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Chapter Text

She’d woken up in some crazy loud, cold, terrifying place. She couldn’t move or speak other than wobbling and screaming. She couldn’t see or hear well. Everything was terrifying at first.

After things calmed down, so did she.

She remembered the Before in flashes and in knowings. Things she just knew as fact in the back of her mind. Her name had been Whitley. Now it was Visella. She looked the same as she always did, just a lot younger now. She used to be older and now she was younger. Her mother had very dark red hair that she loved to grab because of how pretty it was. Her father had very pale golden-white hair like her brother. In the Before, her mother had pink hair like hers, and her father had dark purple hair.

She knew she had died, but she couldn’t remember how or why.

Life passed strangely those first two years. She forgot quickly and had almost no control over her emotions.

She remembered her and Aegon’s second nameday. Aegon had been dressed in a cute red and black baby outfit and she had been put in a very puffy white dress that looked more like a poofball on her. Her mother held her and her dad held Aegon.

They entered the carriage and Visella saw Rhaenyra, her older sister, for the first time. Or at least, it was the first memory she had of Rhaenyra. They stared at each other as Aegon shrieked and jabbered to himself in the nursemaid- Sera’s- lap.

Visella waved at the pretty older girl and the Princess waved back. Their dad beamed and then told Rhaenyra she should have kids too, which made both Rhaenyra and Visella frown.

Her mother let her play with her rings. It was distracting enough for her to not remember anything other than that Rhaenyra didn’t seem very happy on the carriage ride.

They arrived and she remembered how big the crowd was. It was kind of terrifying how many people were just staring at them and clapping and smiling. It was like a cult.

Then a man spoke up from the front of the crowd.

“Hail, hail Aegon, the Conqueror-Babe, Second of His Name! Here’s to His Grace on his second name day!”

Excuse her for assuming her twin brother was the King’s heir after that. They were literally hailing him and calling him His Grace. Her baby brain only ever heard that referring to the Queen and King.

Aegon was raised in her father’s arms while she and her mother watched by his side. Rhaenyra hadn’t come out of the carriage yet, she realized.

Her little baby curls glinted pastel pink in the sunlight. She caught sight of them out of the corner of her eyes. She remembered thinking- oh, I had pink hair Before too.

She remembered thinking that was weird.

They were led to a big, luxurious tent with plush carpet floors, silky drapes, and ornate furniture. A dozen servants walked around passing out wine and cake to the nobles invited inside the royal tent.

Aegon was passed around by Viserys to noblemen. Alicent moved to the group of ladies in the center of the tent.

Then Visella was passed around the cooing ladies.

They all smelled like flowers of different kinds. Some of the older ladies had stinky breath that Visella cringed away from.

“I’d heard the new princess had queer hair,” one older lady spoke up, eyeing her sharply from where she was perched on Sera’s hip. “But I must admit, the rumors didn’t do it justice.”

Her mother the Queen had a tense smile as another lady piped up.

“I’ve never heard of even the Valyrians of old to have such hair. Like my pink pearls,” the lady looked down at her necklace and held it up for the other ladies to see. It glinted pink and white.

“The King tells me that those of Old Valyria were said to have features lost in the doom. His own uncle, Prince Aemon, had pearly silver hair. My daughter simply has a different shade.”

Some of the older women raised their eyebrows and glanced at each other.

“You’ll have to fight the boys off with a dragon,” the woman with the pink pearls said as she laughed.

Her mother looked both more and less tense at that comment. She laughed though, and the rest of the ladies followed her lead. Visella raised her tiny baby hand to her short mop of hair.

Her hair had always been pretty, but also normal. Compared to the metamorphic quirks that she’d seen in her life hair color was the least of anyone’s worries.

After what felt like forever she was handed off to Sera and marched away to a corner of the room with a soft blanket and some of her toys.

She busied herself with her and Aegon’s favorite picture book. Her tiny toddler fingers ran over the textured paintings inside of every page. Sera chatted to her on the fluffy rug beside her. Soon enough Aegon joined them in their little corner of the tent.

Aegon stole the book from her. Pure indignant fury rose up like a tsunami in her. With a shout, she shoved him over and grabbed the book back. Aegon went sprawling out on the rug, his fat arms flying out to support him. He blinked and processed what had just happened. Visella did the same. Sera was fussing beside them both as she gently sat Aegon back up.

She might have overreacted.

Her blue eyes watched Aegon warily, waiting for his reaction. Her twin was incredibly fussy. She opened the book she had taken back but was too busy keeping her narrowed eyes on Aegon to actually enjoy it.

Aegon looked at the book in her hands, and then his chubby face twisted up. He let out that infuriatingly annoying wail as his cheeks went splotchy and red. Visella grimaced angrily and held the book tighter in her lap. Sera tried to calm her annoying twin down and even tried to take the book from her to give to him!

She snapped her teeth at their caretaker when her hand came close to the book. Said hand snapped back. Sera admonished her in that quiet tone of voice she always used, without fail, and went back to Aegon. She picked him up and held him in her lap, her hands patting and rubbing at his back and cooing reassurances the wailing toddler couldn’t understand, pleading with him to stop crying.

Visella huffed and went back to her book.

Everyone loved Aegon. Visella knew they loved her too, but even as a toddler, she could see how much less attention she got. Sera and her mum were always showing Aegon all of the gifts he got- and the baby got gifts every single week. It was absolutely insane. There were loads of lords and ladies at court who wanted to curry favor from both the King and Queen. That’s what Sera and Bethny said when no other adults were in the room. What better way to do that than by giving their eldest son and heir a new toy? Or blanket? Or book?

Sometimes Visella was shown a bolt of fabric to be made into a new baby dress. Sometimes she was given a new doll. She liked them and always said thank you, without question, but it was… awkward to sit there and watch her two-year-old brother be fawned over by their father and his friends while she was held in the corner by Sera and Bethny.

Today wasn’t just her brother’s nameday.

And yet very few of the guests had brought a present for both of them.

Visella wished she didn’t care. But it was hard not to when she had the emotional intelligence of a- literal- two-year-old. It was hard not to be jealous when her brother got all of the attention their mother and father spared them.

With Sera and Bethny busy with a screaming Aegon, Visella gathered her book and stood up off the rug. She marched off through the throngs of legs and bodies that were milling about the tent and dodged the skirts of the ladies who had yet to find their seats.

Why were there so many people? She had no idea where she was anymore. She was too small for anyone to notice her when she went behind someone’s skirts, thankfully, and walked just quick enough to avoid anyone’s eyes. Her eyes caught on a piece of drapery that went all the way down to the floor and bundled up there. It was less sheer than the other hanging drapes in the tent and curled up like a hollow pillar. She hurried over to it and dropped her book inside of the curtain and then dropped to the ground next to it. With a few adjustments, she had her own tent within a tent.

She was opening up her picture book again when she heard her mother’s voice.

“What will happen to Lady Johanna?” The Queen asked.

“She’s to be sold to a pillow house in the Free Cities,” Visella didn’t recognize that voice. “If you believe the rumors.”

Visella frowned. Pillow house? Like- a hotel? She thought hotels were called Inns here.

Wherever here was.

A clanging sound distracted her. “I’m afraid the gods did not make me for hunting,” a man said near her. “Might I sit with you, my ladies?”

“Of course, please, join us. Larys Strong, the youngest son of our Master of Law, Lord Lyonel.” The Queen announced the man and his title to her group of ladies.

She heard that same clanking sound and a rustle as the man sat down. Visella trailed her fingers over the picture of a beautiful white castle that took up two full pages in the book. Bethny said it was called Highgarden and was actually real. Visella desperately wanted to see it in person. It was her favorite picture in the book. Her second favorite was the castle in the sky. Bethny said that the castle was called the Eyrie.

“My Lord Husband says that no King has ever been able to tame the Stepstones for long,” a lady said. “It’s an inhospitable place suited only for savages.”

Her tone changed abruptly.

“Perhaps the Princess… can give us some insight.”

Visella jolted and looked around. Her dress was all tucked in. How had they seen her?

Someone chuckled then. “Oh, I'm not sure how I could, I’ve never been to the Stepstones.”

That was the girl on the carriage! Her sister! Her dad had said she would make him a grandsire, so she was his daughter, so they were sisters, so the princess they were talking to wasn’t Visella. They hadn’t found her yet!

She heaved a huge, silent sigh of relief.

“Your dear uncle is the great mind behind this war, is he not?” The stranger asked snidely.

“I wouldn’t know. I’ve not spoken to Daemon in years,” her sister replied.

“Since you supplanted him as heir.”

Visella’s eyes were wide as she turned her head in the direction of the voices. What was the stranger ladies' problem?

“Daemon made his choices, Lady Ciera,” her mother cut in softly. “The Princess was more suited to the role.”

Visella frowned.

They were talking about the heir. Of her father. And Rhaenyra taking the role from her uncle. So was Rhaenyra heir? Or was this a long time ago, before Aegon?

Now she was confused.

A different stranger piped up then. “He’s made a mess and the King must put an end to it. Send fleets and men and clear out the Triarchy for good.”

Hold on, Visella thought with growing confusion. Were they in a war?

“But the crown is not at war,” Rhaenyra answered her unasked question.

Well now she was even more confused,

“The Crown is at war, Princess,” one of the rude strangers piped up again. “Though your father refuses to admit it, we’ve been dragged into it by your uncle and The Sea Snake.”

Visella wanted to escape this conversation. It was confusing and annoying and the rude ladies were pissing her off. She was trying to look at her pictures in peace, for gods sake.

“And how have you served the realm of late, Lady Redwyne, by eating cake?”

Visella was laughing before she could slap a hand over her mouth. Rhaenyra had shut them up. Not another snide, patronizing remark was spoken. She smothered her giggles with her hands and stayed very still. Maybe no one had heard her?

Hands suddenly grabbed her from behind and lifted her straight off the ground and out of her pillar of drapes. Visella shouted once in surprise before she was turned around and put on someone’s hip.

Bethny was bowing at the crowd of women and apologizing profusely to the Queen. Visella ignored their stares and watched Rhaenyra storm off out of the tent.

“No matter,” her mother said with a tense smile at Bethny. The nursemaid bowed and swept away quickly.

Visella was plopped back down on the plush rug with a red-faced Aegon poking at a carved stone dragon. He wasn’t screaming anymore, thank god. Visella let her frustration at being caught brew in her tiny chest.

Aegon blinked at her, his dark purple eyes rimmed with red. He made a grab for the book in her hands again, and she put it up in the air before he could grab it.

“Say please,” she demanded.

He blinked at her.

“Please!” She insisted. “Say please and I give it to you.”

“He doesn’t understand, pri-“

Visella brought one hand between her and the little boy and made a grabbing motion with her fingers.

“I give you the book if you say please.”

Aegon held out his hands. His eyes were nothing but a confused puppy. His chubby fingers squeezed and spread just like hers.

Visella grinned, “Yes!!” She brought the book down from above her head and gave it to her brother as she kept making the grabbing motion in her other hand. “Please, please, please.”

Aegon beamed and took the book.

She was praying something got through his tiny brain. She wasn’t sure he had one.

With a huff, she grabbed a new dragon carving and started counting how many jewels this one had.

Counting was a bit harder with a smaller brain. Everything was harder with a smaller brain. It was frustrating, but also made things easier in a way. She knew she and Aegon were different. He was a real baby, for one, and she was like- half a baby. Her body was a baby. But she had the memories of an adult. Or- an older kid? She couldn’t remember.

It was easier to be half a baby and not have to pretend all the time. But it was hard because everything felt like the end of the world. If she didn’t want to take a nap when Sera said she had to, she was crying on the floor like a- well. You know. A baby. Aegon stealing her book made her so mad she pushed him over. She bit people who made her mad. She slept a lot. She had to wear a diaper and sucked at eating without making a huge mess.

But she also remembered how to count.

It was confusing.

The toy dragon had thirteen emeralds. Two for its eyes and eleven running down its spine. It was a very pretty dragon. She turned it around in her hands and ran her fingers over the line of gems.

It wasn’t long before she was looking back up.

Her sister and father were fighting. They were shouting in front of the raised chair at the end of the tent, where her father had been sitting.

“-And I have tried- often!- to discuss it with you, but you’ve refused me at every turn!” The King said furiously.

No one else in the tent was speaking anymore.

“That is because I do not wish to get married!” Rhaenyra exclaimed.

“Even I do not exist above tradition and duty Rhaenyra-!”

“Excuse me, Your Grace,” The King’s shout was cut off by her grandfather. He stood next to the King and Princess, who stepped back from each other.

The King seemed to suddenly notice that every single person in the tent was staring at him.

“You must marry,” he snapped at Rhaenyra before turning to her grandfather.

“Yes?”

Rhaenyra stormed out of the tent before she could hear her grandfather talk about white hearts and regal portents. Visella was jealous of her.

That was crazy, she thought absently and turned back to Aegon. He was staring at their father with wide eyes.

Visella patted him clumsily on his face and he jerked in surprise with a squeak. Then he went back to playing with their book.

Their father and most of the men in the tent left in a big group a few minutes later. They were going to track down the heart Otto had interrupted the shouting match to tell the King about,

“Why they look for a heart?” Visella asked Sera beside her. Her caretaker chuckled softly.

“A hart is a male deer, Princess. It is a prize worthy of a royal hunt. The King will find and fell the beast, and we will feast on it either tonight or the next.”

Visella blinked. “Kill it?”

Sera smiled sadly at her. “Yes, Princess, but it is not something for a fine little lady such as yourself to think about. No one will expect you to take part.”

Visella hummed and looked at the dragon in her hands.

Suddenly them being in the middle of the woods made a lot more sense.

A royal hunt sounded very prestigious. She looked at Aegon and wondered. He was two. This was a… birthday celebration, she realized then. Nameday meant birthday. Her mother and grandfather had told her and Aegon they were two now and passed their infancy. This was a celebration for them. Except they couldn’t participate in said celebration, because as mentioned, they were two.

Seemed a bit stupid to her. But she’d gathered a long time ago that this family was super fucking rich, and rich people had seemed stupid to her in the Before as well. Maybe it just came with money, she thought. Her eyes fell back down to the emerald-studded toy in her hands.

Bethny brought them back plates of cake and glasses of watered wine. Visella tried to eat her cake as cleanly as she could with the spoon she was given. A glob of cake ended up on her dress despite her focused efforts. Aegon didn’t even try, just dug in with his hands and shoveled the cake into his mouth.

It was absolutely delicious. Berry and vanilla with sweat cream smoothed out all over it. Creamy milk had been soaked into the cake and made it an absolutely delicious treat. The cake was big enough to serve well over a hundred guests. Visella absolutely devoured it down.

And then regretted it when her stomach started aching in protest.

Aegon had to be wiped down with almost a dozen rags before he was deemed presentable again. His fancy new outfit was stained now, but neither Sera nor Bethny seemed too worried about it. Visella poked at her own stain sadly and brought her other hand to her belly as if she could wish the discomfort away. She definitely shouldn’t have eaten the entire slice. It probably had dairy.

She blinked. Did she have lactose intolerance in this body?

She blinked again.

Was this body at all different than the one in the Before?

But that wouldn’t make any sense. She had different parents here. Her mother had given birth to her and Aegon was visible proof that her mother had in fact gotten pregnant via her husband the King. She was their child.

But she looked exactly like she did in the Before. Her hair was the same, even though in this world pink hair didn’t exist. Her stomach was cramping like it always did when she had too much milk, and that cake was extremely moist with some sort of dairy product. So she still had her shitty digestive system.

She didn’t look anything like Viserys or Alicent. But, she thought, she did look like her mom.

She remembered a woman with very pale, white-pink hair that fell to her waist in loose curls. Her mom had smiled a lot. She remembered her eyes were pink too, but darker than her hair.

She couldn’t remember her mom’s face.

Just that she looked like her.

But how could she look like her mom from Before and have a different mom here?

“Time for bed, my Prince, Princess,” Sera said as she picked herself up off the rug. Visella blinked and looked outside- and oh, yeah. It was starting to get dark. The sun was just low enough in the sky to be blocked by the trees beyond their tent.

Bethny carried her and Sera took Aegon up in her arms. They walked to another tent right by the big part one. This tent was circular and big enough for a bed and two cradles at the foot of said bed. A curtain on one side of the tent separated the chamber pot and the space for Sera and Bethny to sleep on their cot. It was their mother’s tent. The King would have had his own, Visella realized. It made sense. Their parents didn’t share a room at the castle.

Bethny warmed up a huge pot of water on a fire outside and Sera got them both ready for a bath. She was relieved of her poofy dress and Aegon seemed happy to be out of his tight leggings and fancy shirt. After a while Bethny came back in with the pot of water and put it on the table by the bed.

They were each given a bath. Visella forced her way into the pot first. She refused to go after Aegon and the absolute mess he’d made of himself and his slice of cake. Sera sighed and plopped her in the wooden pot. She was slathered in flower-scented soap, rinsed and dried off, and then lathered in body oils and hair. Bethny brushed her hair and dressed her while Sera washed Aegon up, who was annoyingly fussy now that the exhausting day they’d just had caught up to them.

Visella was dropped into her crib with her favorite toy, a stuffed cat made with furr imported from the North, and fell asleep to the sound of Aegon fussing as they wrestled him into a nightgown.

The next day started with a bang.

Her mother’s handmaidens helped her into another beautiful red dress. It had long sleeves to account for the lingering winter chills in the air. Visella and Aegon were quickly wrangled into their own fancy garb as well. Visella was put in a red dress, this one thankfully less poofy, and an adorable fur shawl that she swished around like a cape. Aegon was put in some red and gold and white outfit.

By the time they were ready to go outside the tent, a servant had told the Queen that the King had felled a stag and was bringing it back to be served for supper. He was breaking his fast at the table outside and wished for her and Aegon to join them.

“And me!” Visella said before she could shut herself up. Sera shushed her softly and bounced her in her arms.

“We shall join him in but a moment,” her mother told the servant. The girl bowed and swept out of the tent quickly.

The camp was bustling with activity when the Queen and her children came out for the day. The men who had taken part in the hunt last night had caught more than just the stag, which had been the king's prize. Fowl and rabbits and even a boar had been caught early in the morning as the sun rose. The Kingswood was off-limits to anyone but the King unless authorized. The men of the realm were taking full advantage of the hunt.

Visella was seated at the end of the large table her father was seated at. Her grandfather and another man sat beside the King. There were many smaller tables in front of other tents that the no less had slept in. Each house had their own tent. Half of the men were still skinning and processing their hunt and the other half were eating.

Visella was given some very watered-down wine- the only drink she liked, and some porridge with a liberal amount of salt and pepper. She knew that alcohol was bad for her. These people didn’t seem to know that though. She was just grateful her tantrums had gotten her what she wanted: as little wine in her drinks as possible.

Bethny helped her eat as cleanly as possible. Her mother stood beside the king with Aegon on her hip.

Somehow the Queen looked even more pregnant and swollen today than yesterday. Visella wondered if she was going to have another set of twins or a giant for a baby.

Then the excitement happened.

Someone came running up to the royal table and bowed in front of the king. It was a servant boy, probably a stablehand brought along to take care of the horses.

“Your Grace, a scout has just sent word that the Princess and Ser Cole of the Kingsguard have been found. They are on their way back to the camp and are slated to arrive shortly.”

Viserys nodded and the servant bowed low again before walking off quickly. The King sighed and looked at her mother. He looked… frustrated. And slightly in pain.

A few moments later, Rhaenyra came stalking into the camp.

She was covered in blood. Her hair was stained with it, and it was smeared all the way around her neck and the top of her red dress. People turned to stare at the sight. Behind her, Ser Cole led two horses into the camp. One of them was dragging a slaughtered boar behind it. That too was covered in blood.

Visella stared, wide-eyed, porridge forgotten, at her sister.

Something inside her shrank back at the blood. It looked like her throat had been slit, from a distance.

Her head hurt.

The smell of sharp, metallic blood came into the camp next. Visella’s breath caught in her throat. She remembered that smell.

Visella felt frozen at the table. Her spoon fell out of her hand and into her bowl. Sera was saying something softly beside her. She sounded worried. Aegon was whining in their mother’s arms.

Visella felt very far away from everything.

She blinked at the fine dresses and strange clothing the people around her were wearing. She frowned at the steel swords and lances and axes and morning stars she saw on a rack near the hound's tent. Her mind flashed back to the Red Keep, the castle she lived in with her family. It didn’t have any electricity. The windows didn’t have glass, only curtains, and boards during winter.

Where the hell was she?

Chapter Text

She was in a castle again.

The Red Keep was a beautiful and enormous building. It was made on one of the three hills inside of the city. Sera told her the city was named King’s Landing because it was built around the place Aegon the Conqueror had landed in Westeros and planned his invasion from. The city had sprouted up around the Aegonfort. Now, over a century later, the city was one of the largest in the realm. The Red Keep had been built by many Targaryen Kings, but it had finished construction during Maegor the Cruel’s reign.

The castle overlooked both the city and the Blackwater Rush and the bay beyond it. Visella and Aegon’s shared nursery had two windows that overlooked the Rush. She could make out the Kingswood beyond the river mouth.

Aegon pulled at her skirt and whined loudly. Visella clenched her fists on top of the stone window sill and focused on not kicking her brother in the face.

She was not actually two. She shouldn’t be acting like she was.

Aegon screamed and yanked harder at her skirt. Visella jerked towards him and screamed back. A wordless “AHHH!” Of inarticulate toddler rage.

Aegon wailed and ran to Sera, who was putting their toys away in the corner. He sobbed into her lap and Visella turned back to stare out the window.

He could wait his fucking turn, Jesus. She ignored Sera and Bethny’s sharp reprimands and then their soothing coos at Aegon. Her brother was still screaming.

Was he her brother? She blinked. Were they actually related? Her hands came up to her hair again. She had the same body as she always did. But how did that even work? What did it mean? Visella knew how reincarnation worked, but she wasn’t supposed to have her memories, she didn’t think. And what the hell was this place she had been reborn into? It was all… medieval and stuff. She was a literal princess. She used to live in fucking Canada. Was she- did someone de-age her into an embryo, put her in another world, and then stuff her into a Queen? Could a Quirk even do that?

Visella scoffed at herself. Of course, a quirk could do that. Quirks could literally do anything. She remembered one boy who could bring back the dead under the right conditions. There was an old lady she heard about who could heal people with a touch. Quirks had the ability to make people into beings of mass destruction.

Her own quirk had been… too dangerous to use much. But the times she was able to were some of the best memories of her life.

If a quirk like hers existed, a de-aging teleporting reincarnating Quirk could too.

Fuck.

How the hell was she supposed to get back home then? She was just observant enough to have realized long ago that people here didn’t have Quirks. They didn’t even have hair any more colorful than red or silver-gold, apparently. She was already side-eyed and ogled at for her appearance.

But that raised another question.

Did she still have her quirk?

They didn’t have those here, like she had said, but they didn’t have her hair color. She still got a stomach ache when she had too much milk or cheese. If she kept her lactose intolerance and not her fucking quirk, that would be the worst exchange known to mankind.

She dropped her chin on the windowsill and pouted viscously at the bay below.

“Please!” She heard from behind her.

Visella immediately turned around to gape at Aegon. The little prince was red-faced and squeezing his hands in the air between them. “Please!”

Visella stared. Her eyes were wide.

Aegon scrunched up his face at her inactivity and Visella hopped off the little stool in front of the window immediately. She jumped over to the toddler who may-or-may-not be her brother and ruffled his hair wildly in all directions with a giant grin on her face.

“Good boy! Good boy Aegon! Yes!”

His chubby little face transformed from brewing fury to pure happy-toddler and he giggled as she messed up his hair again. She grabbed his hands and led him over to the stool to help him up. She saw Sera and Bethny smiling at them from across the room and grinned back at them.

“He say please! I told you,” she crowed at them.

“Yes, you did Princess, wonderful job,” Sera looked amused.

Visella preened and stayed behind Aegon on the stool in case he wobbled backward and fell. The little boy stared out at the bay and river with his wide, dark violet eyes full of childish wonder. Visella begrudgingly admitted in the safety of her mind that the toddler might be annoying as all hell, but he was a cute bugger.

She’d never say it out loud though.

Their nameday celebration had come and gone in a whirlwind of activity and promptly ended nearly a fortnight ago. The visiting nobles had either left in their wheelhouses or carriages or ships or settled back down in the Red Keep and returned to court. The hunt had lasted four days but the week-long acceptance rituals of nobles pouring into the Red Keep and then the week-long goodbye rituals had made it feel like an endless affair. Finally, things seemed to be going back to normal.

And then everything went belly-up, literally.

A chambermaid burst into the room. “The Queen has begun her labors!”

Bethny dropped the toy dragon she’d been holding in her shock.

Sera was beaming as she ran over and took the chambermaid's hands in her own and squeezed them. “Praise be the Mother!”

Bethny jumped up off the rug she’d been sitting on. “Dear gods, I was beginning to think Her Grace never would! What is she now, a week overdue? And after having twins, I cannot imagine the discomfort.”

Sera grimaced her agreement. “The twins were nearly a moon early, indeed.” She wrung her hands. “Oh, I hope it is quick. She labored for a day and night with the Prince and Princess.”

“Let us pray for another Prince as well,” the chambermaid girl said breathlessly. “The Lord Hand is so happy with his grandson already, and the King as well, what with such a celebration in the Kingswood.”

Bethny huffed. “The Lord Hand has his reasons for such an attitude, as you well know.”

“Bethny!” Sera gasped.

“What?” The girl rolled her eyes. “All know it. ‘‘Tis no secret.”

“Well- you shouldn’t speak so carelessly either way.” Sera snapped at her with the embroidered baby blanket in her hands. “The walls have ears.”

Visella didn’t remember the rest of the conversation.

Mother is in labor, spun around in her head. She felt like a loading computer. For some reason, even though her mother had looked pregnant for as long as she could remember, she’d never put it together that she would have another baby. It had never clicked. Sometimes her toddler brain would bash her over the head with its stupidity and leave her reeling.

Aegon grabbed her shoulder and dropped down to the ground off the stool with a wobbly step. Visella grabbed him back in a stupor. He held her hand and eyed the chattering trio of women by the door curiously. He wasn’t comprehending a single thing they were saying. Visella stared at him as he put his other thumb in his mouth and sucked at it absently.

Would she have another little brother? Or a little sister?

She hadn’t had any siblings Before.

This was all kind of a lot.

She stuck close to Aegon for the rest of the day. The entire castle was in a tizzy over the news. Visella could hear the courtiers bustling through the courtyard below their apartments inside Maegor’s Holdfast. As the morning turned into midday, the frenzy seemed to reach its peak.

She had sat herself next to the fireplace with Aegon and their favorite toys when the city bells started ringing a few hours past noon. Visella clutched her stuffed Shadowcat to her chest and looked around at Sera and Bethny and their gossiping friends with wide eyes. Aegon babbled and threw his toys around beside her.

“There’s the bells!” Bethny grinned. “Another Royal, oh, I wonder if this one is another Prince or Princess?”

“Everyone is wondering,” a serving girl laughed. She was related to Sera somehow. Either her sister or niece, Visella wasn’t sure. They had the same dark hair under their head coverings.

“I think it’ll be another boy,” a kitchen girl announced.

“Pah!” Bethny scoffed with a playful smirk on her face. “This one is a Princess, I’d bet my next pay purse on it.”

“Bethny!” Sera looked aghast.

“What?!”

“You can’t bet your entire fortnight's pay, you fool!”

“I’ll do as I like!”

The women were getting rowdy now. The original trio had turned into eight women in the nursery now. It was one of the only times they likely could get away with the fun and gossip, she realized, with everyone doing the exact same thing and all up in a tizzy over the birth of a new royal.

Aegon babbled and slapped his toy horses on the ground beside the hearth. The fire was blazing properly now. Usually, they were kept far away from the fireplace while it was lit up, but Sera and Bethny were both distracted from talking to their friends.

One of the toy horses Aegon was slamming around slipped from his clumsy little hands and went flying directly into the fire. The toddler blinked confusedly at it and then his face started twisting up like it always did before he started wailing. That was his favorite horse, a red stallion with a black saddle.

Visella was crawling over to retrieve it before she realized why she shouldn’t. Her little hands and knees carried her first over the lining of hot stone and then to the ashes and burning wood. The toy had flown to the back of the fireplace and bounced off of it. It had landed somewhere in the stack of burning wood. Visella frowned as she peaked between the flames, half of her body leaning over the lit-up firewood as she searched for the wayward toy. She moved a log out of the way and the fire licked at her wrist before popping loudly with the movement. Some of the logs were displaced with her rummaging and fell with a clatter.

She caught sight of the toy at the same time a piercing, horrified scream ripped through the room.

She grabbed the toy and whirled around just in time for Bethny to rip her away from the fireplace by her feet. Sera was hauling Aegon away to the other side of the room and the other women in the room were either screaming or running for the water basin by the table. Visella screamed once herself as she was dragged across the floor.

Bethny shouted and dropped Visella by her legs several feet away from the hearth. It wasn’t until her caretaker started frantically smothering her with her skirt that she realized her dress was on fire.

Visella shouted as the flames spread from her to Bethny. She shoved her away but the woman didn’t budge. Someone screamed and then the basin of water was dumped on both of them by the serving girl related to Sera. The flames immediately stopped spreading and some flickered straight out. A kitchen girl dumped a cupboard-worth of sheets on her and Bethny both before practically jumping on them to smother out the remaining flames. Visella heard Aegon crying in the corner of the room.

“FETCH THE MAESTER-!” She’d never heard Sera scream before.

“Oh my gods-!”

“Bethny!”

Visella fought off the thick sheets until her head finally popped out. Her hair had fallen out of its pin and she had to shove it out of her face. Her dress sleeves- which were blackened and charred- crumbled off of her arms as she did.

Bethny was gasping for breath above her. Her wide brown eyes were frantic as she scanned Visella’s face. She was clutching at her shoulders with a bruising grip and shaking all over. The fire had burnt her dress sleeves and- and her hands and wrists were already bright red.

Visella started sobbing immediately. “Bethny! You hurt!”

Her caretaker just kept staring at her. The sheets were yanked away with shaking hands and Visella’s sobs hitched in her throat when her dress crumbled even further. The waist was the only thing keeping it together, the top off it was long gone and her skirt was burned as well. Bethny brushed the remaining strings of black cloth away from her chest and stared at her frenzied.

“You’re okay?” Bethny asked stupidly. Her eyes still looked feral. “Where does it hurt, Princess? Point to it.”

Visella cried. “No, Bethny hurt! I am okay!”

She wriggled her way out of the sheets tangled up at her feet and sat up in them. Her soot-covered hands wiped the tears off of her cheeks and she tried desperately to stop her crying.

“I get Aegon’s toy,” she whimpered, holding up the- slightly charred- wooden horse. “I sorry, I hurt you, Bethny! I just get the toy, he drop it in the fire!”

“ I’ve told you not to get too close to the hearth!” Bethny cried, still clutching her shoulders. “You could have died, princess! Where- where does it hurt? Show me right now!”

“I not hurt!” She practically shrieked.

That’s when the knights came running inside the room with a maester. The man in the grey robes practically shoved the knights out of the way and then stopped to stare at the scene in front of him. The two knights were doing the same.

“The princess fell into the fire,” one of the chambermaids breathlessly told the maester. “Bethny pulled her out.”

“I fine!” Visella insisted once again. She wrangled her crying to stop and wiped the last of her tears away, smearing more soot and ash across her face in the process. “I not fall, I went to get Aegon’s toy! It fell.”

She held up the blackened horse to show them.

Her dress finally gave up and the skirt snapped somewhere at her waist. Visella looked down and grabbed at the sheets to cover herself as she eyed the knights and maester.

“Let me see the princess,” the man said, his chain link rattling as he dropped to his knees beside her and Bethny.

He took her hands in his and inspected them front to back. The man demanded clean water and rags and ignored her insistence that she was fine, goddamnit! He inspected her face and chest next. He was gentle but firm.

“Bethny hurt!” Visella shrieked at him.

The maester finally looked at her caretaker beside him and did a double take. Her hands were brilliant red now and looked moist with shiny sweat. Bethny’s face was twisting up in pain and she held her hand out in front of her, not letting anything touch them anymore. Her eyes stayed on Visella the entire time.

The maester gritted his teeth as he gently turned her hands around by her upper arm, careful not to touch the red and shiny skin on her hands.

“Definitely burned,” he said grimly. “That will blister. You’ll need treatment, give me a moment.”

“The Princess was on fire,” Bethny said dumbly. “She was inside the fireplace. On top of the logs. She- she’s hurt.”

“I not hurt!”

One of the knights took a bucket of water to the fireplace and doused the remaining flames. That’s when Visella noticed the crowd of knights and servants just outside the door. Many had run to the nursery with buckets of water, likely hearing one of Sera’s friends shouting about the fire as she ran for a maester.

“Give me one of those buckets.” The maester took one from a wide-eyed young knight and gently put both of Bethny’s hands into it. “Keep your hands in the water.”

Bethny whimpered once, her face a mask of pain. Visella almost started to cry again.

Another bucket was given to them along with some clean rags by a very out-of-breath servant boy. The maester asked for a knife and one of the guards gave it to him wordlessly. Then the shreds of Visella’s dress were cut off of her shoulders and chest. The rags were soaked in the clean water and then gently- as if she was made of glass- wiped on her skin. The soot and ash ran away easily from the water.

The maester’s eyes went too tight and concerned too wide and stupefied.

“Gods be good,” he whispered once.

Her hands and arms were just as fine as she’d been trying to say. Her face and chest as well. Bethny was staring at her just as shocked, her hands still in the bucket of water on the floor beside her.

“I told you!” Visella said angrily. “I fine! Help Bethny!”

The maester ignored her angry attempts to wave him away and kept wiping her down until she was as clean as she had been that morning. He inspected every inch of her skin twice as if he couldn’t believe it the first time. He still didn’t look like he believed it after the second round of inspection.

“It’s a miracle,” Sera suddenly sobbed from behind her. Aegon had finally stopped crying at some point after her. He was watching everyone with a terrified look on his chubby face. He was probably so confused.

“We’ll take them both to the Grandmaester’s solar,” the young man announced. “The girl needs her hands wrapped and a salve applied and- and the Princess…”

He stared at her.

“We’ll take them both,” he finished lamely.

Visella was wrapped up in a red blanket by Sera immediately and picked up like she was a baby again. Aegon had been passed to the chambermaid and had started crying again now that Sera was gone. The knights shouted for the crowd of servants to clear out and go back to their duties at once, the fire had been put out, and people slowly dispersed.

The maester told Bethny she could take her hands out of the water and she did so with a grimace. She didn’t move her fingers or her wrists at all and held them away from her body as she stood up off the ground.

The knights escorted them to the Grandmaester’s quarters on the second floor of Maegor’s Holdfast. They walked around the balcony overlooking the inner courtyard full of loud nobles and servants alike and marched swiftly down the stairs. People stared as they walked by and whispered in their trail.

The Grandmaester was ready for them when they arrived.

Mellos was a very old man. He bent over when he walked and always groaned with every step of the stairs. His chain link was so long he wrapped it twice around his neck and it still reached his waist. He was the Grandmaester of the Red Keep and sat on the King’s small council.

He listened with disbelief as Bethny and Sera told him what happened. The only thing that stopped him from calling them liars outright was the charred remains of Visella’s dress brought out to prove it. Bethny’s red and glistening hands likely convinced him as well. People didn’t go sticking their hands in a fireplace unless their royal charge had wandered off into one and their heads would be on a spike if they died so clumsily.

“How did the princess get so close to the fire under your watch?” Mellos demanded sharply as he turned her hands over to inspect.

Sera and Bethny paled at the same time. Visella felt her heart stop in her chest. Both Bethny and Sera had been her and Aegon’s nursemaids. They had raised her and her brother. She couldn’t remember a time here without them somewhere behind her, ready to pick her up and kiss her worries away. But they were servants, the daughters of knights without land, and could be executed or maimed if they were found to be negligent of a princess, much less Prince Aegon.

“I trick them!” Visella blurted out. All eyes turned to her.

She sat up straighter on the bed she’d been sitting on in the middle of the Grandmaester’s solar. With a stubborn lift of her chin and a set of her jaw, Visella started lying her ass off.

“I say, wow! Look out the window!” She pointed out the maester’s window to demonstrate. Several people turned to look. “Dragon! And they look, and I run to the fire to get the toy. Then they look back and Bethny grabs me!”

Visella nodded quickly again and again. “Aegon threw his toy but Bethny an’ Sera say no fire too close, so I trick them and grab it!”

The Grandmaester pursed his lips at her with a frown. Visella blinked at him innocently as Sera and Bethny stared at her, stunned, right behind him.

“That was very, very dangerous, Princess. Gods only know how you weren’t hurt. Fire can give you burns that are very painful. You must never do such a thing again. If your nursemaid had not been there to pull you away in time you could have died, Princess.”

Visella scowled at the old man in front of her. “No! I not die. But Bethny hurt, you need to help her.”

One of the guards made a choking sound behind her before another knight elbowed him with a clank of his armor. Sera put her face in her hands and swore- yes, actually swore! Sera! She’d heard her always-soft-spoken nanny scream at someone and swear today. It was the craziest day of this life she had ever experienced. Not even the sight of her bloodied older sister marching into camp several weeks ago could top it.

“Princess,” the Grandmaester ignored her. “The girl can wait. I must impress upon you the danger that fire is. It will hurt you, could kill you, could maim you-“

“Like Bethny. You should help her,” Visella pointed at her pale and pained nanny standing right behind the man. No one had offered her cool water to soak her hands into since the younger maester left.

The old man didn’t even turn around to look at the dazed woman behind him.

“The servant can wait,” he said sternly. “Do you understand what I have said? Fire will kill you, Princess.”

That was it. Visella hopped off the bed with a fury that her two-year-old body couldn’t contain and grabbed the candle on the maester’s table with her hands. People started shouting and screaming and Visella held her hand around the flame before the maester ripped it out of her hands.

“Princess!” He shouted furiously.

She held up his unhurt hand in his face. “I not hurt!!” She screamed right back.

He grabbed her bare wrist and stared at her. Once again he flipped her hand over as if looking to see if the burns that didn’t fucking exist had shown up on the other side of her skin and poked out the back or something. Then he stared at her face.

Visella glared at him.

He needed to help Bethny. She was paler than she’d ever seen her and had sat down shakily on a plush stool. She kept her hands out in the air and didn’t let anything touch them. She hadn’t moved her fingers or wrists since putting them in the bucket of water.

Visella felt guilt creep up on her and close up her throat with the force of it. It was her fault Bethny had been hurt. She hadn’t been thinking. The news of a new sibling and then the threat of Aegon throwing yet another tantrum had vanished all reason from her idiot little brain. She just didn’t want him to scream over a toy she had easily grabbed.

She’d been stupid, and Bethny was paying her price.

The maester turned her hand over again. He looked incredulously between her palm and face. “It doesn’t hurt? Not at all?”

“No,” Visella practically spat back. “I fine. Bethny is not!”

The maester hummed and pressed a cold, wrinkly finger to her palms and watched her reaction. She blinked at him angrily.

“Fetch one of the young maesters for the girl,” the old man said without looking away from her face. “Jarel is competent with wounds and works with servants often.”

One of the knights standing watch nodded and walked out of the room immediately. Visella felt relief sweep through her at the same time as Bethny visibly slumped in the chair. Sera stood behind her and clutched at her fellow nursemaid’s shoulder.

“Thank you,” Visella told the old man. He smiled at her and it grew his wrinkles around his eyes exponentially.

“Of course, Princess. Now, would you sit back down on the bed?”

Visella nodded and did as she was asked.

Her grandfather the Hand came into the maesters room a few minutes after Bethny had been taken away by the same young man who had first arrived at the nursery and had her put her hands in the water bucket. Visella was glad, he seemed like a smart guy. Sera left after telling her she was going to see to Aegon but would be back to check up on her soon.

“The Princess-!” The Hand came bursting into the room before stopping and visibly slumping in relief at the sight of her perfectly-well self sitting on a bed and swinging her legs in the air.

“I heard she fell into the fireplace,” he finished anxiously.

The Grandmaester bowed his head before nodding. “Indeed, my lord. I didn’t believe it to be true at first. The Princess does not have a scratch on her, much less a burn. She is as healthy as ever.”

Otto heaved a sigh of relief before making his way over to her and kissing the top of her head. Visella giggled as he brushed her hair away from her face and cupped her cheeks to lift her head and smile at her.

“Why is she undressed?” He asked suddenly, confusion pulling at his brow. She was still wrapped up in the sheet from her room.

Mellos grabbed the blackened, tarnished strings of the dress she had been wearing and showed it to her grandfather.

“This is all that was left of her clothing after the fall. Or-“ he stopped and flickered his eyes to her before continuing. “The Princess explained that she had gone looking for her brother’s toy that had fallen into the hearth.”

He placed the charred pony on the bed beside her.

Otto stared.

“Her nursemaid dragged her out of the fireplace, it sounds. Her dress caught on fire and her hands were badly burnt. One of the younger maesters is tending to her now.” Mellos finished.

The two old men stared at each other. Otto reached out and took the remains of her dress into his own hands. She saw his eyes catch on the green flower embroidery at the hem of the dress.

“She was wearing this?” The Hand asked.

“Indeed, my lord. As I said, I did not believe it was true at first. Perhaps an… overreaction, or misperception. The Princess took it upon herself to prove me wrong.”

The maester nodded at her and offered her the candle from the bedside table.

“Show your grandsire, Princess,” he smiled.

Visella took it suspiciously. She held her fingers through the flame at the tip and saw her grandfather take a lunge forward before a raised hand by the Grandmaester stopped him in his tracks.

They both stared at her.

“It doesn’t hurt,” she informed them helpfully. “Look! Not even my hair gets hurt.” She shoved a clump of her hair over the flame as well. The candle flickered but not a strand wilted or smoked. There wasn’t even a smell.

“What in the seven hells,” Otto gaped.

The maester looked relieved by his reaction. “I cannot say I have ever heard or read anything like this, my lord. Not even Aegon the Conqueror was immune to fire. And I do not believe it is a Hightower trait.”

Otto opened and closed his mouth like a fish. Visella poked out her tongue and tried to see what the candle flame tasted like. She was disappointed to find it tasted like absolutely nothing.

“Perhaps a forgotten ability lost in the Doom,” Mellos continued, now staring at her as well. “Pyromancers are well-known to have existed in the Freehold. Not that I had heard they were immune to the fire they wielded either, but… it seems the most logical conclusion.”

Visella put the candle up to her eye and tried to see through the top of the flame to the white part. Otto made a choking sound and the maester twitched. She blinked at them suspiciously and then tried licking the fire again.

“It doesn’t taste like anything,” she informed the two old men sadly.

Otto dragged his hand through his hair. “Gods be good. It must be a- a Targaryen blessing. Some sort of dragon magic.”

Visella twitched at the ‘dragon magic’ mention. She felt frozen. How- what? She never told anyone anything.

“Dragon?”

Her grandfather sat down on the bed next to her with a nervous sigh. He brushed her hair away from her face again and smiled weakly.

“Indeed, my Princess. House Targaryen belongs to the Dragonriders. The last surviving of their kind since the Doom of Old Valyria centuries ago.”

Visella stared at him. Her jaw dropped as she wrapped her head around what he’d just told her.

“We have dragons?”

Otto chuckled. “Yes, princess. Your own father rode the Black Dread before he passed of old age. He was Balerion’s last rider.”

Visella was stunned. Her father? The King? Rode a dragon? Those existed here? Dragons were folklore in the Before. Well- mostly. But she didn’t want to think about all that. She had heard vague stories that she couldn’t remember very well about dragons here, but they were told like they were ancient fairytales. She’d thought them folklore or child’s stories.

“You and your brother shall be Dragonriders one day as well.” Otto seemed to sit straighter and hold his chin up with pride glittering in his dark eyes. “You two, as well as your new sister.”

Visella gasped. She slapped her hands over her cheeks and the forgotten candle flickered out from the wind and smoke beside her ear. She- she had a sister?! That’s right- her mother had given birth and that’s why the bells had rung and why everyone was so excited this morning!

It was a girl then! She was a sister!

“Your mother has named her Helaena,” her grandfather smiled happily. “She’s a big babe, and strong too. Nearly twice the size of you when you were born.”

“Wow,” Visella gasped. “Is she- does she look like mother?”

She loved her mother’s hair. She hoped her sister had the same dark auburn curls. The Queen couldn’t let her child play with her hair, but no one could stop Visella from giving her little sister a makeover, could they?

“No,” her grandfather smiled proudly again and didn’t seem to notice Visella slumping in disappointment slightly. “She has silver hair and her eyes are indigo. Aegons were indigo when he was born as well and changed to the purple they are now. I have no doubt my daughter had given the realm yet another babe with the looks of pure Valyrian royalty.”

Visella frowned.

Her hands came up to her own hair then. It came down to her shoulders in loose little curls. It was frizzy from all of the fuss this morning. It was also noticeably pink, even in the dim room they were in.

“What color are my eyes?” she asked suddenly. Otto blinked at her.

“They are blue, Princess,” the maester told her with a gentle smile. “A very pale blue, like ice from the North. Queen Alysanne had blue eyes as well, and more of a dark gold hair than most Targaryens. The Good Queen still managed to give her husband healthy sons with very Valyrian qualities of appearance.”

Otto seemed to catch her frown only then. He brushed her hair back again with an amused chuckle.

“You are perhaps the most Valyrian child I have ever seen, granddaughter,” he told her proudly. “No one in the entire realm has more beautiful features than you.”

Visella smiled without being able to help it. She covered her cheeks again and looked down at her swinging feet to hide her blush. Otto chuckled beside her and the maester smiled.

“And now, you are blessed by the gods as well! My granddaughter is the finest princess to live, no doubt can remain. I shall tell the King of this great news. I have no doubt he will throw a feast in your name, and a second one to celebrate the birth of another princess.”

Visella smiled shyly at the Hand. Joy bubbled up her her chest uncontrollably. This had- had all turned out better than she had feared. She didn’t know why she had been so worried. Something in the back of her mind, buried beneath the uncontrollable emotions and crappy memory, and half-witted thoughts of her two-year-old brain, was screaming at her that this was a problem. That her quirk should be kept a secret. Should have been kept hidden from everyone. But she didn’t know why, and everyone seemed happy she was okay, and her grandfather thought that this was a good thing.

She kicked her feet in the air and hummed a little tune as her grandfather asked a passing servant to go get her another dress to change into. Mellos started asking her more questions about what the fire felt like against her skin. Visella answered him easily.

It’s not like I’m telling them what my quirk actually is, she thought at the screaming part of herself.

It would all be fine.

Chapter Text

Helaena was a pretty baby.

She cried a lot though.

Visella always tried to spend time with her new sister, but it was hard. The baby just screamed all the time. The maesters said it was colic, and wasn’t anything to worry about, Helaena was a big and healthy baby. She drank lots of milk from her wet nurse and continued growing as the weeks passed. The baby couldn’t do much besides eat and shit and scream, Visella figured, but that didn’t make it any easier.

The great news was that her mother was recovering very quickly. She had risen from the childbed on the fourth day of her recovery and called for her and Aegon to see her. She looked tired and too skinny and weak, but she smiled at them and kissed the top of her head before pulling her up into her lap.

“I heard you got into some trouble, Visella.”

She froze, her fingers clutching the pretty auburn ringlets that fell freely around her mother’s shoulders. Shit. Someone had finally told the Queen about the Fireplace Incident. Her grandfather had said he would decide when to tell the Queen, as he was worried telling her such things after giving birth could shock her and worsen her health.

Had the Hand told her? Or a servant?

“Maybe,” Visella said slowly, bending the ringlet and letting it bounce back out in her baby fingers.

Her mother inhaled against the crown of her head. She breathed in for a long time before breathing back out again slowly. Visella didn’t meet her eyes.

They still hadn’t let her see Bethny.

“My father told me that… that you fell into the fireplace.” Her mother petted her hair back and wrapped her other arm around her waist. “He said that your dress was brought to him. That he- at first- did not believe you to have actually fallen into the flames, because you were unharmed. But your dress is ruined now.”

Visella wasn’t asked a question, so she didn’t speak. She bounced the ringlet up and down in her hand. She hoped she had ringlets like this in her new life. Her hair had been wavy, but not enough to make the ringlets her new mom had, and it had always infuriated her.

“Visella,” her mother whispered. “What happened?”

She slumped into her mother.

“Aegon threw his toy,” she mumbled stubbornly. “Into the fire. I got it back. Bethny pulled me out and got hurt. Her hands.” She held her hand up to her mother and lifted her face to make sure her mom was seeing it. She was. The Queen looked stricken.

“I sorry,” Visella frowned. “Aegon almost cried again!”

She hadn’t wanted to hear another princely tantrum, she remembered. There had already been three just that morning.

“It’s alright, my dear,” the Queen whispered fervently into her brow. “All is well. You are unharmed. That is all that matters.”

