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Chapter Text

𝐌𝐀𝐈𝐍 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐈𝐍𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍
(𝐹𝑎𝑛𝑓𝑖𝑐 𝑖𝑛𝑠𝑝𝑜 𝑝𝑢𝑟𝑝𝑜𝑠𝑒𝑠 𝑜𝑛𝑙𝑦!)

: ̗̀➛ Aegon II played by Tom Glynn-Carney.
: ̗̀➛ Visenya Targaryen played by Holliday Grainger & Gaia Weiss.
: ̗̀➛ Aegon the Younger (aka Aegon III) played by David Lindström.
: ̗̀➛ Lady Sansara Tarly played by Lotte Verbeek.
: ̗̀➛ Jaehaera Targayen played by Amelie Villiers & Maria Valverde.
: ̗̀➛ Lady Tyshara Lannister played by Celina Sinden. 

𝐒𝐔𝐏𝐏𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐈𝐍𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

: ̗̀➛ Lord Corlys played by Steve Toussaint.
: ̗̀➛ Alicent Hightower played by Olivia Cooke.
: ̗̀➛ Rhaenyra Targaryen played by Emma Darcy.
: ̗̀➛ Viserys Targaryen (aka Viserys II) played by Harry Lloyd.
: ̗̀➛ Baela Targaryen played by Bethany Antonia.
: ̗̀➛ Rhaena Targaryen played by Phoebe Campbell.
: ̗̀➛ Lady Jeyne Tarly played by Amy James-Kelly. 

𝐁𝐎𝐎𝐊 𝐈𝐍𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: 

* Just to clarify some questions about the aging of characters: for the purpose of this story, both Laenor and Laena have died at an earlier time period. Aegon the Younger and Visenya are born in 118 AC. When Rhaenyra fled with her children to Pentos, Aegon and Visenya were thirteen, while Viserys was nine-years old. 

* To fit the narrative there are some changes to Jaehaera, instead of being Jaehaerys' twin, she's Maelor's twin. She's currently twelve-years old.  

* The ages of the main couple are as follows: Visenya is nineteen and Aegon II is thirty, sticking close to his canon birth. I understand if some of you aren't in agreement with the changes to the ages and who are the twins, which is okay. <3

* This book takes place five-years since the end of the war, roughly set at 136 AC. The Greens have "won" and Rhaenyra has been in exile with her son Viserys in Essos for a few years. Alicent kept sending assassins after them, so Rhaenyra accepted to wed her daughter Visenya to Aegon so he would spare them all. At this point Visenya has been married to Aegon for a few months but their marriage has yet to be consummated.  

Chapter Text

"They say every time a Targaryen is born, the gods toss a coin, and the world holds its breath." —Lord Varys 

The mighty House of the Dragon had ruled the Seven Kingdoms with pride and an iron fist for over a century; but the best thing about the Targaryen was never their men. It was their women. 

Princess Visenya Targaryen, daughter of Queen Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon, had long been known as the uncontested beauty of Westeros. She was described as the perfect Valyrian specimen. With long silver hair that cascaded into waves past her hips and vibrant lilac hues. Whispers of her beauty reached the brothels on the Street of Silk. There, men gossiped like ladies about the Princess' breasts that were said to be "more than a handful" as was her backside. Often, upon meeting her, lords and sons of the greats houses of Westeros vied for her hand. But the Princess was relentless and was as rebellious as her mother had been in her youth, refusing to take a husband.

But now it was clear to Visenya that her wishes were of no consequences. Her father was presumed dead, and her mother had abandoned her and young Aegon, in her attempts to protect Prince Viserys. It had been a month since her mother's escape, the very night she left for Pentos, Visenya was wed to Aegon and made his consort. But even now as she stood at the balcony of her chambers, the only thing that drew her from her thoughts of death was the sweet voice of young Princess Jaehaera.

"Your Grace?" She called with a dulcet tone. "Are you well?" 

Visenya had little to no allies at court. The men that sat the King's council were either, fiercely loyal, or disgustingly ambitious. But her greed did not make her cower. She saw it in their eyes. She saw the manner in which they served Aegon, not out of duty, but to cater to his favor. And the only solace she had found, thus far, was the sorrow stricken Jaehaera. 

With slight distress, Visenya released a soft sight as her eyes no longer found themselves in servitude to the tranquility of the Blackwater, but rather focusing on the tranquility that Jaehaera's presence brought her. "You're very kind, Princess. I'm quite alright. I'm simply.....homesick, I suppose." She replied with a faint smile that lingered with ghastly sadness. 

"Homesick for Dragonstone?"

"Homesick for family."

There was an understanding that both girls shared in the silence that enveloped them. Both were practically orphaned— cursed by the gods to lead a life of duty and frivolous ambition. If in the past Visenya never married, it was not for the lack of want, but rather the lack of love. She witnessed the twisted emotions that brewed between her own parents. And yet it was often rivaled by the rumored romance between her mother and Ser Harwin Strong. She had no desire for falsehoods and political unions, she sought her freedom. To be able to take her dragon, Silverwing, and reach Essos. She'd heard of the rich culture that thrived in the land. The Targaryens had not been in Old Valyria for nearly two centuries, alas something inside her yearned to be in the east. Far away from the blood that ran from her mother's throne. Aegon's throne. 

As the woman became suddenly reminded by the present, she closed the gap between her and her stepd-daughter. A warm hand settling on the younger girl's visage. "Forgive me, Jaehaera. I meant no harm with my words. I'm often reminded of just how much you understand what I feel. For better or for worse." The queen fell to her knees, hugging the princess tightly. She might harbor hatred towards Aegon, but the girl had committed no crimes against her or her family. In fact, Visenya has grown fond of Helaena growing up. She never understood how such a sweet woman had been cursed with such a husband. Silly girl, look at you now.

They were soon interrupted by a knock at her door which prompted her to rise to her feet, smoothening the non-existent wrinkles in the silk. "Come in."

It was Ser Arryk, Visenya's appointed guard. "Your Grace. Princess." He began, bowing his head in reverence of them. "The king has requested your presence in his chambers."

"Why?" Her words were birthed with confusion and laced with delicate venom.

"It is not for me to say, my Queen. Especially in front of the princess." 

Visenya was not amused in the least by the knight's response. But nonetheless she placed a gentle kiss to the tops of her stepdaughter's head before granting her leave. "You may speak now, Ser Arryck. Plainly." 

He kept his eyes on the ground as the princess exited the rooms, shifting uncomfortably in place. "Your Grace, please."

All Visenya could muster was a light scoff and a breathless chuckle. She felt defeated. Baffled by the cowardly tendencies of her husband.

"Let me guess, the king has miraculously come to his sense and wishes to finally consummate this farse of a marriage?" Blazing eyes of violet flames challenged the man with her inquiry. She did not wait for a response, but instead nodded silently to herself as her words had been nothing but a whisper in the wind. She mainly spoke them to confirm her own fears. 

"Very well, thank you, Ser Arryk." 

"I shall be outside Princess Jaehaera's room should you need me, Your Grace." He was far from a turncoat, but he wasn't heartless either. He and his twin had witnessed the presentation of every child born to Rhaenyra, including Visenya. Knowing that she suffered left a bad taste in his mouth. 

The steps of the man echoed for a few moments before they turned into nothing but light taps in the distance. Visenya took it as her cue, sighing softly before beginning her journey towards Aegon's chambers. For many nights she had lied in bed awake, staring at the ceiling in surveillance of him. Not because the princess yearned to be his woman, but out of fear. She was no stranger to the stories of the many maids who had been sent away or fired under ridiculous pretext. And the rumors of Targaryen bastards in Flea Bottom was something that always made her sick to her stomach. 

But perhaps it was in her benefit to be humble and penitent. To appear as meek and subservient to his wishes. And gods, what more did she want than to have the capacity to act with such hypocrisy. Visenya had no talent for acting. She was hardly able to hide her anger and hatred towards the Greens. At dinner, she ate alone in her chambers with Jaehaera, as she feared having her head severed from her head should she say the wrong thing to him. 

In truth, she couldn't recall the last time she had seen him. A few days? A week, perhaps? The first two weeks that followed their marriage, he tried being kind to her. She assumed it was his tactic to coax her into being loyal. But she'd hear none of it. 

The realization of her life set in as soon as she reached the king's door. Her semblance was pale, and her eyes displayed a sense of anxiety. Even then it did little to diminish her beauty. Aegon, much like Visenya, had taken a liking to the stories of Old Valyria and the traditions that went on in Essos. Including the fashion. Especially, the fashion. 

It was a wonder that the treasury wasn't in shambles after the sum he spent in procuring new silks for himself and Visenya. 

She released one more sigh before knocking on the door, waiting only a few moments before opening it.

"You summoned me, Your Grace?"

Chapter Text

There was not a faction of faith in existence that had ever drawn Visenya into its arms. The Faith of the Seven had always been far too imposing for her liking. And the idea of submitting to the standards of patriarchal society— it wasn’t for her. Old gods, new gods. They were all tyrannical symbols and idols used to control and instill fear in the masses. She was known for her visible displeasure during ceremonies, or when her mother had forced her to be dragged to the sept.

But the consort’s heart was now coming to familiarize itself with the spark of faith and hope.

Visenya allowed herself one last moment of respite before taking a step into the presence of her husband.

“Aegon?” She called out softly.

Aegon had long awaited the day he would ascend as Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm. But Rhaenyra had been relentless, and for a second there, he assumed all had been lost. Had it not been for the capture of Aegon the Younger and Visenya, his whore of a sister would have driven him to his death.

He had long spent the hours of the morrow and the hour of the owl, gazing upon his reflection in the mirror. His eyes sullen and empty. He had been born handsome, but at what cost? His mother spoiled him and denied him nothing, and in her ambition, she had turned him into a monster.

His hands traced the faint scars on his left cheek from battle, recalling the death of the Princess Rhaenys. Many thought he would return burned to ashes, but he prevailed. Not alone, of course. Aemond had been his savior. And it pained him to know that he couldn’t save him at the God’s Eye.

The only comfort he had found, much to his disapproval, had been the beauty of his wife, Visenya. The daughter of the cunt of Dragonstone. Fathered by the man who had slain his brother.

Yet he found a certain peace at the sight of her. An ethereal draw to her presence, despite the hate that lodged itself in his heart. It was the reason he had refused to bed her.

He acknowledged her for what she was, the Queen. His Queen.

Aegon regretted the way he had treated Helaena. Many refused to believe it, but the loss of her and their children had stirred something in him.

The King was faintly startled by her entrance. Quiet as a mouse— it was odd for her.

“Visenya, yes. Come.” He cleared his throat, straightening out his regalia before approaching her with an odd kindness in her eyes.

“We have much to tal—”

“On my belly or on my back?”

“What?”

The Queen avoided his gaze as she spoke once more. “That is why you have summoned me, is it not? It will be easier if you simply tell me where to lay down.”

Aegon remained silent as she spoke. But he couldn’t contain the laughter that escaped him. His silver strands framing his elevated cheeks. He had a habit of wearing his hair untamed and in its natural state.

“I’ve not touched you since our wedding, I think I can restrain myself enough to speak, Visenya.”

The woman’s cheeks burned a bright shade of pink, nodding curtly as she pushed back her shoulders to appear composed and regal. She disliked him. She blamed him for the misfortune of her family. And yet the family in question had left her and her brother to fend for themselves under the roof of the Greens.

“My apologies, uncle. I made an assumption based on your…..reputation.”

“A reputation that I seek to mend. And I will need your help for that.”

Had she heard wrong? He required her help? Oh, the irony.

“Help? With what?” She often wondered what her purpose was at his side. Was she simply a political comfort? A symbol of the Blacks, meant to keep an appearance for Aegon as a tolerant ruler.

It was difficult for Aegon to communicate what went on in his head. He had witnessed nothing but duty and tolerance from his own parents’ marriage. And while he held a glimmer of warmth for Helaena, he lacked the instruction to care for a person. Especially for Visenya.

The dimly lit chambers casted a warm glow over both their faces. Valyrian visages mirroring the fear of the unknown as they spoke. But one thing was unavoidable, the flickering lust in his eyes that he struggled to contain.

“There are those who remain faithful to your mother. They claim that her birth and my father’s undying love for her makes her the rightful queen.” He sighed, trying his best to contain the viper’s venom that seethed through his lips with every word.

“I chose you as my wife, not to be used against me. But to establish peace in my reign.”

Visenya’s browns furrowed in confusion. Her lips twitching into a frown of insult. “I am your pawn against my mother, and you call it peace?” She replied with a bitter whisper. Her arms falling to the sides of her body as she took a step away from him.

“Visenya….” He called out, almost coaxing her. Or rather, attempting to do so. “I am being true to my word. I was able to rise above and leave my mother in shackles for the sake of peace. After what yours has done, I believe it’s time you do the same.”

With a light scoff, she realized what this was about. “You wish for me to betray my mother, is that it? Do you have other demands, Your Grace?”

“You betrayed your mother the moment you married me. It is your failing, not mine, if you have yet to see that.” A certain poison crept its way into the words that Aegon spat out. Not birthed by anything, other than his own pride.

“I had no choice! I had no say in the matter, Aegon!” She yelled back at him. The volume of the queen surpassed the walls of his chambers, causing his guards to shift uncomfortably in their posts.

“What else was I to do? Tell me!” Visenya asked, her words not seeming to die down anytime soon. But with every word she spoke, she took a step until there was nothing between her and Aegon. Her warm breath caressing his chin as she rebelled.

She knew better than anyone that if she refused his hand, her brother or herself would have lost their heads for it. Perhaps, worse; she would have been married off to the highest bidder. In any case, either option was not an ending worthy of her. Aegon the Younger, cared very little for court matters or the tiresome duties of ruling. He had been named heir for one reason, and one reason alone; the king’s lack of sons. But in marrying Visenya, not only did he relight the hope of a legacy, but of one from impeccable Targaryen stock.

“Does your impetuousness know no bounds?” The grieved woman’s voice wavered in the slightest as her tone lowered to that of a whisper. Her eyes challenged his own. Visenya was determined and steady. As headstrong as her father. But her heart was the golden warmth of Rhaenyra Targaryen. And she couldn’t help but feel.

Aegon’s hand trembled with temptation. Her accusations had triggered a familiar anger in him. He was visibly vexed by her. The gods were cruel in that way. Even now, standing mere inches from the source of his biggest headache, all he could do was bring his hand to cup her cheek. His calloused fingers were almost afraid of tainting the pristine flesh of her porcelain visage.

Visenya faltered, momentarily, in her composure. Her eyes flickered down to his arms and somehow took a liking to his lips, once they attempted to trail back to meet his gaze. 

“Stop it.” She whispered as her eyes fluttered shut. She hated herself for welcoming the warmth. For allowing him into the sanctity of her vulnerability. But could she truly be blamed? Alas, her father was presumed dead. Her mother abandoned her, and her eldest brothers now dined with the gods.

“We could be so much more than this, Visenya. We could devise a common ground, find happiness, perhaps. If not for our sake, then for the sake of the realm.” Aegon replied with a cajoling tone. Not because he sought to manipulate her, but because he knew that her grieve would easily blind her.

“Months before the war, I was honest with you. You ....had always been in love with Jacaerys.” He began with a bitter chuckle that highlighted the hurt in his voice. Or, rather, jealousy.

“Ever since you learned to walk, you’d follow him about the Keep. Around Dragonstone, anywhere really. And when the day came for you to claim Silverwing, I recall the excitement on your face. Not because you were finally a dragonrider, but due to your desire to take to the skies with Jace.” Aegon’s eyes flashed with what seemed to be rage and anger.

“Jace was my brother.” Visenya replied, looking at Aegon with stern eyes that attempted to hide her discomfort at the topic. 

“Jace was your lover!” He roared in response, tightening his grip on your face.

She flinched at his reaction. Her hand reacted brashly as she struck him in her defense. Realizing what she had done, she took a step back. Her eyes froze with fear. Would he kill her? Would he beat her?

“Aegon…..please.” Her voice trembled in the silence of the rooms. “He never touched me. He only ever had eyes for Baela.”

Aegon remained silent. Starstruck at her actions. Of course, he was angry. Insulted that she would strike her king. He thought that his days of being a beaten boy had ended when he imprisoned his mother. And now his own wife had found reason to take her place in doing so.

He lifted his gaze to meet where she stood. His aura was unintelligible. Hard to decipher as he always was. Aegon knew that to react violently, was to declare war. The only reason why houses such as Velaryon, Stark and Tully refrained from further bloodshed, was Visenya’s own speech the day of her wedding. Asking them to honor their oath to her mother, by accepting her as consort and her brother as Aegon’s heir. 

“He had eyes for Baela, because he swore to marry her. He never touched you because he had honor, but that never stopped you from wanting it.”

“What do you want me to say? Do you wish for me to lie to you?” She asked with tears welling in her eyes. “I loved him. I loved him and your navy killed him. Just as Aemond murdered Luke and Rhaenys. And I….have tried my best not to begrudge you for it. Not because you deserve it, but because I am alone. I have nothing left in this world, but this marriage.”

“And you think I have more?” He questioned softly. Chuckling incredulously in her direction. “My brother is dead. Helaena and my children are gone. My mother is imprisoned by my own command. Visenya, call me insane, but if I chose you as my wife, it was because I’ve been wanting you for many years. But I will not be seen by you, as less than Jace. I am your husband. And above all, I am your king.”

“And I am the daughter of your biggest challenge to the throne.”

“.....then I suggest you choose a side. Or it won’t end well for you.” 

Clenching his jaw, he offered her a curt nod before turning his back to her. Not wishing to be in her presence any longer.

Visenya wanted to scream. To strike him again, and make him see the irrational logic that consumed him. He wanted her loyalty after his efforts brought the demise of her family.

“Your Grace.” Was all she could muster as she bowed, making her exodus from his chambers. Her head high and her posture regal. The last thing she wanted was to appear weakened in the eyes of the court.

Chapter Text

Nature was often more forgiving when humans lacked the emotional maturity to do it themselves. The morning sun that rose over the horizon of King’s Landing was kind and warm against the flesh of Queen Visenya as she rested in the gardens of the Godswood. In her arms lay a sleeping Jaehaera. 

Ever since Visenya’s argument with Aegon, they had both fallen into a routine of silence and avoidance. At dinner they hardly crossed glances. In all honesty, they only insisted on pretending to appease Jaehaera. The young girl already lacked a mother, she didn’t need to suffer the volatile relationship between her father and his new queen.

“Children aren’t as menacing when they’re asleep.” Aegon the Younger approached his sister and niece with silent steps. His face illuminated, not by the sun, but by the tender smile that adorned it. 

“When did you arrive from the hunt?”

“Just now. Lady Sansara told me you’d be here. And I wanted you to know that I had returned safely.”

“....has the king returned, as well?” 

With a sigh, the young Targaryen prince took a seat next to his sister. There was a slight sadness in his eyes. He knew how much Visenya was sacrificing for his sake. The least he could do was be her support system.

“His Grace began sinking into his cups on the ride back from the King’s Wood. I believe he’s requested for his….female companions to be brought to his chambers, soon.” 

The queen nodded with an unreadable expression. “I see. I can’t say I blame him, nor am I in a position to judge much, am I? He is the king after all.”

“And you are the queen.” Sighing, he reached out to rest his hand on top of her. “Visenya, I cannot ask more of you than what you’ve already given for our safety. But if we are to truly survive this, then you need to appeal to Aegon. Be his queen, sister.”

Before she could reply, Jaehaera stirred in her arms. The young girl rubbed her eyes tiredly, fluttering them open as her gaze landed on the pair of siblings. “Uncle Aegon? You are back? Does that mean my father has returned?”

The queen watched quietly, amused by the excitement in the girl’s voice. 

“His Grace will be busy soon, sweet girl. But perhaps, if we are quick, you may be able to get a hug from him before your studies. What do you say?”

“Yes, please! Can we? I haven’t seen him in days!” 

“Very well. Come on, sleepy head. The sooner you get on your feet, the quicker we find him.”

Of course, Prince Aegon accompanied them. He kept his distance, but he escorted them towards the main halls of the Keep. 

“I have some things to attend to. Whenever the king is joyful, the rest of the council has to keep on without him. I’ll see you both at dinner, okay?” 

With one last hug, Visenya and Jaehaera set off alone down the halls, following the sound of King Aegon’s laughter.

“.....what else would you have me do, Lord Hand? Hmm? My wife is a cold bitch, despite the effort I put into her.” 

“Your Grace, I beg you to reconsider. Bringing whores into the Keep is not good for optics.”

“Fuck optics, Corlys. I’m a king with needs!”

“Then satiate them with the queen!”

“She fucking hates me! You think that I forsake Visenya’s bed for lack of desire?”

“I wouldn’t dare to begin guessing the nuances of your marriage, Your Grace.”

The words rang like vexing bells in Visenya’s head. Was she truly that despicable? In any case, even if she was, he deserved it. Her father was presumably dead because of Aegon’s desire for the throne, while her mother and her youngest brother did the best to survive in exile. 

As she approached his open bedchambers, she cleared her throat in an attempt to spare Jaehaera from overhearing the hateful words that spilled from his lips. 

“Father!” The young girl called out animatedly. The skirt of her dress danced as she ran towards him. 

“Your Grace. Princess.” Spoke Corlys with a polite tone, bowing to them before making himself scarce.

The sound of her voice was enough to make Aegon snap out of the sour mood he had found himself in. 

“Jaehaera!” His voice had a slight slur, but the girl cared not for it. 

Aegon’s arms spread to raise his daughter into them. He chuckled heartily, kissing her cheeks and spinning her around the room. 

“My beautiful daughter, have you come to welcome me from the hunt?” 

“Yes! I missed you. And I think Visenya did, too.” She replied with a soft giggle that rang through the halls. 

Visenya’s cheeks slightly blushed, taking a step towards him. 

“It’s nice knowing you returned safely from the hunt, Your Grace. I’m assuming the trip was satisfactory?” 

“We—well we hunted a few species of boar and…..uhm, things.” A bit ashamed at his lack-luster hunting skills, Aegon set down his daughter, motioning for one of Visenya’s ladies to take her to her studies. Not before hugging Visenya, of course.

“Urnen, kostilus drūr.” She spoke softly, reciting her response in her native High Valyrian.

[I see, perhaps tomorrow.]

“....you know I don’t speak our tongue very well.” 

“My apologies, Your Grace. I didn’t mean it as an insult. Perhaps, it would be good to practice it sometime? It would be amazing for you to be able to converse with Jaehaera—”

“The common tongue doesn’t make me any less of a worthy king or father, Visenya.” 

It seemed that anytime she stepped foot in his chambers an argument arose. She often wondered if it was her fate to live a life suffering from his cold shoulder and easily irritated ego. Everyone knew the cold truth—Visenya was needed if Aegon ever dreamed of carrying on his legacy. A purely Targaryen line birthed from his seed. Without her feminine warmth, Aegon the Younger would take the throne with ease. 

“I never said it did, Aegon.” She spat out, taking offense to his insinuations. 

“It certainly sounded like you did. Just a few weeks ago you dared to strike me, and now you question my parenting. What’s next? You’ll doubt my abilities as king?”

“I can’t question it more than I question your abilities as a husband.” 

She spoke too soon. Too brazen. And before she knew it, Aegon’s hand had crossed the inches between them to strike her across the cheek. 

“You are my queen and I cannot have your tongue. I suggest you tame it if you are to speak at all. Are we understood?” His lip trembled from the anger that coursed through his veins. Aegon’s purple hues darkened with a mix of hurt and rage that he attempted to reign in. 

Visenya’s shaky hand rose to rest against her cheek, allowing herself only a soft whimper as she tasted the blood that surfaced from her lip. 

If there was ever a woman that resembled a mythical creature on a quest for vengeance, it would be her. Her eyes trailed up to meet his own. And for a brief moment the world around her was silent. 

“If you want to silence me, you’ll have to cut it out.” She gritted through her teeth, venom lacing her every word. 

Aegon clenched his jaw. The subtle gesture was enough to command his guards to shut the doors. His entire campaign rested on being a merciful king—a gentle one. And the rose-colored glasses of the common folk would be shattered if they heard that their king was so easily angered. 

“On second thought, I might find it stimulating to hear you screaming instead since you insist on treating me like scum. I warned you, Visenya. I warned you that I would not stand to be less than Jacaerys in your eyes.” 

The jealousy that he had harbored for years, and had resurfaced through their past argument, finally cascaded from his lips like an explosive volcano of emotions and hate.

“I should’ve known that the Whore of Dragonstone could only produce a daughter like herself.” 

“Do not speak of my mother!” Composing herself, Visenya stood tall and proud as she challenged her husband with her tone. Ignoring the blood that trickled down her chin. 

“I’ll speak of her as I please!” Within a few strides, he met her presence. Gripping her by the arm as he viciously spoke into her face. “Because much like you, all she knows to do is victimize herself. I wasn’t always a monster! I was once just her little brother, and look at the mess we made? Helaena and my children are gone! My brother—everyone!” 

Their voices pierced through the walls causing the men that stood guard to shift uncomfortably, while the servants who passed by could only exchange looks of sympathy. 

“Are we not sworn to protect her, too?” One of the guards spoke.

“Not from him.” Replied the second. 

With haste, Aegon took his free hand and tore the top of Visenya’s gown down the middle. 

Her eyes filled with fear, knowing that the day would come. But he had sworn to her it would never be like this. He would never force her. Had she pushed him past the breaking point? 

No. Aegon acted alone. 

“A-aegon, what are you doing?” Visneya’s words trembled as her eyes filled with tears. Her expression softened into the young woman—young girl, she was. 

“What I should’ve done the day you arrived.” He replied with an emotionless whisper.

He tugged at her. Manhandling her body until he was able to secure enough force to throw her onto his bed. 

Her screams filled the room. Visenya fought. She kicked and punched at his chest, but he easily overpowered her, even in his drunkenness. 

“I will have your head for this! Aegon!” Only sobs and strained screams spilled from her lips. 

“So long as you have my cock first, do as you please.” 

The curtains that coated the windows seemed to fall flat and without movement. As if they shared the same fear as the queen. The moon was not bright, nor large and beautiful. Seemingly hiding from Aegon, as Visenya wished she could. 

He grew tired of battling her, and opted to flip her onto her belly for a change. His hand tightly gripped her by the hips, pressing himself into her while his other hand lifted her skirts. 

Aegon was a simple man. A man of devious nature and insatiable needs. 

The simple action of rubbing his clothed erection against her bare cunt was enough to elicit a strained groan from his lips. 

What was there not to like? She was a true Valyrian beauty. Her milky thighs bearing the red marks where his hands gripped her in place. 

“Aegon, please! Please, don’t do this…” 

Visenya’s whimpers were tired and weak. She found herself pleading from a man that was known for lacking such a trait. 

The sounds of her imploring words left him spiraling into a dilemma unknown to him. 

He was not one to waver where pleasure was concerned. He took what he desired. So, then, why could he not penetrate the one woman that belonged to him? 

Despite his softness for her, he couldn’t allow her insolence to go unchecked. Aegon lowered his pants, allowing his manhood to grind against her warm folds. 

“Fuck…” 

“N-no!” 

“Think of your precious Jacaerys if it helps.” 

But the King never entered her. He couldn’t find the courage to do so. Instead, he kept bucking his hips against her cunt, enjoying the wetness against his length and the tight cushion that her ass provided the base of his cock. 

She hated him. She had decided then and there that if she ever had an opportunity to slit his throat in his sleep, she’d take it. How dare he? How dare he treat her like a cheap whore?

But most of all, she hated how deep her abandonment issues grew. Without her mother or father, she lacked affection for years. And her body betrayed her.

Soft moans escaped Visenya, almost in sync with Aegon’s grunting. She didn’t understand the foreign sensation, nor could she process if what she felt was pleasure or relief at his sliver of mercy. 

One of Aegon’s hands slipped under her to grope her breasts. They were sizable and formidable. He knew they’d grow beautifully to one day feed his heirs. 

But in that moment they were nothing more but mounds of pleasure for him. His fingers pinched her nipple between them. Tugging at it with desire.

“Gods, you’re beautiful, Visenya.” 

She shut her eyes tightly. Praying that it ended soon, while trying to decipher the sensation that ran down her spine at his actions. 

