together had left Aegon craving more. He knew that if he did anything to displease his niece, he’d drive her away for good.

The queen, like Aemond, stared at the Velaryon girl with puzzled expressions. They’d never seen the two grow close — not after what had happened during the tourney night of the wedding celebrations — and Alicent looked far from pleased with the amount of control Visenya seemed to wield over her eldest son.

The king seemed oblivious to everything happening before him, or perhaps he was simply choosing to ignore it. He stood, removing the golden mask that covered half his face, revealing his missing eye and the festering wound that marred his cheek.

— My heart swells with joy to see such beloved faces gathered at this table, and yet it grieves me deeply to witness how distant you’ve all grown over the years. Fortunately, my granddaughter graces us with her presence and joins herself to my son. Let us harbour no more ill will. The Crown cannot remain strong if the House of the Dragon is divided. Set aside these quarrels, if not for the realm, then for this old man who loves you, and has not much time left.

All eyes, filled with tension and anticipation, watched the king’s every movement, listened to each word that left his lips. Daemon looked torn. Alicent regarded him with pity. And Visenya — she only wished she could embrace the grandfather who once carved those beautiful models while she ate her strawberry tart at his feet.

Princess Rhaenyra stood after the king slumped back into his chair, clearly drained. She raised her goblet and looked straight at her former friend.

— I would like to raise my cup to Your Grace, Queen Alicent. I love my father, but I must admit — no one has been more loyal, or stood more faithfully by his side than his wife. She has cared for him with devotion, with love, and with honour. For that, she has my gratitude... and my apologies.

Rhaenyra sat once more after sipping her wine. Daemon took her free hand in his as their children looked on at her with quiet respect.

— Your generosity moves me deeply, Princess — Alicent began, rising in turn. — We are mothers. And we love our children. We have more in common than we allow ourselves to see. I raise my cup to you. You will make a fine queen.

With the queen’s final words, all goblets were lifted, and the family drank. Soon, they began to serve themselves, filling their plates and murmuring amongst themselves in hushed conversations. Aegon seemed to have finally grasped the gravity of his situation, especially under the weight of Visenya’s steady gaze, which met his from time to time with quiet warning.

To everyone’s surprise, Helaena rose, holding her own goblet high, and offered a toast to her cousins who had recently married.

— I want to raise my cup to Baela and Rhaena. I hope your marriages are happy... after all, it’s not so bad. He usually ignores you — unless he’s drunk.

Daemon laughed as Aegon sank into his chair, rolling his eyes, and Aemond cast a sorrowful glance at his sister, silently wishing she could have a better life.

— Let us have some music — the king ordered.

A soft symphony began to play, performed by the royal musicians. Helaena was poking at the food on her plate when Jace excused himself from his wife and stood, offering his hand to his aunt for a dance. She accepted with a gentle smile, and Visenya couldn't help but feel proud of her brother. While Baela was drinking and chatting with her sister, Visenya’s attention shifted to her husband, who was now standing, extending his hand in invitation for a dance. She accepted gladly, joining her brother and aunt on the floor while the others ate, laughed, and talked. For a moment, everything seemed in perfect harmony. Both sides of the family were gathered, and for the first time in years, they were at peace. The old king leaned back in his chair at the centre of the table, gazing at his wife, his children, and his grandchildren, as a single tear slipped silently down his cheek.

The knights prepared to escort the king back to his chambers, while more food and wine arrived at the table. The four young ones continued to enjoy the music, switching dance partners among themselves. Visenya caught a small nod from her husband to her elder brother, a silent word passed between them.

Everything appeared to be going well, even without the monarch’s presence—until Aegon stood suddenly, slamming his hand on the table and stumbling toward Jace, trying to shove him aside.

— Aegon! — the queen shouted.

Lucerys quickly stood to help his brother but was met with a punch from the elder Targaryen. Before Jace could retaliate, Daemon stepped forward and raised a single finger. That was all it took for the elder Velaryon to fall back, while Visenya stepped between Aegon and the others, her expression sharp with disapproval.

— Seems you've drunk too much, Uncle. The wine must've clouded your judgement. It's time you returned to your chambers — she said.

Aegon stared at her, a mix of indignation and confusion, struggling to open his mouth to speak, but failing. He stormed out of the dining hall in heavy steps. Rhaena and Rhaenyra rushed to Luke's side, though thankfully the blow hadn’t left a mark.

Rhaenyra ordered her sons and daughters-in-law to retire for the night, and Daemon followed after them. They would all be leaving in the morning.

— Rhaenyra, you've only just arrived — said Alicent.

— I’ve left the children at home. I’ll return on Syrax.

The queen seemed content with that answer from her old friend, and Visenya saw a brief flicker of genuine sincerity in her expression. She and her husband also left the hall to rest. As they walked down the dark corridors lit by torches, Aemond glanced sidelong at his wife.

— Speak — said Visenya.

— What was that with Aegon? Since the start, when you called him out, he actually shut his mouth.

— Long story. Nothing to trouble yourself with. Seems your mother’s tactics haven’t been working, so I’m trying my own. For our sake... and for Helaena’s.

It wasn’t a complete lie, but she couldn’t reveal to her husband the full extent of her intentions with the fragile ties between their families. She loved him, but she wasn’t a fool.

— I was thinking of going to Dragonstone with my brothers tomorrow. I'd take Vermithor with me. Just for a few days. It's been so long since I've seen them properly, and now Aegon’s gone and ruined what could’ve been a peaceful visit.

— How many days? — Aemond asked.

He was clearly irritated by the idea of his wife being away while he could be enjoying her at home.

— Two or three — she replied. — I promise I’ll make it up to you when I return — she smiled, stopping in front of him and rising on her toes to kiss him.

— Then when you return, you won’t be able to walk for two or three days — he said.

— I can’t wait.

*****

Aemond rose early that morning to tend to some reports, wanting to make sure he had time to bid farewell to his wife before she mounted Vermithor.

Visenya and Eleny were deep in lively conversation while the servant braided the princess’s hair tightly, so it wouldn’t come undone during the brief journey.

— Are you going to speak with the maester of the island? — Eleny asked.

— Yes, though this is my home now, I’m not keen on speaking to the man who has my grandfather drinking poppy milk every day.

— You said the Dragonstone maester was useless and if it weren’t for you, poor Aegon might have succumbed to the illness.

— That’s still true — Visenya laughed. — But my mother trusts him, so…

Eleny helped her into her riding leather and, while adjusting the jerkin, accidentally tugged the necklace Visenya always wore.

A sharp clink echoed through the room as the necklace fell to the floor, though luckily the gemstone didn’t shatter on impact. Visenya froze, shock written all over her face as she stared at the broken jewellery.

— Gods, I’m sorry, it was an accident — Eleny stammered.

— It’s alright, it was an accident.

It was clear the princess was upset; she’d never removed that necklace since her uncle had given it to her on the fourteenth day of her name—a token she’d taken as a connection to her husband.

Full of remorse, Eleny bent quickly to retrieve the fallen jewellery and the snapped chain. She looked up at Visenya with eyes full of apology and concern.

— I’ll have it repaired at once. Please forgive me.

Visenya lifted her eyes to meet Eleny’s, the weight in her heart threatening to overwhelm her. She took a deep breath and tried to find calm within herself.

— Eleny, I know you didn’t mean to break the necklace. No need for all these apologies. But make sure it’s ready when I return, alright?

Visenya threw the heavy cloak over her shoulders, fastening it tight to keep warm.

The princess’s servant tucked the broken jewellery into her pocket to take to a craftsman as soon as possible, leaving her lady with Thomas before setting off for the heart of King’s Landing.

The princess and her sworn sword made their way silently through the corridors. To her surprise, her uncle stood a few paces from her chambers, head bowed, shoulders hunched, shame etched deeply on his face.

— Uncle — she greeted before continuing on.

— Wait — Aegon pleaded.

She sighed deeply, turning to face him while Thomas stood between them.

— You’ve done enough yesterday. I warned you, and you chose to ignore it — Visenya said.

— He… provoked me — he tried to justify.

— Provoked you? By giving a bit of attention to the wife you’ve been ignoring? She was happy, having fun, we all were, and you ruined it. My brothers are leaving early because of the scene you made, and I’ll have to go to Dragonstone just to ease a bit of the longing I feel for my family.

— You’re leaving?

He looked terrified. Aegon tried to step closer to his niece but was blocked by Lannister, who formed a barrier with his own body. The prince dropped to his knees as if seized by some kind of panic attack.

Visenya snorted in frustration, then donned her court masque and motioned for Thomas to leave them alone. The metallic clatter of the princess’s knight’s armour faded as he stepped away, and she approached her uncle, standing squarely before him.

He grasped her feet as he bent forward, like a child crying out for its mother’s embrace.

— I’m leaving King’s Landing for a few days. I’ll be back soon. If you want to apologise, then don’t drink until I return. If you can manage that, we might share a meal like the other day, even go for a ride. But get up and think. A prince should not behave like this.

She placed her hand gently on one of his shoulders, giving a subtle squeeze that made Aegon raise his head to look at her. He stood up, glancing around to make sure no one else had witnessed that pitiful scene, and nodded.

He was still downcast, and Visenya thought perhaps it was the perfect moment to let her uncle indulge in a bit more self-delusion—even if it meant a contact she never expected to share with him.

Visenya stepped closer, wrapping her arms around him and stroking his short hair. He seemed frozen at the show of affection but soon awkwardly lifted his arms, squeezing his niece’s back.

— All right, I won’t be long — Visenya said before breaking the embrace.

A flicker of a smile played on Aegon’s lips, and Visenya bade him farewell before continuing on her way to the fortress exit. When she was sure no one was nearby, she pulled off her cloak, tossing it into Thomas’s arms as soon as she spotted him.

— I don’t know how you manage that — he murmured.

— Neither do I. Get rid of that cloak, give it to some poor sod who needs it. I don’t want to see it again after it’s been touched — Visenya whispered. — Stay close to Helaena.

— Of course.

Aemond waited for his wife in the central courtyard to say their goodbyes. One last passionate kiss was shared before she mounted her black-coated steed and rode off to the pit where her brothers would fetch their own dragons, and from there she would call her Fury of Bronze.

Chapter Text

The King Viserys of House Targaryen, first of his name. Viserys the Peaceful. Was dead.

— The door shall remain shut until this matter is settled — declared Otto Hightower.

Lord Beesbury had just been killed by Sir Criston Cole after suspecting that the queen had somehow been involved in the king’s death.

The small council resumed their seats, trying to calm the rising tempers, after Queen Alicent revealed that the king, shortly before his death, had spoken to her about Aegon’s dream and his desire. Lord Jason Lannister’s main concern was the loyalty of Borros Baratheon, Lord of Storm’s End, as the marriage between his eldest daughter, Cassandra, and Aemond had not come to pass— and the easiest way to secure an ally was through marriage.

— Since you’ve mentioned the prince, where is his wife, Princess Visenya? — asked the Grand Maester.

— She went with Rhaenyra and the princes to Dragonstone, before any of this. She was to spend a few days there before returning — Alicent replied.

— The former heir cannot be allowed to roam freely and gather support for her claim, nor her family — Otto said.

— You wish to imprison them? My granddaughter? Your grandson’s wife!

— They’ll be given the chance to bend the knee and swear fealty, publicly of course — answered the Hand.

— You know none of them would yield, least of all Daemon — the queen looked around the room before letting out a frustrated sigh and turning her attention back to her father — You plan to kill them. And everyone here agrees.

— Your father is right, Your Grace. A living rival is the first stroke of war — said the Lannister.

It seemed they all yearned for Aegon’s ascension to the throne. All of them. Only the queen bore a genuine concern for the fate of the Blacks. She did not want a massacre, did not wish for a bloodbath.

Jason Lannister stressed how important it was that the prince’s succession went uncontested, and how the rebellious prince Daemon was one of his greatest concerns.

— The king did not wish his daughter’s death! — Alicent shouted. — And I do not wish it either. I do not want Visenya dead, nor any of them!

The queen rose to her feet, threatening anyone who dared oppose her, in word or deed. The atmosphere was thick, as if stones weighed upon the chests of all within that chamber.

The king’s death had been expected, something they all knew would come soon. But just two nights ago, Alicent had said Rhaenyra would make a fine queen, and now she vied for the Iron Throne on behalf of her son— on behalf of the Greens.

Rhaenyra was the rightful heir, already crowned Princess of Dragonstone and named successor to the Seven Kingdoms by her own father, who had wished her to follow him. Yet Aegon, Viserys’s firstborn son, had gathered his own group of supporters who believed he was more suited to rule.

A man ought to sit the throne. A man ought to rule. Not a woman.

Princess Rhaenys had already been passed over by the people when the Old King Jaehaerys had called the Great Council. The outcome would be no different for Princess Rhaenyra.

— And what of Prince Aemond? — asked Jason. — Will he support his brother?

— Of course he will. What kind of question is that? — Otto retorted.

— I wouldn’t be so certain, Lord Hand — Criston replied. — That woman’s bewitched him. He no longer heeds reason. Visenya is his entire world now.

— Then we must ensure he understands — Jason said.

— I’ve already said no one will lay so much as a finger on my granddaughter. And besides, she’s not even in King’s Landing — Alicent replied.

— No… but he need only believe that she is — Criston said.

*****

That morning, every servant— men, women and children— had been taken down to the dungeons beneath the Red Keep. The only exceptions were knights and guards, one of the Greens' first mistakes. Thomas Lannister was free to move about the castle.

When he noticed the suspicious commotion within the fortress and saw all the servants being led into the dungeons, his instincts told him something was wrong. The worst part was that he hadn’t seen Eleny among the many faces passing through the stone corridors. Suspicious and increasingly concerned, Thomas decided to secretly investigate the reason behind this unusual action. Keeping to the shadows, the knight of Princess Velaryon managed to sneak into one of the castle’s cells, where he found Talia, the queen’s handmaid, seated against the bars, frightened and confused.

As soon as Talia saw him, he quickly ensured her silence. For long minutes, he coaxed her into telling him what was going on, promising to free her— whether out of genuine affection or just enough to make her believe it. Hesitantly, Talia revealed the grim truth: King Viserys had died in his sleep during the night just passed.

The news made his worry grow tenfold. He knew that with the king’s death, the war Visenya had feared so deeply was about to erupt— and thank the gods she wasn’t in the city at that moment. She must not return. He knew the princess had gone away for a few days, but if no news of the king’s death had been shared, no raven sent, and no one dispatched to Dragonstone to fetch the rightful heir, something was amiss.

He quickly realised that neither Rhaenyra nor Visenya would learn of this until something else was set in motion. The Greens were already acting. It was difficult to get more from Talia, but she let slip that Eleny might be with the queen, as her interest had been piqued when she heard the girl was wearing the necklace Visenya always wore. Thomas knew the princess had left for the Blacks' island without her beloved necklace. Eleny had told him she’d broken the golden chain by accident— but he didn’t quite understand what a simple piece of jewellery could have that would catch the queen’s attention.

The queen sat in a small chamber— nothing more than a table and two plain chairs furnished the space, which, despite the first rays of morning sun, remained dark. She was still debating whether what she was about to do with her son was truly necessary, but in some way, Sir Criston had been right, and she knew it. Visenya had completely stolen Aemond’s heart. She no longer knew where her son’s loyalty lay, and she needed to be sure before leaving that place.

The prince entered the room, his long hair tied back. The queen still found it strange that Aemond had abandoned the eyepatch he’d worn ever since being wounded by Rhaenyra’s son. She knew it was because of his granddaughter’s preference— a further sign of how much control Visenya had over him.

Aemond shut the door behind him, sitting across from his mother with his usual stern expression.

— What’s going on? I haven’t seen a single servant in the castle. The guards won’t stop pacing back and forth — Aemond questioned.

— My son, your father left us during the night. The Stranger took him — Alicent revealed.

— He was fine...

— I know. It was unexpected, in a way. We thought he’d be with us for a few more moons, but that’s not what the gods willed. As sad as this moment is, we must be practical — Alicent said.

— What do you mean by “practical”, Mother?

— We know Aegon is the true heir, being the king’s eldest son.

— You’re talking about usurping Rhaenyra’s throne?

— Yes. She may be the rightful heir in the eyes of many, but we know the realm would be stronger with Aegon on the throne, while we guide him. His bloodline is purer.

Alicent reached out, trying to touch her son’s hand, hoping he would stand with her, but Aemond rose from his chair, his face clouded with confusion.

— Visenya would never accept Aegon as king. She’s loyal to Rhaenyra and would support her no matter what — he concluded.

— That is why you must convince her — said Alicent.

— You know better than anyone that it wouldn’t matter who tells her. Visenya will never betray her mother… and I will not betray my wife.

— I feared your judgement might be clouded by love, but deep down, I know you understand how family must come first — the queen declared.

Alicent rose and stepped toward her son, who once again recoiled from her touch. In his eyes blazed a fury the queen had never before seen directed at her. Aemond was torn by a maelstrom of emotions, but rage simmered most violently in his chest. Her suggestion that he betray Visenya’s trust by backing Aegon in usurping Rhaenyra’s throne left him stunned— and disgusted.

Aegon. The one who had harmed his sister. Aegon. The one who had once considered laying hands on her… who had thought to hurt Visenya.

And yet the sister he had barely known had welcomed him into her home, offered him hospitality, celebrated his wedding— something his own mother hadn’t even mentioned, having been angered at not being able to parade it before the lords and ladies like some courtly spectacle. Rhaenyra had apologised to him, acknowledged her part in what had happened that night. Lucerys had sought him out to ask forgiveness and call a truce in the quiet war they had waged— for Visenya, for the sister he loved, and the wife he cherished. And for her sake, Aemond had accepted.

He had barely spent a day on Dragonstone, and yet among that family— the Blacks— he had felt like a stray fish in open waters. Adrift. But in their presence, he had tasted something he’d never known within the Red Keep since Visenya and her family had departed seven years past: love, respect, and genuine joy.

His eyes narrowed, jaw clenched, and his hands curled into fists. Aemond couldn’t believe his own mother would be willing to sacrifice his loyalty and honour to his wife in pursuit of a crown that had never belonged to them— never to the Greens— and they knew full well Viserys had always held his eldest daughter closest to his heart.

— How can you even suggest such a thing, Mother? — Aemond burst out, his voice trembling with barely contained fury. — Visenya is my wife, my life’s companion. I would never betray her. Not for an instant!

— I know it’s hard for you, my son, but you must think of our family’s future. We must ensure it is protected, well positioned. Aegon could be a better king.

— Better?

The prince tilted his head back, laughing bitterly. He stared at his mother as if she were jesting— but he knew. She wasn’t. Neither she nor his grandfather had ever intended to yield the throne to Rhaenyra.

Otto had spent years spinning his web through the nobles, the king, and through his own daughter, all to be the one pulling the strings behind whoever sat the throne. And Aemond knew just how easily Aegon could be manipulated. He’d seen it firsthand— his wife had bent him with a single word at that dinner when all were gathered.

Alicent hadn’t wanted to go this far. She had resisted since the moment Criston brought her the idea, along with the brown-skinned maid with the split lip. But now, there was no other choice.

— A raven was sent to Dragonstone. Visenya arrived mere moments ago. She was brought straight to me. I love her, but I will not hesitate to do whatever is necessary to keep my family safe.

The queen reached into her gown, tugging slightly at the green sash that cinched her waist. From between her fingers, she revealed a gold necklace set with a raw-cut sapphire.

— Visenya is safe. For now — the queen said.

The door to the chamber swung open. Sir Criston and Sir Arryk entered, forming an escort. Before passing her son and leaving the room, Alicent informed him she would return once the crown sat upon Aegon’s head— then Aemond would have to make his choice. The knights followed after her, and the heavy sound of the door being locked echoed through the chamber.

*****

Luke walked through the hall of Dragonstone Castle, his steps echoing through the shadows of the imposing keep. The castle was almost always dark and cold, no matter if the sun shone outside. Though he was the son of the princess heir, a heavy sense of unworthiness clung to his shoulders like a mantle of lead.

Bastard by birth, he could never escape that truth. His father was Harwin Strong, not Laenor Velaryon. He had no right to be the next Lord of the Tides, despite what everyone expected. In some way, Lucerys had convinced himself he didn’t deserve the Driftwood Throne. He wasn’t a Velaryon. He didn’t even enjoy sailing— just the motion of the sea made him nauseous. He’d much rather go anywhere mounted on Arrax’s back.

To the eyes of the realm, Lucerys was a secondary branch, an unwanted shoot. His mother’s Valyrian blood ran through his veins, but that wasn’t enough to erase the shadow of his illegitimacy. His dark hair and eyes were proof enough.

The prince stood before the great wooden table carved with the map of Westeros. Near Dragonstone, the island of Driftmark was etched into its surface.

— Finally, I’ve found you — Visenya’s voice echoed through the hall.

The princess’s younger brother bore an expression of hesitation, and of course, it didn’t escape her notice. Even after the petition and the supper, Luke remained restless. Everyone had seen it, but Rhaenyra had said he only needed time to adjust.

— What is it? — Visenya asked.

— He’s going to die, isn’t he? The Sea Snake.

— Luke, look...

— I can’t be Lord of the Tides. Our grandfather was the greatest seafarer who ever lived. I set foot on the docks and already feel like I’m going to be sick — Luke snapped.

— You won’t be alone.

— Vaemond was right. I’m not a Velaryon.

Visenya stepped toward her younger brother and touched his face with a gentle caress. He had grown so much. She felt a twinge of nostalgia for the little Lucerys who used to run through the halls with the wooden dragon the king had carved for each of his grandchildren.

— Don’t ever say that. You are a Velaryon. Our grandfather loves you. Laenor loved you. It doesn’t matter the reason for how our births came to be, but we are who we are, and there’s no going back. I know the doubts plague you, but you don’t have to bear this burden alone. We’re here for you. Always.

Luke sighed, his eyes meeting hers but seeming too heavy to hold the gaze.

— Why were you the only one born looking like our mother? — he asked.

It was a question Visenya had asked herself for many years, growing up in the keep and hearing whispers about her brothers. But she never expected it to come from him. The princess wrapped her arms around her brother in a warm embrace. She felt the urge to cry— she was far more emotional than usual when it came to her family. She wanted to shield Luke from everything and everyone. She had enjoyed watching Vaemond’s head roll after the insult he had dared to cast.

— I’d bargain anything for you, Jace, and Joffrey to look like me. I don’t know why I was the only one. And I can tell you, I never wanted this — she said.

— I know you didn’t… But I’m scared. I wish I were like you.

— White hair changes nothing, Luke. You know I heard the same things.

— I don’t mean that. You’re so... perfect. A good warrior, a good dragonrider. You do whatever you want without fear.

Visenya let out a soft laugh, kissed his forehead, and pulled him tight against her, feeling him curl into her.

— I’m afraid, all the time. But I have people who support and love me, just like you do — Visenya answered. — And I’m far from perfect. But I’m here, and I’ll look after you as long as I can.

For the first time that morning, Luke smiled.

The siblings were interrupted by one of the knights— Sir Lorent.

— Good morning, Princess, Prince.
— Good morning, Sir — Visenya replied.

— Your grandmother, Princess Rhaenys, has just arrived on her dragon. She requests a meeting with your mother, Princess Rhaenyra, and your father, Prince Daemon — said Sir Lorent.

— Escort my grandmother inside, Sir. Thank you — Visenya instructed, and the guard nodded before leaving the siblings alone once more. — Fetch our parents — she asked Luke.

The sound of footsteps grew louder as the queen who never was approached once more, escorted by the knight. Visenya stood beside her parents when Princess Rhaenys was announced. Just as she prepared to leave the room to give them their privacy, she was stopped by her grandmother. Though confused, she looked to her father before they all stepped closer to the great wooden table.

— Have you brought news of my grandfather’s recovery? — Visenya asked.

— Viserys is dead — she declared.

Visenya instinctively squeezed her mother’s hand. Her face had gone pale, her hands turned to ice.

— I mourn with you all, my cousin, your father, your grandfather had a good heart — Rhaenys said. — But it isn’t only that. Aegon has been crowned.

Rhaenyra let go of her daughter’s hand and placed her own on her belly, her expression twisted with pain.

— How did Viserys die? — Daemon asked.

— I can’t say — Rhaenys replied.

— How long ago?

Rhaenyra was visibly struggling to remain on her feet.

— A day or two. I was confined to my chambers while the queen plotted everything — the older woman answered.

— And Alicent demanded your support? — Rhaenyra asked.

— Yes. And I refused. The High Septon crowned Aegon in the Dragonpit, publicly. I witnessed it before I could reclaim Meleys.

— That bitch killed my brother and stole the throne, and you could have burned them all — Daemon declared.

— A war must be fought for this treachery. But it is not mine to begin.

— Aemond? — Visenya’s question echoed through the hall.

She stared at her grandmother, dreading the answer. She had always known this day would come, but she hadn’t wanted to believe it.

— I did not see him — she replied. — Out of respect for my husband and the loyalty he pledged to your house, I came to warn you. The Greens are coming.

Visenya was utterly shaken by the news that her mother’s throne had been usurped by her uncle Aegon. The lack of word about her husband only deepened her confusion and fear.

But her mind was made up. She wanted her husband by her side. She loved him with all her heart— but if he chose to betray her that way, if he refused to recognise Rhaenyra as queen, she would be the one to cut his throat.

Rhaenyra’s groans of pain grew louder until she clutched at her skirts and her fingers came away stained with blood.

— The baby is coming — she said.

Chapter Text

The screams of Rhaenyra echoed through the castle, flooding the halls with a suffocating sense of dread and apprehension.

Rhaenyra was usually a figure of majesty and control, but now she writhed in agony, stripped of her strength and dignity. Princess Visenya stood helpless in the face of it, and although she had always admired and respected her mother’s strength, she couldn’t deny the terror that clawed at her chest—the brutal truth that all women faced in childbirth: the fragile line between life and death.

Visenya’s eyes brimmed with tears, but she forced herself to stay strong—not just for her mother, but for herself.

Daemon, meanwhile, was assembling every knight and supporter loyal to the blacks, barking out orders about patrolling the island, warning of potential attacks from the greens and how they might unfold. The continued screams from above sent startled glances around the room, but the princess’s husband seemed content to ignore them.