Her mom didn’t sound like she believed it, but Visella ignored the little voice in her head telling her that.

If the Hand had told the Queen, he must have told the King. Visella spent less time with her father than she did her mother, who she saw for at least a few minutes every day after they had lunch. Separately, of course, it wasn’t long ago both she and Aegon were still being weaned. Now that they were two and out of infancy they were deemed mature enough to share meals with their family. Sometimes they had breakfast together with her mom and grandfather.

She very, very rarely saw her father. The few times she did he was much more interested in Aegon than her. She remembered he thought her hair was interesting. He’d said as much during the Royal Hunt to some nobleman or other who had asked about it. The King had claimed that his daughter was blessed with the appearance of ancient Valyrians that had been lost in the Doom and that he was a proud father to such a beautiful daughter. The nobleman had immediately agreed and offered up his own, similar flatteries.

That had been about it.

She knew that he had to have interacted with her more than that, she was his daughter, and that was just all she could remember. He talked about her, in her presence, to another person, and then smiled at her afterward. She had stared back at him. That was when she learned that her dad had pale purple eyes. They were a beautiful shade of lilac.

Would her dad be mad at her? The maester and her grandfather seemed to think being immune to fire was amazing. They looked at her with wide-eyed awe when she stuck her hand in the maester’s fireplace and nothing happened. That was even after they saw her messing around with the candle too. But her mom was worrying her.

“Visella-“ the Queen started haltingly. “Your father wishes to speak to you, darling. Tonight. About these- these matters.”

Visella peered up at her. “Am I in trouble?”

“No! No, of course not. You’re perfect, my dear.”

Visella stared at her. Was that supposed to be comforting? That was anything but!

Aegon had been in a state when she was finally returned to her nursery. The trail of burnt wood and ash had been scrubbed clean and the fireplace had been both extinguished and guarded with a rail that allowed no wondering toddlers to travel into it. It was locked up and the key had been given to Sera. Their nursemaid was now their only full-time caretaker since Bethny had been swept away by the young maester. Visella had asked Sera how she was and got a tight smile and soothing placations in response.

Badly then.

That was not good.

She had tried to convince Sera to take her to see Bethny but was firmly denied. None of the other servants would take her either. Her grandfather had forbidden it when she asked him. The Grandmaester as well. Visella had been so furious she almost bit someone. She had been growling and throwing her toys around when the old man left- both the Grandmaester and her grandfather.

By the wide, scared stare she had gotten from Sera, the growl was a bit deeper than her usual baby noises.

Her Quirk was coming in.

Visella tried not to be scared. She could control it. It would be fine. Apparently, her family rode dragons, which apparently were real here, for some freaky reason, and had conquered seven Kingdoms with said dragons a century ago. They should practically worship weird supernatural things, right?

She should be fine.

This wouldn’t be a ‘burn the quirked in their homes’ type of situation, like the mobs that had taken over in her world when quirks began to show up. That had been decades of civil warfare and unrest throughout the entire world. Class systems had broken down in just a few years. When the rich and powerful ended up with normal, pretty harmless quirks, and the one poor guy from bugfuck nowhere was suddenly able to go after the richest people in the world, steal all their money, and suddenly become the top of the chain, society goes bonkers. Especially when the next month an even more powerful nobody shows up and kills the former top dog. And so on, you get the idea. Crime skyrocketed. Governments collapsed. She remembered reading in one history book that Japan became so unsafe to visit it was illegal to go there for citizens of her country. America almost became seven different countries in an insane civil war that lasted nine years.

After all of the violence, people turned to the quirked, the ones who started it all, they assumed. Families were killed by their neighbors. Children were killed by their own family members for getting a quirk. No one with a special ability could get a job- anywhere.

It had taken a full century for most of the world to recover. Heroes had been the biggest part of that recovery. The ‘good ones’ of the Quirked had been heralded as near-gods to be worshiped by both normal people and other quirked people. They stopped the ‘villains’ that had run rampant for decades. Governments were able to recover power using ‘Heroes’. They rebuilt.

After a century.

The same amount of time this dynasty she had been shoved into had been in power. Ha. What a funny coincidence.

At least I can’t be burned at the stake. It’s not like that would kill me, she thought half-hysterically.

“Does supper sound nice, my love?” The Queen petted her hair back. “Your father just has a couple of questions for you and your brother.”

Visella frowned. “Aegon?”

Her mother smiled and it looked like it physically hurt her to do so. “Yes. Aegon as well.”

Well. That was weird.

The dinner was weirder.

Her father was looking at her a lot more. In fact, he could barely take his eyes off of her. She had been put in a little black dress with red puff sleeves over her shoulders and around her chest. It was one of her favorite outfits. It made her hair pop. Speaking of her hair, her mother’s Lady In Waiting had done the top half of it up in an adorable bun braid. The rest waved lazily around her shoulders.

They were eating in the King’s solar. The round table inside his rooms had been fitted with four chairs. The King sat beside her. Her chair had a cushion placed on it to raise her high enough to get her shoulders above the table and attempt to eat properly.

“My daughter,” the King greeted fondly with a big smile. “How are you today?”

Visella smiled awkwardly. “Good.”

Her mother looked pale beside her, opposite her husband. Aegon sat on the other side of the Queen. Sera and another servant girl Visella didn’t know stood in the corner of the room, ready to swipe them away if they started screaming or something, probably.

“I hear you got into a little trouble,” the King looked terribly curious.

Visella poked at her silver cutlery and thought for a moment.

“Yes,” she said finally. “I hurt Bethny.”

The King frowned and glanced at her mother. The Queen gave her signature tense smile. “One of the children’s nursemaids, my love. The girl was the one who pulled Visella out of the fire.”

“Oh, I see,” Viserys nodded. “She should be rewarded then, for her service to my children in a time of peril. Or- a perceived time of peril. I am very glad to hear you are unhurt, Visella.”

She smiled awkwardly at her dad again. A cupbearer poured the King a tall glass of wine. The food hadn’t been served yet.

“Might you show me?” The King gestured to the candle placed in between them on the table. “Your grandsire and the Grandmaester have told me your- ability, but I must say, I would love to witness it myself.”

Visella eyed the man warily. Her mother clutched at her goblet of wine and took a big gulp of alcohol beside her. The King didn’t notice, his eyes only for her. She grabbed the candle and pulled it closer.

She held her palm over the fire and stared at her dad. He stared at her hand. A smile slowly spread across his face as she failed to pull her hand away and started screaming in pain.

“Extraordinary,” he whispered.

His eyes then flickered to Aegon, who was watching them both with pure confusion on his face. “And you, Aegon? Can you try?”

Visella and her mother reacted at the same time.

“My Love-“

“Aegon can’t-“

“My dears,” the King cut them off as he pulled the candle away from her and to Aegon beside him. “Please, let’s just see the boy try.”

Visella felt fear clutch around her throat. Her mother opened and closed her mouth helplessly, but didn’t form another protest. Visella felt frozen along with her. Viserys smiled at the confused Aegon and grabbed his hand when he didn’t reach for the candle himself. He slowly guided it over the flame. The King looked- excited. Terribly excited. But also- also scared. Petrified.

Aegon held his hand over the fire for a second before screaming and ripping his hand away.

The tantrum came on immediately. Viserys drew away like he’d been stung, and Alicent practically jumped out of her seat to kneel in front of the wailing prince. He clutched his arm to his chest and screamed as tears trailed down his chubby red cheeks.

“Oh, Aegon- fetch the maester!” Alicent shouted, and a servant ran out of the room.

“It’s only a small spot, my dear,” The King stuttered. “I’m sure the boy will be fine.” Visella could barely hear him over Aegon’s screams.

Her mother shot the King the deadliest, most lethal glare that Visella had ever seen grace her face. She picked Aegon up and rose from the ground in one swoop. Aegon curled into her and cried into her dress.

“We shall retire now, Your Grace,” the Queen said furiously. “Visella must be returned to the nursery before the hour becomes too late.”

With a swish of her ruby skirt, the Queen left the room with her sobbing son.

Visella and Viserys stared at the closed doors. The fear that had gripped her slowly eased up on her breath. The candle flickered innocently across from her. She was- was glad. That her brother didn’t have a Quirk like her. He was normal.

“I’m sorry, my dear, that must have been frightening,” the King sighed.

Visella shifted around in her seat before nodding. It was scary.

“Here, how about we start supping, hm? Are you hungry?” The King offered, a strange smile upon his lips.

He looked relieved now.

Terribly relieved.

She hadn’t noticed the tense weight on her father before, but it was obvious now. Had he been worried? About what? Aegon being immune to fire like her? But that didn’t make sense, he seemed happy enough with her. Very happy.

The servants filled their plates and Visella was given watered wine. The King’s goblet of gold and ruby gems glittered with her matching cup in the dim candlelight. The sun was setting and reaching the very end of its light. The solar was awash in the pale golden glow of various candles spread throughout the room.

Visella glanced at the corner as her plate was filled and looked for Sera. As she had guessed, the woman had left with her brother and mom. The girl she had stood with who had helped get her ready for the dinner was still there though. Visella wondered if she was replacing Bethny.

“Do you know if Bethny is ok?” She asked her father.

The King blinked at her before smiling kindly. “I’m afraid I do not know, child. However, I can find out and tell you tomorrow. Does that sound good?”

Visella nodded vigorously with a genuine grin. “Thank you!”

Her father laughed. “You’re quite welcome.”

They dug into their meal and Visella’s eyes went wide at the taste of the pork. It was smothered in the creamiest, smoothest sauce she had ever eaten. It was just as spicy as she loved as well. Her father showed her how to dip the buttery brown chunks of bread into the sauce using her fork. It was all very prim and proper, but she got to taste heaven, so it was all worth it. Her father seemed to agree.

“Have you always been able to touch fire, Visella?” He asked her suddenly, eyes sparkling with curiosity.

Visella shrugged and swallowed her food. “I dunno. I never tried it before.”

The lie came easily.

Viserys hummed and sipped his wine. “You know, I believe you are very special. Since I have been informed of your- your ability, I have done some research into the Valyrian histories. It ‘‘tis a passion of mine. It is common knowledge that Targaryen’s are blessed with the rare ability to have prophetic visions. Daenys was just one such instance.”

His pale eyes grew distant as he leaned back in his chair and studied the candles on the table centerpiece. Visella thought that he was very lucky she remembered another language and could piece together what the fuck he was saying through context clues. How he thought a two-year-old could understand what a prophetic vision meant was kind of insane. If she hadn’t heard it from her grandfather a few days ago, she would have been flabbergasted.

“Daenys the Dreamer was the reason House Targaryen survived the Doom. Without her, our family never would have moved to Dragonstone, and hence would have perished with all the rest of Old Valyria.”

Visella tilted her head. She’d heard that before- the Doom. “What do it mean? Doom?”

Viserys blinked and smiled at her. “Apologies, my dear. Allow me to explain. Around two hundred years ago, there was a Freehold across the Narrow Sea in Essos. This civilization spanned entire kingdoms and its power was unmatched. An estimated forty great Houses ruled the Freehold, not one King, and all of those Houses were Dragonlords. They had tamed the gods and rode them, commanded them. This gave them the power to bring entire cities and kingdoms to heel within a single day. They had conquered nearly all of Essos before the Doom happened.”

Visella was absolutely hooked. Her dad was a storyteller, good gods.

“Ten years before the Doom, Aenar of House Targaryen, one of the Dragonlords of Valyria, sold all of his belongings and left the great Freehold. He took his wives and children and slaves and dragons and moved to Dragonstone, our family seat.”

Visella had to do a mental double-take. Slaves? Wives? As in plural? What?

“Aenar and his family were ridiculed at first. Aenar the Exile, they called him. I imagine, however, that he likely did not tell a soul the true reason he left power and prestige for a tiny island across the world. His daughter was merely ten when she warned him of her dream. Ten years later, that dream came true.

“The Doom was a catastrophic explosion that destroyed the City of Old Valyria, the central power of the Freehold. It had been built around fourteen great volcanic mountains, you see, and all at once, those volcanos exploded. There was no warning. It is said that the explosion was over in a mere candle mark. The city was gone. The mines that had brought Valyria its great riches were destroyed. The dragons had been burnt in their caverns and caves and even out of the sky above. The explosion was so powerful it cracked the land into shattered islands.

“Old Valyria is now invested with the sons of the Freehold. Sea serpents, Wyverns, monsters, and beasts now roam the toxic wasteland that was once the power of the world. If any travelers survive the monsters, they are taken by the fireworms that have infested every body of water and living animal on the islands. If a traveler were to somehow survive even those, the stone men would take them. Those infected with greyscale turn to madness and attack humans at the sight of them.

There was a ringing, horrible silence that descended upon the room. Not a single servant seemed to breathe.

“That, my dear, is the Doom.”

Visella stayed up late that night, staring at the embroidered canopy above her little child’s bed, and just thought. Her father was happy about her abilities. He had made that very clear. They had finished supper and enjoyed a berry cake for dessert that Visella had been careful not to eat too much of. Her stomach wasn’t hurting, thankfully. Just very full.

Aegon was asleep in his little bed beside hers. He’d been asleep by the time she was carried back by the new servant girl. The Princess twisted her soft white nightgown in her fingers. The canopy above her was made of red cloth and embroidered with golden thread that was visible even in the dead of night. Dragons flew above her in the stitches. They swooped and dove and arched in a dance only they could perform.

Visella had never met a dragon before. Her father had just told her all about their family's history with them. In the Before the only time she could see a dragon was in movies or legends or pictures. Aegon the Conqueror had flown Balerion the Black Dread. His two sister wives had flown Meraxes and Vhagar. They conquered the seven kingdoms together using those three great beasts.

The sister-wife thing had been- absolutely insane to learn about. Not only that, but her dad’s parents had been full siblings, his grandparents had been full siblings, and his great-grandparents had been cousins to some degree. Viserys’ great-great-grandparents had been Aegon the Conqueror and one of his sisters, Rhaenys. Viserys had then gone on to tell her that his first marriage had been with Aemma Arryn, his cousin, and she was Rhaenyra’s mother.

Absolute insanity.

How were they even functioning? Visella had learned about some European monarch that hadn’t been well enough to speak or eat on his own because of generations of cousin marriages, much less fucking siblings getting it on. It should be impossible for Viserys to have even lived past his childhood, or even been born, because he’d also mentioned that Targaryen’s had always practiced such ways, even before coming to Dragonstone over two centuries ago.

It had to be magic. That was literally the only way they could be alive.

In the Before, incest was well-known to be very, very bad. Brother-sister relationships were illegal throughout almost the whole world, and most of the more powerful or advanced countries had made first-cousin marriages illegal as well. Visella had done a poor job of keeping the horrified disgust off of her face when Viserys had started airing out his insane bloodline history.

It was certainly an interesting topic for her first conversation with her father.

Almost three moons after the Fireplace Incident, Bethny came back to the nursery.

She showed up with a big smile on her face. Visella gasped at the sight of her in the doorway before practically throwing the toys she had been playing with out of her hands and scrambling to her feet. Aegon watched her, confused, and Sera laughed as she ran straight into Bethny’s skirt and wrapped herself around her legs like a very enthusiastic koala.

“Bethny!” Visella nearly cried. “You back!”

“I am!” Her caretaker grinned and swept her up to sit on her hip. “Did you miss me, princess?”

“Yes!” Visella nuzzled furiously into her shoulder and wrapped her arms around her neck.

Sera laughed again and sat down next to Aegon on the fluffy rug in the middle of the room. Bethny’s eyes flickered once to the locked-away, unlit fireplace on the wall across from the two children’s beds. She didn’t look at it again.

Visella noticed when a hand came up to brush her wild hair back.

“You hurt,” she said dumbly.

Her hands were covered in raised, splotchy scars, especially on her palms and fingers. Visella carefully grabbed her wrists and stared at the scars. She turned her hands around and studied every mark that had never been there before. Sera was quiet where she stood by their beds. Aegon had started babbling and slamming his toys around again. Bethny let her turn her hands this way and that way. Her arms and wrists were a bit darker in some areas than they had been before like she had gotten a bad spray tan or something, but looked otherwise fine. It was her hands that kept Visella staring.

“It’s alright, Princess,” Bethny murmured gently. She took her scarred hands and squeezed Visella’s tiny ones for a second.

“They work just as well as they always have, even if they aren’t as pretty.” Bethny sounded amused at her own joke.

“I’m sorry,” Visella felt tears choke her throat. She bowed her head so she didn’t have to meet Bethany’s eyes.

“Princess.”

She was turned around in her caretaker’s lap with a firm grip. Visella hiccuped and covered her eyes with her hands. She couldn’t look at her, this woman she had hurt badly enough to scar this much.

“Why are you sorry?”

Her hands were brushed away and her face was cupped in those bumpy, red, and purple palms. She sniffled and tried to stop her lip from wobbling when her eyes met Bethany’s,

She was smiling. She looked- happy. Not mad, not disgusted, not disappointed. Bethny smiled like she was the best thing in the whole room. Her eyes shone with… something just off of pride.

“You are amazing, Princess. You have nothing at all to be sorry for. Not one thing, you hear me? These scars are a sign of how much I care for you.

“You are precious, and the gods have blessed you. Don’t ever apologize.”

Visella cried for the last time over the Fireplace Incident in Bethny’s lap, her tears and snot staining her new apron minutes before her first shift back on the job. Bethny kissed her cheek and tickled her when she apologized for that.

It wasn’t until later that she finally put a name on the emotion that she had seen looking at her in Bethny’s gaze.

It was awe.

…

Months passed. Aegon and Visella’s third nameday was slightly more simple of an affair compared to the spectacle that had been their second nameday.

A feast was thrown in the Red Keep by the King. All of the Lords at court were invited to attend. The King sent an open invitation to any Lords and Ladies who wished to come for the two-day feasting to the highest Lords of the realm, such as the Lannisters and Starks and Tyrells, but they were not by any means expected to attend. The amount of traveling they would endure for just two days of celebrations would have been unseemly.

Visella and Aegon were out of the grip of infancy by a full year now. Their chances of reaching adulthood had practically tripled by surviving the last three years. The world Visella had found herself in was medieval in more ways than one, and infant mortality rates were definitely a part of that.

Aegon was put in an adorable red and black mini doublet with black embroidery and ruffles around the collar and sleeves. His little leggings were black and his boots were made out of some sort of material that mimicked dragon scales.

Bethny had wrestled Visella into a pale green dress with pink lacy sleeves that puffed out around her shoulders. Her hair was combed and oiled, and two strands near her temples were braided back and out of her face. The rest of her hair was brushed out and fell in loose curls and waves a little ways past her shoulders.

She and her twin sat beside her father. The Queen’s chair was placed on Viserys’ left. When Sera tried to put Aegon in the seat closest to the King, Viserys waved her away and beckoned Visella forward. He helped her into the seat to his right himself.

“You looked very beautiful today, Visella,” he smiled at her happily.

She shyly smiled back and wriggled into a comfortable position on her cushion-raised seat. Aegon plopped down in the seat beside her a second later. When she looked up, her mother was staring at her, blank-faced. Her doe brown eyes flickered from her to Aegon and then finally to the King before looking down at her plate.

Several of the courtiers in their seats below were watching them. Visella shrank down in her seat just a little bit.

The King rose and the crowd below them quieted almost instantly. Over a hundred faces turned to them to stare. Viserys held up his cup with a grin.

“Today,” he began. “We gather to celebrate the third year of my children’s life. My Queen has made me a blessed man. It is believed amongst the people of Old Valyria that twins bring good fortune to a family, and that they are a blessing from the gods.”

Viserys turned to Visella and smiled at her. She smiled back as he bent down and kissed her pearly pink hair in the ringing silence of the room.

“My daughter, the Princess Visella, has been further blessed with a gift previously lost in this world. Although, am sure you all have heard the story by now from one servant or other,” the King laughed.

The crowd laughed along with him. Visella felt her heart pound in her chest, like a rabbit caught in a cage. Everyone was looking at her. She didn’t know this was going to happen. Why exactly was this happening?

She wanted to slip under the table and hide.

“My child is the blood of the dragon,” Viserys laid his free hand on her shoulder as he said it and squeezed. “To Visella Dragonblood, of House Targaryen, and my son, Aegon of House Targaryen.”

A roar went through the crowd then. Men raised their drinks so high they sloshed over their heads and women laughed so loudly they were nearly shrieking. Visella watched them with wide eyes before looking back at her father. He was beaming at the crowd and then drinking deeply from his toasted goblet.

The king sat back down and the food was brought in by dozens upon dozens of servants. Roasted duck, pigs, and racks of lamb were spread out amongst the two long tables below the dias of the Royal table. Platers of the same food were brought to the King’s table moments before the other two tables. The King and his family were always served first, even when they were the ones hosting the feast. Servants cut and served their food onto their dishes after the entire main course was brought out. Visella gaped at the whole roasted duck spread out on the table in front of her.

She ate with gusto everything that didn’t have dairy. She regretfully turned down the buttery side dishes and gorged herself on the tastiest meat she had ever eaten. The pork and quail were especially good. The gravy she dipped it in was even better and made with some sort of oil instead of butter, thankfully. She wondered if Bethny or Sera had asked for that for her sake.

Bethny had been different, since the Incident.

She had always known that the two nursemaids had favorites. Sera doted on Aegon like he was her own child, except not, because she always called him ‘My Prince’ and never by his name. She always fussed at anyone who brought up his status as Heir, whatever it may be because good gods Visella still didn’t know if Aegon was Heir or if Rhaenyra was.

Bethny had always followed Visella while Sera always stayed with Aegon. She was the one who tried to distract Visella when Aegon started throwing his fit, and Sera cooed over him and tried to calm him down. Bethny was the one who tried to drag Visella out of a fire and risked her life in the process.

Her hands had become infected, Visella had learned. She also learned that this world was behind in more ways than using swords and having a king and lords. They didn’t have medicine here. Bethny had nearly died. She had nearly lost her hands.

And yet, her caretaker didn’t look at her with anger. She wasn’t uncomfortable around her, even though she was the reason she had been through agony.

Bethny talked to her differently. Looked at her differently. She listened now. Before, it was always an adult speaking to a toddler. Now, it was like she saw Visella as someone to- to hear.

It was… an adjustment. But not all bad. It was nice to talk to someone who didn’t half-ignore her on sight because of her age.

One of the things Bethny had first started listening to her about was the stomach aches she got from dairy products. She had talked to the Royal cook about it, and her meals were now dairy-free. Visella wondered if the Cook had remembered that for this feast.

That would make her happy, that someone would do something like that for her. Bethny was a really good person.

Visella and Aegon both had fun watching their father speak with many nobles who came up to the King with some matter or other. Many simply offered their congratulations and blessings and prayers and good fortune and then bowed out after a few more pretty platitudes. A few brought up some issues they wished to speak to Viserys about later when the court was in session and not during a celebration. Viserys was always polite and jovial with every lord.

Then one asked Visella to show him her blessing.

“If I might be so presumptuous to see this blessing of the gods in person, I would be overjoyed to tell my lady wife and children upon my return home.”

The King’s silver brows rose and he leaned back slightly in his seat as if he needed more room to see the man’s audacity.

“You require a demonstration, Lord Mooton?”

“Not at all, Your Grace!” The Lord floundered. “I only wish what any man does. To see the blessings the gods have given your House, for I, as well as many others, see it as yet another gift for the Kingdom’s holy reign.”

Viserys smiled at the man. Then he turned to Visella.

“Well, my dear? Would you like to show Lord Mooton?”

Visella glanced nervously from the staring old man back to her father. Viserys was smiling good-naturedly and looked a bit amused.

She bit her lip and then nodded once. Viserys beamed at her and then brought one of the tall, flickering candles from the center of the table close to her. The Lord Mooton’s breath hitched and then he seemed to stop breathing.

Visella felt her heart try to escape her chest again as dozens of eyes zeroed in on her from around the room. She swallowed and then put her little fingers in the candle flame.

The wick crumbled a little as the Lord’s breath hitched once again before he seemed to remember that he needed to breathe. Whispers broke out in the two tables below and even more eyes fell on her.

Visella looked at her father nervously and then relaxed. He was grinning. The King looked at her like she was- was special. Was the most important thing in the room. She gave him a wobbly smile in return.

“Amazing, Princess!” The Lord gasped. “Simply wonderful.”

Viserys and the Lord exchanged more pleasantries while Visella caught her mother’s eye from across the King.

Alicent was staring at her fingers in the flame. Pale. Wide-eyed. Otto, the Queen’s father, was smiling at her and nearly preening with pride.

The feast drew to a close for Visella, Aegon, and several children of other nobles in the crowd. Bethny and Sera came to take them to bed.

“Bethny!” Visella grinned at her nursemaid happily as she and Sera came up behind her and Aegon. “Here, I saved you one.”

She handed her a pastry with the most delicious custard she had ever tasted, but hadn’t eaten because that definitely had some sort of milk in it. Bethny laughed and bent down to take it with a smile on her face.

“That’s very kind of you, Princess, I will love it for sure. Come along, it’s time for bed now.”

Visella took her hand and scooted down off the high seat with Bethny’s help. Sera picked Aegon up and put her on her hip as she chattered to hip softly. Her brother was almost falling asleep against Sera’s shoulder.

“Good night, Father and Mother,” Visella waved at both of them.

Viserys smiled and turned around to kiss her goodbye.

“Sweet dreams, my dear, I shall see you tomorrow.”

“Good night, my loves,” Her mother called to them.

Visella chattered happily to Bethny as they walked out of the throne room and through the Red Keep to Maegor’s Holdfast. Bethny ooh’ed and ahh’ed and squeezed her hand throughout her stories. When they reached the nursery, Visella and Aegon were changed out of their fancy clothes and into silky sleep gowns.

“Bethny, you have to eat the treat!” Visella remembered as her hair was being taken down and brushed out.

Bethny blinked, “Oh, I nearly forgot!” She pulled it out of her pocket and threw it into her mouth before gobbling it up. Visella laughed at the performance.

“You shouldn’t have taken that,” Sera frowned from beside Aegon’s cradle. “The King could have taken grievous offense, for a servant to accept food off of his table.”

Bethny rolled her eyes and started brushing Visella’s hair again. “Oh, please, Sera. The King saw her give it to me. The feast was practically in her honor besides, he would have given her the entire pastry tray if she asked for it.”

Sera huffed angrily and tucked the covers around Aegon. “You are much too familiar.”

Bethny winked at Visella and said in a whiney, mocking voice, “You are much too familiar.”

Visella giggled and covered her mouth as Sera puffed up and made to smack Bethny over the head. Bethny shrieked and ducked down beside her.

“Save me, Princess!”

“Oh, get off the floor you-“

Visella nearly fell backward onto Bethny from how hard she was laughing. Sera’s lips twitched traitorously with her own amusement. Aegon snored from his cradle and broke the spell.

“Come on then, Visella, before Sera tries to beat me to death with the hairbrush!” Bethny scooped her up in her arms and carried her to bed like she was a baby again. Visella was too busy giggling to protest.

She was tucked in and kissed good night. Sera wished her good dreams and the two left for their chamber built into the nursery, bickering the entire time.

It was a good day.

Chapter Text

It was just a moon after her and Aegon’s third nameday celebration that Prince Daemon Targaryen came back from war in the Stepstones.

Helaena had turned one by then and escaped the most dangerous year of a child’s life. Her mother’s anxiety eased with every day the new little Princess was found breathing in her cradle and not taken in her sleep. Visella and Aegon were fully expected to survive to adulthood unless a plague hit them or some catastrophe happened. Until Helaena reached two and her infancy ended, she was still being watched very carefully.

Visella and her two siblings were in the Queen’s room when they saw the dragon.

Alicent’s handmaiden gasped and pointed out the window. Everyone in the luxurious solar immediately turned to stare. Aegon yelled, “Dragon!”

Visella ran to the window first. She stood on her tippy-toes and peaked out at the sky above the city. The dragon circling said city was a bright red, the color of fresh blood. She could tell even from so far away that it was shaped a bit funny, its neck longer than proportional and its legs weirdly shaped. The dragon roared loudly enough to reach Maegor’s Holdfast before diving down to land in the yard of the Dragonpit of Rhaenys’ Hill.

Visella watched with wide, starstruck blue eyes the entire time.

She had never seen a dragon before.

Her mother pulled her away and corralled her back to the other children. Helaena was watching Aegon slam his toy boats around on the carpet and make cracking sounds. Her pale purple eyes were wide. She had wispy pale golden hair. Just as grandfather had said.

A servant burst inside the room and bowed quickly.

“My Queen, the court has been called by the King to greet Prince Daemon Targaryen, who returns from the Stepstones.”

Alicent twisted her fingers and glances at her children.

“Thank you. I shall prepare for court. Talya.”

Her handmaiden immediately ordered the wardrobe opened and the servants sprung into action around them. Visella and her siblings were taken by the nursemaids and carried off to their own rooms. Visella and Aegon still shared a room, but Helaena had her own little nursery beside theirs.

Visella wanted to go see the commotion and giggle at the drama, but Sera explicitly forbade it. Bethany agreed with her.

It took a strategically triggered tantrum and a request for food before she managed to slip away, roughly an hour after the dragon was seen through the window.

By then the throne room was dead empty when she crept by it. Servants bowed their heads to her as they passed. None stoped her. She picked up her little gold skirt and followed the servants. Where they went, the crowd was.

The servant carrying a barrel of wine or beer led her to the garden courtyard. Throngs of people were standing in circles and chatting amongst themselves. There were tables closer to the castle walls in the shade that servants were piling full of food. Visella walked over to one and quietly tapped one kitchen girl’s skirt.

“Can I have one?” She whispered. “Please?”

The serving girl blinked wide brown eyes at her before nodding dumbly and handing her a bread pastry with berry jam filling. Visella beamed at her, thanked her, and trotted off with her prize. She pulled herself up on a bench and dug in, careful not to get any of the red jam on her dress.

The courtiers were beginning to trickle away when she got back up to find her father. She needed to be introduced to the red dragon, and her father could make that happen, she knew it.

She had to see the dragon.

Silver-gold hair stuck out in King’s Landing, like in most of Westeros. Brown hair was the most common color of mane here, with black hair coming in second, blond hair in third, and red hair in fourth. Once she caught sight of a flash of that silvery head, she marched forward through the skirts and breeches of the courtiers with renewed focus.

She grabbed on to her father’s pant leg from behind and patted him a few times. The King stopped talking to whoever was beside him and turned around with a confused frown that instantly lit up into a smile when he saw her peering up at him.

“Visella! Where did you come from?”

She let him pick her up and sit her on his hip with a little grin. “I snuck away.”

Viserys laughed and brushed her wavy hair behind her shoulder. “That you did. Shall I post a guard outside the nursery?”

“No!” Visella was aghast.

Viserys just laughed at her again.

“Is this the elder one?” A man asked beside them.

Visella turned and saw a Targaryen.

He was tall, an inch or two taller than Viserys, and slimmer. He looked stronger than the King and had a much sharper look in his eyes. His skin was pale and his short hair was pure silver with faint streaks of gold. He had striking violet eyes.

“Who’re you?” Visella blinked at him.

A mean smile tugged at the stranger’s mouth as her father answered her. “This is my brother, your uncle, Daemon. Daemon, this is Princess Visella.”

“Was that your dragon?” She asked.

“Mhm.”

Visella leaned forward, “Can I meet her?”

Her father barked out a startled laugh and Daemon smiled at her, though it looked strange. “I’m afraid not. Caraxes is a foul-tempered beast. He’s as like to eat you as he is set you on fire.”

Visella frowned at him. “Well… maybe he’ll like me.”

Viserys grinned at her. “You could deal with the fire, my dear, but perhaps not the teeth.”

Visella pouted mutinously. Daemon’s smile stretched a bit as his eyes sharpened. They flickered between Visella and her father. Back and forth. Something darkened those eyes and his stand shifted to that of a threat. Visella suddenly kept her focus trained more on this stranger than her father, something in the back of her mind telling her to be wary. To watch.

“It’s true then? What the mummers say?”

Viserys made a questioning sound.

“That the girl can’t be burned.”

Visella grabbed her father’s fancy doublet and eyed Daemon suspiciously. Viserys beamed at his brother and nodded happily.

“Yes, it ‘tis true! I myself have witnessed it countless times, and Grandmaester Mellos has tested her ability as well. He has sent his research to the Citadel. It is a blessing, I am honored to have such a little mage of my blood.”

“I see.” This Daemon fellow didn’t sound very happy. Or very believing.

He sounded like one of those nephews trying to patronize the crazy uncle of the family at thanksgiving dinner who was trying to talk about the earth being flat and vaccines turning everyone into frogs or something. Visella fought the annoyance down in her chest. She hated not being believed, or being called a liar, and this annoying random guy she’d never met before was indirectly doing just that.

“Why did you name your dragon Car Axes? That’s weird.”

Okay, so maybe she didn’t stifle all of her annoyance. But he totally deserved that.

Viserys laughed and Daemon’s smile turned into a baring-teeth kind of expression as he stared into her soul.

“And what would you name a dragon, my lady, should you ever get the privilege to claim once?”

“Toothless.”

The answer came quick and without hesitation. What else would she have named it? Toothless was the best dragon name. She didn’t really remember why at the moment, but it had something to do with the Before. Her father laughed loudly and Daemon’s angry face turned into one of disbelief.

“Toothless?” The stranger repeated. He sounded horrified.

She frowned at him. “Yeah. I like it. Or- or maybe Fluffy.”

“Gods be good,” her father said through his uncontrollable laughter. Daemon huffed a single laugh himself, though it was more a breath of sheer outrage or maybe hysteria.

It was then that Bethny came bowing towards them.

“Apologies, Your Grace,” her caretaker said breathlessly. “I shall take her back to her rooms at once.”

Viserys smiled at her and kissed her cheek before handing her off.

“I heard she slipped away.”

Visella felt her nursemaid freeze slightly as the King spoke to her. Guilt tugged at her chest. She grabbed on to Bethny’s dress and worried at her lip.

“I beg your forgiveness, Your Grace, it will not happen again.”

Viserys waved her away with a dismissive sound and Bethny practically fled back to the castle. Visella felt violet eyes watching her and glared at Daemon over Bethny’s shoulder. He stared back, blank-faced.

“I’m sorry,” Visella whispered to her nursemaid once they were back inside.

Bethny smiled at her and seemed to relax all at once now that they were away from the powerful people she was supposed to be scared of. “It’s alright, Visella, I should have been paying more attention. You got me good, you did! You sneaky little dragon.”

Visella laughed as scarred fingers tickled at her belly. By the time they arrived back at the nursery she was an out-of-breath mess and begging for mercy. Bethny fed her the food she had requested to plan for her little escape and she shared several of the pastries with the woman as Sera berated them both. Aegon seemed to cheer the irate nursemaid on from his field of strewn-about toys.

It was a few moments later that a servant girl burst in to gossip about Princess Rhaenyra’s return from her tour. She arrived in the city just moments before her uncle. Visella listened to the women gasp and whisper amongst themselves with wide eyes. Aegon screamed for two dragon toys he was making fight to the death.

A few days after Daemon and Rhaenyra’s arrival, Visenya noticed that her mother wasn’t the same.

She was nervous. Upset. She was pacing and biting her fingers for the first time in weeks. Visella was watching her with a little frown on her face as her mother whispered with her favorite Lady in Waiting, Talya.

“-I fear for her virtue… not… chivalrous, the Prince… my father says…”

“Can you be certain?” Talya whispered, her knuckles white from her grip on her embroidery.

Visella couldn’t catch what her mother whispered back then, could barely hear half of what she was saying, but she knew it had to do with Rhaenyra and Daemon. Something was making her mother upset and it had to do with them.

Before she could sneak closer to snoop, a sound caught her attention.

She turned to the cracked-open door of the Queen’s Solar and stood up from the rug she had been sitting on with Helaena. She had rolled her sister over on her little stomach and put toys just out of her reach to crawl around for. Helaena loved their game. She sat on her butt and watched with giant lavender eyes as Visella walked over to the door. Bethny looked up from her seat next to them on the rug and raised a single brow.

Visella grinned at her and gave her a very convincing thumbs up. Bethny’s lips twitched. She took that as permission to peak outside the room.

A fluffy ball of black and white fur ran right into her slippered foot.

Visella almost jumped out of her skin and screamed loud enough to have everyone in the room behind her whirling around. She stared at the wobbly little thing making pitiful noises and squatted down. She tilted her head and frowned before picking up the-

The kitten.

“Visella, what are you doing?” Her mother called.

She turned around and held up her yowling discovery with a grin. “It’s a cat!”

The Queen paled and nearly jumped off her sofa to back away. “Is that a rat? Visella, put that down this instant!”

“It’s not a rat!” Visella argued as she cradled the fluffball to her chest. “It’s just a baby!”

Bethny knelt down in front of her and gently pulled her hands away to look at the thing. “Definitely a kitten, My Queen, not to worry. Though he is perhaps dirty enough to look like a rodent.”

“Put it down this instant, Visella, it is likely diseased!”

“No! He’s just a baby! Look!”

She held up the kitten and it meowed pitifully in the air.

“I said put it down!” Her mother made to storm towards her, and Visella had a choice to make. Stay and get the fluffy baby ripped out of her arms, or escape.

She bolted out the door.

Calls for her came from the room but only one person came running after her. Visella ran straight for her and Aegon’s room. Bethny closed the door behind them with a smothered laugh.

“You should listen to your mother, Visella. She is the Queen you know.”

Visella wrinkled her nose and hugged the struggling kitten closer. “Queen Shmean.”

Bethny huffed a breath that sounded treasonably close to laughter.

“If you’re going to keep the little beast it’ll have to be cleaned.”

“Ok!”

It took both of them to wrestle the black and white kitten into a bowl of clean water and scrub the dust and dirt and even some suspicious brown substance off of its fur. Visella dried the angry baby with one of the towels used to dry her after a bath. She bundled it up to keep those sharp claws away from her. Bethny helped her into her crib/bed that had rails just high enough to keep the kitten from falling out as it wobbled around the covers.

“He’s so cute,” she whispered.

Bethny laughed, seated beside her on a plush stool. “How do you know it’s a boy?”

Visella picked the little thing up and flipped it around to peer at its underside, ignoring Bethny bursting into laughter beside her.

“A boy,” she proclaimed after a solid minute of squinting and ignoring indignant meowing. Bethny just laughed harder.

Her mother didn’t come into the nursery, only sent for her children to be brought into her rooms, so Visella had no doubt the kitten would be safe with her. She smiled happily as she petted the kitten’s soft head and a sputtering purr started up in response.

“What are you going to name him?” Bethny asked.

“Hmm…”

Oh, crap. What should she name him? Visella frowned and bit her lip as she turned ideas over in her head. She could name him Toothless or Fluffy, and the other name could be saved for a dragon if she ever got one. Or she could name him Socks for his white furr pattern on his feet. Or she could name him something with a tittle, like Ser Socks.

“What about… uh… Ser Whiskers.”

Bethny stared at her. “Ser what?”

“Whiskers,” she pointed at his whiskers and glanced at Bethny in concern. She knew cats had whiskers, right? “Because he has them, see? But he’s a knight as well, so Ser Whiskers.”

Bethny laughed at her again.

“It sounds perfect, Princess. Your first royal protector,” she giggled.

Visella huffed and scooped up her new pet to coo over. “Do you see this, Ser Whiskers? Look what I have to go through!”

He squeaked his sympathy.

It was just two moons after Rhaenyra came back from her tour of the Kingdoms that she was married to Laenor Velaryon in a splendid ceremony that lasted for seven days straight. Five of those days were full of a great tourney, which was the first Visella ever attended and remembered.

The welcome feast took up the first day of celebrations. Visella sat beside Aegon, who sat beside Alicent, who sat beside the King, and Rhaenyra sat in between the King and Laenor Velaryon, who’s parents then sat next to him and then their daughter and other family members. They had turned the throne room into a great hall again and the Royal Table was placed on a raised dias in front of the Iron Throne with several long tables stretching down the room.

It was actually that feast that Visella first noticed her grandfathers absence. He wasn’t anywhere to be seen. It was strange. He was the Hand of the King. Right? But there was another guy sitting where her grandfather usually did, so now she was confused.

The welcome feast was fairly boring. The adults talked and the only person she was sitting next to was Aegon, who was just playing with the food on his plate and then slamming his sloppy hands down on the table to make food splatters. Or at least, he did until Alicent caught him and hissed something in his ear that made him stop.

Then the tantrum came, and both Visella and Aegon were happily removed from the longest and most boring feast of her life.

The next day the tourney began.

Visella and Aegon were both three, so they weren’t really expected to attend the celebrations, but Viserys had asked for her to be there so both her and Aegon showed up. The first day of the tourney Visella saw her older sister give her favor, a ring of blood-red roses and blue flowers, to a very dashing man with dark brown hair. Laenor also gave his favor to a pretty blonde teenage boy.

Both men were brutally defeated by Ser Cole of the Kingsguard.

That was the first time Visella saw violence in this world. She saw the dark-haired man dragged off the field screaming in pain. She saw horses out down on the spot because they were so crippled for the spectacle. She saw boys younger than Rhaenyra fly off their horses after being hit by a lance and break their necks.

Well, one boy. But it stuck with her. She couldn’t get it out of her mind. Her eyes were wide when the kid- and he was just a kid, slammed into the ground and never get up again. He had landed on his head, not his back. His helmet was facing sideways when the squires came to flip him over. When they removed his helmet she saw that his entire head was twisted sideways as well. They carried him off the grounds as the crowd screamed all around them. A puddle of blood was left on the sandy ground. His spine had come out of his skin.

Laenor stood up from his seat and screamed a name.

“JOFFREY!!”

She went to Bethny and held on to her skirts. That image of the boy was burned into her irises. She had never seen anyone die like that.

“Princess?” Bethny’s voice sounded far away.

She stared at nothing and buried her face into her caretakers shoulder when she knelt down to hug her. She couldn’t speak. Couldn’t do anything expect hold on.

She felt like someone was behind her, then.

Staring at her.

Visella whirled around. Her family and the Velaryon’s in the royal box were all staring out at the tourney grounds. No one was watching her.

That broken neck flashed through her mind again.

Twisted.

Split.

He was just a boy. Probably only fifteen or sixteen.

I should be in school .

Why would such a young kid be in a tourney like this?

That didn’t make any sense.

I want mom.

Visella stared at the nobody behind her back and watched for the person chasing her. Her heart was beating out of her chest.

“Princess, what’s wrong?”

Down the hallway.

She whirled around. No one was there. No one was watching her.

“He’s chasing me,” she whispered.

“What? Who’s chasing you?”

Avoid the white door.

She had school.

Where was her mom?

The walls screamed every night. He had other people.

“I have to go home,” she muttered.

She whirled around again.

He was standing there.

In the doorway.

Scarred.

Visella screamed.

I have to get back home.

Bethny clutched at her as she scrambled backwards from the man in the doorway.

Where’s mom?

He was staring. Scars. The tubes.

Blood ripping and shredding. She had to leave. She had to get to her mom. She couldn’t. The walls shrieked and closed around her. Blood and mucous bubbled away. Boiling and boiling and boiling. Ripping and shredding and bleeding. Trees cracked and an earthquake. The wind howled. She had to get back home. I have school. Where’s my mom.

Cracking and groaning. Pain. It burned. It was gone. Writhing. Writhing writhing writhing writhing writhing. It hurt. It was gone. She couldn’t do it. Avoid the white door. The walls were screaming. Why were they screaming? Bubbling and bubbling and bubbling. Black blood and red mucous. Pink snakes of flesh on the floor. Avoid the white door. Down the hallway and to the left. AVOID THE WHITE DOOR. Bubbling and bubbling. Pink flesh on the floor.

She opened her eyes and Bethny was carrying her through the red keep. Someone was screaming.

The man. She had to leave. Run.

She saw fire.

She yanked herself free and ran. She jumped.

Down the hallway.

Avoid the white door.

She jumped into the flames and scrambled into the very back of the fireplace. Someone screamed. More people screamed. She curled up with her back to stone and picked up a burning piece of wood. She held it with both hands like a baseball bat.

I have to go home. He’s coming. I won’t let him get me.

She held the burning wood so tightly part of it crumbled onto her dress. Her burning dress. It was already half-gone. Her slippers were dust.

“Wait!” Someone screamed. Beyond the flames people were running around and crowding the fire. Blocking the exit .

Visella fought down the scream in her throat.

Avoid the white door.

“Princess?” Someone called out.

Visella stayed quiet. A figure beyond the flames knelt down in front of the fireplace.

“Princess, are you okay?”

Visella took a shaky breath. The flames licked inside her nose and into her lungs. It felt fresh. Like breathing in the purest air in the world.

Bethny was talking to her. That’s who the person was.

“Bethny?”

The frozen people around her kneeling caretaker seemed to step back as one. They were talking all at the same time. Visella shrank back.

He’s out there somewhere. One of them.

Her heart stuttered in her throat. Her ears were ringing. Black dots danced around her vision. For a second she thought it was a bug, before she realized she was inside of fire. Bugs couldn’t be inside of fire.

“Can you come out please, Princess? Did the tourney frighten you? I’m sorry, you don’t have to return, I promise. We can go back to your room right now. Does that sound good?”

Visella couldn’t help the sob that escaped her. The puddle of blood on the sandy dirt flashed through her mind.

Ripping and shredding. Black blood. Pink mucous. It’s gone. It hurts.

“It’s gone,” she cried.

The wood cracked and the fire flashed between her and the people on the other side. Bethny scooted closer to the fire.

“What’s gone, Princess?”

Visella sobbed again. She hugged the log to her chest. Her tears evaporated before they could form in her eyes and the salt turned her eyelids red before dusting across her cheeks. Her dress burned to ash with her slippers and fell off of her skin. Soot dug into her toes. The fire licked at her like an old friend welcoming her back.

“Princess?”

Visella shook her head and covered her face with her hands, dropping the wood in the process.

“I’ll protect you, Princess.” Bethny sounded different. “I promise. No one will even come near you. But I cannot protect you in the fire, Visella. Can you come out for me? Please?”

Visella sobbed and looked up.

Bethny’s head covering that all high-stationed Red Keep servant girls wore was visible even through the flames. A simple off-white hair scarf. Visella sniffled and crawled towards it.

She sat on the bricks at the foot of the fireplace in the hall and sniffled. Dark ash clung to her skin. There was a giant crowd of servants and men in armor and a group of pale ladies in one corner. Bethny was keeping all of them back with one raised hand.

She smiled sadly. “Were you scared, princess?”

Visella cried and nodded.

Blood on sandy dirt.

“It’s alright,” Bethny said calmly, gently, quietly, as if they were the only two people in the room. “Would you like to go back to your rooms? We can read your new book.”

Visella nodded tearfully.

Bethny smiled at her and took off her apron from her waist. She carefully wrapped it around Visella to cover her now-naked body and then very gently touched her shoulder with one finger before quickly taking it back.

“You’re still a bit warm Princess,” Bethny whispered with a little amused smile. “So I can’t carry you, but I can walk with you.”

Visella nodded and clutched at the apron around her shoulders. It turned black when she touched but didn’t dissolve. Bethny stood up and beckoned her with one scarred hand. Visella grabbed her skirt and clung to it as she was led down the hall.

She looked back and saw the three dozen people staring back at them. She looked over them and at the door beyond, where the doorway and the royal Box was. Where the dead boy was.

It’s gone.

I want my mom.

Chapter Text

The boy who had died was Laenor Velaryon’s closest friend. Some said with disgust in their voices and glee in their eyes that many believed him to be Ser Laenor’s lover. If his reaction was anything to go by, it might as well be true, or so they whispered.

Laenor, who was happy and excited before the accident, was pale and dead-eyed afterwards. Visella saw as much when she was dragged to a dinner after another long day of the tournament that she had escaped from attending.

“I’m sorry, my dear,” Her father said sadly from his seat beside her. “I should not have asked you to see that so young. Most tourneys go without fatal accidents.”

Visella picked at her dress and avoided looking up at all. There were strangers eating with them. She sat in between her mother and father, with Rhaenyra on the King’s other side and her betrothed and his family next to her. They were staring at her.

“I heard what happened from your nursemaid and some knights who witness it. I am very sorry you were so frightened, child.”

Visella smoothed her embroidered green dress down and offered her father a tight little smile before ducking her head back down.

“It’s okay.”

There was silence for several seconds. It was awkward and stiff. Visella glanced curiously at the strangers on the other side of the table.

Princess Rhaenys and Lord Corlys looked as rich as the King. They were dressed in blue and gold and black finery from head to toe. Rhaenys’ Baratheon black hair fell straight down to her back in a single braid. She had purple eyes like her husband, though Corlys also had silver-gold hair that fell in locs around his broad shoulders.

Their son took after his father. Laenor had brown skin and locs of silver. His eyes were pale purple. His sister Laena had the same brown complexion and Valyrian hair and eyes, though hers were more violet than lavender. Laena was beautiful.

Visella blinked away with a furious blush when the Lady Laena saw her staring and smiled at her.