As he changed his angles, he positioned his cock between her ass cheeks, holding his length in place with one hand as he thrusted between the flesh. Not penetrating her. 

His groans and grunts filled the room in a repeated pattern, and soon enough, he froze. 

Aegon’s lips were agape, but silent. String after string of his seed spurted from his cock, falling on Visenya’s ass. 

All she could do was whimper and tremble, feeling soiled and used. And in some ways, Aegon recognized it, too. 

He quickly removed his shirt, using it to wipe away the semen from her skin. She was far too precious to be left in such a state. 

If Rhaenyra knew of the horrors that her daughter suffered, would she return from Pentos to defend her? It was a question that Visenya often asked herself. So far, it seemed the life of her brothers had always come before her own. 

“Come. Let us find some sleep.”

Without another word, he ripped away the silks from her body. Only allowing her to remain in her undergown as he climbed over, laying on his usual side of the bed. In her vulnerable state, all she could muster was the energy to crawl next to him under the sheets. Sobbing silently into her pillows as sleep came easily to the traumatized queen. 

“I’m sorry, Visenya….” Were the last words she heard as darkness welcomed her into its embrace.

Chapter Text

"𝐼𝑡 𝑠𝑚𝑒𝑙𝑙𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑑𝑒𝑎𝑑 𝑏𝑜𝑑𝑖𝑒𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑠ℎ𝑖𝑡. 𝑇ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑖𝑠 𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝐼 𝑏𝑒𝑙𝑜𝑛𝑔." —𝑆ℎ𝑎𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝐿𝑜𝑟𝑎𝑡ℎ

King’s Landing was an enigma that very few wanted to understand. Visenya neither had the interest nor the stomach to peel back the layers of uncertainty that the city had to offer. She had always found it to be a place that lacked greatness. The stench of poverty and corruption overwhelmed her senses at every turn. And how could it improve under the reign of a man whose personality fit the very description? 

She often tossed and turned in her sleep, deprived of peace and comfort. This night had been different. It wasn’t tranquil reassurance that kept her still and warm—it was fear. Fear of Aegon. The gods weren’t done torturing her. He slept soundly, possibly a direct cause of his past inebriation. Visenya shifted silently, peeling the sheets from her body as she sat up to stretch her sore body.

The night prior she had prayed between sobs and gasps of air that it had all been a nightmare. A figment of her terrorized imagination. But the bruises forming on her inner thighs told her otherwise. The silence that filled the king’s chambers made an eerie sensation run down her spine. Her gaze fell on his unconscious figure. A million thoughts of revenge taunting her mind. 

A golden glow of sunrise peeked through the windows, bringing a soft gleam to Aegon’s dagger that laid on his side table. 

My mother’s dagger. 

The only thing that coursed in her veins was her thirst for vengeance. In a swift movement, the queen reached across her husband’s body, wrapping her slender fingers around the hilt of the blade. Her lilac hues darkened. She was so close. 

One movement. One cut. 

The words ran in her head like a disruptive melody. What was she waiting for? He was at the mercy of her guilt and judgement. Do it for your family, she told herself. 

“Your Grace?” 

The intrusive words of Lady Sansara halted Visenya’s thoughts. She froze, dropping the dagger from her grip and onto the floor. The sound alone was enough to cause Aegon to stir, yet he did not wake. Bright wide eyes trailed up to meet Sansara’s own accusatory gaze.

“You need not explain, Your Grace.” She quickly spoke, not wanting to incur Visenya’s wrath or distrust. She had heard her mistress’ cries the night prior. All the Queen could do was nod and slip off the bed, clearing her throat. The distress was clear on her visage. Bloodshot eyes and tear-stained cheeks were becoming a usual style for her. 

She couldn’t recall the last time she had the gift of fanfare and happiness in her day. Visenya recalled the days at Dragonstone. The celebrations held by her mother, and the feasts in the Red Keep when King Viserys was still alive. 

It was all gone. And with it, the glory of House Targaryen. 

“I will start my day in the queen’s chambers, Sansara. And I’ll require a hot bath. Please.” She finally spoke out, slipping on the robe that the woman had brought in with her. 

To others it was just fabric, but to Visenya it represented the last layer of dignity she could spare. 

If there was one thing Visenya had become fond of, it was the halls of the Keep and the throne room. She couldn’t decipher what had changed. Perhaps, her need to romanticize her daily living made her see the palace with rose-colored lenses. She swore it appeared more lit. It felt bright and airy. 

Despite her emotional burdens, she had duties as a queen to tend to. One of those included a luncheon with the ladies of the court and Jaehaera in the gardens. Much to her dislike. 

Time spent with her stepdaughter was time well spent. But having to amuse and entertain the wives of nobles, vultures who poked and prodded at any sign of weakness, was demeaning. 

A fraudulent smile etched itself onto her lips with every step that carried her deeper into the Keep’s garden. The warm breeze twirled her Pentoshi silks to perfection, providing her with the essence of her ancestors. And the same was whispered of Princess Jaehaera who walked at Visenya’s side, holding onto her hand. 

The day was bright, as were the gardens vibrant and lush. The flowers bloomed beautifully. A sea of color coated the greenery. The perfect background for the gathering. 

“Good morrow, ladies. I’m happy to see you all looking bright and fair as expected.” She chuckled softly, holding true to her composure as the women bowed to her and Jaehaera.

“Your Grace. Princess. What an honor to be here with you.” Lady Tarly, Sansara’s mother, spoke with a warm smile.  While others that had stayed true to the usurpers, such as Lady Wylde and Lady Johanna Lannister, offered them nothing more than the pleasantries of their curtsy.

“Please, take a seat. The day is charming and I’m sure we have much to talk about.”

Jaehaera sat to her right, while Sansara sat to her left and next to her was Tyshara, the youngest of the Lannister daughters. She was beautiful and had been assigned to Visenya’s entourage. In comparison to her mother, the golden maiden was kind and warm. Never judging the Queen but rather serving her dutifully. 

“I hear the new treaty with the free cities is going well.”

“We are ladies, Lady Reyne. I don’t believe that talks of politics are fit for the Queen.” 

“And what, exactly, is fit for my ears, Lady Lannister?” Visenya’s words were gentle but vibrant in their clever intentions. A sparkle of amusement glimmered in her eyes.

“Well, Your Grace, I only meant that after years of war and reconstruction, who has the stomach for politics?” The blonde woman remarked, almost too cautiously. 

“I do, Lady Johanna. I am the Queen after all, am I not? While I cannot decide for the King and his chosen envoys, any matter that might impact the economy of Westeros is of interest to me.”

She would have continued her incessant attack, had it not been for the visible discomfort of Tyshara. Independently of her mother’s imprudent ways, her daughter held no fault.

“Alas, I thank you for your concern. Not many are bold enough to filter my ears.” Her hand wrapped around her chalice, sipping from the fragrant Dornish wine that filled her throat with sweetness, numbing her annoyance.

Jaehaera cleared her throat, offering a small smile to the woman who sat at the table as she toyed with her food. “Lady Tarly? Is it true that your castle at Horn Hill has hundreds of peony beds?”

A motherly semblance coated the elder woman’s expression, nodding in response. “I’m not sure if I would say hundred, but the gardens are certainly showered with them every spring. Are peonies a favorite of yours, Princess?”

“Yes, my lady. I love them very much!”

“If it pleases you and Her Grace, Horn Hill will gladly send some seedlings for you.”

“Thank you, Lady Tarly. Your kindness does not go unnoticed.” Visenya’s calculating gaze met the impatient study of the women, challenging them silently. She knew they all wanted her approval. But they lacked the genuine soul of Lady Tarly.

The Queen did not waver in her resolve, and soon enough the women cowered, resorting to sipping their wine and enjoying their lavish meals. They’d be insane not to be grateful for the invitation. Save Lady Tarly and Lady Johanna, none of them had daughters in the service of the Queen. Many of them were simply the wives of men who served the King. They held no exceptional beauty or political influence. Their houses did not provide grain or gold to the crown. 

No. They were there because Visenya needed allies at court. Such is the nature of life in King’s Landing. There are good liars and bad liars, but if you disguise the truth of your vulnerabilities, you become a master of deception. And that’s exactly what Visenya needed to be. 

The luncheon had continued without any further obstacle and insult. It was a surreal feeling being amongst women, that in a way or another, shared her fate.

Many had not chosen their husbands, much less to end up where they did. Who was to say these women didn’t sympathize with Visenya? Lady Tarly, Lady Reyne and Lady Wylde had all been fond of Rhaenyra in their shared youths, afterall.

The daughter of Daemon and Rhaenyra had been born with one debilitating weakness, compassion. She held no rancor in her heart. Only towards Aegon. 

“Ladies, I’m afraid I must leave you now. But I hope to see you all at dinner tonight, His Grace is happy to host you and your husbands.”

She rose from her seat, delivering a tender kiss to the top of Jaehaera’s head. “Listen to Sansara, okay? She’ll escort you to your studies for the day. I’ll see you before dinner.”

Tyshara, on the other hand, trailed behind the Queen politely. Her expression displayed the devotion she held for her, nothing more and nothing less.  In inexplicable ways, Visenya felt more at ease with Tyshara tending to her instead of Sansara. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it. But that was not a pressing matter. 

“Your Grace, will you head to the library for your afternoon reading?” 

Visenya shook her head, smoothing out the skirt of her gown. “No. We will visit the Queen Dowager.”

The expression on Tyshara's expression mirrored that of her mistress. It was unreadable. Nonchalant to the eyes, but underneath it held fear of the unknown.  The silence was thick with unease as they both headed towards the tower in Maegor’s Holdfast that held the captive Hightower woman.

On their way Tyshara had stopped to obtain a tray of sweets before joining Visenya once more. 

Visenya’s steps echoed in the otherwise silent halls. Nothing but the dim lighting of the sun peeked through small window slits in the walls. The halls were silent, no one in sight except two guards who stood at the door to Alicent’s designated chambers. What an odd way to call a gilded cage.


“Is she awake?”


“Yes, Your Grace.”


“Let us in, then.”


Out of all of Rhaenyra’s children, Alicent had shown a rare kindness to Visenya as a child. Perhaps, she saw a glimpse of Viserys in her. Her calm temper and cunning mind. The way she hid among books and scrolls while other girls in the Keep wandered the gardens.  Or maybe, the guilt of what would be done to Rhaenyra tugged at her faint morale.

Alicent’s body tensed at the sound of keys turning the locks of her door. She had just finished praying. Her face was pale and sunken, yet for her age a semblance of her beauty remained. 

“Have you come to take delight in my loss of status, Your Grace ?” Frigid words held a shaky tone. She was afraid. No, she was ashamed. 

Her slender hands settled on her lap as she remained seated in her chair by the fireplace. She made no move for pleasantries, nor did Visenya require them. 

“Would I not be in the right to do so? It was your ambition that nearly eradicated my house.”

“Your house? You forget that my son sits the throne—”

VIsneya scoffed, visibly holding back a bitter chuckle. “It’s a shame to see confinement hasn’t had any effect on your ego, Alicent.” Her eyes narrowed on the woman’s stone-cold demeanor.    “This has always been the fallacy that turned you and your father to fools. Birthing a Targaryen does not make you one. You earned no claim to our house. Your marriage to my grandfather was a calamity, everyone knew it. And now the proof is laid out for all to see.”

Alicent sighed, her empty gaze lowering to admire her daughter-in-law’s gown. It was lavish. Foreign silks, she’d wager. It was a symbol of Aegon’s desire to appease her. 

“I see he’s taken with you.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Aegon. The silks, the jewelry. He clearly finds you worthy of interest. I’d say you’ve spun a web like your mother did to trap her lovers, but my son is quite simple. Your beauty is enough to captivate him.”

“What does this have to do with anything?” Visenya couldn’t help but straighten her posture at her words, a delicate frown forming on her lips. She took possession of the chair across from Alicent, making herself comfortable.

Tyshara refrained from interjecting and instead set the tray of delicacies on the coffee table between the women before taking her place by the entrance, contemplating the cold stone walls and the lack of novelty in the space.

Alicent remained silent for a few moments. The tension was tangible. Flammable in the presence of the dragon princess. “It’s just an observation. But it’s a bitter irony, isn’t it? I didn’t want your mother on the throne, nor did I find Prince Jacaerys worthy of my daughter and here we stand—a daughter of Rhaenyra the Cruel, chosen to carry on Aegon’s legacy.” 

There was a notable sadness that left as soon as it appeared, in Visenya’s eyes at the mention of her mother. Visenya’s fingers froze, formally toying at the edges of her chair. “You’ve done me no favors.” The redhead smiled tightly, ever the martyr. “Did I not?” She retorted. 

“You sent assassins after my mother and me. After my brothers, you want me to thank you?”

“And yet you sit comfortably in the walls of the Keep.”

Brazen violet hues widened at the words from the Dowager. Anger coursed through her veins. “What choice did you leave me with? My mother was forced to hand me over to keep my brothers alive. You call that a gift?”

“I call it mercy. The Mother's mercy.” She replied, void of repentance. Even now, Alicent Hightower dared to act holier than thou. 

“Oh, fuck you and your faith. You live as a fraudulent martyr. Your son has locked you away, your family is dead, and still, you grasp at anything to excuse your depravity.” Visenya’s jaw clenched, her head shook in disbelief. Perhaps, it had been a mistake to come here. “You hide beneath your tainted piousness to silence any criticism against you. You…..you disgust me, Alicent. If I ever pitied you, I know now that I was wrong to do so.” The hurt and rage was unmistakable in her tone. 

Alicent toyed with the star chain between her hands, rising to her feet to meet Visenya’s height. She drew a long breath before mustering the words she’d been wanting to say. 

“What did you expect would happen coming here, Visenya? Did you think you’d find me begging for your forgiveness? Or perhaps, you seek absolution of your own.”


“And what would I need to seek forgiveness for?” She asked, searching Alicent’s mahogany hues for answers. 

“You’re blind to it?” Alicent chuckled, taking a step closer to the girl with every word. “I see that look in your eye. Your mother shared your pride and deviousness. And just like her, you trample all things sacred under your pretty little foot.” 

The elder woman sneered at Visenya, her words sharp and deadly in intention. But before she could continue her attacks, a solemn and deep voice cut through the atmosphere.


“Step away from the Queen, mother. Lest you wish to lose your tongue.” 

Fuck. What was he doing here? 

Chapter Text

[earlier in the day]

Aegon’s morning had been no better than Visenya’s. When he rose from his slumber, flashes of the night before rushed through his head. It plagued his every thought and corroded his insides with guilt. What he’d done to Visenya was far from fair and deserving of her. 

He wanted to apologize, not that it would erase his vile behavior. However, she was gone by the time he regained consciousness. Visenya was haughty, of that much he was certain. But this wasn’t a matter of ego and pride. Aegon had humiliated her and worse of all, broke a promise he swore to uphold. 

Alfre Fell, Aegon’s squire, dressed the king in his usual attire. Green silks and dark leather was used to form his doublet, gold stitching held the various textures and fabrics. If Aegon had a redeeming quality before his court, it was his fashion sense. And while a cloak did not belong in his daily regalia, especially during the current spring weather, he chose to wear one. 

To the human eye, the choice to do so was insignificant and vain. Aegon had other intentions for his decision, for the cloak was made of thin, fabric-like leather, coated in a layer of quilted silk and delicate embroidery that depicted the sigil of House Targaryen, among other things. But the dragons were not gold to mimic Aegon’s banners—it was a red three headed dragon. 

At breakfast he hardly ate anything, and much to the confusion of his servants, his hand rarely reached for his wine-filled chalice. His presence in the Small Council was no different. His mind flickered to the previous night, attempting to pinpoint where he had gone wrong. What had pushed him to the point of laying a hand on his wife against her will? 

His mind remained secluded as he toyed with a million and one ideas on how to recover her trust. It was no secret that the king’s youth had festered salacious rumors. His comportment was reckless, lacking empathy, a terror amongst maids of the Keep. In spite of his past, he had learned to conduct himself in a more gentle manner. Not only for the sake of his reputation, but for Visenya’s peace of mind. 

“.... Your Grace? Your Grace, Lord Jasper requires your opinion on the matter at hand.” The baritone tone of Lord Corlys rang through the walls of the small council, pulling Aegon abruptly from his thoughts. The duties of the crown began to crush his inexpert shoulders. He was thankful to have men like the Sea Snake to advise him in the absence of his fallen family. 

Aegon straightened his posture, shifting in his seat at the head of the table. His right hand fumbled with his marble between his fingers, while his left remained perched on the arm rest. 

“I’ll tell you the same thing I told Lord Tyland, the reality is, we lack the dragons to patrol the Gullet. And while Lord Corlys’ ships have done an outstanding job in keeping the trade lanes open, we need more ships to strengthen our hold. I need solutions, Ironrod. Not issues.”

A stifle of laughter harmonized with a shameful dissonance amongst the men of the Small Council. Jasper Wylde’s nickname was known amongst the people of King’s Landing, but to see the king use it to voice his irritation was amusing. 

Tyland cleared his throat, raising his gaze from under his dark hood, blood stained eyes stern as they landed on Aegon’s visage. “Sellswords are an option, Your Grace. Sunfyre, Silverwing, Morghul and Vaelor all belong to the immediate royal family. Lord Corlys, your granddaughters have no love for us, but perhaps they may yet be persuaded for love of their sister, the Queen, to aid with Moondancer and Morning.” 

Lord Corlys’ demeanor was visibly strained and vexed at the mention of Baela and Rhaena. A firm resistance emerged across his tired, and aged physique. He remained unmoved in his resolve, recalling what he thought to be his failure to protect Rhaenys and their children. 

“While Lord Tyland’s words are sound, I will remind this council that House Velaryon, much like House Targaryen, has lost enough to the war that nearly tore apart this kingdom. I will not suffer putting my only granddaughters in a direct path of danger.”

Aegon’s jaw clenched, the essence of a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Relax, Lord Hand. No one is enlisting the help of Lady Baela or Lady Rhaena. I’m certain the Queen would sooner have both our heads, than see her sisters thrusted upon vigilant dragon back.” 

With a shared round of laughter, the council faded into lower concerns for the crown. Amongst the good news, at last, the agreement with the free cities had been sealed. Trade would begin to flourish. In the years that followed the Dance, all but Pentos had agreed to a safe trade agreement. Aegon could only assume that their sudden change of heart had come at the behest and influence of his firecracker wife. 

“That will be all, my lords.” His voice echoed, unusually, commanding the room. The clatter of men leaving the hall allowed an uncomfortable silence to linger about. 

“Your Grace, if I may…” Tyland spoke, remaining at the king’s side, hiding in the shadows. “Is there any improvement with the queen?” 

“Speak plainly, Tyland.” Aegon retorted, reaching, for the first time, for his chalice. He sipped the wine effortlessly, the topic of Visenya being of discomfort. 

“I only wish to protect the sanctity of your union, Your Grace. You trusted me with the knowledge that your marriage was not consummated, and the blood on your wedding night was nothing more than a farce to quench the insistence of the Small Council—” the battered man sighed, approaching his sire with concern, “I need not remind you than an heir is paramount.” 

Aegon’s mouth tightened, failing to mask the shame of defeat. “What do you suggest? That I command her to open her legs to her husband? Better yet—be forced by her king?” 

“Your Grace, I would not presume to—” 

“No, you wouldn’t. And should not.” With a deep-set frown, Aegon rose from his seat, drowning what was left of the crimson liquid in his cup, slamming it down on the council table. “You’ve been loyal and faithful, Tyland. I suggest you refrain from forming opinions about the queen.” 

Aegon curled his lips into scowl and barged out with no intention of stopping for anyone.

The mellow sun was pleasant on the king’s features as he made his way into the gardens. The Small Council usually convened shortly after breakfast. Once he had tempered his growing pains, all caused by his conversation with Tyland, he had taken to the skies on Sunfyre to clear his troubled mind. 

Upon his return, he had been informed of Visenya’s luncheon with the ladies of the court and Jaehaera’s presence in the gardens of the Keep. He forced a semblance of politeness, tugging at his doublet to eliminate the imaginary wrinkles on the fabric. 

“Jaehaera! My moon, there you are.” He called out with a warm smile, ignoring the women who scrambled to their feet, ludicrously curtsying to appease him. “I’ve missed you.”

The princess perked at the sound of her name, rushing out of her seat, forsaking all ceremonious manners, and directly into the arms of her father. “Father!”

Jaehaera’s appearance did not go unnoticed by Aegon. He spun her around a few times, the air filled with her laughter. As he set her down, his gaze focused on the lavishness of her ensemble. She wore a blue gown with a green tint, pearls were embroidered along the hem and the neckline with gold thread. The style of the dress, though modest, was far from being Westerosi. “It seems Visenya’s fashion sense is rubbing off on you, moon face.” 

The girl blushed, her head hanging low as she took in the sight of her new shoes as he spoke. It was true. Without realizing it, Jaehaera had adopted Visenya into her heart. And while she didn’t seek to replace her mother, having a maternal figure in her life brought happiness to her life. 

“Her Grace was kind enough to share some of the silks you gifted her. She said it wouldn’t be fair for the king’s daughter to be left out.” 

Aegon nodded softly, his lips curling into a faint smile. “That was very kind of her.” He took a step back, locking his hands behind his back as he straightened his posture. “Where is she now? I was told she was hosting this.”

Lady Sansara approached the pair, bowing to Aegon politely before speaking. Her eyes portrayed a faint veil of anxiety. “Queen Visenya took her leave, Your Grace. She’s paying a visit to the Dowager Queen.”

A more dangerous string of words had not been spoken.

[present-moment]

“I won’t ask you again, mother.” Aegon gritted through his teeth, eyes narrowed on Alicent. The former Hightower matriarch was too close for comfort. Aegon’s nostrils flared every so slightly, his patience already trickling into extinction. In the past, his mother had been his beacon. Politically and emotionally, Aegon relied heavily on the counsel of the Dowager. But Alicent’s recklessness and incessant ambition had plunged the kingdom into one of the bloodiest wars to date, not to mention, nearly bringing forth the destruction of House Targaryen. 

Even now, his gaze was cast upon her with judgment. After the death of his sister and former Queen, he decided to turn the leaf and forgive her. A sound choice in theory, but the promise of peace had been nothing more than a mirage. It was Alicent herself who had sought out sellswords to bring her the head of Rhaenyra and her children. And now the Dowager had found herself confined and alone, with no solace or companionship, save her lady-in-waiting, Talya. 

“I’m already behind lock and key, Aegon. I doubt a few words will bring any harm.” The infamous melancholic expression she was known for made an appearance across her visage. Alicent’s martyr-like hues lowered their gaze as she took a step away from Visenya. “I misspoke. My deepest apologies, Princess.”

Visenya lacked the appetite to quarrel. She had stomached enough during the luncheon. Alicent’s words pierced her with sharp recollection. Princess. A pejorative the Queen in Chains had notoriously used against Rhaenyra, and now against her. At least, she was consistent.  

“You are brazened. But I expected nothing less.” Visenya’s eyes flickered with visible anger, but her resolve was solid. She gave Alicent no further thought, facing Aegon with an unreadable expression. “Your Grace,” she spoke, walking past him though his grasp did not let her make it further than the entrance.

Aegon’s hand wrapped firmly around his wife’s upper arm, his lips twitching into a worried frown. A light scrunch of concern could be seen forming on his brows. “Wait in the hall.” Aegon whispered before nodding in Tyshara's direction, who until now had remained lingering in the corner of the chambers. “Go on. Tend to the Queen.” 

Visenya’s rebellious nature had every desire to contradict his command, but she had no intention of giving Alicent an ounce of satisfaction. She simply nodded quietly, walking out with Cerelle. 

Whatever the nature of Aegon’s exchange with Alicent, she could not decipher. Their muffled words were lost through the thickness of the stone walls. But she could only assume they weren’t pleasant, nor did they leave room for argument. Only mere moments later, Aegon emerged from the door and his mother was once more placed under guard. 

Visenya could not hold his gaze for long. Fragments of his vile behavior infiltrated her mind, plaguing her with vivid memories of last night. “If you don’t mind, Your Grace, I would like to take my leave now. Unless you plan to force my will in this, too?” 

As the words left her mouth, the color drained from the king’s face. His vibrant eyes suddenly appeared sullen and sunken. “Do you consider it appropriate to discuss that now? Here?” 

“I wasn’t aware the King had any affinity for decency.” Visenya’s eyes flickered with a fire that was all too familiar, all too reckless. In the moment, her features sharpened with anger,  bringing her closer to a vivid image of Rhaenyra herself. “I suppose it would benefit the optics of this marriage, to speak about it in the very room where you sullied me like a whore.” 

“Visenya, you forget yourself!” Aegon’s words were not kind or warm, but they were far from begrudging. His lips curled into a sneer, ashamed that she would utter such words in the company of Tyshara and the men who guarded Alicent’s door. 

Aegon’s steps were heavy as he made his way to his queen. He took her by the arm and dragged her alongside him despite her constant protesting. Visenya hurled curse after curse at him, tugging at his iron grip in attempts to free herself. 

Tyshara watched in confusion, but it quickly turned to panic, rushing after them. However, one of the men from Aegon’s kingsguard, stopped her from going any further than the stairs that descended from the tower. 

“I demand you unhand me! You pretentious cunt!” Her words did naught but draw the attention of the palace guards that were on duty, receiving a few looks of pity from the maids that walked past the dueling pair. 

Before she could cause further commotion, Aegon forced her into an unused chamber with unyielding force. Visenya stumbled, struggling to find her balance before grabbing hold of the nearest piece of furniture she could find—a desk. 

“I have suffered from your indifference for months…” Aegon shut the door firmly behind him, his jaw clenching, his fists opening and closing at his sides to tame his exasperation. “I have been patient with you, because despite what you insist on believing, I am not a cruel man.” 

“I suppose anybody with a hole flinches at your sight out of reverence for you, then?” Visenya could not stop herself from uttering her true thoughts of him. A thin veil of tears coated her eyes, her breaths were ragged, and her hands trembled at the thought of being alone with him. 

“What I’ve done in the past does not reflect my treatment of you.” Aegon’s patience wore thin. Her words cut him deeper than expected. “I understand that this ... .arrangement, is far from ideal. And it is precisely why I have refrained from being near you. To allow you your freedoms, to allow you to make peace and come to terms with it.” 

Visenya chuckled bitterly, wiping her tears furiously with the back of her hand. “And I should thank you for that? It was your mother’s ambition that led to the death of my family. Was it not your brother who slaughtered mine on top of Vhagar?”

“Aemond, is dead. And my mother has been dealt wi—” 

“You had….every opportunity to end this. You could have denied the vultures who gathered at King Viserys’ death. You could have bent the knee after Lucerys’ death—after Jaehaerys’ death.” She took a step towards him, her bottom lip quivered, almost mirroring the flickering of the torches that illuminated the space.

“I never wanted this, Visenya. Initially, I felt sickened by the idea of usurping my own sister.” Aegon’s own eyes welled with unspilled emotion. His words wavered weakly, avoiding her gaze. His head hung in shame. 

“Even now, you could extend safe passage to my mother. You could restore our house to its proper glory. Queen Rhaenyra is of forgiving nature. Aegon, it needn’t be this way.” Visenya’s plea was emotive and lacking duplicitous intentions. 

“I cannot. You know this…” Aegon replied, lifting his head to finally meet her gaze. His calloused hand rose to cup her cheek. 

“Why not? It could change everything.”

“Because then it would all have been for nothing! Every death, every battle, every life lost. All for me to….bend the knee?” Under the right circumstances, Visenya’s beauty would’ve been enough to move Aegon. He knew this very well, enough to keep his eyes from admiring her. 

“Then you are weak in your resolve. Toiling, still, in the service of your Hightower blood.” She spat out, sharply pulling away from his touch. Realization lingered, coating the air heavily. 

The Dance had been won, and the wounds inflicted on Westeros would begin to heal. But a new war began to form—the gods had cast their coin and the world fell silent awaiting the emerging victor.

Chapter Text

Despite King Aegon’s reputation, he appreciated custom and routine. He could not control the opinions of the small folk, any less than he could stop the whispers of the lords who thought him unworthy of the Iron Throne. Adhering to a new system, anything that proved the presence of royal procedure, that he could manipulate. 