— Recruit the dragonkeepers. They’re seasoned warriors, — Daemon commanded.

— It will be done, my prince, — one of the guards answered.

— Why aren’t you with her? — Visenya’s voice cut through the chamber like a blade, silencing the room. — Once again, you’re not at her side. I could be the one giving these bloody orders. She’s screaming in pain, terrified, and you’re down here hiding like the fucking coward you are.

With hard, determined steps, the princess turned her back on them all and ascended the stone stairs to her mother’s chambers. The cries of pain grew louder with each step. The maester and a flock of handmaidens surrounded Rhaenyra, trying—and failing—to soothe her. Their voices were drowned out by the storm of thoughts raging inside Visenya’s mind.

— Out. All of you, — the younger princess ordered.

The handmaidens exchanged uncertain glances, but, knowing the tempers of both mother and daughter, obeyed, filing out with the maester in tow. Visenya was left staring at the woman who had raised her, now bent over with the weight of agony and fear for the life of her unborn child. There were no swords nor dragons that could fix this, and the helplessness gnawed at her. If she could’ve taken her mother’s pain, she would’ve.

This was far from an ideal labour. Rhaenyra’s pregnancy had not even reached full term. The child was not meant to come now.

She paced around the chamber aimlessly, doubling over with each sharp wave of pain. Then she felt calloused hands take hold of hers—smaller once, but now larger, worn from endless hours with a blade. It was Visenya.

Rhaenyra tried to breathe, the sounds of pain caught in her throat, just as Jace and Luke entered the room at Rhaenys’s insistence. With what strength she had left, Rhaenyra gave them instructions, making it clear that nothing was to be done without her command.

Luke was clearly shaken by the sight of their mother, but Jace focused solely on keeping Daemon at bay and honouring her wishes.

Rhaenyra grew weaker with every breath, unable to stay upright any longer, collapsing to her knees into her daughter’s arms. Each time the older woman screamed, Syrax’s roar could be heard echoing across the island.

Then it happened. Like the bursting of waters, but instead of the clear fluid expected, it was only blood. Rhaenyra bore down with what strength she had, gripping the hem of her nightdress as her legs were soaked in crimson. Visenya saw the baby beginning to crown, and she quickly placed her hands to catch it, steady as her mother fought her final battle. At last, the small, bloodied child slipped from her.

Silence.

No cry was heard.

The small, twisted body, covered in what seemed to be scales, the head slightly misshapen. And it was a girl. Aemma.

Rhaenyra stretched out her arms for her baby girl. Visenya passed the lifeless body into her mother’s embrace, and pulled Aemma tightly to her chest, closing her eyes as she rocked the stillborn child gently.

No one but Rhaenyra and Visenya laid a hand on Aemma—not even the silent sisters present in the shadowed chamber. The true heir herself oversaw the preparations for her daughter’s funeral, despite the weight of grief that bore down on her shoulders. The pain in her heart was nearly unbearable, but she was determined to do what must be done—to give her child a farewell steeped in love and honour.

As Rhaenyra tended to the body, Visenya’s presence beside her offered a quiet comfort. The daughter stood close to her mother, offering silent support.

Rhaenyra gently cleaned the dried blood from the tiny form, wrapping her in fresh cloth with meticulous care and tenderness. She needed to ensure that, though Aemma’s life had been painfully brief, her last rites would be a final act of a mother’s devotion.

Visenya, eyes heavy with sorrow, assisted where needed. She knew no words could ease the pain her mother felt, but simply being there—shoulder to shoulder—was enough to show she stood with her in grief, sharing the burden in silence.

Once everything was ready, Rhaenyra held her daughter one last time before the funeral. She kissed the child’s forehead and whispered parting words through a voice thick with emotion, promising never to forget her, swearing she would live on in her heart forever.

Visenya took Aemma’s little body from her mother’s arms with a subtle nod. They didn’t need to speak. The elder sister would see the younger laid to rest, while Rhaenyra prepared herself.

The small stone altar had been set atop a hill.

Servants, knights, sons, brothers, loyal supporters—all gathered for the farewell of the stillborn princess.

Rhaenyra had just placed her daughter’s body upon the altar when Daemon finally arrived.

Visenya wanted to scream at him, curse him, strike him—how could he have left his wife to face that torment alone? But for all the fury burning in her chest, she pushed it down. Her sister deserved a peaceful farewell.

A sudden thunderous sound of beating wings drew all eyes skyward. Visenya’s silver hair whipped in the wind stirred by Vermithor’s descent. The mighty Bronze Fury circled once before landing with rare gentleness atop the rocky rise just behind the altar where Aemma lay.

The ancient dragon seemed to stare deep into the soul of his rider, standing just a few paces away. Daemon led Rhaenyra back to a safe distance, and all others fell silent, waiting—for her. For Visenya.

She closed her eyes briefly, then opened them again, swallowing hard. She raised her head, and with all the strength she could muster—for her mother, for her sister—she gave the command.

— Dracarys.

For the first time, Visenya watched her dragon breathe a tempered flame. A small, but powerful fire engulfed Aemma’s body, giving the child of flame and blood the farewell she was owed.

The heavy, grief-laden atmosphere was pierced by the lone approach of a knight on foot, threading his way between those gathered to support the rightful princess. The white cloaks sworn to her cause drew their blades, ready for whatever this stranger brought.

— I come in peace, brothers — declared the knight.

He removed his helm, and Visenya recognised him—or at least had an inkling of who he might be. Arryk or Erryk—the twin brothers of the Kingsguard. The knight knelt before them, Daemon and Rhaenyra, removing from the pouch at his side the crown once worn by the late King Viserys.

Vermithor gave a guttural growl, unfurling his wings as if recognising the relic once worn by the rider who’d ruled from the Iron Throne for so many years.

At last, Rhaenyra turned her full attention to the knight who had brought the crown. Still kneeling, he pledged his loyalty and protection. To the queen. To Queen Rhaenyra .

The Rogue Prince took the crown from the white cloak’s hands, studying it for a long moment before turning to his wife. With care, he placed the symbol of power upon her brow—and then, he knelt.

Visenya was the next to kneel before her mother, followed by every soul present at the funeral of Princess Aemma.

All the members of the family stood gathered around the carved table bearing the map of Westeros. At that moment, firelight danced across its surface, illuminating the names of cities and the main roads that connected them.

— We already have the allegiance of Celtigar, Staunton, Massey, Darklyn, and Bar Emmon — said the maester.

Jace moved metal markers across the map to indicate their allies and foes as they were named.

— My mother was an Arryn. The Vale will not rise against its own kin — declared the queen.

— Riverrun always held close ties to your father, Your Grace — the maester added. — With Prince Daemon’s approval, I’ve already sent ravens to Lord Grover.

But Rhaenyra didn’t look pleased by that. The lord in question was known to be wavering in his loyalty, and in response, Daemon declared he would deal with him personally . The real question now turned to the support of Storm’s End and Winterfell—but no Stark had ever broken a sworn oath, and where the North went, all followed.

— Lord Borros Baratheon must be reminded of the vow he made — said Rhaenyra. — Any word from Driftmark?

— My husband is sailing to Dragonstone — Princess Rhaenys replied. — The Velaryon fleet is under his command.

— We pray for both your support and your husband’s, just as we prayed for your recovery — Rhaenyra answered. — And our enemies?

— We have no friends among the Lannisters, save for Visenya’s knight, who has yet to show himself — said Daemon.

— And I am sure there is a reason for that — the princess retorted.

— Without the Lannisters, we’ve no allies west of the Golden Tooth — said the queen.

— No — answered the king consort. — But the Riverlands are crucial.

One of the supporters spoke up—talking of men was pointless. They had dragons—the greatest power in the world.

As the debate continued, with suggestions of where to turn for new allegiances, one of the scouts entered the chamber and passed a message to Sir Erryk.

A ship bearing a banner with a green three-headed dragon had been sighted on approach.

*****

With the Sea Snake’s recovery and his arrival at Dragonstone earlier that evening, discussions on strategy and securing allies for the impending war finally began in earnest.

— You have the full support of my house and my fleet, my queen — said Corlys. — But we must secure allies to strengthen our position. The forces loyal to Aegon are growing, and we cannot face this threat alone.

— House Stark, of the North, could be a powerful ally. Their oath of loyalty to your bloodline has stood since the days of Aegon the Conqueror. We should send emissaries to Winterfell, show them we are willing to honour the old alliance and ensure they do not side with our opponent — Corlys continued.

Rhaenyra nodded. The North was a powerful ally they needed at their side.

— House Arryn of the Vale will not fight against their own blood — Rhaenyra declared.

— Yes, that’s true. Still, we should send a message to the Lady of the Vale, to show our respect for her line and emphasise our will to uphold tradition and unity.

As the discussion continued, the two leaders shaped plans and strategies to win over support and strengthen their cause. The queen remained resolute in her refusal to be the first to launch a direct attack against their enemies. She still believed that by demonstrating strength alone, she could force them to yield. She wished to honour the promise she’d made to her father — to keep the realm strong and united.

That decision, however, caught the Sea Snake by surprise. But to Rhaenyra, it was the more coherent path: to know her true allies and ensure they would fight for her.

Fortunately, Lord Corlys’s near-death had proved to be an advantage — the Narrow Sea was now under his control. They could cut off all trade to King’s Landing. No trade meant no food. And if the people began to starve, they would soon turn on the current ruler — the usurper. Furthermore, Princess Rhaenys declared that she would personally patrol the Gullet with her dragon to ensure her husband’s plans came to fruition.

Still, the support of the three great houses was essential.

— I shall prepare the ravens, Your Grace — said the maester.

— We should deliver the messages ourselves — said Jace. — Dragons are faster than ravens.

— And more persuasive — Visenya added.

— They’re right, my queen — the Sea Snake agreed.

— Very well — declared the queen. — Prince Jacaerys will go North. Lucerys will fly to the Eyrie, speak with my mother’s cousin, Lady Jeyne Arryn. And Visenya will go to Storm’s End and deal with Lord Borros Baratheon. We must remind these lords and ladies of the oaths they swore — and the cost of breaking them and betraying us. You three shall depart at first light, in my name.

Her words were interrupted by the maester’s apprentice requesting permission to enter the war council. A letter had arrived from King’s Landing, addressed to Princess Visenya.

A wave of dizziness struck her the moment she saw the sealed parchment in the boy’s hand. She had yet to receive any word from Aemond since Aegon’s coronation, and even amidst everything that had happened, her husband remained heavy in her thoughts. She drew a deep breath, steeling herself as she accepted the letter and broke the seal. But it was not from her husband.

My dearest Visenya,

I know these times are uncertain, but I believe that together we can bring stability and prosperity to the Seven Kingdoms.

If you recognise me as king, I promise not only to spare your family, but also to open my heart to you. Be my queen. Our marriage would not only unite our houses, but herald a new era for the realm.

I await your response eagerly.

With love, 

Aegon.

Her nostrils flared. Her eyes widened, teeth clenched, and her fingers gripped the parchment so tightly it began to tear as her face twisted with fury.

— Is the letter from Aemond? — asked Rhaenyra.

Visenya said nothing, simply extending the letter to her mother, watching her reaction as her eyes scanned the words.

— If Aegon is sentenced to death, I’ll be the one to wield the blade — said Visenya.

*****

With each passing hour, Visenya’s hopes of hearing any news from her husband withered further.

She had nothing — no word, no sign. Her mind was in constant turmoil, torn between questioning Aemond’s role in this betrayal and worrying over Thomas… or worse, over Eleny, who barely knew how to defend herself.

Visenya was drowning in a storm of emotions, leaving her confused and anguished. She clung to memories of the joyful moments she’d shared with Aemond before all of this, the vows of love and loyalty exchanged on that balcony in Pentos. She wanted — needed — to believe he wouldn’t betray her like this.

The sparse, contradictory reports arriving at Dragonstone only fuelled her unrest.

The longing was unbearable, and nightfall made it worse. She returned to her habit of walking the beach under the cover of night, slipping past the guards who insisted there was a chance the Greens might return. Gazing up at the starlit sky, she spotted her father standing directly in her path. She would’ve turned back had he not already noticed her and turned his head to look.

She thought to walk past him in silence, but was stopped as soon as she got close — Daemon moved deliberately to block her path.

— I thought you’d be too busy preparing your war.

— Our war.

She scoffed through her nose and tried again to pass him, only for him to catch her wrist. The grip wasn’t tight, but it was firm.

— I knew you’d be by your mother’s side through it all — Daemon said.

— That should’ve been you. Was planning this fucking war more important? She called for you, and you couldn’t even bother to show. Even Syrax felt her pain more than you did.

— I know. That’s why I stayed by the stairway.

— What?

Visenya faltered at his words, confusion twisting her face — until something clicked sharply in her mind.

— You can’t keep using your fears as excuses — she snapped.

— I couldn’t let her reach Syrax if she chose to do it.

— And you could’ve done that while holding her hand as she screamed trying to push my sister into this world! — she yelled. — I don’t mean to dishonour Laena’s memory, but my mother is not weak!

Daemon said nothing.

The silence of the early morning returned, father and daughter staring at one another while the winds howled over Dragonstone.

Far on the horizon, a massive figure emerged from the night’s shadows.

Vhagar.

She didn’t think — she ran. She ran until her lungs burned. Bells began to ring, rousing the entire island. Knights gathered at the windows of the castle, staring out in horror at the sight of the great Conqueror’s dragon.

Visenya knew where Vhagar would land, and she sprinted in that direction. The ground trembled as the dragon touched down, and even through the darkness, she saw she wasn’t alone — Vhagar had a rider, but he looked unconscious.

Without hesitation, she climbed the saddle up to her husband. He was slumped forward, barely strapped in, and only the gods knew how he’d made it to Dragonstone in one piece.

Visenya touched him — his skin was cold, and he didn’t react.

She jumped as her father pulled the one-eyed man back, revealing Aemond’s pallid face. Daemon quickly noticed the blood-soaked clothes and began unfastening the sloppy knots that bound him to the saddle. He shouted for Sir Erryk, who had rushed over the moment Vhagar landed, and together they freed the unconscious prince, though it was clear from Daemon’s expression just how grave the situation truly was.

Before they carried Aemond away from the dragon, Visenya noticed a cloth pouch tied to his wrist. She untied it and held it close as her father and the knight carried him into the castle.

She lingered behind for a moment, stopping to place her hand on the massive snout of Vhagar, who was so close she could feel the beast’s breath warming her skin.

— Thank you for bringing him back to me — she said in Valyrian.

Chapter Text

The one-eyed prince’s howls and roars of fury echoed through much of the Red Keep.

The only furniture in that small chamber had been reduced to splinters, destroyed in a violent fit of rage. Aemond’s heart was consumed by a fury he could no longer control. Each heartbeat thundered like a war drum, a brutal echo of the pain and betrayal he felt—betrayal at the hands of his own mother. He punched the walls again and again, uncaring of the pain lancing through his fists. His mind was a storm, haunted by every bitter encounter with the queen, every sharp word she’d thrown at him—and the glint of a familiar necklace in her fingers. His wife’s necklace.

Time passed, the bells of the city rang out to summon the people, but the prince remained locked in his prison of resentment and rage. He was paralysed, unable to act, unable to do anything that would bring him closer to Visenya. That impotence only deepened the fury blazing within his chest, sending him into bursts of cursing and furious threats shouted to the void.

Aemond teetered on the edge—torn between the desire to confront his mother and the dread that doing so would only make matters worse. He couldn’t give in to her. It would be a betrayal of every promise he’d ever made to Visenya. And yet… he didn’t even recognise his mother anymore. He feared, truly feared, that she might actually order his wife’s death.

Night fell, and still there was no sign of the queen or her servants. The prince pressed his ear to the door now and then, trying to catch any whispers or conversation, but all he heard were mundane exchanges between guards—guards ordered to keep anyone from reaching the room where Aemond was held. The door was made of thick oak, and even when he’d tried to force his way through it, it had held.

Then came the muffled grunts—followed by a dull thud and the sharp clang of something metallic hitting the floor. Aemond stiffened. The iron latch was drawn back, the key turned in the lock. The prince flattened himself against the wall, eyes fixed on the faint flicker of a nearby candle. It was all the light he had.

The door creaked open. Standing in the doorway was a man in a black cloak, sword in hand, its blade stained with blood.

— Given you weren’t seen at the coronation, I think I can safely assume you haven’t betrayed my princess.

That irritating voice hit Aemond’s ears like a needle. He was furious—but the gods be damned, the door was finally open.

— What in seven hells are you doing here, Lannister?

— A rescue. Thought that was obvious.

— Why aren’t you with Visenya?

The prince lunged forward, grabbing the cloak the man wore to mask himself. As much as he despised the Lannister, he had sworn himself to Visenya. He should have been rescuing her , not him .

— Believe me, my first thought was to grab Eleny and board the nearest ship for Dragonstone — Thomas said. — But I knew if I did that without knowing what had happened to you, Vis… my princess would feed me to Vermithor.

For a fleeting moment, Aemond drew in a deep breath, trying to ignore how close the man had come to referring to his wife in an all-too-familiar tone.

— Dragonstone? Visenya’s being held hostage by the Greens.

— Where in the seven hells did you get that idea? She hasn’t been back since the day she left—and I doubt she’ll ever set foot in King’s Landing again unless it’s to burn it to ash.

— The necklace… My mother had it. The sapphire necklace.

Thomas’s eyes widened for a split second—everything suddenly made sense. Now he understood the strange interest Queen Alicent and Sir Criston had taken in Eleny… and the necklace she’d been carrying.

They needed leverage—something to control Aemond in case he wouldn’t submit willingly. Pretending Visenya had returned, using something precious to her to make it convincing… It was the perfect ruse to trap her husband with fear. The Greens needed the prince—because without him, they had no claim to Vhagar.

— The necklace was with Eleny the whole time. She broke the chain by accident, and the princess asked her to take it to the city to be repaired. She was meant to get it back once she returned from Dragonstone — Thomas explained. — Every servant was taken to the dungeons except for Eleny. Criston took her, on the queen’s orders. They used the necklace to trick you. We need to leave. Now .

Aemond Targaryen’s heart stopped for a moment as the truth finally hit him. Relief washed over him at the thought that Visenya was safe and far from King’s Landing — but that feeling was quickly swallowed by disbelief, followed by a fresh wave of betrayal. He stared at the man before him, every part of him trembling. The fog that had clouded his mind was gone in an instant, replaced by a storm of conflicting emotions. Thomas’s words echoed over and over, and suddenly, every fractured piece of the puzzle fell into place. Aemond felt like a marionette — strung up and played with by the very woman who was meant to protect him above all else.

A surge of pain and rage coursed through his veins, knowing he’d been tricked — again — by his own mother. A guttural sound of anguish escaped his lips as he smashed his fist into the wall, pain blooming up his arm. It did little to ease the fury burning in his chest.

He was drowning in it — hatred for his mother for betraying him, guilt for falling into her trap, and heartbreak for believing, even for a moment, that he had lost Visenya.

— And where is she? Eleny. — Aemond asked.

— One of the dungeons, but she's isolated from the others. Different wing. Too many guards down there, I couldn’t get to her.

The gears in Aemond’s mind started to turn. He was already working through a plan, a way out, a way to reach his wife. Still, he couldn’t leave Thomas behind — not out of sentiment, but principle. He wouldn’t owe the bloody Lannister a debt. But before that, he would use their escape to get to Eleny. He might not show it, but the insolent little servant girl had grown on him. She could coax smiles from Visenya in ways that disarmed even him. And more importantly, she mattered to his wife. Visenya would never forgive him if he left her behind. And clearly, neither would Thomas.

— We wait. Once they realise I’m gone, they’ll throw men after me. The dungeon will be lighter. — Aemond declared.

— And where are we supposed to wait?

The prince didn’t answer. Instead, he snatched up one of the fallen guards’ swords and stalked cautiously toward the corridor beyond, Thomas following behind, confused but quiet. Aemond paused, eyes scanning every inch before slipping into a room off the corridor. Dust and darkness met them. The prince moved an old, grimy cabinet aside, revealing a hole in the wall.

One of the many secret passages hidden within the Red Keep. Thomas barely held back his surprise as Aemond gestured for him to go first, waiting until he’d crawled inside before dragging the cabinet back into place, masking their path.

In the dark depths of the dungeon, Aemond and Thomas crept through the stinking shadows. Aemond still despised the blond bastard, but he needed him — just this once — if they were to get to Eleny.

The prince knew the Red Keep like the back of his hand. Before he'd spent his afternoons with Helaena and Visenya, showing them every hidden corridor and high balcony, he'd explored every forgotten corner alone. He focused now, mind turning over every element of their hastily built plan. Just as he’d expected, the guards had been thinned out — spread in the search for the missing prince. This was their moment.

Beside him, Thomas slid his sword back into its sheath and drew a dagger instead. His breathing was even, his focus sharp.

A silent nod passed between them.

They moved like shadows through the fetid air. Every step was deliberate, controlled.

The surprise was theirs — only three guards were posted near the girl. Two stood on either side of the stone arch that led to her cell, the third kept close watch over her from inside. Flickering torchlight cast warped shadows against the walls, making the whole place feel like a crypt.

Aemond and Thomas exchanged a quick glance.

Aemond crept forward, his leather boots nearly silent on the cold stone floor. The sword in his hand glinted faintly in the dim firelight.

He closed the distance to the first guard.

Without warning, he lunged from the dark, locking his arm around the man’s throat and driving the blade into his neck before the guard could even gasp. The body slumped, hitting the floor with a dull thud.

Thomas used the sound as cover, sliding up behind the second guard as he turned in confusion. Before the man could utter a word, a blade slid across his throat. Thomas twisted the dagger in a fluid arc, wiping it clean with a cloth before turning to the final threat.

That one stood near Eleny, who was curled up and quietly sobbing. Aemond and Thomas crept through the arch.

When Thomas was near enough, Aemond gave a low whistle.

The guard turned his head—just enough.

Thomas slipped behind him and wrapped his arms around the man’s neck, yanking him back into a chokehold. The guard struggled, but it was too late. Just before he lost consciousness, Thomas twisted sharply, snapping the man’s neck with a sickening crack.

With all three guards dead, Aemond allowed himself one begrudging thought:

The bastard was actually useful .

The cell that held Eleny captive now stood unguarded. The princess’s knight found the key tucked in the robes of the last dead guard and unlocked the iron gate that separated the two men from the servant girl.

— W-who’s there? — she asked through her sobs.

Thomas frowned at the question. It was dark, but not so much that she shouldn’t be able to recognise them by now.

— It’s us. Prince Aemond and I — Thomas replied.

As they stepped closer, the reason for her confusion became sickeningly clear. Eleny couldn’t even open her eyes. Both were so bruised they bordered on black, swollen and scraped. Her eyelids were mangled, her nose bent at a grotesque angle, both nostrils crusted with dried blood. Her lips were split open, no doubt from a blow to the face, and her cheeks were mottled with angry bruises that surely ran down the rest of her body.

— Gods be good — she whispered.

Thomas knelt beside her, gently running his hands over her body to check for broken bones, before lifting her carefully into his arms, murmuring soft words of comfort while she tried to stifle her sobs of relief.

Aemond stepped ahead to ensure the path was clear — but they weren’t alone.

— My prince, I see you've made your choice — said Criston.

— Step aside, Criston — Aemond warned.

— By the Queen’s order, I won’t. And I don’t bloody want to. I told them all that little whore bewitched you. You're turning your back on reason.

Aemond lunged at his former mentor, his face twisted with fury. He’d insulted Visenya — his wife — and the mere mention of the Queen revealed Criston's part in the deception.

Aemond struck with brutal force, his sword cutting through the air with every ounce of rage and betrayal he’d bottled up. Criston met his blows, parrying with the skill of a seasoned warrior, but Aemond was relentless, each strike faster and more vicious than the last.

Thomas kept his distance, Eleny still cradled in his arms. He knew this was not a fight he could — or should — interrupt. His priority was to get her far away from the danger. As Aemond drove Criston further back, pressing the advantage, Thomas slipped into the shadows, disappearing into the darkness with Eleny.

The duel raged on. Aemond held the upper hand, his prowess and fury overpowering Criston. But Sir Criston, loyal hound of Queen Alicent, saw the tide turning and knew he wouldn’t win in a fair fight. He seized his chance.

They were alone.

With a swift, dirty move, he drew the dagger from his belt and drove it forward.

The blade sliced through the air and found its mark, sinking into Aemond’s side.

A strangled cry of pain tore from the prince’s throat. He staggered, blood quickly soaking through his tunic. His hand pressed hard against the wound, trying in vain to stem the flow, but his strength was already fading.

— I never wanted it to come to this — Criston said quietly.

Aemond leaned on his sword to keep himself upright, eyes locked onto the man he once called mentor. Another betrayal.

To the surprise of both men, Thomas Lannister returned to the dungeons, his eyes immediately locking onto Aemond’s pale, bloodied form.

The Lannister strode towards Criston, whose body was slumped partially against the wall, dagger still slick with blood in one hand. The usual arrogance etched into his features had vanished, replaced by a startled expression. With a surge of strength, Thomas lunged at him. Criston’s eyes flickered wide in shock at the sudden movement. The knight sworn to Princess Visenya knocked the bloodied dagger from Criston’s grip with a powerful blow from his own weapon.

Criston attempted a counterstrike, but Thomas ducked under it, sweeping his leg low and knocking Criston’s feet clean out from under him. The knight crashed down hard, the back of his head slamming against a jagged stone in the floor, rendering him unconscious on impact.

He should’ve killed him. Tortured him. But there was no time.

He dashed to the prince’s side, helping him to his feet. Aemond met him with a look of cold suspicion.

— Thank Eleny. She practically forced me to come back — Thomas muttered.

With the aid of one of Thomas’s trusted friends, the three managed to escape the Red Keep through the secret passages and reach Vhagar’s lair. The she-dragon wasn’t pleased to see so many unfamiliar faces encroaching on her space.

Thomas explained that he and Eleny would be boarding a merchant ship arranged by his contact, Addam — the same man who had helped them flee the castle grounds.

As the pair disappeared into the shadows, Aemond searched the hollow beneath a stone slab where he’d stashed the cloth pouch earlier. He tied it tightly to his wrist, then hauled himself up onto Vhagar, gritting his teeth as the wound at his side tore open again.