She poked at her food and ignored the stares she was being tortured with all around her. Everyone had heard of her break down. They probably thought she was like Aegon who threw fits over a toy or bed time or his pudding. Or they thought she was like Aegon but a freak as well. Maybe her father was finally seeing her for what she was: a cuckoo in the dragon’s nest. She didn’t belong here. She wasn’t a real Targaryen. She wasn’t even from this fucking world. Everyone knew it now. They all hated her for sure.

Her spiraling thoughts were snapped like a rubber band with a hand on her shoulder. Visella jerked and looked up at her mother frowning at her.

“Are you going to eat, my dear?”

Visella blinked at her plate. It was still full, she’d just pushed some of it around. Visella half-heartedly ate some of the mutton and washed it down with the most watered-down wine she could get her hands on. The meat was cold now since she hadn’t eaten it fast enough. Visella hadn’t any idea how the cook kept the food from going cold on the walk from the kitchens to all over the castle.

She ran away from the awful family dinner as soon as she possibly could.

The next day was the wedding day.

Rhaenyra and Laenor were wed at the foot of the Iron Throne. Lords and Ladies stood on both sides of the room and watched the procession take place. Rhaenyra looked absolutely resplendent in her long, lacy gown of white and red. She wore something on her head that had to be Valyrian, because Visella hadn’t seen anything like it. The headdress was made out of two horns that twisted out from her head. Her red lace veil fell over the tips of the horns and trailed down to her knees. Her hair was braided into two loops pinned beside her ears that dangled by her shoulders along with golden earrings.

She looked incredible.

Her husband was fully rocking the Velaryon colors. Light blue and white made up his stunning knee-length doublet and fitted pants. He was draped in so much gold jewelry and finery he nearly glittered with it. His locs had pins of emerald and sapphires and even diamonds threaded throughout each of them.

He looked terrible. Haunted. Not even the egregious amounts of wealth splattered all over him could cover up his grief.

They did not have a bedding ceremony. One of Laenor’s family members, a man named Vaemond, tried to call one up, but the King shot it down. He declared that no man would strip his daughter amongst a crowd of her future subjects. The call for it went silent pretty much immediately after that.

“What’s a bedding ceremony?” Visella asked her mother curiously.

The Queen did not look at her. She merely squeezed her shoulder and answered in a completely emotionless voice, “It is a tradition. The men attending the wedding strip the bride naked and carry her to the marriage bed, and the women attending the wedding do the same to the groom. They will then wait outside the door to listen to the consummation of the marriage.”

Visella felt sick.

She felt like someone had punched her in the gut.

“What?”

“They don’t watch the act,” Her mother nearly rushed to say, still not looking at her. “‘Twould be in bad form. But hearing the deed is done allows the parties involved to be assured that the marriage has been consummated and is therefore lawfully assured. Witnesses are good for both parties.”

Visella stared at her smiling sister and her pale, haunted husband. They were waving at the crowd of clapping and rejoicing nobles. Nobles who would have stripped the both of them a second ago, if not for her father not wanting to see his daughter be assaulted by men.

Why would any father be okay with that?

Visella felt sick.

The next day was the last day of the wedding. They feasted from noon to supper before the nobles retired early. Many of them had to get a good night’s rest in preparation for traveling back to their homes the next day. Several of the Lords had traveled a long way, such as the Lannister’s and the Tyrell’s. A few of the courtiers who lived in the city kept the party and feasting going later in the night, but Visella had been put to bed by then.

The whole event felt like a blur after a while.

She remembered the gossip after the wedding, when Laenor left for his home just a few weeks after his marriage. Some people wondered if it had been consummated. Visella didn’t really care about any of it. She was too busy with her cat and her siblings.

Her mother announced her pregnancy a month after the wedding. The Queen’s third pregnancy, a fourth baby, and people were ecstatic. The servants were gossiping like there was no tomorrow. The King had the city bells rung when he heard the news.

“The Cook said that Her Grace isn’t tolerating meals in the morning anymore,” Sera’s niece told them from her place on a stool in front of the fireplace. “The poor Queen is too sick.”

The girl had been there during the Fireplace Incident. She had Sera’s dirty blonde hair and dark eyes. They were both thicker around the waist than other women, which was this world’s way of saying she was curvy. In other words, it was an awkward way of calling someone fat. The girl was called Jey.

“I reckon she’ll have another son,” Jey announced.

Sera rolled her eyes. “We shouldn’t speculate.”

“Oh please, Sera, you’re gossiping just like the rest of us.” Bethny snapped back. She was putting Aegon’s toys away into the giant chest they were kept in. “I think it’s another girl. The Queen has two girls of three children, it’s the most likely. And the King had three girls of four children. I’ll take my chances with the proof we’ve already got.”

“Ha! You only say that because you want another princess to dote on! Everyone knows Visella is your favorite,” Sera smirked.

Bethny just grinned. “Hm, right she is.”

Visella smothered her little smile in her pillow. She was pretending to be taking a nap, you see. Ser Whiskers was sprawled out beside her, purring away. He’d grown a lot since she first picked him up almost two months ago. Aegon was snoring into his pillow in the bed beside her.

Whiskers was a very, very sweet cat. He never hissed or clawed at anyone. Well, sometimes he batted Aegon away when he got grabby with his tail, but that was justified and didn’t count. Visella absolutely adored him. Her mother hadn’t said anything about him either, like she had assumed, and since she was attached to him now she wouldn’t be able to take him away from her. They were bonded. She’d be within her rights to throw an Aegon-level tantrum.

As the women and girls gossiped together on the other side of the room, Visella thought on. She wondered about the dragons again. Caraxes was the first one she had ever seen with her own two eyes. They hadn’t really existed in her world. The great red beast she had seen circling the city weeks ago had stolen her breath away.

Speaking of, she hadn’t seen Daemon or his dragon since that one garden party. She wondered what happened to him. Was Caraxes still in the city?

Sera had told her and Aegon about the Dragonpit. She said that it was built by Maegor the Cruel, their great-great-great uncle or something to that degree, but it was Jaehaerys the Conciliator who finished building it during his reign. All the builders had fled, you see, before the could finish working on it under Maegor, because their evil relative had ordered all of the men who built the Red Keep killed to protect the castle’s secret passageways. Visella had been horrified when she heard that story. Sera told them that Maegor the Cruel had also taken six different wives, three of whom were widows by his hand. Aegon had asked what a widow was. Visella hadn’t needed to.

Sera told them that Maegor had been found dead on the Iron Throne six years into his cursed reign. Some believed that his only remaining wife left in the capitol, Queen Elinor, had killed him. Others believed that a builder who had escaped the slaughter had snuck back into the castle using the very secret tunnels Maegor so ruthlessly guarded to kill the Usurper. Yet others believe that the Iron Throne itself killed Maegor, or that he slit his own wrists on the swords to die before he could be killed against the rebelling Kingdoms all around him, or killed by the only nephew he hadn’t slaughtered yet.

Visella thought about Maegor and his six wives. Sera made it sound like a scary story fit for children. Aegon had oohed and ahhed with wide eyes glittering in the candlelight, enthralled, but Visella had read between the lines. The man had raped at least three of his wives, after killing their husbands, one of which was his own niece. Visella could not wrap her head around it. How could- how could anyone stand with a man like that. She supposed in the end, they had turned on him, but he had ruled for six years.

Six years was enough time for a kitchen maid to put a dash of poison in a cup of wine. It was enough for a little dagger to poke between some ribs in a quiet hall. It was plenty of time for his Lords to band together and just lock him away.

She couldn’t fathom it.

But then again, she hadn’t lived it.

He was obviously ready enough to kill anyone, even his own nephews, why would he hesitate to kill a lord or lady who he wasn’t related to? Either he was completely psycho, or paranoid, or a mix of the two, because Visella couldn’t imagine a normal man killing his brother’s children at all, much less for a pointy and ugly chair.

“I hope the Queen has another son,” a chambermaid said breathlessly. “It’s been so long since we’ve seen princes running around playing in the yard. Aegon is the first in so long…”

Visella frowned and closed her eyes a bit tighter.

She didn’t like when people said stuff like that. It was weird. The maids tittered over Aegon like he was some sort of- of future king or something. Aegon was three. Actually three, not whatever kind of freak she was. He was a toddler before he was a male, but people here seemed to get that confused.

She still wasn’t quite sure who was the Heir. Rhaenyra or Aegon. She was absolutely positive it wasn’t her; while she may be Alicent’s first child, Rhaenyra was older than her, and Aegon was the first boy. She was a second daughter. If she knew anything about monarchies, most like boys over girls, and the ones who didn’t care and just went with the oldest were all new generations and changing from past traditionalism of always choosing a man over a woman.

She hoped this new, weird, scary, but also kind of exciting place wasn’t as old fashioned as she feared, and that Rhaenyra was heir and not her brother based solely on his sex, but the information she had learned at the wedding wasn’t exactly boosting her confidence. She couldn’t imagine being stripped naked by a mob of men, carried away by said men, dumped in a bed, and then know that those men were listening outside the door as her and her husband got it on. That sounded like assault in her mind, and rape if things got ugly. Which, with a mob of men and a single girl they were stripping, likely got ugly often.

Sometimes this place scared her.

She fell asleep listening to Ser Socks purring and the women gossiping over boy names by the fireplace.

Visella spoke with her older sister for the first time in ages a few months after the wedding. Her mother was starting to really pop, her belly swelling up like it did with Helaena, and they were walking through the gardens together with Aegon when they all stumbled upon the older Princess.

The gardens of the Red Keep were stunning and luxurious. Rhaenyra looked more like an angel of some sort than a mortal princess among the crimson rose bushes that surrounded her from her seat on a stone bench. She had leaned her head back and her eyes were closed towards the sun, as if she was a basking lizard.

Visella thought she looked beautiful. Her hair was pale gold with silver streaks that glittered in the sun. Her skin was porcelain and pale and unblemished. Her eyes were sharper than the Queen’s, and violet was more striking than brown, though Visella would make an arguement over which was prettier (her mother was seriously so pretty. Visella was constantly jealous over those dark auburn curls).

Then the Princess opened her eyes, and seemed to harden like a stature right in front of their little trio. Her hand came up to her belly, and Visella stared at it. Her mother seemed to freeze beside her.

There was a ringing silence. Aegon broke it by shoving himself into their mother’s green skirt. She hadn’t been wearing any other color, actually, since Rhaenyra’s wedding. Visella thought her mother looked the best in blue, but she didn’t want to hurt her feelings if she liked green as much as she seemed to.

“Hey,” Visella waved, sick of the horrible silence.

She walked forward before her mother could stop her and put her hands on the white stone bench as she peered up at her sister.

“You’re really pretty,” she decided to inform her.

Rhaenyra’s lips twitched and the coldness of her gaze seemed to crack all at once into strained amusement. “Thank you, Princess.”

“My name is Visella,” she offered her.

That seemed to be the wrong thing to say. The Princess pulled her hands in her lap and off of the bench that they had been leaning on, drawing away from her. Her eyes hardened a bit.

“Yes, I know. I am Rhaenyra.”

Visella smiled at her and laughed. “I know that, you’re my sister.”

Rhaenyra just stared at her. Alicent grabbed her by her shoulder and herded her away with murmured apologies to Rhaenyra. Visella waved at her easily as she was brought back to the stone path they had been walking down.

“Is it true then?” Rhaenyra suddenly asked. Alicent stopped and seemed to shudder without moving a single inch.

“The girl is immune to fire?”

Visella glanced from her mother to her sister curiously. Rhaenyra had been gone for a long time, and when she was home she lived on the third floor of Maegor’s holdfast, not the fourth floor where the King and Queen and nursery was. She didn’t eat with the Queen or her children or handmaidens. Visella very rarely saw her.

“It is,” Alicent said, drawing herself up as she turned around to face the Princess. Visella stared at her mother. She looked- angry. But like she was trying to look unfazed and unflappable, but failing.

Rhaenyra stared back.

Visella and Aegon glanced between the two women, back and forth, before Visella finally shared a bewildered look with her brother. For once she understood the pure confusion on his pouting little face. He seemed to realize she was weirded out too, and smiled happily. Visella patted his little shoulder in commiseration.

“And the boy is not?” Rhaenyra finally asked.

Visella frowned and glanced at her and then her mother. Alicent seemed to drop her disinterested mask even more at that sharp question. She clasped her hands together in front of her and clenched her jaw.

“My son is the same as anyone else in the royal family.”

Visella felt like she had been kicked in the gut and had her breath stolen from her.

She looked down at her feet and didn’t hear a single word of the rest of the girl’s tense back-and-forth. She stepped away from the Queen and Aegon. She shouldn’t be upset, she immediately thought to herself angrily. The Queen was right. Aegon was the same as anyone else in his family. Visella was the odd one out. She was the freak. Something choked up her throat and pricked at her eyes before she could mentally beat herself into getting some control over herself. She was glad Aegon was normal. Very, very glad. He was obviously the King and Queen’s real kid, with his pretty silver-gold hair and dark purple eyes. she had her mom’s ice-blue eyes and her dad’s white-pink hair.

She wasn’t the King or Queen’s actual blood. She didn’t think they knew that, and why would they? She didn’t even know how she got here. This world didn’t have germ theory, much less IVF, which is the only scientific way she could have been put in the Queen’s belly with Aegon. But she had grown up somewhere else. Had someone de-aged her into a- an embryo- popped into another dimension, and then put her embryonic form into the Queen? That was the weirdest thing she had ever heard. No way someone actually did that, and for what?

But one thing was uncomfortably clear. She wasn’t a real Targaryen. She was her mom and dad’s daughter, not the King and Queen’s blood.

Alicent seemed to be done trading snide comments with the Princess and marched them away from the little cove of roses back to the stone path. Visella followed her obediently and kept her eyes on the ground.

Rhaenyra announced her first pregnancy four months after the wedding. She was already showing, so everyone already knew, and the gossiping maids had probably sold the information to the highest bidder ages ago. Still, it was a formal announcement made by the King during court, and everyone clapped and cheered for the smiling princess. It was custom to wait until the pregnancy was nearing halfway complete or a bit farther along before the formal announcement, just in case the baby was lost. It was common enough to have a miscarriage in the early months for the custom to be done by all noblewomen. The Queen was far along in her own pregnancy by then, and was due to pop any day now.

And pop she did. The day after the Princess’ pregnancy was announced, Alicent went into labor.

Visella didn’t remember much about that day like she had Helaena’s birth. She remembered it taking a long time. A full day and night, someone said. Then a maid came running in that morning to tell Bethny and Sera that it was a boy, another prince. The bells were already ringing by then, celebrating the birth of a new Targaryen.

Aemond was a pinched, purple, splotchy baby. Her mother was asleep when her and Aegon came to see him. They were going to turn four soon, and Helaena would turn two after them.

The excitement over a new prince was startling. The maids and servants and noblemen and noblewomen had been celebrating all day long. The King was holding a garden party with plays and singers and dancers. Visella hoped that the baby lived. She had just learned about Queen Aemma’s many children, and she couldn’t imagine that happening to her mother.

She got bored of the baby quickly and walked over to said mother. She climbed up the bed and ignored the maids trying to shoo her away. Visella curled up beside Alicent and wrapped her little arms around one of the Queen’s shoulder. She didn’t so much as twitch. She was dead asleep.

Alicent looked exhausted. Visella stared up at her pale, ashen face and fear suddenly gripped her chest and twisted. Was she dead? That happened to women here a lot. Queen Aemma’s had died in childbirth, just like Princess Daella and Princess Alyssa and the Dowager Queen Alyssa and some of Maegor’s wives, she thought. She lifted her head and tried to see if Alicent was breathing. She couldn’t tell if her chest was moving. She touched her throat with three of her little fingers and waited until she felt a pulse.

It was there. Soft, but not fluttery or weak. Visella breathed for the first time in a whole minute and sank back down next to her mother.

She stayed like that until Bethny came and scooped her up and away. She peaked at her new brother again and waved goodbye before they were marched back to the nursery.

“When you reach your sixth nameday you’ll be given your own room,” Sera told her as she brushed her hair by the fireplace. “A septa will have been charged with teaching you everything a princess of the realm should need to know. That should happen after your fifth nameday.”

“Like how to use a sword?” Visella asked curiously. She was thinking about the portrait of Visenya Targaryen in her mother’s room holding Dark Sister.

Visenya and Rhaenys were great warriors. Conquerors, like their brother and husband. Visenya was known for wielding a valyrian steel sword and also riding Vhagar, and her little sister was known for riding Meraxes, who died during the first war in Dorne. They sounded like powerful women. Bethny told her that they ruled in Aegon’s place half the time. They created laws and dealt punishments just like the King.

Sera laughed and started braiding her hair. “Of course not, Princess. Girls are kept away from fighting and bloody boy’s business. Especially Royal princess’s. No, you will be taught the Faith of the Seven first, and then to read and write, and then your sums, and how to rule a household for your future husband. Someday you will run a great castle. Perhaps you will even run the Red Keep someday.”

Visella frowned. “But why can’t I do that and learn how to use a sword? It looks cool. And I could protect Helaena and Aemond better. And Aegon too, I guess, if he doesn’t steal my sweets again.”

Sera snorted. “Don’t worry about such things. No one expects you to protect your siblings. They will expect Aegon and Aemond to protect you and your sister someday, yes, but no one will put that on you, Princess. It is a Lord Father’s duty to protect their maiden daughters, as well as brothers once they come of age. Someday, once you take a husband, it will be his duty to protect you. Don’t you worry about such responsibilities.”

Visella frowned even harder and stared at the fire in front of her. Flames crackled and ate away at the little logs.

“But I’m the oldest. That’s my job, and I’m stronger than they are. Especially the babies.” She thought about the wrinkled pink thing in a cradle at the foot of her mother’s bed, barely a day old.

“You might be stronger than your brother now, but someday they will be much stronger than you and your sister,” Sera explained kindly. “Boys turn into men, and men are stronger and smarter than women, which is what you will be someday. That is why they must protect you, not the other way around.”

Visella turned her head and let her hair fall out of there woman’s hands. She stared at her. Sera blinked at her, obviously confused, as outrage and fury boiled in Visella’s throat.

“Stronger and smarter? I didn’t know you could see the future, Sera.”

Her nursemaid frowned at her with annoyance. “Don’t be sharp with me, Princess, it’s unseemly. And it ‘tis just the way of the fairer sex to rely on men. You will understand someday.”

Visella’s hands were shaking with her anger. This woman thought she was a toddler, a three-year-old, impressionable, innocent baby. This grown woman was telling her that she would never be smarter or stronger than any man and neither would her sister. If Aegon was told this, a real toddler, he would believe Sera because she was their caretaker. Bethny and Sera were the people who raised them. Aegon didn’t even know what a lie was, why would he think the person he trusts and loves the most would tell him such a thing and it not be true?

Every fear she had about this shithole world came true in that moment. When a woman who cared for her and raised her alongside her younger brother told her that she would always be lesser than a man. Sera was no doubt told the same thing as a child. Maybe her own mother had given her this talk in front of a fireplace like this one, readying her for bed, explaining the way of the world for the ‘fairer sex’. Maybe her father had given it to her straight after a rebellious youth. Maybe her older brothers or even younger brothers had to protected her at some point, like she was trying to tell Visella, and it was just the only truth Sera knew now.

Visella had been raised in a world where people could control the weather. A women in your math class might have to wear gloves because she could knock people unconscious with a single touch. A man in the same class might have a floating-hair quirk. Superpowers at random equalized things in her world in a way never before seen. She had learned about mysogony and there were still shit men out there who raped and murdered and killed women, but there were also women who could level cities with an earthquake superpower. People stopped believing in the idea of a ‘fairer sex’ when quirks showed no preference in such things.

But in this world, they didn’t even have a real government system. They had a King and a few Lords compared to millions of the masses. They didn’t have police people could call if they were in trouble or needed help. Not only that, but men held literally all of the power in this world, or at least this kingdom. Her mother had just had to explain the bedding ceremony to her months ago.

Everything was fucked here.

They weren’t going to drag her down with them though. Fuck no. Not when she knew of how things could be. Not when she had lived how things could be. Visella had gone to school her whole life. She had played nearly every sport she could. She had wrestled with men and boys and girls and women alike. She had ridden horses and played board games and never been told her grades should be lower than her male classmates.

On an impulse powered by pure indignant fury, Visella reached into the fire in front of her and started rearranging the logs angrily into a better pile. Sera gasped and nearly shouted her name front right behind her, but she scrambled back instead of wrenching her away.

“I’m not weaker than my brothers, Sera. So shut the fuck up.”

She was sent to bed without a bed night sweet and given a ranting lecture on foul language, but it was worth it.

So worth it.

Chapter Text

Jacaerys was born in the last month of the year 114.

Visella had asked to see the baby and had been solidly shot down. She was told it was a Prince though, not a Princess, which she was a bit disappointed about. She wanted a niece, not a nephew. Nephews were boring and weird. Plus, if it had been a princess, then Helaena might have had a normal playmate to run around with when they were both grown.

Since it wasn’t a baby girl like she had been hoping for she wasn’t too put-out by the refusal to see the baby, but it still rankled her. She had seen Helaena and Aemond when they were born. This baby was her first nibling (nephew or niece, she cackled aloud into her pillow when she came up with it one night. Aegon had glared at her from his bed). She should see Jace in his squirmy and squished larval form as well, before he got sassy like Aegon had.

“Sera said no,” her sassy brother in question told her imperiously.

Visella stuck her tongue at him. “Ooh, SeRa sAid nO,” she warbled in a mocking voice.

Aegon gasped in outrage and clutched his blanket to his chest. “Sissy!”

Visella snickered and moved away from the closed door she had been eyeing to bounce up to her little brother. “What? What you gonna do about it?”

Aegon’s face went bright red. His fat cheeks puffed out in fury. Visella grinned. He took the bait.

They rolled around the carpeted floor, grabbing and tugging at each other like puppies, each trying to pin the other down to win. Visella almost got pinned just because Aegon was a chonky toddler and she was smaller than him, but she bit him and he flailed back with a shrill scream. On they went, growling and whining at each other and grabbing at hair and clothes.

“What are you doing?!?!” Someone shouted from the doorway.

They both froze in the middle of the room. Visella was on top of Aegon at that point and biting his hand that was trying to shove her off. They both had hands in each other’s hair and their feet were tangled up. Two pairs of dumbfounded eyes turned to their mother at the same time.

“Mo’er?” Visella asked stupidly around Aegon’s fat fingers. He shrieked and ripped his hand away before wiping off the slobber on her dress with a disgusted grimace.

“Aegon! Visella! Get up this instant!” The Queen looked furious.

They both scrambled to their feet and stood beside each other with little side-eyes.

Neither of them could remember Alicent coming to the nursery before. She always had them brought to her. It seemed like everyone thought that was totally normal, so Visella just put it on her being a Queen. Like how they were raised by nursemaids. This, then, was weird and completely out of the blue.

“What are you doing here?” Visella asked for both of them.

Alicent marched forward before taking both of their ears in a pinch that had them yelping and wincing and trying to bend away. “What am I- I am here to see my children!” She whisper-yelled. “Children, who are supposed to be royalty, the son and daughter of a King, who I find fighting like dogs in the street! Is this what you do in here during your quiet time?! Shall I have you treated as the dogs you seem to think you are?!”

Visella pried her mother’s fingers off her ear and ripped herself away. Aegon was chanting ow, ow, ow, ow, ow beside her.

“We were just playing!” Visella shouted. “Stop hurting him!” She hit her mother’s hand away and she seemed to drop Aegon’s ear from shock. Visella pushed Aegon back a step and he whimpered and clutched at his ears as if to hide them from more pinching. Visella glared at her furious mother.

She never grabbed them before, just shouted or did that whisper-yell thing when they started to fight or bicker. She knew it was just an ear-pinch, but she didn’t like it. Hated it, in fact. That- oh, that made her angry.

“That is not playing, Visella!” Alicent looked just as furious but didn’t make a grab for their ears again, so yay. “Princesses play with other ladies, and they embroider, or sing, or read, not roll around on the floor! And you, Aegon! You think you can push your sister around? That is not the son I will raise! Shoving ladies around like-“

“I started it!” Visella screamed. She stomped her foot like Aegon did when he was at his most indignant. “Aegon was being sassy again, and I-“

“What- what are you talking about?!” Alicent looked ready to rip out her hair. “Sassy? Stop making up words!!”

“You stop making up words!”

“Visella!”

She had never been very good at controlling her temper, so what she said next felt like an unstoppable force ripping itself out of her mouth. “Aegon didn’t do anything wrong and neither do I! So go away! You never come here, why are you here!?”

Alicent reared back and gaped like she had been slapped. Visella seethed, hands clenched beside her. Aegon was gaping at her from where he was hiding behind her. This was her job, she suddenly thought. She was the oldest. She had to stand in front of Aegon when people decided to be as crazy as this world was. He was just a baby, and she really had started it, purposely riling him up so that they could wrestle and hopefully kill her boredom. They had been put down for a nap and left, but they both woke up early and had nothing to do.

Actually, Aegon had been trying to stop her from leaving. He’d been trying to keep her in their room and obey Sera and Bethny. He’d been being good.

“Don’t you ever take that tone with me again,” Alicent looked white with fury as she stuck a single finger in Visella’s face. “Not ever. Do you hear me? I have enough to deal with in my duties as Queen. Do you think I laze about all day, shunning my duties, humiliating my family? You will listen to me. Do you hear me? If I ever catch you two doing such- such disgraceful behavior again, I will… I will take that little rat you picked up.”

Visella’s eyes widened in pure shock. The rat. She was talking about Ser Whiskers, she knew immediately, because that was what Alicent referred to kittens as. She only called adult felines cats. She hadn’t seen Ser Whiskers since he was a mewling baby. He was bigger now, but Alicent didn’t know that.

Visella loved Ser Whiskers. Aegon loved him too, and liked to try and play war with him and his toy ships and dragons. He pretended Whiskers was really a dragon, Balerion, and would make his carved dragons fly around the cat’s head. When Whiskers batted at the toys he’d pretend the two dragons were fighting and scream and then ‘attack’ again. Sometimes they snuggled by the window and peered down at the bay together.

Visella loved Ser Whiskers.

“You can’t!” She screamed.

“Yes. I. Can.” Her mother whispered. “This castle is already crawling with enough vermin, do you think your father will take your side? One less rat would do us all a favor. I have to deal with enough disgusting things in this fa-“

She seemed to draw herself up, and suddenly it looked like she was going to cry. Visella stayed stock still and watched, terrified, as her mother took a shaky, choked breath and looked away from them at the wall. Her hands came up to her chest and straightened her perfect gown and star necklace. They were picked at and red, especially around her nails, Visella realized. The Queen took several long moments to gather herself before looking back at them. She brushed Visella’s hair down as if trying to tame to wild waves and curls and sniffed once. Her eyes were red and teary.

“Just- just stop. I’m going to get your nursemaids.”

She walked out of the room with a swish of her green skirt. She wiped at her eyes as she left. Visella and Aegon waited until the door closed behind her before turning to stare at each other at the exact same time.

“What the fuck was that?” Visella asked stupidly.

“What does fuck mean?”

Visella stared at her brother.

Oh, fuck.

Thankfully, Sera and Bethny came back at that exact moment, and a whispered threat to never repeat that word ever again had Aegon nodding a promise of eternal silence. Or so she could hope.

Their mother was in a horrible mood for the rest of the month, all the way up to their fourth nameday celebration. Sometimes she looked ready to scream and rage and then a second later her eyes would be welling up with tears and she would be clutching her star necklace like a lifeline keeping her from drowning. Her fingers were picked raw and she ended up wearing gloves for the nameday feast. It was a smaller affair this year, much to Visella’s eternal gratitude, which seemed to be because of the excitement around Jacaerys. Visella still had yet to see the baby.

Her mother told her and Aegon that Jace was born with a head of dark hair. She looked manic when she said it, edging into hysteria, and had been ripping her fingers bloody. Visella had just nodded and said okay and then side-eyed Aegon, hoping to convey ‘our mother has gone insane so just smile and nod and we might just survive this’. He had just blinked at her, but she was confident the message was received.

They were both on their best behavior after the whole… motherly breakdown incident.

The feast for their nameday was a welcome break from the tense tiptoeing they had been doing. Viserys had invited his small council, their family, and a few powerful lords at court to the gathering, so it was a cozier affair held in a big dining room instead of the throne room. Visella sat next to Aegon and they traded each other for their favorite foods pretty much immediately. Visella took his meat and fruit and he took anything that might have dairy off of her plate. Her stomach had been getting more and more sensitive lately so she was being extra cautious now. Aegon was happy to be her little dairy garbage disposal.

She saw Rhaenyra for the first time since she had given birth during the little festivity. Her sister had gained weight, which Visella knew was normal after creating a human being and then it being ripped out of your body. She was wearing a black gown with golden and silver stitches and embroidery. Her hair was up in a pile of braids and a pearl hairnet. She looked like she still had that pregnancy glow that everyone talked about as she kissed her father’s cheek and took a seat.

Visella grinned and waved at her happily. She smiled tightly back at her. Visella shrugged off the cold greeting and went back to eating. Alicent was clutching her fork with white knuckles under her gloves as she stared at Rhaenyra. It was unnerving. Visella avoided that weird glare-off and ate more quail.

Suddenly she had a thought. She perked up and whipped her head around to her sister who was three seats down from her, with Aegon, her mother, and father in between them.

“Hey, Rhaenyra!” She called out.

Her sister blinked at her and put down her goblet. A lot of other people looked over too, but Visella ignored them. She was getting a bit better at the staring and gawping lately.

“Yes?”

“Can I see the new baby?” She asked excitedly.

Her mother stared at her with wide, horrified eyes, and then glanced from her sister to their father back to her. She looked like she was about to say something, probably ‘absolutely fucking not’, when Rhaenyra finally answered.

“Of course,” Her sister smiled. It looked- a bit gloating? Her purple eyes locked with Alicent’s brown eyes. “Jacaerys would be happy to see you, sister. You as well, Aegon,” She tacked on as if an afterthought.

Aegon ignored them all and ate more pastries. Visella grinned triumphantly and kicked her feet under the table.

“Awesome.”

Her mother nearly vibrated out of her seat for the rest of the night. Her father looked overjoyed though, and kept glancing between her and Rhaenyra and Aegon like this was the happiest day of his life.

“I will bring you to him in a fortnight,” Rhaenyra told her. “He will be a moon old by then.”

The baby did have dark hair like her mom had been raging about. It was cute, a little bundle of curls at the top of his soft head. He was a big baby, Sera told her, and seemed very strong and healthy. He was just a few months older than Aemond. To be honest, Visella thought he was a lot cuter than Aemond had been when he was a month old, but she couldn’t say that out loud. Sibling-code prevented her, you see.

“He’s so cute!” She told Rhaenyra in a little whisper.

Rhaenyra laughed softly and stood beside her. Visella was standing on a stool to peer down at the baby in his little crib. He was asleep right now, and looked positively angelic with his pale, pink, chubby cheeks and adorable little nose and dark lashes.

“He is,” Rhaenyra agreed proudly.

Her sister brushed her fingers through Visella’s messy hair. The pieces that always got in her faces were braided back, but the rest was wild and free around her shoulders. It was turning a bit more vibrant as it grew, and she knew it would turn into the same pale, cherry blossom hue that it was when she-

When she last remembered her hair.

From Before.

Her eyes were drawn to the raised cauldron-like thing beside the cradle. It was open and there was a fire in a little chamber under the bowl keeping a heap of hot coals bright with heat. On top of the coals was a green and bronze egg a bit bigger than a football. The scale-like texture on the egg seemed to gleam in the nursery’s dim candlelight.

“Is that a dragon egg?” Visella was mesmerized.

“It is,” Rhaenyra said easily. “Syrax laid a clutch a week before I had Jace. I chose this one for him out of the three.”

Visella reached out and grazed her fingers over the shimmery scales. Rhaenyra started and made to grab or something, but seemed to stop and blink after a moment.

“Is this okay?” Visella asked, worried she had committed some terrible sin no one had told her about. Was she like, molesting Jace’s dragon egg or something?

Rhaenyra stared at her.

“The egg is very hot. Usually people can’t touch them without gloves.”

“Oh.” That made sense. She traced the patterns on the egg and glanced back at Jace.

“Will it hatch here?”

Rhaenyra clasped her hands together. “Yes. If it does not, it will be returned to the Dragonpit, and a new egg will be brought from Syrax’ clutch. If none of them take to Jace he will claim a hatched dragon when he is old enough to, like me and my father and uncle.”

“Whoa,” Visella gasped. “That’s so cool.”

Rhaenyra laughed.

She stared at the baby and the egg for a while longer. At one point Jace opened his eyes and stared at her like she was the weirdest thing he had ever seen. Visella snickered and made funny faces at him while he seemed to gape at her with a tiny affronted look. She grabbed his egg and carefully showed it to him, but made sure not to let it touch him. Rhaenyra fluttered around her nervously but Jace stared at the egg with a new focus. He made grabby hands for it, but she still kept it out of reach.

“It has to hatch first!” Visella told the baby as he grunted and squirmed around and grabbed for the egg. “Then you guys can snuggle or something. Like me and Mister Whiskers.”

“Who’s Mister Whiskers?” Rhaenyra asked, confused.

Visella told her about her precious little baby kitty cat for the rest of the visit. She put the egg back when it started cooling off a bit too much for her comfort, and the went back to making funny faces at Jace. He seemed annoyed she had taken the egg out of his sight and gave her the judgiest stare a newborn could make for the rest of her silly faces.

She was swept away when he really started to get fussy, and Rhaenyra said he was likely hungry. She was ready to bounce after that. She didn’t need to watch the nursemaid do her job, she had her baby Whiskers to go pamper back in her room.

She was back the very next day to meet a dragon for the first time.

The egg had apparently hatched in the night and Jace’s nursemaid had found the two babies coiled together in the cradle. The hatchling had crawled beside the newborn Prince and went for a cuddle first thing. Visella could barely even imagine how cute that must have been to see.

They were keeping the hatchling with Jace until it breathed its first flame, apparently. Jace was now the first Targaryen to bond to a dragon by hatching one in the cradle since King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne. When Visella ran to see Rhaenyra her sister was glowing with pride.

It wasn’t until then that she realized how exhausted her sister had looked before. She stood straighter now, and held her head higher, as if an invisible weight had come off of her shoulders. She beamed at Visella when she barged into her apartments and demanded to see the baby dragon.

“Sure, you can see him,” Rhaenyra smiled and took her hand to lead her to the side-room nursery of her quarters. Visella bounced beside her in pure, unbridled excitement. Bethny was smiling at her, amused, as she followed them into the room.

Visella gasped and gaped and gawped at the baby. It really was curled up with Jace in the cradle. The human newborn was asleep and the dragon newborn was not.

He was just as pretty as his egg. The baby had brilliant green scales on his back and head and legs. His wings, however, were more of a bronze color, as well as his horns and his frills and fins down his back and at the end of his tail. His eyes were a brilliant copper color. They locked on to Visella immediately and sharp pupils contracted at the sight of her.

Visella heard a noise that seemed very draconic. It sounded like a weird, croaky trill. The baby dragon lifted its tiny head off of Jace to stare at her even more. Visella held out on hand as an offering.

“Careful,” Rhaenyra told her as she ran her fingers through her hair. Everyone loved touching Visella’s hair. It was mostly annoying, but sometimes she was cool with it. Like when she was meeting a dragon.

“He’s so pretty,” she whispered, awed.

Rhaenyra laughed softly. “He is.”

The dragon crawled towards her slowly and carefully. It ruffled its wings beside its little body and twitched the tip of its tail, but its eyes never moved from her.

“Lykirī, Vermax,” Rhaenyra commanded.

Visella blinked. She had never heard either of those words before. It sounded different than the language everyone spoke here.

“That is his name,” Rhaenyra told her a bit more softly. “Vermax.”

“Whoa,” Visella thought that was an okay name, but not nearly as good as Toothless. Better than Caraxes though. Definitely.

The little dragon sniffed her fingers with great enthusiasm and diligence. Not a single finger went unsniffed. After his inspection was over, Vermax sneezed on her. She took that as approval.

“You’re so cute,” She told him.

He let her pet his tiny head and chin and neck. Then he surprised her by climbing on her hand and up her arm. He sniffed her head and hair thoroughly and his tongue darted out to lick her nose once, which made her giggle uncontrollably for ages.

She held him in her hands once he was done with his second inspection and he blinked up at her. She smooched his little nose before she could stop herself. He bit the air beside her and she shrieked before laughing once again.

They turned it into a game. She would kiss his nose and had to jerk back before he could snap at her. They did that for another minute before Rhaenyra told her to be careful and put him back before her nose got eaten.

Vermax was quite the sweetie pie, she decided, watching him curl back up around his human. They looked even cuter together. Jace’s dark hair and pale skin made the dragon’s vibrant colors stand out that much more.

“Is Aemond going to have an egg in his cradle?” She suddenly asked.

Rhaenyra blinked at her. She looked very uncomfortable and looked away then, out the window.

“I’m afraid that is for your mother and the King to decide, Visella.”

She hummed. “That makes sense. Oh- did Aegon or me have an egg when we were babies?”

Rhaenyra clasped her hands together and looked back at her son. “I believe both of you did, yes. They did not hatch though.”

There wasn’t anything she wanted to say about that, so Visella let that topic drop. She didn’t really care if she hatched a dragon or not. Aegon, she knew, loved dragons, so she was a bit sad for him that he didn’t have a hatchling, but oh well. It’s not like he knew. Aegon was still a toddler. He wouldn’t understand the concept of having had the chance to hatch a dragon and not being given it, or missing it, or it being lost. Although, maybe he still did have a chance, what did she know? Jack shit, other than what her father rambled to her. Aemond- honestly, she really didn’t care if he got a dragon egg or not. She didn’t know her littlest sibling yet. He might grow up to hate dragons and love- like, rats or something. Maybe he’d become Aemond the Rat Master and put baby rats in his future children’s cradles. That would be pretty funny, actually.

Helaena wasn’t interested in much more than picture books and plants. Her tiny little fingers always reached for any green or blue thing in sight. She stared, wide-eyed, at every picture in every book she was shown. Her little sister didn’t get bored as easily as Aegon. She could stare at the same picture for minutes upon minutes before letting her nursemaid turn the page. She was a sweet baby but didn’t like hugs very much. She still didn’t respond whenever one of them called her name to get her attention, even though she was about two now, but Alicent always said she was just lost in her head.

Visella thought that her sister might like a dragon egg or baby dragon more than any of them. She’d love to just stare at the scales and bright colors for hours. Aegon would impatiently wait for the little thing to be old enough to fly into battle the whole time. Aemond- well, she didn’t know what he would do, because he was a baby.

She liked Aemond the Rat Master idea though. That had some sort of ring to it.

Visella wanted to be the Cat Master of the whole city. She loved Whiskers. He was her baby and adorable and a fluffy little floof.

“Have you met my cat?” She asked Rhaenyra urgently. “Mister Whiskers.”

Her sister blinked at her in pure befuddlement. “I can’t say I have.”

Visella nodded seriously and held out her hand. “I have to introduce you, then. Come on.”

Rhaenyra let herself be tugged out of the room with an amused smile trying to tug her lips up. Visella chattered on and on about her little baby up the stairs and down the hall to her and Aegon’s room.

Her brother was going through a picture book in front of the railed fireplace when they walked in. Sera was sitting beside him folding clothes. They both looked up at her, Rhaenyra, and Bethny as they barged in.

Visella immediately ran to Mister Whiskers the Knight Cat on her bed and slung him over her shoulder. He merped sleepily and stretched all the way to his toes as she walked over to her sister and showed off her giant kitty cat.

“He’s grown a bunch,” She preened. “I found him when he was a baby-baby. Like, a super baby. Now he’s just my baby. Look! His fur is black but his toes and his chest is white. And these three whiskers is white too. See?”

She pointed out the singular white whiskers and Rhaenyra followed her tiny finger dutifully. “He’s very pretty, sister.”

Visella grinned at her. “He is! I love him. He’s like my Vermax for Jace, you know? Like my baby. But he’s not a dragon, he’s a cat.”

She rocked Whiskers back and forth in her arms like he really was a baby, and he let her with a clueless look in his yellow eyes. He stared at the bed behind her longingly but didn’t move. He was a really lazy cat. Except for when he saw another tomcat, and then he got super crazy and feisty and mean, so she tried to keep him locked up in their room. She was scared he’d get hurt in a fight someday.

She rattled on and on about it to Rhaenyra until her older sister made an excuse about getting back to Jace and leaving her with a pat on the head and a promise to see her again soon. Visella put her cat back and tucked him in with her own covers before plopping down beside Aegon. He stared at her, judging, and Whiskers crawled out from the covers just to curl up on top of them again.

“What?” She demanded.

“Mother says to stay away from ‘Nyra.”

“Rhaenyra,” She corrected.

Aegon frowned at her. He flicked his book angrily and criss-crossed his legs all importantly. “Where did you go?”

“I went to see a baby dragon,” She crowed, and preened even more when he whipped his head around to gape at her.

“What?! Sissy!!! I want to go too!! Take me with you!!! I wanna see a baby dragon!!”

Visella snickered and let him shaker her by her shoulders insistently and whine and shriek. The picture book lay forgotten on the floor behind him.

He was so easy to rile up. It was cute.

Of course, that was just her elder sibling duties. Getting your younger siblings mad is a daily task that must be completed as many times as possible in order to fulfill the role of elder sibling.

“Sissyyy,” Aegon whined shrilly. “Take me to the dragon!!”

She laughed.

…

Helaena turned two in the second moon of the year 115 AC.

Visella loved her little sister. Especially now that she could run around with them and seemed to know her name now. She came when called and looked up when people said it to get her attention. She still hated being hugged, and just touched at all most days, but sometimes Visella could convince her to wrap pinkies. She made it up for their version of a hug. A pinkie hug. She was so smart, honestly, her genius knew no bounds.

“Pinkie hug!” She grinned, and pointed said finger in her sister’s face.

Helaena blinked at her and then wrapped her own little finger around hers. Visella cackled gleefully and shook her tiny sister’s arm back and forth. Helaena giggled and watched their arms swing around.

She was speaking more now, and had started playing games with them, but sometimes she didn’t answer people and acted as if they had never spoken. Visella just rolled with it. Aegon thought she was weird and didn’t like playing with her. Their mother had begun picking at her hands and frowning when she saw Helaena not do something she was supposed to do, like hug someone back, or when she did something she wasn’t supposed to do, like hit someone who tried to hug her. One of the nursemaids might have said something to her about it. She hoped not. Visella had taken to feinding off friendly nursemaids and the like who got hug-happy with toddlers. Her sister obviously didn’t like it, so back off! Jeez.

“You’re sooo cute,” Visella cooed. “My baby sister. You’re two now!!”

Helaena giggled again and swung their arms back and forth again. Visella took the hint and kept the limbs swinging.

“Are you excited for the dinner? I am! There’s gonna be lots of meat an’ fruit!”

Aegon scoffed from where he was sulking on the sofa with Sera. They were gathered in Alicent’s room, who was being fitted for a new dress by the window.

“She’s stupid. Stop playing with her,” He glowered.

“Jealousssssss,” Visella crowed gleefully. “Jealoouusss!!!”

“No!” Aegon shrieked, looking horrified. “‘M not jealous!!”

“You totally are!” She cackled, falling back on the rug to roll around on the floor with glee. Helaena watched her curiously from her seat in front of her on the plush rug.

“No!” Aegon raged. “No no no no NO!”

Alicent finally whipped her head around. “Aegon!” She snapped, cutting off the dressmaker but too furious to care. “Leave your sisters alone!”

Aegon gaped at the room in sheer disbelief. Visella had never seen such betrayal on such a young face. Dang. Now she kind of felt bad. She dragged herself off the floor and walked over to where her baby bro was sitting.

“Aww, it’s okay Eggy,” She patted his knees. “I love you too!”

Aegon glared at her and blushed furiously. “Go away!” He flapped his hands around the air.

“But I love you!” She gasped. “Don’t you love me?”

His fury seemed to die and his flush only grew. Aegon was really pale, so when he was embarrassed or mad his chubby cheeks turned bright red. It was adorable.

He patted her head begrudgingly. “Love you too.”

Visella grinned and bit his knees. He shrieked and kicked and giggled and screamed and the went to the floor wrestling again.

After getting properly chewed out by their mother they were wrestled into fancy outfits and walked off to the formal dining room where the feast would happen. Helaena wasn’t getting a big royal hunt like they got for their second nameday. Instead, they were going the tried-and-true family dinner plus favorite court people method. Visella liked that better than a big hunt or a giant feast. Less people were around to stare at her that way.

She was a bit worried about how Helaena would deal with a group of people though. This would be her first ‘appearance’ at court, in a way, before she really debuted at court when she was older. Whichever lords the King invited to the dinner would tell their friends about Helaena and the rumor mill would spin and spin and spin.

They got to the dining room early, at least, and Visella helped her sister get comfortable. Helaena sat on her ankles on the cushions that raised her up to reach the table but Visella covered her tiny feet with her little blue dress and hoped their mother didn’t notice the improper sitting position.

The feast commenced when the King arrived. He was fashionably late to the party and her mother and the lords and ladies stood when he entered the room. Visella and her two siblings did not, their feet didn’t touch the ground and they would have to jump off their chairs and then climb back up them afterwards. Not very elegant. Not very chic.

“My dears,” Viserys smiled happily and kissed her cheeks. He ran his hands over her pink hair and tilted her face up to beam at her. She smiled back easily.

He patted Aegon’s head, who just stared at him, and then kissed Helaena’s cheeks too. She flinched away but thankfully he didn’t seem to notice.

“My dear,” He finally said to Alicent, and kissed her cheek as well. It was only then he took a seat and everyone else did as well.

Visella thought all the court rules were really weird.

The food was brought out at Viserys’ call and servants trailed in with arms full of trays and trays full of food. Visella eyed the roast pork and quail greedily. Their plates were served by the servants and she quickly turned to Aegon on her right to trade for their favorites. He took her cheese and fancy cream bread and she took his ham and duck.

The celebration went fairly well.

Rhaenyra arrived even later than the King. Visella waved at her happily and Rhaenyra smiled back at her as she took her seat beside the King’s new Hand. Yeah, her grandfather had been replaced. Apparently he was replaced ages ago. Visella wasn’t too concerned about it. It’s not like he was dead, he’d just been fired from his job. Her mother said he had gone back to Oldtown, their home, to be with his sons. That seemed nice. She hoped he was happier than he had seemed here. Her grandfather had always seemed frustrated with something or someone. If not that, then he was sad, or angry, or too busy to do anything but work away in his tower. Maybe he was catching up on vacation days or something.

Visella had been back to visit Jace and his dragon a few more times since the hatching. The little green lizard was a sassy and sweet thing. He liked to hunt Visella’s hands like Ser Whiskers when she wriggled them around on the floor. The dragon hadn’t flown yet or breathed his first flame, but she was told that was normal for a hatchling dragon. Jace was unbothered as always. He was a sleepy, calm baby. He was as big as Helaena when she was born and seemed just as healthy. Sera said that was a good sign and that he was likely to survive his infancy.

Visella hoped that neither Jace or Aemond died in the cradle. Bethny told her that happened to two of Rhaenyra’s brothers, her full brothers, by Queen Aemma. She couldn’t imagine going through that. Three of Queen Allysanne’s sons had died in the cradle as well. One of Viserys brothers…

So. It ran in the family. Either that, or medical care was even worse in this world than she thought.

“Sissy,” Aegon whined and tugged on her sleeve. “I gotta pee.”

Visella frowned and glanced around. Bethny and Sera were speaking with their kitchen maid friends by the wall. They didn’t linger so close now that they could both feed themselves. She wasn’t sure she would be able to get their attention.

Helaena was sitting by their mother to Visella’s left. Alicent was in a mood today. Visella didn’t want Aegon to be snapped at for asking to use the bathroom, which was actually a good thing, because he needed to get potty trained already.

“Good job!” She whispered back to her squirming baby bro. “Okay, I’ll make a distraction, you run to Sera and tell her. Ready?”

Aegon nodded grimly and clenched his chubby fingers as he readied himself.

Visella stood up on her cushion—raised chair and beat down the uncomfortable feeling that she got from the immediate staring. She steadied herself and then put her fists on her scrawny waist.

“Hello!” She called loudly, and everyone went dead silent to stare at her. The sound of cutlery tinkling against plates and soft laughter and chatter died a swift death. Alicent was staring at her with a slack jaw, a look of abject horror in her eyes.

This actually wasn’t as bad as she thought. It was like when she was playing one of those sports she loved in school. It wasn’t the skin-peeling gawping stares that people followed her with after her quirk started to come in. She straightened a bit more. She could do this.

“I am four now!” She held up four fingers in the air. “I want to learn to read!” Her eyes landed accusingly on Viserys along with a pointed finger. “And write! It’s super impor’ant for child development. I gotta start now, by the way, so that my brain doesn’t melt! Can you imagine that? It would be your fault! My brain melting like candles in a fire. Out of my ears! I have to start learning. To read AND to write.”