Every morning, Aegon rose from his slumber, often alcohol-induced sleep, and was dressed by his squire, Alfred Fell. He took breakfast in his chambers, enjoying the only moments of silence and solitude he was allowed before imposing his presence at the Small Council. 

The silence that now surrounded his mornings and evenings was gnawing at his insides. The days that followed his argument with Visenya were void of her presence. They shared nothing but an exchange of looks in the halls. He lacked the ability to find the words to mend their relationship. Being the king and demanding her affections had precedent, but Aegon walked the road less traveled on. He sought to win Visenya’s favor. And it seemed like the gods themselves had cursed his luck in doing so. 

He refused to surrender to his failure. He was a king, he would not be denied what came easy to lesser men. If muddled men from Flea Bottom were capable of securing love, what, then, stopped him? 

Aegon called upon Lord Tyland, as he did often, but his urgency came not from the pressures of politics or the crown. No, this was far more precarious. Ultimately, matters of the heart always are. “What say you, Tyland? Perhaps, a dinner in the fashion of Old Valyria will soften her resolve?” 

His words were eager, a pitch higher than usual, displaying the giddiness of the Targaryen male. “From what Jaehaera tells me, the Queen is fond of the stories of our ancestral lands. She is drawn to the fantasious idea of reviving our house with the splendor of Old Valyrian custom. Is a week enough to procure what is needed?” 

Tyland, once a handsome man, was now the solemn shadow of a tortured soul. From under his darkened cloak he cleared his throat, producing the faintest smile for Aegon. “It sounds appropriate for the Queen’s tastes, Your Grace. However, it shall be a costly dinner and one that lacks…..accuracy.” He raised his gaze, meticulously selecting his words. “What we know of the Valyrian freehold pales in comparison to what it truly was. Will the Queen be satisfied with half-measures?” 

“No. I will not have cost be an issue. Our coffers have been overflowing ever since I wed the Queen. Trade with the free cities brings a surplus of wealth. The crown could finance a gold cock for you if need be.” The brash and inconsiderate nature of Aegon was hard to tame. But the deafening stillness that followed was like a bucket of ice. “I’m….sorry. I only meant to say that if I am to win her tolerance, I cannot be held back by talks of money.” 

“I agree, Your Grace. I will consult with Maester Gerardys, as well as my niece, Lady Tyshara. I’m certain Her Grace will be most moved by your intentions.” He responded with a warm tone. Tyland had withstood the cruelty of Rhaenyra’s men. Aegon’s words were nothing more than an inconvenience. 

Steam coated Visenya’s chambers like a veil, shielding her sunken body as she bathed. The thick scent of rose and pomegranate lingered in the atmosphere. Her eyes were shut, immersing her thoughts in the sounds of the birds that chirped freely outside her balcony. She wondered what it would be like to be as unbound as they were. As a child, she was raised to believe that dragons granted you freedom. And yet she couldn’t recall the last time she rode Silverwing without the threat of being followed by Aegon and Sunfyre. 

The maids assigned to Visenya were duty bound and diligent, but she did not trust them. Oddly, she didn’t suspect Aegon of planting spies in her service. However, she’d be a fool to think Alicent’s influence had no reach. 

“Your Grace?” Sansara approached her with the weariness of the new servants, crouching at the tub’s level before speaking in a hushed tone. “Prince Aegon is the door. He says a raven has come from Lys.”

Under the frothiness of oils and soap, Visenya perked up at Sansara’s words. “Let him in.” Her eyes commanded her in silence. And soon enough, Sansara had whispered further instructions to Tyshara who quickly sent away the maids performing their duties. 

Aegon the Younger, Visenya’s twin, walked in with ease once the space had been rid of lurking ears. His hair had been brushed back nicely, and his robes were worthy of a prince. But a certain shroud of distress hid behind his lilac eyes. “Your Grace, " he said, offering his sister a courteous bow. 

“I’m told you have a letter from our mother?” A smile toyed on her lips. Her expression softened at the thought of receiving word from Rhaenyra. It had been months since they parted. “What does it say?” 

Prince Aegon clenched his jaw, looking away as Sansarla dried down Visenya and wrapped her in her robe, handing her the letter once she had dried her hands. Concern was written all over his face. “It’s from Viserys.”

Visenya took the sheet in hand, her lips slightly agape and her eyes wide. Resembling a deer caught in the midst of a hunt. “Viserys? What could our brother possibly be writing for?” The curiosity didn’t allow her to wait for a response from her twin. Instead, her eyes earnestly skimmed through the ink marks on the page. 

Her brows furrowed the more she came to realize the intention behind her brother’s letter. She scoffed, an incredulous chuckle escaping her lips. “Is he bloody joking? He must be acting on his own whims. Mother would never hire sellswords to face Aegon. She knows we do not have the numbers.”

“We?” Prince Aegon asked, perking up at his sister’s choice of words. “There is no we, Visenya. You are the Queen. You cannot afford to raise the suspicions of the court against you.” 

She remained silent for a few moments, pondering her response. Her guise barely veiled with annoyance. “I will not ignore Viserys’ plea for help. I cannot allow him to go through with such nonsensical strategies. But while you cower behind my skirts in fear, I stop our brother because I care for him. Not because I have any love for my usurper husband.”

The prince scowled at her response, shaking his head in her direction. Discord dripped from his lips. “An unfortunate thing to be remedied. You are his wife, sister. And your efforts, alone, keep him from slitting our throats in our sleep.”

“So, that’s it, then? I’m simply the King’s whore, to be called upon the whims of his arousal. Is that all I am now? Say it!” Her cheeks flourished with color, a vibrant display of her displeasure. 

Prince Aegon lowered his eyes, flinching at the bluntness of his sister’s words. A trait, surely, inherited from their father. “Visenya—yes! Is that what you wish to hear? That we were cornered into surrendering you like a piece of fucking meat so that we may, yet, survive this?” His pale visage hardened with every word. 

His anger carried his steps until he reached where she stood. “You speak of grandiose battles and the legacy of our father, but this is not a game, Visenya! Our very lives could be forfeit and you….rejoice in provoking the King’s anger! Have you no loyalty?! Now is not the time for childish antics. If we are to prevail, we must all be steadfast.”

Visneya’s violent nature seemed to have an affinity for men named Aegon. Mere moments after his abrupt explosion, she struck him. “Then you better be prepared to split your arse for him, because I will never yield to that Hightower scum. Fucking traitor, you dare speak of loyalty?” 

Prince Aegon held onto his cheek, rubbing the warm surface that spread the sting of her attack. Despite her stature, when angered, she delivered a nasty blow. “I was nine when those fucking Myrish bastards tore me away from our mother and delivered me to Aegon. Nine! Do you know what it’s like for a child to never know if each night might be their last? To have the threat of death looming over me like a terrorizing ghost?” His hand reached out to tuck her hair behind her ears, but it was far from a caring action. “Our mother belongs on the throne, that much is true. But until that happens, I would sooner hold you down myself and let him fuck you like father did Mysaria, then to ever feel that same fear again. Do you understand me?” 

Tears burned in Visenya’s eyes; her gaze flickered from his face to the twirling hummingbirds outside the windows. Oh, how she yearned to be free. But most of all, the urge to cut Viserys’ throat herself, burned through her like dragonfire. “You are no brother of mine. You have no right to call yourself a son of Daemon and Rhaenyra Targaryen.”

“Don’t I? As I recall, it was our mother who handed you to Aegon, first. You are a Targaryen princess, sister. Your years in Essos misled your shrewdness. Clouded your mind. You were born for this. Your duty has been, and always will be, to buy us time.” He leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. A traitor’s kiss. Or mayhaps, a true gesture of a frightened boy. A brother who wants the best for his sister, but is fearful of losing his life. “Get dressed. The King expects you for dinner in the dining hall. I’m told he will send new silks for you to wear— I wish to see our mother on the throne as much as you. But recklessness will only hurt our cause.”

The ornate appeal of the dining hall was a joyful spectacle in itself. Foreign silks embroidered with gold thread hung from the ceilings, accompanying the banners of House Targaryen. But instead of the usual green and gold sigil that Aegon used, he had new banners fashioned in honor of his silent truce with Visenya. A gold three-headed dragon on a field of black cloth. 

Servants were commanded to adorn the space with endless finery and decadent foods to amass over the table. Chalices and plates made of solid gold, embellished with jewels, were set out for the royal couple to feast upon. Orange trees and tropical plants had been procured from the gardens, past gifts from Pentos. The grand windows were open, lighting the space with the summer sun. Exotic fixtures and colorful ornaments were used, such as hanging lamps and crystal dragons that captured the light. 

Aegon sat aloft the cushions that had been set up around the table. He was fashioned in the style of Lys and Qarth. He wore a kaftan-like attire, composed entirely of Lysene silk. It was black, embroidered with gold thread along the edges that held green jewels in place. The crown of the Conqueror was settled firmly on his head, contrasting the gold rings on his hands and the cuffs on his wrists. 

“Her Grace, the Queen.” Aegon perked up, his eyes trailing up to meet Tyshara who had announced Visenya’s arrival. All the while Sansara bit her tongue, disagreeing with the falsehood of the dinner. 

Visenya, much like Aegon, was draped in Lysene silk. Flamboyant violet curtains of fabric draped from her body, hugging her curves delicately. Something that was made aware by the King. His eyes traveled from the yellow veil that hung from the back of her head, to the twirled straps that secured the silks to her shoulders with golden clasps. Gold cuffs that matched Aegon’s, were fitted on her wrists. Sundots were drawn on her cheeks, to mimic the blush worn by women in Lys. (Refer to the art of Larra Rogare.)

Visenya’s steps carried her close to Aegon, she bore a gentle expression on her face. She had decided that she was alone in her endeavors. Her brothers could not be trusted, and her standing at court was feeble, at best. “Your Grace.” She said, smiling softly as she joined him on the cushions with the help of Tyshara who quickly retreated with Sansara soon after. 

“You look beautiful, Senya.” Aegon took her hand in his grasp, bringing her knuckles to his lips to press a chaste kiss. “Is it to your liking? I am aware that you have a fondness for Essos and the stories of Valyria. I wanted….I wanted to apologize for my recent behavior. It was unbecoming of me, of us.”

Visenya took hold of her cup, sipping from the fragrant Dornish wine before speaking. “I believe we have both acted unseemly, uncle.” The use of the word was not put in play as an insult, but rather to tug at their Valyrian customs. “A certain insolence runs in our blood, does it not? But you are right. I’m alone at court, abandoned by my kin. Our…incessant fighting is not beneficial to the lords of this kingdom or the smallfolk.”

Aegon sighed, his eyes delighting in the sight of his wife and the pleasing words she spoke. A part of him knew that mayhap, she uttered empty vows. But his desire to possess her blinded all reason. “Then we are in agreement? Our union could yet prove to be of comfort to you and of gain for our people.”

“Yes, we are. I have seen the marvels of the East. The wealth of Dorne. Let us replicate that for Westeros, Your Grace.” She set down her cup, taking a honey cake in hand. The delectable pastry was one of her favorites. 

Aegon chuckled, his eyes watering as his smile reached them. “Good, good. I am relieved by your words.” 

The pair exchanged opinions and thoughts on mundane topics. The rare laughter of Visenya echoed out into the halls, despite the doors being shut. It paired melodically with Aegon’s own amusement. “That’s not a fair assessment. The only reason I was good at riding Sunfyre, was because I indulged in horse riding. You, however, are a natural on Silverwing.” 

Visenya rolled her eyes, snickering as she ate a spoonful of pomegranate seeds, having finished her monkfish broth. “Is that why I was able to burn through your fleet at the Strait of Tarth at the ripe age of twelve?” 

The mention of such humiliating defeat would have sent Aegon into a destructive rage, but he was far too content and at peace in her company to care for it. He simply scoffed and sunk deeper into his wine. “The remaining Velaryon fleet was far from formidable by then.” 

“Is someone….jealous of my victory?” She questioned amusedly. A twinkle of mischief and contemplated rascality danced in her eyes. Perhaps, it was the wine or the longing for comfort, but the Queen found herself discovering an allure to Aegon. He was .... handsome and gleeful when he wasn’t being a cunt. 

Aegon closed his eyes, humming as he shook his head, weaving his chalice in her direction. “Far from jealous, dear wife. I simply ....prefer the idea of seeing you mounted on me, and not Silverwing.” The words flowed all too easily, leaving both of them speechless. 

Visenya cleared her throat, shifting with an uneasy feeling in her seat. She knew, sooner than later, she’d have to perform her marital duties. And if her conversation with her brother had taught her anything, it was that she needed to take the reins of her marriage with cunning. 

“You are owed that, I suppose.” She replied as the rays of the setting sun peeked through, casting a gold glow on her silver locks. Her eyes skimmed down Aegon’s face, swallowing nervously at the sight of his lips. 

“Visenya… I don’t want it out of duty.” He sighed, running a hand through his locks in an attempt to control his urges. But she was the very image of a goddess. In his eyes, every other woman paled in comparison. 

She inched closer to him, setting a hand on his thigh whilst her gaze remained locked on him. “Duty can be enjoyable, you said it yourself.”

His breath hitched in his throat. Aegon set down his cup, leaning forward to cup her face in his rough hand. His thumb lightly tracing her bottom lip. “At the very least, you deserve a proper bed to be taken upon.”

Her lips parted to capture his thumb in a swift movement. A playful gesture before releasing it and moving forward to press a gentle kiss to his lips. “I trust your expertise. Certainly, the lack of a bed cannot be an obstacle.” 

Aegon was quick to reciprocate. One hand remained on her cheek, while the other tangled itself at the back of her head. Gently tugging at her soft locks. The kiss in itself was a dance. They both battled for dominance, ultimately resulting in Aegon pushing Visenya down against the cushions and settling between her legs as his lips continued to devour her flesh, trailing down her neck with urgency. 

Visenya looked up at the stone ceiling, recalling the glory of her grandfather’s reign and what could be her mother’s legacy. It was enough motivation to cast away the guilt she felt. Whatever excuse of a husband that Aegon was, he was well-versed in the art of seduction. 

She moaned softly, fluttering her eyes shut when his hands slipped past her shoulders to undo the clasps that held her silks in place. “You’re fucking beautiful, Senya…. “ His need for her was no secret. Aegon’s bulge pressed firmly against her core through his fabrics, provoking Visenya’s royal cunt. Her wetness began to grow, and soon her hips were rising to meet his own. 

“Fuck.” She gasped out, digging her nails into his clothed arms as his lips enclosed around one of her breasts, suckling diligently, indulging in his appetites. Her own hands sought to undo his clothing, clawing desperately at the bothersome fabrics. 

Within moments, Aegon hovered over her in his bare form. Visenya’s own vulnerable body lay over the cushions and the pooled silks of her gown. His knees spread her legs apart, appreciating the sight of her glistening womanhood. Visenya’s expression was vulnerable and willing, the silent consent he required before positioning himself at her entrance. 

“I’ll be gentle.” In a swift movement, he entered her. Invoking a sharp whimper from Visenya’s lips. He allowed her to adjust to his size for a few moments before beginning to thrust slowly in her. One hand, held onto the side of her leg, while the other laid flat under her chest, desperate to please her. 

Visenya’s back arched with pleasure coursing through her body. She struggled to maintain eye contact with Aegon who refused to miss a thing. Every reaction, every moan, he wanted to take it all in. 

She clung to his arms, slipping her hand up to claw at his back. Forsaking any shyness as she marked his pale flesh. The war had left Aegon with a defined figure, and Visenya was thankful for it. 

Aegon could no longer hold back. His hips hammered into her mercilessly. Again, and again pillaging her insides passionately. The lustful predilection to coat her walls with his seed made his head spin. His grunts became intertwined with her moans, a loud groan rumbling in his chest as his movements came to a stumbling halt.

Visenya cried out in bliss, hugging him close to her body while he nuzzled his face into the side of her own. His warm seed poured out into her, weakened with the tightness of her cunt. 

Their breaths were heavy, filling the hot silence of the dining hall. Visenya weakly brushed her hand through his hair, adjusting to the new reality of being his. In the sight of both, men and gods, alike. 

She couldn’t take this back. Nor did she wish to. Everything had become clear for her—this journey was now her own. No matter the sacrifice, she would prevail. 

Chapter Text

A decade earlier….129 A.C., months before the war. 

The busy atmosphere of King’s Landing was a constant reminder of the treachery that bustled the halls of the Red Keep. From the disease-ridden streets of Flea Bottom, to the opulent walkways near the Old Gate, perfidy and schemes were afoot. The reign of King Viserys, hand-in-hand with his ever restless illness, was no exception to such a reputation. 

No one knew this better than the young Princess Visenya. At a mere eleven-years of age, the apple of her father’s eye, she had grown an acute awareness of the politics of court. The privilege of her birth granted her the ability to be in the room where it all happens. King Viserys, enamoured with his granddaughter, fashioned her in the style of Princess Rhaenyra, the child’s mother. He kept her at his side, prompting her to learn the ways of the Small Council, whenever she wasn’t away on Dragonstone. 

However, the serenity of the Godswood lended a safe haven to the Princess. And though Visenya held an affinity for Dragonstone and Pentos, her silver locks could often be found swaying in the wind of the Godswood. 

She had not yet claimed a dragon, and the egg that had been put in her cradle failed to hatch. In the mind of the child, she dreamed of taking to the skies on dragon back, but until then, Visenya found comfort in the endless books about Valyria that her grandfather, King Viserys, had collected throughout his life. 

With the sun providing amiable warmth, Visenya sat under the large oak that served as the Keep’s heart tree. Her brow was slightly scrunched, eyes trailing across the pages that detailed the Conquest and the lineage of the Conquerors. A wisp of her hair fell over the sides of her face like a golden halo. 

Her fingers fumbled with the chain around her neck—a necklace—made of Valyrian steel. It was attached to a pendant with the engraving of House Targaryen. A three headed dragon with finely cut rubies that were set along the edges of the circular pendant. One of many expensive jewels that belonged to the Princess. 

From afar, Aegon stood against the stone railings of the balcony that wrapped around the outer corridors of the upper palace. Aemond, ever the dour princeling that he was, sat in one of the benches. His nose stuck in a missive from Old Town that exhaustively named all the brides that had been considered for him. None, of course, to his approval. 

“It’s not fair, is it? Our Strong nephew does nothing but be an insipid bastard and yet, she falls at his feet as if he were a god.” Aegon grumbled, sipping from his chalice as an evident scowl painted across his face. His words revealed what everyone knew; Visenya adored Jacaerys. 

Aemond, however, did not respond right away to his brother’s outburst. Whatever Aegon’s obsession with Visenya, he was still ten-years her elder. Something that never went amiss for Aemond. He found it to be, unseemingly, at the very least. It was no different to the rumors of Daemon and Rhaenyra in her youth. 

“Jacaerys is to be wed to Baela. I doubt he cares much for Visenya. As for you…,” Aemond rose his gaze to linger on his brother’s tense stance, his remaining eye narrowing. “What is it to you? You’re married to our sister. It should make no difference to you, who our dear niece shows an affinity for.” 

The elder prince, irreverent and stubborn, only rolled his eyes in response. The warm breeze caused his disheveled locks to sway at his shoulders. “Ah, yes. Helaena.” He replied, speaking her name with disdain. “My odd wife who speaks in riddles and prefers the company of bugs, to men. I’ve always said it, she should’ve been wed to you, not me.” 

“And I would’ve gladly done my duty to her, brother.” Aemond countered, his jaw clenching. “You should focus on Helaena, instead of harboring an obscene obsession for Visenya. Have you forgotten that, at present, her mother is our rival?”

Aegon’s face twisted with displeasure. “You sound like mother. Always urging me to commit treason. Our father yet lives, and I have no intention of sacrificing my ability to drink and fuck as I please, in exchange for a throne I do not wish to possess.” 

“Hm.” The younger prince held a scowl, his thin lips pursed with vexation. “Tell me, brother. Do you think that by falsifying an ounce of honor and surrendering your claim to the throne, you’ll have access to Visenya’s affections someday?” 

“Visenya will grow. Why shouldn’t it be me that obtains her hand?” Aegon was quick to anger with the inquisition laid at his feet. His jaw clenched, and his nostrils flared. His hands gripped the balcony to contain the humiliation imparted by Aemond, stone digging into his palms. 

Aemond struggled to contain the spread of a taunting smile aloft his lips. In the end, his perfectly straight silver tresses moved with his laughter. “I suppose, then, you shall be a second Maegor. You will forsake your Hightower bride and slay your kin to obtain your precious Rhaena, or rather, Visenya, in this case.” 

“I’m no reckless assassin, Aemond.” Aegon challenged, scoffing as he forced himself to pry his gaze away from the Godswood. 

“And yet it’s no secret that our niece will most likely wed one of her brothers, regardless of who ascends the Iron Throne. Never you.” Aemond’s words were nothing more than filial provocation. “Our uncle would sooner take your head, than allow you his daughter.” 

Visenya, unaware of the conversation held by her uncles, only ceased her reading when she was interrupted by her childhood friend, and now lady, Sansara Tarly. 

“You spend too much time lost in the world of words, Princess. Your eyes will fall out!” The redheaded girl chuckled, nudging her mistress with a warm smile. Sansara, three years her senior, had always been fond of Visenya. Becoming her first lady-in-waiting, was not a shock to the court. 

“What else am I meant to do? Embroider and sample teas from the East?” Visenya replied, her violet eyes twinkling with amusement. 

Sansara hummed in response, taking a seat next to Visenya. “It wouldn’t be the end of the world if you did, would it? You are a princess, after all.” 

“Well, yes, I am. But my mother will be Queen someday. I wish to service the crown with more than intricate designs and a clean curtsy.” Visenya scrunched her nose at the thought. She was no warrior, nor did she claim to be. She had settled into a role much different than that of a dragonrider. With her cunning, she’d easily become a sharp politician of the court. 

“And how will you do that, dear girl?” Sansara offered her a pointed look, weaving the surrounding flowers of the Godswood into a small braided bracelet. “You have a plethora of brothers that keep you from holding any real position at court.” 

Visenya shrugged, glancing up at the sky with a small frown on her lips. “I’m not certain. But with my mother on the throne, surely, she wouldn’t confine me to the pressures of a normal lady.” She held her mother in the highest regard. Idolizing the woman who would become the first Queen of Westeros. 

“And you?” The young Targaryen inquired with a tender smile.

“What about me?” Sansara’s slate colored hues widened with curiosity, her brows furrowed in confusion. 

“Yes, what about you? What is your desire in life?” Visenya pressed further, smoothing out the skirts of her gown. 

Sansara, on the other hand, was quick in her response. “I am your lady, Princess. The head of your household, and above all, your friend. What more could I desire than to serve you and be by your side?” 

“That is…. kind and honorable, Sansara.” Visenya’s cheeks were flushed with shyness. “But don’t you wish for more? A husband and children, perhaps? Or to be a knight and ride out into battle!” The latter was said in jest, causing both girls to lean into one another, a giggling mess. 

“No, I suppose I don’t wish for any of that. Serving you is quite fun. I get a share of all your pastries and sweets!” The Tarly girl replied, amusedly. “In any case, my older sister, Jayne, is the one who displays an affinity for the domestic side of life, not me.”

At the mention of Jayne Tarly, Visenya’s mood momentarily soured. Lady Jeyne, had a scandalous reputation at court, hidden only by the mercy of Princess Helaena, with whom she shared a friendship. 

An ironic feat, as everyone called it. Jayne’s tainted standing at court was of her own doing. She had been one of many ladies that Aegon favored taking to bed. And to the disapproval of Visenya, the woman had been seen trying to gain Jace’s favor. 

Concern laced Visenya’s words as she spoke. “Anyone in particular she favors?” 

Sansara snorted, reaching across to tie the flower bracelet around Visenya’s small wrist. “If your distress lies with Prince Jacaerys, then no. Jayne has made no comment about him.” 

She didn’t dare judge the girl. Sansara knew the shadows of jealousy all too well. Unknown to many, she had spent her summers in her ancestral castle at Horn Hill, where she had spent many days in the presence of Prince Daeron. 

Sansara was aware of the conflict of interest that would arise, should she allow her feelings for Daeron to grow. Instead, she focused on her duty to Visenya. 

Present time, 137 AC. 

Nearly a month had gone by since the infamous dinner Aegon had held in honor of Visenya. In the days that followed, the pair had been inseparable. Something credited to Aegon’s insatiable desire for his wife, as per the Small Council. 

The lively bustle of King’s Landing served as the melodious medium that filtered the sounds that echoed from Aegon’s chambers. He refused to grant Visenya the freedom of sleeping in her own chambers, allowing her out of his sight to bathe only. 

Aegon, himself, only left his chambers most days to tend to the Small Council, while Visenya broke her fast with her ladies and the wives of powerful nobles. Even Prince Aegon, despite his unresolved issues with his sister, learned to admire Visenya as Queen. 

Visenya’s locks laid sprawled across the pillow, her visage settled into a peaceful expression as she permitted herself to sleep past her usual hour. 

Lady Tyshara didn’t have the heart to wake her and instead worked quietly to lay out the Queen’s gown in the meantime. 

Adoration was clear across Aegon’s face as he entered his chambers, dismissing Cerelle with a quick wave of his hand. His steps carried him eagerly to his bed, sitting at the edge as he let his knuckles brush softly against Visenya’s cheek in awe of her.

“My love….I believe it is time for you to rise.” It broke his heart to interrupt her slumber. Visenya had proven to be a dutiful Queen, despite their own quarrels. She was attentive to the women of the court and possessed the mind to calm political storms. Just the day before, she had flown out with Aegon to Highgarden, successfully achieving a new treaty for the Crown regarding grain and fruits. 

Poor fool. His insistence on winning her heart left him blind to her antics. In a short time, Visenya had begun cementing herself as an indispensable player at court. 

The Queen stirred in her sleep, scrunching her face at the insult of being woken up. But Aegon persisted, brushing back her disheveled tresses. “Come on, Visenya. Jaehaera grows impatient by the second. You did promise to have lunch with her in the gardens.” 

Visenya rubbed her eyes, sighing exhaustedly as she finally opened her eyes with a weak smile. “Does Jaehaera know that her father keeps the Queen without energy?” 

With a sleepy expression, she lifted her hand, tracing the shape of Aegon’s jaw. 

Aegon chuckled, bringing her hand to his lips, offering her knuckles a light kiss. “No, I don’t believe she’s aware of who’s to blame.” 

After a few moments of conversation, Visenya called Tyshara back into the chambers as Aegon left to tend to the petitions of the smallfolk. Once dressed, she sat still in her vanity while Tyshara worked meticulously on her hair, anchoring Visenya’s diadem on her head. 

“You are done, Your Grace. You look divine.” With a smile, the blonde stepped away to let Visenya take a look at herself in the mirror. 

“Thank you, Tyshara. A splendid display of your skills as always.” Visenya replied with a bright smile. 

In the halls, it was hard to contain the laughter of excitement that was produced by Jaehaera. Her arms enveloped Visenya’s waist. And Visenya, all too happily, returned the gesture.

“Hello, little love. Did you miss me?” She asked, knowing the answer well enough, 

Jaehaera nodded, looking up at her stepmother. Her heart fluttered with happiness. “Yes, I did! Father said you were sleeping. Are you ill? It’s quite late in the morning!” 

Visenya giggled, pressing a gentle kiss to the girl’s head. 

“I’m not ill, I promise. I was simply tired, that’s all. Now come, I had my ladies prepare a beautiful lunch for us.” 

“Is there room for a third at the table, Your Grace?” A voice all too recognizable, and vulgar, rang through the halls. 

Visneya stopped in her tracks, tightening her hold on Jaehaera’s hand. For a brief moment, she did nothing. Said nothing. 

“My apologies, my Queen. I simply wanted to announce my return to court to you.” 

The Queen inhaled sharply to compose her anger, turning to face the imposing woman. Her expression darkened.

“Lady Jeyne.” 

Chapter Text

Fire and blood. Those were the words of House Targaryen. The words of her house. Visenya’s words left an eerie chill in the air. The halls of the Keep fell silent to her thinly veiled frustration. In her vibrant violet eyes, the flames of the dragon were set ablaze with anger. 

As a child, she found it comical, even, that Jeyne Tarly had the gall to, not only bed Aegon, but attempt to rise in the ranks through Jacaerys. To have to tolerate her presence again, now as Queen, well, it was unacceptable. 