He strapped himself in as best he could, blood soaking through the cloth at his waist.

— Sōvēs — he commanded.

Vhagar launched into the sky with a thunderous roar, and within moments, the prince’s world faded into black.

*****

The night at Dragonstone was chaos, shaken by the sudden arrival of the prince of the greens. Wounded and unconscious, Aemond was carried into one of the chambers and laid upon the bed by Daemon and Sir Erryk. Visenya entered moments later, followed by the maester and his apprentice, along with Queen Rhaenyra.

While the maester worked diligently to stabilise Aemond, Daemon carefully removed the cloth pouch Visenya had brought with her. The princess, still in shock over her husband’s condition, made no protest as her father took it.

With deliberate hands, Daemon opened the pouch, revealing a dragon egg — copper-hued, with faint green stripes running across its shell in delicate patterns.

He exchanged a silent look with Rhaenyra before the queen stepped forward, took the egg from his hands, and quietly left the room.

As the maester continued his efforts, Daemon remained beside Visenya, standing guard. He would not leave her.

Chapter Text

Atop the high towers of Dragonstone, dawn slowly unfurled itself. The sky, once a dark canvas of glimmering stars, had begun to fade into gentle hues of blue and violet, heralding the start of a new day. The sea breeze blew softly, carrying with it the briny, invigorating scent of the ocean that surrounded the island. The sun’s first light, though shy, began to break over the horizon, casting golden streaks across the low-hanging clouds and creating a shimmering path toward the rocky shore. But in the far distance, a storm was brewing. A mass of dark, threatening clouds crept forward, gradually swallowing the morning’s fragile beauty. The contrast between the vibrant colours of dawn and the approaching shadow mirrored the grim reality unfolding around them.

The wind grew stronger, its force rising steadily, ripping leaves from trees and whipping the waves into a violent churn. It was exactly how Visenya felt within. The Velaryon sat at the stone window, allowing the wind to caress her face, as if it could carry her worries far from that tower — but in that very room, Aemond lay unconscious.

His leather garments had been stripped, replaced by loose trousers, his torso left bare save for the thick bandages wrapped tightly around his abdomen, concealing the wound. He was even paler than usual. From the size of the gash and the length of the journey to Dragonstone, the prince had spent far too long with the wound open, losing far too much blood, and according to the maester, teetering dangerously on the edge between life and death.

The princess was already dressed, and for the first time in many moons, had done so without the help of her oldest friend. There had been no word of Eleny or Thomas, and if her husband — a prince — had arrived in such a state, the panic within her about the condition of her friends only deepened.

Visenya rose from her seat, the metallic sound of the chainmail she wore beneath her red and black garments clinking softly. She reached for the sword her father had given her — the very blade she had, at last, named that night: Bloodthirst. Any blood spilled by those who dared to harm those she loved would meet that blade, and it would be the last thing they’d see before being claimed by the dark.

She fastened the sword to her hip, alongside the dagger her twin brother had gifted her. She walked over to the bed where her husband lay and placed a hand gently on his chest. She could still feel the faint beat of his heart. He was still with her. She gave him one final kiss upon his cold lips before leaving, quietly shutting the door behind her.

Queen Rhaenyra and Princes Jacaerys and Lucerys were already outside the castle, awaiting Visenya. Her mother, upon seeing her, gave her a look filled with compassion. Even Jace glanced at her with pity.

— I can go to Storm’s End before heading North — he offered.

— I’m not going to let you ruin everything — the princess replied with a faint smile.

— Are you certain you don’t want to stay? — asked Rhaenyra.

— I’m of no use here. There’s nothing I can do but sit at his bedside and watch if he still breathes — Visenya answered.

The queen nodded, brushing her fingers gently across her daughter’s face, noticing the dark shadows beneath her eyes — signs of the sleepless night spent ensuring Aemond survived until morning. Rhaenyra stepped back and looked at her three children standing before her.

— It’s long been said that we Targaryens are closer to gods than to men. The Iron Throne may place us nearer still, but if we are to serve the Seven Kingdoms, then we must answer to their gods. If you’re to take on this mission, you go as messengers, not warriors. You will not engage in any fighting — swear it to me, now.

With a simple gesture, Sir Erryk stepped forward, bringing with him the book of the Seven. Luke was the first to swear, followed by Jace, who hesitated slightly but gave his oath all the same. All eyes then turned to Visenya, whose gloved hand rested tightly on the hilt of her sword — so tightly, in fact, her knuckles would have shown white beneath the leather. The princess took a deep breath before raising that same hand and placing it atop the gilded book.

— I swear, my queen.

The queen nodded her thanks to the knight, then turned her attention to her eldest son. She handed him the sealed letter destined for Lord Cregan Stark of Winterfell. To Luke, she gave the message for her mother’s cousin, Lady Jeyne Arryn, who had welcomed Visenya with great hospitality in the past.

Then the queen turned to her only living daughter.

— Lord Borros is proud, but I know you’ll find the right words. And besides, he’ll be receiving a princess — and her dragon. — The queen offered her daughter a smile. — Storm’s End is close. If your heart grows heavy, come back.

Visenya squeezed her mother’s hand before accepting the letter meant for the Baratheons.

The four dragons rose from Dragonstone to their separate destinations. Princess Rhaenys and Meleys flew off toward the Gullet, and as always, before the siblings parted to fulfil their tasks, Vermithor soared low, shielding the flanks of Vermax and Arrax with his immense wings.

The weather worsened by the minute. As Princess Visenya broke through the clouds atop Vermithor, the thunderclaps grew louder and more frequent. The fortress of Storm’s End stood before her — a towering bastion of grey and dark stone, its structure blending naturally with the rugged rock around it. Its massive walls had been built to withstand the furious gales and brutal tempests that plagued the region.

Access to Storm’s End was heavily fortified, with walls, gates, and drawbridges designed to repel any attacker — unless that attacker came riding a dragon.

The princess and her beast landed in the outer yard, where the space was just wide enough to hold the great creature without damage to the grounds. Four guards awaited her beneath the arch that led to the inner courtyard and into the heart of the keep. Visenya unfastened the saddle’s leather straps, and Vermithor crouched low, pressing his body to the ground so that his rider might descend with ease.

Visenya strode forward with unwavering confidence. Each step she took echoed with authority, her very presence announcing itself before she spoke a word. Her gaze swept over the scene before her, assessing every detail with quiet calculation.

The guards of Storm’s End, long used to answering only to the blood of Baratheon, found themselves unsettled by the presence of the Targaryen princess. There was something otherworldly about her, something impossible to ignore. They watched her with a mix of curiosity and unease, their glances darting between her and the monstrous creature behind — a living reminder of the power she commanded.

As she neared the guards, her stance grew ever more commanding — shoulders squared, chin held high. Her face was calm, serene even, but a fire burned fiercely behind her eyes.

— I bring a message for Lord Borros, from the queen.

The men merely nodded, stepping aside to let her pass, two guards flanking her on either side as she made her way into the keep.

— Princess Visenya Velaryon, daughter of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen.

The princess held her posture as she entered the great stone hall. At its head, Lord Borros sat upon his chair. His four daughters and his wife were also present, along with the maester and a number of noblemen.

— Lord Borros, I bring a message from my mother, the queen — said the princess.

— I’ve already received a messenger from the king earlier today. So which of the two sits the throne then? Seems the House of the Dragon can’t decide that for itself — Borros scoffed, letting out a laugh.

— A usurper is no king — she replied coldly.

— And what message does your mother send, princess? — he asked.

Visenya raised the hand holding the sealed letter from her queen. One of the guards stepped forward, taking it to his lord, who in turn handed it to the maester to read aloud. The man whispered in Borros’s ear, and slowly the lord’s expression twisted into one of growing indignation.

— Reminding me of the oath my father swore... King Aegon at least brought a proposal — a marriage, a Lannister no less, the richest men in the realm, for one of my daughters, in exchange for my banners and swords. If I accept your mother’s terms, what do I gain? — he challenged.

— A gift — declared the princess.

The fat man’s face pinched again, curiosity and doubt plainly written across it.

— A gift?

— Yes, my lord. A gift. Your life. The life of your wife, and your four lovely daughters — Visenya’s eyes fell directly on Cassandra, whose own widened with fear. — Refuse this gift, and we shall show no mercy.

— You come into my hall to threaten me? — he roared, rising from his seat. — You are arrogant, princess!

— It's not arrogance, I'm superior. That’s all it is. And it’s not a threat, it’s a warning. No betrayal shall be forgotten... and Vermithor is eager.

As if they were one, the shrill roar of the dragon echoed through the keep, shaking the very walls of Storm’s End. Borros’s daughters clutched their ears, eyes wide with terror as they turned to their father.

— It would be a shame, wouldn’t it, if your castle burned.

— It’s stone — Borros snapped back.

— Your people aren’t.

Borros clenched his fists, the tension in his jaw betraying the storm of emotion raging inside him. His hands gripped tightly at his sides, a clear sign of the fury he struggled to contain.

Visenya, in stark contrast, stood calm — a quiet storm before the chaos. Her violet eyes gleamed with unshaken resolve, untouched by the fury radiating from the Lord of Storm’s End. Her voice was steady, every word laced with the kind of confidence that dared any man to challenge her.

Her threats hung in the air like the coming tide, a constant reminder that she would use any means necessary to reach her ends. And Borros now stood at a crossroads — between his family and a dangerous political alliance.

Tense silence filled the hall as their gazes locked in a silent battle of wills. The atmosphere was thick with anticipation, as if thunder itself lingered on the verge of striking.

— You’re not a fool, Lord Borros. You know this war won’t be won by the Greens. And surely you’ve heard that my husband — her gaze flicked to Cassandra before returning to the lord — is at Dragonstone. Along with Vhagar, of course. And my grandmother Rhaenys, your cousin, is with us too. Best to stay close to family, don’t you think?

*****

After a fierce storm, nightfall over Dragonstone took on a unique atmosphere. The heavy clouds that had ruled the skies throughout the tempest now began to part slowly, revealing the first glimmers of starlight and the shy emergence of the moon.

The sea, once wild and raging during the storm, was beginning to settle. The sound of waves crashing against the rocks softened into a gentler melody, a tranquil symphony that filled the air. Silver reflections from the moon and stars began to shimmer on the surface of the calm waters, as though nature itself were painting a magical portrait.

As darkness deepened, torches and lanterns along the walls and towers of Dragonstone were lit, casting a warm, inviting glow. The temperature dipped steadily, prompting the castle’s residents and visitors to seek comfort in its heated, welcoming chambers.

Queen Rhaenyra remained engaged in war councils with her supporters, anxiously awaiting word from her children. Every hour, the maester came with updates on Aemond’s condition—though a full day had passed, he had yet to wake. To the queen, there could only be one explanation for her half-brother’s presence in such a state. But her husband, the king consort, was right: once Visenya’s husband regained consciousness, he would have to publicly swear fealty to Rhaenyra. Only then would her support swell even further.

A break was called in the council; all needed to eat and rest. That evening, the queen and king shared the table with their allies. The mother in Rhaenyra ached as she saw the seats near her filled by others rather than her children. Visenya’s chair had been left empty for a long while, only now occupied for the first time at supper. Baela and Rhaena sat side by side, their expressions equally laden with worry.

As ordered by the queen, the maester returned to the hall to give his latest report on the one-eyed prince’s health. But this time, he came bearing a sealed letter. Rhaenyra could not hide the tremble in her hands as she reached for the parchment.

Storm’s End is yours, my queen. I’ve decided to ride North, to join Jace and seek the support of Cregan Stark. As we know, the realm stands on fragile ground, and alliances are vital. Lord Stark holds considerable sway, and by uniting our cause with my brother’s, we may secure an accord that strengthens our position. - Visenya

Daemon stood behind his wife, reading the letter over her shoulder. A faint smile lit his face. Not only because his daughter had won another key ally in the war to come, but also because, once again, what every servant on the island whispered had proven true.

If Visenya truly weren’t his blood, they wouldn't be so alike. Just as he had done in his own troubled moments… she was running.

Chapter Text

Visenya Velaryon and her dragon, Vermithor, cut through the skies above the Riverlands. Her silver hair streamed behind her in the wind as she held tightly to the leather saddle.

The landscape below stretched out in verdant fields, broken by winding rivers that shimmered with sunlight. Castles and villages appeared small and insignificant from that height, like pieces from a children’s game her brothers used to play.

The wind howled in her ears as they flew at a staggering speed. Visenya glanced down, watching the winding rivers of the Riverlands uncoil like serpents beneath them.

Yet the usual harmony between Visenya and Vermithor seemed disturbed. Vermithor began veering eastward. She frowned, sensing a subtle resistance in the dragon’s movements through the bond they shared. She tried to redirect him with the commands that normally worked, but that morning, the dragon seemed to utterly ignore his rider’s will.

Despite Visenya’s efforts to guide him northward, the dragon kept flying east, as though something pulled him. Visenya’s soft voice gave commands, attempting to coax Vermithor into turning, but her purple eyes reflected her confusion at her companion’s obstinate behaviour.

— Come back, Vermithor! Focus, obey me! — she commanded in Valyrian.

She knew Vermithor was a proud creature, but since the day she claimed him, he had never disobeyed a command.

Slowly, the Riverlands fell behind, replaced by rugged and mountainous terrain as Vermithor followed his instincts, flying toward the Eyrie. Visenya felt a rising blend of curiosity and concern. The Vale itself was already a natural fortress perched atop a steep mountain— an isolated and unreachable place for most, save those with wings or the courage to brave the climb.

As they soared over the mountains, the air grew colder, sharper. Vermithor’s wings beat forcefully, the wind tugged at Visenya’s hair, and the altitude steadily climbed. Her heart pounded with uncertainty over what she might find at the Eyrie. Why was Vermithor so determined to follow this path?

At last, the Eyrie came into view. The rocky stronghold looked like a throne of stone, rising above the clouds that often swirled around its peak. It had been years since the princess had last set foot there, but even knowing the castle well, it remained astonishing to imagine how it had ever been built in such a place. Vermithor executed a precise landing at the summit, his claws gripping the stone as he shifted his massive body to make room for his descent towards the castle’s entrance.

Visenya dismounted from Vermithor, her eyes scanning the surroundings as the sensation that something significant was about to happen consumed her. She felt, in some way, worried and curious as to why her dragon had brought her to this place. A low growl caught her attention, and not far from where she had landed, she spotted Arrax standing upright, watching them with his neck tilted. Vermithor snorted before lumbering awkwardly toward her brother’s dragon.

The princess was greeted by the Eyrie’s guards, and though still confused, she allowed herself to be led into the castle. One of the guards informed Visenya that the Lady of the Eyrie would be arriving shortly; in the meantime, the princess could enjoy a meal with her brother.

On the way, Visenya remembered why she used to enjoy coming to the Eyrie when she was younger. The castle felt more alive than Dragonstone —  light colours, sunlit chambers, warmth in every corner. The only drawback, for her, were the constant cold winds.

The princess entered the hall, met by her brother’s surprised gaze. The guards who had escorted her stepped away, leaving the two alone as Luke rose from his seat to approach his sister.

— Did something happen? — he asked, concerned.

— Not that I know of — she replied, taking her brother’s hand and leading him back to the table.

— Then why are you here? Thought I wouldn’t be able to win the Vale’s support on my own?

— No! No, it’s not that. I don’t know why I’m here either. Vermithor disobeyed me and brought me here.

— He didn’t want to return to Dragonstone? — he asked, puzzled.

— I wasn’t heading there.

The massive doors of the Eyrie’s great hall groaned open, revealing the figure of Lady Jeyne Arryn. She was a woman of striking elegance, dressed in garments that reflected her station and command. Her blonde hair was swept into an elaborate bun, revealing her sharp features.

Her eyes scanned the hall, seeking her guests, until they locked with the princess’s. Her expression held a mix of curiosity and amusement. As she advanced towards the siblings, the older woman stood tall and soon wrapped Visenya in a warm embrace.

— Every time I see you, you’re more of a woman — said Jeyne. — I was wondering why it took you so long to come back here, and then I heard you married the one-eyed lad. At least he’s... good?

The princess’s face lit with a shade of red never seen before. Luke coughed and turned his head away, embarrassed by their “aunt’s” question, while she laughed at their discomfort.

Lady Jeyne took her place at the head of the table, with Princess Visenya dressed in black and red seated to her right, and Prince Lucerys beside her.

The conversation flowed smoothly as they shared tales of the past and plans for what was to come —  one of which was which dragonrider would be sent to guard the Vale from the Greens, as part of the pact securing House Arryn’s support for Queen Rhaenyra’s claim. Lady Jeyne steered the discussion, weaving her words with wisdom and wit. She was eager to hear of Visenya’s deeds since her last visit. Luke, on the other hand, remained quieter, answering a few questions here and there; he had always been the shyest of the siblings.

However, though the talk was pleasant and the atmosphere warm, Jeyne noticed something subtle in Visenya’s eyes —  a flicker of unrest that clashed with the composed facade the princess wore. It was as if a fleeting shadow passed through her gaze, a worry left unspoken.

With some polite excuse, she sent the young prince away and walked arm in arm with the princess through corridors of pale stone and tapestries. The Lady of the Vale said nothing as they strolled, but she noticed how Visenya’s eyes drifted to the windows every time they passed one.

— Your brother told me the one-eyed fool is in Dragonstone. Must be a relief — Jeyne said.

Visenya held her breath, her body tensing slightly as her eyes flicked towards the few clouds drifting around the fortress.

— Y-yes — she replied.

— But he arrived injured, and you’re here.

She pulled away from the woman’s touch and moved to the nearest window. Visenya felt as if all the stones of the castle were pressing down on her shoulders. She was afraid —  and running, like a coward.

— Well, if he dies, at least it might spark a real war — said the Lady of the Vale.

— What the fuck is wrong with you? — Visenya shot back.

— Nothing. You, on the other hand, are here hiding like a child afraid of getting beaten.

— How could you possibly understand? You’ve never been married.

— Thank the gods for that blessing — the lady replied, raising her arms skyward. — But that doesn’t mean I’ve never known love.

— Who... Jessamyn? — Visenya asked.

Jeyne merely nodded before stepping closer to the Velaryon, looking her deep in the eyes before joining her at the window, where a cold breeze slipped through.

— Visenya, war is a terrible maelstrom of chaos and destruction — Jeyne began, choosing her words with care. — Men screaming, blades clashing, the choking stench of blood, smoke, and fire. Death is everywhere, my dear. It lurks in the eyes of the wounded and lies heavy in the bodies scattered on the ground. Fear is natural. With every step you take, you wonder if it’ll be your last beside the one you love — your father, your mother, your siblings... your husband. I only want you to understand that war is a tragedy beyond words, but you Targaryens are marching towards one I doubt can be avoided. Don’t let those you love face the Stranger alone — that is what makes one a coward.

At the centre of the courtyard, the Bronze Fury was restless. His wings remained half-spread, and his powerful body shifted with exaggerated movements across the stone ground as he roared toward the sky. Visenya stood beside Vermithor, watching him with concern, trying to decipher the cause of this unusual agitation. He had always been a fierce beast, but this time there was something more.

The princess resorted to what usually worked to soothe Vermithor. Visenya began to sing. Her song was gentle, and her face was so close to the dragon's that she could see her reflection in the vast bronze-coloured irises. Her words seemed to calm the agitated dragon somewhat, for Vermithor lowered his wings and moved even closer to Visenya, as if mesmerised by the melody. Yet he still remained uneasy, as though he longed to spread his wings and fly, restrained only by his unwillingness to do so without his rider.

As Visenya sang, a figure approached silently across the courtyard. It was her brother, Lucerys, who watched the scene with a soft smile on his lips, moved by the bond between his sister and the dragon. He stopped at a respectful distance, not wishing to intrude on the delicate moment. Eventually, Visenya noticed Luke’s presence, finishing the song and turning to him with a warm look.

Vermithor’s eyes were now fixed on Lucerys, and sadly, the agitation that had eased returned with full force, as though it had never left.

— I've never seen him like this — Luke said.

— Dragons are sensitive creatures. They feel our emotions, our intentions. A good part of this unrest is my fault... but there’s something else here in the Vale that’s unsettling him.

— Your intentions? Why haven’t you gone home? Where were you going?

— That day, before all this began, you said I was perfect — that I did everything I wanted without fear. I wish that were true. I was running… north. I sent a raven to Mother about Storm’s End and, in the same message, I said I’d join Jace under the excuse of forming a united front — she gave a small, sheepish laugh.

— You're afraid to go back because you think Aemond won’t survive?

Visenya lowered her head slightly in agreement, once again running her hands across Vermithor’s thick scales, who gave a low growl in return.

— I spoke so much about Daemon, called him a coward in front of everyone for not standing beside our mother during one of her darkest moments… but look at me now. Hiding and wanting to run instead of being with my husband, who was likely wounded coming to us.

— Is that what you and Lady Jeyne were talking about? — Luke asked.

— Yes. I should go back, I know that. I was so anxious to know where he was and whether we’d see each other again. I never imagined seeing him in that state, and it terrifies me… because I don’t know what I’ll do if the worst comes to pass.

Luke reached for his sister’s hands and found them cold. He bit his lip, trying to find the right words. In the moments when he’d been scared and lost, she had always been there, knowing exactly what to say to calm his heart. At last, it was his turn to have the right words — to offer comfort and courage.

— You know him better than anyone. You know how stubborn and hard-headed he can be just to get what he wants. And he came to Dragonstone for you. I was scared when you married him. I thought he’d hurt you because of what I did to him in the past. I thought you wouldn’t be happy. But I’m glad I was wrong. If he went through all that just to be with you, shouldn’t you be at home, waiting for him to wake?

— Yes — Visenya said, pulling her brother into a hug. — Thank you.

A shy smile played on Luke’s lips as he noticed the surprised, admiring look in Visenya’s eyes. He said nothing, only offered her a quiet nod.

— You’ve grown so much. Rhaena is lucky to have you as her wife — she said.

— And I’m lucky to have her — he replied.

The golden noonday sun bathed the castle, painting a spectacular scene over the dragons resting nearby. Visenya had spent the entire morning standing before Vermithor. Her eyes locked with his, and she finally decided to give in to the dragon.

— You want to fly, don’t you? — she said softly in Valyrian.

Vermithor responded with a flurry of excited movements, his wings stretching and folding, his tail whipping through the air. She stroked his gleaming, coppery scales, murmuring soothing words as she climbed onto his broad back.

As she prepared for flight, Luke approached, already mounted on Arrax. Visenya smiled at her younger brother, nodding in gratitude before returning her focus to Vermithor. With a smooth motion, she leaned forward, and the dragon understood he was free to move. Luke followed suit with Arrax, positioning himself at Visenya’s side, ready to follow her lead.

The dragons beat their wings, stirring up clouds of dust as they took to the skies, the ground quickly falling away beneath them.

Guided by Vermithor’s instinct, they flew toward the horizon, cutting through the sky in a synchronised dance. As they neared the mountains of the Vale of Arryn, Vermithor began to grow increasingly agitated, letting out roars that echoed through the mountain ranges.

Then, from among the clouds, a majestic figure emerged — a silver she-dragon. Silverwing. Visenya’s eyes widened in surprise, and even though she had never seen the creature before, she instantly recognised her as the dragon who had once been the life companion of the late Queen Alysanne.

Silverwing flew with grace, her silver wings moving with elegance as she glided across the sky. Vermithor roared once more, his excitement swelling as he neared the silver dragon. The two met in the air, circling and dancing as though greeting one another.

Visenya and Luke watched in awe as the dragons moved in perfect harmony, as if reliving memories of a time long gone. A deeply moved smile curled on Visenya’s lips when she realised Vermithor had come all this way to reunite with his mate. She turned to Luke, who flew beside her, completely captivated by the scene.

*****

Dusk at Dragonstone painted the sky with a palette of warm, gentle colours. The sun began its slow descent into the horizon, bathing the castle and its towers in a golden-orange glow. Shadows stretched long across the land as the soft breeze carried the salty scent of the sea.

In the distance, the silhouettes of three dragons became visible, heralded by the ringing bells of the castle announcing their arrival. Vermithor, Arrax and Silverwing landed side by side in the tall grass. The prince and princess were met by knights and escorted into the keep. Visenya’s hands clenched in an involuntary gesture of anxiety, her heart racing. It was a complex mix of fear, hope, and an overwhelming desire to hold her husband again.

Her fingers rose instinctively to touch the jewel he had given her years ago — the symbolic link between them, her sapphire necklace—  but it wasn’t there.

She entered the castle with long strides, met by her mother, the Queen. Visenya knew she owed her an explanation or two, but in that moment the only thing she wanted was to face her fear and run to the room where Aemond lay. She tried to exchange a few words with her mother, but stumbled and was promptly cut off.

— Aemond woke a few hours ago — Rhaenyra said.

The princess’s eyes widened, and her hands trembled slightly as the words sank in. A flood of relief and apprehension surged through her body. She stood there for a moment, paralysed. Then the world around her seemed to resume spinning. With quick steps, she crossed the hall, running across the stone floor, her footsteps echoing through the keep.

Upon entering the chamber where he lay, her eyes met his pale, weary face — his eyes, at last, were open. Tears welled up in Visenya’s eyes before she could stop them. A soft, emotional smile curled her lips as she stepped closer to the bed.

— You’re awake — she whispered.

His eyes locked with hers, a faint smile on his lips. Tears spilled down Visenya’s cheeks, but they were tears of relief and joy. She moved nearer to the bed, reaching out to gently caress his face, as if afraid he might vanish at any moment.

— I’m sorry. I’m sorry I wasn’t here.

— You are now — he replied, his voice weak.

Visenya shut her eyes tightly, tears running freely as she clutched her husband’s hand firmly — just to be sure he was truly there.

— I was deceived by my mother — he began. — She made me believe you’d been taken by the Greens, that you were in danger.

Visenya’s eyes narrowed as she took in Aemond’s words. Surprise and disbelief mingled on her face, her brows lifting in a silent gesture for him to continue.

— I believed her, Visenya. I thought I was doing what was best for you, staying silent until she returned to demand my loyalty to Aegon.

Visenya remained quiet for a moment, processing what he had said.

— So, you didn’t come sooner because you thought I was in danger? — she asked.