Somewhere in her rambling Aegon slipped off his chair and ran to one horrified and  flabbergasted Sera. Visella fought the grin down off her face. Ha. She did that. She kept her speech on child development and the importance of literacy going as Aegon was swept away by Sera and out of the room.

As soon as the doors closed behind them, she stopped in the middle of her sentanct and smiled.

“Okay, I’m done now,” She plopped back down in her seat and drank her fruit juice. Her throat was parched.

“Visella,” Alicent hissed. She sounded positively dismayed. Horrified. Despairing.

Bethny had nabbed her from her seat before anyone could so much as blink. She bowed and threw some excuse about tiredness and naps before practically running out of the room.

“Where is Aegon?” Viserys sounded terribly confused before the doors closed on the feast.

Chapter Text

…

A week after Visella and Aegon’s fifth nameday celebration, her little brother began training in arms.

It was shocking at first. Visella was introduced to an old woman who wore a head covering like catholic nuns back in her old world. In the Before. The old lady seemed nice. She complimented her hair and her dress. Visella complimented her back of course. She introduced herself as Septa Alla and told her that she would teach her things that princesses needed to know.

Visella had gotten her wish and learned how to read and write already. She was able to pick up a story book from the library now if she was bored out of her mind. The maester taught Aegon how to read as well, but her little brother didn’t seem to like it. He threw a tantrum halfway through nearly every lesson. It was beyond annoying. Visella had instigated nine brawls in the middle of said reading lessons as punishment for his little acts of insubordination.

Aegon wasn’t super excited about the arms training. He just stared at Ser Cole, their mother’s white-cloaked shadow, and pouted insolently. Aegon liked making her play ships and dragons every hour of the day. He did not like doing literally anything else.

“Why does he have too?” She asked Ser Cole, flabbergasted, when he insisted Aegon had to come with him to go train.

The man blinked at her. “The Prince is five now, Princess. It is part of his training to learn how to properly use weapons and train to wield them.”

Visella stared at him. To her, that sounded insane. In the Before children were kept very far away from weapons and most were strongly discouraged from going near or holding weapons. Kids are tiny and delicate and most of all: kids are really stupid. That was how Visella grew up. That was the cultural view she was used to regarding weapons and children and fighting.

“But why does he have to know how to fight?” She was baffled. Flabbergasted.

Ser Cole smiled at her again. He was one of the people who never stopped talking to her like she was a baby, unlike Sera and Bethny and a few other people. Sometimes her father spoke to her differently than he did Aegon and he expected her to understand things Aegon did not. It was nice. Being patronized 24/7 was definitely not.

“A Prince is expected to know how to wield arms and use them at least passingly. Aegon will first learn to wield a sword, and he will start out with a harmless wooden training sword. Your brother will not be in any danger, Princess, so please don’t worry.”

Visella gave her sulking brother a side-eye. She was very much worried about her brother getting hurt, was this guy kidding? He fell face-first out of his bed last week and then screamed about it into the rug with his limbs splayed out it around him on the ground for an entire hour before falling back asleep in that exact position. Aegon was adorable, but he was also stupid. Totally normal for a five-year-old little kid, but still! His stupidity should be taken into consideration regarding his… potential for learning to wield weapons, maybe.

Maybe arms training was this culture’s version of sports though. There was that big tourney that she… did not like to think about for Rhaenyra’s wedding. If she remembered correctly the crowd had been wild. They screamed and hollered for every single knight that entered the giant arena. She had seen people passing money around before every run of the jousts. It had felt a bit like watching the Super Bowl. But much bloodier.

Anyways.

“But he’s too little,” she pointed out.

Cole just chuckled. “He won’t be learning much right now, Princess. This early training will be about discipline, how to hold weapons properly, the correct stance, and horse riding skills to start.”

The man seemed to sober then. His eyes fell to the ground and he knelt down in front of her, his armor clinking together with the movement.

“I know you… saw bad things during the tourney for Princess Rhaenyra’s wedding. What happened that day was… an unfortunate accident. I swear on my honor as a Kingsguard that nothing like that will happen to your brother, Princess.”

Visella stared at him.

That’s right.

She had forgotten.

Ser Cole had been the one who killed Joffrey, the boy who had died on the field.

Before memories could take over her and images could burn themselves into her eyelids, she looked away and twisted her tiny hands together.

“I know,” She insisted. “I just thought he’d wait. Until he’s older.”

She bit her lip and frowned at Aegon.

He was an adorable, chubby, cherubic little kid. He’d grown bored of their conversation and seemed to be studying the tapestries on their wall. They still shared a room together, the same one they had since they were two, but next year they would be splitting up into different rooms. Visella was worried.

Who would wake him up when he overslept every morning? They always ate breakfast together, always, even when their mother didn’t call them to her room to share the first meal of the day with her. They had a deal: Aegon ate her milk porridge and she ate his smoked sausages. It was customary. They had a system. Every night they took a bath together and Visella always instigated a splash fight and then always won. She was the splash champion. Whenever Aegon got too bratty or started demanding things all snottily from servants, she was there to bully him into saying please and thank you, or else she threatened to throw his favorite toys out the window.

He was her baby brother.

She hadn’t had one of those in the Before.

If they weren’t twins, she knew it would have been different. They were raised side by side. They shared name days, meals, toys, a bedroom. They fought over who Mister Whiskers loved the most, but he was their cat, in the end. Visella saw Helaena and Aemond as much as she saw her mother- usually once a day for roughly an hour. That was definitely not a normal sibling or motherly relationship in Before’s standards. Aegon and her were raised like most siblings in the Before, sharing a nursery and room and toys.

Him, Bethny, and Sera were her people. Her closest… family. They were her closest family.

When did he grow up?

“Alright,” She sighed. “I guess we’ll come with you.”

She was pretty bored anyways. Maybe this would be like her soccer practice or gymnastics practice lessons when she was really little.

Set Cole opened his mouth and then closed it. “Princess,” He started. “I’m only taking Aegon. You don’t have to do arms training.”

Visella frowned at him. Huh?

“What? Why? Aegon does though?”

Ser Cole chuckled and stood up. “Yes, because he is a Prince. As a Princess you are expected to learn from your Septa how to sew, and read, and sing, and do some sums for the management of a household. You are definitely not expected to wield a weapon.”

Visella frowned even harder. She squinted at the Knight. “Well, that’s okay. I’ll still come. I’m bored.”

“Err… I’m afraid that’s not allowed, Princess. You are much too little to be handling a bow and arrow. Much less a sword.”

Visella stared at him.

“You are making Aegon do it though,” She pointed at her brother behind her.

Ser Cole opened and closed his mouth again. “Well, that’s different.”

“How?”

“The Prince must be prepared for his future. Like I said, it is expected of princes to know how to wield weapons and be able to fight at least competently.”

“Great. So then we can both come.”

“Princess…. Do you want me to fetch your mother? I’m sure she would be happy to keep you company while me and Aegon train.”

Visella stared at the sheer audacity standing before her. He seemed so taken aback. So… put-upon. Like her questioning his weird little reasons that made absolutely no sense was stupid and just annoying. It was infuriating. Why was Aegon being forced to train and she was being forced not to? What the hell?

“Yes, I want my mother.”

Her mother was no help at all.

“My love,” Alicent brushed pink curls away from her face and behind her shoulder. “Won’t you stay here and read with me? Helaena is here too, I’m sure she will love to spent time with us. All of us girls, together at once, and the boys can go do what they need to in the training yard.”

Visella scrunched her nose up indignantly. “But we can do that later! Why does Aegon have to go and I can’t go at all?”

Her mother’s face flickered with pain and something else.

Alicent was sitting on her fancy plush sofa in her solar. She was out of bed, which was more than Visella could say the last time she had seen her mother. Alicent was… small. She was thin and pale and her hair had been falling out ever since she had Daeron. Her new little brother had been really hard on the Queen.

The birth had lasted three days. Visella remembered every single one of them, and the nights staying awake wondering if her mother would still be alive when she woke up. She wasn’t allowed anywhere near the birthing chambers, but sometimes she thought she had heard the screams.

The Queen had been bedridden ever since. Even now, two moons after the birth, Alicent looked more frail than Visella had ever seen. Her collarbones were visible through her soft dress, and her wrists looked alarmingly thin. She had bags under her eyes and the once-warm, chocolate brown of her irises were now dull with exhaustion and stress. She was still recovering from birth, everyone knew, and had yet to have all of her children in her solar for breakfast again, much less resume her appearances at court.

Sometimes Visella looked at her mother and saw how young she was. Alicent was twenty-three years old and had five children. That was insane in the Before. It seemed completely normal to everyone here. If Alicent had been in the Before, she would most likely be about to graduate college or at an internship or a job. Here she was Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and had been since she was sixteen or seventeen.

“It’s okay mother,” Visella swallowed and squeezed Alicent’s hand. “I’ll just go back to bed. Mister Whiskers needs to snuggle more.”

Something like relief flashed through Alicent’s eyes. She smiled weakly and kissed her on the top of her head without a word. Visella left the room as her mother was helped to her bed by two older women and Ser Cole.

Alicent looked like she could have passed out just from standing up in that moment. Visella closed the door behind her and walked away quickly. She wasn’t running away. She wasn’t.

The Queen was fine. If she hadn’t died during the birth or in the month after it, she wouldn’t die of it now. That was how that worked, right? If you’re gonna die in childbirth it has to happen in childbirth.

Visella hoped that was how it worked.

Either way, this wasn’t something she could bother Alicent with. She couldn’t get stressed out with this stupid stuff. Alicent needed to rest and recover and… and sleep or something. Maybe eat a little bit more. Or a lot more, she looked like skin and bones. Visella was scrawny from her highly annoying stomach issues and her limited diet, but Alicent was even bonier than her. It was scary.

No, this was definitely an issue for her father.

It was just after breakfast, so court wasn’t in session yet. That took place after lunch and before supper. The King was either in a small council meeting or in his solar. Visella knew how to find one of those locations, and it also happened to be the closest option.

The King’s Apartments were at the very top floor of Maegor’s Holdfast, on the opposite side of the Queen’s Apartments. There were three Royal apartments on that top floor. Visella figured that was because Aegon the Conqueror had two Queens, but the tower was built by Maegor, who had six wives. Maybe he just ran out of room on the highest floor or maybe he had two favorite wives. Visella had no idea. Either way, Rhaenyra used one of the apartments as Heir and her mother used the other. Therefore, the King’s Solar was just down the balcony.

Ser Cole was busy fretting over her mother, as he should be, so she was able to sneak off down the hall unencumbered.

Ser Harrold was standing post outside of the King’s room, which meant the King was there. Visella grinned at the older man and raised her hand in a salute from Before. He blinked at her.

“Hello Ser, I gotta speak to the King.”

“Uh… alright then.” The Knight let the door open with pure confusion on his face.

Visella quickly shuffled into the solar and looked around with wide eyes. She had rarely been here. Never without one of the nursemaids along with her to supervise. The door closed behind her and the knight stayed outside.

Visella walked through the meeting and office-esque area and through some heavy drapes. The room behind those was where her father ate, built his Old Valyrian replica, and slept. It was his personal solar. The King was fiddling with the huge Valyrian model and peaking down at a giant, ancient-looking book every so often.

“Father,” Visella ran over to him and grabbed his baggy tunic sleeve.

The King started and gaped at her. “Visella! What are you doing here? How did you- how did you get here?”

“I walked,” Visella informed him. “I gotta speak with you though!! Listen ok?”

Viserys opened and closed his mouth several times. He glanced through the drapes as if to find Ser Herold, and then looked back at her when the man did not appear.

“Alright, then. What is it?”

Visella felt her lips and brows scrunch up in a furious frown.

“Aegon is learning the arms training today!! And Ser Cole is forcing him to but won’t let me! And that’s not fair because I’m just as smart as Aegon! And as strong! And I’m so bored all day long and there’s nothing to do in the castle and why can’t I learn how to hold a sword too? That’s so lame!!”

She was huffing and puffing by the end of her rant. Viserys put down his little figurine and brushed her curls back like everyone loved to do.

“It’s alright, calm down. Here, why don’t we sit down.”

A few minutes later they were sitting on a bouncy sofa and Viserys was sipping on some tea. “So, let me get this clear. Aegon is beginning his training today and you would like to join him?”

Visella sighed. “Yes. I’d be good at it! I promise I would. And I could help with Aegon because he gets cranky and I could make him be polite and stuff. So you should let me learn. The arms and weapons and stuff.”

Viserys frowned with a hum. Thankfully, it sounded more like an ‘I’m thinking’ hum than a ‘how stupid’ one. Visella felt hope for the first time since breakfast.

“Why do you want to learn how to fight? It isn’t a jesting matter, you know. Handling weapons is serious and can be very dangerous if not done correctly.”

Visella huffed. “I know! But I gotta protect Aegon and Helaena and Aemond and now Daeron too. And I want to run around more. I’m always cooped up in here! And if Aegon can do it I can too!”

Viserys stared at her as he sipped his tea. Visella held her breath the entire time before he huffed out a chuckle.

“You remind me of Rhaenyra, sometimes,” He admitted. “She always wanted to be a knight when she was a child. She said she wished to ride to battle and glory.”

The King smiled into his tea. He looked… sad. “I didn’t let her, of course. I believed she looked up to Daemon too much. That, and it would have been the talk of the court if I allowed my daughter to train with squires in the yard. I was just the son of the second son at one point in time, you know. I had a lot to prove.”

Visella’s eyes were wide. She had no idea. Well, obviously she knew how the succession had happened on paper, but it was different hearing Viserys talk about it.

“I refused to allow Rhaenyra to step foot in the training yard. I did, however, allow her to claim a dragon. She was seven when she became a dragonrider. Sometimes I imagine what she would be if I had not limited her so.”

Visella frowned at her hands. She knew what had happened to Rhaenyra’s mother. Queen Aemma had died in childbirth after having many children and even more lost pregnancies in the pursuit of a son. Rhaenyra had been the only one to survive. She couldn’t imagine that happening to Alicent, and she couldn’t fathom being the only one alive between all of her siblings.

“Have you given any thought to claiming a dragon?” Viserys suddenly asked. “I’m sure you would manage it easily. There are two hatchlings in the Dragonpit and more on Dragonstone that remain unclaimed. There is also Vermithor, Silverwing, and Dreamfyre, of course.”

Visella shrugged. “I dunno. I never really thought about it. Vermax is really cute I think. I want a baby dragon- like when I got Mister Whiskers. My kitty.”

Viserys laughed so hard he threw his head back. He set his tea down on the table in front of them as he laughed and chuckled helplessly.

“That sounds like a perfect plan, sweetheart. Perhaps now that there are more eggs in the Dragonpit we can secure a different one for you to attempt to hatch. Would that be fun?”

Visella blinked. “A different egg?”

“Yes,” He smiled at her. “You and your brother both had eggs placed in your cradles. They stayed there up until your first nameday, when they were returned to the Dragonpit after showing signs of… of turning to stone. The Dragonkeepers believe they are still capable of hatching, but half of them never do. After that me and your mother decided not to place any more in your younger siblings cradles. My grandfather, Jaehaerys, did the same with his younger children.”

Visella nodded. “Oh. That makes sense. Would the egg be okay if it didn’t hatch? If I did want one?”

“Of course, we would never let an egg go cold if we can help it. They are our family’s power. The Dragonkeepers would teach you how to best care for an egg, and if it ever showed signs of distress or dying, it would be taken back to the Dragonpit or Dragonstone immediately.”

That would… actually be nice. That sounded cool. If the egg hatched she could have a baby dragon. She wondered if all dragons were as cute as Vermax. They said the dragon was ill-tempered and vicious now, but she could hardly believe it. Nothing that cute could be as much of a terror as they claimed.

She wondered if she could cuddle a baby dragon at night like she did Ser Whiskers.

“That sounds nice,” She decided. “But I also wanna train still.”

The King’s lips tugged up seemingly against his will. “Haven’t forgotten about that, have you?”

Visella shook her head and raised her chin stubbornly.

He sighed dramatically and leaned back against the sofa. “Very well then, I supposed if my blessed little daughter insists on learning the art of swordsmanship, I have no choice but to allow her. As the King of this court, I give you my blessing.”

Visella whooped and jumped off the couch with her fists in the air. She ran around the little coffee table three times before stopping right in front of her father and pointing in his face.

“You won’t regret this! I’ll be the best! I pinky promise! And my baby dragon will be even cuter than Jace’s!!”

Viserys laughed again and then she had to teach him what a pinky-promise was.

…

Visella didn’t lie, she was as strong and fast and smart as her little brother. He was an inch or two taller than her and chubby as hell, but she had… other advantages. She was a wiley little fucker. Ser Cole seemed aghast at being ordered to train her at first, but he was slowly warming up to her. At least she hoped he was.

The little wooden swords they were given were heavier than she had thought they would be at first sight. She was wearing pants for the first time in her memories as Visella. She had missed them so fucking much. They were an older pair of Aegon’s that the Royal seamstress had adjusted. Her tunic was another old one of Aegon’s.

Her little brother seemed happy to see her when she joined him in training. They had to run around the training yard and hold their wooden swords in a very specific way or Ser Cole would make them stop and fix their hands and have them re-do everything. Aegon absolutely hated it. Visella loved it.

It was just like sports practices in the Before. Ser Cole was a very strict coach, but she could tell his methods worked. Both her and Aegon were getting stronger. The sword felt lighter every day. She could run more laps every week.

They practiced striking on straw dummies with the swords after months of training for an hour every single day. They had to keep their feet in specific stances and hold their sword in an even more specific way than before. Visella could have been easily bored by whacking at the dummy for an hour at a time, but feeling her arm get sore and knowing that meant she was growing muscle just make her hit the dummy harder.

It was exciting.

More time passed. Alicent began slowly recovering. Her mother left her bed more and more as her body healed. Daeron started to put on weight and the maester wasn’t as concerned for him either. While that was happening, Rhaenyra was swelling by up with her second pregnancy. This child, if it was a boy, would inherit Driftmark, an island close to Dragonstone. Apparently it was Laenor’s seat of power or what he stood to inherit from his father. Visella wasn’t too concerned about that.

Lucerys Velaryon was born a moon after Helaena turned three years old. He had the same dark hair that Jace had. Visella wasn’t too concerned about that either. She was almost glad her mother was too distracted to not rage about that. She still wasn’t super sure why that had happened the first time around. People here were weird though, so maybe it was a cultural thing that she wasn’t aware of. Maybe people here just hated dark hair.

It was quite a while after meeting with Viserys that they were taken to the Dragonpit. She says they because Aegon was brought with her at Alicent’s insistence.

The Queen had not been happy when she heard the her daughter was training with her son. Visella had received several pointed comments about it when they began their family breakfast again. She held firm though. She loved training, it was fun and easy and helped get her tired enough to sleep easier at night.

Visella knew that one of the reasons why Alicent had pushed Aegon into claiming a dragon with her was because Lucerys’ egg had hatched a mere fortnight after his birth. The King was sure that was some sort of record. It was the talk of the court for moons. That and the new Prince’s dark hair. Again, Visella did not get the craze around that. Laenor’s mother had dark hair and that was known to be a dominant trait, at least in her world. If redhead’s could pop up randomly every two generations she didn’t understand how dark hair couldn’t.

“I’m gonna claim the biggest dragon ever,” Aegon grinned at her.

Visella raised her eyebrows at him. They were sitting together in the carriage on the way to the Dragonpit. Sera and Bethny were with them, as well as Ser Lorent. Aegon had been practically climbing the walls ever since Alicent explained to him that he could claim a real life dragon.

Visella had done some thinking, and she wasn’t as confident about the situation as her brother.

Viserys seemed to think that the ability to ride, bond, and hatch a dragon stemmed from their blood. Some gene or trait passed down in the Targaryen lineage gave them the abilities they possessed. Visella was 99% confident she was not blood related to… anyone on this planet. She literally had pink hair, something no one else even had history of humans having. Viserys had hand-waved it off as a Valyrian trait lost to the histories during the Doom, but people seemed to have stopped believing that one-hundred percent now. Bethny certainly didn’t.

She did not have the genetics needed to bond with a dragon if it really did come down to blood. She wasn’t a true Targaryen. She wasn’t even really Visella.

“Vermithor is on Dragonstone,” She told her brother primly. “He’s the biggest unclaimed dragon. Besides, big dragons are annoying. They can’t fit anywhere, they aren’t stealthy at all, and they aren’t that cute either! Just scary! Small dragons are loads better. And the baby dragons are the best!”

Aegon scowled at her and crossed his arms. He was totally copying her when she had to tell him off for getting too sassy. She crossed her arms exactly like that.

“Well- well then I’ll get the cutest dragon!”

Visella rolled her eyes and pinched him. Aegon yelped but wisely didn’t immediately start screaming and whining to Sera. He was learning!

He pinched her back. They got into a pinching war. It was only when the carriage stopped and Sera and Bethny dragged them out that they ended in a draw. Next time she would come out on top.

The Dragonpit was an absolutely enormous building that leered over the city from atop Rhaenys’ hill. Visella knew that the building was not only sprawling and vast, but also incredibly deep for the largest of dragons to rest in. Some people claimed that the pit was dug even deeper than the Blackwater Bay. Visella wasn’t too sure about that, but for it to be big enough to hold Vermithor, Silverwing, and Dreamfyre at the same time, it had to be pretty massive.

Ser Lorent herded them up the stairs and inside the black brick building. An entire crowd of men and women were standing to greet them inside.

They all wore simple clothes made out of some kind of fabric Visella couldn’t name. It was a dark grey and layered in robes. They all wore big boots and thick gloves. Every single person had a long metal spear with a gleaming black tip. None of them had long hair either. Everyone was shaved like a military buzz cut, and the men were clean shaven. No facial hair.

They all bowed as one when their little royal party came to a stop in front of them. Visella felt every single Dragonkeeper turn their eyes on her as one when they rose from their bow.

“Rytsas, dārilaros hen perzys.”

The oldest man among the group spoke first. He was wrinkled and tan and sun-spotted all over. He had very dark eyes. They locked onto Visella’s with an intensity she hadn’t felt in a while.

“The master says hello,” One of the younger keepers said. She looked… less rough than the oldest. Her skin was smoother and she didn’t have any visible burn scars.

“Hello,” Visella bowed her head to the old man. It felt right.

She wasn’t expecting the old man to freeze and stare and for the other Dragonkeepers to react. She couldn’t read any of them. They were… confused? They were making her confused for damn sure, so maybe she was just hoping they were as baffled as she was.

“We have come to bond with a dragon,” Visella offered in the silence. “Me and my younger brother, Aegon. We would like to see the youngest dragons first please.”

Aegon shifted nervously as the young keeper translated her words into High Valyrian for the elders. Visella fought the urge to grab his hand. She didn’t know why, it just didn’t seem like something she should do at that moment.

“We will take you to the hatcheries,” The younger keeper finally said after a quick conversation with her elders. “They are this way. Please follow me.”

Visella lead the royal group and they walked through the black hallways of the Pit. She stared at the high torches on the walls and the tall ceilings that seemed redundant in their height. The Dragonpit was cavernous. Even the hallways seemed huge. It was lit by torchlight and torchlight alone, no candles or lamps or windows. They said that the bodies of the first round of builders lay dead beneath the stones of the Pit. The… darkness of it all made it feel as if the bones of the builders would crawl up and smother you at any second. It was almost suffocating. Especially in the silence.

And then she heard one of them. The dragons.

There were two young dragons being raised in the Dragonpit and many more on Dragonstone. They were much easier to hatch and grow on the volcanic island. It mimicked Old Valyria’s Fourteen Flames more than this hole in the middle of a city. Some maesters believed that dragons fed off of volcanos as a source of power that fueled their fire-breathing abilities. Some believed that was total rubbish because if that were the case then none of the dragons growing in Kings Landing would breathe fire at all. Visella didn’t know what to believe.

She did know that they were magnificent creatures.

Her breath was stolen from her at the sight of the two of them. One was the size of a pony and the other a big cat. The larger dragon was pure gold. Even in the flickering light of the torches his scales shone like the Queen’s finest jewelry. His wings were pale pink along with his tail fin and spine membranes. The only other pink on his being was in his eyes. They looked like pink pearls the way they shone. He was stunning.

The other dragon was a brilliant blue color. He looked cobalt everywhere except for his membranes, horns, and spikes, which were a dull copper instead. The dragon stared at them with bright red eyes that gleamed like rubies or the hottest of coals. It was barely any bigger than Ser Whiskers.

Both dragons were chained by their legs to the floor.

“Whoa,” Aegon breathed beside her.

His eyes were glued to the gold dragon in the corner of the cave. Aegon looked mesmerized.

“Try to call one to you,” The Keeper told them. “Say, māzigon naejot. It means come forward. Māzigon naejot.”

Visella nudged Aegon with her elbow. He looked at her with wide eyes. Uncertain.

“Mazigon naejot,” She repeated. “You can do it.”

Aegon gulped and drew his little self up. “M-mazigon, naejot.”

The gold dragon looked up from where it was coiled in a corner. It’s pink eyes locked on Aegon.

“Mazigon naejot!” Aegon ordered more firmly. Confidently.

Visella stared as the dragon rose off the ground and crawled forward. It had the same build as Vermax. Both of them did. They were built like wyverns with two wings and two legs.

The young dragonkeeper beside them grabbed Aegon’s shoulder. “When he approaches you, touch his nose and say dohaeras. That means serve.”

Everyone in the room watched closely as the prince said the word exactly. The dragon sniffed his hand as thoroughly as Ser Whiskers smelling meat on them after they had their lunch.

Everyone seemed frozen. Visella saw the young dragonkeeper clench her spear in a white-knuckled grip and shift her hold on Aegon’s shoulder. Her eyes stayed on the gold dragon the entire time. Never once did she look away.

She was ready for the dragon to attack, Visella realized.

“Sunfyre,” Aegon grinned suddenly, cutting through the choking silence. “He looks like Sunfyre, doesn’t he sissy?”

She smiled at him and ribbed him with her elbow excitedly. “He does!! That’s a perfect name!! You little genius, you’ve been holding out on me!”

The keepers seemed to start breathing again all as one. Visella laughed as Aegon preened. He held the dragon’s muzzle in his tiny hands and petted over his shiny snout over and over again.

“Sunfyre is indeed an excellent name, my Prince,” The Keeper agreed with a small smile. She let go of his shoulder and loosened her spear. “He is too small to ride yet, but he will be someday. A worthy beast for a prince.”

The keepers nodded and mumbled together in High Valyrian.

Visella grinned and looked back at the snuffling gold dragon. He was staring at Aegon with single-minded intensity and letting his tiny, clumsy hands pet his face all over. The Keepers seemed to approve of it.

Visella heard a chirping sound, like a cat begging for food, and the Dragon’s head whipped around to her.

She started along with everyone else. It was just her, Aegon, and the many Dragonkeepers in the cave, both of their nursemaids and their Kingsguard were waiting outside. The keepers claimed it wouldn’t have been safe for them to come in. Visella understood why when she stared down a focused dragon.

It moved forward and sniffed her face so close they were an inch away. Aegon stumbled and then was yanked back with a yelp. The keepers moved almost as one as they surrounded the dragon with raised spears.

“Gīda ilagon Sunfyre!” They called firmly from all directions. “Dohaeras! Dohaeras!”

“Mazigon!” Aegon yelled from behind several keepers. “Mazigon! Sunfyre!”

The dragon only had eyes for her. Visella felt her heart in her throat as they stared at each other. She felt frozen. Breathless.

He really was beautiful.

And breathing fire at her face.

Brilliant.

She squinted through the flames and fought the urge to whack his nose away. It was golden fire. As pretty as he was. She heard screams and clamoring and the sound of a door opening and spears hitting the ground and something else. Then the fire stopped and the dragon finally closed his mouth.

Sunfyre seemed to jump in place when he saw he still standing there. Like a startled cat. He blinked several times and tilted his head like a predator and a confused puppy at the same time. Visella frowned at him.

“That was rude,” She pointed at his face.

Looking down at the damage was worse than she thought. Her plain dress was burning on her as she spoke. Visella fought the despair trying to make her look up at the heavens and sigh in despair. She didn’t even do anything.

Of course Aegon would have a sassy dragon. Of course.

“I liked this dress,” She complained. “That was so dramatic.” She felt like crying.

Someone poured a bucket of water on her from behind. It was gentle, not a frantic throw, but Visella still jumped and whirled around.

The old man blinked at her. His eyes were wide. They weren’t black, she realized suddenly, they were a very, very dark purple.

He bowed his head and poured water of her burning dress. Visella grabbed the tatters to her chest in an effort to cover up. She was suddenly reminded of how many people were in the room.

And. Oh. Fuck. They were all staring at her.

The last of the fire died on her dress with the last drops from the bucket. The old man wordlessly took off his cape and swung it around her shoulders with trembling hands. He tucked her in and smoothed his hands over her boney shoulders.

“Iksan olvie biare naejot rhaenagon ao, dārilaros hen perzys. Nyke ūndegon īlis daor pirtra. Eman issare irūdy tubī.”

He bowed his head at her. Visella felt the dragon at her back snuffling around her messed-up hair.

“Sissy!” Aegon shouted as she broke free of the keepers holding him back. “You got fired on! Sunfyre, bad dragon!”

Visella laughed at him and pinched his cheeks. She ignored his whining and Sunfyre’s insulted grumbling and tilted his head back and forth.

“Keep your dragon under control you Egg! What if he had attacked you, huh? And me! My dress is gone! This is all your fault!”

He whined but let her keep pinching his cheeks. His hands squeezed at her wrists and she let them. He had been scared. She could tell.

What had even set the dragon off? That was so fucking annoying.

And embarrassing. She was almost stripped naked in front of a group of strangers. This was why she hated her quirk. (Sometimes- why she sometimes hated her quirk.)

Aegon was declared to have claimed Sunfyre as his own. He was told that he would have to come back to the Dragonpit to learn how to handle and control and someday ride his mount. Twice a week for now, they said. Aegon nodded enthusiastically all the while.

Visella tried to approach the little blue dragon, but it spat and hissed and got a good fire shot at her face no matter what she did. She finally called it when her new cloak almost caught on fire. The blue beast wasn’t for her.

She was almost completely convinced she did not have the ability to bond with one of these.

Aegon had done it so… naturally. She hadn’t even known what was going on. A few commands followed and pets given and the Keepers had confirmed that Sunfyre had been claimed. It seemed so simple.

They took them out of the room and Aegon whined the entire time about leaving his new dragon. Sera and Bethny gasped over her when they saw the state of her dress and gaped when she explained Aegon’s dragon tried to kill her. She even pointed at her little brother accusingly while she explained. Aegon looked at the ceiling with a bored look on his face the whole time.

Bethny brushed her scarred hands over her hair and stared at her.

“Dragonfire too, huh?” Her caretaker whispered. Visella avoided looking at her.

She was given eggs to choose from in the next room. The nursemaids and Kingsguard were not allowed inside the dragon nursery either.

Five eggs sat in their own blazing-hot cradles of coal and fire. Visella stared at each of them. Two were not hers to claim, they were laid by Syrax, not Dreamfyre, and theirfore belonged to Rhaenyra. At least, that was what Viserys had decreed. Jaehaerys had treated every egg and dragon his to command and oversee, but Viserys had taken a different approach with both his brother and his daughter. The three other eggs were the King’s property as Dreamfyre was unclaimed. Two of the eggs had been given to her and Aegon as infants and neither had hatched for them.

The one remaining egg was black. Pure, unblemished, black. Visella picked it out of the brazier with her bare hands. She knew it was still hot, she could feel that, but it didn’t hurt. She turned the egg over in her hands.

She didn’t feel anything. She wondered if she should.

“I chose this one,” She decided.

…

Chapter Text

…

It was dark in the hospital.

She felt naked in the paper gown. She didn’t have any underwear. Her feet were cold without any socks. It took her a while to fight off the drugs in her system. They had pumped her full of them to keep her from fighting or escaping. She was handcuffed to a shitty little bed and had kicked off the thin sheets trying to get out.

She missed her mom and dad.

They had to be looking for her. She was their only child, their only family. It had all happened so fast. She was on her way to school, someone would notice she never showed up and call her parents and they would be looking for her.

They would be.

The tiny window in her room had metal bars across it that were bolted into the wall. Normally she would make a shitty reference to Harry Potter, but she wasn’t in the mood at the moment. She was so tired.

Her mom was strong. Her dad was too. Whoever had taken her wouldn’t stand a chance. Even if he was stronger than them the police had to be coming as well. She had only seen two people in this huge, empty, dark building, a weakling doctor and a man with scars all over his face and tubes in his neck. He breathed through those tubes. If she ripped one out she could kill him and escape. He had gotten the drop on her, but as soon as she was out of these handcuffs she would be able to use her quirk again and end his worthless life. They were the same suppressing cuffs the police and heroes and military used to capture villains.

She just had to get out of here.

Her mom and dad were on their way already, and she had to get back to school. She was joining the track and field team. It would look good on her transcript, and running could be fun. She would be a junior next year. She had to worry about colleges and universities soon.

And she would. Because she was going to get out of here and her parents were on their way.

Her wrists were bloody when she looked down at them. She yanked her hands up and tried to wriggle them out once again. She’d been at it all day. Her skin was sloughing off, she realized.

“Hello!”

She looked up and the doctor was standing in the doorway.

“Shut up,” she slurred. “I’ll fucking kill you.”

He just laughed and rummaged with some papers he had in his hands as he took a seat on the stool beside her bed.

“I see the new sedatives are working better. Oh- oh no, that’s not good, is it?”

He took her arm and she yanked it away. He just grabbed her again even tighter. She was too weak to do anything but roll her head away from him and bite her lip. She tasted blood. Better than sobbing in front of him.

“I’ll kill you,” She whispered.

He tutted. “You can’t keep hurting yourself. The process we have planned for you will be painful enough, save yourself some pleasant time to remember for the hardship to come. It will be difficult, I won’t lie, but you’ll be even better than you could ever have achieved naturally! Master has great plans, oh, it’s more than I ever could have possibly imagined!”

The man did this a lot. Rambled. He was scrawny and short and young for a doctor, but he introduced himself as one, had a white lab coat, and wore shitty glasses. What glances at his papers she had peaked at told her his handwriting was illegible enough to graduate med school. Doctors had to have shitty handwriting to graduate, that’s what her friend told her in middle school.

“I mean, you must be our best prospect for this branch. In the states, I mean. We usually operate in Japan, and they have their own doctor, a bit of an old-timer if you ask me. Still, I have to prove myself before I can make those opinions known to Master. I never imagined he would bring me someone as exceptional as you for my first project! Well, I say first project, but I’ve been practicing of course. Don’t you fret about any worries over inexperience. The other Zeros are in the basement right now until I complete the final tests. After that, we can finally get started!”

As he spoke he wrapped up her wrists in white gauze. He tucked it under the little space between her skin and the thick metal cuffs as if to give her some cushion. She wondered if she would bleed out if she kept trying to escape. She wondered if she wanted to.

No. Her parents were coming. They were, along with the police, and she’d go home and see her mom and dad and go back to school and get into the track team and see her friends again.

They were coming.

“How long,” She mumbled, staring at the floor. “Been here.”

The doctor seemed to start, as if he wasn’t expecting her to speak.

“Oh! It’s been sixteen days now, HjsHab !”

She couldn’t remember what he called her at the end, but she knew it used to be her name. What was her name? She couldn’t remember.

“Sixteen.”

That was a long time. Over two weeks. She knew that the longer it took to solve a kidnapping case the less likely it was that the victim would be found. After remembering that little fact she vehemently destroyed it in her brain.

Her parents were coming for her. She knew they were.

“Now, since we can begin Phase One in about a week, I think I’m ready to begin the first rounds of Preqiac. Here, let me just get it in the syringe, and-“

Visella woke up screaming.

Her heart was racing in her chest and pounding in her ears. Her hair was plastered to her face and her skin was sticky from sweat. She was gasping for breath and scrambling back on her bed.

Then she blinked at the little boy starting up the fireplace across from her. He was staring at her in abject horror.

If she still shared a room with Aegon he would have been yelling at her for scaring him awake by now. Sera or Bethny would be in the little room attached to this one and would already be at her side by now. Instead there was a terrified stranger frozen on the floor with a lit match burning between his fingers.

Visella gasped for breath one more time and threw the covers over her head. She curled up into a tiny ball and squeezed her eyes closed.

What the hell was that dream .

Nightmares had never looked like that before. Not to her. Not to Visella.

She heard the little boy hiss and something tiny pinged off of little logs of cut wood. The giant fireplace lit up and filled the room with the smell of fresh-cut wood and smoke. She loved and hated that smell.

The little boy scrambled out of her room with a quiet pattering sound of his feet on the stone floors.

Visella took several moments to wipe the tears and sweat off of her face before she braved the world beyond her covers again. She slid out of her bed and wriggled her toes against the soft rug that her big bed was surrounded by. She didn’t have a children’s bed any more. The room was bigger too. There was enough space for a room divider to separate her sleeping area and her sitting area, which was new. She had a sofa. Two sofas, actually.

Her mother told her that this would be her room until she wed. Visella had made a face at her for that. She didn’t want to think about getting hitched, she had just turned six a few months ago. She did want to think about how she would decorate her new big-girl room though. She decided on white and blue as her bedding and canopy and drapes and sofa. All the big stuff. The walls were already a natural reddish-brown color of the stone they were built with and the floor and ceiling were white stone. There were old tapestries and new paintings that covered up most of the walls. She had two big windows, one in her sleeping area and one on her sitting area. The one near her bed had a really nice plush settee that she could curl up in and stare out of at the city.

She liked her room. That was something she wanted to think about. Not whatever freaky nightmare that was.

“Hello, Princess,” Bethny smiled as she walked in the room.

Visella gasped excitedly and ran over to her friend. “Bethny! Hi!” She tackled her waist in a hug.

The woman laughed and her crows feet grew. Visella loved her eyes. They were always laughing, it seemed, always happy. Even when she was rolling them at Sera.

“I hear you scared off a little servant,” Bethny brushed her wild bedhead down as if she could force the hair into place.

Visella pouted and crossed her arms. “That’s not true. I just- I just had a bad dream.”

It was harder to admit than she thought it should have been. The words almost had to be forced out of her throat.

Bethny knelt in front of her and took her little hands into her own.

“Oh, that sounds frightening. What happened in it? Do you want to talk about it?”

Visella swallowed and looked down at the floor between their feet. She shook her head.

Bethny sighed and smiled anyways. “That’s alright, Princess. I just ran into Will on the way here and figured I should come check on you. I haven’t seen you in a while. It seems like forever.”

Will. That was the little boy’s name. He had black hair and dark eyes.

“I miss you too,” Visella wrapped her scrawny arms around Bethny’s neck.

“Aww.” Bethny squeezed her back hard enough to make her squeak and giggle helplessly.

“Can’t you- can’t you still stay here?” Visella clutched at her apron. “You can’t be a nursemaid again, I heard Mother say it, so you can stay here and be mine forever!”

Bethny blinked at her before laughing. “I don’t believe that would be- appropriate, Princess. I am the daughter of a steward, common born, and was only given the position because no one had realized your mother had two little children in her belly instead of one. They had to find another lady quick! I just happened to be in the right place at the right time.”

Visella frowned, dismayed, before nodding vigorously. “Yeah! And you should stay here, in this right place. You’re so smart, Bethny,” She patted her shoulders and kept nodding. “You’re right, you should stay and be here for me forever and ever. I’ll tell mother.”

Bethny laughed so hard she threw her head back. Visella smiled innocently. The older woman picked her up with a swing and plopped her on her hip like old times before walking over to the bowl of fresh water by her bed.

“You’re so clever,” Bethny wiped her face with a rag and ignored her scrunched-nose and annoyed glare. “Too clever for your own good sometimes. How about this, I’ll come and visit you… one time a week. We can read or play or I can teach you how to sew. Does that sound good?”

Visella scowled and Bethny grabbed the brush on the table and got to work on the rats-nest on her head. “Five times a week.”

Bethny scoffed. “Three times. I have duties, Princess.”

Her only duty should be being with Visella, but she didn’t say that out loud. Bethny had two preteen kids and her husband had died five years ago. She had a whole life outside of Maegor’s Holdfast. A whole family.

“Four times, and I’ll learn to sew,” Visella sighed gravely.

She had tried to copy Sera two years ago when one of her sewing projects had been left out in the nursery. She ended up stabbing her finger with the needle and screamed her tiny head off when it was stuck in her skin standing straight up. She had been so freaked out Bethny ended up pulling the steel needle out and then laughing hysterically when Visella told her it touched her bone. She had totally been serious though, it definitely had.

She was traumatized. But if it was a condition of Bethny’s then sacrifices would be made.

Bethny chuckled traitorously beside her and Visella heroically held herself back from pinching her. “Very well then, four days a week. You’ll learn to sew and be nice to Septa Alla.”

Eww. The nun had seemed nice at first, but then she gave her the most boring, dryest, sleep-inducing book to ever exist and told her to memorize it. Who had time for that? Not this princess.

“Ugh. Eww.”

Bethny laughed again.

A week later Visella saw Will again.

He was in her room when she returned from her lessons with Septa Alla. That day they had been covering history, specifically the Stormland’s history. It was boring and awful and terrible but Septa Alla never fussed at her very harshly. She let her take breaks and praised her for answering her questions correctly. Visella had a theory that Septa Alla had worked with a lot of children in her lifetime.

Still, she felt like her brain was dripping out of her ears and she didn’t have training with Ser Criston today. Her afternoon was free. She dragged herself back to her room only to find someone holding her dragon egg by the fireplace.

Will went whiter than a ghost and almost dropped the egg on the stone floor. Visella gaped as he barely managed to catch it against his legs, inches away from cracking. The little boy looked up like he was seeing death itself as their eyes met. Visella felt like a loading computer. She had no idea what she was seeing.

“Uh,” She said stupidly.

Will said nothing. He looked frozen, petrified, like he was having a heart attack in his brain.

She shut the door behind her and approached him slowly.

“Are you okay?” She frowned.

Will opened and closed his mouth like a fish out of water. His eyes were so wide she was worried they were going to pop out of his head. He was clutching the egg like a lifeline.

“It’s alright,” Visella lifted her hands awkwardly. “I won’t tell anyone, uh, if you’re worried about that.”

He remained frozen a second longer before bursting into tears.

“Please don’t hang me,” He sobbed. “I-I-I’m sorry!!!”

Visella gaped some more before waving her hands in between them. “Whoa! It’s alright, I promise! I’m sorry, I scared you, it’s alright! I promise! Here, let’s put this in the fire and-“

She tucked the egg in the pile of logs and quickly turned back at the sobbing little kid. He was staring at her again and his wails had turned into gasps of breath. He stared at her hands.

“I’m sorry!” He wailed again.

“It’s okay! I promise, nothing’s- nothing will happen to you, yeah? Here, let’s go over here.”

She grabbed his hand and tugged him gently behind the room divider. He gasped for breath wetly and sobbed and wiped at his eyes. Visella gently sat him down on the settee at the foot of her bed before sitting down beside him.

“Nothing’s the matter, see? All good. I promise. Are you okay?” She patted his shoulders insistently.

Will sniffled and blinked at her tearfully. “You- you aren’t angry?”

She shook her head vigorously back and forth. “No! No, I’m not angry, I swear! Dragon egg’s are really cool, anyone would want to look at one, yeah? I can’t be mad at you for that!”

That was what she was guessing he was so upset about. She could see his logic. Someone else could have accused him of trying to steal the dragon egg, or gone off on him for almost dropping it. Visella was just glad it hadn’t cracked and been something she would have had to explain to Alicent and Viserys and then probably the Dragonkeepers on top of that.

“You won’t hang me?” Will whimpered.

“No!! I will definitely not hang you. I promise!! Here,” she grabbed his hand and pulled out his pinky before twisting hers around it. “Pinky promise, alright? That’s a vow. I pinky promise I will not hang you or let anyone else hang you.”

Will stared at their locked pinkies before blushing bright red.

“Okay,” he whispered. “Thank you.”

Visella grinned.

“Want some jerky?”

She grabbed the top-secret jar of delicious smoked jerky out from under her bed before he could finish his refusal. The cook had made them just for her. They were spicy but not too hot, and tough on the outside but chewy in the inside. They were delicious. She loved eating one of the slices right before she went to sleep.

“Here,” she passed him one and tore into another one.

He eyed her nervously and licked his lips when he looked at the meat.

“It’s really good!” She was already done with her piece. She stuffed another one in her mouth.

Will looked at her one more time before gobbling it down in three bites. His eyes widened in wonder as he ate.

“So much spice!”

Visella laughed. “I know, right? It’s perfect. Here, have another one.”

It turns out giving little kids food makes them like you a lot. Will smiled at her and giggled at her jokes and they ate the entire jar of jerky together.

“Bethny told me your name is Will. How do you know her?”

Will kicked his legs in the air happily. “She’s friends with my mum. She works in the kitchens. My mum does. She’s one of the helper cooks.”

Visella nodded. “That’s neat. Do you have a job yet? I remember you lighting the fireplace for me that morning. Do you do that for everyone?”

He blushed and squirmed on the plush seat. “Sometimes I do. I wake up early like my mum and sometimes the maids get sick or something. My mum tells me to do stuff then. I’m good at lighting fireplaces and I’m good at not waking people up.”

“That’s cool. You must be really quiet to not wake people up. Like, sneaky and stuff.”

Will preened. “I am.”

Visella grinned. How awesome.

“Here, let me show you my dragon egg for real. It’s super pretty.”

Will happily let her drag him back into the sitting room and they plopped down in front of the fire. The egg was as hot as the flames at that point so Visella was careful not to let it touch her dress as she picked it up.

“Be careful, it’s super hot.”

Will nodded with wonderous, wide eyes. He wriggled forward but kept his hands on his lap.

“I picked it since it’s black, like my kitty cat,” she explained. “He has white paws and belly too but maybe this egg with have a dragon like that too. I don’t know where he is right now. My cat, I mean. He sneaks away sometimes and brings back rats! It’s crazy. I hope baby dragons don’t do that.”

“The hounds will go after chickens when they’re young,” Will told her. “My cousin works with the kennel master. He says the pups will go after anything.”

Visella nodded sagely. “That makes sense. Puppies are rambunctious.”

Will slowly mouthed rambunctious as Visella tested how hot the egg was.

“Alright, I bet you can hold it now.”

Will squeaked as she plopped the egg in his lap. His hands cupped it protectively and they didn’t flinch away, so she figured it wasn’t burning him.

“It’s warm!”

Visella laughed. “Yeah. It was in there,” she pointed at the fire.

“It’s so pretty.”

Visella preened.

Of course Septa Alla had to come in at that very moment.

“Princess- who is that?”

Visella stared at the old lady. The old lady stared back. Will gaped at the septa will mounting dread and terror visibly overtaking his face.

“This is Will,” Visella waved at him.

No one spoke.

“I was showing him my dragon egg.”

Septa Alla opened and closed her mouth. “How did you get in here!?” She snapped.

Visella stood up and clenched her fists. “He was just doing his job! He lights the fireplace. I gave him my egg to look at.”

“Princess,” the septa quivered, her hands on her giant star necklace. “This boy is some scullions get, and you are a princess! The daughter of His Grace! The Dragonblood! You! Get out this instant!”

Will scramble up as Visella yelled in outrage. He placed the egg in its brazier before literally running out the door as fast as he possibly could.

Visella stared at the septa. She slammed the door behind Will with a glare.

“What is wrong with you?!” She screamed. “Why would you do that?!”

Septa Alla rose up in indignant fury. “Princess! See reason, it is undignified and terribly uncouth for a boy of low-station to be- be frolicking with a princess! He could have made the wrong impression! What if he thinks making companions with his betters is accepted, hm? If anyone else had come in, and seen him hold that egg, they would have flogged him through the streets!”

Septa Alla grabbed her shoulders tightly and Visella felt tears well up in her eyes traitorously. Would that really have happened? But she promised him no one would hurt him, and she was the one who put the egg in his lap, it was all her fault.

“He didn’t do anything wrong!!”

Septa Alla kneeled in front of her with a sigh. “Oh, sweetling, I know you think it so. But you mustn’t ever encourage him to sit with you or speak with you or ever, ever lay a finger on a dragon egg again, do you hear me? I am trying to help him as much as I am you.”

Visella swallowed thickly and stared at the floor. She had- she hadn’t meant for all of this to happen. She had just mean trying to comfort him and then they were getting along and- and she thought maybe she was making a friend. She didn’t have any of those. Aegon and Helaena didn’t count, they were her siblings. Her little siblings at that. Will looked a year older than her.

“We were just talking.”

Septa Alla breathed through her nose once and then brushed her hands over her hair. Her new handmaid, her first one ever, had done half of it up in a braid. The rest curled and waved around her shoulders.

“I know. But that is not allowed, Visella. It must never happen again, do you hear me? Never.”