“I meant no offense, Your Grace.” The intention behind Jeyne’s words was evident. A faint smirk toyed at her lips, if no one noticed it, Visenya certainly did. 

Jahaera’s gaze moved from one woman to the other, unable to decipher the tension that lingered heavily between them. “Your Grace?” She called out in a dulcet tone. Her brows slightly furrowed as she tugged on her step-mother’s hand. 

Visenya turned to Jaehaera with a gentle smile, handing her off to her handmaiden. “Why don’t you go ahead to make sure everything is to your liking, Princess? I’ll be there in just a moment, you have my word.” 

It was difficult for the Queen to remain composed. With Aegon, she had the freedom to speak her mind, despite the consequences that could arise. But as Queen, she couldn’t be seen berating her subjects with such ease. 

“Your sole presence at court is, indeed, an offense, Lady Jeyne. But not to me, you are of little consequence to me as far as I’m concerned, and therefore, to everyone else.” Visenya shot back as soon as Jaehaera was out of ear’s reach. “You insult the memory of Queen Helaena by being here.”

“Queen Helaena is dead, I doubt she’s preoccupied with me, Your Grace.” Jeyne replied with an overly sweet ring to her voice. “Do you feel a similar remorse when you lay with the King?”

Visenya’s expression darkened, and her steps carried her closer to the insolent brunette. “Tell me, Jayne, do you have a death wish? Or perhaps, dislodging a babe from the womb in Dorne caused you to become simple?” 

“That is nothing but a malicious fabrication by the enemies of my house.”

“And I am the Queen. If I say you rid yourself of a bastard, then the lords and ladies of the court will repeat those whispers.” Visenya hissed out with venom lacing her every word. “I am not my aunt Helaena. I will not suffer your impudence, nor will I exert any effort into silencing your scandals. Are we clear?”

Jeyne was left dumbfounded—Visenya would be a perilous obstacle in her way. 

No response was spoken by the Tarly woman. Queen Visenya had already spun on her ankles and journeyed down the halls to find Jaehaera. 

Jaehaera’s giggles could be heard through the gardens of the Keep. Prince Aegon the Younger had been taking a midday stroll when he came across the Queen’s setup, taking the opportunity to entertain the young Princess. He knew better than anyone how exhausting it was to live under the reign of his sister Visenya and King Aegon. 

But nature was forgiving. The gardens were in full bloom of summer, as were the orchards that provided shade to the quaint royal tea that had been arranged for the Princess and the Queen. 

“You really think Morghul will grow as big as Seasmoke, uncle?” Jaehaera asked, wide eyed and with curiosity lingering in her expression. 

Claiming Seasmoke had been no small feat for Prince Aegon. After the death of his previous rider, Ser Addam Velaryon, Seasmoke had flown across to Essos where he remained to heal his injuries. It was only prior to Visenya’s arrival to the capital, that Seasmoke had been spotted once more in King’s Landing. Luckily, Prince Aegon had been the one to come across the dragon. 

“I’m certain he will, Princess. Maybe one day His Grace will allow you to fly alongside me and the Queen. Doesn’t that sound entertaining?” He added with a gentle chuckle. 

“Oh, I would love that! I keep begging father to let me fly with Visenya, but he says the Queen cannot ride in case she carries a sibling of mine.” The girl replied with a faint frown. In truth, Jaehaera was ecstatic at the possibility of having a little brother or sister. After losing her mother and brothers, it’s all she wanted. A family. 

“It’s a good thing the King does not control me, isn’t it?” Visneya’s voice carried out to where they sat as she approached them, a smile illuminating her visage. 

Jaehaera’s face lit up once more as she ran towards the woman, embracing her warmly. “I missed you, Visenya!”

“Missed me? I was gone but for mere moments, little love.” The Queen chuckled, leading the young girl back to their set up. She took her seat with the help of her brother, offering him a grateful expression.

“Your Grace. Good morrow to you. It is good to see you in high spirits.” Prince Aegon bowed his head politely before taking the seat across from his sister. “Will the King be joining us?”

Despite her remaining anger, Visenya couldn’t help but smile at her brother’s attempt to break the ice with her. They were twins, this was nothing new. As children anytime they quarrelled, he’d drag himself back to apologize with unconventional methods. 

“His Grace, the King, is currently tending to the petitions of the small folk. If he gets through them in a timely manner, I expect he’ll pay us a visit.” She replied, taking a sip of the warm tea in her cup. 

Jaehaera snorted as she took a bite out of her apple tart. “Father will not join, Visenya. He does not like tea parties.” Her words were soft and bright, but their meaning left a heavy sadness in Visneya’s heart. 

The Queen exchanged a brief look with her brother before clearing her throat. She reached across to twirl one of Jaehaera’s ringlets. “Do not say such things, my darling. Your father has made….significant changes. The King is a busy man, but he tries his best to avoid your neglect.”

The young princess sighed and nodded softly, raising her gaze towards her step-mother and uncle. Though a smile adorned her face, there was a faint gleam of melancholy in her eyes. 

“Will he be at my nameday celebration? Father.” 

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” The tired, yet calm voice of King Aegon broke through the silence. 

Prince Aegon rose from his seat to bow to his uncle, while Visenya remained seated with Jaehaera’s hand in her own grasp. “Your Grace.” 

Visenya smiled, though it did not fully reach her eyes. Whatever the King’s efforts, she did not find them to be genuine, nor could they make her forget his past transgressions. Taking her mother’s throne. Alas, she encouraged Jaehaera to go to him.

The girl obediently leaped from her chair and bowed to her father before offering him a kind hug. 

“It seems you insist on thinking I have no love for you, Jaehaera. It is far from the truth.” The King smiled sadly, holding her in a tight embrace. “I have not been....skillful in showing you any kind of fatherly love. But I wish to remedy that.” 

In the moment they shared, Prince Aegon took advantage to slip a letter to Visenya under the table. His eyes held a spark of panic and worry, which only confused the woman. Nonetheless, she hid the small folded paper in her gown before turning her attention back to her husband and step-daughter. 

“Will you join us, Your Grace?” She called out, offering the seat next to her own. 

“I have time to spare, yes.” Aegon responded with a side smirk, guiding Jaehaera back to her seat before taking his own next to Visenya. 

The King made sure to display his affections for his wife. He pressed a warm kiss to her cheek and instead of summoning a flagon of wine, he submitted his tastes to the tea that had been served. Though, he notably took a liking to the lemon cakes that had been served on Visenya’s orders. A pastry that was favored by her mother, Rhaenyra. 

“Aegon?” Visenya began, smoothing out the invisible wrinkles in her gown as she turned to face her husband. “Might I ask something of you?” 

It took the King by surprise that his Queen would need, even less, ask for something from him. Visneya had proven to be a woman without boundaries and care for authority where it concerned her will and desire. 

Nonetheless, he hummed and brushed back his silver tresses as he directed his focus onto her. From the corner of his eye, he appreciated the sight of Jaehaera and Prince Aegon running in the gardens. Despite their age-gap, it seemed the two understood each other, having been raised away from their respective mothers. 

“What is it that you require?” 

“I believe….it is time for your mother to be granted some freedoms. Not her liberty, no. But she has not been seen at court since before my arrival. It makes the crown look weak. As if we fear her.” 

“You ask me to release the woman at the helm of our family’s destruction?” Aegon questioned calmly. But his irritation was clear across his face. 

“I ask that you stabilize the tumultuous reign you have had. She has not been a warm mother, I acknowledge that. But to the eyes of the Seven Kingdom, she is still the mother of the King.” Visenya replied, her expression scrunched with conflicted emotions. She hated the women, but knew better than to keep her imprisoned under such duress. 

“Not that long ago you were found quarreling with her in the tower, now you ask me to release her. Is my cock truly that skillful to change your mind, wife?” Aegon spat out quietly. In his attempts to show Visenya his love for her, he always had a hard time managing his temper. 

“How dare you?” The Queen gritted through her teeth, though mindful not to cause a scene in front of Jaehaera. “Tell me, how do you do it? Just this morning you spoke of love and legacy, and now you insult me with your words.”

“Visenya.” The King sighed, sipping what was left of the tea in his cup to calm his irate manner. “The conversation that surrounds my mother is a treasonous one, and yet you continue to insist upon it. Has she not enough blood on her hands to incur your hate?” 

Visenya’s eyes momentarily flickered with hate and sorrow. “My father and brothers are dead, Aegon. I am forced to live away from my mother and Viserys. I do not lack hate or detest for Alicent Hightower. But seeing as I am your fucking Queen, I should like to see our blood sit on the throne before the smallfolk rise against us for committing further sins against our kin.” 

Whether there was any truth in Visenya’s words, or she had simply made such a comment due to the passion that burned in the heat of the moment, it did not go unnoticed by the King. Their blood. A child of his and Visenya’s. A son to sit the Iron Throne. It had been the first time she had made any mention of the future. 

“Yes, yes. The throne must be stable for our child.” He muttered softly, forgoing all anger in exchange for a fantasy of a perfect future. “What would you have me do, then?”

“Jaehaera’s celebration is next week. Let her attend and have the court see our family united.” Visenya laid her hand on the side of his face, toying with the sharpness of his cheekbones as she spoke. “She need not be given the opportunity to speak to anyone, but her presence would not go unnoticed. Whether we like it or not, Westeros once enjoyed her as Queen. It will benefit us for the time being.” 

“Consider it done, my Queen.” Aegon said with a faint smile, kissing her hand as he rose from his seat. “I shall see you at dinner. I must tend to a private audience with Lord Corlys.” 

“The Hand? But you just saw him at the small council this morning.” Visenya’s curiosity piqued at his words. Corlys Velaryon was hardly a man who chased after Aegon. If anything, the least involved he was, the better for him.

“Yes, I did.” The King hastily waved at one of the passing servants who carried a flagon of wine, having the boy serve him a quick glass. “Lord Corlys has some fickle notion about resigning as Hand of the King. But don’t worry, I see the gears turning in your head, I will settle this. I promise.” 

“Very well. I trust your judgment.” Visenya did not. 

With a quick kiss the couple parted. Albeit the Queen remained concerned about the matter in hand—Lord Corlys—she was able to appreciate the warmth that came from seeing everyone getting along. Even if for a few brief moments. 

Visenya took the opportunity to open the letter that Prince Aegon had given to her. She unfolded the paper under the table, sneaking a quick read. But the ink on the page drained all color from her, already, pale visage. 

‘Meet me at the Dragonpit tonight.’ —Viserys. 

Chapter Text

The chaos that ensued following the death of King Viserys was confusing as it was volatile, especially for a girl of twelve, as Visenya had been during the Dance. For a moment, it felt as if the Blacks would succeed in their fight for the throne.

No battle had proven to be a severe loss as was the Battle of Rook’s Rest. Losing Princess Rhaenys and Meleys, significantly weakened Rhaenyra and her supporters. It left many defeated in their purpose. The Battle of the Gullet had nearly claimed the life of Prince Jacaerys. Instead, he was gravely wounded but was able to arrive on Dragonstone on dragonback. And while the Prince had a successful recovery, Vermax succumbed to his injuries a few days after the attack. 

After the First Battle of Tumbleton, Ulf the White had been slain. To the benefit of the Blacks, Silverwing flew to Dragonstone., prior to the island’s capture, where Visenya had been staying alongside Lady Baela. She was bonded with the dragoness once her wounds were healed. But even then, Visenya, a girl of twelve was of no aid to her mother’s cause. Neither Rhaenyra, nor Daemon, would tolerate their daughter joining the fight. But after the tragedy at the God’s Eye, it became clear that remaining in King’s Landing was of no benefit.

In the days that followed the Storming of the Dragonpit and Prince Jofffrey’s death, Queen Rhaenyra took her remaining children across to Essos. But there was one mystery that remained unsolved to the Greens. 

Prince Jacaerys was last seen at the Fall of Dragonstone. He was presumed dead and never heard from again. And yet, one year prior to Visenya’s departure from Pentos to Dragonstone for her wedding to King Aegon, a man appeared before Queen Rhaenyra. Jacaerys. 

Visenya’s hand lightly trembled as she read over the words again and again. Why would Viserys risk coming to King’s Landing? And most importantly, was her mother aware? Fear crept up her neck, thinking of the millions of reasons for his arrival in Westeros. What if Aegon knew of their secret and had summoned him here? 

She ripped the paper in half and crumpled it in her hands, stuffing it into the pockets of her gown in her attempt to calm her nerves. Visenya forced a smile onto her lips, walking over to join Jaehaera feeding the wandering ducks with Prince Aegon. 

“Are they quite hungry, little love?” 

“Indeed! I’ve nearly run out of honey cakes to feed them!” The excitement in Jaehaera’s voice warmed Visenya’s heart. In another circumstance, the King and Alicent would have been cohorting with nobles to wed the young girl. But Visenya would have none of it. She would not stand to see Jaehaera become a pawn as she was. 

“Mmm, then I suppose we shall have the kitchens make sufficient honey cakes for your nameday feast. We must have enough for our guests and the ducks, don’t you think?” The Queen replied, scrunching her nose playfully at the girl. 

“Yes, please! We will have honey cakes for the ducks, apple tarts for the ladies and lemon tarts for you and father! Oh, and plenty of quail for Uncle Aegon.” Jaehaera always found it amusing that her father and her uncle shared the same name. It brought a soft laugh to her lips anytime she spoke his name. 

Eventually, Septa Alys came for Jaehaera to continue her afternoon lessons. While Aegon insisted upon the Faith of the Seven, Visenya used her influence to secure lessons for Jaehaera in the art of riding, archery, the arts and the history of Valyria. Just as her mother, Rhaenyra, had instructed upon her own childhood. 

“You look pale, sister.” Prince Aegon muttered, breaking the silence that lingered between them under the apple trees. 

Visenya tightened her lips in response. “You’ve been writing to Viserys even after our quarrel. Do you think yourself above me? Above the instructions of our mother?”

“You still doubt my loyalties?” The Prince asked as a disappointed expression settled on him. 

“How can I not? You looked me in the eyes and promised to aid the King in taking his marital rights against me. Is it truly incomprehensible that I do not trust you?” She replied, displeasure thinly veiled in her voice. 

The Prince sighed, running a hand through his locks, while his free grasp toyed with the sword at his side. “I didn't mean it, Visenya. It was but a folly—words birthed in outrage, nothing more. What Viserys suggests, can be achieved. Is that not what you wanted?”

Visenya chuckled bitterly, setting her hands at her waist as she paced back and forth. “Our brother is volatile. You do not know him as I know him. The hatred in his heart…..he’d sooner see all Seven Kingdoms burn than surrender to our uncle.” 

“Oh, my apologies for not attending every milestone of his anger. I was too busy being held captive by your bloody husband.”

“A husband I did not ask for!” Her eyes narrowed, holding back the tears that remained unspilled. Young Aegon’s visage mirrored hers. “And yet I have not begrudged you, Viserys or our mother for this. I did my duty and in doing so, we live to fight another day. But we cannot allow Viserys to act without the approval of our mother.” 

Visenya’s fingers tapped nervously at her skirts, her eyes becoming tired and shaky. “I will meet him like he requests. But I will go alone, accompanied by Sansara. I need you and Tyshara to remain in the Keep in case the King inquiries about my whereabouts. We cannot afford to have him questioning our loyalties.” 

“Go on about your day as normal. The King affords you the freedom to bathe and change after your nightly duties, does he not? That will be the perfect moment to leave the Keep and meet Viserys.” 

“You’re awfully familiar with my routine and custom, brother. It’s almost eerie.” 

“Do not flatter yourself. Despite our differences, we are on the same side here. It would be foolish not to keep an eye on you.” The Prince replied with a dramatic eye roll. 

The sunlight produced a soft iridescence to Visenya’s hair as it swayed in the wind with her laughter. “Regardless, you are correct. It’s the only moment I truly have to slip away.” 

The Queen made her departure once they had solidified their plans, requiring a moment with her ladies. The underlying truth was, Visenya began to doubt the loyalties of her family. To risk such a meeting could bring crashing down everything they’ve worked for. 

The stone walls of the wine cellars were the primordial witness to an unknown treachery. The soft echoes of whispers, and vulgar commotion, blended like a troubled melody. If one were to happen upon the cellars, it would only take a few moments of silence to pick up the sound of ragged breaths and beating hearts. 

“You cannot hide this forever.” 

“Nor will this continue forever….” 

The hands of Prince Daeron firmly held his lover in place. His hips thrusted needily against milky flesh and his favorite fiery bush. Low groans escaped from his lips, only muffled by the subservient hunger of the woman’s kiss. 

Sansara Tarly. 

The woman’s eyes fluttered shut as she rested against the walls, coming down from the high of her orgasm. A sly smile crept on Daeron’s lips, kissing her forehead gently as he admired the sight of the redhead—undone, yet unbent. 

“Every time I think I’ve finished taming you, you prove me wrong.” With a drained chuckle, the Prince thrusted into her a few more times, enjoying the sensitivity that frayed away at his senses. His hands cupped her face, kissing her lips sweetly as he pulled out of her, finally. “I’ve missed you, Sansara.”

The redhead hummed in response, smiling momentarily into the kiss before eyeing him sharply. “Does the King know of your arrival in the capital?” 

Daeron groaned in annoyance, pulling away to fix his trousers with a frown etched across his lips. “Must you impose politics upon us so soon?” 

Sansara only offered an unmoved expression. Her hands worked adeptly on lacing the front of her gown shut, smoothing out her disheveled skirts. “You know where my loyalties lie. If secrets exist between you and His Grace, be rest assured, the Queen will exploit them with my aid.” 

The piercing eyes of Prince Daeron fell on the woman. Beautiful as she was, the fire that burned bright in her devotion for the Queen, produced only a bitter freeze for Daeron. Their attraction could never be more than the lustful passions of dark corners and concealed rooms. 

“Ah, yes. How could I forget? My cock only serves you when your tongue is not slithered inside Her Grace’s arse.” He retorted with a devilish smirk. But it only earned him the retaliatory nature of Sansara’s violent aptitude. 

She took his crotch into her grasp, tugging him closer with enough force to bring him discomfort. Her gleaming eyes held a challenging spark as a whimper emerged from him. 

“And my cunt is only of interest when you’re not out being the King’s errand boy. What a shame, isn’t it?” She whispered into his ear with intense venom, her tongue flickering out against his earlobe. “He owes much of his victory to you and yet your presence is no more desired at court than that of a rat.” 

“Sansara….” His tone rang in the facade of a warning. But he couldn’t hide the lust that swirled in his violet eyes. “You….are a dangerous woman.”

“And don’t you ever forget it, my Prince. ” She released him, but not before pressing a taunting kiss to his cheek. Her hands brushing through the ends of her tangled cinnamon locks. “You’re not meant to arrive until the Princess’ celebration. Why have you come early?”

“Can I not have the desire to see my family?”

“You can, but we both know it’d be a twisted fabrication of your intentions.” 

“Then I would say that it scares me how much you know me, Lady Sansara.” His playful nature was thinly masked by his vulnerable response. The game they played was deadly. Should the King or Queen be informed of their carnal exploits, their loyalties would undoubtedly be called into question. Daeron might find absolution in the privilege of his birth, but Sansara would die at the hands of the Queen’s justified wrath.

“In truth, it was your beloved Queen who called me to King’s Landing.” Daeron replied, his tone laced with uncertainty. 

“The Queen?” Sansara pressed further, eyes piqued with curiosity. “Whatever for?” 

He shrugged, leaning against a few barrels of wine with his arms crossed against his chest. “Aside from missing your warmth, that’s the reason I wanted to see you. Her letter was void of any detail. All she mentioned was that she required my help with something concerning the family.” 

Sansara pursed her lips, plagued by the unknown. “Perhaps, she seeks to find you a match?” 

“She can bloody try, but I’m not surrendering to her whims.” He said, laughing bitterly. “If it was up to my dear niece, she’d send me to live amongst the Wildlings.” 

The woman was too preoccupied with the Queen’s letter. She had no knowledge of such a request being written by Visenya. Was she losing trust in her? 

“Sansara?” Daeron called out, cocking a brow at her. He couldn’t decide if he was amused or concerned. “Do not cloud your mind with doubt. I’m certain that whatever Her Grace wants, most likely concerns my brother or Jaehaera.” 

Before she could interject, the door to the cellar swung open. Judgmental, yet amused, blue hues glimmered in the dimly lit space. “The Queen wants to see you.” 

“Would it kill you to knock, love?” Daeron muttered, his tone cold and irritated. 

The intruding woman scoffed, cocking her head to the side. “Go. I need to speak to her.” 

Daeron clenched his jaw, closing the gap between him and the insolent woman. 

Floris Baratheon. 

“I am still a Prince, Lady Floris. Do not seek to command me, or you will know my wrath.” 

“I’m certain the King will thank you for your service in that case. Nothing will bring him and the Queen closer, than his brother hurting one of her ladies.” She replied, bored of the interaction.

“Placing yourself under the Queen’s protection is wise, my lady. But it also makes you craven.” With one last icy glare, Daeron stormed out. A glimpse of warmth flashing through his expression at the sight of an amused Sansara. 

Floris, however, found no entertainment in the situation. 

“You risk exposing us, Floris.” 

“Please, if I truly had any interest in surrendering your secret to Her Grace, I would’ve done so long ago. There are more precarious whispers to tend to than the Queen’s closest companion getting humped by one of her enemies.” She added, smirking at Sansara while observing how she writhed under her accusatory words. 

King Aegon, as most kings of the Targaryen dynasty before him, had the Small Council to help him manage his kingdom. Visenya, on the other hand, had her ladies. Women who tended to her. Not only with their companionship, but with their skill. 

It was no secret to the courts that Lady Floris had earned herself the title of ‘Mistress of Whispers’ for her notorious aid to the Queen when it pertained to information. Most lords and members of the Small Council considered it to be nothing but Visenya occupying herself with womanly gossip and the activities of the gentler sex. 

“You’re not comical, Floris.” Sansara finally spoke out. She sighed, pinning her hair neatly back in place as she walked out with the brunette. “How do you know where to find me?”

“Who do you think sent out the Queen’s summon for the Prince to begin with?” Floris replied rhetorically. “As soon as I had word of his arrival, I knew you’d be perched like a dove on a tree in a remote area of the castle. You’re too predictable for your own good. She’ll find you out if you continue to neglect your usual, disciplined nature.” 

“Are you questioning allegiance?”

“Should I be?”

“That you dare to ask is an insult enough. I will not entertain any doubt.” She bit back, lowering her voice as they crossed the common halls of Maegor’s Holdfast. “I wish to see all enemies of Her Grace vanquished. Mounting the Prince in the process will not halt my efforts.” 

“Good. You’ve served her since she was a child. It would be a shame to see it all go to waste.” Floris had no intention of hurting Sansara with her words. On the contrary. Where she struggled to display any notion of affection, the Baratheon women did care for her fellow ladies-in-waiting. She did not wish to see them lining up for the executioner's block. 

Their conversation ended as the women entered the Queen’s chambers. 

“Your Grace.” 

“Ah, Sansara. Floris. Good, you’re here.” Visenya called out from where she sat. Tyshara, as was her custom, brushed through the Queen’s curls. 

“My apologies, Your Grace. I came as soon as Floris found me. I was….mindlessly roaming.” Sansara replied cautiously. 

“Why do you apologize?” Visneya asked, smiling warmly. “I am the Queen, but I do not control your free time. Besides, we have bigger things to worry about.” 

The Queen spared no time in informing Sansara of the latest developments. She was to accompany her to the Dragonpit during the hour of the bat. It was certainly ambitious and dangerous. But she would never dream of denying her duty. 

In the empty walls of the King’s study, Aegon sat at his desk with an unreadable expression. His mind could only focus on the unrest to come if he did not achieve what he set out to do. 

“Your Grace. I assure you, I am not resigning to hurt you, nor did I decide to do so by the whims of my emotions.” Corlys explained, his tone baritone and warm. 

“You may not want it, but that is exactly what you are doing, Lord Hand.”  Aegon replied, shaking his head with a tired smile. 

“Tell me, Corlys. What prompts you to leave your King in the midst of such a critical time?” 

“I’ve no stomach for war and politics, Your Grace. I’ve seen plenty of good men die, women and children perish. My mind no longer has an aptitude for the riddles of court.” The Lord of Driftmark replied, his semblance of a tired man. 

“I wish to retire to Driftmark and live out whatever years I have left in me. In the company of my granddaughters, who are the only family I have left.” He added, briefly smiling at the thought of what was left of his legacy. Baela, now married to Alyn Velaryon, while Rhaena lived a quiet life in Old Town with Garmund Hightower. Though she visited Driftmark frequently. Staying for months on end. 

“Does the Queen not deserve an ounce of devotion, if you lack any for me?” Aegon pried further with a spark of challenge and amusement in his gaze. 

“With all due respect, Your Grace. The Queen is no kin of mine, nor does she require my guidance.” He replied curtly. 

“After all these years, it seems you still hold no love for my sister’s blood.” 

“Rhaenyra and Daemon committed their fair share of sins against my house. But I do not hold Visenya accountable for their crimes.” He replied. “If I am honest, Your Grace, the Queen is no innocent soul.” He continued, his words betraying his intentions. “She is as much a dragon as those before her. No matter how hard you try to tame her, she may yet survive us all.” 

“I suggest you refrain from sullying your good name with accusatory tones towards my wife, Lord Corlys.” Aegon brought his cup to his lips, sipping from the exemplary wine. “Let us not forget your own lady wife nearly took my life and that of my dragon.” 

“And she died for it, Your Grace. Can we say with certainty that Queen Visenya will cease to breathe should she betray us all?” Corlys’ gaze darkened with grief as he spoke. 

Aegon remained silent. His nature clawed at his sanity, urging him to spear the man. Oddly, logic won the battle. He knew Corlys was right, he didn’t have the heart to kill her. 

“She’s of no concern as you say, my lord. The real issue at hand is your resignation.” 

The Seasnake nodded in agreement, instinctively straightening his posture. “Call for Lord Donald Tarly. He’s been dutiful as Master of Laws, he’ll make a fine Hand.” 

“I have no complaints about Lord Tarly, but you know better than I why I cannot do that.” Aegon shivered at the repercussions of such an appointment. Corlys was right about one thing, Visenya was no fool. She only tolerated Jeyne Tarly’s presence at court as a favor to Sansara. But to raise their house by naming her father Hand—he’d never hear the end of it. 

The Velaryon patriarch chuckled heartedly, keeping a tight grip on his cane. “The Queen will certainly have her apprehensions, but you are the King. You cannot allow your consort to interfere with the stability of the realm.” 

“You forget yourself, my lord.” The King warned, narrowing his eyes at him. 

“Mayhaps, Your Grace. But it is the truth.” 

Aegon was quick to adjourn their meeting. He had much to think about. So much so that he spent the rest of the sun’s light pondering in silence in his study. 

Across the waves of the Blackwater, the light of the moon glimmered on the surface of the water, resembling the twinkling stars in the sky. A stray boat approached the harbor, unannounced and without detection.

What appeared to be a hooded figure, followed by a small frame, walked onto the shore and made no attempt to stop in their tracks. Prince Viserys had arrived unnoticed. 

Visenya’s nightly duties were nothing short of agreeable to the King. His enjoyment of the Queen’s body was loudly witnessed by the servants in the halls. But even as Aegon took his pleasures more than once, Visenya noticed a shift in his demeanor. 

Her chest rose and fell as she caught her breath. Visenya’s pale cheeks were flushed, her curls spread across the silk of her pillow. Aegon fell next to her, face into the mattress with a weak groan. “You, my love, have a blessed cunt.” 

“Better than that of the women at the Street of Silk?” Visenya chuckled breathlessly, covering her eyes with the back of her hand.

“Much….better…” He replied, turning onto his side, smiling lazily. “You’re the Queen, Senya. Whores do not compare.” 

The Targaryen femme hummed in response, leaning over to capture his lips in a brief, heated kiss. “Something plagues your mind.”

“You can read my thoughts now?” Aegon whispered against the kiss, brushing back the hair that framed her cheeks. “Corlys Velaryon could not be persuaded to remain as Hand.”

Visenya broke their embrace, pulling away enough to lock gazes with Aegon. “What are his reasons?”