Aemond nodded, his gaze dropping in shame.

— Yes. I didn’t realise she was lying to me— not until the Lannister showed up and told me everything. They hurt Eleny to take her necklace. That’s how they tricked me into believing you’d returned. He helped me escape, and we rescued her. They were planning to take a ship to come here. If all went well, they should arrive in a few days.

Visenya tightened her hold on his hand, intertwining their fingers, smiling at her husband and telling him everything was all right— that everything would be fine.

— I have something to tell you as well — said Visenya.

Aemond furrowed his brow, staring at his wife as she bit her lip. He noticed something different in her— something radiant.

— I didn’t come to Dragonstone just to spend time with my family. I needed to speak with the maester to confirm something — she said, guiding his hand down to her belly. — I’m pregnant.

Chapter Text

Aemond felt his heart begin to race uncontrollably the moment Visenya’s words reached his ears. He found himself frozen for an instant, his gaze fixed on her as his mind struggled to grasp the reality.

He was torn between the pure joy of knowing a child of his was growing within the woman he loved, and the rising dread of the uncertain future that lay ahead, with war looming over the fight for the Iron Throne.

Gently caressing Visenya’s belly, Aemond struggled to find words in the face of such unexpected news. He forced himself to sit up in the bed, keeping his hand on her stomach, ignoring the pain radiating from the open wound across his torso. A tightness seized his chest as he pictured the dangers they would soon have to face.

After a brief silence that stretched like an eternity, Aemond finally found his voice. His eyes met those of his wife, who offered him a warm smile, tinged with nervous anticipation.

— We’re going to have a baby — he said softly.

— I know the timing couldn’t be worse...

— The egg… I brought a dragon egg with me — Aemond interrupted.

— It’s been placed in a warm chamber. Where did you find that egg? — she asked.

— I found it in Vhagar’s lair the day you left. That’s why she wouldn’t let Eleny and the Lannister near her. I think Vhagar and Vermithor got along better than we thought.

— So we won’t have to fight over who gets to choose the baby’s egg — Visenya said with a smile.

— They’ll ride one of the greatest dragons in the world.

— Or she will — she corrected.

Aemond could barely hide the grin forming on his face.

— Have you told the others? — he asked.

— Well, when I still wasn’t certain, I spoke with Eleny first about coming here, but officially, no. I wanted you to be the first to know. And I want to keep it between us for now. I know my mother doesn’t show it, but she’s still mourning my sister. I know she’d be happy for me, but it’s still her time. I don’t think it’s the right moment to tell her.

— Whatever you prefer. I rather like being the only one who knows — he said in a teasing tone.

Visenya knew her husband far too well not to predict he’d be even more possessive of her now that he knew she was carrying his child. And though he spoke in jest, she knew deep down he meant it — the special gleam in his eyes when he heard he was the first to know made it perfectly clear.

*****

Despite Visenya’s insistence that Aemond remain in bed, the prince refused to keep enduring the sidelong glances from every supporter of the Blacks who passed the chamber he was occupying. He knew that sooner or later his loyalty would be questioned. It seemed arriving in the dead of night with a stab wound hadn’t been convincing enough — but he couldn’t blame them. Were the roles reversed, he’d demand an oath the moment someone woke. Rhaenyra had shown him mercy by letting him rest.

Aemond struggled with each step, his breath heavy and ragged from the sharp pain radiating from his wounded belly. His face was twisted in a grimace of suffering, his hands bracing against the cold stone walls of Dragonstone just to keep himself upright. Every movement, no matter how small, tested the limits of his endurance — each stride bringing a fresh stab of agony.

Dragging himself through the stone corridors of the keep, Aemond finally reached the war room. The chamber buzzed with muffled voices, strategic debates and the picking apart of battle plans — until the moment Queen Rhaenyra’s supporters noticed the prince’s agonised approach. A heavy silence descended at once. Conversation ceased. All eyes turned to him, and the only sound was the low groan of pain that slipped through his lips, echoing like a dirge through the quiet.

Visenya followed close behind, her eyes filled with worry and dread. Every painful step Aemond took seemed to tear at her chest. Watching him force his body forward despite his wounds, she knew too well how proud he was — proud and foolish, for dragging himself through those halls in that state. But if she couldn’t stop him from staggering across the castle in agony, then she’d be right beside him, ready to catch him the moment his strength gave out.

Aemond managed to descend the steps of the chamber — one torturous stair at a time. His faltering steps took him to where Rhaenyra sat in her seat of command. The Queen’s guards followed his every move, eyes fixed on him with caution and doubt.

At last, the prince dropped to one knee on the cold stone floor, the effort visible in every strained muscle. His breathing was shallow and broken, and it took a moment before he could gather enough strength to speak. His eyes met Rhaenyra’s, and a pale, pain-laced smile ghosted across his lips.

— My sister — his voice was hoarse—  I follow my wife. Whomever she supports, I will follow. So I recognise only you as the true queen of this realm. Aegon has usurped the throne that is yours by right. I... I swear my loyalty to you. I vow to help you reclaim what is yours. My sword and my dragon are at your service.

The hall remained silent for a moment, the weight of Aemond’s words hanging heavy in the air. Then, a ripple of murmurs swept through the crowd, followed by a respectful silence broken only by the prince’s muffled groans. With those words, Aemond had cast his fate into Rhaenyra’s hands. His loyalty lay with his wife, and he would follow Visenya to the ends of the world. If she chose to stand with her mother, so would he.

Aemond’s hand clutched at his belly, feeling the sticky heat of fresh blood seeping through his fingers. The pain surged, and he bent over himself, forehead nearly touching the floor. Visenya cried out for a maester as she dropped to his side, watching in horror as the bandages around his abdomen turned a deep, soaking red.

*****

As with every night, the torches along the castle walls began to be lit. The guards on their rounds between the ramparts greeted the princess, who stood in one of the alcoves, eyes fixed on the horizon. In a distant field, she could make out Vermithor lying between the two she-dragons, Silverwing and Vhagar. Visenya was not a devout believer in the gods, but for a moment she almost took their reunion as a sign — a sign that perhaps it was time to return home.

Silverwing was known for her calm and gentle nature, the complete opposite of Vermithor. Since the death of Good Queen Alysanne, she had not taken another rider. Perhaps the time had come for that to change.

Footsteps, soft though they were, reached the princess’s ears, and she turned to see whether it was her expected guest. And indeed, it was — Rhaena approached, dressed in black, her waist cinched, her hands folded before her.

— Sister, I heard you wished to speak with me — she said.

— I did. I wanted to come sooner.

— It’s all right. Your husband demanded a bit more attention. Is he well?

Visenya knew well the enmity between Rhaena and her husband, born of Vhagar. Before they parted ways in King’s Landing, she had sensed that her cousin-sister meant to offer a truce, but she hadn’t expected her to inquire after Aemond’s health. Then again, she knew Rhaena had always been more gracious than herself.

— The maester stitched the wound again, and the herb draught should keep him asleep until morning, without fever — the princess answered.

— That’s good. But why did you want us to speak here?

— I know your resentment towards Aemond isn’t only because of Vhagar, though she does weigh heavily in the balance... I know the longing to claim a dragon. It took me years to make Vermithor accept me — she began.

— But now the two of you are so in sync, you understand one another completely.

— Yes, and every Targaryen deserves to feel that bond — to have a companion like that. I don’t think our meeting with Silverwing was coincidence.

Rhaena looked surprised by the suggestion, but also intrigued. Her eyes drifted toward Silverwing, who still lay peacefully asleep.

— Do you truly believe I could do it?

— It may take time to forge a bond, but yes, I do. You’ve got fire in your veins like the rest of us. You’re brave, and I know you’ll succeed. Besides, Silverwing has always been described as a gentle dragon.

— Thank you for this — said Rhaena.

— You don’t need to thank me. I think somehow, this was meant to be.

Visenya lifted the hem of her gown and began to descend the steps, expecting Rhaena to follow — and she did.

The two women walked side by side, climbing the verdant slopes that led to the tallest hill on Dragonstone, where the three great beasts rested. Vermithor was the first to raise his head at their approach; upon recognising his rider, he lifted his torso further, watching her.

Rhaena seemed slightly detached from the moment, but her eyes never left Silverwing — not for a single heartbeat. With a rumble of impatience from Vermithor, the silver she-dragon opened her great eyes, staring directly at the dark-haired woman just metres away.

Visenya remained beside Vermithor, stroking his coppery scales, while Vhagar lay still, simply observing the scene unfold. Then the princess climbed onto her dragon’s back, strapping herself into the saddle, earning an uncertain glance from Rhaena.

— Speak to her. We’ll give you two some space — she said. — Let’s go.

The Velaryon princess could not quite explain how she knew Vhagar would follow — whether it was trust in the she-dragon herself, or just in Vermithor. Likely a bit of both. The two largest dragons of their age spread their wings and soared into the night sky for a flight over the island.

Rhaena remained with her hands clasped before her, watching her sister vanish with the dragons.

Silverwing rose from the hilltop, gazing skyward alongside her. The Targaryen girl saw in the she-dragon a yearning to join her companions — but still, she stayed on the ground beside her.

— I know no one could ever replace Queen Alysanne. I also know that if I ride her, we'll end up flying into war. But that’s where I want to be— by my family's side. So please... — she said in Valyrian.

Rhaena was determined to mount Silverwing. She approached the creature slowly, stroking the she-dragon’s scaly neck as she whispered gentle words. Silverwing let out a low rumble. Though Rhaena was nervous, she kept her touch steady until she reached the saddle— newly fitted, still pristine. Visenya had clearly thought of everything.

With care, Rhaena placed one foot against Silverwing’s side, pushing herself up until she reached the top. She sat, gripping the leather reins, and the dragon began to move, spreading her wings and taking flight. Rhaena had to hold on tight.

A mix of exhilaration and fear made her forget to strap herself in, leaving her own strength as the only thing keeping her atop the dragon. But Silverwing was truly a gentle creature— her flight was smooth and calm.

As they gained altitude, Rhaena looked ahead and spotted Visenya on Vermithor, with Vhagar flanking them.

The two sisters met in the skies, sharing a fleeting moment of connection as the dragons neared one another, greeting with friendly roars and rumbles. It was like a spectacle— the three of them dancing on the wind.

After the brief encounter, Rhaena and Silverwing returned to the castle, landing gracefully on the fields of Dragonstone, joined shortly after by Visenya. It was there that the princess received news that her knight, Thomas, and her friend and handmaid, Eleny, had finally arrived. Eleny was being treated by the maester for the many wounds she’d suffered while held captive in King’s Landing.

Visenya wanted to see her— but she needed to speak to Thomas first, to thank him for telling Aemond the truth. She met with Thomas and his companion, Addam— the one who had helped them escape the Red Keep.

Visenya embraced her knight warmly, relieved to see him safe, and offered words of thanks for his aid to her husband. She then turned a friendly smile toward Addam, acknowledging the support he had shown her loyal knight.

— Addam Waters, my princess. My loyalty is with Queen Rhaenyra — the man declared.

— Good — the princess replied.

Visenya then began to assess the unfamiliar man before her. His skin was dark, but even with his closely cropped hair, she could see its colour was too fair.

— Waters, is it? Which Velaryon do you come from, Addam? — Visenya asked.

The young-looking man swallowed hard, glancing between the princess and his friend.

— My mother was a whore. Spent her life in Flea Bottom. She always told me my father... was Lord Corlys Velaryon.

Visenya’s eyes narrowed slightly at that revelation, fully aware of the tensions a bastard lineage could stir within the family. She knew her grandmother’s temper too well— and with the crown in dispute and the Velaryons backing her mother, she could not allow anything to jeopardise that support.

— Addam, if you're ever asked again, you're the son of Vaemond Velaryon. Understood? — her voice remained calm, but the veiled threat was clear.

Thomas stepped behind his princess, hand resting on the hilt of his sword, eyes fixed on the friend who had once saved his life. The bastard quickly realised that it didn’t matter who Thomas called a friend— his loyalty would always lie with the woman he loved from afar.

— Yes, Princess. My father is Sir Vaemond Velaryon.

Chapter Text

Addam was accompanied by one of the knights to the servants’ quarters where he could settle in, while Thomas escorted Visenya back into the castle, despite her insisting it wasn’t necessary. Before bathing, she planned to stop by the kitchens to ask one of the cooks to prepare a light supper. On the way to the chamber where Aemond was resting, the Lannister called out to the princess, making them pause in the middle of the empty corridor.

There was no denying the affection the knight felt for his princess, even if it was wrong —  his feelings were platonic, a silent love that went beyond a knight’s duty and respect for his lady.

However, Thomas also understood that, as a sworn knight, his place was as protector and loyal servant, with no hope of his feelings ever being returned. Since the usurper’s wedding feast, he had known Visenya had eyes for no one but her own uncle. Thomas had always found that Targaryen custom strange; he’d wanted to declare himself on the final night of the celebrations, though the idea was laughable. She was a princess, and he was a disappointment to his family, sent only to find some purpose beyond shaming them for all the qualities he lacked.

Truthfully, having his horse stolen by her had been one of the best things that could’ve happened to him —  it was the only reason he’d found his way into her life. He came into it as a protector and a friend. Nothing more.

Thomas had wrestled with his opinion of Prince Aemond ever since the throne was usurped. When he realised Aemond hadn’t attended the coronation, only one possibility remained —  he must have chosen his wife’s side. And even in such little time, the knight knew his princess would never forgive him if he left her husband behind, even if his duty wasn’t, in theory, to him.

Thomas didn’t like Aemond. The prince had never sat well with him —  he seemed too cruel, at least by rumour. Thomas had thought Aemond couldn’t possibly love Visenya the way he would. But he’d been terribly wrong. With each passing day, she seemed more radiant. He was even surprised to see Aemond express concern for Eleny and suggest her rescue. Thomas would’ve done it alone if necessary, but having Aemond by his side during that task shifted something in his view.

The whole situation stirred a bittersweet feeling within the knight. The joy came from being near Visenya, serving her, being part of her world. The sorrow came from knowing he could never voice what he truly felt —  doing so could ruin everything, and likely get him killed. At best, a swift blade across the neck. At worst, burned and devoured by Vhagar.

— Before we took the ship, I called in a favour from another friend — he said, rummaging through his pockets.

The princess watched his movements with curiosity and was stunned when he pulled out her necklace.

— I know how much this means to you.

— Thomas… thank you. So much.

*****

Visenya was in the kitchen of Dragonstone, savouring freshly baked rolls she’d had made to satisfy one of her cravings. She was likely on her third when the door opened and her father, Daemon, stepped into the room. She felt a flicker of discomfort but kept her gaze fixed on the food.

— I'm not going to apologise — Visenya declared, her voice firm.

— I didn’t expect you to. I’d be disappointed if you did.

Visenya lifted her eyes from the rolls and met her father's gaze. There was something in his eyes that made her feel he understood more than she thought. She simply nodded slowly.

Daemon approached and placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

— You’ve no idea how much you're like your mother.

Visenya gave a faint smile.

— But I came for another reason. Your mother wanted me to tell you that for their safety, Joffrey, Aegon, and Viserys will be sent to Pentos until Rhaenyra reclaims her throne. It’s far, but they’ll be safe there.

— What do you mean? You've always said Dragonstone is easy to defend. We've more people, more dragons on our side. Why send them so far away?

— And I thank you for those allies. But war is no place for children, and the Greens aren’t backing down. My ears in King's Landing tell me Otto has sought alliance with the Triarchy. Ormund Hightower's been seen marching through the Reach with an army.

— Who's going with them? — the princess asked.

— A few knights and Velaryon sailors.

— No dragon?

— No. That would make it far too obvious there’s something precious aboard. They can’t be seen. It'll be a trade ship bound for Pentos, like many others, and that’s all anyone else will know. They leave tomorrow — and so do you. You’re to return to the Eyrie and plan with Lady Jeyne which of the Arryn knights will head to the Reach if the need arises.

— Why me? Luke was the one who brokered the deal with her.

— Because she likes you. And because when it comes to strategy, I spent far more afternoons teaching you than I ever did him.

Admitting defeat, Visenya simply nodded, knowing her father was right.

Visenya entered the small library of Dragonstone, lit only by the soft glow of candlelight. Her gown trailed gently along the stone floor as she moved through the rows of ancient, dust-covered tomes. Her aim was to find something to keep Aemond entertained and distracted while she’d be away for two days, planning war strategies and troop movements with Lady Jeyne.

Eleny, Visenya’s handmaid, followed close behind, despite the princess’s insistence that the dark-haired girl needed rest. But Eleny was stubborn —  she insisted she had barely any pain left, which was a complete lie, yet she wasn’t the sort who liked being fussed over or lying idle. The maester, also present in the library to assist in the search for books, shared Visenya’s opinion, arguing that Eleny still needed to recover from the torture she’d suffered in King’s Landing. Once again, Eleny disagreed, claiming she was fine.

At last, Visenya found a book bound in black leather, with golden lettering carved into the cover. It was a treatise on military strategy, written by an ancient Valyrian general in his native tongue. The pages were a bit worn, but the ink used in its transcription was still clear. She smiled, realising it would certainly keep Aemond occupied. She also found another title in better condition —  The Lost Legends of Valyria . With the book in hand, Visenya began to flip through the pages. It was a collection of tales from Old Valyria, filled with dragons and sorcery. She imagined the stories would captivate her husband's imagination, as both of them had been fascinated by Valyrian magic since childhood. A third book she selected was a chronicle of the greatest knights to have lived in Westeros since the Conquest.

Books in hand, Visenya gestured for Eleny to follow her back to Aemond’s chambers.

The prince, however, was in an even fouler mood than usual. After the episode the day before —  pushing himself so hard that his wound had reopened —  he’d now be confined to bed for several more days until the cut began to heal properly. And worse, his wife, carrying his child, would be travelling far without him. He knew she’d be safe at the Eyrie, but he hated the idea of Visenya being so far from his sight after everything they’d endured in recent weeks.

He cast a sour look at the hefty tomes his wife brought him. While he was doomed to rot in bed with dusty old volumes, Visenya would be soaring through the sky on dragonback —  and gods, how he longed to feel the cold wind against his face as they flew side by side once more.

Visenya asked Eleny to fetch a tray of fresh fruit and water for Aemond’s room, since the girl clearly wouldn’t rest until she had some task to carry out. Meanwhile, the princess took the opportunity to spend a quiet moment alone with her husband, to say her farewells properly —  nothing too elaborate, to Aemond’s dismay, who yearned to feel her in his arms again.

The Velaryon left him with a warning —  he was not to rise from that bed until the maester gave permission, and not without the old man under threat.

Visenya, the eldest of the siblings present, looked at Joffrey, Aegon, and Viserys with tenderness. She knelt before Joffrey, smoothing down his hair.

— Joffrey, my little knight — she began, smiling at him. — You’re about to embark on a great adventure, like the heroes from those tales Father used to read to us. In Pentos, you’ll be the eldest brother, so you need to make sure Aegon and Viserys are well looked after, all right?

Joffrey nodded with a wide grin, clenching his fist as though wielding an imaginary sword.

Next, Visenya turned to Viserys, the youngest of the three. She gently stroked his cheeks, silently promising they would see each other again soon. The smallest of the boys looked up at her with innocent eyes, not fully understanding what was happening, more concerned with keeping his thumb in his mouth.

Then, Visenya stepped closer to Aegon, who was crying in their mother’s arms. She reached out and softly ran her fingers through his hair.

— Aegon, my little dragon, don’t cry. I promise we’ll be together again very soon — said Visenya.

Rhaenyra struggled to hold back tears as she watched the wet nurses take Aegon from her arms and carry him towards the ship. She knew it was the right thing to do —  their safety was paramount —  but that didn’t make the farewell any easier.

Visenya then embraced her mother, bidding her goodbye as well —  though thankfully, she would return soon. The princess climbed onto her dragon’s back and took to the skies.

*****

Visenya and Lady Jeyne were gathered in a private chamber of the Eyrie’s pale stone castle, surrounded by strategic maps and reports the Lady of the Vale had received from her spies. The muffled sound of courtiers and servants outside was barely audible, allowing them to focus entirely on their discussion regarding the situation in the Reach.

The princess studied the map spread across the table, marked with the positions of both Green and Black forces.

— We cannot allow them to take control of the Reach so easily — declared Visenya.

— I agree. The Reach is a vital resource. We must send reinforcements to aid our allies and ensure the Greens don’t seize it without resistance — Jeyne replied.

— We need a substantial force, but we mustn’t weaken our own defences for what’s to come. How many knights do you believe we can send, my lady, without compromising our own security? — Visenya asked, furrowing her brow as she examined the map more closely.

— I believe we can send at least two thousand knights to the Reach without overly weakening our defences. Of course, I expect Lord Borros to contribute half the men.

— He will. Very well, we’ll dispatch two thousand knights to the Reach at once. Ensure they are led by a seasoned commander. We need our allies there to know they are not alone — that we are committed to supporting them. Few lords in that region back Aegon. I’d prefer that number to dwindle further.

Lady Jeyne nodded, jotting notes onto a scrap of parchment, assuring Visenya she would take charge of arranging the knights’ deployment and see that everything was done with the utmost discretion, while the princess had already begun drafting a letter to the Lord of Storm’s End.

The two women continued discussing strategic details, meticulously planning how best to support their allies in the Reach while ensuring their own forces remained protected, as the Greens kept moving across the realm. It was also agreed that Jace and Baela would remain at the Eyrie to patrol the skies as soon as Queen Rhaenyra’s heir returned from the North. Moondancer was small but swift — a perfect scout—  while Vermax, being somewhat larger, could handle any threat until reinforcements arrived.

The dinner shared by Princess Visenya and Lady Jeyne was a pleasant affair. The setting was a grand hall with polished stone walls and massive windows offering a breathtaking view of the surrounding mountains. Candlelight bathed the faces of the two women in a soft, golden glow.

As silent servants brought out each course, Visenya and Jeyne conversed animatedly with the other lords of the Vale. The tempting aroma of hot soups, roasted meats, and fresh vegetables filled the air.

Laughter echoed now and then through the hall as the guests enjoyed the fine dishes, raising their goblets in cheerful toasts.

As the night wore on, the mood grew more relaxed, and the two women exchanged personal stories — even a few secrets.

The following morning, the princess slept in, exhausted after the spirited dinner the night before. By midday, she expected yet another pleasant meal with her grandmother’s cousin. Once again, the table had been set with a fine array of foods for her breakfast. The princess was already dressed in a thick woollen gambeson, prepared to face the biting cold that would greet her on the short flight back to Dragonstone.

The castle was far too quiet, stirring Visenya’s suspicions as not even a whisper could be heard from the servants who were finishing setting the table. The Lady of the Eyrie took her time entering the small banquet hall, accompanied by her advisor who held a sealed letter. As pale as the white gown she wore, Lady Jeyne took the letter from her advisor and handed it to the princess, whose chest already felt heavy. Something was wrong.

Visenya recognised the seal— one her brothers had used when writing to her during her time in King’s Landing. By process of elimination, the letter had to be from Lucerys. He knew she was returning home that very day. There’d be no need to write unless something had gone terribly wrong. Jeyne swallowed hard under the stare of her cousin’s granddaughter and quickly looked away, making her way to her usual seat at the head of the table.

Visenya broke the seal and unrolled the parchment, the ink slightly smudged— perhaps from the urgency in sending the message.

Sister, the ship carrying our brothers was attacked in Sunhouse as it docked to collect remaining supplies. Hightower spies boarded and took our brother Joffrey. This morning, our mother received a box containing his head and a card from Ormund Hightower. Please, come home.

-Luke

The queen had locked herself in her chambers while the lords gathered around the carved table in the war council chamber. Even Prince Aemond was present, leaning on a cane the maester’s apprentice had been forced to find— lest the princess Visenya’s husband remove his head in a fit of fury.

That very same apprentice entered the chamber carrying a message from the Lady of the Eyrie. The king consort, who was leading the meeting, snatched the paper from the boy’s hand, his fury visible in every taut movement.

— Jeyne said Visenya left the moment she read Luke’s letter. She’s gone seeking vengeance — Daemon announced.

— It’s surely a trap. They might be waiting for dragons to strike back. They could have Scorpions with them — warned the maester. — The princess should not go to the Reach.

— She won’t — Aemond’s still-rasping voice cut through the chamber, casting a chilling silence over the room.

Chapter Text

Prince Aemond had been right— at least in part. The Blacks believed Visenya would ride straight to Ormund Hightower seeking vengeance for her younger brother. She would indeed go to the Reach, but she would steer well clear of the army marching to pillage the small villages of the lords who backed the true queen.

Meanwhile, the sisters Baela and Rhaena were far from Dragonstone, as was Thomas Lannister, sworn knight to the princess. Thomas and Rhaena shared Silverwing saddle, while Baela flew alongside on Moondancer.

Though the blond knight wouldn’t admit it aloud, it was terrifying to be flying atop a dragon— especially with an inexperienced rider— but there had been no other option. Moondancer was not large enough to carry more than one grown adult.

Thomas clenched his jaw so tightly his teeth ached, his fingers digging into the leather of the saddle, while Rhaena barely breathed, doing her best to stay focused. The three of them were bound for Sunhouse, determined to assess the situation regarding the children Aegon and Viserys. Visenya had given Thomas this mission, as she had no word of her other brothers’ fate following Joffrey’s death. These answers were vital, for that very night, once the shadows lengthened, Princess Visenya and her dragon Vermithor intended to strike.

The message had reached Thomas alongside one from Lady Jeyne to the Blacks. Upon receiving it, Visenya knew Thomas would see to it that the young maester’s apprentice kept quiet about the second letter.

The message to Thomas had been brief: “Show the letter to Baela and Rhaena and find Aegon and Viserys before nightfall.”

The knight barely knew the Targaryen sisters— he hadn’t expected them to ready themselves so quickly, let alone agree to slip away in secret in search of the Hightower spies and news of their younger brothers. But then they had told him how they once helped Princess Visenya enter the tourney, disguised as a knight. The sisters had no hesitation in embarking on this mission— not only to protect their blood kin, but out of loyalty to Visenya, trusting they would succeed. Visenya couldn’t take the risk herself. She would have her vengeance. And if anything were to go wrong, it would take at least two days for a rider to reach the Stormlands or a full day for a raven to return from where the initial attack took place.