Visella blinked away and clenched her jaw. She didn’t nod, agree, or make a sound. Septa Alla sighed in relief as if she had and stood up with a pop of her knees. She smoothed her hair again and smiled wearily.

“Thank you. Here, let me take you to the library, okay? We can study more of House Targaryen today.”

Visella shut up and followed her.

She never agreed though.

She hadn’t said a damn word.

———-(-)———-

“What?”

Visella had to have misheard. She had to have. Her mother bit her lip and picked at her hands in her lap.

Alicent was up today. She had been at court all day for the first time in a long while. Before Daeron was born. She wondered if the Queen felt she had to show a strong front or something. Prince Jacaerys had turned three namedays old yesterday and there had been two entire weeks of celebration thrown by the King. A huge tourney had been ordered in the prince’s honor. Visella heard one Lady say it was even more grand than Prince Aegon and her own second nameday celebration.

Her mother had worn green the entire fortnight. Visella really missed her blue gowns.

Now her mother sat her down in the Queen’s solar. They were sitting beside each other on her plush sofa. The fireplace was roaring with life several feet away.

She stared at her mother. Her mother stared back.

“What?” She repeated stupidly.

Alicent sighed through her nose shakily.

“Princess Rhaenyra has proposed a betrothal between you and Prince Jacaerys. She has brought it to the King. He is- is highly favorable to the match.”

Visella kept staring. It had to be a joke. Someone was pranking her. Any second now cameras would pop out of thin air and- and this entire life would be some sick dream. This was all just a stupid vivid dream and this was the final joke. The punchline.

“Jace is my nephew,” she reminded her mother.

Alicent blinked at her. “Yes. That- you needn’t be concerned about that, sweetling. The Seven supports such marriages, as well as cousin-couples. I am not worried about that. It is- it is her son’s manner I am concerned about. His birthright. Rhaenyra may ignore the truth if that is what she wishes. Her sons are bastards. Their simple appearance is the damnanation she refused to admit to. I will not have you-“

“What?” Visella shakes her head, confounded. “What are you talking about? Bastards- you mean they aren’t Ser Laenor’s children? Because of their hair- I don’t- mother, I am six! Jace is three! We can’t get married!!”

This was crazy. This was insane.

“He is a bastard!” Her mother shouted suddenly. Visella flinched just from surprise. “Just like his brother and just like any other children that whore begets!! I will not have them chain you to cursed children born of lust and shame!! I care not for the court’s belligerence and Viserys’ ignorance!! You are my daughter, and you will not marry that bastard!!”

Visella gaped at her. Her mother grabbed her shoulder and shook her. Her brown eyes were alight with a furious spark.

“Listen to me, daughter. You must refuse. Your father and Rhaenyra will manipulate you. They will try to sway you over. You must refuse!! Rhaenyra’s dishonor had bled into her son, as is the realty of bastardy!! To even dare to claim you for her lowborn son, a princess! A blessed child! I won’t have it- you must refuse!!!”

“Okay!” Visella screamed, trying to fight her mother’s hands off of her.

“Okay! I’ll refuse, get off of me!!”

Her mother carefully leaned back. Her hands went back to furiously ripping her cuticles open. She stared at Visella with a blank gaze. It was jarring, how quickly she went from infuriated and shaking with emotion to this blank-faced lady.

Visella breathed heavily. They stared at each other. Visella was still reeling.

Rhaenyra wanted her to marry her oldest son. Jace would be King after Rhaenyra. She would be Queen. Visella couldn’t think of anything more sickening.

She’d watched her mother be Queen, after all, and Alicent always seemed some degree of miserable.

But there was also the relative side of things. Visella was his aunt. He was her nephew. That was- that was disgusting to think about. She knew, logically, that they were more like cousins. At least in terms of their relationship. They were closer in age than any aunt and nephew had a right to be. He had just turned three and she would be seven in a month. A difference of four years. Jace was older than Daeron, her brother.

It wasn’t the blood-related side of things, per se. Visella had no doubt that she wasn’t blood-related to anyone here. Not even the Queen in front of her, who had given birth to her with her own body. The egg she had taken to claim had not hatched. Visella doubted it ever would. Both Jace and Luke’s eggs hatched very quickly and they had been newborns. Visella has had the black egg for over a year now and it was still unhatched. The only consolation she had was that the Dragonkeepers were sure it was alive and well in her care and not at risk of going cold and dying. Still, she was sure it wouldn’t hatch for her. Even if it ever did she doubted it would be to a Targaryen gene she did not posses.

She was not blood related to Jace or her siblings or her parents. Not really. But they were still family, and marrying family was disgusting to her.

“He’s a baby?”

That too. That was very important. Jace was three and she hadn’t turned seven yet. How on earth were they thinking about them getting married?

Alicent huffed loudly. “It is normal to discuss betrothals at a young age for Royals. You are the highest-born lady of the realm.” Alicent grabbed her hands suddenly and stared her dead in the eye. “You are the Dragonblood, blessed by the gods, my beloved daughter. You are the dragon of the King’s eye. You are his pride and the proof of the Targaryen Dynasty’s might, their power, their favor from the gods. You are more than a thing to be sold to some bastard of a whore.”

Visella recoiled. She was frightened.

“Don’t say that,” she whispered.

Alicent frowned at her. “What? Whore? Bastard? I speak the truth! I am allowed to speak the truth to my own daughter!”

Visella felt like she was going to cry.

“If Jace is a bastard because of his hair, then so am I!!!” She screamed. She ripped her hands away from her mother and jumped off the sofa.

Alicent gaped at her.

“What?” The Queen whispered. “No. NO! Visella, you are the image of the Valyrian’s of old!! You are more Targaryen than any before you!”

“No I’m not!!” She screamed back. “I’m just a random person and I’m not even supposed to be here! I don’t look like you or father! I don’t look like anyone here! I’m not even a real prince-“

She reeled from the force of the slap.

Her hand came up to her cheek and she turned to stare at her mother again. She was stunned. The pain hadn’t set in yet, her face was just numb. It hadn’t been a hard slap. It would likely just redden and then fade. But it was shocking. Frightening. Her mother had pinched and pulled and shouted before, but she had never, never , hit her or her siblings.

“ Don’t you ever speak such things again ,” the Queen whispered, her eyes bright with emotion. “I gave birth to five trueborn children of House Targaryen. I did my duty. I am a faithful and dutiful Queen. I am a faithful wife. I am a highborn Lady of House Hightower. I will not have you speak of such- such dishonor again. Do you hear me? Never again.”

Visella swallowed past the lump in her throat. Tears clogged her vision.

“Okay,” she whispered into the dead-silent room.

Never again.

Alicent breathed shakily and straightened in her seat. She smoothed her green- always green- gown and stood with a single smooth movement.

“I am fighting for you, Visella,” the Queen said stonily. “I will keep you from that- that grasping Princess and her lowly sons. You will refuse to accept any offers your father or sister attempt to bribe you with. They will offer you the tittle of Queen. You do not need that boy to be one. Even if you did accept such a match, any children with that boy would be stained by his lowly blood and cursed, as he is. Bastards are forsaken in the eyes of the Seven, and must seek Their Holy Grace to redeem themselves in their eyes. To grasp and steal what is a trueborn heir’s right is to steal from the gods and from men. Your septa has no doubt taught you this already, but you must remember this Visella. You will not wed Jacaerys.”

Visella had nothing to say to that.

She didn’t want to marry her family. She also did not think that Jace was… was cursed? Or tainted? Even if his blood father wasn’t Laenor, she didn’t really care about that. What right did she have to judge him on his blood? His mother was still Rhaenyra. Visella didn’t even belong in this world.

“Okay,” she looked at the ground and the tears finally fell from her eyes.

Her mother escorted her back to her room and kissed her goodnight. Visella flinched away from her and sobbed into her pillow for hours until she finally fell asleep.

The next morning she was prepared to visit her father in his private Solar.

Septa Alla woke her up and helped her get dressed with her handmaiden, Kaya. They put her in her prettiest gown, a creamy, pearl-colored, silk dress that made her hair look even more pink and her eyes an even brighter blue. It had puffy white sleeves that just covered her shoulders that she liked. Kaya braided the top half of her curls back and let the plait fall over the rest of her hair. It was long now, just an inch or two away from reaching her elbows. She liked her hair. Even when it caused her so much trouble here.

It was the only thing she had left of her mom. She gave her this hair. Her dad gave her these eyes she had. This- her appearance, was her proof of their existence. The life she remembered was real. It had happened. Her mom and dad were real and they had loved her and raised her and she loved them. She looked like them.

She felt like running away and hiding forever on the way to the King’s Apartments.

“Chin up,” Septa Alla whispered when they stopped at the door. Visella stared at her.

The King’s door opened and Visella walked in alone.

“Sweetheart,” her father beamed at her and opened his arms.

Visella did not run towards him like she usually would. She looked from her father to her older sister. Back and forth. They were sitting on separate sofa’s and had their own tea’s poured in front of them. A tall, tiered plate of sweets was on the little table as well. The fire crackled away in front of them.

“Hello,” Visella finally said.

The King’s smile faltered for a moment before he chuckled. “Here, come sit, yes?”

Visella let them shuffle her in the seat between them. She sat stiffly with her hands in her lap. Her father kept up a constant stream of talk as he poured her tea himself and put several pastries on a little plate for her.

Visella couldn’t eat any of the pastries, she didn’t think. They were all the custard kind. They all had dairy.

“Sister,” Rhaenyra said warmly. Visella blinked at her.

“How have you fared?” Rhaenyra asked. They regarded each other awkwardly.

“Good.”

Rhaenyra nodded. “Ah. That is- good to hear.”

Viserys watched them and then smiled. “Did you enjoy the tourney, Visella? Jacaerys seemed very pleased with the celebrations.”

Visella did not think that was true. Jace was three. He spent more time sitting in a corner playing with his nursemaids than watching the tourney.

“It was very grand,” she finally said.

Viserys and Rhaenyra smiled as if that was exactly what they wanted to hear.

“My son will someday be King,” Rhaenyra said proudly. “I am glad that my father threw such a grand celebration for him. Jace will no doubt be a great warrior one day, and perhaps he will join the jousting someday himself.”

Visella stared at her. Jace seemed super dragon-obsessed to her. He was like Aegon in that. They were both simps for their dragons and never looked much at their toy swords.

“Yeah.”

Rhaenyra looked at her dress. “Your dress is very beautiful, sister. Do you sew?”

Visella shrugged. “I know how to. I hate it though.”

That seemed to stump Rhaenyra for a moment. Then she smiled. “I never much liked sewing or embroidery either. I wished to ride and hunt and fight, like my uncle did.”

Viserys chuckled. “Yes, you always did toddle after Daemon, whenever he deemed court suited his presence.”

Rhaenyra rolled her eyes and sipped her tea. Viserys looked both annoyed and fondly amused.

They both seemed happy to sit in silence for a moment before Viserys spoke again.

“Are you close with Jacaerys?” He smiled at her. “I know you visited him when he was born. Several times, I believe.”

Visella shrugged again. “He’s a baby.”

The smiled dropped from both of their faces.

“He’s a cute baby,” she offered, awkward. “But he’s a baby. Like Aemond.”

“Yes,” Viserys snorted. “But he’s will grow. You were as small as he is, years ago.” He said it as if expecting her to gasp and demand if that was true.

Visella gave him a funny look.

“Yeah, I know.”

Another awkward pause.

“Visella,” Rhaenyra suddenly took her hands in hers. “I know that I have- not been very close with you. I am afraid I am too old to be the sister to you that I wanted to be. Still, I have a place in my heart for you. I hope you feel the same to me.”

Visella glanced at the fire before she nodded. She didn’t dislike Rhaenyra. She didn’t know her very well, if at all, but they were family.

Rhaenyra smiled happily at her and squeezed her hands. “That makes me very happy.”

She glanced at her father, the King. Viserys nodded at Rhaenyra with a little smile.

“I know you feel the same with my son, Jacaerys,” she continued. “It pleases me to see you two grow close. You are very kind to him. You have always been, even when he was even more of a baby.”

Visella laughed at Rhaenyra’s mischievous smile and that last little comment. He had been a tiny thing, once. Still in his larval stage when she saw him for the first time.

“My son will be King, Visella. After my reign Jacaerys will inherit the Iron Throne and rule the Seven Kingdoms, just as our father is doing now. However, like our father, Jace will need a Queen.”

Visella breathed in and breathed out. Rhaenyra smiled at her.

“Your mother is my father’s Queen. My mother was Queen before her. Jace will need someone like our mothers. I see how close you are and how kind and sweet you are. You would make a fine Queen. I wish to give you that, and all you would have to do is marry my Jace.”

Visella breathed out. She looked at the fire in front of her, across the sweets she couldn’t eat and the tea she kind of liked. The two adults beside her seemed to be holding their breath as they stared at her.

Jace was her nephew. She was his aunt.

“No.”

The fire cracked the wood. It echoed in the deathly silent room.

“No?” Rhaenyra repeated.

Visella looked her in the eyes. She shook her head.

“No.”

Viserys opened and closed his mouth. “Visella, this is a great honor. You would be the most powerful woman in the Seven Kingdoms as Queen. You would have anything you desired.”

Visella frowned at him.

“I don’t want anything. Well- I do, I don’t want to marry my nephew. That’s weird.”

Both adults seemed to load that information. Rhaenyra still had a hold of her hands. She didn’t seem like she was letting them go any time soon.

“Visella,” her father started. “I know the Seven preaches against incest. I know you have likely heard of the uprising of the Faith, many years ago, but that has been settled. That uprising was against marriage between siblings, not nephews and aunts, which is accepted completely by the Faith and always has been. The Faith only rebukes marriages between siblings or- or parents and children. There has been an agreement between the crown and the Faith for Targaryen’s to marry siblings since then. It is accepted that it is part of our tradition and important for keeping our power of the dragons.”

Visella stared at her father.

She could not believe what she was hearing.

It was okay for them to marry their siblings? What? Huh?

“What- no. That’s crazy. And I’m not marrying Jace!”

And that was the end of their gentle little calm talk.

“Visella,” her father seemed upset now. As if she was being annoying with her complaints of not wanting an incestuous, underage marriage. “Targaryen power comes from our dragons, and that comes from our blood. It is imported for us to keep the line pure and keep dragons in our House. We are the last surviving Dragonlords. There is no one else for us to marry. Even if our power did not come from our blood, marrying other houses would give those people the power to ride and command dragons, which could bring this Kingdom to ruin.”

Visella shook her head incredulously. “I don’t care. I won’t marry Jace. He’s a baby and my nephew.”

“The wedding would not happen for a long time,” Rhaenyra jumped in. She looked concerned though. “Not until Jace has reached his majority at six-and-ten. You would be twenty, sister, and a grown woman by many years.”

And that was just another thing to feel sick about then. Her husband would be a kid without a lick of facial hair and she would be out of childhood and teenagehood. Twenty and sixteen. That was- that was unacceptable in her past life. Granted, for a month they would be sixteen and nineteen, that was still disgusting!!

“I’d practically be a pedophile” Visella ripped her hands away from Rhaenyra. “I don’t want to marry a kid!”

Her sister and father gaped at her.

“Sixteen is the age a boy becomes a man,” Rhaenyra said quickly. “Jacaerys will not be a child when you wed. I am glad for your sweetness and concern-“

“No!” Visella screamed. “I’m six! I don’t want to get married! Ever! To anyone in my family! And I won’t marry a kid!!”

She felt like ripping her skin off. Her breath came fast and heavy. Would they even listen to her? She was six, she had no power. They could proclaim her betrothed and that would be that, right? The king had that power. He did that to Rhaenyra. The maids said her sister had been forced to marry Laenor.

“Sister,” she grabbed at Rhaenyra’s skirts. “Please don’t make me marry. I don’t want to. Please. I’m six, I’m a baby too, and Jace is only three. I don’t want to marry or be a Queen. Mother hates being Queen! Daeron almost killed her! She almost died! I don’t want to die !”

She was sobbing before she knew what was going on.

Rhaenyra whispered her name and then pulled her into her lap. Visella burried her face into Rhaenyra’s chest and bawled. She was scared. Her mother was scaring her and now her father and sister were scaring her and she just wanted to go back to messing around with Aegon in the training yard and annoying Septa Alla in the library. She wanted to snuggle with Ser Whiskers forever and never worry about how high this world’s maternal mortality rate was.

She wanted her mother to smile again and the dark circles under her eyes to go away. She wanted to stop being so uncomfortable around Daeron, because logically she knew it wasn’t his fault but giving birth to him still almost killed her mother. She wanted Aegon to stop trying to be a tough guy and just have a sleepover with her again. She wanted Bethny. She wanted to make a friend, and she wanted that friend to be Will.

She wanted her mom and dad.

She wanted to forget everything she had started remembering about the Before.

“Please,” she sobbed. “I’m a baby too. I don’t want to be Queen, please. I don’t wanna marry anyone. I’m sorry. Please don’t make me.”

“Shh,” Rhaenyra whispered. She brushed her hair back and rocked her back and forth in her lap. Visella cried and Rhaenyra shushed her again.

“It’s okay, don’t fret. Everything is alright. I promise.”

Visella sniffled loudly and kept sobbing. She cried herself out for several minutes as Rhaenyra kept up her constant stream of soothing shushes and assurances. Her sister gently lifted her chin up and wiped her face with a handkerchief that Viserys handed to her silently. Her tears and snot were swept away and Rhaenyra just smiled at her. She looked- terribly sad. Her sister looked about to cry along with her.

“Don’t worry, sister.” Rhaenyra brushed one of her flyaway curls away from her face. “No one will make you do anything you don’t wish to do.”

Visella sniffled. “Really?”

Rhaenyra smiled. “Of course. I will not force you to marry any one of my sons. I promise.”

Visella stared into her sister’s eyes. Her lip wobbled and her eyes teared back up traitorously.

“I don’t hate Jace,” she tried to explain. “I just don’t wanna marry him.”

“Shush,” Rhaenyra wiped her eyes gently. “I understand, sister. I do. Trust me.”

Visella stared into her eyes for a long moment, trying to see through and into her scull to read her mind and see if she was speaking true.

“You do?” She asked wobbly.

Rhaenyra smiled gently. “I do. I promise, I won’t make you marry my son if you do not wish to.”

Visella gulped and then heaved a huge sigh of pure, sheer relief. It felt like all the weight in the world slid off her shoulders in that moment.

“Thank you,” she breathed.

Rhaenyra chuckled wetly. “Of course. No need to thank me.”

Visella wondered after she was escorted out of the room by her quiet, pale, terribly sad-looking father, had Rhaenyra had anyone to listen to her when she was wed to Ser Laenor? Hadn’t her mother actually died giving birth?

Visella stopped at the door and looked back at Rhaenyra. She had one of her hands over her face, and she was slumped in the chair.

“Come along,” her father whispered. “Let’s get you back to your Septa.”

Visella swallowed thickly and walked with her father.

Her septa was waiting just down the hall. Visella ran towards her as soon as she saw her. The King let her go without a word.

“Princess!” Septa Alla exclaimed when she slammed into her skirts and clung to her. She grabbed her little shoulders and bent down a little.

“Are you alright, Princess?” The old lady asked her. She sounded so concerned.

“I want to go to bed,” Visella whispered.

She was exhausted. This day was exhausting, as were the entire two weeks before it. Her mother had been in a horrible mood for the entirety of Jace’ nameday tourney and feast. Aegon had been in a bad mood because Alicent was in a bad mood. Helaena had had a meltdown every day she attended the celebrations, which caused Alicent to freak out, which caused Aegon to get moodier. She was so, so tired. And now this had happened.

“Alright,” her septa said. “Here, let’s go back to your room.”

Visella heaved a giant sigh and peeled herself off of septa Alla. She got an amused, if concerned, smile before they joined hands and took off down the hall. Visella didn’t look back. They walked down one flight of stairs and down a hall before they reached her rooms in Maegor’s Holdfast.

Septa Alla kissed her goodbye and left her in the care of her handmaid. Kaya smiled and waved the Septa goodbye from where she was leaning against the room-divider. Her handmaid looked pale, actually, and sweaty, but Septa Alla didn’t notice. She left quickly.

“Hi Kaya,” Visella greeted easily, kicking off her slippers and freeing her hair.

“Princess.”

It was a whisper. A tremor. Kaya sounded terrified in that instant. Visella whisper her head around.

Kaya whimpered and stepped away from the room divider. No- she was shoved away. A man stepped out after her. He had a knife to Kaya’s throat.

The man had black hair and very dark eyes. His skin was brown, like the Dornish. He was a big man. Easily as tall as Ser Cole, and he looked thicker, more muscular. He wore a dark, hooded cloak and robes made of common fabric. He had a knife against the back of Kaya’s throat and a sword at his hip.

“Princess,” the man said. He sounded pleased. Happy. “Nice to meet you. Listen to me, or this girl here dies.”

Kaya sobbed. She was shaking violently now. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“Shut up,” the man hissed at her. Kaya whimpered and closed her eyes as well as her mouth.

“Okay.” It felt like she was talking under water.

She felt frozen. Stunned. Was this a dream? Was this a strange flashback? A warped reminder?

The man looked her over. Up and down. He glanced at Kaya and then back at her. He was tense, but in an alert way, not a panicked way. He seemed calm for a strange man in a princess’ chambers, holding a knife to a handmaiden’s throat.

“Put this on.” He threw her a dirty brown cloak. It fell on the ground in front of her.

Visella slowly picked it up and wrapped it around her shoulders.

“Pull the hood up,” the man said.

Visella did so. Her hands were shaking. Her ears were ringing. Was this real? She couldn’t tell. She had to be dreaming. This entire day had to be a dream. One big nightmare. This couldn’t possibly be happening. The Red Keep was secure, safe. There were Kingsguard and knights crawling around every hall and passageway. What could this man possibly be thinking?

She could cry out, but that would be a race. If she screamed he would slit Kaya’s throat and go for her. He would get to her faster than any knight outside the door, if there was one. He was a room away. A knight could be as far as a floor away.

The man nodded and smiled. His eyes glittered. His hands were dirty. He had clean teeth. Yellow teeth, but they were all there.

The man grabbed something else in his pocket. It looked like a handkerchief.

“Come here,” he ordered. He had a low, growly voice.

Visella did not move.

Kaya was shaking and trembling and tears were falling down her face by now. Visella glanced from her maid to the stranger. Back and forth and back and forth. Should she run? Scream and hide? What should she do?

She couldn’t fight.

That hadn’t worked last time.

God, it hadn’t worked.

The man’s smile fell like a hammer. “Come. Here.”

The knife dug into Kaya’s throat. The girl yelped and whimpered and sobbed. Visella moved forward. One step, then another, then another. What should she do? Was this really happening?

The man nodded. “Good.”

He moved before she could blink. The knife peaked out of Kaya’s throat, stabbed completely through, and Kaya stared at Visella as she choked. When the knife withdrew the blood started. Kaya was thrown to the ground choking and clutching her throat when the man grabbed her.

Visella tried to yell. She kicked and fought and screamed, but the man’s hankerchief was over her face. He held her easily. The cloth smelled sweet.

The room darkened. Her ears rang. She was so, so dizzy all of a sudden.

The cloth smelled sweet.

She would have fallen if she was held up by the man. She could barely heat him shushing her over the ringing in her head. It was so loud. So terrifying. She couldn’t see anymore. Either her eyes had closed or she was blind.

….

Chapter Text

.

Alicent was seventeen when she had her twins.

She remembered it like it happened yesterday. That had been the worst birth of her life, before Daeron. She remembered laboring for two days. She remembered all of the maesters and midwives and the birthing bed. She had wondered, as they coaxed her into it, like a lamb for slaughter, if this was the bed Queen Aemma had died in.

Her daughter came first. She came screaming into the world, fighting everything and everyone. Alicent could never forget those screams. Not for as long as she lived. All of the worries over how early the birth had come vanished then.

“A girl, Your Grace!” A midwife cried out.

Alicent had been dazed just hearing her daughter’s voice. She could see the baby- such a tiny thing, kicking and flailing around in the midwife’s arms. She looked ready to fight the world and she was barely a moment old.

She was already too relieved to be crushed by the lack of a son.

“Healthy and kicking!” The maester said.

And then Aegon had come. He had been quite the surprise. Not a single maester or midwife had predicted twins. Later people would reverse it, and say that Visella was the surprise, even though she had come first. Alicent supposed that made a bit of sense. Aegon was the healthy prince that the kingdom had been waiting on for over a decade. He slipped out of her with just two pushes and was followed quickly by the afterbirth. Her father was let in as soon as she was cleaned up and covered with the sheets. Otto marveled over the two newborns. One was squealing, the other wailing like a banshee.

Alicent had held her daughter, and her father took her son. She remembered staring at the screaming baby and just… breathing.

Her daughter had stopped crying. Visella stared back at her, and then Alicent had cried.

She swore then to be a better mother to her daughter than her own mother had been. Jeyne Hightower had eyes only for her eldest son. It was widely known in the Hightower family. Alicent liked to think she had been the second-favorite, but in truth she knew that was just a girl’s wishful thinking. It had been nice then, when she became the Princess’ royal companion and lady-in-waiting, to have more of her father’s love and attention. He liked seeing her close with Rhaenyra. He was close with the King, so she thought he had just found them to have something in common. A friendship with royalty.

When Queen Aemma died, she knew exactly what he wanted from her when he ordered her to comfort King Viserys.

Alicent used to fancy herself a believer of love. Of romance. Of brave knights and pious ladies falling in love and marrying before the gods. That had died a bloody death eight moons after Queen Aemma died, bleeding out into the sheets of her marriage bed.

The King was not her true love. He was over twice her age and her closest friend’s father. But she was his Queen and gave him many children. She did her duty, as her father always wanted her to. There was no higher honor than this, she had told herself, washing the blood off her thighs the first morning she woke up as a wedded and bedded woman.

The children were both her honor and her prison.

As Queen she lived to serve her King and the Realm. She served the King by lending him a gentle, feminine comfort, both at his side in court and in the marriage bed. She attended to him as the Seven wished her to. She was a faithful, dutiful, pious wife. She took great pride in that. Even as Rhaenyra turned on her, hated her, scorned her ( and she should, you replaced her mother, seduced her father- ), Alicent knew in her heart that she was a good Queen.

Queen’s also had one other high duty. To bear children. To bear sons. Her septa had told her once that some husbands allowed their Lady Wife to retire from that duty after providing an heir and several spares. Alicent did not think Viserys was that kind of husband, but he had surprised her before. King Jaehaerys had not stopped expecting children from his Queen until her body was unable to give them. As was his right, she must remind herself. The Good Queen was beloved for many things, but bearing her King so many royal children was one of the greatest.

On top of the need for sons, however, Targaryen Kings demanded more than that. They wished for daughters for those sons to marry. Alicent had chained herself to this duty when she courted the King. She knew this.

The arrival of the children sealed that duty in one singular year. She had given birth to two healthy royal babes, one princess and one prince, within a year of her marriage. Aegon was the spitting image of his father as well, so no rumors of infidelity or treason could be brought up. She sometimes felt nerves crawl up her skin at the thought of Visella being born alone, without a twin unmistakably Targaryen to kill any foul rumors.

When both children lived to see their second nameday, her duty had been fulfilled, and she was a true Queen to both the people and nobles. A true royal mother. She had given the realm two healthy babes who had lived past their infancy. Queen Aemma had been pregnant at least seven times, and only one of her children had lived to adulthood. That one child, damningly, had been a girl.

Alicent had done her duty.

Rhaenyra failed to do hers.

The day she found out her father had been banished from court for a lie, a falsehood, a cover-up for Rhaenyra’s shame, she had never felt so betrayed.

Alicent had defended Rhaenyra to her own father. She had been prepared to let her take the throne over her son. She had been sure that Rhaenyra would be a good, pious, kind, dutiful Queen. And then she had- she had sullied herself. Rhaenyra had gone to a brothel with her uncle and then seduced a Kingsguard, a man of a holy and blessed brotherhood of the Crown. She had lied about it on top of that. Torn her father away from her. Humiliated her.

Alicent had done her duty. She had bled for it. She had endured humiliation and pain and rotting fingers caressing her skin for it.

And then the bastards had come.

Once was an accident, she could be gracious in that. Merciful. But twice?

She could not fathom it. Could not- not imagine such treachery. As Alicent bore another trueborn son, as she bled out and nearly died for Viserys’ third son, Rhaenyra was acting some common whore with that sworn sword of hers, and getting fat with another bastard.

The only relief she had was that none of the bastards were Blessed like her daughter. But how could they be, she thought other times, when they were not even true born? Alicent had been stunned when their eggs had hatched. Not even Visella had hatched an egg. But still, she thought, almost desperately at times, the boys were not Blessed. And they had all been tested, oh they most certainly had.

Rhaenyra and Viserys had tested both bastards almost the second they had crawled out of the princess. A candle flame, that was what they used. Alicent had witnessed her husband take a candle to Helaena and Aemond and later Daeron, though they had waited longer with her last child. He had been a weak infant. But Daeron had screamed and burned from the flame like all the others.

But her children were undeniably true born. Visella was the Blessed, the Dragonborn, and her other children looked like Targaryens through-and-through. Every one of Visella’s siblings had pale gold and silver hair and purple eyes. Rhaenyra’s children had mud-colored hair and the most common eyes she had ever seen. They had Ser Harwin’s pug nose instead of Ser Laenor’s flat one. They had pale skin, not brown, like their supposed father. They did not even look like their mother. They were so painfully bastard-born that Alicent could only scream inside from the willful blindness of her King and his loyal courtiers.

She knew that she could never forgive Rhaenyra. The apple of her father’s eye, the Realms Delight, beloved even now by her father and half the court despite her shameful ways! As Alicent bled and prayed and attended to the King in every way she possibly could, to make her father see her with just half of the devotion that Rhaenyra received freely from Viserys-

Alicent hated her life, sometimes. She hated herself. But she hated Rhaenyra most of all, in those days. Alicent had done everything her father and husband asked of her, everything she had been taught as a child in the Sept, and she was- and Rhaenyra was given everything.

Alicent hated her.

When Ser Cole told her that Visella was missing, she forgot that hate. All that was left was pure, icy terror.

Visella had been the target of many poisoning attempts, though the girl was never made aware. No, the attempts never made it on the table in front of her, and Alicent had ordered no one worry her child for no reason. The cravens were tortured and executed for treason all three times, and their heads were hung on the walls of the Red Keep for all to see. To warn.

Viserys and his council investigated each incident. One was from Dorne, most likely, based on the poison. Another was from Lys, again based on the poison. The last attempt no one had been able to put down the location or range of the villains. Whoever had orchestrated it was unknown. It had been a simple gift, a perfume, but the servant who had tested it died within a day.

The attempts started after her girl had shown her blessing, her abilities, years ago now. Alicent had known her girl was… special. She was the Dragonborn. The Blessed. Her daughter could not be hurt by flame. House Targaryen’s enemies saw her as what she was to them: a threat.

Visella would give birth to many children someday- hopefully. Alicent knew that she was not the only one who hoped for that. Viserys wished to live to see their daughter have at least one child with her abilities, particularly a son. A Targaryen Prince with immunity to flame? The gods truly loved them. They surely were blessed in their reign over the Seven Kingdoms. Their blood was more than pure, it was closer to the gods themselves than even the nobles, much less the smallfolk.

The courtiers had already come up with two songs about Visella. Some called her Rhaenys come again, some called her Visenya reborn, some called her The Dragon. A few claimed she was a gift from the gods themselves. That was an easy rumor to spew, what with Visella’s stunning appearance. Alicent had never heard of pink hair before in her life. Certainly not natural pink hair. Visella’s eyes were a brilliant blue. More vibrant than the brightest sky. She looked like an image that the Mother or Maiden had created just for Alicent.

She had never thought an attacker would make it to her daughter. They had been stopped in their tracks three times before.

“Princess Visella is missing, Your Grace.”

Those were the words Ser Cole had said to her before her heart stopped with his next words.

“We found her maid dead in her rooms. The body has stiffened, so it is believed the girl died at least three hours ago.”

Her girl was missing.

Gone.

Taken.

Her goblet had slipped from her hand and shattered on the floor.

At least three hours ago.

Alicent had run directly to the Small Council. She hadn’t moved so much since before she swelled with Daeron. Her skirt almost tripped her on the stairs. As she assumed, her husband was in the council room with an entire crowd of men. She had never seen the room so full before.

“I WANT THE ENTIRE CITY LOCKED DOWN!” Her husband roared. The King was nearly purple in the face. His violet eyes seemed like pools of flame, then. His fists were clenched on the table, where a map of the city had been thrown down.

“Yes, Your Grace!” Several Knights nearly ran her over as they scrambled out of the room.

The bells started ringing a split-second later. It was a rushed, emergency clanging. Alicent walked passed her husband and looked out the window. She felt like she was in a dream suddenly. A nightmare. Her heart was trying to beat up into her throat.

“We believe it to be a foreigner, a large man from Dorne or one of the southern Essosi cities,” Ser Harrold Westerling rattled off. The man was deathly serious. He had eyes only for the King.

“I have ordered every servant in the Red Keep rounded up and held for interrogation. I have men on the street searching for the man of that description. The harbor will be completely shut down within the hour, Your Grace. The city gates have already been locked down. The Goldcloaks are on the move everywhere.”

Alicent felt like she was going to pass out. It was a feeling she had become used to after Daeron’s birth. It hadn’t returned in a moon though. Her eyes scanned the streets below her- as if she could find her daughter if only she looked hard enough.

“I want every ship in the Harbor reported to me, every Captain, every harbor master’s log, every dock searched. I want every tavernkeeper interrogated. Send out men to patrol the roads out of the city NOW!”

Viserys was shaking with rage. Or perhaps he was weakened from his rage and it merely looked like more rage. Whichever it was, he was doing a good job looking like a King. She had found him lacking in that as of late.

“I want two Kingsguard in Rhaenyra’s rooms as well as twelve guards patrolling the floor at all times. Put my children and grandchildren in her rooms as well. No one enters or leaves the floor without being thoroughly inspected or vouched for by a Kingsguard.”

Ser Harrold nodded lowly. “At once, Your Grace. I have Princess Rhaenyra and her children with Ser Steffon, I will have Ser Cole join him along with the Queen’s children.”

Alicent wondered how all of this happened. Her mind seemed stuck on what Ser Cole had told her, that the maid had been found dead in her daughter’s room.

Was Visella still alive?

No. She couldn’t think of that. If she did, it might become true, and that couldn’t happen. Her daughter was alive. She was too young to be taken from her like this. Alicent was a good wife. She was a good Queen. She had given birth to five strong, healthy, trueborn children. The gods could not punish her like- like this.

“Alicent,” someone put a hand on her shoulder. Alicent let her husband turn her around. Away from the window. Away from her daughter.

“Go back to your rooms. No- go to Rhaenyra’s room. Ser Arryk! Take the Queen to Rhaenyra’s chambers and organize a group of twelve knights to patrol the uppermost floor.”

The next thing Alicent knew, she was being gently led away from the small council room and the dozens upon dozens of men inside of it. She barely saw anything as she was herded down the hall.

This was real. It was actually happening. Viserys was locking down the city because Visella was actually missing. Gone. Her daughter was-

It wasn’t until she reached Rhaenyra’s rooms that she broke.

She wailed.

She screamed.

Alicent collapsed, her knees buckling under her, and Ser Cole was talking urgently beside her, and the children were frightened and staring at her near the fireplace, and Rhaenyra was running into her solar, and-

Alicent screamed.

It was all she could do.

.

Chapter Text

She was forgetting things.

The first to go was her name.

Then everyone else’s names.

She couldn’t remember her mom’s name, her dad’s name. She couldn’t remember her friend’s names. She didn’t remember any of them.

She remembered other names now.

Master and Doctor. Those were the names she knew now. Master was the man who had taken her. The man with scars and tubes in his neck. The man with so many powers. Quirks. He was the man in charge of this.

Doctor was the man making her forget. He… put things in her. Needles and liquid and knives. He cut things out and put things in. Her skin was red now. It used to be… not red. Or was it? It was hard to remember that, too.

Doctor wanted her to be a… weapon. For Master. She had to do whatever they said. He was making her better. Stronger. Bigger. He was making her better.

That’s why the cutting and injecting and slicing came. To make her- a weapon. For Master.

But she- she was tired. She was in pain. In so much pain . They said she would be called- a nomu. She didn’t know what that meant. It wasn’t a word she knew. Master spoke Japanese, it might be one of those words. Doctor said she would be the strongest. She didn’t know she was weak, before. But why else were they hurting her so much? She was tired.

It hurt so bad.

They took her to the white door. Where they cut and tugged and stuffed blood and flesh and pink snakes. She was- she was bigger. She wasn’t the same. She wasn’t whoever the girl who had been taken off the street had been. She had been going to school. But the name of that girl- was lost. What was her name?

She wanted her mom.

Where was her mom? She was supposed to come for her. Her mom was strong. She was big and powerful and strong. Doctor would like her mom. She felt like crying at the thought.

“US-Zero, test subject Four, Phase Seventeen,” Doctor said into his microphone.

They were inside his room. The room with the screaming walls. They only started screaming after the Phases started, when the slicing and stuffing and changing started. She counted how many times she had been in this room, strapped down to this table, opened up, by the Phase that Doctor said to his little microphone. Seventeen.

It felt like seven hundred.

But seventeen had turned her skin red. It had turned her taller than Doctor. Taller than Master. It had made her stronger. Muscles and flesh bulged out of her red skin now. Her feet were big. Her toes were claws. Her hands were claws as well. She had- she had horns, all over her head. They curled around her like a crown. Her hair- still pink, had grown to her waist. She was bigger. Stronger. Powerful. She didn’t know what the fuck else they wanted from her.

What the fuck else could they take from her.

“Phase seventeen,” Doctor continued. “Today I will be implanting a specimen of a quirk. Taken three years ago, the Quirk has been refined and codified into a spinal graft. The goal is to enhance the power of test-subject Four, specifically it’s original quirk. The goal will is to double the size and strength of the original quirk with every graft.”

She remembered her original quirk. Her power. She had more now, burning inside of her veins. In her bones. Her flesh . Speed, strength, sight, smell, hearing, sense, taste, obedience, trigger, feeling, suppressant, more than she could count- she couldn’t remember the names. So many subjects. So many powers. So many stolen.

She remembered her original power. Her quirk. Her mom and her dad had given it to her.

Her mom turned into a wyvern. A great mythological creature. Her mom was beautiful. She had pink scales and white horns. She was as big as a football field. Her mom could kill Doctor with one of her little teeth. Her mom could pick her teeth with his bones.

Her dad was- he was kind. He was always so kind. Her dad was always swooning for her mom. He gave her roses every week. He kissed her on the mouth and spun her around the kitchen. He winked at her and then proposed to her mom for the thousandth time, and her mother gasped loudly and accepted him dramatically and laughed and spun around-

Her dad would come for her. He would. He would burn Master to the ground. Burn him alive. He would exhale once and Master would be eaten by his flame. Her dad was good at controlling his fire.

Dad would kill Master. Mom would kill Doctor. They would come for her.

She wanted her mom. She wanted her dad. She was so tired.

“Inserting the first graft-“ Doctor was holding something above her back.

He opened her up. Split her flesh- right above her spine. It was bent now. Doctor had put a zipper in her skin. She moaned when he ripped. It hurt. Why did it always hurt?

Something touched her spine, and the walls started screaming.

Her throat vibrated as the walls screamed. Her chest heaved. The bands around her limbs and chest and stomach and head went taut as she writhed. That hurt. That hurt hurt hurt hurt hurt hurt hurt. Like the dentist ripping out all of her teeth, then poking the holes in her gums with a knife. Touching every nerve deep in her mouth. Her flesh. Touching her bone.

Her throat burned. The walls screamed.

Were they the walls, or were they her?

“First graft complete!” Doctor exclaimed excitedly. “Beginning the second graft.”

He sounded so happy.

So proud.

She wanted to die.

No one was coming for her. It hit her then. She was all alone. Her mom and dad weren’t coming for her. Her friends weren’t coming for her. She didn’t even remember their names, why would they come for her?

She was a monster now. Hideous. She wasn’t even human. Test subject Four.

They had forgotten about her.

The walls started crying.

Great, shuddering, curdling wails.

It was so tired. It hurt. It was still hurting. The second graft- bubbling flesh that writhed and clung and burrowed into her spine, its bone, her molecules, it latched on her nerves and strangled them. It howled. The walls howled with it.

“Second graft is taking!” Doctor said, voice shaking with awe. “Third graft- halfway mark.”

Doctor was right. It had been weak, before. But- but she missed her mom. She wanted her dad. Why didn’t they come for her? It was her fault. It should have fought. Should have killed them when they first grabbed her. They must- they must hate her.

Razor-sharp, black teeth clenched in its mouth. Its tongue was long and bone-white and split. She wasn’t human.

For the first time, as the third graft slit her spinal cord in half and she screamed with the walls, she was glad her mom and dad had never come for her.

She didn’t want them to find her like this. Like it. Like Subject number Four.

“Third graft complete!”

The bands around its wrists snapped.

Doctor screamed. He jumped back and fell.

It stopped howling. The graft slithered against her spine. It felt like a saw against her spinal cord. Her bare nerves. The air felt like ice against her exposed bone.

She grabbed the band around her face. Black claws ripped it out of the table by the bolts by her head. She stared at it. The band was- was gone.

It had never been on the table without the bands. They put it to sleep and she woke up on the table, and the Phase started. The bands had never broken before.

Doctor was cursing and screaming behind her. He was trying to make the trigger quirk in her brain activate. The one that turned her into it, into nothing but a body to be ordered around. But it couldn’t hear the words.

It had gouged out its ears, when it took the band off of her head.

It couldn’t hear anything. Nothing at all. Black blood puddled under its pink hair.

The bands snapped one by one.

It was a weapon. Made to kill. That’s what nomu’s did, it realized. That’s why they needed it to be stronger. Powerful. That’s why Doctor had put the grafts inside of its spine. Strapped down onto the table, back exposed, bands holding it down.

But the bands weren’t there.

It sat up on the table. Clawed feet on the floor. It was big. Even bigger when it stood up to its full height. Its horns brushed against the ceiling.

It turned around. Doctor was in a corner, screaming, his mouth moving furiously. Saying triggers it never remembered but always obeyed. That had been Phase One. Triggers.

The table was easy to brush aside. It was ripped out of the floor and into the brick walls with a flick of its arm. Doctor screamed. It was completely silent. Trigger really didn’t work if it didn’t hear. It felt like crying

She wondered if her mom and dad would come for her, if she killed Doctor and Master. It was supposed to kill. Be stronger. Bigger. Faster.

Maybe they would come for her if she did what they wanted.

She just wanted her mommy.

Why hadn’t she come?

Doctor tried to run away, but it grabbed his head with one hand. Its claws were big enough to hold the head like it was an apple. Doctor screamed. Her fought. She had fought, before. She had fought a lot. He tried to rip her hand away from him. She had done that before, too.

Doctor’s head crumbled in as she squeezed. It watched, enraptured, as bone split flesh and the screams died in his throat. Blood poured out of his eyes and throat and mouth and ears. Doctor’s head split against his claws. It bubbled, the blood, the guts, bubbled and bubbled.

Pink snakes of flesh roped around its talons. Doctor’s body dropped. The pink flesh of his brain stayed on her hand. She stared.

Then flicked the snakes off, and turned to the white door.

It was scared even now. Even knowing it was on the other side, not entering it. She shouldn’t be scared of going through the door now. She was already inside of it. But its feet wouldn’t move. It couldn’t step towards the white door. Avoid it.

Avoid the white door.

Bad things happened past the white door.

Then lights started going off, red and white and black, and it could feel the vibrations of a siren blaring in the air. It looked down at Doctor. His hand was limp around his little microphone. The little black box.

It turned to the wall, away from the door, had to avoid the white door, and slammed a hand into the brick wall. It shattered. Exploded outward. It’s hand and feet were wet from Doctor’s blood. It stepped out of the hospital.

Stared.

The sun was shining. Just beyond the window, down the hall she stepped out into. There were- trees. Outside the window, a hundred feet down the hall.

It stared.

The alarms vibrated the floor under its sticky feet. The lights flashed violently.

Master stepped in front of the window.

It stared.

Master stared back.

His eyes were red. He had tubes in his throat, over his mouth, all around him. His eyes were red. His head bald and scarred all over. She wondered.

If she killed Master, her mom and dad would come save her. She had to- to be strong. To fight. To be powerful. She was weak before. That must be why mommy didn’t come. Daddy said he loved her. Why didn’t he save her?

Master’s lips moved.

Obey. A trigger.

She changed .

She activated her original quirk. Master tried to fight it. He could stop it, before, and keep her in this form. Locked away. But the grafts had worked. All three of them. Doubling power every graft. It ripped away from this form.

The hospital exploded around it.

In a blink, it was standing on top of rubble. The enormous hospital imploded as she expanded a thousand-fold. Its feet ground the rubble under them. Smoke poured out of its nostrils.

The sun beat down on them. For the first time in- in- it didn’t know- the sun warmed their eyes. The trees rustled around them, tiny from its height. They were green. Green and alive. The trees had been dead, when she had gone off to school. Dead and bare and cold. Now they were green and full and alive.

There wasn’t a cloud in the sky.

It just stood there. Staring. Taking it all it. Heaving for breath. It was overwhelming now, after so long of just crisp grey walls and white doors and empty rooms. Barred windows and then no windows at all.

A bird chirped in the distance.

Then pain.

It turned to the side and saw blood. A waterfall of thick, acidic blood erupted out of its side and into the air. Then its wing- no longer pretty and pearly and pink, like it had been before, but dark red-black, fell away. Off of her.

Master cut her wing off with a slice of wind.

It screamed.

Pain lanced from its wing to its chest to its spine. Its other wing flailed beside it. It was gone. Her wing. It was gone. It fell to the rubble around it with a soft thud.

It screamed. It felt the force of it even though it didn’t hear it. It echoed, the vibrations, with the force of it. The trees blew back from the wind of its scream.

Then it saw Master, floating in the rubble, hands towards it, and the fire replaced wind.

White fire is the second hottest. Did you know? Blue is the hottest color. Her flames used to be red and orange. Now it was pure white with faint swirls of blue. It streamed in a jet at Master and melted brick and mortar and concrete and metal. Wood exploded and turned to ash and dust. The wreckage around it caught fire and exploded from the force of its jets of flame.

Master had to die.

Blood spurted out of its side.

She needed her mom. Dad said he loved her, before she went to school. But where was he? She wanted her dad.

Its fire stopped and the earth felt molten under its claws. It’s one wing flapped, but it was useless. The nub still spitting blood flapped as well, but that just made the pain blinding.

It stumbled.

The sun beat down on it as it tried to walk away from the hospital. Away from Doctor and Master. It wanted its mom and dad. Where were they? It did what it was supposed to now. They would come for her now. They had to.

Another slice of wind cut its tail off.

It howled. Stumbled again. No- it had cut off its tail and leg. It was gone.

It was gone.

It screamed. Howled. Chest convulsing as it expunged agony out of its lungs. The earth rattled under it from the force. Would mom come now? Could she hear it? Mommy had good hearing. It screamed again.

Wind whipped against the trees, blowing them down like a hurricane. Like a tornado. It howled. Mommy had to hear that. Daddy had to be coming now. Agony shredded its throat as it left its chest and whipped down the trees and earth and air around it.

Master floated down in front of its face.

It stared.

Master spoke directly into its mind.

“Beautiful.”

Master smiled.

“Exactly as I dreamed of.”

It felt something humans weren’t supposed to feel, then. Something beyond hatred. Something beyond rage. It was an emotion only a monster could feel. Something it couldn’t even name. It opened its mouth, summoned more than fire, and-

“The next one will be even stronger,” Master said absently, and then his hand came down.

She wondered if her mommy and dad would be proud of her, before her eyes closed. It wondered if it had finally been good enough. Wondered if they would come for her, now.

She wanted her mom.

Flames erupted between her and Master. Giant red licks of fire swallowed her whole. Ripped her apart.

And the girl and monster died.

…

Visella woke up with a scream.

She scrambled and fought against the binding around her. Her back hit a wall as she flailed away. It took her a moment to see, to hear, for the screams to die in her throat.

Then she blinked, heaved for breath, and trembled.

She was on a boat.

Deep inside the boat, to be precise. She could hear water slam against the wall behind her several feet above the roof of the dark room she was in. There was a ladder on the other side of the room with a closed and locked trapdoor above it.

She was sitting on a bed, tangled up in a thick blanket. Visella sobbed and ripped it off of her. She was still wearing her pretty dress that she had put on to see her father and Rhaenyra.

Her skin was pale and flesh-colored. Not blood red. Her fingers were normal and not talons. Her feet were covered by her slippers and not giant and freakish. Her mouth was full of normal teeth.

Visella shuddered and curled up with a sob.

She had been on the boat for two weeks now. The man who had kidnapped her told her that morning. Two weeks, rocking and rolling under a boat, not seeing a speck of sunlight, wondering if she would ever see it again.