“He wishes to retire peacefully to Driftmark to spend his last days with your sisters.” He replied cautiously, tension brewing in the sincerity of his words.

“I see.” Visenya acknowledged the intention in his tone with a nod, forcing a smile onto her face. “Well, I cannot say I am surprised. Lord Corlys has no love for you, even less for me. But I always thought his love for the memory of Princess Rhaenys would keep him cemented in his duty to Westeros.” 

Aegon chewed at the inside of his cheek, feeling unnerved in the conversation that was surely to come. 

“Did the Seasnake at least have the decency of providing you with replacement?” Visenya asked, a hint of frustration laced in her tone. 

“He did.” Aegon replied, clearing his throat and avoiding her gaze as he spoke. “He has put forth the Master of Laws.”

“Donald Tarly? Certainly, you jest.” She stated, a glimmer of amusement flashing in her eyes. 

“Lord Tarly has been of great service to the crown, and is the lord father of your head of household. He’s perfectly acceptable, my love.” His laced plea did not go unnoticed as he spoke.

“Conveniently, he fathered your favorite whore, as well.” Visenya shot back with disgust dripping from her tongue.

“Senya…” Aegon called out, reaching for her hand. 

“No!” She pulled away, rising from the bed to pick up her chemise that had been discarded in the midst of their marital encounter. “Is it not enough that I must suffer her presence at court? Now I must endure her elevated status.”

“Listen to yourself, woman! How much more elevated can she be? Her sister is your bloody companion, yet that has done her no favors. Naming Lord Tarly as Hand, will only benefit Sansara, not Jeyne.” Aegon’s voice was drenched in frustration, crawling out from the bed to wrap his arms around his wife’s waist. One hand lifting to cup her face. 

“Stop it, Aegon. I do not wish to speak of it.” She said firmly, trying to break free from his imposing presence. 

“That’s enough, Visenya.” He lightly tightened his grip on her face, forcing her to look at him. But his eyes were tender and vulnerable, his forehead leaning against her own. “I admit that I once desired and claimed Jeyne Tarly. I succumbed to the foolishness of my youth and dishonored Helaena, but the same will not be suffered by you.” 

Visenya could not decipher her emotions. Was there any semblance of truth to her jealousy? Or did she covet the position of Queen because of her desire for power? 

“How can I be certain that your promise is irrefutable?” She fluttered her eyes shut, releasing a sigh of exasperation. 

“The same way I choose to believe that your jealousy stems from our marriage, and not because of Jeyne’s past attempts with your late brother.” Aegon muttered, controlling his own jealousy.

There was an unspoken coldness that wrapped around them as she allowed him to take her once more in the night. But this time, Aegon exerted no effort into mutual comfort. The wall was decent enough to press her up against to smother his fire. 

Visenya had waited till the King had fallen asleep before slipping out of his chambers. To the servants of the castle it was nothing noteworthy. The Queen always bathed after a night with the King and would return to him before he awoke by morning. 

Once bathed and replenished, the woman made good use of Maegor’s tunnels to slip away from the Keep in the cover of night. Accompanied only by Sansara. It was a dangerous mission, nearly impossible. But she needed to see her brother. 

Visenya held on tightly to the hood of her cloak, not wanting to give away a glimpse of her distinguishable silver locks. 

The Queen knew her way to the dragonpit like the back of her hand. Blindly, she tugged along Sansara until they reached the tunnels that led to the torn portions of the arena. After the storming of the pit, Aegon had set out to have it rebuilt, but with the initial lack of funds in his reign, it had been a project extended in time. 

“Visenya.” A whisper called out, illuminated by a bright violet gaze in the darkness. 

“Viserys.” She nearly sobbed as she spoke his name, rushing into the embrace of his arms. 

Sansara remained a few steps away in the company of Viserys’ guard. Adrien Redfort, the only surviving member of Rhaenyra’s Queenguard. 

“Sister, I’ve missed you dearly.” The Prince indulged their reunion, pressing a kiss to her head as he took in the sight of her. No doubt taking note to inform their mother of her health. 

“Did anyone see you? If a soul wanders into you, the city will soon know.” She interjected, taking his face into her hands with a worried demeanor. 

Viserys, a princeling of ten and seven, would always be her little brother in her eyes. She worried for him, just as much as he did for her. 

“Do not fret, we saw no one and no eyes saw us. But I do not have much time.” He added, a wave of conflicting emotions washing over him. 

“Whatever it is, it must be grave to demand your presence in the capital. What has happened?” She asked, anxiety coating her words. “Is it mother? Is she hurt?”

“No, no. Visenya, lower your voice. Our mother is as healthy as a horse.” Viserys quickly replied, taking a hold of his sister’s shoulders. “She remains in Pentos, gaining support for our cause. Most cities in Essos hold no love for us, but even less for the Usurper. They’d sooner put our mother on the throne and get rid of their Targaryen headache.” 

Visenya nodded, clearing her throat as she felt a slight pang of discomfort at his words. Their goal remained the same, depose Aegon and crown Rhaenyra.

“From the last letter you sent, you said the Queen had obtained a sworn allegiance with the Free Cities, with the exception of Tyrosh and Myr. What has changed?” Silence answered her, but a twitch of amusement toyed on Viserys’ lips. 

“It seems the Usurper has not paid his dues to the Triarchy.” He stated, dramatically lowering his voice. 

“How can that be? Since my arrival, trade has been opportune and on the rise.” She stepped closer to him, ashamed of her confessions. “I dine on solid gold and dress without thought for expense. Our coffers are full. Are you certain they are not fooling you?”

“The Prince speaks the truth, Your Grace.” Adrien added, maintaining reverence for Visenya’s title, despite their denouncement of Aegon as King. “I went to Tyrosh and Myr myself. After the death of Sharako Lohar, communication regarding payment, ceased.” 

“Could this have anything to do with Tyland Lannister? Loyal as he is, no one would blame him for betraying Aegon after the horrors he’d endured.” Visenya suggested, her brows furrowing as she fell deep into thought. 

“There is no infallible answer, sister. But there are other developments that prompted this risk.” His words were almost a warning that sent a chill down her spine. 

“Well, go on. Speak.” 

“Our brother has awoken.” He divulged firmly. A faint ray of happiness sparking in his gaze.

“W-what?” Visenya nearly stumbled in place at the echo of his revelation. 

“He’s alive and he’s awake. Jacaerys is awake.” 

Chapter Text

130 A.C., two weeks after the Battle of the Gullet….

The princess’ bloodshot eyes mirrored the vermillion stained clothing that had clung to Prince Jacaerys body as he lay unconscious in his chambers. Maester Gerardys advised against moving the young prince, his condition too precarious at the moment. 

After the last sword had fallen, everyone assumed that Jace had perished by the arrows that had struck him. And while they did claim the life of Vermax, the young and courageous dragon was able to return his rider to the safety of Dragonstone before surrendering to its injuries. 

Visenya had not left his side since, imposing her authority on everyone who attempted to pry her away from her brother’s presence, including her mother and Baela. It mattered little to her. The innocence in her heart knew no bounds. At ten and two, she loved Jacaerys, even if he did not love her as she wished for him to do so. 

She often told herself that the infatuation was normal. Another stitch in the woven history of Targaryen customs. In the silence of the dimly lit room, she’d comfort herself with the stories of her grandmother Queen Aemma and King Viserys. Aemma Arryn had only been eleven when she married Viserys, a princeling of ten and six. The same age that separated her and Jace. 

Visenya never once allowed the bitterness of her brother’s betrothal to affect her bond with her half-sister, Baela. She adored her. At times, however, she’d shed a tear or two, watching from afar—Jacaerys was kind to Baela. His touch was gentle as they exchanged an inevitable kiss or two. The sight was glorious to those who favored the match, but for Visenya it felt as if dragonfire had been poured down her throat and boiled in her belly with the force of her jealousy. 

“Senya…” 

The hoarse voice of the prince drew her from her thoughts. Visenya’s eyes twinkled with tears as she chuckled through her contained sadness. “Jace.” 

Her warm hands adjusted the pillows under his head, rushing to bring a cup of water to his lips. “Shh, do not move. I will call for someone—” She was silenced by the frail grip of Jace’s hand on her own. 

“No.” He spoke hoarsely, struggling to drink the water in his weakened state but was quickly gaining consciousness and strength. “Just…give me a moment.” 

“Do you feel….well?” She asked, her voice laced with concern. 

“Well, I’m not dead.” A faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips, but it quickly faded in exchange for a wince of pain. “I could use some milk of the poppy, eventually.” 

Visneya frowned, feeling impotent. “I’m sorry that I couldn’t be of any help to you.” She whispered, furiously rubbing away the tears that rolled down her pale cheeks. 

“It’s not your fault, Senya. It’s no one’s fault, really.” He interjected, feeling troubled by her distressed state. 

“If I had a dragon, things would be different. I could have—” 

“You could have done what, hmm?” He mused bitterly. His gaze hunting her for a response. “What would you have done? You would have put yourself in danger. You would’ve been another life to save. Aegon and Viserys are safe, and I am alive. All is well.” 

“It is not!” She shot back with a broken expression. “Vermax is dead. Half of our navy is tattered, and mother….she’s filled with fear and anger that blinds her decisions.” 

Jacaerys remained silent. Despite the pain that riddled his limbs, and the soreness that kept his body stiff, he was more concerned with Visenya’s attitude. He had always known his sister to be a joyous princess. One who enjoyed the history books of their grandfather and pranced about the garden in excitement of spring’s newest bloom. But the girl who sat before him was not her. This girl was shattered, and if her words were true, then she was in no different state of mind than Queen Rhaenyra. 

“This war will drag out, Visenya. I do not know if weeks will turn to months, and months to years. But what I do know is that many lives will be forfeit.” He sighed, weary from it all. “I’ve become a weakness in place of an asset. Without Vermax, I’m nothing but an injured man.” 

“Your ability to paint yourself as inferior is nauseating, brother.” She gritted through her teeth, absentmindedly wiping away with a wet rag, the sweat that had formed around his hairline. 

“What then, I wonder, am I?” He inquired in a breathless tone. His eyes fluttered shut. “A legendary bastard?” 

“You’re no less of a Targaryen because of who your father was.” Visenya replied with a tired expression. 

“A Targaryen without a dragon. We make a great duo, you and I.” He mused, wincing as he chuckled dryly. 

“You already make a formidable duo with Baela.” She replied, a bit sharper than intended. “I’m sorry….” 

“Visenya…we’ve talked about this.” Jacaerys said, gazing up at her with troubled eyes. He was acutely aware of his sister’s love for him. But he was a prince of honor. He was to wed Baela, nothing or anyone could sway his resolve. Not even the tenderness he held for Visenya. 

“Yes, I know.” She began, a gentle quiver in her voice. “We are the Queen’s children. We are to perform our duty as best benefits our cause.” 

A surge of guilt emerged in Jace. Against his better judgement, he sat up, whimpering in the process of adjusting to the position after weeks of laying in bed. 

“You should not be moving. I’ll call the maesters.” Visenya spoke, mainly to herself. But she was stopped by the brunette once more. 

“Do you remember what I truly said? That night before the Gullet?” He muttered warmly, his hand caressing her own. “When I kissed you.”

“In another life.” Visenya replied, tears brimming in her eyes. 

“In another life.” He repeated, his heart beating fiercely against his chest. 

Present time….

“Your Grace.” The stern voice of Lady Floris tore Visenya away from her thoughts, absent minded as she stared blankly at the book in her hands. 

The atmosphere of the Keep’s library was tense and stuffy. As she once did as a child, Visenya found herself immersed in the history books once more. The news of Jacaerys’ health had sent her down an emotive spiral. That night with Viserys, nearly two weeks ago, she came back to the Keep. She laid next to Aegon and cried silently, allowing herself to wallow in guilt and sadness. She had betrayed her love for Jace. In her solitude, she found herself welcoming Aegon’s insisting warmth. When she looked into the eyes of Jaehaera, she often pictured a life of tranquility and peace. But betraying one’s kin was a sin she refused to be accused of. She couldn’t betray her mother, not now. Not ever. 

“Yes, Floris? Is something the matter?” She asked, offering a tired smile. 

“Nothing, Your Grace. But Lord Lyonel Hightower and his wife, Lady Sam, have arrived at court. Lady Samantha requests an audience with you.” Floris replied, smoothing out the gold silks of her Baratheon gown. “Shall I send her away?”

“And face Sansara’s wrath? Absolutely not, have her enter.” Visenya said with a gentle chuckle, straightening her posture at the desk she sat at. 

Lady Floris bowed her head in obedience, motioning for the guards to open the doors. 

Samantha Tarly, the eldest of the Tarly girls—sister to Jeyne and Sansara—was dressed in a luxurious red gown with pearls that adorned the trimming of the silhouette and traced the neckline of the gown. A gold stocking cap that held her luscious auburn locks at the back of her head. Out of three sisters, Lady Sam, as she was nicknamed, was the fairest. Even Visenya agreed with such a statement. The woman was elegant, if not outwardly beautiful. 

“Your Grace. You honor me by granting my request.” Samantha coaxed, bowing to Visenya with a pleasant smile. 

“I’d be a fool to turn you away, Lady Sam.” The Queen replied, smiling brightly as she motioned towards the seat across from hers, setting her book on the history of dragons to the side. “How may I be of service, my lady?” 

“You are direct, my Queen. A trait I can appreciate.” Samantha took a seat, admiring the vast library briefly before turning her attention towards Visenya. “I know of your intentions, Your Grace. And of your…secret.” 

“If my intentions include remaining loyal at the King’s side, and you consider my devotion to him a secret, then you have found me out.” Visenya mused, bringing her chalice to her lips, sipping her wine. Her servant instantly rushed to fill her cups and provide Lady Sam with her own. 

Samantha smiled, lowering her gaze. The brief silence on her behalf uneased Visenya. Samantha wanted it that way. “You are certainly no fool, Your Grace. And neither am I.” 

Whatever Visenya saw in Samanatha’s eyes left her unsettled. She sent away her servants and her guards, trusting only the stone lips of Floris Baratheon. 

“Whatever you wish to say, say it now, Samantha.” All notions of noble pleasantries were expelled between the two women. 

“Prince Jacaerys.” 

“Is dead.” 

“He’s in Pentos at your mother’s side, is he not?” 

Visenya felt as if the air in her lungs had been ripped from her chest. Her stomach fluttered with fear and illness. “You find it permissible to taunt me so?”

“Anything is permissible if we share a common goal, Your Grace.” Samantha took a sip of the wine, her fingers circling the rim of her cup once it rested on the table once more. 

“And what goal would that be, pray tell?” The Queen pressed further, raising an intrigued brow. 

“His Grace has made his displeasure known regarding my marriage to his cousin, Lord Lyonel.” Samantha replied, sighing softly with an aura of despair and bitterness. “He finds it….repulsive that I should marry my stepson. Even if my own marriage to Ormund had not been one of my choices in the past.” 

“I see.” Visenya stated, pursing her lips while her mind pondered the endless possibilities of her influence in this situation. “You wish for me to sway his resolve?” 

“They say the Queen is the most dangerous piece on the board. She moves as she pleases and embroiders her influence wherever she goes. Am I correct to assume that includes the King?” Samantha implied, sultry manipulation twirling with her silver tongue. 

“I see no benefit in helping you, Samantha. Sansara’s devotion to my cause does not extend to you and your….Hightower husband.” Visenya uttered the venomous house name with poisonous intent. “I’ve no love for his cause.” 

“His cause is not the King’s cause.” The Tarly femme shot back, a myriad of emotions spreading across her visage. “He’s requested that the High Septon annul our marriage. He finds that a….younger and wealthier wife will suit Lyonel better.” 

“I can’t say I’m surprised.” Visneya replied with a faint snort, rolling her eyes.

“Lyonel will back you—we will back you. Financially. Silent allies, of course.” She insisted firmly, her eyes holding a silent plea that contrasted her stern features. 

“.....in exchange for what?” Visenya countered, timorous of the answer. 

“Whatever it is Queen Rhaenyra has in mind.” Those two words alone would’ve sent her to the chopping block in the presence of anyone else. Even Floris, who was hard to shake, appeared alarmed at the confession. “Let us be honest with ourselves, Visenya. The Free cities are wealthy, but not endless. They will aid your mother, but not forever. Their reliance on slavery and sellswords limits them. And as you well know, Old Town is ever blooming with riches.” 

Samantha cleared her throat, pulling out a letter from her dress to slide across the table. “Written assurance. By my hand and Lyonel’s. All we ask is that your mother be inclined to support our marriage and the legitimacy of our children.” 

Floris chuckled, an abnormal display of emotion on her behalf. “You mean to elicit pity from the Queen by tugging at her own moral doubts?” 

“I’ve said no such thing, Lady Floris.” Samantha shot back, narrowing her eyes at the brunette. “I care nothing for who fathered the Queen’s children, but I do care that mine are revered as Hightowers.” 

Visenya unfolded the letter, surprised to find the very contents that Samantha detailed. Her signature and Lyonel’s, along with the seal of their shared houses. “The Queen will be pleased by this. As I’m sure, she’ll be more than happy to sustain your children as legitimate.” 

Floris bit the inside of her cheek as the women pacted an alliance. She held distrust for anyone who approached Visenya, but she knew most of all that an alliance of this magnitude possessed a greater risk for them all. 

That evening, the King and the Queen shared the table with Lord Lyonel and Lady Samantha. Laughter echoed from the dining hall, one would assume all was well in Aegon’s reign. One would be foolish to claim that serpents sat around him. 

“Ah, cousin, come now. Uncle Ormund was brave and loyal while it was needed. But peace reigns in Westeros now, there’s no need for your armies anytime soon.” Aegon said, bringing Visenya’s hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss. “Isn’t that so?”

“Of course, Your Grace.” Visneya replied shyly, waving over the servants to lay out the trays with dessert. “Trade is stable now, even the smallfolk are happy it seems. We will soon host the great houses of Westeros to celebrate.”

“As is deserved, my Queen. It’s no small feat.” Lyonel raised his cup towards the royal couple, toasting to their victories. In his eyes there was a distinctive glimmer. As if he reassured Visneya with silent words. 

After dinner, Visenya retreated to her chambers for the night. In truth, Aegon had been quite busy with council meetings and political matters, leaving little time to their pleasantries. It had been a few days since she’d been in his chambers, and it had given her some clarity. 

A small knock came from her door, causing her to sigh as she settled in bed. “Go away!” She called out, assuming it was Aegon. But instead, the door swung open and through it came a tired Jaehaera with a blanket in hand. 

“Little love?” Visenya asked, a bit confused as the girl was usually asleep by now. “What’s the matter, sweet girl?” 

“Can I sleep with you tonight? I had a nightmare…” The Princess replied, climbing into bed with her stepmother. “It was about my brother.” She whispered the last part with dejection. 

“Oh, Jaehaera….” Visenya frowned, wrapping her arms around the girl. One hand combed through her silver locks as she pressed a kiss to her head. “Could you ever forgive me?” 

The princess remained silent for a few moments but tears soon followed. She tightened her grip on Visenya, crying softly into her chest. “I do not blame you. I blame Otto Hightower….and the Queen Dowager……I blame Daemon Targaryen. But never you.” 

It broke Visenya’s heart to hear how Jaehaera suffered. Everyone suffered in this wretched power struggle. She was torn. She would always be loyal to her mother, her brothers—to Jace. But who, then, would be loyal to Jaehaera? Certainly, not Aegon. No matter his love for his daughter, his ambition for the throne would always wine. 

Visenya comforted Jaehaera until the girl found peace in deep slumber. It wasn’t long before the Queen, herself, drifted off into a calm rest. Her breathing became shallow and her heart mellowed in the presence of Jaehaera. Whatever would come from her alliance with Lyonel and Samantha, she knew one thing, from now on she'd protect her like her own daughter. Life was cruel for Targaryen women, and she would not allow the ambitions of others to be forced upon them any longer. 

Chapter Text

Pentos, Across the Narrow Sea….

A month had progressed since Visenya had seen Lady Samantha. In the days that came and went, the Hightower rogues had kept true to their word. Two weeks after their departure from King’s Landing, Floris had provided the Queen with whispers from the east and a letter in the writing of Queen Rhaenyra. The Queen in the East wrote of her compliance to the pact agreed upon by her daughter and Samantha Tarly. Rhaenyra was proud of the work Visenya was doing in King’s Landing, but there were apprehensions that plagued her. 

The soft steps of Rhaenyra echoed across the marble floors of the palace of Prince Ilyrio of Pentos. Her purple eyes paled into transparency with the hot sun that shone through the satin curtains that hung from various windows and balconies. Rhaenyra’s hair cascades down her back, elegantly braided in a circular pattern at the top of her head. From her earlobes hung a pair of gold earrings with rubies encrusted into their facade. Her silhouette was draped in the fashion of Essos, a contrast to the usual Westerosi trends that she was accustomed to. The fabric was a warm shade of auburn and gold that complimented her pale skin and the jewels that adorned her. 

“Is there any word from your sister?” The Queen asked, approaching Prince Viserys with a gentle smile. Her hand rested on his cheek, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “I grow worried and restless in her silence.” 

“You must be patient, mother. The burden Visenya carries is a heavy one. She must act wisely lest we wish to lose all progress.” He replied, embracing her momentarily. “She has, however, surprised us with the news of Lyonel Hightower. It seems the Usurper has, once again, underestimated the consequences of his rash decisions.” 

Rhaenyra chuckled, shaking her head as she gazed out one of the open arches in the halls, appreciating the beauty of Pentos. “My brother has never been one to be weary of the reactions of others. But, I’d be lying if I didn’t credit his progress. I cannot say if it is Visenya’s influence that guides him to be a better King, or perhaps he has matured on his own.”

“To praise him, mother, is to weaken our cause.” Viserys countered, raising an incredulous brow. “If he’s such a decent ruler, then, why must we remove him?” 

Prince Viserys had grown to be a strong and comely man. His silver locks were cut short at the shoulder, faint waves forming. His pale skin was now sunkissed, making his violet hues all that more striking. Out of all of Rhaenyra’s sons, it was said Aegon the Younger was the most handsome. But if anyone could see what the east had made of Viserys, many would raise him in his place. 

“Viserys, your reactivity does us no favors.” Rhaenyra commented, shooting a knowing look. She walked with him in silence until they reached one of the gardens of Prince Ilyrio’s palace. The Red Keep paled in comparison to the palaces Rhaenyra had seen in Essos. 

From a few paces, a head of dark tresses could be witnessed. The man who owned it sat peacefully upon a concrete bench, peeling an orange in his pale hands. His sunken cheekbones, paired with his lean physique, were a testament to the dexterity of his survival. 

“I can feel you watching me.” He called out with an amused ring. 

“You’d argue against the worry of your mother?” Rhaenyra replied playfully. 

“I argue against Viserys’ impertinence.” Jacaerys mused, chuckling as he popped a slice of his orange into his mouth. 

Rhaenyra approached her son, taking a seat at his side while Viserys remained standing. He preferred it that way. Tall and proud. 

“Are you well? Should you be in the sun so soon? With such frequency?” Rhaenyra questioned, her brows furrowing with a wrinkle of concern.

“The medic that Prince Ilyrio sent said that it will do me good. Being in bed will only weaken my progress.” He replied, offering Viserys the other half of the orange. “Is there any news from King's Landing?” 

Viserys shrugged, peeling away the white film on the orange slices. “Aside from her last letter regarding Lord Lyonel, we’ve received nothing. Not even from Aegon.” 

It was unusual, indeed. Even when Visenya failed to write to them, Prince Aegon was efficient in informing Pentos with any advancement of their plans. 

“Qarth has responded to our petition. They will grant us fifty ships to add to our growing navy.” Rhaenyra toyed with a perilous game, but it was the only way to overcome the might of Westeros. 

“I refuse to believe you consider this to be reasonable, mother.” Jacaerys blurted out, sighing in defeat. “We’ve become beggars.” 

“Is it truly begging if Prince Ilyrio courts our mother?” Viserys shot back with a smirk. His silver hair framing his sharp features. 

Rhaenyra’s eyes widened at the comment, her cheeks flaring up in shame. “No such arrangements have been made. And I would….profoundly appreciate it, if you refrained from repeating such things, Viserys.” 

Jace only tilted his head with curiosity. “Is that why he’s hosted you for so long? He cares for you? Or does he care for your crown?” 

“Your brothers know nothing of what he speaks of.” She muttered, shaking her head, averting his gaze. “If we win back the throne, it will be mine. I don’t require a foreign prince at my side.” 

Her reaction was enough to cease their comments. And Jace was left with more doubts than he initially had. Alas, he decided he would be content with her response for the time being. 

King’s Landing….

A full moon had transpired in silence, without much to report on. Visenya had dedicated her days to Jaehaera. By morning they walked the gardens and shared their breakfast in the orchards—their favorite area of the gardens near the Godswood—but by noon, the pair were tucked away in the Keep’s library, noses nuzzled into old scrolls and late King Viserys’ history books. The Queen came to value every minute spent with her stepdaughter. It gave her a sense of purpose. 

As loyal as she was to her mother’s cause, her days were bitter and she was becoming a vision of melancholy. She felt fragile. No longer the brazen girl that arrived from Pentos. 

Her mind was steadfast, as were her actions. But it had been nearly a year since her marriage to Aegon was celebrated. She had grown accustomed to him. And no one could deny the love she shared for Jaehaera. 

How easily was she hoisted upon the altar without a second thought. Had Rhaenyra been blind to the endless consequences that could emerge from it? Prince Aegon had long made his position clear. He would fight for his mother’s birthright—not at the expense of his life. 

Whatever the King’s flaws and failures, he was proving to be a caring ruler, husband and father. 

“Am I to bear this silence all day?” The King asked, cocking an amused brow towards his wife and daughter, who were all but submerged in the histories of the conquest. 

“Are you prone to hysterics now, Your Grace?” Visenya shot back, peeling her eyes from the pages of her book. They sparkled with amusement and warmth. 

“Mm, but it’s not a state of hysteria. I am the King and yet you both have me waiting on you like a footman.” Aegon scoffed playfully, rising from his seat to join the Queen and the Princess upon the lounge furniture that had been situated in the library for their comfort. 

“It is comforting to read about your namesakes, father.” Jaehaera faintly broke from her literate trance, enough to join in on the discussion. “Aegon and Visenya, along with Queen Rhaenys, forged the Seven Kingdoms together. Now you and Senya will make a better Westeros, will you not?” 

There was a genuine warmth in Jaehaera’s eyes. They fell on Aegon and Visenya, longing for a pleasant response. And, oh, how Visenya wanted to grant her it. But it would be a greater cruelty to lie to the girl. How could she assure her of something she wasn’t sure about herself? 

Aegon was the first to break the silence. “We certainly try, Jaehaera. What has been done cannot be changed. I cannot—” His voice faltered, causing him to clear his throat. “I cannot be more sorry for my hand in this. All of it. I cannot bring back Daemon or Jace or Luke. Nor can Visenya bring back Aemond or Helaena. All we can do—try—is to be better than we were.” 

Visenya remained silent. What could she add but reproach and hurt? She had not yet forgiven him. Nor had she forgiven herself for wanting to do so. She shared something with him that strengthened her affinity for him. They were both pawns. Aegon had been the initial vindication for the Greens. But it was made exceptionally clear that it was never about Aegon’s right to the throne, but rather the desire to prevent Rhaenyra, a woman, from ascending. 

Jaehaera flickered her gaze between the pair, laying a gentle hand on Visenya’s arm. “As I’m sure mother Visenya is trying.” The girl, however fleeting and young, was no fool. She might not share Helaena’s gifts, but she had a keen insight and sharp awareness of what happened around them. “Be kind to her, father. It must not be easy for her to be without her family, tangled in the arms of those who conspired against her kin.” 

It was easily the most Jaehaera had ever spoken on the matter. The only time she spoke of past events and her sentiments, was at night. Her nightmares were a bounty of cruelty. Visenya made sure to stay awake long enough to be vigilant of the princess, should she need to be comforted. Sansara liked to argue that Visenya longed for the solace more than Jaehaera did. 

Aegon was taken aback by his daughter’s words, but did little to challenge them. 

“You are wiser than I give you credit for.” He stated softly, watching her in awe. 

A tense silence lingered in the atmosphere after Aegon and Visenya had tucked Jaehaera in for the night. The King quietly shut the door to the princess’ chambers, following Visenya, trailing to their own. 