That afternoon was blanketed in cloud— perfect cover to keep dragons concealed while in flight. They drew closer to the town where the ambush had occurred, skimming the coast as they searched for the ship meant to carry the boys to Pentos.

The vessel was still docked, though it looked abandoned. The sisters then guided their dragons to a secluded spot, where they could dismount without drawing attention.

Baela and Rhaena walked the bustling streets of Sunhouse, their dark cloaks hiding their silver hair, making them less recognisable as daughters of House Targaryen. They scouted for information, while Thomas, the knight sworn to Princess Visenya, tried his luck in a nearby tavern where drunken men often spoke too freely. He too kept his face concealed beneath a hood— after the incident in which he killed Vaemond Velaryon at his princess’s command, his name and face had begun to circulate across Westeros.

The Lannister stepped into the dim, smoky tavern, settled in a shadowed corner, and listened intently to the talk around him. Sailors shouted over one another, but one tale caught the knight’s attention. A man was speaking far too loudly about a scuffle at the docks, where someone had taken a child from one of the ships. The remaining crew, it seemed, had fled, taking supplies— and two other children— with them.

Thomas connected the dots at once. Those two children could only be Queen Rhaenyra’s sons. It was a crucial lead, and with that knowledge, they were one step closer to the missing princes. From the sound of it, the boys were still with loyalists to the Blacks. Thomas hurried back into the streets, knowing he had to share the discovery with Baela and Rhaena at once— every minute mattered. They had only a few hours until nightfall, and at most until midday the next day to bring the princes back to Dragonstone.

As he approached the alley where Ladies Rhaena and Baela waited anxiously, he began to relay what he’d learned about Aegon and Viserys— likely still with the ship’s crew, allies to Queen Rhaenyra. The sisters listened intently to every word. Baela and Rhaena preferred discretion to bloodshed, handing silver coins to the city’s destitute in exchange for information. They asked pointed questions, seeking every detail they could about which direction the men had gone and whether there were any solid clues to help them track the lost children.

Thomas’s resolve to bring the children back was genuine— and if Visenya trusted the Lannister enough to send him the letter first-hand, the Targaryen sisters trusted him as well.

*****

Visenya rode high above the sea atop her dragon, Vermithor, cutting through the skies as they soared. As they flew, they curved around the vast expanse of the Reach, observing the green land stretching endlessly beneath them.

Dark clouds loomed above, trailing them like an omen, shrouding the day in a shadowy veil. Visenya cared little for the gloom. She hadn’t even had time to weep for her little brother’s death, nor did she want to imagine how her mother must be feeling— or what wild scheme her father might be concocting to strike back after the attack.

She trusted her sisters and her knight were fulfilling their mission to find word of her missing brothers, clearing her mind to focus on her own task— vengeance.

As they pierced the clouds, fury burned in the princess’s chest. She swore the Greens would pay dearly for Joffrey’s premature death. If they were prepared to fight with such cruelty, then she would match them— no hesitation, no mercy.

Oldtown was now in sight, and she was ready. Joffrey was dead. A child. An innocent. If that was how the Greens intended to wage war, then so be it. Innocent lives would pay for the murder of young Joffrey Velaryon.

From afar, Visenya spotted the Hightower itself, with wildfire burning atop its peak. The green flames danced in the sky— a beacon used by House Hightower to summon their allies to war. Her eyes locked on the castle with unwavering fury.

The men had marched off with the army— only women and children remained behind. But they, too, would pay the price for Ormund Hightower’s barbarity— for ordering the death of a child and sending his severed head back to his mother.

With a single command, Visenya directed Vermithor into a slow descent, his massive wings beating more gently as they approached. No one would escape her judgment.

— Dracarys — the princess roared.

With a deep, thunderous bellow, Vermithor opened his maw, unleashing hell. A torrent of blazing fire erupted from his throat, flooding the sky with searing light.

The Hightower, with its ancient stone walls, became the target of Visenya and Vermithor’s wrath. The inferno consumed the structure, melting stone and reducing everything to cinders. The heat was unbearable, the smoke rising like a great pillar into the darkened heavens.

The cries of Oldtown’s citizens echoed through the city as they watched in horror the massive dragon raze the tower. Chaos erupted in the streets, screams of dread and panic mingling in a discord of terror. It was a dreadful sight— the monstrous dragon laying waste to the mighty keep.

Visenya howled with rage as the tower crumbled before her eyes. Vermithor’s flames were so hot they melted the stone, turning it into molten ruin. The once-proud spire began to collapse, its blistering stones dripping like lava before crashing to the earth with a deafening roar.

It was a miracle if anyone had survived Vermithor’s devastation. Visenya was resolute— Ormund Hightower would pay for what he had done, whatever the cost. The fire and fury of House Targaryen had descended upon Oldtown, and nothing would be spared. Justice had been delivered— in fire and blood.

Vermithor continued to pour flames into the smouldering wreckage until Visenya called him off. With a mighty sweep of his wings, the dragon sent the ashes swirling into the air as they turned back toward the sea.

Alicent sat in her chambers within the Red Keep, her face pale and carved from stone, betraying no emotion as the messenger hurried in, his gaze cast downward.

— Dowager Queen — the messenger began, his voice trembling. — There is dreadful news. Princess Visenya... Visenya Velaryon has destroyed Hightower. The castle lies in ruins, and...

Before he could finish, Alicent’s eyes narrowed, and she rose abruptly from her chair. Her heart thundered in her chest, and the shock written across her face was undeniable. She knew this act of devastation was a direct response to the murder her uncle had ordered— the murder of Visenya’s younger brother. She had never wanted any of this. The Hand of the King had claimed ignorance of the deed until word reached the Red Keep the previous day. Otto had sworn he’d had no part in his nephew Ormund’s actions.

Alicent was desperate. She understood this destruction would only further inflame the fury of the Blacks, fuelling their thirst for vengeance and their relentless desire to reclaim the throne they believed to be rightfully theirs. She turned her eyes to Aegon, her son, who was seated with her at a table strewn with documents. He did not appear shaken— on the contrary, a smug smile played across his lips.

— This is a response to what your cousin did, Mother — Aegon said coolly. — Visenya is truly formidable.

Alicent swallowed hard, her thoughts spiralling into panic at the thought of the chaos to come. Aegon’s reaction terrified her even more. He seemed obsessed with his niece, and such an obsession could bring about disastrous consequences.

— I hope Visenya replies to my letter soon — Aegon went on, ignoring the gravity of the situation. — Our marriage will be magnificent.

— Aegon, you already have a wife. A queen — Alicent tried to reason.

No reply came from the young usurper king— only a cold look cast upon his mother, his jaw clenched tight as his fingers traced the edge of an ornate and rather sharp letter opener.

— She’s not the queen I chose. I want Visenya. I want her.

*****

Rhaenyra was drowning in a grief so profound she could barely bear the crushing weight of it. The war she had once waged with such fervour— meant to reclaim the throne she believed to be hers by right— now felt like a distant, shadowy remnant of another life. First, she had lost her father. Then the throne she longed for had been taken by her half-brother.

But the most devastating blow of all was the loss of her stillborn daughter. And now, Joffrey— her youngest son, the last child she had borne with the man who had truly loved her, who had stood by her side through the wreckage of her marriage to Laenor— had been stolen from her in the most brutal fashion. The fact that she hadn’t even a body to mourn deepened the wound in her soul.

Rhaenyra, once steadfast and unyielding, now found herself caught in an inner turmoil. The war no longer seemed just, nor worth the cost. Grief consumed her. She longed for a way to end the bloodshed, to honour her son’s memory in a way that war never could. She no longer desired the throne— at least, not if it meant losing every person she held dear, one by one.

The king consort was not a man given to offering comfort. Rarely did he find the right words in moments like these. Joffrey was not his blood, but he had felt the boy’s death like a blade to the chest. The child had been but an infant when he’d married Rhaenyra, and he had been the only father Joffrey had ever known. As Visenya had once told him during the birth of Aemma, he had been a coward for not standing by his wife. But not this time. This time, he would go to her.

The room was dark. The black curtains were drawn, letting barely a hint of sunlight through. The candles were all unlit, and the only sound was the Queen’s soft, broken sobs as she remained in bed, unmoved since the moment she had opened that cursed box.

She wept not only for her dead son, but for the unknown fate of the younger boys. She didn’t know if they were safe, or even alive. Perhaps they were in the hands of the Greens. Perhaps they were crying, terrified, and alone.

Daemon entered Rhaenyra’s chamber, his face solemn, a message in hand he had long awaited the chance to deliver. She, fragile and drained from sorrow, sat up with difficulty at the sound of his voice. The door eased open behind him, revealing Baela and Rhaena, each holding one of Rhaenyra and Daemon’s sons— Aegon and Viserys.

Tears streamed down Rhaenyra’s face as she rushed to them, wrapping her arms around her children in a desperate embrace of relief. Baela and Rhaena, equally overcome, wept alongside her.

When the first wave of emotion subsided, Baela explained the reason behind this long-awaited reunion. Visenya had sent a letter to Thomas, instructing him to find her missing brothers. But Thomas had not returned with the boys.

He had taken on a personal quest— one final mission. To find the body of Prince Joffrey and bring him home.

That same night, Princess Visenya finally returned.

Her only words to her mother were:

— Hightower is ash, and the Hightowers have paid for my brother’s death.

Visenya was exhausted. Her heart felt like stone, her hands shook. She waited for no reply and made her way to the chamber she shared with her husband.

Aemond sat on the edge of the bed, waiting anxiously for her return. When he saw her enter, eyes rimmed red and face shadowed with pain, he rose at once, ignoring the ache in his wounded leg.

Visenya collapsed onto the floor, hands covering her face, wracked by sobs so violent she struggled to breathe. Her chest heaved with the crushing weight of sorrow.

Aemond, driven by instinct, rushed to her and pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly as she clung to him like he might vanish at any moment.

For the first time in her life, Princess Visenya felt the raw agony of true grief. She mourned her brother deeply, and in Aemond’s arms, she finally allowed herself to feel every ounce of sorrow she had spent her life suppressing.

Chapter Text

Visenya Velaryon was a force untamed, but the death of her youngest brother had shattered her. As the moon rose in the darkened sky, the princess lay in her husband’s arms, sobbing uncontrollably.

Tears streamed down her cheeks, and her soul felt torn asunder. Aemond stayed with her on the floor, holding every part of her he could reach. It was the second time the prince had needed to cradle his beloved in an attempt to console her— and for the second time, her anguish was the fault of his family. Visenya teetered on the edge of an emotional collapse. Aemond considered sending for some poppy milk to help her sleep, to soothe her, but deep down he knew— she needed this.

He held her tenderly, stroking her hair as the sobs slowly began to subside. He was there for her, to support her through her darkest hour. Exhaustion claimed her at last. Her tears dried, and her tense body finally relaxed in Aemond’s embrace. He kept her close as she drifted into sleep on the chamber floor, finding a measure of comfort in her husband's presence.

Visenya and Aemond lay together on the floor, wrapped in the first rays of morning sunlight that slipped through the window. A serene stillness surrounded them, broken only by the distant murmur of the sea. Aemond, eyes fixed on the ceiling, turned gently towards Visenya as he sensed her stirring. He kissed her, their lips meeting in a soft, affectionate gesture.

Afterwards, they remained silent. The quiet between them was its own kind of language— a deep connection that required no words. Both stared at the window, where the sea breeze slipped through, carrying with it the briny, revitalising scent that filled the room. The sound of waves crashing in the distance formed a peaceful melody. The sky was clear, scattered with just a few clouds— it looked like the perfect day for a flight. Visenya, her head resting on Aemond’s chest, was the first to speak.

— Do you think it was wrong? Destroying Hightower for revenge? — Visenya asked.

— My love, — Aemond began, brushing his fingers across her cheek, — you were cleverer than any of us could’ve been. Ormund got exactly what he deserved, and you avoided a bloody battle that could’ve cost us dearly. You were strong and strategic, not reckless.

Visenya exhaled slowly, comforted by her husband’s words. She knew that, in moments of doubt, she could always count on Aemond’s brutal honesty.

As the silence returned, Visenya shifted the conversation. Helaena. Once again, her aunt was alone in King’s Landing. Since her return to the city, the Targaryen princess had relied on Visenya’s protection, in addition to the threats Aemond had made towards his brother should he dare harm her again. In their absence, it had been Thomas Lannister who remained with Helaena day and night.

— Thomas has been watching over Helaena in my absence, but my aunt’s vulnerable to the Greens now. I don’t believe my gra… Alicent would harm her own daughter. Well, no more than she already has. But Aegon... he could hurt her again. — Visenya said.

She then brought up the letter Aegon had sent— his marriage proposal. The air in the room thickened, becoming nearly suffocating. Visenya felt Aemond’s chest rise sharply, his jaw clench, and his fists tighten. He shut his eye hard and exhaled sharply. No one had dared mention the letter to him before— they had left that to Visenya.

A wave of emotion crashed through him. First came fury. Then jealousy. He had assumed Aegon’s fixation was nothing more than the filth of his nature— but to ask for his wife’s hand in marriage after everything he’d done... Visenya had not just been a fancy to him. He wanted her. Aemond found it strange how calm she seemed after all the terror of that night. “For our sake, and for Helaena’s,” she’d said. He’d never liked their closeness, and deep down, he knew it had always been a ploy to manipulate Aegon— but to go so far as to receive a marriage proposal?

— I wanted to make him eat the letter before I slit his fucking throat, if you must know. — Visenya said.

— I know. — he replied flatly.

— I didn’t send a reply, and I won’t. But that’s what troubles me. That letter... it wasn’t like him. It wasn’t the Aegon I know. If he lashes out at Helaena, I’ll never forgive myself.

— Then we have to get her out of there. — Aemond said.

Little by little, the prince’s fury began to ebb as he realised where his wife was going with the mention of the letter. She was only concerned for the aunt she’d always tried to protect.

— Security may well have tightened after my escape, but there are still a few secret passages known only to us. And it seems the Lannister knows far too many people in the Red Keep— surely someone will be of use.

— Yes... Let’s bring her here with the children. They don’t deserve to be caught in the middle of this war.

Aemond cupped Visenya’s face and pulled her in for a kiss. Only the gods knew how much more he wanted than just that, but the very act of shifting his weight sent a sharp pain through his side. Unfortunately, he would have to wait a while longer before he could take his wife again.

Their tender moment was interrupted by a sharp knock on the wooden door. The maester had come to change the prince’s bandages. Visenya rose from atop her husband and helped him off the cold stone floor. With some effort, given the man’s weight, she managed to guide him to the bed, where Aemond sat down and gave the order for the old man to enter.

The maester entered with his assistant, who carried a basin of clean water, fresh bandages, and a paste of healing herbs.

The princess watched every movement of the old man intently. The wound on Aemond’s abdomen was healing well, its edges a healthy pink. The stitching hadn’t become infected, which was a very good sign. The apprentice applied the herbal paste, then bandaged the wound cleanly and covered it again.

— You’re healing quicker than we expected, my prince. A few more weeks and you should be able to move without assistance — said the maester.

— When will I be able to fly again? — Aemond asked.

— One step at a time, my prince. Let’s give it a few more days to be sure the wound won’t reopen.

Aemond let out a frustrated sigh and the men were dismissed by the princess.

Visenya entered the war council chamber of Dragonstone in a simple blue dress, her hair loose and gleaming beneath the torchlight that illuminated the room. Even in daylight, most chambers of the castle remained dark. As she stepped inside, her eyes swept across the space, landing on her grandfather Lord Corlys Velaryon, her father the King Consort, her mother the Queen, her brother, and her sisters.

The air in the room was tense, and Visenya could feel the weight of expectation pressing down. Daemon raised a letter from Jacaerys and announced the news he had just received— the Starks had joined the Blacks, and the heir to the throne was on his way to Dragonstone.

Next, Princess Visenya addressed the council. She shared the news of Lady Jeyne Arryn’s and Lord Borros Baratheon’s support, each sending a thousand men to the Reach. The room was filled with Black loyalists, all aware that Visenya’s vengeance had been anything but discreet. Lord Ormund Hightower was expected to strike back with even greater brutality against the small villages of the Reach. Not only would the forces of their allies march, but the princess proposed that dragons join the campaign, to wipe out the Green army once and for all.

Silence hung over the hall for a long moment before Lord Corlys nodded in approval. The King Consort also gave his assent. The Queen cast a worried glance toward her daughter. Rhaenyra was afraid. She had already lost two sons in so short a time— she knew Visenya would be the first to mount her dragon and fly to the Reach.

— Vermithor and Caraxes are enough — Daemon said.

— Visenya has no battlefield experience — Rhaenyra countered.

— But my dragon does. And these won’t be the first Hightowers we’ve burned. I’ll be there — Visenya replied.

Rhaenyra was a mother before she was a ruler. A mother before a queen. And her love for Visenya was unwavering. The thought of watching her daughter risk her life in a war she had ignited was terrifying. Rhaenyra understood her daughter’s resolve, but she couldn’t stop the fear gnawing at her heart. She knew Visenya was brave and skilled, but it didn’t lessen the anxiety that consumed her. As the meeting continued with strategic discussions, Rhaenyra clasped her hands tightly, praying in silence.

By the end of the meeting, the decision was made— Daemon and Visenya would fly to the Reach in two days’ time to join their allied forces and strike at the Greens together.

The war council finally drew to a close. Daemon noticed the gleam in his daughter’s violet eyes. Visenya was eager to speak with him.

Before Rhaenyra could intervene or try to dissuade her daughter from taking part in the first battle of the war, Daemon acted. He gently took Visenya by the arm and led her out of the war chamber, leaving behind the shadows and chill of the dark corridor. Father and daughter walked side by side in silence, their footsteps echoing against the stone walls, until at last they emerged into the open air, where sunlight bathed their faces. The warmth was a welcome contrast to the cold interior of the castle. They stood in silence for a while, letting the soft wind tousle their silver hair.

Daemon broke the silence. His eyes, so like hers, were laced with concern.

— What troubles you, Visenya? Speak to me, my daughter.

— I know you won’t approve. You’ll think it’s foolish. But I need your help — Visenya said.

— With what? — he asked.

— You didn’t live with Helaena. She’s kind, gentle— she doesn’t deserve to suffer the way the other Greens do. She’s no rider. Just a girl forced into all this. Please, help me get her out of that castle. Help me keep her safe. Aegon used to hurt her before... and now that we’re gone, I’ve no idea what he might do.

Daemon listened carefully to his daughter’s plea to rescue her aunt, Helaena Targaryen. At first, he saw it as a weakness— after all, Helaena was Alicent Hightower’s daughter, Aegon’s queen, and Daemon feared that rescuing her might be seen as a concession to their enemies.

But as Visenya spoke, he began to see things differently. He knew full well that the youngest daughter of his brother hadn’t chosen to be part of this war between the Blacks and the Greens. It was clear Visenya had shared a special bond with her aunt since childhood— a bond that couldn’t be ignored.

He recalled the memory of his daughter and Helaena at Laena’s funeral, as children. It echoed in his mind. Daemon also understood that rescuing Helaena wasn’t only an act of mercy— it would strip the Greens of a dragon, weakening Aegon II’s position.

At last, Daemon looked at Visenya with a softened expression.

— It won’t be easy, but it can be arranged. It’ll take time — Daemon said.

— The children must come too — Visenya added firmly.

— Then it’ll take a little more time.

Visenya couldn’t help the faint smile that blossomed across her face as she saw her father agree to her request, even knowing how difficult the decision was. His support meant everything. Relief flooded her chest, and she stepped forward, wrapping her arms around Daemon and nestling into his chest. It was a gesture she hadn’t made in a long time— not since she had married Aemond and moved to King’s Landing.

— Everything you want, little dragon girl. — he said in Valyrian.

Aemond was consumed by rage and worry when his wife, Visenya, told him she had agreed to fight in the war in the Reach. The news of her decision filled him with dread— not only for Visenya’s life, but because he knew she was with child. The dangers of battle were countless, and he feared for them both.

They had Scorpions— formidable weapons capable of bringing down even the mightiest of dragons. A single well-aimed bolt could send Vermithor crashing to the ground. And beyond that, a stray arrow, a single misstep on the battlefield, could be enough to take his beloved from him.

Aemond tried to reason with her, even pleaded for her to reconsider, but Visenya stood resolute in her choice.

— It was me who started this, and when you were unconscious in that bed, I swore that any blood spilled from those I love would be avenged by my sword. Ormund’s death is mine, and you’ve no right to ask me not to go.

The prince rested a hand on her stomach, sadness and concern etched into every line of his face, knowing he could not stop her from walking the path she had chosen. He knew his wife— no matter what, she would be in that fight.

— Promise me you won’t dismount from Vermithor until the battle is done. Order them to capture Ormund alive— torture him, burn him, slit his throat, do whatever you must… but don’t take more risk than you already are. Protect your life— and our child’s. — Aemond pleaded.

— I promise. — she swore.

Chapter Text

The calm dawn over Dragonstone did little to reflect the turmoil within its walls. Ravens took flight across a sky streaked orange and red, bound for Sunhouse and High Heart— where Borros’s and Jeyne’s armies should be gathering— as the first rays of sunlight broke over the Narrow Sea. A gentle sea breeze drifted through the castle, setting sails and torches dancing lazily in its wake.

The king had just finished his final conversation with his daughter about the impending battle when Sir Erryk brought word that a ship wished to dock at Dragonstone. Daemon Targaryen dismissed his daughter, ordering her to stay away from the vessel while he investigated the unexpected visitor himself. Mounted on Caraxes, he rode out to meet the ship.

As he drew near, he couldn’t make out the flag— it was white with odd, unfamiliar symbols, representing neither any known House nor trader in Westeros or Essos. But among the crew aboard, Daemon spotted a familiar face: Thomas Lannister.

— Thomas Lannister, what brings you back to Dragonstone? — Daemon asked warily, still perched on his dragon.

— I’ve done what I promised myself, Your Grace. I’ve brought Prince Joffrey home.

At the news, the king consort was momentarily stunned, as the weight of the revelation sank in. His normally commanding posture faltered briefly before he collected himself.

— Bring him ashore.

Caraxes beat his wings, rocking the ship as it made its way to the beach. Knights and loyalists filled the sands, waiting anxiously. A small boat was loaded with a modest wooden chest. Thomas and two men rowed it to shore. The murmurs among the lords ceased as the king consort’s gaze fixed on them.

Before the boat reached land, Queen Rhaenyra, Princess Visenya, and her husband descended the stone steps, making their way through the assembled crowd. Visenya recognised her knight, and seeing the box, realised her little brother was finally home. Tears welled in her violet eyes, and before the first drop fell, she felt Aemond’s calloused fingers gently caress her bare back beneath her morning gown.

The queen stepped forward to be the first to receive them.

— My queen, — Thomas bowed.

— Are you certain? — Rhaenyra asked quietly.

— Yes, my queen.

— I want to see him.

— Mother... — Visenya called in Valyrian.

— Forgive my impudence, but I cannot allow you to see him like this, — Thomas replied.

— What happened? — Daemon demanded.

Thomas cast a hesitant glance between the queen and the king, seeking Visenya’s permission to recount the horror. The princess knew her mother craved answers, no matter how painful. After a resigned sigh and a knowing look exchanged with Visenya, Thomas began.

At a small, isolated farm near Sunhouse, he had found drunken men boasting of their deed— that they’d be rich in the reign of the true heir, Aegon, and that the “queen whore” would learn her place. He’d surprised them, and with little difficulty had slain most with his sword, leaving one man alive— though he was unlikely to move far. Thomas beat and cut him until the man, weeping, begged for his life and told him where Joffrey’s body lay.

In the pigsty, less than minutes after the killing, they’d thrown the boy’s body to the pigs. They would have devoured everything— bones and all— after they’d dismembered him.

In a fit of fury, the princess’s knight discarded his sword and clambered onto the man, pummelling him until his face was unrecognisable and Thomas’s clothing and skin were soaked with his blood. How could they do that to a child for a handful of gold dragons, he thought.

He leapt to the sty and, roaring, chased the pigs away from the mud-sodden remains. With great care, he collected every part of the boy and placed them in a sack used for animal feed. He carried the pieces to a nearby stream, cleaned them as gently as if they’d been his own brother. He wrapped the boy in fresh linen, then fashioned a makeshift container so as not to be overcome by the stench, and took him to a rendezvous— where he paid for passage back to Dragonstone.

Queen Rhaenyra remained stone-faced as Thomas recounted the horrors inflicted upon her son, Prince Joffrey. She listened to each agonising word with a terrifying calm. Like after the death of her daughter, Aemma, Rhaenyra displayed immense strength. She did not flinch during the telling. When Thomas finished, she spoke only by nodding— the message understood, and she was ready for the next steps.

She ordered the knights to carry Joffrey’s improvised casket to the same pyre where Aemma’s body had been laid to burn weeks before. Finally, the time had come to honour him properly, to return him to flame.

Visenya, however, could not remain as composed as her mother. She had already wept for her brother once. Now, knowing what he had endured even after death, the weight was almost too much. As the casket was carried, tears streamed down her face and she sobbed in despair. Aemond held her gently, cradling her trembling form. The beach emptied as they followed Joffrey’s coffin toward the pyre. Daemon was the last to ascend the stone steps— Caraxes flew overhead, bearing witness to the final farewell.

Long minutes passed before Visenya could calm herself enough to breathe. Aemond held her face in his hands and swore that, even if it meant turning against his own family, he would help his beloved wife burn them all.

*****

With only a day left before the king and princess’s departure, Prince Jacaerys returned from the North with the support of the Starks for the queen. The conditions were rather straightforward —  the prince’s firstborn daughter was to marry Cregan’s eldest son. A small price to pay for the strength of the North as an ally.

The prince didn’t show his sorrow in front of his family, but he embraced his sister, thanking her for the fall of Torrhen’s Square.

Baela was the only one to witness her husband’s anger and grief for hours within their chambers.

The prince wasn’t pleased with the idea of having to depart for the Eyrie as quickly as possible, as part of the agreement for the loyalty of the Arryns, and he liked even less the fact that it would be his sister flying with their father into battle. More than wanting to kill the Greens' army himself, he feared for his sister. He loved her, and like his mother, he couldn’t bear to lose anyone else in such a brutal way.