The man who had taken her was called Mor. He seemed nice, as idiotic and infuriating as that sounded. He had offered her a clean dress the week before, but she had just spit at him. It had landed on said clean dress. He didn’t hit her. He hadn’t killed her. He had laughed and looked at her with happy eyes.

Mor always looked happy to see her. It was scary. She didn’t think he would do something to her, not like that, but that meant she had no idea why he was so happy to look at her. To see her.

He called himself a Red Priest. She had no idea what that was. She assumed she should, because he had acted like that should have cleared things up. It most certainly had not.

Mor answered some of her questions. Where they were going was not one of them. They had to be in the fucking middle of the Narrow Sea. She had no idea where though. How far away was land? What kind of kind was it? Which direction was it? She was trapped. Solidly and completely. She could transform, as horrifying as she found it, ( what if it turned her back into it? Into a monster? What if her wing and leg and tail were still gone, still bleeding out, what if-)

She had turned into a dragon around a dozen times, in the Before. Living in a city made being a hulking beast hard, so it had been saved for vacations. It wasn’t like she was a professional at changing, she was trying to say. Her mom had always been there to help her. Except for- that last time.

And, most importantly, she couldn’t imagine flying out of water. If she even had both of her wings.

So what the fuck was she supposed to do.

She wanted to think of her mother and father, when she got scared. They were powerful. They were looking for her, definitely, and could order armies of people to look for her too. But she had trusted that before. Look how that had turned out. She had died for waiting to be saved.

And- damningly, her mommy and daddy had loved her thousands of times more than her mother and father. She had been their baby girl. Their love. Their only family in the whole world. They had never and would never ask her to marry her nephew. Not that she had one of those, in the Before, but you get what she was saying.

She wasn’t waiting around this time. She couldn’t trust anyone to be coming to her rescue. But she hadn’t exactly waited around in the Before. It had taken a fucked up experiment gone wrong, giving the experiment/prisoner a bit too much strength, and that wasn’t fucking happening here.

She was fed three meals a day, don’t get her wrong. She was given sea water and a rag to wipe herself down with every day. She was given privacy when she did. She wasn’t hurt. When she had attacked Mor- several times, he had held her as gently as he possibly could and just waited until she had tired herself out before rubbing her back and telling her it was all okay while she sobbed and screamed and bit his arm to ribbons.

What the fuck kind of kidnapper was he? A shitty one. Holy hell.

It was hard to match this version of him to the one she had seen slit Keya’s throat.

Visella had nightmares about that. She had nightmares about him slitting Bethny’s throat more than Keya’s. That made her feel guilty, terribly guilty, because she woke up screaming and sobbing over watching Bethny die, but only gasping for breath when she saw Keya die. One of them had actually been killed. What was wrong with her?

She wanted to go home.

She wanted her mom and dad.

Why did she have to remember more now? It had only been vague memories a year ago. When she was a toddler she had barely remembered anything, even though she hadn’t realized it. Now she wished she could go back.

Remembering was just bringing her pain. She didn’t want to remember mom and dad and Doctor and Master. That just made her want to curl up into a ball and turn invisible, or scream and cry and hope her mommy heard her and ran to her and scooped her up and took her back home.

She missed home.

And that made her feel even guiltier, sometimes, because she didn’t miss her mother and father and the Red Keep half as much as she missed the Before. The only exception was Aegon, maybe, and definitely Bethny. She missed them almost as much as she missed her mom and dad and her life in the Before.

She hadn’t been a princess, in the Before. She had been completely and totally normal. Her power, her quirk, had not even been considered that great of one, in the Before. She hadn’t been able to use it more than a dozen times. Her immunity to fire had been more impressive than turning into a giant monster.

But now- now she could feel it.

It was her nameday.

She was seven years old.

Most quirks manifest before children turn four. Very few awaken quirks after that. She was lucky in her first life. Her mom and dad had been smart, they had moved out of the city when she showed signs of manifesting her mother’s quirk. When she first shifted she had not taken out an entire city block and killed dozens of people in the process. Instead she had taken out a tree and a few bushes.

In this life she didn’t have that luxury. That kind of easy understanding of quirks and a sense of excitement, but the same kind of excitement one exhibits to graduating high school, or winning a sports game. An easy excitement. That didn’t exist here, with Visella’s power. She was the only one with a quirk. This world had magic, and it had dragons. Not superpowers randomized for every human in the world.

Visella could feel it . She reawakened her power just after her second nameday, in the After. She was now seven. She had barely used her quirk at all.

It was stronger now.

Less easier to force down.

It wasn’t normal.

That’s when the locked trapdoor across the room slid open with a bang. Visella gasped and scrambled back, into the corner of the room. Mor climbed down the ladder easily and jumped at the third-to-last rung.

He turned to her with an easy grin.

“We’re here!” He announced excitedly. “Come, let’s go. I can show you.”

Visella gulped and tried not to flinch back. Mor frowned- not angrily, more like in concern, which was so fucking annoying she forgot her fear for half a second. He should be mean and scary and evil all the time. It was- fucking stupid for him to slit someone’s throat one day and act all concerned over he the next. After kidnapping her!!

“Come, perzys dārilaros. It is alright. I promise. You want to go outside? See sunlight?”

Mor offered his hand with a crouch of his knees. Visella glared at him suspiciously and shuffled forward. Slowly. She glanced at the open trapdoor. She could see sunlight from it. She hadn’t felt a breeze in weeks.

She didn’t take Mor’s hand, but he seemed pleased that she was following him either way.

It wasn’t until she stepped up to the ladder that she heard it. A bustle, a chatter, and lots of movement. There were people up there. Lots of them. Mor gently lifted her into the ladder and she yelped and growled at him immediately. Mor held up his hands innocently and smiled like an idiot. The fucking idiot kidnapper he was.

Visella climbed the ladder and stumbled out into the sun.

The boat was huge. Much bigger than she had previously thought. She had been unconscious when she was brought into it, so it had been a pretty hazardous guess, but the boat was bigger than any she had seen before. Had she seen many boats in her lifetimes? No. But still.

The crew was bustling all around her. A few stopped to stare at her, wide-eyed. Some of them started whispering at nothing as they did. Visella glanced away from them nervously as Mor pulled himself out of the trapdoor and stood up beside her.

She looked around, and saw a city.

It was beautiful. The city sprawled across the coast of the sea on a natural hill, protected by sturdy, pale walls, which she could see right across the port. There were dozens upon dozens of ships coming and going beside the ship she was on. thousands of people were bustling between them all. They were already docked and tied down, she noticed stupidly.

The city towered in the near-distance. She could see pale buildings and terracotta roofs and spires and towers and temples. It looked magnificent, and she couldn’t even see half of it.

Her eyes moved to the men coming and going on the ship. They were loading and unloading boxes and crates and bags. Most of them had collars around their necks. Her eyes caught on them, the collars. Most of them were bands of metal with leather wrapped around them. Some were all metal. A few looked newer than others.

“Why do they have collars?” She asked Mor, who was watching her take everything in.

Mor smiled at her. “They are slaves, perzys dārilaros. They wear the collars given by their masters and bear a brand in their skin.”

Visella visibly recoiled from him. Mor blinked at her. She gaped at him. Then she turned and looked around again, helplessly, as over a hundred slaves worked and flitted around them. Thousands of them were working on the sprawling docks, she could see.

There were so many.

More than the collars marked them as enslaved. Most of them didn’t have shirts. Their tanned or dark skin was bare to the morning sun. Most of their backs were marked with scars. Whip marks, she realized, horrified. Almost none of them looked anyone in the eye. The ones that did were looking at her. Either fervently or curiously. They were all lean and most were skinny, their muscles and bones showing just a bit too much to be healthy.

Visella had never seen enslavement, in this life or the Before. She had- perhaps, been enslaved, in a way, at the end of her life. But that had been different than- than this. Very different.

Mor put his hand on her shoulder and looked up at the city with sparkles in his eyes.

“Welcome to Myr.”

“Come, perzys dārilaros.” Mor said gently beside her. He herded her towards the dock. “The Red Temple is waiting on us.”

Visella let herself be led, numb. She kept seeing another slave with every step. The city suddenly looked like a looming horror beyond the walls.

How the fuck was she supposed to escape without crushing and killing a thousand innocent people.

And what the fuck was a Red Temple?

Chapter Text

…

“What are you doing baby?”

She giggled. The blanket was too thin to blot out all the light, so she could see the figure walking towards her on the wood floors. Tall. Dark purple hair. Thin.

The figure gasped. “Are you hiding?”

She giggled again. Kids giggle differently than adults- and she giggled like a kid. Uncontrollably. Easily. Happily.

“Can I hide with you?”

She thought about it seriously. Then she lifted the crochet blanket and grinned.

Her dad smiled back. His blue eyes sparkled with amusement. He knelt on the floor of the living room and pulled the blanket over the upper half of his body. It wasn’t big enough to fit the both of them, so his whole butt and legs were sticking out.

“Who are we hiding from?” Dad whispered.

“Mommy,” she whispered back. “It’s a surprise. Shh.”

She covered dad’s lips with one of her fingers. He was smiling. Smiling and staring at her.

“Why are we surprising her? What’s the special occasion?”

She frowned and rolled her eyes at her dad. “It’s my birthday in five days!” She held up four of her fingers. “I get to surprise mommy. I’m turning this-“ she held up one more finger to make it five. “And all grown up.”

Dad giggled in a whisper. “You’ll never be all grown up. You’ll be my baby forever.”

She gasped. “What? No way.”

“Yeah way!”

-

There were children on the street they were driving down.

They were emaciated. Starving. Most of them didn’t have clothes at all, and the few who did only had a rag as a diaper. Visella stared. She couldn’t help it.

The babies were perched on the hips of women who either looked sick, were caked in chalky make-up, or barely looked fourteen. The older children were fighting over food or scraps in alleyways. There were buildings with raucous laughter and screaming and music and other sounds streaming out into the street. Men were going inside with one of the girls or women without a baby on their hips and coming back out half-dressed and stumbling.

Visella was on a wagon with Mor right beside her, driving the horse through the city. They both had cloaks on and hoods up. They were taking the bad roads, Mor had said, to avoid any eyes. She supposed they fit in better on this road than on a nicer one, with less chaos and screaming and drunks and confusion.

“We’ll reach the Red Temple soon.” Mor said. “The High Priest will arrive in a fortnight’s time to meet you. Then we will journey to the Eglidōron.”

Visella didn’t say anything back. She kept her eyes on the people all around them. She hadn’t seen so many people in- in years. The farthest she had ever traveled in this life was the hunt on her second nameday, and that was just across the Blackwater Rush and in the Kingswood.

She was an entire ocean away from the Red Keep. She wasn’t even in Westeros anymore. The Free Cities of Essos were- thankfully, something that Septa Alla had taught her already. She had a vague memory of a map and a lesson on where all of the Free Cities were, but she hadn’t been paying that much attention. She had been too excited for training with Ser Cole and Aegon in the yard just after her boring lessons.

Little did she know how much she would give for that map one day. Any map. Literally a point in the direction of Westeros would do, honestly.

Her eyes kept falling on more slaves. They were all collard and branded. Leather and metal collars, plain metal bands, collars made of cloth matted together, they hung off of the necks of both old men and the smallest of babies. As they turned the corner, Visella caught the eye of a girl- maybe thirteen, with a band of metal around her throat. The girl had dark hair and tan skin. She was dressed in rags. She was also holding a baby on her hip, one dressed in a dirty diaper and a cloth collar around the babe’s throat. The baby was crying, screaming, and the girl was being spoken to by a man waving his arms around in the air. She couldn’t hear what the man was saying over the hustle and bustle of the city, but she had no doubt he was speaking loudly.

For a split second, the girl stared in Visella’s eyes, and she stared into the girls eyes.

They were dead.

Hollow.

Then they turned to corner, and Visella kept staring.

“How many slaves are in the city?” She asked quietly.

Mor blinked at her, his hands on the reigns as steady as anything. “Oh, over five-hundred-thousand, in the city. More in the country, of course. Slaves outnumber free men three to one in Myr.”

Visella couldn’t think of anything to say to that. She felt faint, suddenly. Like it was finally catching up to her. This was real. It was all real. She wasn’t have a terrible nightmare.

She was in Myr, a slave-state, where human beings were collared and branded like animals more than they were treated like people.

“I imagine it is a shock,” Mor said. “Westeros does not allow for slavery. Braavos is the same, in Essos.”

Braavos- she had learnt about Braavos. Her septa had told her the country was built by escaped slaves of the Valyrian Freehold. She had been taught about Myr and Pentos and Lys and Tyrosh, but not much. Her septa was focused on teaching her about Westerosi history. But she had been told that most of the Free Cities had slaves. She just had never thought about it more than ‘that’s evil and disgusting.’ For some reason, she had assumed that the slave-states must have been far away from Westeros. A distant, far-away land.

But she was now in that land.

Fuck.

“It’s disgusting.” She said quietly. Staring ahead.

Mor snorted. “Masters don’t have much interest in keeping their slaves pretty, perzys dārilaros.”

Visella turned to him sharply. “Treating people like animals is disgusting. This city is disgusting because of that. You are disgusting.”

Mor stared at her. She met his gaze with her own. She was seething.

It was a dangerous type of anger. The quiet, still type. Her ears were clear, not ringing. Her eyes were sharp and focused. Her muscles were tense and ready. This wasn’t frustration or simple childish anger. Just fury. Righteous anger.

The rest of the roads were passed in silence.

The Red Temple of Myr was not red. It was actually white stone and black grout and mortar. Visella thought it was stupid to call something a Red Temple when it was actually a White Temple. She hated it immediately.

The building sprawled over a hill on the city a few blocks away from the dirtier, smaller, and poorer streets. She could see bigger building deeper into the city. They looked very fancy, even more so than the Not-So-Red-Temple.

Mor took her by her hands and had her jump off the wooden carriage. He had stopped the cart on the street right in front of the huge building. The gate in front of them was big enough for five of their carts to go through side-by-side, and also looked unnecessarily tall. The street was completely empty except for them, not even a guard was posted at the gate.

It was weird.

Mor kept her hand in his tight grip as they walked up to the wooden gate. He banged on it heavily. Visella’s eyes darted around. Were they in an alley or something? Literally no one was around.

It had been so crowded before. Just two streets over.

Visella jumped when the gate lurched up with a groan and a bang. Mor squeezed her hand and smiled at her in some attempt to be reassuring. Visella felt sick.

She should make a break for it before it was too late. She could run right now. Her fingers twitched in Mor’s hold, and he tightened his hand immediately.

Mor was a big guy. Over six feet, strong, she was pretty sure he climbed up Maegor’s Holdfast from the outside and then got into her room through her window. He was very strong.

She couldn’t outrun him like this.

Before she could make a decision to run or not, Mor ducked below the gate and pulled her in with him.

Visella jumped once again when the gate dropped shut behind them with another bang.

She felt faint. She glanced back at the closed gate and looked up. The wall was higher than most of the buildings they had passed on the way here. She couldn’t climb it either, it was completely sheer.

Visella was completely and totally fucked.

“Come!” Mor cheerfully tugged her along. “I will introduce you to my people.”

Visella had to furiously blink away tears as she desperately scanned her surroundings. They were in some sort of courtyard, but a small one. There were buildings beside them and one in front of them, tall manses with windows reaching as many as four stories high. They walked around a huge fire pit in the middle of the courtyard before entering the building facing the gate.

The floors were made out of more stone, as well as the roof. Actually- she couldn’t find a single piece of wood in sight, except for the torches burning every ten feet along the walls. The hall they entered was reasonably large. Her suspicion that they had entered a back-entrance seemed to be confirmed when she realized the room they entered was abandoned as well. No one came by here.

Mor lead her through seemingly endless halls, tiny spiral stairs, through sitting rooms and parlors and meeting areas, and Visella knew she was never finding her way back. Her sense of direction was absolutely terrible.

Then they finally found wherever Mor was leading her too. He knocked sharply on red doors at the end of a long, winding hall. He didn’t wait for an answer after knocking, he just opened the door and strolled in.

“Hello, my friends,” Mor said happily. He shut the door behind them and pushed Visella further into the room.

Roughly a dozen people stared back at her. They were in a dark, warm room, and fires roared in three different hearths. Flickering candles were strung up from the ceiling. They made icicle-like shapes from the wax having melted down the sides. The room was windowless and looked like a sitting area. Three long sofas were arranged in a u-shape facing the door. On the seats were people dressed in loose red robes.

One of the men in the middle of the furthest sofa stood up with a grin and held out his arms. He was looking at her when he exclaimed something in a language she didn’t understand at all. It sounded faintly like Old Valyrian, but very different at the same time. The man was grinning excitedly as he rambled at her.

“Kaelis welcomes you to the Red Temple of Myr, Princess,” Mor said behind her. “He is honored to meet you and very happy to see you and I have arrived safely.”

“It took you long enough,” a woman said in a very thick accent. She was sprawled out on an arm of one of the sofas holding a goblet in one dainty hand. The woman had long black hair and sharp eyes. Her skin was olive-toned and she had a mole by her bottom lip.

“We had to do some waterwork, Vena.” Mor replied easily. “An entire fleet might have been after us. We did some circles.”

Vena rolled her eyes and took a gulp of her drink. Mor didn’t even seem to blink.

“What do you want from me?”

Visella blurted out her question almost uncontrollably. She was- terrified, pretty much. She had no idea who any of these people are. She was trapped inside a room inside of a hall inside of a seemingly-endless maze of a building.

The thought of being able to turn into a dragon was the only thing keeping her from a breakdown. But every time she thought of that, she was faced with one single question: was she still maimed?

That form had been missing legs, her tail, and one of her entire wings the last time she transformed into it. If she changed, even if she had healed over and didn’t immediately bleed out, would she be able to fly? She had absolutely no idea.

Her human body had- by all observations, been completely reset. She wasn’t… hulking and grotesque and… and she thought like a human, not a mindless monster. Her skin wasn’t leathery and red, her spine didn’t stick out of her skin, bone exposed, her skull wasn’t disintegrating to reveal patches of exposed brain, and her forehead wasn’t sprouting giant horns. Her hands and feet were normal, not talons or claws. He didn’t have enormous fangs but instead normal teeth. Based on that, her quirk should have reset too, right?

But what if it hadn’t.

What if- what if she couldn’t fly anymore.

She couldn’t imagine never flying again.

And then what? If she transformed only to be wingless and limbless, she would have to crawl out of the city. Even before the Doctor jacked up her quirk and made her like, four times her original size, she was still huge. As big as a FIFA World Cup soccer field. She wasn’t crawling over a whole fucking city without killing someone.

Killing innocents. Enslaved people, little kids, girls with babies on their hips and dead eyes.

Visella was absolutely and totally fucked .

“I don’t know why I’m here,” she clenched her fists anxiously beside her and stared at the man in the middle of the little crowd. The man who had spoken to her in a foreign language, Kaelis.

He had sandy-colored short hair, tanned skin, and wrinkles around his eyes and mouth, even though he looked young enough. His red robes were loose enough to show off his bare chest.

Kaelis smiled at her. She hated that it seemed like a kind smile. Genuine.

“We want to honor you,” Mor translated for her. “Guide you. Raise you. We have seen the perzys dārilaros in the flames. The fire Princess. You. For seven years now, we have seen you in our fires.”

Visella felt goosebumps crawl up her arms and back. They had seen her? She was seven, freshly seven actually, and they had been seeing her for seven years. So since she was born, basically. Her quirk hadn’t manifested again until she was two. They were claiming to have seen her before that. Visella did not like whatever that meant.

“Our people see visions in the flames. R’hllor shows them to us, in his great wisdom. It is our purpose to interpret those visions and act according to the Lord’s will.”

Visella blinked. Okay, so she was kidnapped by a cult. Wonderful.

“So you saw me, and- you say to guide me? Why?” She didn’t need guiding, thank you very much.

Vena spoke up then, cutting off Kaelis. “There is a story in every country.” Her accent was thick and sharp, but Visella could understand every word. “About a hero who lived a thousand years ago. He fought against the darkness and terrors that enveloped the entire world. The Long Night threatened everything. The Hero was called Azor Ahai, and he created a sword named Lightbringer, for he used this weapon to bring back the sun and end the Long Night. The Eternal Winter.”

Visella had never heard of this story before. But- her mind suddenly recalled the children’s stories that Bethny told her about the Age of Heroes. She had said that ice demons and terrible undead monsters roamed the North at one point in time.

“A prophecy was foretold hundreds of years ago, heralding Azor Ahai reborn, sent from R’hllor to stand against the coming darkness once more. Every Red Priest knows this prophecy, and every follower of R’hllor knows what shall befall the world should Azor Ahai fail against the darkness and terrors of the Night. The world shall be enveloped in eternal darkness, endless cold, and everyone on the earth shall die.”

And with that fun little statement, the room fell into a frozen silence. Visella stared at Vena. Everyone stared back at her.

The first thing that had solidified the knowledge that this was a different world than her old one, was the seasons. She remembered being four and learning that it had been winter for over a year. She had been shocked, and absolutely certain that they were wrong and it was just a cold summer or spring. Then Maester Mellos had sat her down in the library and told her that no, seasons commonly lasted years all over the known world. In fact, season only lasting months like she said would be concerningly short.

Ever since then, Visella had understood that she was in a different world. Not just the past, where Quirks hadn’t come around yet, but a magical world with dragons and wizards and sorcerers from distant lands and completely different maps of strange continents full of creatures she had never even heard of before. But that was scary to think about. She wasn’t just in the past, but an entirely different world? And one with a completely different seasonal schedule? Except it wasn’t really a schedule, because one winter could last a year and the next could last four years.

That went against everything she knew about worlds and planets and seasons. She had been to school before, even if it was fuzzy and she was only just starting to remember her past better… but seasons occurred due to the tilt of the Earth and how the sun hit the world. Worlds don’t just tilt around and change their position in the span of a year or two or five. That’s not possible.

So it had to be magic. The seasons were affected by magic.

If winter could last five years without the Maesters being too worried, even saying such a winter came about every century or so, then why wouldn’t an even longer winter happen every thousand years? And endless one, perhaps? Or something that felt endless.

That sounded just as terrifying as Vena was explaining. An endless winter meant no food. No food meant starvation. This world didn’t even have electricity, it couldn’t build indoor farms or greenhouses to feed entire continents.

So they were actually talking about the end of the world. That these people seemed to believe would be happening.

“When the red star bleeds in the sky and darkness gathers in the world, R’hllor will send his champion to fight against the Long Knight, and Azor Ahai will bring dragons out of stone. This hero will fight the darkness, and if he does not win, the world will fall with him.”

“Okay,” Visella said slowly. “So you guys are looking for a hero.”

There had been a lot of those in the Before. They made a whole fucking industry out of people with powerful quirks going against criminals- who also had powerful quirks. The government ended up classifying them into Heroes and Villains.

“Not anymore,” Vena smiled. She had big canines, Visella realized. Sharp ones.

She glanced around. Kaelis rolled his eyes along with four of the men on the same couch as him. One of the men sighed loudly and put his face in his hand.

Wait-

“Me?!” She blurted out. “Whoa whoa whoa, I am not a hero. Very- definitely not. No thank you, you have the wrong person-“

“You are the one in the flames!” Vena argued with a scowl- at both Visella and the people around her. “You are the Red Star, the Lord showed me the red dragon bleeding-“

Visella felt her breath hitch. She couldn’t breathe.

“I have seen the flames swallow you and then bring you to us! Reborn by R’hllor himself, you-“

Mor crossed his arms and rolled his eyes before cutting Vena off. “Not all of us have seen what you claim to have, Vena. R’hllor has sent many of us different visions.”

Kaelis threw his hands up and rattled something off in Myrish. Mor and Vena answered him loudly at the same time. One of the other women in the room- sitting next to Vena, said something dryly.

Visella was still not breathing.

She had been bleeding out, in the Before. Because of the… changes forced on her Quirk, her scales were a dark red, not the pale pink she had been used to. The colors she had always had. This- this stranger, Vena, claimed that she had seen a red dragon bleeding.

But- Visella thought desperately. She hadn’t been in the sky. Vena said a red star bleeding in the sky . She had still been on the ground. And then- and then fire had like, exploded out of her, or swallowed her up, and then she was two and at a birthday party in the Kingswood, with almost no memories of her past.

Now that she was thinking about it though… the fire she had felt- it hadn’t been hers. It had been similar, yes, almost the same. But not.

“What is… R’hllor?” She asked quietly, cutting off the arguement that had been brewing.

“R’hllor is the Lord of Light, the Heart of Fire, the God of Flames and Shadow. R’hllor is the enemy of the Other, the god of ice and death. The Red God is in an eternal struggle for the mortal realm that shall only be ended when Azor Ahai is reborn and end the darkness and terror that shall consume the world.”

Visella felt faint. Okay- well, fuck her then.

“And you think that I am this… Azor Ahai?”

“No,” Mor said, and the exact same time that Vena said, “Yes.”

Visella stared at them. They glared at each other.

“Many of us believe,” Mor said tightly, still glaring at Vena. “That you are the Blood of R’hllor. Sent to bring the chosen warrior into the world. To bring the hero into the world through your womb. Others believe that you are Azor Ahai.”

To… what?!

Okay, so there was a rift in the cult. That was good, Visella thought desperately. A united cult would be worse. She could- she could work with this. If she didn’t freak the fuck out first.

“Okay… I don’t think I am either,” she announced shrilly.

Suddenly five people were laughing and everyone was smiling at her. Visella hated them all. It was like a flip switched, and watching them laugh at her like she was just some stupid child for not believing their cultish fantasies made her blood boil.

“You are blessed by R’hllor,” Mor said humorously. “We have seen- all of us in this room have seen you in the Lord’s flames. You were chosen by him, whether to be the mother of Azor Ahai or to be Azor Ahai, no one can dispute that you play a role in this story.”

“Mother of-“ Visella felt like she was going to pass out. “I am seven,” she said quickly. “I’m- I can’t have babies. That’s impossible. For a long time-“

“No one is discussing that.” Vena said sharply. “And no one will be discussing that. Mor is a fool, ignore him.”

Visella stared at her. Mor looked guilty from where he was standing beside her, his arms crossed.

She was not becoming a cult’s baby machine. That was not happening.

Absolutely fucking not.

“So then what do you want from me?” She nearly whispered.

Kaelis spoke again. His Westerosi was thickly accented and clumsy. “To guide. To honor. To see.”

Visella stared at them.

Kaelis turned and pulled one of the torches off the wall. The flames danced as he moved in front of her. He held out the torch, the flames licking towards her ever-so-slightly in the air. Visella felt sick when she realized that Kaelis had noticed that. His pale eyes glimmered.

“To see,” he repeated, holding the fire even closer to her with a nod.

Visella cautiously looked around. Once again, everyone was fucking staring at her. She swallowed around a lump in her throat and looked down at her feet. She didn’t really have a choice. She lift one had and grabbed the burning part of the torch, the flames dancing around her fingers and palm.

After a few seconds, she put her hand back down. No one breathed.

“Azor Ahai,” Vena muttered once.

…

The Red Priests gave her a giant, lavish room with two sitting rooms, a private chamber with an enormous bed, ten fireplaces, and not a single window. The rooms were as big as the King’s chambers her father used. There were candles and torches everywhere, lush red blankets on every sofa or seat, a black canopy with red curtains over the bed, and soft rugs covering almost every inch of the stone floor. It was ridiculously lavish.

Then there were the people.

Fourteen girls had been introduced to her. The youngest looked to be six, around Visella’s age, and the oldest was fifteen. They were all enslaved and wore red collars around their throats. The simple dresses they had on were white or cream colored.

The youngest girls were terrified of Visella, though they were very good at hiding it. The older girls ordered them around to do menial cleaning tasks and a lot of running around for food or clothes or random items. Visella instantly realized they were trying to keep the little girls away from her without making it obvious. She pretended she didn’t notice a thing.

She was bathed in a giant marble bathtub with oils and soaps and salts that turned the water pink. The eldest girls washed her hair and scrubbed her skin with sponges. They dressed her in soft, snow white robes that layered over her body and tied around her waist. It kind of reminded her of a kimono, a little bit. They let her hair fall in loose curls and waves. The girls brushed her hair until it shone, and seemed baffled by the color of it. They all spoke in the foreign language she didn’t know, Myrish.

She felt absolutely terrified the entire time.

Her first night at the Red Temple she did not sleep a wink. Two of the older girls slept in the huge bed with her, one on each side of her, so there was no getting out without crawling over the foot of the huge bed. She cried silently into her pillow and didn’t make a single noise.

The next day was spent cooped up in the rooms all day long. The girls were her only company. Not even Mor came to see her. It was the same on the third day, the fourth day, and the fifth day.

She was going mad.

But she couldn’t even try to fucking transform, because if she did she would kill fourteen innocent kids immediately. (She wasn’t asking for their names, just in case something happened and she was forced to. Just in case. Someone decided to…)

On the sixth day something finally fucking happened.

The girls dressed her in a lavish dress that draped around her shoulders and neck and back in twists and turns. It was died a blood-red with golden hooks and clasps to keep it in place. Her hair was braided back- just the top half, the rest stayed loose, keeping the pink strands out of her face. The fabric felt strange against her skin. It felt so slick and smooth that sometimes it felt more like water than fabric. Then she was escorted out of the room for the first time in almost a week.

She was petrified, but also ready. She’d been having more dreams lately. Flashbacks. Memories resurfacing.

She still couldn’t remember her parent’s names, or their faces, or their voices, but she could imagine. She knew that her dad had dark purple hair and very blue eyes. Her mommy had pink hair and pink eyes. They lived in both the United Stated and in Canada, though she didn’t really remember when they moved or how old she was- just that she had lived in both. Her mommy could transform into a giant wyvern and her father could create and breathe fire. Their daughter inherited a mix of their quirks, and could transform into a giant fire-breathing wyvern, making her a dragon. It was considered an extremely powerful quirk. That was why they had come after her.

She wasn’t going to fucking die here. The Master had killed her, in the Before, but that wasn’t happening again. She couldn’t do that. Not again.

She couldn’t lose everything all over again. She couldn’t miss another family, another life, another name. She couldn’t.

That conviction burned itself into her conciseness as she was lead through the maze of a building that was her prison.

The older girls opened the doors for her. She was surrounded by all fourteen of them when they walked through the halls. The younger girls stuck close to the older ones. Visella wondered if they had families. If they did, did they miss them?

Beyond the giant red doors was a party. A huge courtyard was absolutely crowded with people in red and white robes. The people in red robes were laughing and cheering and talking with one another, and the people in white robes were serving food and drinks and kept their head bowed over the collars around their necks. There were as many slaves in the yard as free men.

The sun felt alien on her skin after so long with only firelight. Visella stared up at the blue sky and the clouds slowly crawling across the atmosphere. It looked like the sun was close to setting. The courtyard was surrounded on all four sides by the same white buildings of the Red Temple. The only windows were higher up on the top two floors. The bottom two or three floors were completely windowless.

Visella was herded through the crowd of partiers. She felt like her heart was going to beat up her throat and out of her mouth. Her eyes darted everywhere as fast as possible. There were people drinking and smoking on lounges and stone benches in some corners. They had great long pipes and breathed out red smoke into the air. Some of them shaped the smoke into shapes somehow, and one of them even managed to breath out a dragon into the air. Visella gaped at it before he was pushed along.

There was a circle of red priests gathered around a giant fire pit in another little part of the crowded courtyard. They were muttering in another language with their palms facing the fire. The flames danced and roared unnaturally between them. Visella hurried away quickly.

She was lead to a raised part of the courtyard and told to sit in a giant white chair. It looked like it was made out of bones. Visella swallowed vomit and sat down on the edge of the seat.

It was, in fact, a throne made out of human bones.

The armrests were made out of human arms and hands. The back of the throne was made out of spines and ribcages and pelvises all entwined together. The seat was made out of femurs and shinbones.

Visella stared ahead and stopped fucking thinking.

The girls around her sat on the stairs leading up to the chair she had been seated on. Several of them stood up to go get something or do something. They spoke softly to each other, quietly, in Myrish, and kept their heads bowed. The girls who left came back quickly with drinks. All five of the cups were for Visella, apparently.

She took one clear glass- something she hadn’t seen in a while, and took a tiny sip. It was alcoholic. She didn’t drink anymore.

Visella was not drinking around a cult, thank you very much. Especially one that couldn’t decide whether or not they were going to use her to make a special cult baby.

She didn’t know how long she sat on that- on the seat. All she remembered was the sky going dark and people staring at her in the thick crowd. The laughing and chatting started to die with the sun, and more fires were lit in huge pits.

It wasn’t until the sun was completely gone that the chanting began.

It was likely a prayer, she realized, as Kaelis began a chant and then the entire crowd answered with a different one. Kaelis spoke in the middle of the crowd, and Visella was perched at the end of the courtyard above them. She could see everything. Including the slaves at the other end of the courtyard building something that looked suspiciously like a-

A fucking pyre.

The chanting continued for a long time. Even some of the enslaved people joined in. The youngest girls sitting by Visella’s feet repeated a few prayers or chants clumsily. Visella’s eyes were glued on the pile of wood being stacked very particularly on the other side of the party.

What the fuck were they doing.

Then Kaelis walked through the crowd to her, held out his hand, and she immediately understood.

She- they were-

She had no choice. Well, she did, she could ignore them or scream and run away and they would drag her back to the bones and force her to sit back down and be quiet. She would be slapped around or beaten and likely be watched even closer. Visella was being guarded by girls, and she mostly wanted to keep it that way. It would be a lot harder to slip away unnoticed if she had a trained group of guardsman watching her.

So she took Kaelis’ hand and followed him stiffly down the marble stairs. The crowd parted for them, still chanting, as they walked passed. Visella caught sight of what was definitely a pyre and felt dread pool in her gut.

It wasn’t the fire she was dreading, that had terror clawing at her throat and clouding her vision. It was her robes burning away in front of all of these people. It was the thought of being completely naked in front of two-hundred cult-members, some of which expected her to be a mother of their little hero someday. Her thoughts raced without control. Would the pyre be it? Just a quick dip in some flames and then it would be over?

Visella didn’t want to do it.

She stopped at the foot of the stacked wood. It looked sturdy. She hated it. Kaelis glanced back at her. He stopped chanting, but the crowd continued.

Visella stared up at him. She wanted to beg, suddenly, to plead with him not to make her do this. But Kaelis smiled and it looked fanatic, and all her hopes died when she saw the gleam in his pale eyes. He swung her gently up on the pyre and stepped up after her.

Visella sobbed once when Kaelis tied the rope around her waist and the wooden column she would be burned at. Kaelis started chanting again. Visella looked up at the sky. It was night now, and the stars were out.

Kaelis jumped off the pyre and it was immediately lit up. The straw burned quickly and easily under the wooden stack she was standing on, and it wasn’t long before the flames were licking at her slippered feet. Visella squeezed her eyes shut and wriggled until she could reach her ears to plug them.

It kind of worked. She could still hear the chanting, but if she screamed loud enough in her head she could drown it out for a second or two.

The fire swarmed her in minutes. Visella felt the flames brush against her skin and climb up the wooden pole she had been tied to. She didn’t want to test the rope. She didn’t want to fight against restraints. ( She didn’t want to remember the white door and the table and the band of metal-)

Then she moved, and realized- wait, her robes were-

She still had the red robe on.

It had turned grey and black from both soot and ash now, but it wasn’t on fire. It wasn’t even wilting or smoking. Visella had to blink to make sure she wasn’t seeing things. The flames had completely engulfed her by then and were dancing across her skin harmlessly. The wooden pallet of stacked logs beneath her cracked and snapped in some spots, but she realized then that she was standing on a stone. Or- no, it wasn’t stone, it was a torched tree stump. The outside was too scorched on catch completely on fire. She didn’t have to worry about falling through the logs as they burned. Her red dress was not burning.

Visella looked out at the court full of chanting, screaming, wavering figures beyond brilliant orange fire. They were waving their hands around, she believed. At the fire. At her. There were so many of them talking or screaming at the same time that she couldn’t make out more than a few phrases.

“Perzys dārilaros!” Several people chanted.

“Azor Ahai!” Other shouted.

“R’hllor, R’hllor, R’hllor!”

“Mele zaldrīzes! Mele zaldrīzes!”

She knew what that one meant. Red Dragon.

Visella choked. Her head slammed back into the burning column and her eyes watered. The fire suddenly burned with a blinding light. The flames roared loudly and exploded in size. Her ears rang and her flesh peopled with goosebumps.

There was something in the fire before her. There was something- there-

This wasn’t normal fire. Not anymore.

A figure swam between the flames in front of her. It looked like a giant, thin, robed form in the distance. Suddenly she couldn’t hear the chanting or even the crackling of wood.

When she looked down at the pyre it was completely gone. Only fire remained. It was all she could see. She held up her hands to find that she was no longer bound and the post had vanished from behind her. She spun around frantically.

There was nothing but fire in every direction.

Visella felt a shadow loom over her from behind. Her breath caught in her throat. She turned slowly with wide eyes. The fire was brushed away between them.

“R’hllor,” she choked.

The towering dark figure tilted his head at her. He wore a giant black cloak with the hood completely covering his face, which was just a shadow. The being looked tall and skeletal behind his black robe.

“ Greetings, ” the creature said. His voice seemed more like the deep bass in songs and it came from every direction, not from where his mouth should be.

Visella shuddered. She felt tiny and vulnerable and like prey. The figure was still in front of her. But he was watching. She could feel it.

“ The Other awakens, ” the being said. “ My power wanes. You… ”

One of his hands lifted from his side. His fingers were blood-red and literally just skin and bones. Visella felt frozen as it touched her cheek. She felt true heat for the first time. It was- it was hot. Not just warm, but actually hot. Visella gaped at him.

“ I felt you, ” the being said. “ Dying. I feel many deaths. Yours was bright. Even beyond my realm, I could feel it. ”

Visella was surprised to feel tears dripping down her cheeks. The being brushed them away with a hot swipe of his thumb. She was scared.

“ You burn as I do, child. Yet you are human. I took you. I stole you to here. ”

The being straighter just slightly. His hand brushed over her hair, as if curious. Visella didn’t know how, but she suddenly knew deep in her bones that the being was feeling proud of what he was saying. He seemed- smug.

“ You are not of my realm, but I claim you as mine. The Cold One strengthens and I weaken, but They shall not weaken us both. The Cold One is vulnerable to you as They are to me, and as I to Them. You are a new element. A new power. And Mine. ”

The hot hand cradled her head and fingers wrapped all the way around her skull. They didn’t squeeze, just held her. Visella couldn’t do anything except stare into the darkness under the hood. She… thought there might be something in there. Red eyes glinting in the darkness…

“What are you?” She whispered.

The being tilted his head again. “ I am fire and darkness. Life and death. Day and night. ”

They stared at one another. The being’s hand brushed over her wild hair once, gently.

“ Humans cannot survive my Touch or my Realm. What are you? ”

Visella blinked. She felt faint. Like her body was being sucked into the darkness of the being’s hood. It was the only thing she could look at. Her eyes wouldn’t tear themselves away.

What was she?

In the Before, she had been human. A special human, because she could transform into a giant dragon, but she was still considered a human. But almost everyone had been special in the Before. That wasn’t the case here. This world didn’t have Quirks, which had appeared suddenly and without any notice, and spread like a disease throughout the world in just fifty years. This world had a shit ton of magic instead.

“I don’t know,” she admitted hoarsely. “I used to be a human. In the Before.”

The being seemed to growl out a purr into the space of flames. He ran his fingers down her cheek and tilted his head.

“ I gave the humans dragons, ” he suddenly declared. “ Just as I gave fire and light. And I stole you. So you are not a human, you are Mine. ”

Visella’s head swam. She opened her mouth and nothing came out. The being growled again and touched her hair and cheek once more.

The fire screamed all around her so loudly that she was blinded by it. She flailed and thrashed in sudden darkness, emptiness, nothingness, and then-

Visella gasped and whirled around in smoky air. She stumbled on ash and blocks of burnt wood and had to kneel to find her feet. When she looked around frantically, she saw almost three-hundred red and white robed people on their knees in front of her. Their heads were bowed and they were chanting a prayer back and forth.

The rope had burnt away and the pyre had collapsed. The beam she had been tied against had snapped and crumbled. Visella stumbled and fell on her butt as she heaved for breath. She collapsed back on the pile of ash and blinked quickly at the sky.

Oh , she thought stupidly. The stars are really bright today .

Then Visella passed out.

…

Chapter Text

…

So, demonic godly creatures existed here.

Great. Wonderful. Awesome. Terrific.

And they were at war with one another. An endless war- which didn’t sound very nice to Visella, but apparently that was just what two gods had decided to spend a millennia doing. They battled for power, one ice and one fire, and if one weakened the other gained strength, and vice versa. Okay, cool, that was simple. Easy enough to understand. It reminded her of that sciencey law: for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction.

Cool. Makes sense.

But why the fuck did she have to be involved in it all?

Visella remembered her final moments. She remembered the fire devouring her in front of the Master. Then darkness. Then this shitty world full of idiotic people and stupid powerful creatures. But she had been- at peace, of a sorts, with death. She had settled with the idea. Visella hadn’t had any hope at the end of that life save for a tiny sliver that she might be able to escape on her own. When her wing was taken that hope died, and it became a fight to cause the most inconvenience and pain possible.

She had been okay with death. Part of her was eager for it. Just for an end to all the pain. The endless waiting for people who weren’t coming. Part of her fought it, of course, but that was instinct. Visella had been ready, in the end.

And then she was ripped away once again. R’hllor was fighting a war against the Other, and snatched her away before she could go. Be done. She was stolen to be someone’s weapon.

Again.

Again .

Visella wasn’t doing it again.

She wasn’t .

R’hllor could go and fuck himself.

Obviously, when she told Kaelis, Mor, and Vena that, they all gasped, horrified, and looked close to slapping her silly. Then she had been locked away in the rooms without windows with the fourteen girls.

They looked at her differently after the pyre. They had been in the crowd watching it burn. They had been the ones to give her water and help her back to her bed inside, where she immediately passed out again. Their hands had been shaking. All of them. They couldn’t touch her bare skin or her clothing without being burnt so they wrapped her in a blanket that ended up charred where it touched her, but gave enough of a barrier for them to push her along the hallways.

Visella felt terrible for them.

The two girls who slept in the giant bed with her hugged the end of the bed as closely as they could without falling off. Visella didn’t know if they thought she would burst into flames in the middle of the night or randomly savage them, but she still felt absolutely awful. When she cried into her pillow they flinched. Then she tried to cry more quietly.

The morning after the pyre she asked for the oldest girl’s name. The girl had long black hair and brown skin. She was skinny and tall and looked to be a teenager, if a young one. She was the one who sent the youngest little girls to fetch things or take things away- in order to keep them out of the rooms.

“Meyuri,” The girl had whispered, her dark eyes staring at Visella from under her lashes.

Visella had nodded and kept their gazes locked. “Visella,” she pointed at herself.

Meyuri had nodded and lowered her gaze again. Visella had done the same.

Meyuri. Not the girl, not the oldest, not the slave. She had a name in Visella’s head now. Meyuri brushed her hair and slept on the right side of the bed with her every single night. Meyuri dressed her and gave her food and water and drinks. Meyuri ordered around thirteen other girls- human beings with their own names, all day long. Meyuri was looked up to by her friends. She kissed the littlest children on their heads when they left for the night, and whispered words in their ears that made them giggle and scramble away. Meyuri fussed over and argued and laughed with her friends.

Meyuri would die if Visella tried to transform.

Meyuri and thirteen other girls. All of them had names. All of them had friends and lives and maybe even family out there, somewhere.

Not a single one of them had any idea what Visella was thinking, what she was debating and killing herself over inside her head every night. When Visella shifted inside a building she exploded it. She reduced the Doctor’s giant abandoned hospital to rubble in a millisecond. The people closest to her would end up as pulp underneath her talons.

So she had to wait.

Find the best opportunity to slip away, as far away from innocent people as she could get, and then shift. She was too close right now. She was a bomb in a civilian city.  And literally no one knew it.

If she transformed, how many people would she kill?

That was the crux of it all.

Because- Visella couldn’t help but wonder, was her life worth killing so many people? Was it truly worth it to survive and know that in order to escape being some sort of… pawn, she had to kill innocent children . Kids who were already terrified of her. Was that really something she could live with?

The think was, she knew her mother and father would want her to. In fact, most people back in Westeros would expect her to. She is a dragon, they would say, and everyone else no more than sheep. But her parents were a King and a Queen. The lives of slaves would mean nothing to them if it meant their princess of a daughter would be returned to them. That was just how monarchies worked, especially when those monarchies were justified and maintained through blood purity, which was exactly what the Targaryen’s did. Visella remembered when her septa told her that the smallfolk believed that the Targaryen’s were closer to the gods than to them, all due to their dragons and their blood. She had given Septa Alla the most ‘are you fucking serious’ look ever to grace this earth.

If Visella had gone around claiming to be a god in the Before because she could turn into an enormous dragon, she would have been laughed at and then locked up in a mental hospital.

She didn’t see herself as more deserving of life than the hundreds of enslaved people who lived in the Red Temple. They had nothing to do with her kidnapping or imprisonment. The priests could die, she didn’t give a fuck about slavers and child kidnappers, but the kids and enslaved people were just as trapped as she was. Visella wondered if they had been taken from their homes as well.

She had a choice. Kill them now and flee, or wait for a better opportunity to minimize killing innocents.

So, the real question was, how the fuck was she getting out of the city? Because that was all she had to do, really. If she escaped the city then she would be free the second she got far enough away from Meyuri and the other girls.

Kaelis and Vena seemed to be the leaders of separate factions of the priests, she gathered in the lunch she shared with them the next day. Mor agreed with Kaelis that she was destined to be the mother of Azor Ahai or a hero or whatever. Vena was convinced she was Azor Ahai. From what she could gather, Kaelis had slightly more people in his clique or party than Vena, who spoke for the remaining forty percent.

So she was outnumbered on the disgusting destined baby-maker bullshit. Great. Just fucking awesome.

“Your god can go fuck himself,” She told the three over tea, and then came the horror and gasping and pearl-clutching.

“Perzys dārilaros!” Mor snapped, aghast. “You must not speak such blasphemy, the Lord will-“

“What, burn me?” Visella asked.

Mor opened and closed his mouth. Nothing came out. Kaelis made a shrill noise beside his little friend, and Vena looked as pale as a sheet of parchment.

“You- you have seen the Lord in the flames, you said so yourself,” Vena tried. “His Holiness spoke directly to you. And you speak so dishonorably of him?”

Visella scowled and crossed her arms tightly across her chest. She was in a cozy sitting room with dark rugs, furniture, and zero windows. Candles flickered above them and the fire danced in front of the little tea table between them all. The three priests sat in front of her on one sofa, and she sat alone on another.

“Yes.” Visella could not care less. What was he gonna do, kill her?

She was promptly sent away to ‘calm herself’. All of their little meetings and teas and lunches and dinners ended the same way. Kaelis always wrote down everything she said on rolls of parchment and tried to interrogate her about… everything. What the fire in that space she had seen looked like, what the creature they worshipped (like a bunch of freaks) looked like, sounded like, said, all down to the last finite detail.

She didn’t tell them everything. They had no business or right to know about the Before. None at all. She told them that the freaky demon they worshiped claimed to have ‘given’ dragons to humans, and that he wanted her to fight against the Other in some way.

The priests obviously took that as proof of their original plans for Visella. Vena felt affirmed in her belief that she was Azor Ahai, and the two fuckfaces- Kaelis and Mor, seemed to believe she would someday give birth to the heroic figure of their wet dreams. Or fiery dreams. Whatever. Neither group seemed capable of admitting they were wrong or changing their stupid fucking opinions. Or realizing that they were in a cult that operated on a freaky creature that spoke to them in fire. 

Days passed in the windowless halls and rooms. The only people she saw were Meyuri, the other girls, and the three priests. She had no idea how deep she was in the Temple. She started staying up all night long, every night, and trying to sneak past Meyuri and her friends on Visella’s left. She failed.

Many times.

The first time she tried to sneak past them, she had been crawling around Meyuri’s feet when she heard a horrified gasp. Her eyes had snapped to Meyuri’s. She had looked terrified. Her mouth had opened and nothing came out, as if she was too scared to speak. Meyuri had sat up slowly with teary eyes locked on Visella the entire time. She grabbed her with shaking hands and eyes filing up with tears. Visella had frozen up. Meyuri had pushed her, slowly, back into bed. Neither one of them had gone back to sleep.

The terror in Meyuri’s eyes just. Froze her. She couldn’t fight a kid.

She tried to sneak around her again the next night. On the third night, Meyuri never went to sleep, and neither did the girl on her left.

A week after the pyre and meeting the demon god of this fucking cult, something finally changed.

“Perzys dārilaros,” Mor said from the door he had just closed behind him. “Allow me to escort you to the Eglidōron.”