“We need to talk.” His words were abrupt and wavering in confidence. His eyes avoided her own, clasping his hands behind his back in fear of betraying his nerves. 

“If this is about Jaehaera, I’ve not been whispering in her ear. I can assure you.” 

“Visenya, enough. Just….just listen.” 

Her eyes narrowed, confused, but nonetheless she nodded. Following him into his chambers. There was an awkward pause as the servants dressed them for bed. Once they made their exodus, Aegon spoke. 

“There are....concerning whispers from the east.” He confessed, sighing as he sat at the edge of the bed, unable to look at her. It was a topic he wanted to avoid, but it was inevitable. 

“I’ve no love for gossip, Aegon.” She replied, brushing her hair calmly at the vanity near the windows of the chambers.

“That’s all it is, then? Gossip.” Aegon’s features appeared sullen and dull as he spoke. Just moments ago he was lively and warm, but whatever plagued him must’ve been sordid. 

“Are you going to dance around this all night?” Visenya was an impatient woman, a trait only mellowed in the presence of Jaehaera and the smallfolk. 

Aegon eyed her wearily, rising from the bed to approach her. He set his hands on her shoulders, staring in awe at her reflection in the mirror. “Rhaenyra is raising the Free Cities against me.” 

Visenya said nothing. Her eyes locked on his gaze in the mirror. To the naked eye, her reaction was nonchalant and unmoved by fear. But a stray flash of despair came and went across her expression. 

“What are you truly asking, Aegon?” 

“She’s in clear breach of our agreement.” 

“Ah, yes. You achieved peace by buying your bride.” 

Aegon clenched his jaw, tightening his grip on her shoulders slightly. He sighed, pressing a kiss to her head. “This senseless strife must end.” 

“Senseless?” She asked, looking up at him with furrowed brows. “Was it senseless when blood stained this kingdom and its waters? You sit on her throne, husband. Do you wish for her to simply….bend the knee? If you won’t do it, what makes you think she will?” 

“Because I have you and your brother under my roof.” He whispered sharply. His eyes revealed the bitter truth. “That was our agreement. Their life in exchange for you.” 

Visenya bit the inside of her cheek to stop the burning words that formed at the back of her throat. “You’ve said it yourself, then. My mother did not promise you an end to this war. You, however, swore not to kill my brothers if I married you.” 

“Visenya…” He warned, stepping away from her. “Is this your true intention? To seduce me while you aid Rhaenyra?”

“What would you have me do, Aegon?!” She exclaimed, rising from her seat with fiery eyes. “Have I not been dutiful since I arrived? I have put your egregious acts behind us. I have….tried—I try so hard to please everybody. To be a good wife, a good mother to Jaehaera, a good daughter and sister. But I cannot make everybody happy!” 

Tears burned at her brims, staining her cheeks as they descended to their demise. “I miss my mother, Aegon. I long to see her and Viserys.” 

“What of Jace?” He shot back sternly, unspilled emotions in his own gaze. 

“Seven hells, what of him? He’s dead!” 

“You lie!” Aegon roared, knocking away one of the vases on the nightstand. “Do you think I'm so foolish as to not know?” 

“Aegon….” Fear shone brightly in her eyes, perfidy loud and clear between them. 

“What? What will you say?” He gritted through his teeth, closing the gap between them to cup her face sternly. “Tell me the truth of it or I will lose my wits.” 

A whimper escaped her lips, she flinched at his touch. “I only know of the whispers, nothing more.” She replied anxiously, her gaze low and timid. 

“Floris Baratheon? She told you this and you saw it fit to keep it from me?” He questioned, wanting to believe that Visenya had no hand in the treachery that brewed in Essos. 

“She is my mistress of whispers, Your Grace. I did not see a reason to bother you with nonsense. My brother died during your invasion of Dragonstone. That is what I know to be true.” In many ways, she did not lie. She had not yet seen Jacaerys, nor could she verify he lived beyond the words of Viserys. 

“And Velaena? Why did she journey to Essos?” His voice was low and tense, a threatening warning for his wife. “Speak.”

She could lie. Fabricate another story that would vindicate Velaena’s travels. But what good would that do? She needed to feed him the truth. At least, part of it. Or the rest of their cause would be put at risk. In months past, the Queen called for her distant cousin, Velaena Velaryon, to court. Unbeknownst to others,Velaena possessed a gift with herbs and poisons. While she did not dabble in dark arts, nor lended her craft recklessly, she did not delay in accepting Visenya’s invitation to become a part of her entourage. Once Visenya was certain of her loyalty, she sent Velaena to Essos to aid in Jacaerys’ recovery. 

Visneya swallowed nervously, raising her hands to set them atop of his own. They were shaky, cold and frail. “I needed to know.” She replied candidly. “I had to know if the whispers spoke more than just rumors.”

“Of course, you did.” Aegon spat out with the ghost of a whisper, tracing her cheekbone with his thumb. “Your heart still aches for him?”

“He is my brother, Aegon. I just wanted to know if he lived.” A sob tore free from her lips. Her eyes fluttered shut, leaning to rest her forehead against his chin. “Velaena was instructed to write to Lord Corlys of any news. I did not expect him to renounce his place as Hand.” 

Her brokenness softened his anger. His hands pulled away from her face and enveloped her into a warm embrace. Aegon sighed, aware of his violent nature. Something he had sworn to keep sheathed away when it came to her. 

“A bigger treachery lies in this palace, you know?” He whispered against her hair. A stray hand toyed with the ends of her curls. “Daeron overheard Floris speaking about it to Sansara. Your ladies, Visenya, cannot be known to have doubts about my reign. It weakens me.” 

They remained soundless for a few moments. Their ragged breaths echoing in the vast chambers. But it was the King who broke the silence first. “I will write to Rhaenyra. I will offer her one last truce before we all make decisions that cannot be mended.” 

“What do you mean?” Visenya pulled away just enough to take in his expression. 

“I will invite my sister to court.” He revealed, lips pursed as he thought of what to say next. “Prince Aegon will be betrothed to Jaehaera and be named Prince of Dragonstone temporarily until a son is born to us. Viserys will be welcomed, as well. And….Jacaerys, if there’s any truth in that.” His hand snaked up to grip Visenya’s chin tightly. “But only if you swear to be loyal at all times. No more plotting. No more scandals.” 

Visenya was cornered. She knew her mother would never agree. With the strength of the Free Cities and house Hightower, she’d feel emboldened to strike. It made her word null. 

“I swear.” 

That night Visenya was left with a bitter taste in her mouth. Aegon’s words worried her profoundly. She could hear his breaths as he slept peacefully. He had made no intent on claiming her that night, he only asked that she spend the night with him. 

Her heart was conflicted. Was it against her better judgement to believe he could change? What if her mother had been wrong? Visenya would never forget what the Greens had done to her and her family, but how long could she carry a thirst for vengeance? There was no security in the alliance with the free cities. 

Visenya knew well that she had been the daughter her mother had always wanted. And yet within the same breath, she married her to Aegon to keep her boys alive. It wasn’t that Visenya wished to see her twin slaughtered by their uncle, but she had always felt like a sacrificial lamb. 

Things could have been much easier if Aegon treated her with the heel of his foot. She’d heard stories of unseemly marriages across the great houses. Wife beaters, rapists, adulterers, kinslayers—Aegon had been nothing of the sort with her. Minus the initial incident upon her arrival, he had been kind and understanding. Even now, knowing there was a possibility she would betray him, he chose to place his faith in her. 

As morning came, Visenya had barely slipped into a gentle slumber when Aegon was kissing her awake. His rough lips brushed against her cheeks. “I don’t wish to wake you, but Jaehaera will be cross if you miss her nameday.” 

Visenya groaned, patting away his face as she sat up. Her wild curls fell past her waist, highlighting the gentle silhouette that her chemise provided her. “She’ll have my head if I don’t help her get ready for the celebrations.” 

She tried her best to overlook the conversation they had the night prior. Visenya smiled, pressing a quick peck to Aegon’s lips before calling in Tyshara and Floris to help her dress for the day. 

The King quickly excused himself as he was already dressed and ready to tend to the Small Council. With one last kiss to his wife’s forehead, he made his exodus.

“Your Grace, I….” Floris began, her expression one of shame and guilt. “I’m sorry.” 

Visenya sighed, sitting at the vanity to allow Tyshara to fix her wild mane of curls. “Your apology does nothing for me, Floris. We could have all been killed in our sleep over something so minute—so preventable. You should have confided in me about Sansara the moment you found out. Prince Daeron has no love for me, why would you allow him to….consort with her so freely?” 

The Baratheon woman had no explanation but one. “I wanted at least one of us to be free of the perils of war and politics, Visenya.” She hardly called her by her name, but when she did it was a symbol of her vulnerability. Of their friendship. 

“Sansara has been loyal to you and your mother for the entirety of her life. But she is also aware of the role she plays as your lady. If this was war, she is your chosen general. She knew very well that a marriage with Daeron was out of the question.” Floris toyed nervously with her hands. For one so normally composed and poise, it was unsettling to see her act thus. “She swore to never marry. So that she may be at your side perpetually. But in the end, passion burns brightly. Who was I to stand in their way? Do you not feel that, yourself, with the King?”

“How dare you?” Visenya interjected, hurt by her words. It wasn’t the betrayal that stung, it was the candid directness. The fiery sincerity that bruised her ego. “The King is my husband—”

“The King is our enemy.” Floris shot back, stepping closer to her mistress. Her bright blue eyes hardened, making her beauty more striking. “Have you forgotten our true mission here? Restore your mother to her throne.” 

“Aegon has decided to extend an olive branch. He will invite them to court.”

“That changes nothing.”

“This changes everything, Floris!”

“Your Grace!” Floris raised her tone, her frustration evident in the sharpness of her words. “Do not allow delusions to guide you! In what world would your mother agree? Do you not see that he does this to wash his hands clean of the blood to be spilled?”

“I am with child.” Visenya blurted out. Tyshara’s eyes widened, dropping the brush that she had been using to comb through the Queen’s locks. “I….am with child. I have been for some time.” She reiterated. “My agreement with Samantha Tarly is not solely based on my mother’s ascendance to the throne, but that of my child’s. And I cannot….I cannot be made to choose between them.” 

Chapter Text

Pentos, 135 A.C….

The warm summer sun that brushed against the inhabitants of Pentos was no challenger for the icicles that formed in Princess Visenya’s heart. Her eyes gleamed with tears, hands fisted at her sides to contain her misery. A light pink fabric adorned her body, a gift from Prince Ilyrio to celebrate her betrothal to King Aegon. 

“I do not want this, mother. Please, don’t make me do this.” She pleaded with a broken voice. “I will gladly marry any man of your choosing, whoever best suits your political cause. A Prince of Dorne—a triarch of Volantis, anyone! Anyone but him!” 

Rhaenyra struggled to contain the guilt that surfaced across her visage. Her countenance was dull and battered with indisposition. “I will not force you, Visenya. And I….I understand that this is not your burden to carry. But the thought of losing your brothers—I cannot fathom it.” 

The Queen’s voice cracked, looking away from Visenya to focus on the engravings that decorated the walls of her chambers. “For his many faults, Aegon has always had a strong infatuation with you. But if you are truly against this, we will fight Alicent’s treachery in a different way.”

Visenya knew all too well that Aegon had been satisfied with the Iron Throne, but Alicent did not cease her attacks. The Queen Dowager incessantly sent assassins and sellswords to butcher Rhaenyra and Viserys, hardly seeing Visenya as a threat. Prince Aegon remained their prisoner in King’s Landing, a blade looming over his neck at all times. The Princess had grieved the loss of her Velaryon brothers, she could not see her Targaryen kin slaughtered, too. 

“I….I will do this for you, mother. For all of us.” The young princess whispered, forcing a brave expression onto her face. 

Rhaenyra was desperate. Perhaps, many disagreeable choices had led to this moment. She felt cornered—she neither had the armies, nor the money to launch a counterattack against Aegon. The only semblance of peace that settled in her soul was the knowledge of Alicent’s imprisonment. It was the only reason she had even considered such a union to begin with. 

“I need you to know something, sweet girl.” Rhaenyra said, cupping Visenya’s porcelain cheeks. “If you do this, there might come a time where you are forced to betray us.”

“Never! I swear!”

“No, Visenya. Just listen, please.” 

The princess frowned, amethyst hues softening with uncertainty. “What is it?” 

“Aegon will expect you to be his wife in more than just name.” She began, but was quickly interrupted by an impatient Visenya. 

“I know this. I know that my duty includes ....a myriad of odious tasks.” Visenya interjected with a soft scrunch of her brows. 

Rhaenyra chuckled softly, incredulous to her daughter’s knowledge of the world. “And what do you know, then?” 

Visenya’s cheeks a slight tinge of pink, shyly looking away. It was enough for Rhaenyra to weaken her jest. 

“Visenya, there is a great possibility that you will bear a child for Aegon. And when you do, it will no longer be about me or him. But rather, your child against everyone else.” As she spoke, a lingering smile tugged at the corner of her lips, recalling each birth. Jace, Luke, Joffrey. Aegon and Visenya had been the most tedious labor of them all, with Viserys coming to the world without a hitch. 

“That won’t happen….” Visenya insisted, feeling an ache in her heart. 

“But it will, my darling. And when it does, I need you to promise me something, yes?” 

The young royal nodded, eyes flickering across her mother’s visage. “I will.”

“Promise me that you will focus only on the well-being of your child. You will no longer strive to see me crowned, but to have your child live safely. Learn from my mistakes.” 

“......I will.” Words spoken too freely. With misplaced duty. For Visenya swore it would never happen. She wouldn’t allow it to come to fruition. 

King’s Landing, Present Time….

Stampeding steps and bustling noise drowned the atmosphere of the Keep. Its halls were overcrowded with servants running back and forth from their stations. Both the King and the Queen had been firm in their orders. Everything had to go according to plan for Jaehaera’s nameday. There would be no exceptions. This was to be the greatest feast the Keep had ever put on for a royal’s birthday. 

Visenya occupied herself in the gardens, directing the decorators. She was meticulous in her planning. Citrus trees were brought from Dorne to ornament the surrounding parameters of the seating areas. She had a clear vision of what she expected, and Jaehaera agreed with it. They would focus on their lineage. Highlighting the cultures of Essos, while also honoring Westeros. 

Sigils of the great houses had been lined up against the garden wall, while the banners of House Targaryen hung proudly across the clearance made for the celebration. Lectus couches were spread across the grass to provide a resting place for those who did not wish to remain at their tables all afternoon. Multiple musicians were contracted by the crown, as were traveling artists; jesters, actors, and jugglers, to entertain. 

“Your Grace, where shall the cake be set?” Sansara asked, keeping note of everything in her journal. She was the only one who was as strict and vigorous as Visenya when it came to event planning. 

“Perhaps, Prince Daeron has some insight.” Visenya replied with an overly sweet tone, though it did little to weaken its bite. 

Sansara visibly flinched, sighing as her hands hung at her sides. “Your Grace, I will spend my days begging your forgiveness, but please, spare me the hypocrisy.”

Visenya gasped, narrowing her eyes at the femme. She closed the gap between them, lowering her voice to a whisper. “You were fucking him and you want to act insulted?” 

“I did not say that!” Sansara whispered harshly in return, groaning frustratedly. “I….I don’t know, okay? I wanted him, so I had him. Nothing more, nothing less. It does not change my loyalty for you. But you cannot judge me, when you have allowed yourself to nurture a tenderness for the King.” 

Visenya was silent, clenching her jaw. It was all she could do. Sansara uttered the truth—she was in no position to question her lady’s actions, when she couldn’t explain her own. 

“Fine. I suppose….” Visenya sighed, dusting off the imaginary dust off the fabric of her dress. “I suppose you are right. I’ve been unfair. And besides, today is about Jaehaera, not us.” 

Sansara smiled warmly, hugging Visenya. “And Visenya? For today, without worries, congratulations on the baby.” 

As the hour of the feast approached, Jaehaera was riddled with nerves. Her childhood had been plagued by war, and the aftermath spared little time to focus on her achievements. This was the first true celebration she’s had. 

“Mother Senya, are you certain they will like my dress?” She asked shyly, looking at her reflection in the mirror. 

Jaehaera wore a beautiful gold gown with green trimming and chiffon around the cuffs. A thin veil adorned the back of her head, held in place by gold head chains that dangled with rubies. Around her neck, a pendant of emerald with a center ruby, drew attention to her collarbones. The princess was growing to be beautiful. Though in her attire, it was evident that she had begun to adopt Visenya’s sense of style. 

“Everyone will fawn over you, my darling.” Visneya replied, kissing her cheek, chuckling happily at the sight of the girl. “You look beautiful, Jaehaera. I expect the King will receive endless marriage proposals by the end of tonight, but do not worry, I won’t allow for any of them to be well received.” She added, smirking teasingly. 

“You promise me?”

“I promise.” 

“Thank you, mother.” 

The brief interaction left a warm imprint on both women. Princess Jaehaera had begun to see Visenya as more than just Aegon’s wife. Since her mother’s death, no one had cared for her as she did, not even the Queen Dowager. 

Visenya’s choice of attire was far from demure. The Queen’s silhouette was wrapped in deep violet silks, cinched at the waist by a bronze corset that had been sown into the fabric while it was on her body. A dragon cuff snaked around one of her forearms, while the other held a normal gold cuff around the wrist with an engraved dragon, encrusted with emeralds. Bronze chains dangled like illustrious temptations across her chest, held together by a small dragon hook. But the most opulent accessory she wore was her crown. It was exquisite and delicate. Valyrian steel adorned with golden chains, sapphires to crest the base and tear-drop pearls that mingled at the tips of the creation. 

“Come now, they are waiting for you.” Visenya urged, walking hand in hand with her stepdaughter. 

Aegon had been mindlessly cohorting with Ser Doran Sand, the bastard son of Qoren Martell and a woman from the cadet branches of House Lannister. 

“I swear to you, Ser Doran, there truly is no better comfort for a man than the Street of Silk. Well, of course, for a man without vows and tenderness to cradle him at home.” The King swiftly mended with erroneous words. Ever since Visenya tended to his needs, he had no thought or desire for unclaimed cunts. 

“I shall take your word for it, Your Grace. I'm not a man of lust, myself. I’m devoted to my blade.” He replied with a hearty chuckle, trailing his gaze when everyone rose from their seats and perked up in their stances. 

“Her Grace, Queen Visenya of House Targaryen! Escorting Princess Jaehaera of House Targaryen who celebrates her thirteenth nameday!” The esquire’s voice boomed as harps and lyres began to mingle in a harmonious tune as Jaehaera and Visenya walked down the center of the gardens. 

Doran swallowed dryly, forcing down the wine in his cup. “Her mother had outworldly beauty, but she steals the air from one’s lungs.” 

Aegon pursed his lips, recalling Helaena briefly. “Yes, Queen Helaena was fair in appearance.” 

“My apologies, Your Grace.” The Dornish man spoke, lowering his gaze. “The princess is more than fair in beauty, but I was, foolishly, referring to the Queen.” 

The King’s jaw tensed at the man’s confession, yet he could not blame him. Upon casting his eyes on his wife’s appearance, he too, was blown away. 

“If you excuse me, Ser.” Aegon muttered in a rush. His guards cleared a direct path to Visenya which Aegon treaded upon all too eagerly. 

“My Queen.” Aegon’s eyes darkened with unstable lust. It was explosive, hard to contain. He cleared his throat, offering a kind smile to his daughter. “Jaehaera, you look dazzling.” 

Visenya struggled to muffle her laughter, looking away to hide her amusement. “Yes, she looks wonderful, doesn’t she? A beautiful Targaryen princess as I told her.” 

Jaehaera blushed, flustered by their compliments and the sea of eyes on her. She could see the wheels turning behind each gaze—Stark, Lannister, Baratheon, Manderly, Hightower, Tyrell—scores of houses vying for her hand. 

“Are you well?” Visenya called out, setting a hand on the girl’s shoulder encouragingly. Jaehaera simply nodded, eyes lighting up as she saw one of her newest friends, Lena Tyrell, the young bride of Loreon Lannister, son of the late Jason Lannister. 

“May I take a stroll with Lady Lena?” She asked all too hopefully which elicited a giggle from Visenya. 

Aegon smirked amusedly, nodding at the girl. “Go on. I’m glad to see you befriending others your age, Jaehaera.” 

Visenya kissed her cheek before seeing her off. She cleared her throat, taking a hold of Aegon’s arm. “Will the King honor me with a stroll of my own?” She inquired, purposely batting her lashes to irk him. 

Aegon simply rolled his eyes dramatically. “If I must…” His lips curled into a smile, guiding their walk with a hum, daring to speak only once they were out of ear’s range of certain tables. 

“Doran Sand.” He uttered with uncertainty, noticing Visenya’s gaze on the man unknown to her. “A bastard of Dorne and House Lannister—the new Hand has suggested you take him as your sworn protector.” 

“Why?” She asked, her expression settling into a deep frown. “What’s there to protect me from?” 

“Well, it’s about safety, yes. But also tradition and protocol. All Queens require one.” He explained, patting her hand with assurance. “Look favorably upon this.” 

Visenya pursued her lips, her face riddled with troubled consideration. “Very well. But I will judge his character first. If I can tolerate him, he stays.” 

Aegon snorted, well aware it was unbecoming of a king, but he couldn’t help but be entertained by her stubbornness. “As you wish.” 

The sun favored Aegon in the gardens. Visenya felt compelled to tell him about the pregnancy. Guilt settled in her heart the longer she kept it from him. Certainly, she couldn’t hide it forever, could she? But before she could disclose the revelation, whispers and gasps emerged from the crowded gardens. 

From where she stood Visenya could make out a green silhouette. Thin, tall and proud. But she didn’t need to have the person in proximity to know who it was. Aegon’s tense stance was an unclouded answer. 

Alicent Hightower, the Queen Dowager. 

She was not announced, nor did she require such formalities. But the guests were unsure of how to react. A few bowed in reverence, but many remained frozen in her presence. 

“Your Grace, you are most benevolent and amiable in allowing me to witness my granddaughter's celebration.” The middle-aged woman spoke loudly, tediously marking her words. 

Aegon, however, was easily bored by her theatrics. He sighed, kissing Visenya’s knuckles. “Thank Queen Visenya, Dowager. It was she who interceded on your behalf.” 

The voice of Visenya echoed in his mind. They must appear to be united, so he forced a smile onto his face and hugged his mother apprehensively. “We are grateful to see you, mother.” 

“My heart swells at your sight.” Alicent whispered, closing her eyes to take in the much needed embrace. She had failed in a plethora of departments, but she never stopped loving her children. Even if her actions did not testify to it. 

“Queen Dowager.” Visenya spoke bluntly, discarding her own manners. Though she quickly recovered. “We are glad to be granted your presence.” 

In a shocking turn of events, Alicent peeled away from Aegon, bowing to the younger woman. “Queen Visenya, the honor is all mine. I am in your gracious debt.” 

The rest of the afternoon ran smoothly. Jaehaera was at ease, befriending a few other young ladies in the process. As expected, the gifts were grand but the proposals that came attached to them were ever audacious. 

Visenya sipped unadulterated grape juice from her chalice, watching with a keen eye as Aegon spoke animatedly with her brother, Aegon the Younger. Possibly, detailing the same proposal he had offered her. 

“You are smitten with him. A rare thing, indeed, Your Grace.” 

The deep voice tore Visenya from her dubious thoughts, a softness settling across her face. 

“I beg your pardon?” She asked with a scrunch of her brows. 

Ser Doran chuckled, raising his hands in defeat. “My apologies, My Queen. I didn't mean to startle you. I only meant that your gaze is quite….telling. I can read your sentiments for the King with ease.” 

“Nonsense.” She blurted out, eyes widening as she scrambled to modify her words. “I meant—your observation is nonsense. Eyes cannot be read.” 

“And yet, yours are accessible, even those with impediments.” He challenged her with a playful smile. His lightly tan skin glowing in the evening sun, while the rest of him was dressed in dull and dutiful colors, however expensive the silks. 

“Ser Doran, is it? My sworn protector, according to His Grace.” Visenya mused lightly, raising her cup to him. “Lucky me.” 

“It could be someone worse, Your Grace.” 

“Yes, it could be.” 

She sighed, offering the man a faint smile. “Your post starts at daybreak. I’m often with Princess Jaehaera, so your duties may extend to her at times. Do not disappoint me, Ser Doran.” 

“Your trust will be dutifully repaid, Your Grace.” As the words bloomed from his lips, she rose from her seat to rejoin Jaehaera by the rose bushes where her ladies awaited her. 

Visneya paid no mind to it. She assumed it was the same haunting notion that all men had in the presence of a beautiful woman. Her mind was preoccupied elsewhere—her unborn child. 

“When will you tell him?” Alicent’s voice intruded on Visenya's short lasting privacy. Her ladies bowed to the woman, taking a few steps away to allow them to converse. Floris narrowed her eyes at Alicent, distrusting the very air she breathed. Sansara pursed her lips, wanting to tear the woman to pieces, while Tyshara began to understand their disdain for her. The gentle natured Lannister was too kindhearted to fantasize of violence. Thankfully, Jaehaera was much too preoccupied by the butterflies that hovered over the bushes to take care of the scene unfolding. 

“I don’t understand.” Visenya replied, the grip on her sanity failing in the woman’s irate presence. 

Alicent smiled solemnly, gazing down at Visenya’s abdomen. “I’ve seen you brush your hand against your womb thrice in the past few moments alone—when will you tell him?” 

Visenya swallowed nervously, Alicent’s words burning like unadulterated wine. And in that moment, she knew that the words she had hurled at Floris earlier that morning were a cemented truth—nothing would be the same. And she was all the poorer for it. 

Chapter Text

The corridors of Dragonstone were far from comparable to the walls of the Keep. They were dark, humid and the stench of coast and dragon haunted the air like a lingering whisper. Such an essence had forged the bloodline of the Conqueror, the direct line that Visenya had been born from. She felt at peace on the island—protected. 

Memories of her steps treading the floors of the castle of Dragonstone flashed in her mind. One after the other, a cruel memoir of all she had lost. All she had won. Her days there were kind and joyful. She recalled how her younger self would ramble animatedly of the children she would one day have. Children, presumably, she yearned to have with Jacaerys. Anyone but Aegon, really. 

The gods were quite cruel in that sense. They granted the wishes of one’s heart, with no intention of fulfilling her entire request. 

“You are mistaken, Dowager.” Visenya recovered quickly, offering the woman a polite expression. “I’m feeling a bit indisposed, that’s all.” 

“I’ve had four children myself, Visenya. I’m quite familiar with the ailments of the body—that is no illness.” Alicent pressed further, taking a step closer to the younger woman. An accusing finger pointed at her abdomen.

Visenya repelled the advancement, taking a step back of her own. Her gaze was agape, cautious and alert. As if Alicent’s presence posed a threat to herself and her unborn child. 

“Do not overstep, Alicent.” Visenya sharply shot back, narrowing her eyes into a warning glare. “Do not mistake my kindness for meekness.” 

The Hightower Dowager chuckled breathlessly, shaking her head in disbelief. Amongst the beauty of her garden, her scowling vexation stood out. “Even now, you cannot accept your true duties, can you?” 

“You wish to speak of duty? You?” Visenya laughed incredulously, holding onto her belly in mockery of the woman. “Your baseless ambition walked your children and grandchildren to an early grave—all while you reveled in the pleasures that Criston Cole had to offer.” 

No one could remember quite clearly how it happened, or when Alicendt decided to declare war publically. But they all shared one version: Alicent struck Visenya’s cheek. 

The sharp landing sounded like the crack of a whip. Jaehaera, standing only mere steps away, gasped in disbelief. As did the guests who witnessed the interaction. 

But the act did little to dissuade Visenya. Within a moment’s breath, she struck Alicent harshly, her hand gripping the woman’s face tightly. “Listen to me, and listen to me carefully, you pious bitch. Pester me again and you will consider the acts of King Maegor a gentle mercy in comparison to what I will do to your house and your stupid faith. Do you understand me?” 

Alicent’s eyes widened, fear and shock ablaze in them. “Unhand me. Now!” Her voice wavered, and her hand gripped Visenya’s wrist in an attempt to free herself from the painful grasp. 