The queen’s sons didn’t yet know what a real war was, but the time Jacaerys had spent at Cregan’s side made him reflect and understand many things about the world that had previously been unknown to him.

Jace spent hours on end trying to argue with Daemon about his decision to take Visenya with him to the Reach, but to no avail —  the prince had to give up, knowing that even if Daemon were to change his mind, Visenya would not.

Before Jeyne Arryn could fill the castle with ravens about a dragonrider defending her lands, Jace and Baela were preparing for the journey. There was no need for two dragons in the Vale, but since the agreement, Baela had said she would no longer remain far from her husband for such long stretches. Even in the midst of her sorrow, she managed to draw a few smiles from Visenya and Rhaena while they helped their sister prepare to fly to the Vale. They needed a babe, she said, and a girl to honour the pact with Cregan Stark.

Visenya considered telling her sisters about her pregnancy, but she didn’t want to deal with even more people trying to shield her —  Aemond already did that every day since she’d told him the news.

The young couple’s farewell was brief. Baela was eager to see the Eyrie, and that was the only thing that made Jace stop grumbling about going there.

The supper was quiet, the weight of mourning still hanging over the place.

Unexpectedly, it seemed Aemond and Luke had finally stopped clashing when in the same room. They didn’t speak, but the tension between them had all but vanished.

The queen and king were the first to leave the dinner table, followed by Visenya and Aemond. The couple wished for a moment alone before the departure in the morning.

Upon arriving in their chambers, a steaming bath had just been set by Eleny, who left behind a few oils for the bath before taking her leave. Aemond came up behind his wife, untying the knot that held her gown in place. He watched the fabric fall to her feet as his hands moved around her waist, seeing her close her eyes at his touch. He then let his hands drift lower, feeling the slight swell of her belly —  the small life growing within.

Visenya turned to her husband, helping him undress as he still struggled with pain when moving. Before they stepped into the bath, Aemond took his wife in his arms, feeling the warmth of her body melt into his. Her soft, pale skin against his after so long apart.

Visenya stifled a small smile at feeling her husband’s erection press against her stomach. She hadn’t had much time to dwell on such matters, but she too missed being touched by him in that way. Since that whole bloody nightmare had begun, they’d barely had a moment together, and come morning she would be gone again. She knew if her husband were in better condition, he’d go regardless —  but the prince knew his body better than anyone, and even riding Vhagar, he’d still be a burden and a concern to his wife in his current state. And Visenya couldn’t afford to lose focus, not even for a breath, while on the battlefield.

Aemond briefly parted from the princess, holding her hand as he helped her into the bath and followed just after.

Visenya reached for a clean cloth and began to wash her husband’s body, while Aemond kept his hands braced on the edge of the tub, holding himself back from losing control at the sight of his naked wife so near.

The princess approached him with wicked intent, settling herself in his lap as she ran the cloth along his neck. With one free hand, she gently caressed the scar he bore on his face, her gaze lingering on the sapphire he no longer felt any shame in revealing.

For the first time, the prince allowed his wife to take full control of the moment. He watched as her hands slid down his abdomen, careful not to graze the wound, while she began to grind against him with increasing intensity.

Visenya finally decided to end their torment. She took her husband's cock in hand, positioning it at her entrance and slowly sank down onto him, watching as his eyes fluttered shut and a sigh escaped his lips. Smiling, she cupped his face, and Aemond leaned forward to capture her mouth with his. The kiss started tender, but quickly deepened into something hungry and scorching, the world around them fading as they surrendered to one another. Visenya's lips responded eagerly, her fingers threading into Aemond's hair.

The prince gripped her waist, pulling her closer, wanting to feel her in every way possible. Visenya began to move her hips, feeling his cock rub inside her, hitting the spot that made her tremble with pleasure. Moaning into the kiss, the Velaryon clung to the Targaryen, rising and falling on him in a steady rhythm, feeling every inch of him fill her. Gods, how Visenya loved the sensation of Aemond deep inside her.

The kiss broke as both were nearly breathless, but the princess didn’t stop rocking on her husband’s cock. After so long without feeling her, Aemond struggled to hold back, but the sight of her tossing her head back and moaning his name was too much. He couldn’t restrain himself any longer. And even after he’d spilled his seed inside her, she kept moving atop him, tormenting him deliciously as his cock remained achingly sensitive.

Visenya lowered her hips as far as they could go, feeling him buried to the hilt, her thighs pressing tightly against his as ecstasy finally claimed her.

— I love you. — she said in Valyrian.

— You are my life. — he replied.

Chapter Text

In the dim light of the chamber, the silence of the night was broken only by the soft, steady whisper of Visenya’s breathing as she slept soundly. Aemond sat on the edge of the bed, gently caressing the slight swell of his pregnant wife’s belly. His fingers, hardened from years of wielding a sword, moved with tenderness, tracing a slow path across her warm, smooth skin.

Aemond knew time was short. Anxiety coiled tight in his chest as dawn crept ever closer — and with it, Visenya’s departure for battle.

The room remained still, and before the first rays of sunlight could pierce the horizon, Visenya stirred, her eyes meeting Aemond’s. She smiled sleepily, understanding at once why her husband was hovering so close. Aemond, his voice low, murmured an apology for waking her.

Visenya pressed his hand more firmly against her belly, closing her eyes for a few moments before gazing once again into the deeper shade of violet in his.

— Have you thought of a name? — she asked.

— No, but I know if it’s a girl, you’ll want to name her Aemma. — he replied.

Visenya smiled faintly, turning to bury her face in the curve of Aemond’s neck, her fingers slipping into his hair.

— Yes…

Eleny was determined to help the princess dress for the battle ahead, going so far as to shoo Prince Aemond from the chamber. She assisted carefully, easing the leather garments over her lady’s skin, and it was then she noticed the gentle swell of Visenya’s belly. Her fingers faltered for a brief moment against the curve, but Visenya met her gaze with a grave expression.

— Not a word about it. — Visenya ordered.

Eleny simply nodded, fully understanding her lady’s wishes.

The black steel breastplate, adorned with carved scales, was fastened carefully over the leather beneath. At her legs, a black chainmail skirt fell from her tailbone to her heels, offering added protection while leaving the front of the leather trousers visible. The armour moulded perfectly to Visenya’s form.

The princess glanced at herself in the mirror, then reached for her sword — the blade she had named “Bloodthirst” — the weapon that would take Ormund Hightower’s head. She strapped the scabbard tightly to her hip. Eleny then draped a crimson cloak over her lady’s shoulders, her hands trembling slightly as she whispered a silent prayer for her safety.

With one hand resting firmly on the hilt of her sword, the princess left her chambers, Eleny following close behind. Her steps were steady as she descended the castle’s stone stairs, catching sight of her knight, Thomas, waiting at one of the corners.

He bowed in respect. Visenya, knowing the man too well, already anticipated what he would say and raised her free hand to silence him.

— I have a task for you. — her tone made the weight of her words unmistakable. — You’re to meet the White Worm, a woman named Mysaria, in King’s Landing. You must be discreet and take every necessary precaution.

— I understand. What exactly am I to do? — he asked.

— Aemond and I both agree Helaena should not be caught in the middle of this war for the Throne, and she is not safe in King’s Landing without either of us there. My father knows many people in the capital — this woman, Mysaria, will make you fully aware of the plan. I want you there because I don’t know the other men involved, someone called Blood and Cheese, and you’re the one I trust. You were by my aunt’s side when I could not be. She always spoke well of you and seemed to trust you. So get her and the children out of the Red Keep.

Thomas stood directly before Visenya, his eyes fixed on her. At that moment, an inner battle raged within him.

The mission she entrusted him with was of the utmost importance. To rescue her aunt and cousins from the Greens — it was a task Visenya herself would have done, were she not heading to claim her vengeance. Yet, at the same time, his heart was torn. His foremost concern was for his lady’s safety. The battle ahead was perilous.

Thomas had, above all, thought only of how he might protect her and ensure her safe return. He had fully expected to accompany her to the Reach. But it was his duty to obey, to carry out the mission and save her kin.

Thomas bent the knee, eyes on the perfectly polished boots of his princess.

— I’m honoured you trust me with such a task. I swear I will bring them back safely. I won’t fail.

— You never have. — she replied.

As the two dragons soared into the sky, their wings beat with immense force, cleaving through the air as they flew towards the Reach. The wind howled in Visenya’s and Daemon’s ears as they cut through the clouds, bound for their allies’ camp to face the Hightower army.

Above the clouds, father and daughter flew side by side until they reached Grassvale, where the combined armies of House Arryn and House Baratheon had gathered to await the arrival of the king consort and the princess. The sun was nearing its zenith when the two dragons broke through the cloudline and began their descent. Many of the soldiers stopped their duties to behold the magnificent sight of the two beasts landing, the earth trembling beneath them.

Daemon was the first to dismount, drawing the attention of the knights nearby. Princess Visenya remained atop Vermithor for a few moments longer, assessing the camp and the men surrounding them. Her eyes met her father’s, and with a small nod, he managed to convey a measure of reassurance to her.

Vermithor lay down in the tall grass, allowing his rider to dismount more easily. As Princess Visenya and her father Daemon walked through the war camp, heads turned to watch them. Visenya was a striking vision in her black steel armour — the dark metal contrasting against her silver hair, braided tightly, and those deep violet eyes that seemed to pierce the very souls of the men who looked upon her.

As Visenya and Daemon approached the main tent, soldiers parted before them, stepping aside to make way. Murmurs echoed through the camp, men whispering in awe at the sight of the princess. Words of admiration for her beauty and commanding presence rippled from tent to tent.

The second-in-command of the Arryn host, a stern-faced man, led the king and princess into the war tent. Inside, Jon Arryn and Roderic Baratheon — commanders of their respective forces — awaited them.

— King Consort, Princess — the two men greeted.

Jon Arryn and Roderic Baratheon stood behind a makeshift wooden table, atop which lay a large map of Westeros marked with the most recent movements of the Green army, led by Ormund Hightower.

The map detailed the path the Greens had taken, with symbols marking villages and towns they had sacked. The Hightower army’s brutality seemed only to worsen with each conquest.

Jon Arryn, greying and seasoned, pointed to the map, indicating the enemy’s latest movements. He explained that Ormund appeared increasingly unstable, and many lords had begun to abandon the Greens, turning instead to support Rhaenyra — the Black Queen. The smallfolk, too, were beginning to reject Aegon, mounting pressure on the Greens' cause.

Roderic Baratheon pointed to Golden Grove on the map — the town where they intended to take position. He explained they had House Rowan’s blessing to stage the battle there in favour of the Blacks, and that the Rowans themselves would join the fight. Laying in wait for Ormund’s forces at Golden Grove seemed the wisest course of action.

The commanders showed Visenya and Daemon how they intended to deploy their forces, while Daemon explained how to direct the men so they could fight effectively alongside dragons. A battle could be won through the placement of soldiers — but wielding fire wisely could bring devastation on an entirely different scale.

The princess remained silent through the final stages of the discussion. When the men had finished setting their strategy, Visenya reached for the figurine representing Ormund Hightower.

— Ormund is mine — she declared.

The princess tossed the piece into a small brazier that lit the inside of the tent, then turned and strode out.

*****

Thomas Lannister had returned to King’s Landing, skulking through the alleys of Flea Bottom in tattered clothes and a hood drawn low over his face, trying to blend in with the locals. The consort king’s final instructions had been vague, little more than a curt “Go to Flea Bottom.”   Thomas now found himself standing aimlessly near one of the many tanneries, lost and unsure. He assumed someone would find him soon enough.

That was when a melodic voice sliced through the tense quiet behind him.

— The stray lion. — said the voice.

Thomas turned to see a woman dressed entirely in white. It was almost absurd how clean her garments remained in such a squalid, wretched place.

— Mysaria, I presume. — replied Thomas, recognising the woman.

A cynical smile danced on her lips before she turned on her heel and began weaving through the crowd. The princess Visenya’s knight chose to follow, keeping a safe distance. They twisted through narrow, grimy alleys until they reached a dilapidated brothel. The patrons looked somehow worse off than the building itself. The whores were toothless and gaunt from hunger, their skin filthy, and it was clear most wouldn’t live another few winters.

Mysaria slipped past a ragged curtain and seated herself at an old table, while Thomas remained standing across from her, eager to get to the point.

The woman raised an eyebrow, amused by the Lannister’s impatience, but eventually gave in to his urgency.

— After nightfall, one of the Red Keep’s ratcatchers will meet you on the western side of the servants’ tower. Cheese. You’re looking quite like one of them now — save for that pretty face. — she noted. — Daemon said Queen Helaena has some sort of bond with you. Convince her to leave without causing a scandal.

— Cheese. And the other one? — Thomas asked.

— Blood. — she replied. — He has a separate task. One that, if left undone, could get you all caught… and killed.

— And what important task might that be?

The woman grinned, rising to her feet and circling the table until she was beside him. She reached to brush an invisible speck of dust from his hood, clearly using it as an excuse to touch his face. Thomas caught her thin wrist before she could.

— Blood will create chaos, while you slip away through the back.

Thomas Lannister managed to enter the Red Keep alongside a gaunt, bald man known as Cheese. Without exchanging a word, the two men squeezed through one of the castle’s many secret passages, moving quickly and silently. Their plan was clear — keep the Dowager Queen Alicent Hightower away from Queen Helaena Targaryen.

The first step was to lock the dowager queen in her chambers once she retired for the night. That duty fell to Cheese, while Thomas was to locate the Targaryen and her two children. He remained hidden within the Keep’s walls, waiting for the ratcatcher’s return. Then, in the dark, Cheese emerged from the shadows. The two men exchanged a look — it was time.

When they spotted a lone guard posted outside the queen’s quarters, Thomas gave a quiet whistle to draw the man’s attention. That was all it took. The guard glanced away for just a moment — enough for Cheese to slip behind him and slit his throat with swift precision.

With the way clear, Cheese looked to Thomas and gave a quick signal: two minutes. That was all the time he had to get Helaena and the children. After that, Cheese would leave — with or without him. The ratcatcher melted back into the shadows as Thomas moved towards the main door.

From the threshold, he saw the two cradles where the babes slept soundly. Helaena was still in her light green gown.

Thomas stepped inside, closing the door quietly behind him. The young queen sat in an armchair, needlework in her lap, and startled at the sudden presence in the room. She rose quickly, placing herself protectively between the hooded man and her children, heart pounding with fear.

He pulled back his hood, revealing his familiar face. Only then did Helaena allow herself to breathe again.

— I’m not here to hurt you. — Thomas said calmly. — Princess Visenya sent me. She and Prince Aemond are worried for your safety… they fear what Aegon might do to you if he returns.

Instinctively, Helaena placed a hand over her belly — a silent, painful memory. Her eyes dropped, avoiding his.

Thomas pressed his lips together, struggling to contain the fury he felt toward Aegon.

— Come with me. You and the children will be safe. No one will harm you again. — he urged.

Helaena hesitated, doubt flickering in her eyes.

— Safe? — she whispered, almost to herself. — Is that truly possible?

— Yes. Visenya loves you. Aemond too. They both care for you. Queen Rhaenyra herself has agreed to all of this. You’ll be under their protection. We don’t have much time. Come with me. Please.

Helaena looked down at her children, motherly concern clouding her gaze. At last, she gave a reluctant nod, understanding this was the best chance she had to secure her own safety — and theirs. Thomas stepped towards one of the cradles, lifting one of the babes into his arms. They were so alike he couldn’t tell which was which. Both slept soundly, blissfully unaware of the danger around them.

Helaena picked up the other child, holding them close against her chest, wrapping them in a small white blanket. In silence, the pair left the chamber. Thomas guided her through the corridor until they reached one of the hidden passages, where Cheese waited, tapping his foot impatiently.

— One more bloody second and I’d have left you behind, Lannister — the man grumbled.

Thomas kept one hand firmly on Helaena’s arm, making sure not to lose her through the winding, narrow corners they twisted through. Just as they neared the outer wall, a distant crash rang out — not too close, but loud enough to make them freeze for a breath.

Cheese began to cackle madly as realisation dawned — his companion had succeeded in his part of the mission.

A fearsome roar echoed over the capital. Dreamfyre had broken free of her chains and blasted through the roof of the dragonpit in her escape.

Once they emerged into the open air, the three of them could see the she-dragon soaring across the horizon, sowing chaos among the people below. Bells were clanging, and screams carried through the night.

Amidst the confusion, it was the perfect moment — under cover of the chaos and the darkness — for the knight and the young queen to disappear into the shadows.

Chapter Text

The afternoon the Blacks’ army arrived at Golden Grove was marked by a sudden shift in weather and atmosphere. The sun, which had bathed the path in golden light, vanished abruptly, as though someone had snuffed out a candle. Grey clouds gathered swiftly in the sky, blotting out the last remnants of sunlight. A thick mist began to form at the mountain peaks, creeping down like a bride’s veil. It was a cold, creeping fog that seemed to rise from the depths of the forest, enveloping the tall peaks in a chilling shroud. The mist felt almost alive, moving deliberately, veiling any view of the horizon.

The golden trees of Golden Grove, once majestic and serene, now loomed like shadowy sentinels beneath the deepening gloom.

Soldiers kept their spears, swords, and shields at the ready, while the archers took up position behind the vanguard.

It was as if nature itself had allied with fate for the battle to come — as though the gods were declaring which Targaryen would claim the Throne.

The forces of House Arryn and House Baratheon were no longer separated into distinct regiments. They stood united. Mixed. Awaiting orders from whichever commander spoke first.

The knights of House Rowan had also joined the Blacks — three hundred men. A small number compared to the two thousand Queen Rhaenyra already commanded, but all aid was welcome. Especially from men born and raised in these lands, men who knew every leaf of that forest.

Meanwhile, Daemon and Bloodwyrm circled above the clouds, hidden from the prying eyes of the enemy. Their dark silhouettes contrasted against a sky growing ever more ominous, poised to plunge into the heart of battle at any moment. On the ground, Visenya and Vermithor waited patiently, their eyes fixed on the horizon, scanning the skies for the sign she knew would come.

Only minutes passed before a small orange light flickered beneath the cloud cover — the signal. The Greens had arrived.

— Now! For your queen! — the princess shouted.

The archers moved into position on the hillside, aligning themselves in a formation that granted a clear, sweeping view of the battlefield below. Each archer was armed with a longbow and keen-tipped arrows. Their stances were firm, eyes locked on the oncoming Green host.

The vanguard surged forward, raising their weapons and black banners, their war cry echoing through the air.

In perfect synchrony, the archers readied their bows, pulling back their strings with precision. Then, at Roderic Baratheon’s command, the sky darkened with arrows. A deadly rain of shafts soared toward the enemy, filling the air with a high-pitched hiss. The arrows tore through the sky like a storm, striking with terrifying accuracy. The Green army’s front lines were hammered by the barrage, chaos erupting as men scrambled to shield themselves from the deadly assault both by land and by air.

Amid the unfolding chaos, Princess Visenya was ready. With a steady voice, she commanded Vermithor to take flight. The dragon rose from the earth in a display of raw power. The Bronze Fury let out a deafening roar that echoed across the battlefield, forcing the enemy to turn their gaze toward the princess.

At the same time, Daemon and Caraxes seized the distraction Vermithor had created. They dove from the skies, targeting the rear lines of the enemy host. Gouts of flame poured from Caraxes’ maw, igniting the ranks below. Panic surged through the Green archers as they struggled to recover from the brutal ambush.

The frontline was left under the command of Jon Arryn and his troops, while Daemon continued to hammer the flanks. The dragons were forbidden from attacking the centre of the formation — that was where the supplies and spoils of war were typically kept. Those provisions and gold would be used to further fuel Rhaenyra’s growing strength and influence.

Visenya charged towards the second legion, where knights were attempting to push forward into the fray.

Then the words of Jeyne Arryn echoed in the princess’s mind. “War is a dreadful maelstrom of chaos and ruin. Men screaming, blades clashing, the choking stench of blood, smoke, and fire.”

As the armies collided, the cries of men nearly rivalled the roars of the dragons overhead. Even from the skies, one could smell the blood that now soaked the grass — green and vibrant minutes ago, now red and slick with gore.

The smoke from the fires began to sting Visenya’s eyes, making it difficult to keep them open for long.

The scent of burning flesh filled the air, rousing the dragons to greater frenzy, driving them to unleash even more fire upon the enemy.

The Greens didn’t stand a chance. Not a single one. Men bearing the banners of the rooted tree, the eagle, and the stag pushed the Hightower host further and further back, driving them straight into the flames Vermithor had left blazing across the scorched earth after obliterating much of their cavalry. The rain of arrows didn’t let up, always aimed at the soldiers not yet crushed by the vanguard.

It seemed everything favoured the Blacks. From afar, the princess heard her father shouting — though she couldn’t make out his words. She only saw Caraxes withdraw and begin breathing fire further and further from the heart of the battle.

Then, from the opposite direction, warhorns sounded. Men bearing crimson shields marked with golden lions crested the hill, taking aim at the archers first. The bowmen had no time to react — the silent attack from behind cut them down mercilessly. Roderic drew his sword and fought fiercely, but a spear pierced him straight through the heart. He collapsed to his knees, blood gushing from the wound.

They were surrounded. The Lannister army had arrived.

But none of the scouts' reports had even mentioned they were marching with the Hightowers through the Reach in this tide of pillage and violence.

A trap. The realisation hit Visenya like a blow to the face. Even with dragons, they would win the battle — but at such a cost, her vengeance might leave the queen’s forces too weakened to hold the war.

Visenya realised she needed to trust Vermithor’s instincts. The old dragon had fought many battles — he knew what to do.

But her heart still outshouted reason.

“Emotions are enemies.” She recalled her father’s words from childhood. She knew her rage could destroy her — but at that moment, nothing else existed. Visenya wouldn’t stop until Ormund Hightower’s cold corpse lay at her feet.

As in many battles, some soldiers managed to flee — deserting their host rather than face the Stranger.

Even with their allies present, some Greens seemed to give up. But others grew even more determined — if they were to die, they’d take as many foes as they could with them.

Visenya had only seen Ormund once — at her uncles’ wedding. But ever since learning of her little brother’s murder, the man’s face had haunted her dreams. It wasn’t difficult to recognise the one who had ordered Joffrey’s head sent to his mother — he was running for the forest.

The bastard was fleeing.

Princess Visenya gave the order, and Vermithor plunged toward the battlefield. The dragon obeyed his rider without hesitation, descending from the heavens like a falling star. His landing was anything but gentle — he crushed all in his path. Enemy and ally alike were flung through the air like dry leaves in a storm. With a sweep of his massive tail, he sent men flying, and with his jaws, he snapped others up, condemning them to a fiery death as flames roared from deep within his throat.

Visenya didn’t hesitate. She slipped from the saddle, dropping to the ground, drawing her sword from its sheath. The battlefield was a living nightmare no words could properly describe — the grass was soaked with blood, thick with soot, and the sound of clashing steel rang in every direction.

She was nearly struck by an enemy blade — but before it could reach her, Jon Arryn intervened. He stepped in front of the princess, parrying the strike with his own sword, then ran the attacker through. Visenya’s eyes met his briefly — a silent thank you. She knew her allies still needed Vermithor — and she knew that she herself wanted the pleasure of killing Ormund.

She left her dragon behind, feeling the gust of his wings as he took to the sky again, unleashing his fire anew. The princess raised her sword against the foes closing in. One after the next, the men before her fell lifeless to the ground. She was swift and efficient — one, two strikes at most. Her agile footwork kept her ahead of the blades that swung at her.

Then, on foot and close enough to truly see them, she realised — many of these soldiers were boys. Some no older than Luke had been. The oldest among them might’ve been Thomas’s age. It wasn’t hard to cut them down because many of them were still children. If the Greens wanted to use them, let their mothers weep for them — and lay the blame at Aegon’s feet.

But in the chaos of combat, a strike caught her off guard. A blade slashed her leg — sudden, white-hot pain flared as blood streamed down her thigh. She staggered, momentarily stunned, but refused to fall.

She pressed on through the woods, limping, sword still in hand. The trees loomed around her, and she shouted Ormund’s name, her voice echoing through the branches and cutting through the forest gloom.

— You fucking whore!

Ormund’s voice shattered the silence, coming from behind one of the trees. Visenya turned sharply toward it — and there he was, wounded, but his eyes alight with pure hatred.

— You burned my sons! Children! — Ormund bellowed, his voice thick with grief and venom.

— And you had a little boy murdered and sent his head to his mother — she spat back, her voice seething with contempt. — Any curse that’s fallen on your House since then is your own doing.

Ormund clenched his jaw, rage boiling in his chest. Without another word, he charged at Visenya, his face twisted with fury and vengeance.

Ormund, though wounded, was a formidable warrior. His skill and experience showed in every measured step he took, every precise swing of his blade. He pressed forward with calculated strikes and controlled advances, making it difficult for Visenya to anticipate his movements.

The princess, on the other hand, barely had time to draw breath. Her movements were swift, agile, but the wound in her leg continued to bleed, sapping her strength with each step. Every time she put weight on it, a searing jolt of pain shot through her, making her stumble.

Hightower, sensing an opportunity, delivered a blow directly to her injured leg. It landed with brutal force. The pain was blinding, and Visenya cried out in agony as she fell to the ground, her sword slipping from her grasp. She scrambled backwards, desperate to put space between herself and Ormund, trying to steady her breath.

The man loomed over her, a wicked smile curling on his lips. He stared down at her with satisfaction, his eyes gleaming with triumph as he watched the princess lying bloodied in the dirt, her hand slick with blood as she tried to stem the flow from her wound.

— Maybe I’ll send your head to the Maegor with teats, too — he sneered.

Visenya clenched her jaw at the insult to her mother. Rage flared inside her — a white-hot fire threatening to consume her. She wanted to carve him apart, piece by piece.

Ormund paid no mind to her fallen blade just a few feet away. He stepped towards her and grabbed a fistful of her hair. Visenya bit back the scream clawing at her throat — she would not give him the pleasure of hearing her pain.

Hightower raised his sword, blood already drying on its edge, hoping the steel had dulled — he wanted the cut across that fine neck to be jagged.

But before the blade fell, his fingers opened and the sword dropped among the dry leaves and broken twigs.