She stared at him. The girls around her had their heads bowed and hands clasped together. They had dressed her in a white robe and brushed her hair out. Then they had waited.

Visella stood up and walked to Mor without a word. He smiled at her and she ignored him. When he offered his arm she walked around him and out of the room.

Visella was herded down another maze of hallways. Meyuri and the other girls followed after her and Mor in two lines of seven. They were in black robes, a distinct change from their usual clothing. They walked out to a smaller courtyard with a water fountain in the center. The sun was momentarily blocked by puffy white clouds overhead and a breeze lifted Visella’s hair.

A man in grandiose, flowy, red and purple robes was standing in the middle of the courtyard. Three people in red robes stood around him. Two were men and one was a short woman with long, silver-gold hair and violet eyes. Visella felt her heart skip a beat at the sight of the woman until she realized that wasn’t her sister. Just a stranger. Then she noticed that all three of the people before her had red flames tattooed across their cheeks and temples.

“Mor!” The man in the fancy robes exclaimed. He had a slight accent. “And the dragon princess! Wonderful to see you, of course, and princess! You are as radiant as they say. I have heard tales of your beauty from the great city of Volantis!”

Visella shrank away from the tall, stout, flamboyant man staring at her. Her nose scrunched up in disgust before she could stop it. No kid wants to hear of how beautiful they are from strangers. That’s always awkward at best and scary at worst.

The man just laughed. “Ah, my apologies! I have spoken and not even introduced myself! My name is Ferini, and I am the High Priest’s First Light. I have come to meet you in place of the High Priest and his Red Temple in Volantis.”

Visella had heard of Volantis before, both from the Red Priests and from her Septa back home. It was city-state in Essos beyond the Stepstones to the southeast. Her Septa had told her that Volantis and Braavos were rivals and often fought for trade and power. She knew that Volantis was a trading hub and one of the wealthiest slave-states in Essos. Her eyes flickered back to the man’s red flames tattoo that fanned out from his cheekbone up to his eyebrow and forehead.

“Are you excited for the Eglidōron, princess?” Ferini smiled.

Visella glared at him.

“She’s a quiet one, is she?” Ferini laughed.

Mor looked stiff and- annoyed? He looked unhappy as he answered the priest from Volantis. “Perzys dārilaros is likely tired from the ceremony the last week.”

Ferini glanced at his silent companions faux-mischievously. “Oh, yes. The ceremony. ”

The two barely tried to hide their own amusement beside him. Mor seemed to get even angrier beside her.

“Jealously does not befit you, oh great First Light. But not to worry, you will see the Lord’s will this afternoon at the Eglidōron for yourself.”

Ferini glanced around dramatically. “Oh, I am absolutely quaking with anticipation, my dear Mor. After all, this shall determine whether you’re little… kidnapping, is worth the risk you and your little friends have dragged our holy brothers and sisters into.”

Suddenly the flamboyant, cheery, silly expression dropped off of Ferini’s face and was replaced with a dark, dangerous glower. “Your little master bid you to go kidnap The Dragon’s daughter, and if anyone finds out, Westeros will care not which priest in red did the deed. We will all burn with you, Mor. You and your beloved Kaelis.”

Ferini stalked forward and didn’t spare Visella a glance when she stepped away from the two furious men glaring each other down. Visella had never seen Mor look so angry.

“The Lord may not have shown you his will through the flames,” Mor spat. “But the reasons of mortal men do not deter the Red Temple of Myr from carrying out the Red God’s will.”

“Mortal men!” Ferini laughed sharply and loudly right in Mor’s face, his eyes glinting almost wildly with barely-leashed fury. “The Targaryen’s are the last Dragonlord’s in the world, you fuckhead . Do you think that the Lords of Myr wish to face the same force that Old Valyria wielded to conquer most of Essos? Including both of our cities? Do you think your sister cities will run to aid you, or will they flee at the sight of the King’s dragonriders? You are beyond blessed to have kept the girl’s presence a secret. How you managed that, I will never know, considering how horrifically imbecilic Myr’s priests seem to be.”

“Watch your tongue,” Mor hissed, pale with fury. “The whole temple is locked down. No one goes in or out, not since the perzys dārilaros entered our-“

“Did I fly over the walls?” Ferini exclaimed, throwing his hands up incredibly. “You send a raven claiming to have found Azor Ahai, or was it Azor Ahai’s future mother? Your message seemed to contradict itself! Only to find out you have brought me, the First Light, and by association the High Priest, and by association the entire Red Temple of Volantis, into your moronic destruction of our entire order!!”

Silence rang through the small courtyard. Visella’s eyes were wide as they flickered from the two men heaving for breath and still glaring at each other. They looked ready to rip each other to shreds. That had escalated quickly. Holy fuck.

“You will see for yourself in but a few hours,” Mor raised his jaw defiantly. “Then we shall see how… moronic the Lord’s Will is.”

Ferini threw his hands in the air and stormed away with a scoff dripping with pure derision. His companions followed him with lingering cold glares directed at Mor. Visella blinked and glanced between the retreating priests and the indignant man glaring at their backs.

“Ignore them, perzys dārilaros. Kaelis never should have invited the Volantese.” Mor clenched his fists as the three disappeared inside the temple. “They are rude and crass by nature of their low birth. Ferini speaks as though he is still the slave he was born as.”

Visella felt cold, stabbing hatred burn through her chest. Her own hands clenched into fists at her side. She stared at Mor coldly out of the corner of her eye.

“Well, slaves have never kidnapped me before. They seem better than you.”

Three of the younger girls behind her gasped audibly before shrinking down. Mor snapped his head around to gape at her. Visella glared right back. Furious.

“Princess-“

“What is Eglidōron?” She interrupted sharply. “What does that mean?”

Mor stared at her for another second before his expression shifted. Something more patronizing replaced his shock and indignation. “The Eglidōron is the Holy Rock of Myr. In Asshai there exists stone dragons that Azor Ahai is destined to wake again. The Eglidōron is said to have stone eggs buried beneath its surface. It was where our Lord touched this land and it’s people for the first time.”

Visella’s thoughts were racing. Mor didn’t think she was Azor Ahai, so they likely wouldn’t be expecting her to actually turn stone into living dragons. That was- good. She still wasn’t sure whether they were going to kill her or not when they finally realized she wasn’t this special person they thought she was. No, that was a stupid thought. Of course they were going to kill her. The new priest, Ferini, had said everything she needed to hear. Her kidnapping was grounds for all-out war with the Red Priests.

It sounded like, weirdly enough, Myr had absolutely no part in her abduction. That would make sense in a stupid way. Stupid as in the Lords here must be beyond clueless to not know their religious cult had kidnapped a very powerful Kings daughter. A king who had dragonriders who could burn a city to the ground very, very easily. However, that also meant that the Lords of Myr were innocent of her kidnapping and subsequent captivity. That would make sense. Myr seemed tiny compared to all of Westeros. Even if they managed to get allies it would be incredibly difficult to go up against seven kingdoms and at least four dragonriders. No- five dragonriders.

Laena Velaryon was easily the biggest asset of Westeros as Vhagar’s rider. Daemon, her weird uncle and Laena’s husband, had Caraxes, a large red dragon. Rhaenys Targaryen rode Meleys and Rhaenyra rode Syrax. The last dragonrider was Laenor on Seasmoke. Five dragons in total, one of which had been used to conquer all of Westeros before.

Yeah. Myr was so fucked when Visella made her escape.

“Okay.” Visella said slowly. “So, it’s a rock. Where is it?”

Mor smiled tightly. “You will see.”

And see she did.

Visella had never been more happy and terrified at the same time than when she was led to a plain, closed carriage. Her heart was beating out of her throat as she climbed inside. She kept track of her trail of girls as soon as she sat down on the bench inside the carriage. Seven of them climbed in along with her and seven trailed off to another carriage that had pulled up right beside hers.

It was a simple wagon, in the end, but had several tarps draped over the raised top and sides to keep anyone inside fully out of view of anyone outside. It was pulled by two horses and Mor drove the first carriage. Another priest drove the second.

Her heart was in her throat when they started moving. She glanced from girl to girl. They were sitting practically on top of each other in the cramped space, but only Meyuri sat on the second bench with Visella.

“Where are we going?” Visella dared to ask.

Meyuri glanced at her and then away just as quickly. She was wringing her hands in her lap and looked pale as a ghost. Visella was struck by the reminder of her mother, whose hands never stilled when she was stressed.

“Holy stone,” Meyuri murmured hollowly back at her. Her words were so thickly accented Visella barely understood just those two words.

They rolled through the city slowly. It was packed on almost every single street. Visella could hear merchants screaming out into the throngs of crowds that parted for their carriages. She could hear babies squalling and feet stomping and men barking orders in a language she couldn’t understand. Meyuri was as silent as a ghost beside her. The girl’s eyes were dazed and locked onto the young children seated opposite of them. The kids were whispering into each other’s ears and fidgeting in place.

It was nearly past noon, when the sun would be at its highest and strongest, when they reached the city gate. They were going… south? Maybe? Visella’s sense of direction was abysmal, especially considering she could transform into a creature that literally flew. Granted, she had only flown a handful of times in her past, but still.

She remembered living in a city, in the Before. She couldn’t tell you what it was named or where exactly it was, but she knew it had been huge. There had been millions of people there. She was sure of that. Her parents ended up having to move out of the city for a year when she first manifested her quirk at around two. They lived in a cabin in the middle of nowhere. She couldn’t remember how they knew she would have her mom’s ability to transform. Maybe they did a genetic test or something, having flagged her as high risk due to her mom’s quirk. They could be genetic, after all. Either way, it was a good thing they lived in the woods when she first transformed, because she was pretty sure that cabin ended up demolished. By her.

Visella couldn’t even imagine how many people would have died if she had transformed in their apartment complex. Dozens, at least, and that was if she hadn’t killed more by panicking. It would have been a massacre.

Her heart was racing again just thinking about it. In the Before, normal civilians were very restricted on when and where they could legally use their quirks. Heroes, military personnel, specialized doctors, and ‘government exceptions’ had licenses for quirk use. If you didn’t have a license then public quirk usage was… tricky. Legally speaking. Visella had never had much of a problem with that temptation or legal grey area. Using her quirk in public- especially in a giant city- would be like setting off a bomb. Visella had no wish to kill her classmates. They could show off their sparkle quirks and color tricks as easy as breathing. The most Visella could show off was being immune to fire and extreme temperatures. 

So. This escape was going to be… interesting.

Visella took a shaky breath and peaked out of the carriage. The street around her looked like a river, but instead of water it was made up of people. Veils and dark hair and colorful scarfs bobbed and wreaked around one another. A group of dancers were performing by a well. A singer was belting out a song for tips. Homeless people peaked out from alleyways. Men and women and children carried on with their lives everywhere she looked.

Visella let the curtain fall and sat back in her seat. She glanced at the children whispering together and then at Meyuri, who looked… nervous. Very nervous.

The gatehouse guards at the edge of the city let them pass with barely any stop at all. Mor said two, maybe three sentences in Myrish before the gate was cranking open for them.

Visella had to gulp to keep her heart out of her throat. Her hands were sweaty and trembling slightly in her lap. The gate closed behind her, and Visella felt like she was floating.

She was out of the city.

How long had it been? Two weeks? It felt like two years.

She glanced once again at the girls around her. She couldn’t transform yet. Not until they were in the clear. Visella wasn’t killing kids, but now all she had to do was run away from them and she was home free.

(If her other form was healed. If her wing wasn’t gone. If she could still fly.)

Visella was going to fly again.

It took her breath away just thinking about it. She had barely flown a dozen times in the Before. Her mom had flown maybe triple that. It had been easier for her mom. Visella had been a giant wyvern of a dragon, even before the- the Doctor. And his… transplants.

She couldn’t remember what it felt like to actually fly. Just the feeling of it. The way her stomach seemed to float inside of her, the way her heart beat uncontrollably fast with every beat of her wings, the way the clouds had looked when she saw them from above… she remembered how that felt.

She needed to time her escape perfectly. Another peak out of the carriage showed her that a hoard of red priests were following their procession of two carriages. They were all on horses of their own. Visella frowned when she realized that she didn’t see any slaves in the crowd. None of the people on horses had white robes and collars, all of them wore red.

Meyuri trembled beside her. Their eyes locked.

Visella frowned even harder. She- Meyuri looked terrified.

“Whats wrong?” Visella whispered tentatively. Meyuri didn’t show a single sign of comprehension. Visella wanted to curse.

She was learning Valyrian as soon as possible. Holy fuck. This was infuriating. She was surrounded by people she couldn’t communicate with at all most of the time, and she was already scared and alone, and-

They traveled ten minutes away from the city in one giant line. Visella stared through the slip in the curtain she pulled back. They were going uphill, which was weird. The carriage pulled up to a stop at the top of a huge hill overlooking the city of Myr. On one side was the sea, endless and flat, and on the other side was rolling hills with dirt roads cutting through them. The girls went quiet the second the wheels stopped turning.

Mor jumped down from the carriage seat and grinned as he tossed open the curtains. The bright sun made him look glowy and bronze. His robes looked even more ruby red. His eyes were lit from within with obvious excitement.

“Perzys dārilaros, welcome to the Eglidōron!”

Mor offered her his hand and she took it with a glance over her shoulder. Was she being separated from them? She forced her hands not to tremble. Was this it? Was she-

“The Valyrian Freehold invaded this land many, many centuries ago, Princess.” Mor continued happily, waving his hand at the rocky hill they were standing on. “Myr was created as a trading hub for Old Valyria, but quickly bloomed into something more. The Red God recognized this and sent his people to spread the holy truth throughout the growing city. This hill is where the first prayers were taught to my people. The Holy Stone, where R’hllor first touched Myr.”

Visella tried to keep the frank disgust off of her face when she met Mor’s dark eyes. “Interesting.”

Mor smiled wider. “Indeed. Now, come. We will celebrate this evening! Tonight we will give R’hllor offerings for his own gift to our temple. He has blessed us with your presence, Princess.”

Visella smiled stiffly. She was led to the second carriage with the other girls. They had been removed, she realized quickly. Several priests were leading them off to a group of other priests standing in a circle. There were weird posts in the middle of their group-

She couldn’t see anything else before she was pushed into the carriage. Visella had to swallow her nerves in a desperate attempt to act natural. The second carriage was roughly twenty feet away from the one she had ridden in, and Meyuri and the little ones were still inside. She was still too close. But- she glanced at Mor. Once he left…

To her immediate disappointment, Mor climbed into the carriage with her. He pulled the curtains shut and smiled at her as he sat down on the bench across from her. Visella swallowed and wiped her sweaty palms on her lap. Okay.

Actually.

This was weird.

Visella always had at least two of the girls with her. Although, they were in the carriage right next to this one. She couldn’t transform yet. Mor had crossed his legs and leaned back with a sigh. Visella kept her eyes on him.

She wanted to peak out of the carriage, but Mor had closed the curtains very concisely. She heard stomping and chanting and cheers outside suddenly rise. Mor was sweating through his robes, it must have been sweltering in the carriage. The sun was truly beating down on them then. She heard Kaelis shout a chant and the crowd repeated it uproariously.

“How have you been adjusting, princess?” Mor asked suddenly. Visella started.

She gave herself a long moment before responding. “Fine.”

Mor stared at her curiously. Visella stared back. Most people didn’t like silence and felt compelled to fill it. Visella wasn’t good at history or math or even science really, but she was good at observing people. Mor seemed to have done a complete one-eighty emotionally since his… confrontation with the trio from Volantis.

It was strange.

“The slaves tell me you cry at night.”

The wind rustled the curtains slightly. Visella kept her eyes locked with the man opposite her. She is suddenly reminded of the first time she saw Mor. He had slit Kaya’s throat so very easily. Visella could remember the maid’s choked sobs with erie detail. She remembered the two weeks on the ship with Mor afterwards, wondering what was going to happen to her.

She had really started remembering on that boat. Remembering the Before.

It had been horrible.

The silence gets to Mor again. “I know you don’t understand why you were brought here, perzys dārilaros, but the Lord has a plan. You know this. You spoke to him yourself. The Red God has only ever spoken through the flames before, to see him yourself… You are meant to be here, dārilaros. The Lord has great plans for you.”

Hate was an interesting emotion to Visella. She felt it rarely. In that moment, when Mor attempted to explain to her how being kidnapped and imprisoned was a good thing, all because a powerful creature had plans with her in them, Visella felt nothing but rage. Suddenly, she wasn’t looking at Mor, but instead the Doctor. Suddenly, the curtain beside her looked more like a white door than anything else.

“I’m not a weapon.”

Mor blinked at her. The Doctor disappeared. The white door flickered out of the corner of her eye.

“Of course not,” Mor agreed immediately. “No one expects you to be, dārilaros.”

Visella stares at him. “Do you know my name?” She asks suddenly.

Mor frowns. “What?”

“My name. I don’t think you’ve used it, before.”

They stared at each other. Mor looked flabbergasted.

“My name is-“

She stopped right before saying Visella. She had… never introduced herself by that name before. Everyone just knew her name in the Red Keep. She had a very… distinct appearance. Baby pink hair and all. If they didn’t use her name they called her princess.

Mor called her perzys dārilaros, which roughly translated into flame princess. He called her dārilaros, and sometimes he used Westerosi to call her princess. He never referred to her by her given name, did he?

What was her given name?

Visella?

What had her name been, in the Before?

“Princess?” Mor asked.

Visella closed her mouth, realizing she had cut off quite abruptly there. Mor was staring at her. She avoided his eyes.

She couldn’t remember what her mom and dad looked like, in the Before. Their faces were blurry and distorted in all of her memories. She couldn’t remember their names. But she missed them. More than anything else in the world, she missed her mom and dad.

She had to go.

Visella shifted and eyed the curtain beside her. Mor was right there. If she bolted now he might snatch her, and then her chances of getting away from the other carriage and the girls would be gone. The chanting crowd seemed to have moved as one to the center of the hill where the strange looking trees were. They were recanting prayers back and forth as one voice made up of hundreds of people.

“How many priests are here?” Visella asked.

Mor pursed his lips at her complete change in topic. “Perhaps three-hundred. Most of the temple has traveled to see you speak to R’hllor once again.”

Visella’s eyes snapped to Mor’s. “What?”

The man smiled. “We have seen you touch the Red God once again, princess. Today you shall speak with the Lord for the second time. We shall finally understand your role in his plans.”

What. The fuck.

The weird trees- they weren’t- they were poles. They were pyres. They wanted to burn her again.

“Fuck no.” She spat without thinking.

Mor’s jaw dropped. “Excuse- pardon me? You-“

“I’m not being set on fire again.” Visella recoiled. She inched closer to the curtain door. “Those poles, they’re pyres. You want to burn me again.”

Mor leaned forward an inch. He frowned. “You are Suntouched, princess, you will not burn. The Red God will speak with you after the ceremony.”

“What ceremony?”

It was at that moment the breeze picked up once again. The curtain beside her fluttered and the scent of smoke and burning meat filled the carriage. Visella froze.

She breathed in. They had- they had already lit the pyres. They were burning something. Something that smelled like cooking flesh.

Mor was staring at her intensely. He looked tense and ready. For something. “We are sacrificing goats to the Red God. They are burned at the pyre as gifts.”

Visella nodded once. They stayed perfectly still, staring at one another. Sure, burning goats-

Visella jumped out of the carriage before Mor could blink. She raced around the wagon as Mor cursed and jumped out after her, shouting all of the tittles he called her one after another. She scrambled to the second carriage that Meyumi and the little ones were on-

It was empty.

The carriage was empty.

They hadn’t brought any goats with them. She would have heard them.

Visella dodged Mor’s attempt to grab her and ran as fast as she could for the crowd gathered around burning posts. She slipped easily between legs where Mor had to shove or yell his way through. Seven columns of flame and smoke billowed into the sky. The stench of burning meat and flesh was rancid on the afternoon breeze. The smoke looked black in the bright sunny day. Visella shoved her way between the crowd of red bodies and stumbled when she made it to the clearing inside the circle of priests.

She froze.

Her breath stuttered to a stop. The pyres were on fire. Bodies looked like they were writhing between roaring flames. Visella saw the tattered remains of black robes melting into burned flesh right in front of her eyes.

They had tied two girls to each post. Meyuri was with the youngest little one. The little girl she had kissed on the forehead before she left for bed every night. Visella stumbled in place. Meyuri was staring up at the sky. Her flesh had melted away, her face mottled and ruined. Her long, dark hair was gone. Visella knew it was Meyuri because she was the tallest out of all of the burning. The rest were so small-

Visella fell to her hands and knees. The world was spinning around her. She gagged on ash and smoke. Vomit spewed out of her mouth and onto the rocky ground in front of her. Her hands were shaking. Someone grabbed her shoulder- Mor.

Visella looked up, heaving for breath and wide-eyed. They had gagged them. So she wouldn’t hear. Ropes were burning where they had been tied to the poles around their open mouths-

They had been dying and she had been-

Mor had-

(And oh, Meyuri had looked terrified an the way, hadn’t she-)

Visella-

She-

Changed .

Power rippled through her body. Mor was saying something, trying to drag her off the ground, and then he wasn’t. It felt like lightning in every one of her cells. It felt like being ripped apart, exploding from every pore, every molecule, and expanding. The ground shook and tilted under her- her talons. Visella shifted and felt corded, thick muscles that hadn’t been there the second before stretch and tense. The ground felt different. The stench of burnt bodies was even stronger. The sun felt like a kiss to her scales.

She opened ice-blue, slitted eyes, and looked down. The ground was over a hundred feet away. Visella took a step back, her wings touching the ground and-

Her wings.

Giant. Strong. A bloody, dark red. Visella felt like sobbing at the sight of them. She had them both, but- but they weren’t the same. She wasn’t her mom’s pastel pink, but the weapon that the Doctor had created. She wasn’t monstrous. Her bones poked out of almost every joint she could see in jagged, sharp horns. Her talons were black and glinted in the sunlight. Twisting, curling black horns spread out from her head in a lethal crown. Her giant muzzle was full of teeth the size of a fully grown man.

It… wasn’t reset. Just healed.

A horrible, broken sound ripped itself out of her barrel chest. The low, roaring groan was so loud it seemed to echo across the hills in the distance and the city that suddenly seemed that much closer. Visella looked down and another sound- this one more like a sob- parted from her when she caught sight of the crushed, mangled, and broken mounds that used to be the pyres that the girls had died at. Been murdered at.

Visella leaned down as gently as she possibly could. She sniffed the smoking piles of burning wood and whimpered. They had died several minutes ago. She could smell it. The ash was so thick- they must have used a strong flammable substance to- to grow the fire as quickly as possible. Smoke inhalation was a quicker death than slowly burning. That was-

Visella sobbed.

A scream caught her attention. She saw red dots scrambling away in all directions. She was standing on most of the red priests, their bodies broken smears of pulp against their holy rock. The remaining humans were running or sprawled and unconscious around her. Visella stared. Dozens of them had been blown back instead of crushed. They were running away now.

Hatred boiled inside her blood.

Visella screamed.

The Doctor- she had killed him, in the Before. She hadn’t been able to kill the Master. But these- these monsters - she could kill them.

So she did.

The fire that spewed out of her throat was white and blue. She roared and whipped her head back and forth across the giant hill she arched on. Flames swallowed up the slavers, kidnappers, and child murderers around her. The sounds coming out of her mouth and the roar of the flames was too loud to hear their screams. She turned around and bathed the other side of the hill in flames as well. Three more red bodies disappeared. The earth turned as black as coal where it wasn’t glowing with heat when her flames died. The sun beamed down at her as she let ropes of fire race into the air all around her, writhing and screaming and digging her claws into the earth around fourteen bodies underneath her.

It took an entire minute before she stopped breathing death and stopped to heave for breath. Visella looked down at the seven piles of ash between her legs. She crooned brokenly and lowered her wings around them. As if she could protect them now.

They were dead. Little kids. 

She groaned another sob. One hooked wing claw came out to scoop burnt earth over the seven piles beneath her. They deserved to be buried. So she buried them. Once the burned and smashed pyres were fully covered, she nudged the earth down with her nose and choked back a whimper. Visella rose up and stepped away.

She glanced at the city. Then at the sea. She looked up at the sky and where the sun was setting in the west, inching closer and closer towards the sea.

She had to go.

Visella stretched her wings and shifted on her feet. She stumbled down the hill, going faster and faster and trying not to slip, and then stretched her wings as she jumped as high as she could. The wind hit her wings membranes and suddenly she was lifting off.

Her heart almost stopped at the feeling. The ground fell away and the clouds came down to meet her, it felt like. It was… easier than she remembered, to glide and flap and twist just right. The hill was to the south of the city, and if she remembered correctly, she needed to go northwest to get back to Westeros. But the sea looked so long and she had been flying for mere seconds.

Visella climbed higher into the air. She breezed over the giant city of Myr. She could see the people on the street from so high up, but she knew they were there. Her eyes caught on a building sprawled across a chunk of the city in the shape of a snowflake, or maybe a jagged maze. The walled building was white with a pale roof. The Red Temple.

Visella turned her eyes away and flew.

The wind felt like home.

…

Chapter Text

They were dead.

Burned alive.

Visella flew in a daze. She didn’t realize how long she had been in the air until the sun winked out over the horizon and darkness enveloped the world. She landed clumsily on the sandy beach and trotted to a stop. The stars twinkled haughtily above her. It was a full moon.

She could see perfectly well in the pitch of the night. Her ears heard everything from the crash of the waves to the chirp of insects in the grasslands. The cool breeze tasted like salt and ocean spray.

Meyuri and all the other girls. They were dead. She reeled.

The priests had tried to hide it from her. They must have had some sort of inkling of how a seven-year-old kid would react to witnessing the brutal murder of the kids they had surrounded her with for two weeks. Visella couldn’t get their bodies out of her head. The ropes used as gags in their mouths. They had looked so tiny. The youngest of the children were probably five or six years old. Burned. Alive.

She gagged. It sounded violent coming from the throat of a dragon.

Her scales looked black as tar without the sun to bring out hues of blood red. Her fears had come true. Her Quirk was changed. Part of her had known all along. The abilities that the majority of humans had in the Before were ingrained into not only her DNA, but also something else that science hadn’t defined yet. Some people called it the human soul. Visella wondered if those people had truly been right. She had been reincarnated here, her mind and soul and quirk had followed her. Whatever a soul was.

The Doctor’s marks on her had followed her here. Traversed worlds to cling to her, even in death.

But. Master’s hadn’t. Her wings twitched beside her. Both of them. She was a whole and hale wyvern, however monstrous and nightmarish she looked now. She wasn’t bleeding out of a gaping wound where her wing and legs had once been. She was- healthy. Somehow.

Unlike Meyuri.

Visella fell asleep on the beach wondering if the girls had families who were missing them at that very moment.

When she woke up, it was with a new sense of… something like resolution.

There were no Heroes in this life.

Visella seemed to have forgotten that.

In the Before, Heroes had been introduced to society as a way to fight against people who used their powers to commit crimes. It was illegal to use quirks in public without a license, you see. Doctors and military personal and specialists could apply for licenses. Heroes were basically meant to be a police force with a license for quirk usage, specifically to go after criminals using their quirks to commit crimes. They turned into popular celebrities capable of swaying society’s public opinions with one sentence or press release. They dressed up in flamboyant costumes and saved people with veneered smiles. The ranking system in place to determine salaries was slowly transformed into public popularity contests. Children grew up watching powerful, god-like heroes save people from dangerous villains on national news.

There was no fanatic focus on heroism in this society. That was the Before. This was the After.

Where enslaved children were burned alive by cults that seemed used to it. Practiced in it.

This world was sick.

She had to get home. The sun rose after a fitful night. Visella couldn’t stay here. Wherever the fuck here was. She eyed the sea to her left. It looked endless. She knew it was named the Narrow Sea, but she had no idea how true to that name it really was. Could she make the flight? It had taken them two weeks to cross it in Mor’s boat, even if he had admitted to dallying. Two weeks was a long time to travel a lot of miles.

And if she did try it, where the hell would she land?

Septa Alla had taught her a lot about this world, and one of the biggest focuses of their studies was on geography and the powerhouses of the world. Especially the Seven Kingdom’s enemies. Dorne was beyond hostile to dragons, and was close to Myr and Lys and Tyrosh, from what she could remember. Visella knew what happened to Queen Rhaenys during the first Dornish War. She was probably (definitely) bigger than Rhaenys’ dragon, but a bolt to the eye was a bolt to the eye. Not to mention the fact that a dragon suddenly landing on their coast could ignite another war.

And a war was definitely not something Visella wanted to start.

Dorne would likely react to her much more… lethally than Essos. Visella’s new family had pretty much burnt most of their country to the ground just a century ago. Dorne was very well-known as a dragon-hating kingdom. The lords and ladies there were more likely to kill her first and ask questions later, if her history lessons with Septa Alla had taught her anything.

So. She wasn’t crossing the sea before she knew for sure she wouldn’t land in Dorne.

To figure that out, she needed to look at a map and pinpoint her location. Visella had a plan. A mission.

She could finish breaking down when she got home.

It took another day of flying the coast to find a village. Visella spotted it from where she was gliding amongst the clouds. It looked like a tiny spot of dark blotches- houses, before she carefully descended. The wind stretched her wing membranes deliciously as she circled the- fishing village? It looked to be situated right at the mouth of a modest river. Visella had a suspicion that she was following yet another dip or bay in the shoreline of Essos, similar to the Blackwater Bay.

She landed roughly a mile away from the village in a grassy stretch of land between the sandy beach and the rocky hills. Visella shifted forms with a shudder. Her scales warped into fleshy skin and her horns vanished in return for messy, light pink hair. Visella stumbled and fell straight on her face from the sudden shift in weight.

She sputtered and spat sand out of her mouth. Ugh.

And she was naked.

Wonderful.

Fucking great.

Visella growled and shoved herself up onto her feet. She started the short trek to the village angrily. Shifting was stupid. Being naked was fucking stupid. Why couldn’t she magically disappear and reappear clothes like a normal superhuman? Now she had sand in her toenails and teeth because she fucking fell on her face because of her stupid quirk.

The universe seemed to realize she was a split second away from turning back into a dragon just to burn something, because the first thing she stumble across was a group of women and children washing clothes.

There was a freshwater well they were surrounding with multiple large basins full of water and drenched clothes surrounding it. Clothes and blankets and rags were hung up to dry across various lines strung along posts in the ground. The kids all looked young and the women were all too busy to be keeping an eye out for a random naked kid to wander up and snatch clothes off their wires.

Which is exactly what she did.

One of lines of clothes furthest away from the group of women- roughly a dozen or so in total, seemed to have the driest clothes fluttering in the ocean breeze. Visella carefully snuck up to it and snatched a dark blanket and rough-looking skirt off the line before scampering away to duck behind a little hill.

The skirt was big enough to tie around her chest and cover her to her toes. Visella wrapped the blanket around her shoulders and head. She stuffed her hair behind the blanket as well as she could and tied the loose ends around her waist.

Visella felt half of her anxiety disappear the instant she got some clothes on her back. She curled her fingers in the rough fabric and sat down for a minute. It was itchy, rough clothing, but more comfort than she had felt in what seemed like ages. All of her clothes had been ever so carefully chosen for her at the Red Temple. All of it had been silk.

Visella took a deep, shuddering breath, and looked up.

She could climb the hill again and approach the group of women. But one of them might recognize the clothes she had taken. They would likely be the most likely to recognize the items, actually, as the ones who had washed them.

Around them and into the village proper it was then.

Visella scampered through the grasslands and sandy shore. She climbed over jagged rocks and winced when the bottom of her feet started throbbing. When she finally found a dirt road her heart lifted instantly.

The village looked more like a small town up close. Visella stared with wide eyes at the buildings and homes and chattering people weaving between everything. There were horses and donkeys pulling carts and wood behind them just inside the town. Chickens walked freely through the road and clucked angrily while scattering when a horse trotted through their flock. Visella wondered if the chickens felt as fluffy as they looked. One of the roosters eyed her angrily.

Several of the villagers stared at her with visible confusion. She almost cursed out loud when she realized they were speaking a different language than she knew.

Not again.

Visella trudged on. She needed to find someone with a map.

A man approached her from the side of the road. He had tan skin and dark hair and eyes. His thick brows were crinkled in confusion and concern as he took her- admittedly dusty, form in.

“Qilōni issi ao, byka mēre? Issi ao ojūdan?” He asked her.

Visella blinked helplessly.

“I don’t understand,” She admitted, half furiously and half tearfully.

Nothing ever went her way.

The man blinked and smiled reassuringly. “Māzigon, kesīr.”

Visella let herself be herded along suspiciously. The man rattled off in the same language. It sounded similar to Myrish, but not exactly it. And after a month of hearing almost nothing except for Myrish she had picked up something of a sense for recognizing the language. At least she liked to think she had.

The man brought her through the dusty, sandy streets to a large building made out of some sort of brick and clay. Visella entered the building with her eyes darting to and fro. It was dim but warm inside the large room. The floor was made out of some sort of packed dirt. A group of men were arguing in the corner behind a giant table with books and parchment strewn all over it.

“Uēpa mēre!” The man caught the attention of the older men arguing behind the long table instantly. “Nyke ūndan mirrī mēre geron ezīmagon se lentor. Ziry poghash quptenka, hen rȳ se embar.”

The oldest man, in many robes with long salt-and-pepper hair, blinked at them.

“She speak common?” He asked in a thick accent.

Visella almost wept on the spot.

“Yes! I speak common, from Westeros. My name is- is Ella,” She said quickly, the made-up name she told him was the first that came to her mind. “Can you help me? I need a map.”

The man stared at her. The three guys beside him looked at her like she was the strangest, most interesting bug they had ever seen in their life.

“You a- merchant daughter?” The old guy asked.

Visella nodded quickly. “Yes! I need a map.” She waved her hands around. “A map of Essos and Westeros.”

The men kept staring.

“Picture of the countries. The sea. Uh-“

“Yes, a map,” The old man said slowly. “I have map. You left by family? Here?”

Visella shook her head. “I was- uh, separated from them. Travelers. I need a map to find them. My mother and father.”

The old man nodded carefully. “Okay.”

He whipped out a sheet of thin, colorful cloth. Visella darted forward and peered at the cloth map spread out on the table.

It was pretty vague and primitive, but impressive for a woven piece. She wondered how long it took to make. She vaguely recognized the shape of the unmarked and unlabeled shores separated by a jagged mark of blue that must have been the Narrow Sea.

“Where are we now? Where is here?” She asked, pointing at the floor and then at the map.

The old man peered at her and pointed to a spot on Essos’ shoreline.

“We here. This Pentos,” He trailed his hand up over a jut in the shoreline and back into a curve of Essos. Pentos was situated in a deep, curled bay. “This Myr,” He pointed to the very westernmost point of another deep bay in the shoreline of Essos. It looked like they were right between Pentos and Myr.

Visella looked to the other side of the sea. “What’s this?” She asked, her dirty finger on a little island right across from where they were.

“Tarth,” The man said immediately. “Westeros, Stormlands.”

Visella felt hope instantly rise in her chest.

“King’s Landing?” She asked, her finger jumping to a familiar bay north of the island of Tarth.

The man nodded. “Yes. King’s Landing. Westeros, Crownlands. You be there?”

Visella frowned. “Uh, yes, I’ve been there before.”

The man nodded sagely. “Dragon King there. Many fire beasts. Only left on the dirt, fly over King’s Landing. Westeros, Crownlands.”

Visella nodded, a bit confused but the guy had shown her a map, so she was going to agree with whatever the hell he said.

“Your family? Where?” He circled the map with his finger.

Visella blinked.

“Here,” She said impulsively, her finger landing on Pentos. The city was directly across the sea from King’s Landing, pretty much. “They are traveling here. To Pentos.”

The man hummed and leaned back to brush his wrinkled, cracked, calloused fingers through his curly beard.

“Dragon Prince in Pentos. Targaryen. Dragon, Blood Wyrm. Fought in Stepstones. You hear?”

Visella’s breath caught in her throat.

“Yes, I heard that. My family is going there to trade in the city. This dragon prince, what is his name?”

The man smiled at her. He seemed amused. “Ah, yes. Dragon Prince. Very powerful. Daemon Targaryen.”

What?

Her weird uncle was in Pentos?

Wait- hadn’t he run off with his new wife somewhere in Essos? She thought it was Braavos or something. He was in Pentos?

“Daemon Targaryen is in Pentos?” She asked intensely, pointing at the spot he had named Pentos on the map. “Right here?”

The man laughed softly and nodded. “Yes. Dragon Prince from Stepstones live there now. You like dragons? You from Westeros, you like Prince? From King’s Landing?”

Visella nodded absently. “Yes, yeah, love him.”

Her weird uncle was in Pentos. Holy shit. That- changed her plans. Visella had heard her mother and grandfather- before Otto went back to Oldtown to be with his sons, that is- rant about Daemon before he ran off with his new wife sometime after Rhaenyra’s wedding. Wait- hadn’t he married Laenor’s sister? Visella had seen her at a meal with Rhaenyra and Laenor’s families. Laena, was her name. She was super pretty.

And super young.

To be married to Daemon, that is. Or maybe Visella was misremembering, or confused. Maybe the teenager she had seen was a different Velaryon Daemon had married. Whatever. The point was that Daemon was her uncle, and he had to protect her. He could help her get to King’s Landing. Daemon was a Prince with a dragon of his own, and he could send word to Visella’s father and mother that she was alive and on her way home.

Oh- fuck yeah.

“Thank you!” She shouted as she darted straight for the door.

The men yelled after her and one of them reached out to grab her, but Visella was off. She ran straight out of the village and towards the sea. A commotion was going on behind her, but Visella was too busy running to stop and turn around to see what was going on.

The second she checked over her shoulder to make sure she was clear to change, she shifted in a split second.

Her wings spread out and she jumped into the sky with a wave of wind. She kept climbing higher and higher before banking to the side and leaning north.

Pentos was just days away, she thought suddenly. Daemon was her dad’s little brother. He’d help take her back home!

…

The three days it took her to reach Pentos felt endless. She ended up sleeping through both nights on the beach this time. The constant flight made it nearly impossible not to. Her wings and back and chest were sore from so much flying, but she was pretty sure she was now an expert in gliding and maximizing the wind to carry her longer with the least amount of effort.

This was the longest Visella had ever flown in any life.

It was peaceful, up in the sky. Just gliding. Especially with more hope in her heart than there had been in… over a month.

Visella snatched a shark out of the sea one morning and ate it whole. She found a herd of wild horses racing away from her in the grasslands later that same day and burned them to ash before feasting on roughly twenty or so horses. She never thought shark and horse would taste so good, but they did.

The closer she got to the city of Pentos, the more humans she spotted below. One entire caravan of people were slowly crawling down a dirt road following the shoreline. Visella dipped down impulsively just to jumpscare them, and then immediately raced off like she had knocked on someone’s door and dashed away. She felt high on hope.

The towns and villages and winding roads underneath her began multiplying with every day she flew north. By the time she spotted the city in the distance she hadn’t seen a spot of land free of humans in days.

Pentos was a sprawling port city with huge walls cradling it towards the sea. Visella could spot the orange tiles of the building rooftops all the way in the clouds she flew through. Over a hundreds ships- probably over two-hundred in all honestly- bobbed in the bay around the city. Giant ships, thin boats, and tiny cogs, they all looked tiny from Visella’s view.

With a warble or chirp of excitement, Visella dove towards the city. She pulled her wings to her sides and stretched her nose towards the city and fell. The wind would have burned her eyes if she didn’t have a third eyelid to protect them. Visella fell out of the air like a rocket.

Her wings snapped out and lifted her out of her free-fall a mere hundred feet from the tallest brick tower in the city. She swooped around in a circle, scanning the city below as if she could spot her uncle in the bustling crowd between each stone building. Her shadow blotted out multiple city blocks below her.

Where the hell was her uncle?

Visella ignored the screaming, running people below her. She wasn’t going to burn or land on them. They would calm down in a few minutes, she had to find Daemon and make him take her home. Visella had no wish to stumble her way across the sea and try to find her way to King’s Landing from wherever she ended up. Daemon obviously knew how to get to King’s Landing, and if he didn’t he was a grown man and a prince. He could pay someone to take them home.

After a solid half an hour of circling the city, Visella was getting annoyed. And a bit nervous.

Where the fuck was her weird uncle?

She let a shriek warble out of her throat. It seemed to echo across the Bay of Pentos and the city proper. It was then she noticed the streams of people leaving the city through boats racing out of the bay and streams of people leaving through the city gates. Visella felt even more annoyance and anxiousness stab her heart and her consciousness. She didn’t want to scare anyone.

An hour after circling the city she landed on a high hill several miles away from Pentos’ walls with an angry grumble. She had a perfect view of the bay and city from that spot.

Anger ignited in her chest.

Was Daemon not here after all? Was the man in the fishing village wrong? It had looked like a secluded place, actually. That could have been old news. What if he had left the city years ago?

Or maybe Daemon had gone to King’s Landing. Visella wondered if her father would call his bratty little brother back home after a family crisis. She was pretty sure one of his kids getting snatched or disappearing counted as a family crisis. If Daemon had taken his family and left, she was so fucking fucked. Well- not really, but it threw a massive wrench in her plans.

Visella scanned the sky fervently.

Maybe Daemon was scared. Like the people evacuating the city. Visella had kind of come out of nowhere, and she didn’t dive straight towards the city like she was about to crush a dozen blocks and thousands of people inside of them. Maybe they thought she was threatening them or something.

Shit.

Okay. Daemon had one day to show up. If he didn’t, she was heading across the sea. The map had Pentos right across from King’s Landing, right? The map also showed that the Narrow Sea did look like it lived up to its name, to a point. Based on the fact that Visella had flown to Pentos is what… six days? Five? From Myr, and comparing that to what she remembered the narrow sea looked like in comparison to that distance on the map, then it should technically only take her two or three days to cross the sea. She could do that, if she really truly had to. But it had taken them two entire weeks to get to Myr on a boat. Even if Mor had done circles like he had said, to shake off any of the King’s ships looking for them, an extra week and a half was a long time to add to a trip. Or maybe she was just that much faster than a boat.

Ugh. She didn’t fucking know.

But Daemon would.

Visella settled angrily on the giant hill and resolved herself to a wait. And wait she did.

It took Daemon an entire twenty-four hours- or close to it- to make an appearance. Visella had fallen asleep furious. When she woke up she had done laps around the city once again, searching almost desperately for a red dragon to appear in the air.

It wasn’t a red dragon that appeared first, though.

It was a green one.

Visella perked up with a trill. A whole tank of a dragon was heading straight towards her from the eastern inland. Visella scrambled off her butt and took off into the air with a jump.

The green dragon roared so loudly Visella was sure that even the boats in the bay could hear it. She screamed a response right back. The dragon didn’t answer, just kept flying towards her. Visella guessed at its size. It looked a bit bigger than she had been before… the doctor changed her quirk. Now it looked about half of her size or so. Visella crooned something instinctively and tilted her belly towards the dragon in a swing around it.

They circled each other. Visella kept warbling insistently. She scanned the back of the dragon, because it wasn’t showing its belly like she was. There was a human strapped to a surprisingly intricate and large saddle on its back. A blur of silver hair was most of what she could make out.

Daemon’s dragon was red and just over half of this dragon’s size, though. So where the hell was her uncle?

Diving straight down between her and the green beast, apparently.

Visella squawked and flapped herself to a halt. The green beast did the same with a tense, shrill, warning sound. Her dark eyes gleamed as they caught Visella’s.

Daemon’s dragon swooped back up to meat them in the air. Visella shrieked happily. The Blood Wyrm roared back at her.

They had to land! Visella turned with a roar and glided down to her hill she had staked out on. The two dragons followed right behind her. Visella let them fly higher than her, in perfect position to get dived on, but she was bigger than both of them. And- she suddenly remembered- she looked a lot more monstrous than she remembered.

Visella looked scary. She had forgotten about that.

They all landed on the hill, though it was a bit of a tight fit. Visella crooned and sidled as close to the dragon pair as she could without being snapped at.

Then she-

Shifted.

And landed flat on her face. Again.

Naked again, too. Great. But Visella was too fucking relieved to care for long. Her head popped up, spitting out grass and dirt, and she scrambled to her feet. Visella raced across the hill and sudden distance between her and the dragon pair. They had jumped and hunched down threateningly after her shift, but Visella was too busy running to care.

“Daemon!” She screamed.

Someone dropped off the wing of the green dragon. A riot of silver curls surrounded an armored form like a halo. Visella’s heart raced. Her feet were torn up by stray stones on the ground, but she couldn’t have cared less.

“Daemon!!” She shouted louder.

“It’s a child!” She heard someone yell. The person who had dropped from the green dragon. They had started running towards her. Another person dropped off of the Blood Wyrm’s back. Her uncle. She could see him staring at her.

“Laena, wait!”

She reached Vhagar’s rider, Laena Velaryon, first. Visella jumped straight into the woman’s arms. Laena held her so tightly her armor pinched at Visella’s bare skin. Visella was sobbing. Heaving, breathtaking sobs.

“Laena!” She cried. “It’s me! Visella! I found you!”

“Visella?!” Daemon nearly shrieked as he skidded to a halt beside them both.

“Daemon! I found you!” She was ugly sobbing now. Snotty and drooling and she could barely fucking see anything through her tears.

Laena draped her cloak around Visella with a swish of her arms. “What in the seven-!”

Visella felt the pressure that had been building up in her chest break. She buried her face into Laena’s steel-covered shoulder and broke.

She had found them.

Chapter Text

Prince Daemon Targaryen had carved out a good life for himself and his family in Pentos. As a second son, Daemon had come to understand that nothing would be given to him. He had to take what he wanted with his dragon and Dark Sister.

So he did. He took the woman he wanted as a wife, flew to Pentos, and took the life he wanted for himself.

“Your daughters have kept their nursemaid up all night again,” Laena said, amused, at his side on their bed.

“Hm,” Daemon played with one of her curls absently. “They are restless. Perhaps they have the blood of the dragon.”

Laena raised her eyebrows dryly. “Perhaps they are fussy babes.”

Daemon huffed a laugh. Their twin girls were two now, passed the dangerous infant years, and both were strong and healthy. Baela’s dragon egg had hatched mere months ago. Laena had named the tiny dragon Moondancer. Rhaena’s had yet to hatch, but Daemon wasn’t too worried about it. Neither he nor his wife had hatched their own dragons, and now look at the mounts they had claimed. Caraxes and Vhagar.

“My mother wrote to me,” Laena said.

Daemon kept the grimace off of his face.

You see, when he took Laena as a bride, he did so without the King’s blessing. Corlys and Rhaenys had been there for the wedding, which had happened on Driftmark, but neither had been pleased when they flew to Pentos the next week. Daemon had not been keen to face his brother’s displeasure.

Viserys would never stay mad at him for too long, though. That Daemon knew.

His brother…

Daemon’s family in Westeros had sent a letter. It had reached him a fortnight ago. The letter brought nothing but ill tidings. When Daemon had read it, he had been beyond displeased.

His brother, the King of the Seven Kingdoms, The Dragon, Viserys Targaryen, had allowed one of his children to be kidnapped from his own home. His own castle. Maegor’s Holdfast. Last Daemon had heard, they still had not found the girl, Viserys’ eldest child with the Hightower bitch. Daemon remembered meeting her when he returned from the Stepstones, right before he had been banished from the city again. The tiny brat had insulted his dragon in the span of five minutes. Still, she was a Princess of the Seven Kingdoms, and for her to be taken in her own rooms was a slight on the entire of the Kingdom and a sign of weakness. Extreme weakness, particularly in the King.

It was insulting.

He remembered being vaguely intrigued by the brat’s appearance. Daemon had never heard of pink hair before. Even the dye from Essos, he imagined, could not make hair that color, not unless the original hair was pale enough to be dyed such a pale pink. For that, either the hair would have to be white or silver-gold. Daemon could not imagine the Hightower girl his brother had taken as Queen would chose to dye one of her children’s hair a queer color when the original color of the girl’s hair had to have been silver or white, as her Valyrian Sire’s was.

No, the color was natural. It was also very, very strange.

The rumors Daemon had heard about the girl were even stranger.

His brother claimed that she was immune to fire. There had been an incident when the girl was young, and she had fallen into the hearth in the nursery and had come out of it unharmed. Daemon did not believe a single tall tale he had heard about it. If Targaryen’s were immune to fire, they would have realized it by now, and if the ability was latent, it would have appeared in someone with pure Targaryen blood, not the Hightower’s brood. Daemon would eat his own boots before so much as imagining Otto Hightower’s spawn capable of producing a Valyrian immune to fire.

Still, someone must have believed it enough to take the girl. Daemon imaged his brother was regretting the tales he had allowed to spin out of control in his own court. If he had crushed the rumors then, the girl likely would not have been taken. They were the only reason someone would go after a girl child and not her brother, the King’s firstborn son.

Which- that was a bit strange, for the rumors to circle the girl brat and not the boy. The so yearned for firstborn son.