“What is the meaning of this?!” Aegon’s voice boomed through the gardens as he rushed to his wife’s side. “Visenya, release her….” He commanded in a gentle tone, knowing better than to agitate her further. 

The Queen was far from amiable at the moment. It took every ounce of self control in Visenya to break away from Alicent. 

Aegon wrapped his arms around his wife, pushing back her stray locks of hair as he examined her swollen cheek. “Who did this to you?” 

The Kingsguard surrounded them, and Doran Sand was efficient in embodying his new role as Visneya’s protector. He stood as a barrier between the pair and Alicent. 

No one uttered a word. Visneya’s shallow breathing and Alicent’s complaints were the only noise. 

“It was her.” Jaehaera replied, breaking the tension. “Grandmother struck Visenya, Your Grace. The Queen was only defending herself against the Dowager’s insolence.” 

Aegon glared at his mother, his jaw clenching with threatening wrath. “Is this true?” 

“Aegon, she insulted me—” 

“Is this true, mother?!” The baritone anger in Aegon’s voice carried across the wind. Even Visenya flinched in his arms. 

The silence in Alicent’s expression and Visenya’s avoidant gaze told the King everything he needed to know. With a nod he commanded his guards to take her away. 

“The woman you have struck is not only the Queen and my wife, but the very individual who vouched for your liberty when no one else would, mother. I would keep that in mind if I were you.” Aegon sighed, guiding Visenya to the nearest bench to be treated by the maesters. Thankfully, it was nothing more than a superficial graze. But the swelling and redness would still be treated. 

“Of course, it hurts. I’m not made of steel, maester.” Visenya gritted out, hissing in pain as the studied man applied a healing ointment on the area.

Aegon was unsure of how to react. As King he felt duty bound to treat his mother as any other traitor of the realm. But as a man, he felt conflicted by the matter. 

He rubbed his temples, attempting to ease the tension that coursed through him. “It will heal, yes?” Aegon inquired frustratedly. 

Maester Gerardys offered a reassuring smile. “It’s but a scratch, Your Grace. In a few days there will be no sign of injury.” 

“Do not torment him, Aegon. I’m quite fine.” Visneya interjected, rising to her feet with Jaehaera’s help. The girl kept at the Queen’s side, not wanting to be parted. 

“Visenya, are you certain you’re well?” The princess asked with deep perturbation. 

“I promise, little love.” Visneya sustained with a tender smile, hugging Jaehaera softly. “Do not worry, you heard the maester, it’s but a scratch.” 

An interruption of this magnitude left the guests whispering and rumoring over Alicent. She’s truly mad now, they repeated to each other. One assumption was no more kinder than the last. 

Visneya, however, did not allow that to ruin Jaehaera’s day. She reassured Aegon as best she could, demanding that the actors entertain as was planned. 

Jaehaera was joyous, all thoughts of what had happened were gone from her mind. And Visenya sat next to Aegon, willingly amused at the play that had been chosen for the occasion. Even Prince Aegon had arrived on time to enjoy the festivities, encouraging young Jaehaera to bring down her walls and allow a friendship to flourish with Lady Lena. 

From the tallest heights of Maegor’s Holdfast, Alicent stood in an unconsolable state in her guarded chambers. “How can he take her side?” 

“Your Grace, was it necessary to provoke her?” Talya, Alicent’s only lady, questioned cautiously. 

Alicent scoffed, launching a vase against the wall. Shattered shards flew across the floor, an emblem of her relationship with her son and granddaughter. “She taunts me! Her very presence is an irritable reminder of her mother. What am I to do? Thank her?” 

“But Your Grace, encouraging her anger will not bring you closer to the King.” Talya added, attempting to reason with her. 

“Oh, fuck diplomacy, Talya!” She shot back, running a hand through her unraveled waves. A deep set scowl etching across her lips. “She has her claws in him. Our only hope now is that Jeyne wins Aegon’s favor once more.” 

“And then what?” Daeron roused as he entered with a raised brow. “What happens after my brother beds the Hand’s daughter?”

The irony was not lost on Daeron. His own heart and desires belonged to Sansara Tarly, but her sister Jeyen was not a woman that he considered to be worthy of heartfelt emotions. Especially not from Aegon. 

“Jeyne Tarly is a known…..whore.” He said, uttering the last portion as nicely as possibly. “It is no secret that Aegon used to bed her, nor that she’s been enjoyed in other corners of Westeros.” 

“That is precisely why she is capable of besting Visenya.” Alicent remarked irritatedly. “She can charm Aegon, seduce him.” 

Daeron chuckled, taking a seat by the only window in the room. “Mother, I’m not particularly fond of the Queen, but this is a fool’s errand. Aegon thinks himself in love, he will not look at Jeyne again.” 

“He will.” She insisted, nipping at her nails anxiously. “She’s with child. She denies it, of course, but I know better. And if my suspicions are true, then it is an opportunity for us. She will be vulnerable, in a matter of months she will be unable to tend to the King’s desires.” 

“I have no love for Visenya.” But he did for Sansara. “Even I have to credit her for her dutiful restraint.” 

“You defend her? To me, to your own mother.” Alicent spoke in disbelief. 

“I credit her.” Daeron reiterated with a sigh. “The Queen and Prince Aegon have the ability to burn down King’s Landing with Silverwing and Seasmoke, without anyone to stop them, yet they haven’t. Not to mention, filling in as a mother for Jaehaera.” 

“She makes herself indispensable, Daeron. So that no one can find cause to dismiss her.” The Dowager insisted, closing her eyes as he hung her head low. A million thoughts racing through her head. “What do you propose, then?”

“Pick your battles wisely.” His gaze fell on her, taking in her aged and tired semblance. “Provoking her will only earn you Aegon’s disdain. And if she is truly with child, as you claim, he will only come to hate you if something should happen to that child because of your incessant badgering.” 

“I should bow to her, now?”

“You should tolerate her.” 

Alicent blinked away the tears that pricked at her eyes, nodding weakly. “Very well.” 

“Aegon sits the throne, mother. Your war is not with Visenya—should Rhaenyra decide to attack us again one day, we’ll need the Queen and her dragon at our side, not against us.” 

“It is inconceivable that we are in this pile of mud and shit.” Alicent muttered under her breath, rubbing her forehead anxiously. “They have dragons, they have sellswords, why have they not made their move?” 

Daeron sighed, shrugging with a tired expression. “I don’t know. Perhaps, placing Visenya amongst us was strategic for Rhaenyra. If we try to attack her, Visenya and young Aegon will burn us all to ashes. And if she tries to advance on King’s Landing, she’ll risk her daughter’s life.” 

“Yes, but where is their red boned loyalty?” Alicent spat out, groaning as the confusion brought on a migraine. “Where is their determination to avenge their kin?” 

“What do you want, mother?” Daeron gritted through his teeth, resting his elbows on his knees. “Do you want Visenya and her brother to wake up one day and decide to burn down these walls? Everyone is tired of battle. Everyone! Including myself, so please, forgive my filial failings and that of everyone else, if we refuse to keep fighting this war.” 

Alicent shook her head, looking away incredulously. “This war took the life of your siblings, your nephews—Rhaenyra’s sons are dead! You are a fool if you think they’ve forgotten.” 

“Maybe I am, mother. But I profoundly refuse to keep living with violent assumptions above my head.” The prince rose from his seat, his hands hanging at his sides. “Should my half-sister attempt anything, we will be prepared, but I wouldn’t underestimate her love for Visenya.”

Without another word, Daeron nodded politely at Alicent and Talya, walking out with a dull expression. 

Night fall was a welcomed distraction for everyone. Jaehaera had been drained of her energies, she slumbered peacefully. Lady Lena Tyrell had spent the night resting next to Jaehaera. The girls had undoubtedly formed a connection.

With the princess asleep, Visenya’s mind was at ease. Her hands gripped the sides of the bathtub tightly, as if she could somehow mold the metal to her liking. Of course, it was just a sensational folly. Something to take her mind off the secret she guarded. 

Her eyes remained shut as Aegon approached her, sitting at her side with a worried demeanor. 

“How are you feeling?” He asked, reaching out to caress her bruised cheek. 

Visneya visibly flinched, but offered him a faint smile. “It will heal.” 

“That’s not what I asked.” Aegon countered with a whisper, his lips tugging into a chaste smirk. 

“I’m fine. As long as Jaehaera’s happiness was not ruined, I have no complaints.” She replied, opening her eyes to settle her gaze on him. “You’re frowning.” 

“Can a King not gloom?” Aegon chuckled breathlessly, bringing her hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to her knuckles. “I’m sorry about what happened.”

“Don’t be. You cannot control your mother, anymore than I can control mine.” She replied, feeling a pang of guilt washing over her as soon as the words left her mouth. “I can’t….confidently say that there will ever be an uneventful day in this marriage.” 

Aegon knew exactly what her words concealed. He knew her better than she cared to admit to him or anyone else for that matter. He couldn’t fault her for loving her mother and remaining loyal to her cause, he only hoped that she could see his intention at mending the bridge between their families. 

“Your years in Pentos, tell me about them.” He spoke tenderly, grabbing the hairbrush that Sansara had left on the spare stool. He’d never brushed hair that wasn’t his own, but it was an intimate gesture that felt right in the moment. 

Visneya hummed, smiling at the fond memories but there was a hint of sadness in her eyes. 

“When my brother was first captured, my mother spent weeks in an unconsolable state. She would….just cry. Morning, night—her cheeks were always stained.” Visenya released a shuddered breath, biting the inside of her cheek. “We knew he was never coming back, dead or alive. I think for a moment she resigned herself to the idea that you’d let him live as long as we didn’t retaliate.” 

She chuckled, wiping away a stray tear. “Viserys and I couldn’t quite comprehend it. All we knew is that evil people wanted us dead and they had our brother.” She added, reminiscing the years in exile. “When you imprisoned the Dowager Queen, it was a moment of relief for us. My mother began to tend to us again. Despite the circumstances, Pentos was kind to us. Its warm sun and colorful culture was a genuine enlightenment.” 

Aegon wondered if the throne had ever been worth the blood spilled. It seemed unfair—unworthy. He never wanted it, often he fought his mother on the traitorous notion. But after the murder of Jaehaerys, he had no choice but to engage in the war. Not for the thirst of the crown but to satiate the need for revenge. 

Lucerys, Jaehaerys, Jacaerys, Helaena, Aemond—and many more. Had their deaths been warranted? Aegon knew that Aemond was a rogue, no amount of logic and sacrifice would have deterred him from fighting Rhaenyra’s claim. But to plunge the realm into misery, well, Aegon regretted it. 

“Come, you should sleep. Today was quite….eventful.” He spoke with a tinge of amusement in his tone, a smile that reached his eyes. 

“I’m not spent from the day just yet…” She replied, her hand extending to trail down his bare chest. The King wore only his unbuckled trousers. 

Visenya’s eyes darkened, taking a deep shade of violet as her gaze brushed down his melancholic features; they were sharp yet soft, manly yet sorrowful. He was beautiful. 

“You were injured today, Visenya.” He remarked in a strained whisper, the fabric around his crotch tightening with every unfolding second. Silver waves framed his dimly lit visage, while Visenyas’s ringlets did little to cover her wet frame from him.

“I don’t recall any harm befalling what’s between my legs.” She replied softly with a doe eyed expression. She rested her elbows on the edge of the tub, gazing up at him with lustful eyes. 

Aegon was not a man often described with words of patience and control—he silently groveled, unable to escape her charms. 

His arms reached into the water, lifting Visenya into his arms, capturing her lips in a desperate kiss. Aegon said nothing, and neither did Visenya. Their unspoken frustrations were revealed in that heated embrace. 

The King wasted no time, he dropped her body onto the bed as he frantically disposed of his trousers. 

Visenya’s chest rose and fell as her face was adorned with a salacious expression. Her body soaking the sheets under her, and yet the only thing that Aegon fixed on was the glistening wetness of her cunt. 

“My Queen. Mine.” He groaned, unshackling every ounce of restraint as he climbed over her. His right hand caressed down the side of her body, raining fervent kisses along her jawline. 

Visenya’s lips parted to produce gentle moans, holding onto his arms. Her legs spread to accommodate his weight, eager to accept him.

“Vestragon bona ao sagon ñuhon….” Aegon whispered into her ear, nipping at her earlobe. 

“You’ve been learning?” She asked, pulling him down further into her. One of Visenya’s hands roamed down his body, sliding his length into her. 

A strained moan was shared in unison. Aegon shuddered, overwhelmed by his wife’s tightness. 

“I meant it…..I wish to be better….for us…”

Aegon’s eyes fixated on her, one hand holding her by the waist while the other fondled one of her nipples. Each thrust was desperate, yet slow. Deep strokes that unarmed Visenya. 

“Faster, please!” She demanded. Unraveling her morality. 

But the Queen was emboldened by the heat of the moment. Aegon had only stopped for a mere second to adjust his angle when Visenya flipped him onto the bed. 

“It’s not just about you.” She remarked playfully, crashing down her lips against his as she lowered herself on his cock. “Fuck!” 

Her ringlets bounced with every rise and fall of her hips. In a swift moment Aegon managed to sit up, wrapping his arms around her body as he aided her in riding him. 

“More.” He begged her, thrusting up into her movements. The very thought of spilling his seed inside her was enough motivation for Aegon to focus on their shared pleasure. 

The bed squeaked and rattled under their unyielding passion. No words were further exchanged, but their bodies spoke for them. 

Perfectly molded, perfectly in tune with one another. 

“Let go.” He groaned against her lips. It was enough to unravel Visenya, illicit cries escaping her swollen lips as her walls clenched around him. 

Aegon was no less lascivious in his climax. String after string of hot seed coated her entrance, haggard groans echoing in his chest. 

With one last thrust, Aegon buried his face into her neck, breathing heavily as his body came down from the high. It was like a fire that ate away at him. 

Visenya’s own flesh went limp with exhaustion. For someone so insatiable, she’d found herself to be satisfied. Her hands running up and down Aegon’s back, her head resting on his shoulder. A shared tenderness that contrasted the fiery intimacy they had created. 

“I love you.” Aegon mumbled, kissing her hot skin. 

“....I know.” Visenya breathed out, fluttering her eyes shut. She couldn’t reciprocate the words. It wouldn’t be fair, not to her or him. But acknowledgement was more than enough for Aegon. 

The hour had been late when news arrived at the King’s chambers. Visenya’s body had been intertwined with his own, her head resting on his chest peacefully. 

Aegon was hesitant to answer the knock at the door, but knew that his esquire wouldn’t bother him if it wasn’t of importance. 

Carefully, he peeled the Queen’s frame from his own. He slipped on his robe and made way to the door, opening it to reveal a hooded Tyland Lannister.

“What is the meaning of this, Tyland? Do you have any idea how late it is?” Aegon yawned out, rubbing his eyes with annoyance.

“My apologies, Your Grace. But I must inform you of this.”

“What has happened?” 

“It’s Prince Aegon, Your Grace. He was seen flying across the Blackwater on Seasmoke.” Tyland explained, almost walking on eggshells at the revelation.

“How could this happen?” Aegon muttered angrily. “The Dragonpit is meant to be heavily underguard, as is the Prince!”

Tyland sighed, searching Aegon’s face for any untold information. “One can only assume the Prince is toiling in service to the crown.” 

“Where is he?” Visenya’s weary voice joined the conversation. Dressed in only her chemise, as there was naught to worry when it came to Tyland. 

“We don’t know, my Queen.” He added, gazing at the floor. “He was last seen hovering near Dragonstone.” 

Aegon’s expression hardened at those words, facing Visenya with a cold glare. “Why would he want to arrive at Dragonstone? What are you not telling me?” 

“Do you think I’d be here, concerned and upset, if I knew?” She spat back, insulted that he would assume she’d put anyone at risk. “He’s my brother, I’m not a fool. I wouldn’t send him to his death.” 

“Then you’ll have no issue in servicing the crown.” Aegon challenged, taking her hand into his own.

“What?” She breathed out, glancing over at Tyland for any semblance of explanation. 

“I will take Sunfyre and you will take Silverwing. We will go after him.” He insisted, lightly tugging her back into the depths of his chambers. “We must hurry and get dressed.”

Visenya’s eyes widened with confusion and fear. “Have you lost your mind? You are the King! You cannot soar through the skies at night without a care in the world.” 

Though Tyland remained at the entrance, he was perfectly within ear’s range. “Your Grace, I must agree with the Queen. It is too high a risk for something we know nothing about. All we know is that he’s away from King’s Landing.” 

“He could be garrisoning at Dragonstone! Or worse, on his way to Pentos to meet with Rhaenyra.” Aegon argued, vexation washing over him. 

“Yes, gods forbid he wishes to be reunited with his mother.” Visenya uttered angrily. 

Aegon sighed, pain and deep-set dilemma flashing in his eyes. “That’s not….Visenya, that’s not what I meant. I only mean that if your brother has gone rogue it can impact my peace offer to your mother.” 

It was a troubling situation. On one hand Visenya could only wish that Prince Aegon would reach Pentos without a hitch, hope ablaze in her heart. And yet, she also yearned for the perfect solution—an easy resolve for her sake. A world where she didn’t have to choose between the father of her child and her family. 

“Fine.” She finally spoke, dragging her hand down her face. “But do not ask anything conflicting of me. Because I will not hurt him, Aegon.” 

Chapter Text

The weather over the Blackwater Bay had been favorable for fishermen and the ships that docked throughout the day. It was uncertain to say how many people came and went from the capital on a daily basis. Through land and water, perhaps, thousands? Maybe more? 

From atop of Silverwing, Visenya could see it all. The hour of the bat was more lively than she had ever assumed. 

Drunkard men stumbled out of taverns, and whores roamed the streets, targeting any antithesis of sobriety to earn their nightly keep. 

Sunfyre and Silverwing were truly a sight to see in the moonlight. Scales of blue and gold glittering over the reflection of the water. 

The circumstances weren’t ideal, but Visenya appreciated the flight. It had been weeks since she’d been allowed to take to the skies. 

“Are you still cross with me?” Aegon yelled across the wind that separated them. 

“You’re wearing the armor of the conqueror! I wasn’t aware we were off to war!” Her voice had a sharp bite of irritation, her expression cold and non-attentive to him. 

There was an unspoken understanding between them. They toyed at the facade of possible happiness but it was all built upon a shaky foundation. A flimsy agreement, at best, to refrain from spilling further blood. 

Visenya remained silent for the majority of the flight, blinking away the forming tears that threatened to spill. She could only hope that her brother hadn’t gone and committed treason recklessly. 

Aegon the Younger—a blind man could see the truth in the Queen’s eyes. She feared that her mother was plotting behind her back, sparing Visenya from their battle plans. 

From meters away, Aegon perceived the torches that lined up the walkway of Dragonstone. 

Lady Rhaena had been granted housing on Dragonstone. After the war, Aegon released the dragon twins and bestowed upon them titles to mend the realm. 

Rhaena became Lady of Harrenhal, while Baela kept control of Dragonstone—often going between the Targaryen isle and Driftmark to keep company of her grandsire, Lord Corlys. 

There was deep seeded fear in Aegon. Had Rhaena summoned Prince Aegon? Was there treason afoot? 

“I don’t see Seasmoke.” Visenya shouted, scanning the parameters of the island for any sight of her brother. 

“Neither do I.” Aegon verified with a frustrated groan. 

As Visenya soared the blackened skies, her senses remained alert. Silverwing herself disposed of her gentle nature, overly protective of her rider. Especially now that she sensed her gestational state. 

From the great heights, she could see the red glow of the candles and torches that illuminated the inside of the castle, but nothing suggested that Aegon was near. 

“This is a fool’s errand, Your Grace!” Visenya called out, falling victim to her own frustrations. 

She spoke too soon. 

As both dragons circled the shores of the island, the silver silhouette of Seasmoke soared above their heads into the clouds, with Prince Aegon mounted. 

The King growled angrily at the prince’s irreverent behavior. 

Tugging at Sunfryre’s reigns, he redirected himself towards Seasmoke and his rider. The wind and the salt that arose from the sea made it difficult to stay low. 

“Your Grace, no!” Visenya’s eyes widened, struggling to remain in control as Silverwing sharply shot up into a cluster of clouds to follow after the men. 

Prince Aegon trembled as he steered Seasmoke back in the direction of King’s Landing. Whatever his intentions had been, none of it mattered as Sunfyre and the King gained speed on his tail. 

“Treasonous dog!” The King yelled across the wind, urging Sunfyre to hasten her flight. 

Visenya planned on using herself as a distraction to gear Aegon away from her brother. 

Unknown to her, a fourth beast added itself to the equation. 

Sunfyre’s wails drew Visenya out of her mind, a toe-curling scream leaving her lips as she saw Rhaena mounted on Morning, intercepting the King. 

Morning had grown outside the walls of the Dragonpit. She was a formidable dragon. 

A rich shade of pink that envied the colors of the sunset and sunrise. 

Despite this, Morning was nowhere near the size of the battle grown Sunfyre. 

Rhaena groaned, her body thrashing around in the saddle as Sunfyre wrapped her wings around Morning to sustain further damage to herself and the King. 

Seasmoke and the Prince were far from sight. Possibly, still in the direction of King’s Landing. 

Both dragons battled for dominance. Fire and terror descending from the skies as Morning managed to free herself, crashing into the surface of the water momentarily. 

The sight was stomach churning—losing her sister was out of the question. A choice had to be made, sooner than expected. 

“Angōs, Silverwing.” 

Silverwing the gentle, they called the Queen’s glimmering beast. But there was nothing gentle about her claws extending to fiercely defend her rider. The attack came from under Sunfyre and the King. 

Aegon’s eyes darkened with grief at the sudden action. A loud grunt leaving his lips, tightening his grip on his dragon. 

Sunfyre the loyal was no easy victim. Battle hardened and experienced, she would rather succumb to new wounds than to let the Queen and her beast slay Aegon. 

“Rhaena, go!” Desperation flooded her tone, fear was seeded, not in herself, but in the dangers of losing Rhaena and her unborn child. 

Morning and Rhaena dove in the opposite direction, seeking the safety of the capital. Reaching the Red Keep and vouching for the Prince was the best outcome now. 

The inhabitants of Dragonstone looked up in fear—a new dance plagued their night sky. 

Sunfyre and Silverwing interlocked their claws, their bodies spinning in the darkness as their flames ignited the firmament like the sun. 

“Sunfyre, retreat! Retreat!” 

Visenya lacked the experience, even with a larger dragon at her helm, she wrestled with guiding her dragon. 

And while the King had no intention of harming Visenya, it was Silverwing who managed to break free from her grapple with Sunfyre. 

The sheer force of movement sent both beast and rider plummeting into the coast of Dragonstone. 

“Visenya!” Aegon’s eyes paled with horror, diving after her. 

Silverwing managed to take flight before hitting the surface but stumbled onto the sandy shores, causing Visenya to become trapped as they both rolled on the earth. 

“Silverwing, please!” Her frantic voice was sharp and desolate. A hand clutching onto her abdomen. 

Suddenly, everything came to a stop. Silverwing had landed on her side, uninjured but groaning in confusion and soreness. 

A loud thud announced Sunfyre’s arrival nearby. Aegon leaped from his saddle, rushing to his wife’s side while the golden beast roared out sensing her rider’s distress.

Visneya was able to release herself from her seat, sliding down to the sand. 

She crawled away from her dragon, coughing as she rid herself of the sand and dust that coated her face. 

“Visenya…” Aegon removed his helmet, taking the woman into his arms. “Heedless woman, why would you do that?!” 

“She’s….she’s my sister.” Was all she could muster, pain abducting her senses. 

“I wasn’t going to hurt them, Visenya! All I wanted was answers.” He argued, sighing in relief when guards from Dragonstone arrived. “The Queen, take her to the maesters. Now!” 

The men wasted no time in rushing Visneya up the bridge to the castle. Aegon himself was helped out of his armor before darting after her. 

Mostly unscathed, the only injury he sustained was a slight burn to his cheek. It was superficial, but it would leave a faint scar. 

The warmth of the castle embraced the Queen as they laid her in Lady Rhaena’s bedchamber, the largest of rooms available. 

Maester Hareth entered to tend to Visenya, but was quickly dispelled by her. Accepting only the help of the female healer that had been sent to Dragonstone by Valaena Velaryon weeks ago.

“Your Grace, you cannot put your health in the hands of a heretic.” Hareth challenged, glaring at the woman named Mareah, originating from Norvos. 

“This is not a matter of discussion, Maester Hareth. It is a command!” Her voice rose in volume, giving rise to Aegon’s concern. 

“What is going on?” He shouted at the elderly man. 

Hareth sighed, approaching the King. “Your Grace, she refuses to be treated. She insists on being tended to by this…savage.” 

“This savage, as you call her, is renowned by my good cousin, Lady Valaena as a healer. I trust her.” Her insistence left no room for negotiation.

Aegon dismissed the man, allowing him only a moment of his time in the hall to cleanse and treat the burn on his face. 

Visneya released a shaky breath as Mareah examined her and wiped away the grime that had formed on her face. 

Once done, the woman palpated Visenya’s abdomen for any tenderness but ultimately offered her a smile. “You just need some rest, Your Grace. Thankfully, there are no signs of harm to the child.” 

“What child?” Aegon’s gaze hardened, a cynical expression detailing his face. 

Mareah cleared her throat, bowing to the man. “Prince Aegon, my King. The guards say there is no sign that he might’ve injured himself on his way to King’s Landing.” 

“Really?” He questioned sarcastically. “The prince, a child?” 

“Compared to me, yes.” The woman replied with a forced chuckle. 

Visenya sighed softly, looking away shaking her head. “No, Mareah. It’s quite alright.” 

“Tell me the truth of it.” Aegon commanded. 

“I’m with child.” Visenya replied apprehensively. The light of the candles that dimly illuminated the room casting over her features like a veil. 

“With child?” The King exhaled, looking at the floor with a sarcastic smile. “And still you risked engaging in true battle with your dragon?” 

“This child is not yet born!” Visenya argued, sitting up against the headboard. “But Aegon and Rhaena are my blood. Would you have me forsake them as you have forced me to forsake my mother?” 

Aegon chuckled bitterly, shaking his head. “I would have you not risk our baby!” He pointed out, approaching her bedside. “Not only did you interfere, you have Mareah lying for you.”

“Her Grace did not ask this of me, Your Grace.” The Tyroshi woman interjected as she packed away her tools and herbs. “I only meant to respect a woman’s choice to announce such a thing.”

“You lied to a King, woman.” Aegon insisted, casting a glare at her. 

“Aegon, please. Now is not the time.” With a brief nod, Visenya dismissed the woman and took her husband’s hand into her own. 

“Then when is the time? When you've rid yourself of me?” He pursued sternly, tightening his grip on her hand with a frantic look. 

Visenya tore her hand away from his grasp. “You are no victim!” 

“I am a fucking Targaryen! Just like you and your whore mother!” He roared out with reddened eyes that held back sadness and insult. 

Visenya flinched at his tone, one hand instantly flying to rest on her abdomen protectively. “Yes, a Targaryen. Yet under you and your bitch of a mother’s reign, our house nearly eradicated itself.” 

“Visenya.” He croaked out, his heated breaths becoming shallow as he attempted to calm himself. “Do you not see how….insulting it is that you would keep this from me, when all I’ve ever wanted from you is affection and a family.” 

“No, you want an heir. The same as my grandsire.” She spit out venomously, gripping his face. “You say you wish to be different, yet you have passed over your own daughter time and time again.” 

Aegon bit back bitter tears, clenching his jaw as he weakened in her hands like clay in a potter’s hands. “I cherish Jaehaera, I do. But I cannot stay on the throne after questioning your mother’s right to it, only to name a girl my heir.” 

“She is your daughter, Aegon…” Visneya whispered out, resting her forehead against his own. “I am a Queen ensnared. I’ve made no attempt to flee, no action against you has been cast because I have accepted my destiny.” 

She shuddered, sobbing against his lips. Her heart weighed heavily with guilt. The last thing she desired was to betray her mother, her kin. She didn’t love Aegon, far from it. But she did love Jaehaera, for her sake alone and the safety of her siblings she’d remain at his side. 