The grunt of pain was guttural — followed by the bubbling sound of blood surging up his throat and spilling from his mouth. His eyes went wide. The princess’s dagger — the one gifted by her twin brother on the fifteenth nameday — had found the gap beneath the edge of his steel breastplate.

Visenya twisted the blade, drawing a ragged scream from him. He staggered backwards, trying to rise, but collapsed almost instantly. There was nothing he could do with a wound like that.

The Velaryon dragged herself to her sword. Her fingers, slick with blood and dirt, wrapped around the hilt of Bloodthirst . Using it to brace herself, she rose and took two steps toward him.

He was still breathing — barely. Each breath came shallow and strained. He was dying.

The princess brought down her blade and ended it — severing his head clean from his shoulders.

Her leg throbbed viciously, but Visenya forced herself to move, using the trees for support. One hand pressed firmly against her wound, she stumbled through the forest, intent on returning to the battle.

The woods were strangely quiet, closed in around her — a stark contrast to the deafening chaos she’d left behind. Even that, it seemed, had begun to fall silent. With each step, the pain echoed through her body like a drumbeat.

Before she could break through the treeline entirely, her body gave out. She collapsed to her knees. She was hurt and exhausted. One thought cut through the haze of pain and blood: I mustn’t fall on my belly. That was all that mattered.

Visenya managed to roll onto her back, lying in the damp grass, staring up at the overcast sky. Her trembling fingers lifted to her lips, and she let out a faint, broken whistle.

The surviving Greens had dropped their swords and surrendered — the Hightower host had been all but annihilated. The Blacks roared in triumph. Daemon and Caraxes were already on the ground. At least six hundred of their own had perished in the clash, but they had won — and a large portion of the supplies remained intact. It was a good victory.

The king consort was pleased. He turned his violet eyes skyward, scanning the overcast heavens for the sight of his daughter’s dragon. He had not found Ormund himself, but he would do everything in his power to grant her that vengeance.

Daemon allowed a brief smile to tug at the corner of his lips when he saw Vermithor rising into the sky — but the flicker of joy died as swiftly as it had come.

The mighty beast was clutching Visenya’s limp body in one of his enormous claws.

Chapter Text

The night cloaked the castle in a grim and eerie silence. Rhaenyra Targaryen sat alone upon her throne at Dragonstone, reverting to her old habit of twisting the rings on her fingers. Her hands remained clammy no matter how often she wiped them on her white nightgown. Hours earlier, the maester had informed her that no raven had come— no message, no word from her beloved or from her daughter since their departure. By now, the battle should already be underway.

The queen fixed her gaze on the flickering shadows cast by the few torches still lit within the throne room. The cold breeze brushing her skin was, somehow, the only thing keeping her mind anchored. She tried desperately to banish the vile thoughts that crept into her mind, making her chest tighten with dread.

Rhaenyra rose from her throne, surrendering to the exhaustion weighing down her body. She knew she would not sleep, but thought it best to retire to her chambers while waiting for news. However, she was stopped by the distant sound of bells beginning to toll. Her heart seized in her chest. She ran to one of the windows, peering into the night sky with anxious eyes. Her heart nearly stopped when she saw a single dragon approaching the island. There was no sign of Caraxes— her husband’s dragon. Instead, it was Vermithor returning alone.

Rhaenyra abandoned the throne room at once, her pace urgent as she made her way to the castle’s main entrance, ignoring the night’s biting chill. Amongst the few servants and knights still awake, the queen pushed through the dim corridors. A thunderous roar struck her ears as the guards threw open the massive doors to let her pass. Dread twisted in her stomach. She feared what she was about to witness.

When she reached the courtyard, the scene that met her eyes sent her reeling, and she would have collapsed if not for Sir Erryk catching her. Her daughter Visenya lay motionless on the grass, blood staining much of her lower limbs. Vermithor stood sentinel, keeping everyone at bay.

Rhaenyra’s heart plummeted further. In that moment, she felt another piece of her soul die, a familiar anguish clawing through her chest, one she had known too well after the deaths of Aemma and Joffrey. Another child lost. Her little girl. Her Visenya. Grief swallowed her whole. An unbearable pain shot through her chest, her legs giving out until she fell to her knees. It was as if her very breath had been torn from her lungs. She tried to rise, to reach her daughter, but her body would not obey. Sir Erryk’s voice was distant, unintelligible. Her vision blurred. Her stomach lurched violently, threatening to bring up what little she’d eaten that night.

No. Not her little girl. Not her Visenya.

The queen scarcely noticed when a shadow passed by her, rushing toward the fallen princess. A man who cared not for the danger posed by the second-largest dragon alive as it guarded its rider. But Visenya was his reason for breathing— his princess, his wife, his purpose. Aemond would’ve gladly let Vermithor burn him to ash if it meant being by her side.

Dragons are clever beasts, and Vermithor did not strike Aemond, recognising him as a friend to his rider. The great dragon remained vigilant over Visenya’s still body as Aemond approached and dropped to his knees beside her.

Her skin was cold from the night air. The colour had drained from her cheeks, but her breathing remained strong. The worst of her wounds appeared to be on her left leg. One look was enough to tell the prince it hadn’t been caused by an arrow. It looked more like a spear or a sword that had pierced deep into the muscle. She had clearly broken the promise she’d made to her husband— she’d dismounted during battle.

The pain of Aemond’s own wounds vanished into irrelevance as he lifted his wife into his arms.

— Thank you for bringing her back to me — he said to the dragon in Valyrian.

Aemond pressed his fingers to the icy metal of Visenya’s armoured bracers, feeling the chill leech into his skin. His eyes locked on her pale face, made even whiter beneath the weak light of the moon.

Then he saw his half-sister, Queen Rhaenyra, on her knees, staring up at him as though she were begging every god in the world.

— Summon the maester! — Aemond shouted.

It took a moment for Rhaenyra to register the words, her mind struggling to grasp their meaning. She continued to stare long after the prince had pushed through the crowd and marched back into the castle. Her heart was pounding. She looked down at her hands, realising at last that she could breathe again. But a question still remained unanswered. Where was Daemon?

With every ounce of care he could summon, Aemond carried his wife through the dim corridors, the sound of hurried footsteps echoing behind him. The dark-haired servant moved silently alongside them.

When they reached the chamber Aemond had been using since arriving at Dragonstone, he approached the bed and gently laid Visenya upon the white sheets. Those pristine linens were quickly stained crimson by the blood still seeping from her wounded leg.

Eleny immediately began loosening the buckles of Visenya’s breastplate while Aemond lifted her gently to help remove the armour.

Once the armour was off, the first thing Eleny did was lift the princess’s tunic and carefully run her hands over her belly, checking for any bruises or wounds. Relief swept across her face as she murmured softly.

— Thank the gods.

Aemond’s eye roamed over every inch of his wife’s exposed skin. Aside from the wounded leg, she bore a few scratches and shallow cuts.

He was furious. A storm of fear and rage churned inside him as he realised Visenya had put herself in danger while carrying their unborn child. He could not fathom why she’d make such a reckless decision, knowing what was at stake— for herself and for the babe. Aemond had trusted that his wife would be careful, that she would protect herself. She had given him her word.

Eleny’s attention shifted to the greying old man who entered the chamber with his long-bearded assistant, Peter, close behind. The two hurried into the room where the princess lay.

Peter carried an assortment of herbs, bandages, and tools that looked more like instruments of torment than healing, though his determination to help was clear. The room already reeked of blood and sweat, now laced with the sharp tang of herbs.

Wasting no time, the maester grabbed a pair of shears and began to cut away Visenya’s leather trousers, exposing the wound, which was caked with dirt and had partially clotted in a mess of blood and filth.

— The balm — he ordered curtly.

Peter swiftly handed him a bottle containing a milky-white solution, which the maester poured over the injury, cleansing it as best he could while wiping away the blood that continued to spill. The princess groaned in pain even in her unconscious state, but the old man did not falter. He picked up a pair of forceps while Peter tried to part the torn flesh so his mentor could finish cleaning the gash and stave off infection.

Visenya had already lost a significant amount of blood since the moment she was wounded, and the worry on everyone’s faces was unmistakable. The maester was fully aware of the princess’s condition— he himself had confirmed her pregnancy upon her return to Dragonstone with her family. He had to close that wound. That had to be the only bleeding she suffered tonight. The Blacks could not bear to lose another child.

Panic was written across Aemond’s face as he watched the two healers work. Each cry of pain that slipped from Visenya’s lips struck him like a dagger to the chest. He was desperate to do something, anything, to ease her suffering, but he hadn’t a clue how. His helplessness gnawed at him, leaving him on the brink of madness.

— If she dies, I’ll kill you — Aemond snarled at the maester.

Peter faltered, his fingers slipping, but quickly ducked his head and resumed his task when the old man barked at him. The maester himself remained unfazed by the prince’s threat, swapping out a blood-soaked cloth for a fresh one.

— Get Prince Aemond out of this room — the old man ordered.

Aemond almost laughed at the audacity. That this man would dare to command him to leave? Who had the gall to issue such an order?

His eye was alight with fury, the veins bulging in his forehead, his jaw clenched, and his fists curled so tightly his nails cut into his palms. But before he could react, a heavy hand landed on his shoulder. He spun around, meeting the stern gaze of Sir Erryk.

Behind the knight, in the doorway, stood Rhaenyra, watching with a grim expression. Aemond clenched his fists tighter, the short nails digging deeper into flesh already marked by tension.

He was teetering on the edge. Rage burned through him like wildfire, and he felt a primal urge to lash out at anything and everything in his path.

His gaze snapped back to Peter, the maester’s assistant, who dared to lay hands on Visenya. A wave of blinding fury overtook him, and he fought the instinct to seize the boy by the throat and throttle him. The old maester’s command to remove him from the room felt like an insult.

Even Sir Erryk was not safe from his wrath. The knight had obeyed the maester’s order without hesitation.

But the greatest fury of all was reserved for Visenya. For all the love he bore her, the anguish and frustration within him had begun to morph into a savage need to scream at her, to unleash the torrent of agony inside him. He wanted to curse everyone in the room, to defy the command to leave, to burn down the fucking world.

But something in Rhaenyra’s eyes stopped him— something gentle, understanding.

— Please, brother — Rhaenyra whispered, her voice tight with emotion. — Let the maester save my daughter.

Aemond turned back to Visenya, where Eleny still held her hand. With a heavy breath, he allowed himself to be guided from the chamber.

The door shut behind them, and the only sound left was the maester’s voice issuing commands to his assistant, echoing through the dim corridors of the keep.

The Targaryen prince felt the weight of the queen’s stare on his back.

None should’ve been more desperate than Rhaenyra that night. She had endured loss after loss. But the pain of seeing her daughter like that— broken and bleeding— was nearly unbearable.

Still, she refused to yield. She clung to what hope remained, faint though it was. The simple knowledge that her daughter still lived was like a tiny spark of flame amidst the darkness. Rhaenyra summoned every shred of strength left in her and rose. She had made a choice: to carry on. She knew Aemond was in torment, but also knew he had never faced anything like this before. She feared that if she left him alone, the rage and grief might drive him to do something that could not be undone.

— Come — said Rhaenyra.

Aemond felt utterly lost. He hadn’t the faintest idea what to do next. To avoid worsening an already volatile situation, he made the choice to follow Rhaenyra down the corridor.

The moon cast a pale, silvery light that faintly illuminated the outlines of the ancient dark stone walls. Shadows stretched into the recesses of the corridor, making the air even colder. The wrought iron sconces along the walls offered a dim glow, just enough for Aemond to follow Rhaenyra’s steps. As he moved through the hallways, he noticed the handmaidens passing him by. They bowed briefly in respect before hurrying towards Visenya’s chambers, carrying steaming buckets of water and clean cloths. The palace was a hive of activity, everyone doing what they could to aid the princess’s recovery.

Aemond was deep in thought as he walked, and when he realised his half-sister had stopped moving, he noticed they were in a place long unused for sharing a family meal. Memories of his nephews’ weddings and the warm feeling they once brought filled his mind. He missed that feeling.

His gaze wandered over the seats at the table. The emptiness left by Joffrey’s death was painfully obvious, and Aemond couldn’t help but think that if Visenya’s place were also left vacant, the next to take an empty seat would be himself— after the destruction he would bring upon Oldtown and King’s Landing should he lose his wife and child.

The prince finally realised his half-sister stood beside him, equally lost in her own thoughts. She was turning the rings on her fingers, her eyes distant and fixed on nothing.

— Visenya is with child. — Aemond broke the silence.

Rhaenyra froze the moment Aemond revealed the news. She looked like a statue, unmoving. Her fingers still clutched the ring that had once belonged to her mother.

Her gaze moved slowly towards her brother, who kept his head bowed, visibly shaken. Aemond’s words hung in the air like an unbearable weight.

— She thought you needed time to grieve, that it wouldn’t be fair to burden you with the truth while you were in pain, and I agreed. — Aemond admitted his part in it. — I know there’s truth in that, but I also see now that she wanted the secret so she could fight without being stopped. No one can stop her— but I should’ve done it.

Queen Rhaenyra remained silent for a moment, letting the weight of her brother’s words sink in.

— Indeed. No one can stop her. — she agreed.

Rhaenyra pulled out a chair, choosing the one Jacaerys usually sat in, and seated herself, her arms falling loosely upon the table. Aemond stood still, hesitant, until his half-sister pulled the chair beside her, inviting him to sit.

The closeness between them was strange for the prince. He had rarely spent time with Rhaenyra, even when they both lived at the Red Keep. Their encounters were limited to dinners their father insisted upon, and the occasional moment when she came in person to fetch Visenya to meet her brothers. The seeds of distrust and rivalry had been planted by Alicent, who had poisoned her children’s minds all their lives, claiming Rhaenyra was greedy and would kill her siblings to secure the throne. Yet Aemond knew the truth— he had seen the kindness of his half-sister with his own eyes.

Memories of his first visit to Dragonstone surfaced in the Targaryen’s mind. Rhaenyra had been kind and welcoming, disproving all the lies he’d heard about her. Aemond finally gave in and sat beside her.

— She’s always tried to protect everyone. I’m not surprised she hid the pregnancy after all we’ve been through. — said Rhaenyra.

— She promised me she’d be careful, that she wouldn’t dismount from Vermithor. And now he comes back with her nearly dead from blood loss, and the babe...

— The babe will be fine. — Rhaenyra assured him.

— I just want to scream at her. — Aemond confessed.

— Then scream.

*****

The sun had already begun to rise on the horizon when Aemond noticed his wife was stirring. The maester had spent a good while tending to Visenya’s sword wound— cleaning and stitching it before carefully examining the rest of her body and allowing the handmaidens to wash her, dress her, and change the bed linens.

Aemond sat at her bedside, watching intently as Visenya slowly opened her eyes. The moment she did, he rose immediately, the mixture of relief and worry plain on his face.

— Vermithor brought you back, and Daemon returned not long ago. — Aemond began. — I just wish I could understand how someone who swore to stay safe atop the bloody dragon comes back half-dead with a sword wound down to the bone. — he finished, barely holding onto the last shred of calm he had left.

Aemond was now furious, jaw clenched tight as he glared at Visenya, whose eyes widened at his fury. She tried to speak, but he didn’t give her the chance.

— Your life is no longer just yours. You’re carrying our child. I know no one could’ve stopped you from killing Ormund, but putting yourself in danger like that... What the fuck did you expect to happen? You’ve never fought, never been on a battlefield. Did you think you’d come out unscathed standing between swords? — he shouted as he paced the room, unable to restrain himself.

— I had to do it. — she tried to explain.

Aemond stared at her, his eyes hard as steel.

— I hope putting both your lives at risk was fucking worth it.

Aemond ended the sentence under the stunned gaze of his wife. She placed her hands over her belly as her husband left the chamber, leaving her alone.

Chapter Text

Visenya found herself alone, the dawn gradually lighting the chamber in soft shades of golden light. A tightness clutched at her chest—she was alone. Silent tears streamed down her cheeks as she dwelled on the broken promise made to her husband. Impulsive actions taken in the heat of anger had revealed just how immature she still was. Her body, too, bore the wounds of battle, each sharp pain a cruel reminder of the choices that had brought her to that state. The stench of blood still hung in the air, and the memory of screams echoed in her mind.

She was deeply regretful. A fool, and irresponsible, for endangering her own life and that of her unborn child over a petty thirst for vengeance.

The salty tears became heavier. Her throat was dry, her chest ached, and all she wanted was to go to her husband and beg for forgiveness. She was entirely to blame for placing their child’s fragile life in harm’s way. Aemond had every right to be furious. The look of disappointment in his eyes was what shattered the princess's heart most of all.

Visenya burned with anger toward herself. How could she have ever believed she could survive the midst of battle, chasing after the man who had ordered her brother's death, who had brought such cruelty to her family? She felt shame for being so naïve as to think it would all work out, despite the lack of any real plan.

She gripped her head between her hands, as if trying to suppress the storm of emotion within her. Her chest heaved in uneven sobs, breath ragged and shallow. The pain consuming her far outweighed that of her injured leg—it was as if her heart itself were being crushed. She squeezed her eyes shut as though it might shield her from it all. The sorrow, the agony, the betrayal. The knot in her throat tightened with every moment, the guilt making her tremble.

— I’m such an idiot — she whispered.

— Sadly, I have to agree.

A familiar voice echoed from the doorway. Visenya knew she deserved every reprimand, every punishment, and more for her reckless actions, but at that moment, she couldn’t take any more.

She kept her head bowed in her hands, trying to muffle her sobs to seem less pathetic before her father, who was now setting down some metallic items in her temporary chamber.

The princess felt the mattress dip at the edge of the bed, and when she finally mustered the courage to lift her gaze, she found Daemon’s eyes on her, unreadable. Glancing towards the chest of drawers, she saw that he had brought back her sword, which had been left amongst the dry leaves of the godswood, and the dagger she’d used to bring Ormund down. Both weapons were clean, but she knew that every time she held them, she’d feel the hot, sticky blood on her fingers again.

— I taught you many things in the time we lived together. I taught you to fight and to kill. To lie, deceive and manipulate. But I never expected you to use any of that against those you love—against your true family. And that’s exactly what you did with the last three. You manipulated your husband into keeping your pregnancy a secret, deceived us by saying nothing and letting me drag you into battle, and lied when you broke your promise to that one-eyed bastard not to dismount your dragon.

Visenya bit her lip so hard she tasted blood. Her sobs, once held at bay, returned in full force. Her vision blurred with tears, and she could barely see the figure in front of her—who now pulled her into an embrace against his chest.

— When I saw Vermithor leaving the woods with you like that, I thought I’d lost yet another woman I loved. I pretended not to care and focused on preparing for the rest of the battle, all while wanting nothing more than to climb onto Caraxes and chase after you. When I saw the looks on the servants’ faces upon my return, I truly thought you were dead.

— I’m sorry — she murmured.

— I think the gods really did make you mine in the end, because everything you’ve done—every mistake, every impulsive decision... In the end, you’re exactly like me.

Surprise widened Visenya’s eyes as she realised her father wasn’t simply scolding her.

— I still make plenty of mistakes, but I’ve learned a thing or two. I want you to do the same, my little dragon. Become someone better than me. Make wiser choices in future, and please, don’t ever put your life at risk like this again.

— You wouldn’t have let me go if you’d known, would you? — she asked.

— Of course not.

With her eyes still wet, Visenya looked up at her father as he brushed her face gently, wiping away the last stubborn tears clinging to her swollen cheeks.

Daemon, hopeful of drawing even a faint smile from his daughter, shifted on the bed to fetch a small wooden box beside her dagger. She had barely noticed it before, lost in grief. He offered it to her, and with trembling fingers, the princess traced the aged wood before opening it.

Inside was a small dragon carved from the heart tree still standing in one of the gardens of the Red Keep. A gift from Viserys the Peaceful, carved by his own hand and given to her on the sixth day of her name. She had kept it with her for many years—a cherished memory from simpler, happier times.

— Luke found it in your old chamber. I thought you might need it now. I know it’s not the kind of gift I usually give, but... happy name day — Daemon said.

*****

Alicent walked with her usual poise through the sunlit corridors of the Red Keep. A golden seven-pointed star hung delicately from her neck, catching the sunlight and glinting with each step. Her customary green dress, embroidered with gold detail, flowed gracefully down her figure, still slender even after four pregnancies—the last, tragically difficult. The youngest son of King Viserys, Daeron, had died mere days after birth, having been born much smaller than his elder brothers.

The queen kept her chin high, as always, her eyes scanning every guard who bowed their head at her passing. Her heels clicked steadily on the polished stone floors.

As she neared the wing leading to her son’s chambers, the sharp cries of two girls rang out, drawing her brows together in a frown. Two young women, noticeably younger than her daughter Helaena, ran towards her in a pitiful state. Their clothes were torn and in tatters, hair dishevelled, and they reeked of strong drink.

Both girls had pale skin and light blond hair—clearly sisters. Alicent vaguely recalled seeing them on the day of Aegon’s coronation.

That day, as they returned to the Red Keep in a carriage, Aegon had ordered Sir Criston Cole to bring the girls along. Since then, a dreadful fate had awaited them.

The two girls stared wide-eyed at the queen dowager, choking back their sobs and trying to compose themselves in her presence.

Alicent, however, couldn’t quell the ache in her chest as she imagined what her son might’ve done to leave them in such a state. The Hightower woman took a deep breath and looked away before telling them to wash and dress properly—and then seek out Lord Larys Strong for a dose of moon tea each.

The girls nodded quickly, disappearing down the corridor as Alicent fiddled with her fingernails, trying to calm herself. She brushed at her satin skirts as if dust clung stubbornly there.

Lifting her head again, the widow resumed her walk to the king’s chambers, opening the door without knocking—only to find her son seated on the bed, naked, a full goblet of wine in hand.

— Have you seen Helaena? — she asked.

— Why would I have seen that useless girl?

Alicent inhaled sharply, her nails digging into her palms as she resisted the urge to slap him—as she had so many times before.

— Helaena and the children are missing. None of the servants or knights have seen them since morning — she continued.

— Then perhaps the gods have finally heard my prayers.

— Aegon! They are your wife and children! — Alicent screamed.

Aegon looked up at her with a terrifying calmness. He set the wine aside and stood, showing no concern for his nudity—his arrogance evident even before the woman who had struck him countless times for both minor and grave offences. He stood just inches from her, eyes locked on hers.

— Mind your tone when speaking to your king. If she’s run off with those brats, so be it. One less obstacle when Visenya finally comes to me.

— Visenya will not come.

— Shut your mouth! — he roared.

Aegon seemed obsessed with the idea of claiming Visenya’s affection and attention, and the mere mention of resistance or interference sent him into a frenzy. His fury was plain, eyes blazing, face twisted in rage.

Visenya had shown him kindness. Forgiven him when no one else had. She had embraced him and offered comfort when he needed it most. And Aemond had stolen his niece—but he would have her.

Alicent lowered her gaze, biting the inside of her cheek as she processed her son’s fury. She counted to five silently before meeting his gaze again.

— Fine — she said calmly. — Your grandsire has called a meeting. We must deal with the blockade the Velaryon fleet has imposed. Supplies are running low, and the people are growing restless. Please, dress yourself properly and join the Small Council.

She turned to leave, casting one last glance around. The curtains had been shut since coronation day, keeping out daylight. Dozens of wine bottles and liquor flasks littered the table and floor, and the stench of debauchery filled the room. Aegon, meanwhile, was in an even worse state.

The queen exited her son’s chamber, shoulders heavy. Nothing was going as she’d imagined. She headed for the Small Council chamber, but before she could reach it, her father grabbed her arm and pulled her into one of the castle’s many quiet, empty rooms.

— A body was found within the walls, in one of the secret passages — Otto whispered. — Cole said it was the guard assigned to escort Helaena and the children last night. It appears to be a move by the blacks. They’ve taken them. And with her gone, so is her dragon. We are at a greater disadvantage now.

— It makes no sense... why take them instead of killing them? — she asked.

— They have the queen and the king’s heirs. They believe they hold the advantage.

— Believe? — Alicent murmured.

— Yes. She’s my granddaughter, and I love her, but Aegon can wed again.

Her father’s suggestion hit her like a blow to the gut.

— You can’t truly be considering sentencing my daughter and grandchildren to death.

— It’s the price of the crown, daughter — Otto said at last.

That night, in the queen dowager’s chamber, the candles in golden candelabras and sconces cast a soft glow across the room. Shadows danced over polished dark wood furniture and rich, heavy green drapes embroidered with gold. In the corner, a fire crackled in the hearth, its warmth no longer comforting, but stifling beneath Alicent’s fine garments.

A grand canopy bed stood at the centre, adorned with silk sheets and embroidered pillows and blankets.

Lord Larys occupied a pale, comfortable settee, cane in one hand, his face betraying faint irritation at the queen’s agitation.

Alicent couldn’t stay still, pacing compulsively. She nibbled at the edge of her nails and occasionally bit them outright—a tell of her anxiety.

To Strong, her behaviour was excessive. They were at war for the throne, and of course the weakest links would fall first. First the one-eyed fool chasing after his bastard whore—and now the mad woman and her children, stolen away in the night under everyone’s noses.

— Tell me you’ve got something — Alicent demanded.

— I do. Visenya’s knight was seen in King’s Landing. Tried to hide his face, but my eyes are sharp. He met with a woman, who led him to one of the castle’s ratcatchers. Together, they got Queen Helaena and her children out during the chaos Dreamfyre caused. If Thomas Lannister took her, then Visenya is behind it. I presume the queen is safe.

At last, Alicent seemed to breathe a little easier. For all the turmoil, she knew Visenya and Helaena had always been close. Their bond had endured through hardship, and she trusted her granddaughter wouldn’t harm her own aunt. For now, Helaena was safe.

Alicent approached the chair facing Larys. He licked his lips as she sat down.

— I’ve given you the information, my queen dowager — said Larys.

Alicent felt deeply uncomfortable in Larys’s presence, even while acknowledging the necessity of their alliance. Every word, every glance between them only made it worse. She couldn’t help but recall all the times this scene had repeated itself in her chambers.

She lowered her hands to her velvet shoes and slipped them off before resting her feet on the small table between them.