No matter. Daemon had not been called to be at his brother’s side, and instead asked to keep an eye out for any rumors or whispers across the sea. It was slightly wise on Viserys’ part, Daemon could admit.

Laena shifted in his hold. She looked beautiful, with the sun lighting up her deep brown skin, silvery hair, and bright purple eyes. His wife’s mother and his annoying cousin, however, missed her only daughter, and was very… vocal about it.

“She wishes to meet her granddaughters,” Laena smoothed her hand over Daemon’s bare chest, her calloused fingers catching on his scars. She had the hands of a dragonrider, if not a fighter, like Daemon’s. “I would agree with her sentiment.”

Daemon hummed again, pinching Laena’s silver curls in his fingers again and again, watching the ringlets bounce back each time.

“Daemon,” His wife teased, her head falling against his pillow. She had joined him in his rooms last night and demanded he give her another child. Daemon had tried for a son, this time. In a few weeks they would know if this one had taken.

He hoped so. Daemon was always greedy when it came to his family.

“I miss Driftmark,” His wife crooned in his ear. “I miss my mother, my father. I wish for the girls to meet my family.”

Daemon’s eyes twitched. “I’m your family now.”

Laena just huffed a laugh. “Yes, you are,” Her hands smoothed over his neck. “And so is my family back home.”

Ugh.

Daemon hated how much Laena loved her Velaryon relatives. How much she missed them. No- hate was a strong word. If Daemon had been raised in as big of a family as Laena had, he would wish to be with them too, he thought. If Daemon remembered his own mother, he supposed he would wish for her to meet his daughters as well. If his father were still breathing-

No. Best not think of what could be. Daemon only became frustrated and furious when that happened.

Laena let him think in silence for as long as he needed.

“The girls are strong enough now, I suppose,” He murmured, thinking of the flight to Driftmark. “We can go for a fortnight. Rhaenys can finally stop her nagging.”

Laena’s response was a grin and a kiss on his lips. Then another. And another. And-

The door slammed open.

“Forgive me, Prince Daemon, Lady Laena!” The guard bowed lowly, his eyes on his shoes and his arms at his side.

Daemon threw the blanket over Laena immediately, staring at the guard furiously as he rose from the bed. Laena covered her shoulders and naked body with the blanket as she stared with wide eyes.

“You dare- “

“My deepest apologies,” The guard interrupted. “I’m afraid there is a matter of extreme urgency in the city, my Prince. A dragon the size of Vhagar has been spotted flying over the city for the past half hour. The beast is not leaving.”

Daemon froze.

“What?” Laena said from the bed. She hadn’t sat up, and the guard had kept his head bowed and eyes on his shoes to protect her modesty. It was the only reason Daemon hadn’t removed his head from his shoulders.

“The beast has been spotted flying from the south, following the coast,” The swordsman said quickly. “We thought the rumors tall tales. No wild dragon has been seen in Essos for centuries, and this one is larger than Vhagar. Much larger.”

The man’s voice was trembling, Daemon realized suddenly.

It was only then that he heard a roar. A dragon’s roar, dark and deep and throaty, but not from Caraxes or Vhagar. No, Daemon knew their song by heart now, and this was a different call from a different beast. He stalked to the window facing the Bay, and-

His breath froze. Daemon’s muscles clenched as if he was preparing for battle again. His violet eyes were locked on the form in the distance, flying over the city, and-

It was enormous.

Bigger than Balerion, Daemon thought stupidly, when the Black Dread had been claimed by his brother. It made the City of Pentos look not as large as he knew it to be, just from flying over it. The beast was a dark red, nearly black, with enormous wings and a lashing, tapered tail with wide fins at the end. It was a wyvern, but… even from this distance, Daemon could tell it looked different.

Daemon had never seen the beast before in his life, and he had lived exploring both the Dragonpit and the Dragonmount. Daemon knew every single dragon and every single egg that was under the Targaryen’s yoke. This dragon did not belong to any of his memories- and it was too large to have been born within this century.

The only dragon it could possibly be was the wild dragon named the Cannibal, but that beast was smaller than Vermithor, last Daemon had seen, and still skulking about the island. The beast in the distance swooped once again, and Daemon’s eyes caught on its tail again. At the base of it, near the hips, were two fins that looked a bit like tiny wings. The fins at the tip of the tail were normal, but that second pair near its hips were decidedly not. The beast’s horns around its head were visible even from the distance, and he could see the ridges on its spine that was likely more spikes. They had to be massive to be visible from so far away.

That was no Targaryen dragon. It came from somewhere else.

Was it an attack?

“Seven hells.” He cursed. “Laena-“

No, he turned to the guard. “What do you want? Why have you barged in to announce this to us?”

But even before the man spoke, Daemon knew.

“His Highness Prince Reggio Haratis is here to meet with you, my Prince. You and your Lady Wife Laena.”

Daemon stared at the man. The dragon roared again behind him, still circling the city. It sounded…

The only thing that would chase a dragon of that size away from the city was another dragon. The only dragon that could face it- Daemon thought, dazed, was his wife’s mount, Vhagar. And…

“Leave us. We will join Prince Reggio in a moment.”

The swordsman bowed even deeper than he had been and kept his head down as he left the room. The second he closed the door behind him, Laena threw the blankets off of her body and hurried to the window Daemon had looked out. He turned to watch her when she saw it.

He saw her own breath freeze, her eyes widen, her hand come up to her bare chest. Her curls were a riot all around her head and shoulders.

The dragon roared once again. It was louder now, somehow. Angrier. Daemon felt ice in his veins.

Prince Reggio had made comments before, about their stay here being made possible through the demonstrations of their dragons, the dances they performed for the Prince and his favored nobles. He had made comments about no other nation daring to threaten Pentos with two dragonriders living in the city. And it had been true.

But the threat before them was no nation. It was no fleet they could burn, no army they could destroy with but a small danger being a bolt to their dragon’s eye. No. This was a dragon. One circling the city exactly like Vhagar did before she dove for the prey she was hunting, burning it alive and swallowing it whole.

This was a dragon on a hunt, and the City was its prey. Or the people inside the city.

It was an enormous dragon. Daemon wondered faintly how many people it would take to fill its belly. How could a beast even grow to that size? Where had it come from? Had there been even bigger dragons in Old Valyria, during the height of the Freehold?

“I’ll need armor,” Was all Laena said, her purple eyes burning with- something, as she watched the dragon swoop frighteningly low towards the city. “We can lure it away, towards the Rhoyne.”

She turned around to throw on clothing. Daemon watched her with wide eyes. She started to out on a slip for a gown, before stopping and shaking her head, then taking pants and a tunic from his own wardrobe.

Armor, she had said. Without a hint of hesitation.

Daemon pulled his own clothes on and strapped Dark Sister to his waist.

When they walked down to the courtyard of the manse they had been invited to live in, Prince Reggio and fourteen noblemen were there waiting on them, along with a crowd of swordsmen and guards and servants and slaves at their backs.

“Prince Daemon,” Reggio nodded, more grave than Daemon had ever seen the man. “Lady Laena.”

It was perhaps the fact that not a single one of the noblemen batted an eye at Laena’s attire. She was wearing Daemon’s clothes, and to wear pants and a tunic in front of Prince Reggio, even if they were the finely made clothing that Daemon owned, was a grievous insult to both the man and his nobleman. But none of them looked upon his wife with disgust or insult. All of them were pale, drawn, and-

Scared.

Terrified.

“What is the meaning of this?” Daemon demanded, his hand resting upon Dark Sister’s hilt out of habit. Laena stood at his side.

Prince Reggio did something he had never done before, then.

He bowed. From the waist. Not a head nod, not a small lower of his head, no, the Prince of Pentos bowed to Daemon Targaryen and Laena Targaryen, and his noblemen behind his bowed even lower. The guards did the same, and the servants and slaves bowed on their knees.

“I, Prince Reggio Haratis of Pentos, the One-Hundredth-and-Forty-Seventh of my tittle, ask Prince Daemon Targaryen and his Lady Wife Laena, to drive the dragon out of my city and keep my people safe.”

Daemon stood there. Laena as well. The men remained bowed, even Prince Reggio.

“In return for your bravery and selflessness, I will gift you eternal residence in my City, and eternal residence for your children, their children, and any person of your bloodline, for all eternity, in any castle or hold of your choosing. I understand if this price is insufficient, and offer whatever might please yourselves that I am capable of offering.”

Daemon breathed. He turned to Laena, and caught her gaze. Violet against purple. She snuck her hand into his.

Could he do this? Take his wife to battle? Would that not make him a craven, a weakling? Women were not made for war or battle. That was for men to do, and Daemon was a good man. He was a warrior, a knight, he had been one since he was but six and ten years of age. Daemon was the wielder of Dark Sister and the rider of Caraxes the Blood Wyrm. Daemon was the Dragonrider in the Stepstones, the one that the Triarchy had learned to flee from and quiver in fear of. Daemon was the battle-hardened warrior that he had made himself into.

But- he thought, breath coming in sharply.

Daemon could not win against that beast over the city. Not if it wanted a fight. Not with Caraxes.

Laena was the only one with a dragon that could match it- and it was still larger than hers.

Would he risk his life and order Laena to remain behind? Even if he did, how could Caraxes defeat it? The only way would be to use his mount’s speed to lure it away and escape. If he did not, he would die, and then Laena would be forced to face it alone. He could order her to stay behind and pray to win on his own. That’s what his brother might do, if he was in his position. Many men would. Corlys Velaryon had never brought his wife to war in the Stepstones, and Rhaenys flew upon Meleys.

But this was no Triarchy. This was one beast, one opponent, one battle- if it came to that.

“I will go,” Laena said, taking the position Daemon was forced to consider away from him. She held her shoulders high and her eyes blazed. “We shall lead the dragon away, towards the Rhoyne. The dragon is large, but two dragons are better than one.”

It could be true, if the dragon was smaller than Daemon remembered from his glances just moments ago. Still, Daemon had seen more dragons than anyone else alive. He knew what a dragon looked like flying over a city, and not even Balerion had looked like-

The men remained bowed, waiting for Daemon to agree to bring his wife to battle. He could refute her here and now, and she would be forbidden to go. Daemon was her husband, he had more than that right. It was even expected of him, to many of these men here. He wondered if they were pleading in their minds for him to forget that.

“Laena,” Daemon said, taking her hand. They met each other’s eyes.

Could he ask this of her?

Laena met his eyes with her own burning gaze. “You know I must go, Daemon. You cannot go alone, the dragon is bigger than Vhagar, much less Caraxes. If it comes to a fight you would be completely reliant on speed, but the dragon is big and thus has more stamina. With two dragons we could lure it away and then escape much easier.”

Daemon breathed.

“Tell us what you know of the beast,” He deflected, putting off making a decision. Laena’s lips thinned in displeasure immediately.

And so the meeting began.

They were surrounding the table, staring at maps and plans and offerings, and Prince Reggio’s Lord’s told them everything they knew of the dragon. It had first been spotted near Myr, apparently.

“I’ve heard the dragon has supposedly killed many of the Red Priests of Myr,” Lord Mopani said. “One of my daughters lives in Myr and sent word. Apparently the beast wiped out nearly every Red Priest in Myr- they had left the city for some ceremony and the dragon happened upon them. Most of them were either crushed or burned. The only survivors were the ones who had stayed behind. The beast did not attack the city, however, just headed North.”

Daemon nodded once. That was- okay, so the dragon was hostile, in some manner. That was good to know.

Laena spoke up next. “Has he been spotted anywhere else? Where did he come from? I’ve never seen the beast in Westeros, he had to have come from the east.”

Prince Reggio clasped his hands together. They were trembling slightly. “I have not heard anything of a dragon in Essos. There hasn’t been even a whisper of wild dragons on this side of the Narrow Sea in centuries. We would have heard something- unless it came from the Dothraki Sea, or even further eastern.”

Daemon agreed, that very well could have been the origin of the dragon. The Dothraki would be less likely to spread word of a giant beast in their lands than any other. The horse riding pirates of Essos would likely attack the beast and die foolishly, in Daemon’s opinion, then leave it alone. They were known as a savage bunch.

Perhaps the beast saw the priests in Myr and thought them to be Dothraki Hoarde, confusing them for a meal.

Time passed- well over an hour. Daemon and Laena had many, many questions, and none of the lords rushed them. At least at first.

Daemon still had not given an answer on whether Laena was coming with him or not, and everyone at the table knew that his wife had more of a chance of tangling with the beast outside than he did.

“My Lords,” One of the servants on watch bowed. “The dragon is still on the northern hill. It appears to be waiting.”

“Has it gone after the evacuees?” Prince Reggio asked immediately.

The man shook his head quickly. “It appears to be ignoring them. The scouts closer to the beast are… the line of scouts we set up are sending word that the beast is crooning, or growling, almost constantly.”

Laena and Daemon caught each other’s eyes immediately.

Dragon’s sang in specific situations. Roaring was different than what had just been described: a constant stream of noise. Hatchlings and young dragons might make those sounds for food or attention, and older dragons might sing for a mate they were interested in.

“Could it have…” Laena started, staring her husband.

Daemon rubbed at his chin thoughtfully, turning over every piece of knowledge of dragons he had in his mind. He thought of witnessing his own dragon’s clumsy attempts to court potential mates. Caraxes had taken to serenading Syrax anytime they were in sight of one another, and had done the same to Vhagar in the past few years. The Blood Wyrm had even managed to entice Vhagar just enough for the green beast to bring forth a single egg: Moondancer.

“Is the sound the same, or does it change?” Daemon asked, still staring at the map. Every eye in the room was on him or Laena.

“It remains the same, as far as I have heard, My Prince,” The servant bowed.

Daemon breathed out of his nose and looked at Laena. She stared back at him, her hands leaning on the table they were gathered at.

“It could have stumbled upon dragon droppings,” Daemon told Laena and the others in the room. “Realized a potential mate was nearby. I imagine there aren’t many suitors in the Dothraki Sea.”

Laena huffed once. Her shoulders loosened at his confirmation, that the dragon was more likely here to serenade their dragons than to rip them to shreds.

That was good. If it were true.

“That would be better than sending a challenger.” Laena agreed.

Prince Reggio glanced between them intensely. “You think it is here for your dragons?”

Daemon nodded. “A constant sound is always a call, not a threat. Based on the dragon’s size it is not a hatchling begging for food. It has to be a mating call.”

Several men around the table relaxed just slightly all around them.

The negotiations continued.

“Laena,” Daemon said, hours later. “I cannot put you in this position.”

She glared at him. “I put myself in this position: and I say I will go.”

“What of the children?” Daemon immediately asked her. “If we both go, the dragon is as likely to take that as a threat as he is an answer to his song. As the bigger threat, you would be targeted first, Laena.”

“So we make a plan!” She shot back, voice cutting.

The men around them watched silently. Honor kept them from trying to convince Daemon to send his wife to battle for their sakes, but they knew in the back of their minds that Laena was their best option, so they did not side with Daemon either.

“This isn’t even your duty, Laena,” He insisted. “Pentos is not our home. You have no need to defend it-“

“Neither do you.”

Daemon growled and turned to stare at the map. “I will not run away.”

He was no craven. This dragon could threaten their home. The one they had carved out for themselves here, and the one across the sea. The beast was looking for a mate (or a figh-), and if it couldn’t find one here, Daemon knew exactly where it would go next.

“Laena,” He tried again. “You have no experience fighting dragon-“

“Neither do you.”

Daemon glared at her. She glared back.

And on and on it went.

They argued for hours. Daemon was too weak to tell her to shut up, obey, and go to her rooms, as was his right as her husband. Laena was not that kind of wife. It was one of the reasons why he had wed her.

“Compensation would be inevitable,” Reggio said, deathly serious, from his seat across from them. “The beast has taken lives in Myr, it is a known threat. I will not ignore that fact. To risk your lives for us would be met with the honor and dignity you are due. Compensation in the form of the stated holding of your choice, passed down through your line, and whatever monetary value you require.”

Daemon sneered. “I am no sellsword.”

“Daemon,” Laena cut him off sharply. She had taken a seat as well as the hours dragged by. The sun had passed its peak hours ago.

The dragon was still there.

The city was still under threat. They had stopped the evacuations by land for fear of the dragon attacking any crowd- like it had done in Myr, and instead focused the evacuation on happening through ships.

“In the event that one of our dragons die,” Laena announced, her hand in the table. “A debt of five million gold dragons will be owed. If Caraxes falls, the money will be owed to House Targaryen. If Vhagar falls, the money will be owed half to House Targaryen, and half to House Velaryon.”

Prince Reggio closed his eyes. The lords around him stared, waiting.

Five million gold dragons was an unfathomable amount of money. Ten million was inconceivable.

Their dragons were worth more, everyone around the table knew. Dragons- especially grown dragons, were worth entire kingdoms. But this debt Laena had offered was only in the event of their dragons dying.

“If neither dragon falls,” Laena said simply, “No debt is owed. But we will take this manse for our personal ownership, to be passed on through our bloodline, in either event.”

Daemon nodded in agreement.

Prince Reggio bowed.

“I will agree to this, Lady Laena, Prince Daemon. This is a fair and honorable deal.”

And so the negotiations continued.

All the way into the night.

At one point, one of the Lords snapped and tried to rush them. “It had been hours, will you defend the city or not!?”

Daemon glared death at the man. His hand flexed around Dark Sister’s hilt.

“I will not charge into battle without a plan, you fickle imbicile. The dragon has not attacked or made move to attack. Until it does, you will answer my questions, or I will take my family and leave.”

Everyone shut the fuck up after than, and pleasantly answered every question they had, even as the moon peaked overhead.

They discarded the plan to lure the beast to the Rhoyne, and instead planned to lead it to the Hills of Norvos. The mountains there would give them an easier time losing the beast, especially since they would have the advantage of speed.

“You need me,” Laena said for the umpteenth time. The sun would rise soon, and none of them had moved from the table but to relieve themselves. Trays of food had been brought to them, along with wine, but they had not left to eat proper meals in their own rooms. None of them had slept.

“What sort of husband would I be to allow my wife to risk her life in battle?” Daemon finally snapped. “What would my daughters think of me, If you do not return to them?”

Daemon wished he could run away then. He wished he could wash his hands of it all and fly back to Westeros. But even thinking of that- he knew that the dragon would go there next, if they did not draw it east and lose its tail in the great Dothraki Sea.

They had to do this now, here. Not in their home, where others they loved could be pulled into this too. Daemon and Laena would be asked to handle the beast no matter the location. Rhaenys might be asked, potentially, if only because Meleys was the same size as Caraxes, but likely not. Viserys had always had a soft spot for their cousin.

The beast was bigger than Balerion. Daemon kept thinking about that.

Vermithor and Silverwing had no riders. Meleys was the only dragon with a rider capable of taking them to battle, and Rhaenys had only been to battle once before, years ago. Not to mention Meleys was the same size as Caraxes.

Again, Daemon was forced to face the fact that they could not flee to Westeros. If it did come to battle, better it be in Essos, full of people who were not of his Kingdom, than across the sea where his family was.

Daemon sighed.

He put his head in his hands. Tried to fucking think for a moment.

Laena’s hand came to his shoulder. She had risen from her seat to stand by him. Daemon fought to keep a hold of himself.

“Daemon,” She said, more softly than she had since their morning hours before, when they had woken up from a blissful sleep after a night of carnal pleasure. “I will not die. The dragon is searching for a mate, not territory to take from a challenger. We will plan to make no mistakes. No risks. We will draw the dragon back into the Dothraki Sea, lose it through speed, and then come home to our daughters.”

He turned his face to her then, staring up at her. She smoothed her hands across his cheeks. Smiled at him.

“It’s just another dragon, Daemon. You are Targaryen, but I am a Dragonrider as well. When I return with you, I will tell our daughters that.”

Daemon breathed. He held Laena’s hands, which were cupping his face. The men around them seemed to hold their breaths.

“You will need armor.”

…

They left at noon.

Laena had been put into armor approved by Daemon himself. It had taken four different suits for him to finally approve one. It was the closest fit to his wife. She hooked a cloak around her shoulders and to her waist as well.

Daemon put on the armor suit he had taken to battle countless times before. He checked every strap, every buckle, and rested his hand on Dark Sister’s hilt.

Before they mounted their dragon, both restless and wild-eyed from all the commotion coming from the strange beast, Daemon took Laena’s face into his hands and stared into her eyes. Their foreheads came together, their noses touching.

Laena smiled softly. She grabbed his arms.

“I will see you again in the sky, husband.”

Daemon breathed. He nudged his forehead against her’s once before turning around and mounting his dragon. Caraxes growled loudly, body coiled tightly under the saddle, tense as a spring. Vhagar was slightly less agitated. That was a good sign, however. A lot was riding on Vhagar with their plan.

They had worked out every detail.

As they flew off the cliff over the bay of Pentos, they did so heading south, and keeping low. Neither of them allowed their dragon’s to be seen by the other beast. They flew far enough until the city was a speck, before banking east, to make a circle.

They would approach the dragon from the east and lure it to the Hills of Norvos. They would lose the dragon there and fly back to the city as fast as physically possible. If the dragon was in search of a mate, as they predicted, it would not hunt them down. Dragons were not ones to force themselves on one another, and their plan would make it very clear that neither Caraxes or Vhagar had interest in the beast. Forcing a mating was much too risky for dragons. Fights between the beasts were nearly always deadly.

It was Vhagar and Laena who approached the dragon from the true east. Daemon had climbed higher and higher in the sky and circled all the way around.

It was his job to dive for the beast’s throat if it attacked Vhagar.

That was their plan.

It also kept the dragon from feeling threatened in any way. Two dragons approaching one dragon could raise tension in any environment, even if the lone beast was bigger than the other two. Caraxes was a temperamental creature as well. Vhagar was slightly more… reasonable, one might say.

Daemon watched from the clouds as the dragon caught sight of Vhagar from where it was resting on its chosen hill, the one it had slept es on all night. He saw its enormous head rise. Then saw it- almost scramble, off of the hill and into the air. It flew straight for Vhagar.

His wife’s mount roared a warning at the beast. It was a blatant threat.

Well.

That was bad.

What was worse was the beast not slowing down. Instead, it roared right back. The sound was deafening. Daemon felt the beast’s response in his bones.

Fuck.

The two dragons raced towards one another. Daemon cursed louder than he ever had before, tugged on the chains keeping him in his saddle, and flew Caraxes directly over the dragon with his whip and his words. They had planned this. They knew what they were doing.

It was only when the two dragons drew closer that his blood froze in his veins.

The beast was not twice as large as Vhagar.

It was three times as large as Vhagar.

No- it was-

The wind whipped at his braid, and Daemon felt his gut curdle inside of him. His wife must have realized the information was wrong by now. She must be terrified. They were not prepared for this. The beast was aggressive and they could not fight it. They would not wi-

There was no fleeing now. It was too late.

Daemon readied Caraxes to dive, and shouted the order.

They dove.

Then, just as he had given the order, the enormous beast swerved, belly bared, to circle Vhagar, not attack her. Laena immediately followed the beast to keep them separate- that was exactly what she was supposed to do. The only thing Daemon disliked was that Vhagar had refused to show the beast her own belly, which was instinctual to her, but it bared Laena to the beast.

Which was warbling, or growling.

Not roaring.

But Daemon was already diving straight towards it. Had been for seconds, it was too late to pull up and vanish between the clouds, fuck-

Daemon swung his whip and it snapped against Caraxes flank, communicating his order to dive beside the dragon, not on it. Caraxes did so immediately, and they dove between the circling dragons before finally pulling up.

The beast flailed, obviously shocked by his appearance, but did not attack. Daemon felt his worst fear dissipate immediately. He gasped for breath and realized he had been holding it, belatedly.

Then he was nearly deafened the insistent warbling coming from the enormous dragon before them. It crooned and warbled and growled, flashing its belly all the while. Caraxes growled back, obviously confused and extremely anxious. Vhagar-

Vhagar chuffed.

Dragons made very distinctive sounds. Daemon had very rarely heard Vhagar chuff before. It was only towards her hatchlings, in fact.

What the fuck.

What in the actual fucking-

The enormous beast shrieked before turning in the air and making for the city once again. Wait- what the fuck, no-

Laena urged her dragon after the beast.

Exactly what they were trying not to fucking do . Daemon cursed violently and ordered Caraxes follow. They caught up with Vhagar and flew side bye side, as close as they could get without becoming too close to break apart in time if the dragon suddenly attacked.

“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?!” Daemon shouted over the wind.

Laena screamed something back, but it was lost to the wind between them.

The dragon flew straight for the hill it had taken up, before turning back and staring at them. It’s strange tail lashed against the ground, as if impatient for something.

Then Vhagar landed right in front of the beast. Daemon landed beside her, but not too close, in order to attack from another angle if the beast-

Vanished?

What?

Daemon stared. Blinked. Stared some more.

The beast was gone.

He looked up at the sky, but it had not jumped away faster than Daemon could blink. He looked back down, and- right there! In the crushed, compacted earth of the hill, there was- a human. Running towards them.

What in the actual fuck?

“It’s a child!” Laena shouted.

That was when his wife decided to jump off of her own mount and start running towards the human as well.

Daemon flung himself off of Caraxes as fast as he possibly could. “Laena!” He screamed. “Wait!”

The human had appeared exactly as the dragon vanished in thin air- Daemon was no fool-

Then-

Pink hair flashed in the sunlight.

A tiny face came into view. Daemon ripped his helmet off, eyes wider than they had ever been before. It really was a child. A tiny, pale, naked girl child, running towards them across the hill. With very pink hair.

Daemon didn’t even have time to consider what was before his very eyes before the child jumped straight into Laena’s open arms. The child’s own scrawny arms wrapped around Laena’s neck and locked, as if they would never let go again. Daemon skidded to a stop beside them, chest heaving. He heard the child sobbing before anything else.

A tear-stained face turned towards him, dirt-smeared and red and snotty. Wide blue eyes watered over as they peered at him.

“Laena!” The girl child wailed. “It’s me! Visella! I found you!”

“ Visella?!” Daemon shrieked .

“Daemon!” The brat wailed, mouth full of spit and snot dripping out of her nose. “I found you!” She cried, eyes completely watering over.

“What in the seven-!” Laena turned her own wide eyes to Daemon, as if he knew what the fucking hells was happening right now- before wrapping Visella up in the cloak attached to her shoulders and waist.

The girl sobbed. Turned her face into Laena’s shoulder, and melted into her lap. Daemon staggered forward stupidly. He looked at the indents in the hill hundreds of feet away, where claws had scarred the top of the hill. Visella’s hands and feet were covered in dirt.

What.

The fuck.

Well, Daemon thought near-hysterically. Viserys’ missing brat was no longer missing, at least.

…

Chapter Text

“Come, darling,” Laena brushed her wild hair out of her face and picked her up in one swoop. Visella sniffled loudly and wrapped her legs around the woman’s waist.

“She’ll ride with me,” Laena said.

“Right,” Daemon agreed faintly. “Just- just be careful. Land as close to the manse as you need and get inside.”

Laena nodded once. Visella clung to her tightly as they walked quickly over to the dragons. She sniffled and gasped for breath and-

Smelly, hot, smoky air washed over her whole body. Visella blinked through teary, swollen eyes, and peeled away from Laena to look over her shoulder.

One massive, brilliant green eye stared straight at her. The green beast sniffed at her deeply, and the messy waves of her hair pulled towards the dragon’s nostrils as it breathed.

Visella stared. The beast stared back. A strange sound erupted from her chest without her control, a shrill chirp. Vhagar blinked. The beast nosed forward and made a smooth coughing sound.

Laena stared between them, her eyes wide and unbelieving.

Laena laughed incredulously. “Well! Let’s go on then, since Vhagar seems happy as a clam to see you, we should have a nice ride back home.”

That they did. Visella stared at the saddle they had to climb up to, mesmerized by how detailed and massive it was. Laena tied herself and Visella to the saddle with an ease that spoke of years of experience. Then she wrapped one arm around Visella, who was in her lap, and took up a long whip her in other hand.

She flicked her wrists at her side and the whip rippled against Vhagar’s side before snapping lightly at the end of it.

“Sōvegon, Vhagar! Naejot se manse!”

Visella had never flown on the back of a dragon before.

It felt like… it wasn’t like flying herself. It was something else to just sit on the back of an enormous beast that carried them through the sky. It felt very, very different than flying.

She had done it, she thought suddenly, as they flew over the city.

She really had escaped.

Gotten away.

Avoid the white door-

She had done it.

The rest of the flight felt like it happened in a dream.

Visella was taken to a luxurious manse several miles away from the city of Pentos. It was located over the bay and had a stunning view. The manse was big enough for a large courtyard to be nestled in the center of the square building. It was made with white quartz and red bricks, and the roof was tiled in the same fashion as the towers in the city proper.

Daemon quickly herded her and Laena into the manse, where maids and men at arms and important-looking people were running around like headless chickens. Daemon stopped to speak with them and Laena continued up large, winding stairs to enter a quiet, large bedroom absolutely brimming with luxury. Laena sat her down on a plush sofa at the foot of a giant canopy bed.

“Here, let me look at you,” Laena said breathlessly. Her hands were cool when she brushed Visella’s hair out of her face- which she gently turned upwards to see her better. “Gods. What in the seven hells happened to you?”

Visella hiccuped. She opened her mouth to answers but nothing came out. Something was lodged in her throat. She had a feeling if she tried to speak, she would just start sobbing again.

(I did it mom-)

Laena tutted sadly. “You need a wash, love. And some clothes, oh- Raisa!”

A woman in a plain dress and dark green veil suddenly appeared behind Laena with a bow. “Yes, my lady?”

“Fetch a hot bath for the princess. And bring me a dress for her to change into, something comfortable. Oh- and bring up some wine and bread from the kitchen. Gods, you must be starving, Princess.”

Visella’s stomach chose that moment to growl. Loudly.

Laena smiled weakly and tutted again. Visella went blank, dazed and reeling, until Laena coaxed her into the bath. It felt as if she had blinked and time had passed without her even noticing at all.

The bath felt heavenly. It was hot enough to be steaming around her. Visella sighed shakily and felt a hundred worries leave along with her breath. The bath was big enough to spread her legs completely out and still not be close to touching the end of it. She sank fully under the surface of the water and shook her head- feeling the warm water seep all the way to her scalp and across her face with sheer pleasure.

Laena sent her maids away and washed Visella herself. After a week of travel the soapy, scented, fluffy sponge felt heavenly against her skin. Laena washed, oiled, and brushed her hair out with gentle hands. She helped her pull on the simple cream colored dress that the maids brought them and pulled her hair back in a simple braid.

(Blood on rubble, on sandy-)

Visella drank nearly an entire pitcher of watered wine. She tore through the bread and cheese offered to her with manners that would have had Septa Alla swat her with a switch. Laena didn’t say anything though.

She fell asleep right on Laena’s sofa, belly full, clean, and safe.

(I got out-)

Visella dreamed of a doctor, a masked man, and a god.

(Mom.)

…

“Visella.”

She woke with a scream.

The towering figure casting a shadow above her jumped. Visella scrambled away from the man and he stepped back immediately.

She blinked. Daemon stared at her with an open mouth.

“It’s alright, it’s okay. Your safe. It’s just me.”

Visella gasped and took a moment to catch her breath. They regarded each other carefully. Visella looked around. She was in the same room she had fallen asleep in, on the same sofa even. It looked like night had fallen. Laena was nowhere to be found, and the maids had disappeared. It was just her and Daemon.

“Are you hurt anywhere?” Daemon asked her seriously, kneeling easily in front of her.

Visella blinked before shaking her head. “No. I’m fine.”

Daemon nodded, his eyes more intense than she had ever seen them.

“How do you do that, Visella? Before?”

She was confused for a second, like an idiot. “Do what?”

Daemon stared at her. “You were a dragon. And then you were you.”

“Oh. Oh! Uh-“

Oh shit.

“I- I don’t know. It just happened. When I ran away from them to get back home, I- they were burning them, and I shifted and then- well-“

“Calm down.” Daemon said quietly, calmly. “It’s alright. I believe you. Who did you run away from? Who took you?”

“They called themselves Red Priests.” She answered easily, exhaustion suddenly creeping up on her. She hugged her knees to her chest.

Daemon’s eyes flashed with recognition.

“Did they do anything to you? Is that- did they do anything strange around you? Something that might have caused you to turn into a dragon?” For the first time she heard a sense of incredulity in her uncle’s tone of voice. Probably at the simple fact that he was asking his seven-year-old niece if her kidnappers had transformed her into a fucking dragon.

“No- no, they didn’t turn me into a dragon.” She admitted. “I did it myself. I mean- it’s just something I can do.”

“Just- just something you can do.” Daemon repeated. He kept staring at her.

“Yeah. Like how fire doesn’t hurt. Uh- that’s why. Because I can turn into a dragon.”

Daemon’s tongue flicked over his lips. He hadn’t even blinked since they began talking, she noticed. “Could you turn into a dragon right now, Visella?”

She recoiled. “Yes, but I won’t. Your house would get destroyed if I did. And people would die.”

Daemon nodded immediately. “Okay. Alright. That makes sense.”

Visella nodded back suspiciously. Was he actually getting it? Did he actually believe her? Not about being able to turn into a dragon, that he had literally witnessed with his own eyes, but how she could do it.

Long, silent moments passed. Visella could almost see Daemon’s racing thoughts behind his eyes.

“Why did the Red Priests kidnap you?” Daemon’s eyes darkened. “And where did they take you?”

Visella scowled. She looked away from her uncle and studied a throw pillow mutinously.

“They wanted me to be some sort of hero for them or something. To fight a god of cold and winter. But some of them wanted me to be the hero’s mother, so to give birth to some hero who would stop the long night and eternal winter, so they kept fighting about it. They were all from Myr. That’s where they took me, to their Red Temple. Which isn’t actually red, did you know? It’s white. And they don’t have windows! Not on the first floors of their white temple!”

She huffed. Her fingers picked at the pale dresses silver embroidery on her knees.

“Okay.” Daemon seemed stonily calm. Icily so, one might say. “So they were Red Priests from Myr. Do you know if any Lords or Ladies from Myr were there as well?”

Visella shook her head. “The temple kept me hidden from everyone outside of it. They didn’t tell anyone. I don’t think the lords in Myr knew I was there.”

Daemon hummed. He seemed unconvinced. “I see.”

Yeah, sure.

“And the temple priests, they wished for you to have a child for them?”

“Some of them did. Like- half of them.”

At the glimmer in Daemon’s eyes, Visella hastened to continue. “They didn’t touch me or anything. Not like that. I can’t have a baby now. They knew that. None of them tried anything.”

Daemon’s expression froze on his face.

“I’m very glad to hear that,” He said slowly. His voice sounded more tightly controlled than the enslaved in Myr.

Visella nodded awkwardly and looked away again. “I was planning on escaping. It took two weeks just to get to Myr, the ship took forever to arrive. Mor said he had the boat do circles to shake off anyone following us.”

“And who might Mor be?”

“Uh- he’s- was- the man who took me. He killed Kaya, the maid in my room. He slit her throat with a knife. I think he crawled in through the window and hid under my bed until I finished my lessons in the library. He put a smelly cloth over my nose and I got knocked out. Then I was on his boat. When I woke up, I mean.”

Daemon leaned forward. “And is he a fighter? Or the captain of the ship you were on?”

“He was one of the Red Priests,” She told him. “He was one of the ones who thought I was supposed to have a baby someday that would grow up to be a hero and save the world, or something.”

“Mhmm,” Daemon looked terrifying for a moment. He was still decked out in armor and a sword was hung from his belt. It must have been Dark Sister, the blade that Queen Visenya wielded when she conquered the Seven Kingdoms with her brother-husband and sister-wife.

“How did you escape?”

Visella pursed her lips. She looked away and twisted the embroidery in her fingers compulsively.

“They kept me with girls,” She started slowly. “They were children, and they had collars on their necks. They were slaves. I never went anywhere without them. There were about fourteen of them, but only two stayed with me all the time.

“Fourteen… I think two weeks passed and they had another ceremony. We went out of the city for it. I was planning on making a run for it once I got the chance. Then I could turn into a dragon and not crush the girls. But- umm. They.”

She swallowed.

“They took me away from the girls and Mor watched me. They burned all of them. I didn’t know. They gagged them with a rope so I couldn’t- um. Hear them. But I smelled them burning. I jumped out of the cart or carriage or whatever, and Mor didn’t catch me in time. When I saw them I shifted. Then I flew away.”

Daemon’s face was fully blank. His violet eyes were anything but.

“I see. These Red Priests, they were all from Myr? Did they survive?”

Visella glared at her hands. Tears welled up in her eyes before she could stop them. “Maybe a few. I burned the ones I saw running. We were on a hill, they called it a holy stone or something. I think some of them stayed behind in the temple though. I’m not sure how many.”

Daemon nodded and let out a breath. He stood up with a single, fluid motion. His hand rested on his scabbard.

“Thank you. You did well. My brother will be proud.”

Visella froze.

Her uncle got up to leave without another word. His hand was gripping the hilt of his sword two tightly that his knuckles were visibly white, even in the dark room.

Viserys would be proud?

She didn’t-

“Then why didn’t he come for me?” The question ripped itself out of his lips.

Daemon stopped in his tracks.

Visella stared at him. Eyes wide.

“I fought. When- when they took me. I did.”

Why didn’t anyone come for-

“I escaped. All by myself. I killed them all, I did.” Daemon’s hair blurred as he turned around.

A faceless woman with pink hair stood before her. Visella felt her chest tighten painfully. She grabbed her dress and squeezed.

“You were supposed to come for me.” She sobbed once, eyes wide. “Someone was. I didn’t want to die. I didn’t want to. I fought, I promise, I-“

“Visella,” Someone choked out.

She blinked.

The faceless woman with pink hair turned into her uncle. He crouched in front of her, face pale and eyes burning with intensity. He grabbed her hands in his own and squeezed sharply.

“Everyone has been looking for you, Princess,” Her uncle declared sharply. “Viserys called upon the entire royal fleet to begin patrolling the Narrow Sea. He has taken complete and total control of the Stepstones, sent word to Lord Baratheon to begin readying for any threat of war from Dorne, sent spies to every corner of the world to find you. He ordered me to stay here and begin searching Northern Essos for you. I have been negotiating with Prince Reggio to send his own spies to Braavos, Norvos, and Lorath, which he has.”

Her uncle squeezed her hands and wrists sharply again. He stared straight into her eyes. His were violet. They nearly seemed to glow when spoke.

“We would have found you, Visella. You are my brother’s child. The daughter of The Dragon. To kidnap you is a declaration of war. It is an insult to House Targaryen and Westeros as a whole. My brother was going to find you.”

Visella hiccuped again and bit her lip to stop herself from crying. She blinked and stared at her hands, swallowed up by Daemon’s.

“But now everyone knows,” She cried. “Everyone knows- knows I’m not- that I’m a freak!”

“Visella,” A voice, gentle and sweet, came from the door.

Visella sobbed quietly as Laena walked over to them. She sat down beside Visella on the sofa. Her hands came up to her face again, tilting her towards Laena’s face to have their eyes meet.

“You are a Dragon, Visella. You are no freak.” Laena said softly, her pale purple eyes flashing in the candlelight. They were painfully gentle.

“Yes I am,” Visella sobbed. She squeezed her eyes shut. “I’m giant and scary and ugly, and my hair isn’t right and I don’t look like anyone here! I just want to go home.”

She sobbed and pulled her hands away from Daemon to cover her eyes.

“I just want my mom,” She cried, and thought of pink hair just like hers and a dragon just like her.

She thought of being normal. Being loved. Living in a tiny apartment with two people who raised her, all by themselves, and adored her with all of their hearts. People who never looked at her and thought she looked queer, that she looked different.

She wanted to go home.

Didn’t she deserve at least that much?

“Oh, my Love,” Laena whispered faintly. She wrapped her arms around Visella and leaned down to kiss the top of her head. Her silver curls fell around Visella and tickled her shoulders. Visella sobbed and melted into the woman beside her.

“It’s alright,” Daemon whispered in the dark room, his hand squeezing Visella’s knee. “You’ll be home soon.”

Visella sobbed.

She fell asleep still sniffling. Laena and Daemon tucked her under her giant blanket on the huge sofa she had taken. She refused to move to Laena’s bed. If she woke up in it, she wasn’t sure if she would remember that she had escaped the Red Temple, and was waking up to another day there. She was lucky neither of the adults questioned her and made her voice her worries.

Laena stayed with her until she fell asleep. Daemon left to go speak to Prince Reggio.

Visella sniffled and sank back down in the sofa. She hugged a colorful pillow to her cheek. When she closed her eyes again, all she saw was melting little girls and blackened ropes in gaping, screaming mouths.

She missed her brother. Aegon was probably crying himself to sleep every night or something. Her baby brother was a crybaby like that. She missed Bethny. Her nursemaid had to be worried about her, right? She missed her cat. Ser Whiskers had grown up into a fluffy chonky kitty cat, mostly because she fed him on top of what he hunted around the castle. She wanted to go home, see her little siblings, her mother and father, even Septa Alla.

(I did it. I got out. I fucking did it mom. I want to go home now-)

Laena woke her up sometime the next morning with a gentle hand to the crown of her head.

“Good morning, love.” She said softly as Visella jerked awake. “Are you hungry? How about we break our fast together, hm?”

That sounded more than good to Visella and her very empty stomach.

She rolled off of the sofa and trudged over to the table that servants were putting trays of food on. She took a seat beside Laena when she tapped at the seat. Laena smiled gently down at her.

Visella tried not to flush, remembering what happened last night. She was too tired to be embarrassed in the end.

She wasn’t as hungry as she had been the night before, so she took the liberty of refusing any cheese or milk they put in front of her. No stomach ache today, thank you very much. The fruit and bread were absolutely mouth-watering on their own. Laena smiled happily as they both dug in.

“Daemon is sending word to King’s Landing today. Word between the Narrow Sea travels slow, because of the lack of ravens capable of flying between the continents, but his letter should reach the king in a few days time.”

Visella blinked at the woman. “Oh. Okay. Can’t we just fly over there now, though? Or get a boat and go?”

It seemed strange to Visella to wait. If they left that day they could make it back home along with the letter, right? If they couldn’t send word through ravens that meant the letter would be traveling by boat. Why not just skip that and leave now?

Visella wanted to get back to the Red Keep.

Laena smiled. She had very pretty purple eyes. “That’s a very good question, princess. My husband is waiting on word from your father the King to see if he wants to send a retinue to help take you home. Daemon fears the Triarchy- an enemy of the Crown, has had something to do with your kidnapping. The King probably will as well, once he hears of where you were taken. We are waiting on direction from your father before we make any more moves.

“The King may wish for us to take you on our dragons, or he may wish to bring you across the sea via a ship, which would give us the option of sending multiple ships as guards to protect you. We are simply asking the King what he wishes to do. The Royal Fleet has done more in the past month than it has since its existence, so I wouldn’t be terribly surprised if he chose to use them to escort you home.”

Visella frowned, trying to think. She liked Laena, especially for talking to her like she would understand complicated topics like this one. Visella knew she wasn’t being given a dumbed-down version of what was going on. Still, it was disheartening to hear that she likely still had at least a week- probably two, to count for a letter to come back to them from the King with his directions- before she would be back home.

That was- incredibly frustrating.

Did they really fear attack from the Triarchy that much? Well, she supposed no one could have imagined Red Priests to successfully kidnap and hide Viserys Targaryen’s child for over a month. If Visella hadn’t been a total freak and monster she never would have escaped in the first place.

“Daemon also told them in his letter about how you escaped,” Laena said softly, as if she wasn’t dropping a bomb with a single sentence.

Visella froze.

“He- he did?”

Laena rubbed her back gently. “Yes, but it’s alright. Your father would have had to have been told either way, but this… your ability-“ She stuttered slightly. “Is important to how we will travel across the sea. If the King believes me and Daemon travel with our dragons as your only protection, he might fear a fleet with scorpions. If you can fly, however, he might be comfortable with us traveling through the sky.

“Sharing this knowledge could get you home faster,” Laena assured.

Visella’s gut was still curdling. She nodded once, feeling nauseous.

Her father had been- he’d been so weird about her not being hurt by fire. Almost fanatic. Several Lords were too. She remembered Bethny’s eyes watching her. The- the awe in them.

What would this do then?

What would this change?

“I think your dragon is incredible,” Laena offered with a smile and a wink. “If I had that ability- oh, I’d never shut up about it. I think I would hold it over everyone around me for the rest of my life.”

The door opened with a soft knock. Laena called for whoever it was to come in, and a maid bowed as she entered.

“Hello m’lady, princess,” The young woman said softly. “Your babes have been requesting to see you.”

Laena practically lit up. “Oh, thank you Raisa. Would you bring them in? Visella, you’ve never met my daughter’s, have you? Oh, that can’t be, they’re your cousins! You must meet them!”

Visella smiled a bit more genuinely. She nodded agreeably and Laena waited impatiently for her children to join them.

“Mother!” A toddler shrieked the second her tiny purple eyes caught sight of Laena.

Two nearly identical girls were perched on a large, busty woman’s hips. They looked like Laena’s tiny little clones. They both had silver curls that tumbled around their faces like halos, brown skin, and bright purple eyes. The only thing Visella could say they might have gotten from their father was Daemon’s nose. They looked to be about one or two years old. Still babies.

“Hello, my loves!” Laena grinned and kissed each one of the girl’s on their cheeks as she took them both into her lap. “And how have you two been this morning?”

“Mother!” The same toddler repeated again. She patted Laena over and over and babbled on about something importantly. The other twin was staring at Visella with wide eyes as she chewed on her thumb.

“This is your cousin, Visella.” She bounced them both gently and pointed to her across the table. “Can you say hello? This is Baela, and this one is Rhaena. They aren’t identical twins, but sometimes they look it when we put them in the same outfit,” Laen laughed.

Visella smiled and leaned forward a bit. “Hi there. You’re very cute, Rhaena.” She waved at the baby still staring at her. “I have a brother who’s two now. His name is Daeron. Maybe you’ll play with him someday.”

Rhaena stared at her, drooling all over her thumb and fist. Her clean hand reached out to touch Visella’s messy braid, which she waved in front of the baby with a giggle.

Then her uncle came in the room.

“Laena,” The man greeted, leaning down to kiss his wife’s cheek as she smiled. Visella’s nose scrunched up at the sight.

“Visella. How do you feel?” Daemon asked her between swigs of one of the cups at the table. He stared at her as if she was a second away from sobbing hysterically or spontaneously blowing up.

“Fine.” She answered mulishly.

Daemon had abandoned his armor for fancy princely robes- though he still had Dark Sister tied at his waist. His long hair was half braided back. He was annoyingly tall.

Daemon raised one brow and glanced at Laena. “Have you told her?”

Laena nodded easily. “About the letter, yes. She understands.”

“Good.”

Ugh.

Visella sulked back into her chair and eyed Laena and Daemon. Back and forth. She sighed. Laena smiled at her quizzically. Daemon took a seat beside her and dug in to some sausages and cheese.

Visella sighed again.

“Is everything okay, Visella?” Laena asked her, concerned.

She eyed the perfect, beautiful, kind lady. Then glanced at her uncle.

“Why did you marry my weird uncle?” She finally asked Laena, voice dripping with confusion. Daemon choked on his drink. Laena’s jaw dropped.

“He’s just- you’re so pretty. Does he have a lot of money?” Visella was quite literally confused.

Laena slapped her hand over her mouth. Laughter shook her shoulders and jostled the children in her lap. The whole room filled with the sound of Laena’s pure amusement. Daemon was looking between her and his wife with growing aggregation.

“I’ll have you know-“ Her weird uncle started indignantly.

“Yes, Visella,” Laena cut him off between bouts of uncontrollable laughter. “I actually married him- your weird uncle- because he’s a prince, you see. I thought if I wedded him it would make me a princess. But it didn’t, and now I’m stuck with him. But he’s pretty enough, don’t you think?”

Visella eyed Daemon. “I guess. Well, if you want to be a princess I’ll ask my father to make you one, when we get back.”

Daemon put his face in his hands. Laena’s face was awash with sheer delight. “That’s very kind of you, Visella. Thank you.”

She nodded graciously. Maybe if Laena became a princess she would realize she could find someone better for her. Laena seemed too perfect to be stuck with Daemon forever.

“I’ve just remembered why I don’t like you,” Daemon glared at her between his hands.

Visella glared right back. “Well, at least I didn’t name a dragon Caraxes. What kind of name is that?”

Daemon looked mutinous. “A very noble one, I’ll have you know. Perhaps your education is more lax than I previous thought. Caraxes was named after a god of Old Valyria, where our family hails from, though I wouldn’t expect you to know that you-“

“It’s still a stupid name.”

“You ungrateful-!”

“Laena’s dragon has a much better name. Maybe she can help you rename yours. It must be sad with Caraxes.”

“Laena, I told you she’s a brat. I can’t deal with this-“

“Laena, you should just leave him. I told you he’s weird, really-“

Laena interrupted them by laughing hysterically.

…