Larys offered her a satisfied look as he undid his belt and lowered the front of his trousers, gripping his already pulsing cock.

Chapter Text

Alicent awoke in the morning and slowly opened her eyes to the gentle light spilling into her chamber. The first rays of sun, still shy, slipped through the half-open windows. She sat up in bed, wrapped in her silk sheets, and exhaled deeply. Every morning, that was the moment she gathered strength to face another day.

She still felt filthy after the visit from the master of whispers. She’d long stopped trying to understand his sick obsession with that senseless fetish—but at least it was the only payment he required for his often-precious information.

The Dowager Queen was far from a good mother, but a knot still formed in her throat at the thought that her daughter had truly gone willingly with the knight who dared interrupt a royal celebration just to pledge his sword to Visenya.

First Aemond, then Helaena, and now even Aegon was obsessed with his niece. One by one, Visenya had taken Alicent’s children from her—conquering them as she had once won the queen over in her earliest years.

Alicent had truly believed the girl could be a replacement for the friend she once had. She had deluded herself for too long, thinking she could mould the girl to her liking—but never considered that Visenya was fire itself.

The Hightower woman rubbed her face in a vain attempt to smooth her expression when she heard a gentle knock at the door. She forced a smile and called her ladies and handmaidens in. The servants opened the curtains, bathing the chamber in full sunlight and highlighting the beauty of the furniture and tapestries that decorated it.

Other maids were already filling a basin with fresh water so Alicent could wash her face and begin her daily routine. She gave a silent thanks for the gesture, while her new lady-in-waiting, Myrcela—who had taken Talya’s place after the usurpation—approached the wardrobe and selected one of the many green dresses the queen owned.

Alicent rose from her bed and placed her hands on the table where the basin had been carefully placed. One of the maids gently held up the queen’s auburn hair, allowing her to wash her face without difficulty.

Under the care of her lady, the Dowager Queen allowed her nightgown to be removed, revealing pale skin and the soft contours of her body. Layers of clothing and a corset were added, shaping her figure to the court’s standards of elegance.

Finally, the chosen green fabric was draped over her shoulders—a dress that highlighted her posture. Before the mirror, Hightower noted the dark circles beneath her eyes, the result of sleepless nights since Viserys’ death. Myrcela, as she did every morning, began to apply layers of creams and powder to the queen’s face. The products softened the signs of exhaustion, restoring a youthful and radiant look to her features.

Alicent closed her eyes briefly, offering a silent prayer that nothing would go wrong that day.

Before she could stand, a few women from the kitchens entered, accompanied by the Hand of the King. They carried a selection of food—fresh bread, lemon tarts, biscuits, and a pot of tea. Everything was arranged at the same table where Larys had visited her the night before—though now, her father Otto took the seat the master of whispers had occupied.

A private breakfast with her father was never a good sign. The conversation would begin calmly, but would always escalate into a verbal clash, leaving Alicent picking at her fingernails until blood spilled from the torn skin. She tried to keep her focus, avoiding painful memories of those arguments—or the simple fact of what had occurred in that very seat the night before.

She dismissed the maids, remaining alone with the Hand as she sat across from him.

— And? — she began.

— I’ve finally received a reply from the Triarchy. They’ve agreed to breach the Velaryon blockade while Princess Rhaenys remains in Crow’s Nest. Meanwhile, our army continues raiding the Reach, and soon, some food will reach King’s Landing to calm the people’s nerves.

— But the Reach folk will starve.

— That’s true, my daughter. But the needs of our cause sometimes require sacrifices. We must hold the city and the throne, which means denying Rhaenyra’s allies their resources until they’re forced to switch allegiance to Aegon. Once support returns to us and the blockade is broken, trade will resume—and with the king’s benevolence, the Reach shall have supplies again.

— And the king agrees to this? — she questioned.

— The king will agree.

— Breaking the blockade won’t be easy—nor quick. And if they get help from Dragonstone? — asked Alicent.

— They’ll have Scorpions.

— And what if Aemond helps them? If Vhagar is there…

— The maester said the prince may still not be fit after his... clash with Sir Criston.

— May the gods help us — she muttered.

Night finally fell over King’s Landing, and with it, the queen managed to convince her son Aegon to leave his chambers and join her for supper at the increasingly empty table. Aegon remained indifferent to court affairs, lost in his own thoughts as he emptied yet another bottle of Arbor red, his favourite.

The servants filled the table with a variety of delicious dishes. A pork pie, a platter with a glorious lamb rib alongside buttered turnips, grilled onions, honeyed chicken, and steaming vegetable stew. All generously accompanied by more Arbor wine, filling every goblet.

Alicent noticed that none of the serving girls dared place dishes too near the king. His reputation had spread even through the castle kitchens. The sensible ones feared becoming his next victims, while the dreamers still believed they could win the king’s favour. But the story always repeated itself—and all women, be they servants or whores, knew the king whispered only one name at climax before collapsing into sleep.

Visenya.

Just as Aegon reached for one of the juicy lamb ribs, his mother asked to say a prayer. The king, accustomed to the ritual since childhood, didn’t protest and slumped back in his chair, drinking the last of his wine before closing his eyes and bowing his head. Alicent, relishing the moment’s serenity, clasped her hands and closed her eyes as well.

— May the Mother smile upon this family with love. May the Crone grant us wisdom and guide us through this war. May the Warrior touch our soldiers’ hearts, giving them courage, and may the Smith restore our glory.

When she opened her eyes again, the Dowager Queen found her father, Sir Criston, and Lord Larys watching her silently, waiting for her cue to begin the meal. But Aegon spoke first, lifting his goblet for a refill. With his cup full again, he resumed tearing into the lamb, smearing his fingers as he tore meat with his teeth, pausing only to gulp more wine to wash it down.

The atmosphere at the table was dreadful—only the scrape of cutlery and Aegon’s vulgar jokes broke the silence.

The glances exchanged among those present betrayed the tension. The Hand of the King looked troubled and displeased by his grandson’s conduct. Lord Larys observed everything carefully, while Criston forced a strained smile.

While the king mocked the maids and spewed crude remarks, the women serving the table could not hide their discomfort and anxiety. Their gazes were evasive, barely masking the desperate wish to be dismissed from his presence. Every forced chuckle at the king’s humour reflected the fear of reacting wrongly—and ending up locked in his chambers for hours.

The young king’s voice was soon interrupted by the breathless arrival of Maester Orwyle, who had clearly sprinted through the dim corridors of the Red Keep. He bowed, trembling, bracing himself on his knees as he tried to catch his breath, his heart threatening to leap from his chest.

— Maester Orwyle, compose yourself. What has happened? — Otto asked.

Concern gripped Alicent immediately. She stepped closer to hear the news. Orwyle’s uncertain eyes darted toward the serving girls still present, and the queen quickly grasped the need for discretion.

— Leave. All of you — she ordered.

The women fled swiftly, even taking the wine jugs with them. In seconds, the Green Council was alone.

— Your nephew, Lord Hand... Ormund. His army was ambushed by the Blacks.

The floor seemed to vanish beneath Alicent’s feet. Though still standing, she had to sit again to steady the storm of emotion.

— The Lannisters were just behind them — Otto noted.

— Yes, my lord, but they weren’t enough. The armies of Arryn, Baratheon, and Rowan united in the Goldenwood and intercepted them. Moreover, Prince Daemon and Princess Visenya were also there—with their dragons.

Otto’s eyes slid toward his daughter, who turned away, afraid to meet his gaze.

— Looks like your prayer came a bit late, mother — said Aegon, laughing.

Alicent ignored him, trying desperately to see any hope in a situation where their strongest allies had been destroyed. But the king seemed blind to the gravity of the moment, continuing to jest.

As Aegon jeered, Otto Hightower began pacing the hall, deep in thought. Lord Larys Strong, ever observant, was the only one to ask the question that mattered:

— Most of the men were slain in battle, and the survivors executed by Prince Daemon after some questioning—but we don’t know what he asked.

— And Lord Ormund’s fate? — Sir Criston asked.

— They say Princess Visenya dismounted during battle and chased Lord Ormund into the heart of the woods. He was found... with his head separated from his body. But...

The maester’s expression faltered, and he looked nervously toward the king. Aegon raised his brows in amusement—as if his niece’s deeds, even at the cost of a commander, were impressive.

Alicent rose once again, clasping her hands before her and turning her gaze upon the hesitant maester.

— Maester Orwyle. But what?

— A trail of b-blood led to the last place Princess Visenya was seen on land — he stammered, his anxiety plain.

Aegon finally stood and set his goblet down on the table, stepping slowly to his mother’s side. His expression had darkened—any trace of humour gone.

— Well? — Aegon demanded.

— Vermithor was seen carrying the princess’s body in one claw. We believe he returned to Dragonstone. But there was so much blood... the messenger who escaped said you could see it even on the princess’s black steel armour. We don’t know if she’s still ali…

*****

On the shores of Dragonstone, Rhaenyra and Aemond Targaryen stood enjoying the warmth of the sun that had finally begun to emerge. Waves gently crashed against the rocks surrounding the island, bringing the salty breeze ashore. Both awaited anxiously the arrival of their sister Helaena and her children, escorted by the knight who had taken them.

Helaena, her face pale, stared up at the towering castle atop the black stone steps. In her arms she held Jaehaerys, while Thomas awkwardly tried to keep young Jaehaera comfortable against his chest. When the skiff reached the sand, Aemond left Rhaenyra’s side to help his sister disembark, extending a hand to ensure her safety. It was then, after a long time, that a genuine smile lit Helaena’s face—a rare gesture, one Aemond returned. Not out of fondness for the knight, but Aemond offered his hand to Thomas as well—after all, the lad carried his infant niece. Swallowing his pride, fearing to do wrong, the knight accepted the help. And alongside the Targaryens, he approached the queen with a slight bow. Helaena followed, but her face was expressive. Even trusting Thomas’ words and the good will of Aemond and Visenya, it was Rhaenyra who would decide her fate now. For all her dreamy nature and detachment, she understood her place.

— Welcome, sister. I hope the journey wasn’t too harsh — said Rhaenyra.

— The children cried the whole way, and I was seasick — Helaena replied honestly.

— I’m sorry to hear that. Come — she gestured to the stairs. — The maids prepared something light for your stomach, and the nurses will tend to the children while you rest.

Helaena nodded in thanks, feeling Rhaenyra’s gentle hand on her shoulder. The queen pressed her lips together, clearly filtering her words.

— So long as it’s up to me, you’re safe here. Your life is your own. I won’t ask anything but that you recognise me as queen and never betray me.

— I never wanted to be queen — Helaena replied firmly.

Rhaenyra offered a tight, sincere smile. It comforted her to see that the girl had made the right choice in rescuing her aunt from Aegon and Alicent’s clutches. Helaena’s worn appearance wasn’t just from the journey—she was thinner, paler, and looked ill. Rhaenyra didn’t even want to imagine what the younger woman had endured all those years in the Red Keep.

— Dreamfyre arrived a day ago. She seems to have settled on Dragonmont — said the queen.

— I know.

It was all the younger said before ascending the long stone steps—and for the first time in her life, she felt safe.

After spending several hours in Visenya’s chambers, Helaena finally let her niece rest. She still couldn’t believe Visenya had actually dismounted in the middle of battle. And in typical Helaena fashion, she scolded her niece for such recklessness. But she quickly realised that Visenya had already heard those same words from nearly every member of the family.

Aemond, however, had not entered Visenya’s room since she’d woken from the battle—not while she was awake, at least. He spent most nights sitting beside her bed, just to make sure she was breathing. But before sunrise, he always left. His aversion to her actions still lingered, despite his concern.

At the break of a new day, the prince stood in the kitchen, seemingly inspecting the tray Eleny was preparing for his wife. The maid hadn’t spoken a word to either party until now. She did her duty as expected—caring for her lady and offering comfort, while putting aside the role of friend. She knew Visenya well enough to know the princess didn’t need to hear the same reprimands again. Even young Lucerys had already sought his sister out to berate her for her recklessness.

Eleny lifted the tray under the prince’s watchful eye, and at last, unable to hold her tongue, she chose her side.

— If you’re that worried about her, why don’t you get angry from a bit closer?

Chapter Text

Lady Rhaena and Princess Helaena sat together on a small settee in Visenya’s chamber, enjoying a friendly conversation as they worked on their embroidery. The Velaryon had always suspected the two would get along, if only given time to share each other’s company. The atmosphere in the room was serene, bathed in the soft morning light pouring through the windows.

Rhaena, skilled with her hands, was focused on embroidering a small Velaryon crest into the corner of a handkerchief—a gift intended for Lucerys. Meanwhile, Helaena followed her usual peculiar choice: her needle drew a large, orange-toned spider. A strange selection for most, yet perfectly fitting for her unique personality. Her embroidery was just as impressive, a clear reflection of her creativity and skill with needle and thread.

Visenya, however, did not share their talent for such crafts. She had avoided most of the septa’s lessons, and on the rare occasions she had attended under her mother’s watchful eye, the results had been far from promising. As she observed her cousin and aunt, she merely held a needle in hand, letting a piece of cotton fabric rest in her lap. Her gaze drifted toward the blue morning sky, basking in the peace, while the needle remained still.

Visenya was silently rehearsing countless ways to apologise to her husband for breaking his trust. Yet none seemed good enough. Nothing she could think of expressed the depth of her remorse for her reckless actions—actions that now confined her to that bed for several days. She had frightened her entire family. The least she could do now was follow the maester’s orders and heal as quickly as possible.

She missed Aemond. But in some quiet part of her heart, she was glad he wasn’t there. She was scared of facing him. Scared he’d never trust her again. And that fear… was justified.

— Visenya? — her cousin’s voice echoed softly.

— Sorry, what did you say? — she replied, turning to Rhaena.

— I was telling Helaena about my experience flying with Silverwing — Rhaena explained.

— Ah, of course. It can be tricky dealing with a dragon we didn’t grow up with — Visenya replied, trying to follow the conversation.

— Are you alright? — Rhaena asked.

— I think so... as much as I can be — Visenya answered.

— Aemond still hasn’t spoken to you? — Rhaena asked again.

— He hasn’t spoken. But he’s watched — Helaena answered.

A confused expression crossed the youngest Targaryen’s face as she looked between the two. Visenya gave a faint smile, touched by her aunt’s words. It was strange how she always seemed to know so much—but she never questioned Helaena. She would speak when she chose. Visenya knew she already carried the knowledge of the small life growing within her. Helaena had made that clear before departing: there were two black hearts in that castle.

— He’s come at night while I sleep. I woke once with a dry throat and caught him dozing on this very sofa.

— Well, Luke said he’s been training with Sir Erryk. They only return to the castle at dusk. I haven’t seen them myself — Rhaena added.

Their conversation was interrupted when Queen Rhaenyra and King Consort Daemon knocked before stepping into the chamber. Both wore riding clothes: black leather beneath heavy fur cloaks. Rhaenyra’s hair was elegantly braided, framing her face. She wore no crown this time. Daemon’s gloved hand rested on the hilt of Dark Sister as he glanced at the embroidery they each held. A smirk tugged at his lips when he noticed, unsurprisingly, that Visenya hadn’t even touched the fabric.

The queen sat beside her daughter on the bed, taking her hand and gently caressing her face with the other.

— Has something happened? — Visenya asked, concerned.

— Shall we leave you two? — Rhaena offered.

— That won’t be necessary — Rhaenyra replied calmly. — Daemon and I are leaving the island. I’ll be gone for only a short while, but I fear your father will take longer to return.

— You’re flying? You could be ambushed the moment someone spots Syrax in the skies — Visenya warned.

— It’s a short journey. I must go to the Vale.

— The Vale? Has something happened to my sister? — Rhaena asked, alarmed.

— Baela and Jace are well — Daemon clarified. — News of the battle in Goldenwood has already reached King’s Landing. Including that you were carried off like that by Vermithor.

Visenya curled up in the bed, biting her lip and averting her eyes, still ashamed of what had happened.

— This might actually work in our favour. I don’t know why Aegon is so obsessed with you, but he even killed the Grand Maester who brought the news—and has locked himself back in his chambers. It seems not even the poor handmaids are his targets anymore — said Daemon.

At those words, Visenya’s eyes shot to her aunt, who kept her focus entirely on her embroidery, as though the entire conversation wasn’t taking place around her. Rhaenyra noticed her daughter’s unease and shot a glare at her husband for his careless words. She had hoped Daemon would be more sensitive—but as always, no reaction came from Helaena. She remained serene and silent, detached from the delicate tension around her.

— And if the news has reached King’s Landing, it’ll soon reach the Vale. I need to discuss some matters with Lady Jeyne and will use the opportunity to explain things to your brother before he does something reckless — Rhaenyra added.

— Still, it’s probably best if our enemies believe I didn’t survive the battle — Visenya concluded.

— Exactly. The Green’s position will grow weaker — Daemon nodded.

— He truly believed you could love him.

The room fell into a sudden, tomb-like silence. Finally, Helaena broke it. Visenya’s eyes widened. She clutched her mother’s hand, shocked by the confession. Everyone knew the truth of Aegon and Helaena’s marriage. It had never been one of love or tenderness. But to hear it from the wife’s own lips... Helaena raised her head at last, sitting straighter, facing both her sister and niece.

— Maybe… maybe if he’d been loved, he wouldn’t have turned out so awful — she added.

— Perhaps — Rhaenyra agreed softly.

— He didn’t want the throne, you know? He ran when he learned they were going to crown him. He didn’t want to steal your birthright. But when he got to the Dragonpit, he saw people shouting his name. Sister, he was convinced it was all wrong—until a few of them shouted his. He must’ve felt loved.

Silence returned, heavier than before. No one dared speak. It was true that Alicent Hightower had been a negligent mother. But that wasn’t the only thing that had turned Aegon into the monster he had become. It didn’t excuse him from stealing Rhaenyra’s crown. It didn’t excuse starting a war that had already claimed so many lives.

Helaena rose, gathering her black and orange threads. She bowed slightly to the queen and announced she would check on her children before leaving the chamber in search of peace.

— So… Alicent and Otto bear most of the blame for all this — said Rhaenyra.

— Otto always wanted to see his blood on the throne. Viserys took too long to realise that — Daemon sighed heavily.

It was true. Otto Hightower’s ambition was known to all. Even before his daughter’s marriage, he’d been manipulating King Viserys, desperate to secure power for House Hightower. Dark rumours had long haunted the capital—whispers that Queen Aemma Arryn had suffered at the hands of a subtle poison in her food, supposedly ordered by the Hand himself to rid the court of both queen and child. These whispers spread like wildfire through Flea Bottom, fuelled by a zealot preacher of the Faith of the Seven.

Then the rumours vanished—erased as though scrubbed from public memory.

When Otto was dismissed as Hand and ordered to return to Oldtown, Lord Lyonel Strong took his place, serving as both Hand and Master of Laws. Despite his brutish appearance, Lyonel was an educated man, a maester with six links in his chain, deeply versed in the laws of the realm and loyal to the crown. Crucially, he was not driven by ambition.

With him came his sons from Harrenhal. Harwin, known as Breakbones, the strongest man of his time, took command of the City Watch. His other son, Larys, served as Lord Confessor and Master of Whisperers. But a quarrel between Harwin and Sir Criston—after Alicent’s sons mocked Jacaerys and Lucerys as “strong boys”—led to their exile. Lyonel returned home, and Otto reclaimed his former post. Perhaps Rhaenyra’s fate would have been fairer had Lyonel remained in service. Perhaps he would not have allowed the queen to usurp the throne.

Sadly, both men met a tragic end in their homeland. And that was exactly where Daemon was headed.

Harrenhal sat in a prime position for launching attacks across the Riverlands. It could be reinforced by Vale forces if needed. Both Visenya and Rhaena shared concerns about the island being left without either of its ruling figures—or their dragons. Still, Silverwing and Arrax remained, along with their riders. If Visenya commanded, Vermithor would fly alone and defend Dragonstone. But the others had to believe the princess had perished.

And above all, Aemond and Vhagar were still there.

The main concern now for the young women was their younger brothers—and little Jaehaerys and Jaehaera. They couldn’t yet rule out the possibility that someone might try to infiltrate the island in search of Helaena and the children. After all, the heir of Aegon was now in the hands of the Blacks.

Rhaenyra caressed her daughter’s soft skin before pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. Violet eyes met violet eyes—a silent promise that everything would be alright.

She was right to warn the Eyrie of the battle’s outcome. Jace’s temper was not so different from his sister’s. It would take only a spark for him to make rash, emotional decisions.

Daemon, as the war’s general and a seasoned warrior, knew what had to be done to secure his family’s victory.

Rhaenyra passed her hands gently over her daughter’s belly, as if etching the memory of that moment. Daemon, different from how he’d been with Laena’s daughters, shared a rare moment of tenderness with Rhaena, bidding her farewell with a warm gesture before turning to Visenya.

— Rhaena’s in charge — he said, winking at Visenya.

*****

The sky darkened quickly, and the first drops of rain began to fall. The sound of waves crashing against the rocks mingled with the roar of the wind, which carried the salty scent of the sea and the freshness of the coming storm. Lightning streaked across the sky, illuminating the island in brief flashes. Thunder echoed, rolling through the castle’s corridors.

Rain, once gentle, now pounded the windows with a rhythmic, almost hypnotic beat. Water streamed down the stone walls, forming rivulets vanishing into the dark. Leaves rustled and doors groaned under the force of the wind.

Visenya wasn’t fond of rainy weather, but for someone confined to bed, the peacefulness brought by the storm was oddly soothing.

While the tempest raged outside, the maester finished inspecting the stitches on her leg, applied a foul-smelling salve, and wrapped it again with clean cloth. The wound was slightly redder than ideal, but with care and rest, he promised she’d be walking the castle halls again soon.

Eleny lit candles throughout Visenya’s room, keeping the chamber aglow even at night. The princess had developed a habit of reading until she drifted to sleep. The servant gathered the dishes from her dinner and handed her a small brown leather-bound book, tied with a faded red ribbon—almost like a diary. Once the maester and servant had gone, Visenya found herself alone with the book on that stormy night.

Reading offered a needed escape. But she paused when a shadow fell over her doorway.

Her throat tightened. She clenched the book.

Aemond stood there. His face bore no smile, no fury. Only him.

— What are you reading? — he asked.

Visenya blinked, making sure she wasn’t dreaming. He truly was there, speaking to her. She snapped back to reality when he stepped into the room and quietly shut the heavy wooden door behind him.

— A book about the Rhoynar. Feels more like a diary, really — she replied.

She followed him with her eyes as he walked around the bed and sat, removing his mud-caked boots before stretching out on the clean sheets, one arm behind his head. Silence hung between them. Visenya nervously bit her lip, fingers gripping the book until her knuckles turned white.

For a moment, she dared look at him. His eyes were closed. His breathing steady. His hair a little tousled—likely from training with Sir Erryk before the rain, as Luke had seen him doing for days. He wore comfortable clothes, no weapons. At least, none visible.

She reached out, touching his face. The sharp jawline. The slightly thick brows, one marred by the scar. Her fingers traced down to his lips.

— Please… forgive me — she whispered.

Aemond opened his eye and caught her hand. Her fingers were warm. He’d missed that warmth so much.

— What happened that day? — he asked.

— I saw him flee into the woods. And I was stupid enough to think I alone was enough. That I had to do it. Joffrey was all I could think about. How scared he must’ve been. All because of him... — she gritted her teeth, feeling his grip tighten. — The world vanished around me. All I saw was rage. He was already wounded. It should’ve been easy. But he nearly killed me. If not for the dagger I’d hidden...

— And did it feel good, when it was over?

— No — she admitted. — No. And it nearly cost us our child. Nearly cost me you.

— My love, never. Not even death would take me from you. And our child is strong — Aemond said.

— I’m sorry — Visenya whispered again.

*****

The storm on Dragonstone showed no sign of easing through the night. Rain hammered rooftops, windows and walls. The sound filled every corner. Winds howled, bending trees. Waves crashed violently against the island’s cliffs.

Inside the fortress, the noise was muffled, but never absent. Most knights remained within. Only a few manned the watchtowers.

Rhaena wondered if her father had reached Harrenhal safely. She prayed he had—and that the queen and the Eyrie were well. Her thoughts kept her tossing and turning. Maybe a little warm milk would help. She didn’t want to wake her young husband.

But to her surprise, he wasn’t there. Lucerys was gone.

Perhaps he too couldn’t sleep. Perhaps he’d gone to the kitchens.

She rose and reached for her robe. Near the folding screen, atop the small table where she kept her weekly readings, lay a message—sealed once with Velaryon wax, now broken.

The couple lay fast asleep despite the storm. Aemond held his wife’s head to his chest, fingers tangled in her silky hair. Visenya breathed in his scent, that familiar comfort—finally feeling a weight lift from her shoulders. A moment of peace… until the door burst open, jarring them from sleep.

Aemond sat up at once, searching for something—anything—to use as a weapon. Visenya, still groggy, could barely register the sudden movement. The room was lit only by a single candle carried by Rhaena, soaked through to the bone, her robe and nightdress clinging to her skin.

— Luke… he… he’s gone — she panted.

— What are you saying? — Aemond asked.

Visenya sat up, rubbing her face. Rhaena extended the message she’d just found—a cry for help from the Velaryons. The Triarchy was attempting to break the blockade. Princess Rhaenys was still at Crow’s Nest. They were begging for aid.

— Don’t tell me he went alone — Visenya pleaded.

— No one saw him. Arrax isn’t in his nest. I checked.

Panic surged through Visenya. No. No. No! She couldn’t lose another brother. How could Lucerys do this after everything he’d told her? How could he risk his life like this—in a storm?

Her hands were slick with sweat. Her leg throbbed. She wanted to stand. To mount Vermithor. To bring Luke home.

She’d never seen him as impulsive. That was her and Jace. Luke was the calm one. But this… this was about the Velaryons. The fleet. The Sea Snake. Driftmark. The Throne of Tides. He thought it was his duty. He didn’t believe he was worthy of being their heir if he didn’t act.

The bed shifted. Visenya looked up to see her husband grabbing clothes, boots, a coat.

— What are you doing? — she asked.

— I’m bringing the boy back… before you two get yourselves killed.

— Aemond! — she shouted.

— I’ll bring him back in one piece — he promised.