“Your sister and brother cannot remain unpunished.” He breathed out, caressing her cheek with the back of his knuckles. “Rhaena will be summoned to court as your lady while repairs are done to Harrenhal. She will no longer remain here. As for young Aegon….he will be named heir until our child is born. His penance will be mine own—learning what it means to govern. If and when he explains his sudden flight.” 

Visenya could only nod, an adept student. She was learning to pick her battles wisely. 

“Are you happy?” She whispered, fluttering her eyes shut. 

“How can you ask me that?” Aegon replied, toying with the ends of her hair, a warm smile gracing his expression. “This is all I’ve wanted, my love. Perhaps, I’m a fool for confessing my wildest dreams—your mother accepting a truce—our kin coming together to restore our dynasty while we work towards our child sitting the throne one day.” 

“It’s a folly.” Visneya sighed out, nuzzling her face into his neck as she held back the whirlwind of emotions that haunted her. “A noble one, nonetheless.” 

Thankfully, before daybreak the guards had received news of Rhaena and Prince Aegon. A raven sent by Maester Gerardys detailed their arrival at King’s Landing where they were being held in their chambers under surveillance. 

As morning came, Visenya remained abed on Dragonstone while Aegon sat in silence. His eyes bore into the stone walls of the room, unannounced tears rolling down his cheeks. 

There was an irony in all of this. A heedless destiny, perhaps. It was agonizingly evocative. 

Helaena, Jaehaerys and Maelor—all dead. Would the gods continue to hound him for his impetuous betrayal? What if Visenya and their child suffered the same demise? Would she flee to Pentos—would she take their child with her to rejoin her mother? 

The imprisonment of his own mother was no easy burden to deal with. Despite her many failings, he missed the Dowager Queen. And Daeron’s constant reproach began to weigh on him. 

His knees pressed to his chest as his arms wrapped around them, sobbing into the emptiness of his chest. “I don’t want this….” He whispered to himself. “I never wanted the crown.” 

Chapter Text

Two full moons had elapsed over the skies of Westeros by the time the King and Queen were ready to share the happy news with the rest of the court. The celebration would be disguised as Visenya’s twentieth name day feast. Lords of the major houses had been summoned to the capital, as were minor lords and ladies of influential houses. 

Magisters of various cities in Essos were invited, and of course, an invitation was extended to the remaining Targaryens of the black faction. Faint hope lingered in Visenya’s heart. 

According to Maester Gerardys, and Mareah, who had been summoned to King’s Landing to tend to the Queen personally, Visenya was well into her second trimester and required the utmost care. 

The promise of children had been a force that held back Aegon’s jealousy and anger upon Lady Valaena’s return to Westeros. The rumors had been more than just whispers—Jacaerys Velaryon lived. Albeit dragonless, the honorable Prince was undefeated. According to Valaena’s report to the Small Council, Jacaerys had suffered severe injuries and remained in recovery. Prince Viserys was ever the image of Prince Daemon, even in the way he nurtured his fiery nature. 

Rhaenyra had no declarations of war for Aegon, just two letters written in her hand. One for him and one for Alicent, both remained unopened. 

It had been an odd thing, Aegon seen at court laughing with Jaehaera at his side. Whatever Visenya had said to him that night had snapped a raw cord inside of him. He doted on her and made it his priority to have time for her day in and day out. 

He chased after her in the gardens. To many, the Princess was of age to wed and start a family, but to Aegon, she was just a girl. He wanted better for her, too. If not for her sake, then as his only kindness to the memory of Helaena.

“You’ve changed him.” Daeron’s intruding voice broke the silence. His expression softened at the sound of his niece’s laughter. 

Visenya remained silent, a hand resting on the small bump of her swollen belly. “I can’t be credited with everything.” She replied, humming nonchalantly. “He has initiative despite his past actions.” 

“It’s not plausible, you know?” He began, straightening his posture. “To forget everything that has transpired in our families. But I was wrong about you. You’re not your father, and anyone would be a fool to blame you for looking out for yourself now.” 

The sun caught her silver ringlets like glowing halos that cascaded from her head. She chuckled, lifting her head to meet Daeron’s troubled eyes. 

“You have known defeat and death, uncle.” Visenya spoke calmly. “You’ve known betrayal, but you have not known exile and abandonment.” 

Daeron furrowed his brows, clasping his hands behind him, his face contorted with perplexity. 

“Living in Essos was a kindness—a mercy in comparison to the death we would have suffered. But it was often lonely.” The Queen sighed, reminiscent of her childhood. “Many say we belong in Essos, Targaryens belong to the lands of Old Valyria, not Westeros. But the truth is, there is no home for us there. Not anymore.” 

“Pentos welcomed you with open arms.” He added with a tilt to his head. 

“Prince Ilyrio is smitten with my mother.” Visenya replied with a smirk. “I doubt his help is selfless. If he doesn’t covet the throne, certainly having my brother and his dragon is enticing enough.” 

“They say Viserys and Verraxes have grown formidable in their years away. Is it true?” He questioned curiously, indagating into the information withheld from him and the court by the Small Council. 

“Would I tell you if they were?” She shot back with a raised brow. 

“No, I suppose not.” There was a slight twitch to his stern expression. Amusement, perhaps. 

Excitement grew amongst the servants of the Keep, if the Princess’ own celebrations were grand and magnificent, how much more illustrious would the Queen’s feast be? 

In likeness to Jaehaera’s own name day, exotic foods and plants were brought to ornate the gardens. The royal family had quickly become fond of the space. Where sun and petals blended together, as they did. 

“I shall saddle with His Grace on dragonback before the celebration. I wish for the small folk to view us before we entertain the lords and ladies of Westeros.” Visenya spoke out with a small smile, glancing at her reflection in the mirror. 

The Queen bore a gold gown with a sheer coating that was adorned exquisitely with gold and silver thread. The patterns detailed the curves of dragons and their flames. Complemented by a heavy gold necklace and a diadem that sat on her head—half of her ringlets tucked neatly at the back of her head, while the rest fell past her waist. 

“I find that to be unwise, Your Grace.” Sansara replied, frowning as she finished adjusting Visenya’s corset. 

“Why is that?” Visenya questioned, furrowing her brows. 

Sansara sighed, glancing around the Queen’s chambers, lowering her voice to a faint piannisimo. “Floris says the small folk are angry. More and more taxes are imposed on them. They will not take kindly to your display of vanity.”

Visenya shook her head, turning around to meet Sansara’s gaze. “What taxes? The crown is stable, as are the finances of the kingdom. Aegon would have told me if this were true.” 

“Whether the King is aware of it or not, heavy strains will turn the people against you, as they did your mother.” Sansara urged with caution, sighing deeply. “Floris believes the Small Council acts without him to afford the debts left behind with the Triarchy.” 

“Their debt matters little now.” Visenya mumbled, smoothing out her fabrics anxiously. War and exile was frightening as it is, but to have rebellion on her hands, was new terror unearthed. “Make certain that the kitchens send out food to the people. We have enough to feed ten times the guests we’ve invited. I will not make the small folk suffer—empty my personal purse if necessary.” 

Sansara nodded apprehensively but nonetheless bowed and excused herself to obey Visenya’s orders. 

The Queen was soon joined by the rest of her ladies, Floris Baratheon, Tyshara Lannister and Velaena Velaryon. Dressed in the colors of their house, the women escorted their mistress down to the gardens. 

In the place of applause and boastful cheers, there was silence. The women looked amongst themselves, unsure of why the squires presented latency in announcing Her Grace. But it only took a few steps out into the fresh grass for their eyes to widen in fear and incertitude. 

The skies were repeatedly illuminated by shades of red and orange, heat expelled from the blazing fires that broke through the clouds. Three dragons circled the Keep. 

Seasmoke, Morning, and Verraxes. 

The children of Rhaenyra had come to avenge their mother. Or so, one would assume. 

“Guard the Queen!” Aegon roared in desperation. 

Her personal guard, Doran Sand, ran to stand before her with a cluster of men from the Keep. 

“Ser Doran, this is unnecessary. They are my kin, they would not harm me!” Visenya argued, trying to break past the wall of men that surrounded her and her ladies. 

Verraxes ventured close to the gardens, causing panic amongst the guests, though none attempted to flee. It was futile to try and outrun a dragon. 

The formidable beast landed in a clearing, his pale silverish white scales glistening in the afternoon sun. 

From atop its saddle, Prince Viserys could be seen mounted on the dragon. A round of gasps erupted from those gathered as a second head appeared from behind the handsome princeling—Rhaenyra. 

“You stand before the true Queen, brother!” Rhaenyra called out, eyes set on Aegon. 

“The only Queen is the one you gave me.” He retorted, briefly flashing his concerned gaze onto Visenya. “Is this what my kindness is repaid with, sister? You will burn us all?” 

A spectral silence loitered in the atmosphere, frightened visages awaiting whatever dreadful response would come from the exiled Queen. 

“There will be no war!” Visenya cried out, pushing past Ser Doran to stand before Verraxes. Her determination was strong but her eyes carried the troublesome sadness of her internal dilemma. 

Rhaenyra slid down Verraxes, her feet meeting the ground with haste as she rushed to envelop Visenya in her arms. “My darling girl.” She breathed out, inhaling her delicate aroma. 

“Mother…” Visenya whispered, her voice cracking with turmoiled emotions. She clung onto Rhaenyra’s gown, sobbing into her chest. “Mother, you must not do this.” 

“Have they harmed you? Are you well?” Rhaenyra pulled away enough to examine her daughter, freezing at the sight of Visenya’s swollen abdomen. 

Rhaenyra’s face contorted slightly to keep the tears from falling down her cheeks. 

Visenya cried quietly, unaware of the guests rushing to exit the gardens afraid of any of the three dragons from unleashing wrath on them. “I am with child.” 

“And so, we come to it at last, haven’t we?” Rhaenyra whispered, laying a hand on her daughter’s abdomen. She looked down, chuckling through her tears as she felt the baby moving in the womb. “The only usurper I cannot harm.” 

Visenya knew her mother’s words, though solemn and grim, were a jest to cover her own predicament. The only weakness that Rhaenyra bore was her love for her children. 

“I cannot bring my brothers back…..” She began, swallowing nervously as she spoke. “But I have done my duty to protect Egg and Viserys. You have impressed this upon me yourself, mother. The only thing I can do is ensure that no further harm befall us—no life need be forfeit.” 

Verraxes and Seasmoke sneered loudly as Aegon approached the embraced women. 

“Sister.” Aegon said, careful not to startle the beasts, knowing all too well how fearsome Seasmoke was. “My offer remains—join us at court. Restore our house. I cannot grant life to your boys, nor can you return to me my sons and brother—but it need not be this way. After all these years, the blood that has been spilt, when does it end? When you sit on the throne? Will you execute my child with Visenya, too?” 

“You would consider me capable of murdering my grandchild?” Rhaenrya shouted back, insulted at the insinuations. Perhaps, if Syrax still lived, those words alone would have been enough to calcinate Aegon. 

Prince Viserys dismounted himself from Verraxes to take his place besides his mother. “It could all end now, uncle.” He interjected sternly. “One word from me or Rhaena or Egg and it ends. The throne would be ours.” 

“No!” Rhaenyra commanded, biting back a strained sob. The sight of Visenya clutching her belly, flickering her scared gaze, caused her heart to twist and bleed. She’d lost two sons and a husband, could she subject her own daughter to a cursed fate? 

“There is ample space for you at your daughter’s court, Rhaenyra.” Aegon commented, pulling Visenya to his side, fearing for her safety and the child’s. “I do not even ask that you bend the knee, I only ask that you refrain from harming my children.” 

“Even now, you think there’s a way to live amongst us in peace?” Rhaenyra bit back, her jaw clenched in anger. “After all we’ve lost?”

Aegon scoffed, handing Visenya over to Ser Doran. “Precisely, because of the losses we have suffered I beg this of you, Rhaenyra! This war has not been senseless, but regardless of who sits on the throne, many will die if you continue this.” 

Added to the debilitating fuel was the arrival of Daeron on Tessarion, Sunfyre and Silverwing. Even riderless, the dragons belonging to the King and Queen, showed no amicable stance towards Seasmoke, Morning and Verraxes. 

“Have you come for death, sister?” Prince Daeron called out, his grip tight on the reigns of Tessarion. 

“The only death will be yours.” Uttered Prince Aegon. But his words were not carried out in vain. A fierce roar came from Seasmoke. He took off from the walls of the gardens and dove into Tessarion. 

“No!” Visenya’s visceral cry set off a waltz of violent tresspasses. 

Carried away for her safety by Ser Doran, she was united with Rhaenyra as Viserys mounted Verraxes to join his brother’s fight. The Queen’s ladies became scattered, presumably hiding out in the Keep’s dungeons. 

“Mother, you must tell them to stop!” The urgency in Visenya’s voice was only amplified by the sight of the King being saddled onto Sunfyre while Silverwing remained attentive to the entrance of the Keep. 

“I can….I cannot. Not now.” Rhaenyra replied, her voice wavering at the thought of losing her remaining sons. With Jacaerys in Pentos, she had no way of shepherding her boys. 

“They will all be dead, how can you not see it?” Visenya clutched onto her mother’s arms, forcing her to look at her. “You placed me on this fucking throne, you would pluck it from under me so easily for your claim and your sons?” 

As the women were dragged into Visenya’s chambers, servants and guards alike went pale at the sight of the rival Queen present at court. In other circumstances, Alicent would have ordered her immediate death. But it was clear to all that the threat no longer rested in Rhaenyra, but in her sons.

“I’ve always known you loved them more than me, but how can you be so reckless?” Visenya shouted at her with tears spilling down her cheeks. “I am your only daughter, how can you cause me this pain?” 

“Your brothers are dead because of them! It cannot go unpunished.” Rhaenyra tore back, approaching the younger woman with a pained expression, cupping her face in her hands. “This is about sacrifice, not vanity.” 

“Really?” The Queen chuckled bitterly, meeting her mother’s gaze. “And yet you married me to him to save your precious boys, did you not? I have not once begrudged my duty to you and your claim, but I cannot watch what is left of our house be destroyed.” 

Ser Doran’s eyes trailed away from the women, not wanting to interrupt their plight. 

The sounds of dragon’s growling and howling in pain as fire painted the skies filled the atmosphere of the Keep. Screams and frightened steps of those who inhabited the palace could be heard feeling into the safety of the dungeons. 

“Am I not here with you now and not with your brothers?” Rhaenyra whispered through paled lips and silent sobs. “I knew the moment I unmounted Verraxes I was in the grasp of your husband. I am at your mercy, sweet girl. Whatever battles are now fought, are not in my name, but in the name of Prince Jacaerys.”

“No.” Visenya muttered, shaking her head as she pulled away from her. “No! I asked you, I knelt and beseeched your patience when rumors of his survival arose in Pentos. I pleaded with you to let me marry Jace—I assured you he was alive and would return to us, but you would not have it. You said marrying Aegon was the only course we had left to save my brother.” 

“I was wrong!” Rhaenyra wailed, toying nervously with her hands. “I was heedless to your warnings and those of your sisters. I was terrified of the constant threats that Alicent made against us and your brother. We only had Silverwing; Verraxes and Morning were far too young to be of any aid.” 

The doors to her chambers tore open and through them ran Jaehaera, quickly embracing Visenya. “Mother, they will kill us all. I am frightened!” 

“Mother?” Rhaenyra whispered out at the sight of the girl. She was the very image of her late sister, Helaena. 

“Is it petrifying to see how well your daughter has fared under a green court?” The piercing words of Alicent broke through the tension. Unlike Rhaenyra, Alicent appeared aged and sickly. The lack of sun and freedom in the tower had subjected her to such a fate. 

“Shh, no one will harm you. I promise you.” Visenya whispered into the girl’s ear, guiding her towards one of the couches in the room to calm her nerves. 

Rhaenyra approached Alicent, striking her against the cheek. An indulgence only interrupted by Ser Doran who unsheathed his blade. “Princess, I must ask you to refrain from doing that again.” 

Alicent coughed, wincing at the slight ache in her jaw. “You’ve always been an entitled bitch.”

“Entitled? Is it not you who passed over my head with treason to plant your son on the throne?” Rhaenyra gritted through her teeth, her hands shaking at her sides. 

“You think this is noble? Your self-immolation?” Alicent questioned, trailing her eyes towards her stepdaughter’s face. “Our sons will likely perish, as will Rhaena. And you will sit the throne as you’ve always wanted, but you will lack the heirs to keep it. Who will you choose then, I wonder? Prince Jacaerys or the child growing in your daughter’s belly?” 

The heat of dragon fire was intolerable as it was deadly. Daeron was the only one dressed in armour as he soared the skies with Tessarion. The King, Prince Aegon, Prince Viserys and Lady Rhaena were all exposed to the elements. 

Verraxes had his claws around Sunfyre, the young dragon struggling to keep its grasp on the King’s beast. 

“Nephew! Viserys, you must stop!” Aegon’s words were not birthed out of fear for himself, he had faith in his experience and in Sunfyre. But he knew even if he won the throne once and for all, Visenya would never forgive him for the death of her brother. 

The youngest of Rhaenyra’s sons made no attempt to flee and instead doubled down in his attack on the King. Had it not been for the riderless Silverwing who flew against both beasts, they would’ve tumbled down into the ground below them. 

Prince Viserys had always been quick to anger and in the likeness of his father, Daemon. Anger and rage bubbled at his lips, commanding his dragon to pursue Aegon. 

“Naejot, Verraxes!” Viserys barked, gritting his teeth as he began to trail his uncle. 

A groan was plucked from his lips as Tessarion bit down on Verraxes’ hind leg, tugging viciously at it. 

Both dragons engaged in a circular tussle. Uncle and nephew once more toiling in service of their families with fire and blood. 

“Brother!” Prince Aegon roared, soaring with Seasmoke to his aid. A gruntal scream of fury urging his words. “Dracarys!” 

Seasmoke’s flames engulfed the younger dragons. Tessarion and Verraxes managed to break apart, but the sheer force sent the ethereal beasts spiraling down into the ground. 

The King’s eyes widened at the carnage unfolding before him. 

Prince Aegon and Lady Rhaena howled in pain at the sight of their brother’s dragon crashing onto the walls that surrounded the Keep. 

The sound was heartstopping, vicious and abrasive. 

All the breath left Rhaenyra’s lungs at the sound she knew all too well. 

Alicent froze as she saw the blue silhouette of Tessarion falling from the sky from the large windows in Visenya’s chambers. 

“Your Grace! Your Grace, stop!” Ser Doran called out to Visenya who ran through the opposite door in the rooms. No amount of words of caution were enough to halt her. 

Her steps carried her out to the balconies in the main corridor of the Keep. Visenya’s breath grew shallow and ragged, her chest rising and falling from the anxiety that overtook her. 

Tessarion had landed in the space between the walls and the dry moat that lined it. Daeron was nowhere in sight. 

But her eyes searched like a hawk for Viserys, releasing a curling scream at the bloody sight of Verraxes coiled against the scattered walls, the body of her brother lying still at the feet of the rubble. 

Rhaenyra’s own wails were muted from Visenya’s senses as she ran down the staircase and out to the courtyard, not stopping until she reached her brother’s body. 

“Please…..please don’t leave me…” She whispered angrily to herself, comforting the fears that arose in her. 

This couldn't be happening. She had wished for peace, not war. She often found herself praying for a chance at happiness. A world where she was neither her mother’s pawn, nor Aegon’s Queen but simply Visneya. 

Some nights, her dreams led her to the palace of Prince Ilyrio at Pentos. She danced barefoot in the gardens, drank the rarest of wines and chased after her faceless child. Wisps of silver hair coating the child’s head, but it was not Aegon who the babe called out to as father. The dark mane of Jacaerys Velaryon plagued her nightly escapes of the mind. And now, what little hope she had of happiness, be it with Aegon or Jace, was gone. 

“Viserys. Viserys, please!” Her screams turned her throat raw as her arms cradled the motionless body of her brother. His legs twisted in odd angles, his face coated with vermillion streaks. She hugged him to her chest, sobbing loudly while Rhaenyra fell to her knees at his feet, lamenting her son. 

It had all been a folly as Visenya had warned them all. 

No more lives need be lost. 

An idiotic promise that had a dismal fate the moment it left the King’s lips. 

Chapter Text

Chaos ensued the battle, as it always did in the face of violence and disarray. The haunting silence that embraced the atmosphere was fragile at best. Tempered as mothers and daughters keened for their fallen. 

Faint screams of the guest at court echoed in the wind, carried away to melt into the daily bustle of the capital. The irony was not lost on the King. Often it was the high born who carried on their lavishly ludicrous lives without a care for the smallfolk. And now, matters were reversed. 

Prince Aegon and Rhaena made haste to unseat themselves from their dragons. Rhaena ran as fast as she could, kneeling beside Rhaenyra as her eyes refused to accept what she saw. 

But the prince could not bring himself to approach his brother’s body. “This is my fault….” He uttered in a state of shock, his tears betraying him. 

“Visenya! Visenya, does he breathe?” Rhaena’s word were not enough, she resorted to shaking her half-sister by the shoulders. “Does he breathe?” 

Rhaenyra mustered the courage to take Viserys from Visenya’s arms and press her head to her son’s chest. A faint heartbeat and a weak movement of his chest was perceived. 

“He is alive….” She announced, sobbing into his neck. “My son needs help, please!” 

“D-Daeron? Daeron!” From afar, Alicent’s own suffering filled the air with anguish. 

The King felt uneasy as to who to run to. Daeron was his brother, and yet his heart tugged in favor of the Queen. Visenya who seemed pale beyond recognition. 

Master Gerardys was quick to arrive with a few of his apprentices, led by the Kingsguard. 

“We must tend to the princes with effectiveness. Hurry!” His voice thundered as he personally examined the broken state of Prince Viserys. “He is alive but his state is critical. If he is to have a chance at surviving, we must move him into the infirmary.” 

Rhaenyra refused to let go of his body, only then did young Egg intervene to anchor his mother to him as the men carried Viserys inside the Keep. 

“I will not be parted from him. Unhand me!” Rhaenyra trashed against her son’s arms, successfully breaking free to follow the men to the infirmary. 

“Let her through.” Visenya commanded weakly, her hand rushing to her lips as she felt ill. 

Her pale flesh turned a shade of green, the Queen hunched over in disgust as her sickness poured out onto the ground. Visenya’s knees gave out under her, barely giving her the time to wipe the corners of her mouth. 

“Visenya!” Aegon rushed to his wife’s aid, catching her in his arms. His hand brushed away the curls that coated her forehead. “Come on, don’t do this to me now, my love.” 

Alicent’s weeping followed Daeron’s body like a staunch trail. 

Both princes battled between life and death. But their state was uncertain and unstable. 

The King rushed into the palace with Visenya’s unconscious body, barking orders at the lingering servants. “Fetch Mareah, now!” 

Jaehaera emerged from the shadows of the halls with Sansara, both women joining the King as he took Visenya to her chambers, taking care to be gentle with her as he laid her on her bed. 

“Will she die?” Jaehaera asked, her tone wavering. “Will I lose another mother?” 

“Do not say it, Jaehaera. Do not utter such things again.” Aegon replied sharply, anxiously awaiting for the healer’s arrival as Sansara did her best to tend to the Queen until then. 

The King’s face was coated in ash, a hint of blood splattered across his robes. Thankfully, it wasn’t his. Presumably transferred onto him by Visenya who was covered in Viserys’ blood. 

“Where is she?” Mareah entered the rooms, accompanied by Lady Valaena. Tyshara and Floris remained unaccounted for. 

The woman conducted a brief examination of the Queen while Valaena took it upon herself to blend an essence of herbs as a remedy for her cousin’s unconsciousness. 

“There is no sign of injury to the Queen or the child, Your Grace.” Mareah noted loudly, listening closely to Visneya’s heartbeat after feeling her abdomen. “She is in severe distress. A prolonged state can cause damage to the womb.” 

“What can be done, then?” His lip quivered as he spoke. He worried for Daeron, but couldn’t abandon Visenya until he knew for certain she was stable. 

“She needs rest, and for her brother to live.” Mareah replied bluntly. 

Down the hall from the King and Queen’s wing, Alicent weeped at Daeron’s bedside. Maester Orwyle did his best to manage the prince’s wounds, but struggled to keep his composure. 

Daeron had a set of broken ribs, his legs were bruised and bloody but remained intact. His left arm was twisted in an obscene manner, while his cheek was painted with a long wound. 

“Will he–will he live?” The Dowager stuttered through swollen lips and tear-stained cheeks. 

“I cannot answer that at present, Your Grace.” Orwyle confessed. 

Aegon assembled the courage to leave his wife’s side, entering Daeron’s chamber with a shaky breath and bloodshot eyes. “How does he fare?” 

“They do not know.” Alicent spat out, glaring at Aegon with hatred. “But it is clear that you are to blame for this.” 

“Me?” The King breathed out, furrowing his brows in confusion. 

“Had you heeded my advice and abandoned your infatuation for that girl, none of this would be happening now.” Alicent replied, rising from her position to shove against the chest of her eldest son. “She has brought ruin to us! Just like her mother and her father before her! Was it not enough that they took your sons and your brother, they must take my youngest too?” 

Aegon allowed her to vent and expel the anger from her heart. 

“That stupid little whore should’ve been killed in Pentos! You should have never allowed her to come here.” The Dowager’s hand struck Aegon harshly, her countenance becoming sullen and lifeless. 

The King’s eyes hardened at her words, gripping her arms to control any further insult on her part. “Whatever could’ve been is gone, mother. That whore, as you call her, carries my child and I will not abandon her now.” 

Aegon closed his eyes, taking a deep breath to calm his own demons. “Do you not acknowledge my grief, mother? I lost my sons, yes. But where were you? While I was drowning in my cups, fighting a war out of spite, not for the throne, did you once comfort me? No, of course not. You hid behind your ambition and your impetuous obsession for Rhaenyra.” 

Alicent pushed him away, wiping away her tears as her composure became stone cold. 

“It should’ve never been you who sat the throne. You lack the wisdom and character to rule. It should’ve been Aemond, he would’ve ended the opposition swiftly.” She venomously spewed out. “Or perhaps Daeron, my dear boy. An honorable son, not a drunkard like his brother.” 

She chuckled bitterly, gazing out the window. “Where are they now, I ask? Prince Aegon and Lady Rhaena? Rhaenyra? Free to roam the Keep as they please?” 

“Keep to your son, mother. I would hate for you to miss him from the solitude of your tower.” Aegon replied coldly. He only lingered a moment longer to press a kiss to brother’s head before exiting his chambers. 

As the hours passed, the Small Council was finally called to order. Prince Aegon and Lady Rhaena had been confined to one of the empty rooms in the tower, while Lord Corlys and Lady Baela who had arrived just moments after the battle, guests of the failed celebrations, were in attendance of the council. 

Aegon sat quietly, emotionless as the men around him argued and played their politics in the face of disaster. He wondered if this is how his father had felt after the death of his first wife. Egotistical vultures poking at his wounds to advance their careers. 

“Of course, something must be done. But we cannot execute anyone!” Lord Tarly, Hand of the King, argued against the insistence of Royce Baratheon. 

The man was no older than Visenya but had been named Master of Ships a few months prior by insistence of Tyland Lannister, to regain Baratheon loyalty. 

“Then what must be done, Lord Hand? Shall we applaud them?” Royce fired back, slamming his hand on the table. 

Lord Tyland clenched his jaw, glaring at the young man from under his hood. “Being on this council does not grant you leave to use that tone on those far more experienced than you, Lord Royce.” 

Corlys, who until now had remained silent, rose from his chair. Baela had to bite her tongue to interject, wanting to rip the heads off every man in the room. 

“You do not expect to argue amongst yourself whether my granddaughter should die in my presence, do you?” He asked calmly, but his eyes threatened them all with disaster. 

Aegon lifted his gaze to meet that of Lord Corlys, his lips tightening. 

“What do you expect of me, Corlys?” Aegon asked, resting his arms on the edge of the table. “This is Lady Rhaena’s second attempt against my life. Prince Aegon, I must spare for my wife’s sake and that of the smallfolk who adore him.” 

“And you think your wife will be any happier if you murder her sister?” The Lord of Driftmark shot back, narrowing his eyes at the King. 

Aegon sighed, the seams of his feeble sanity fraying before his eyes. 

“Look me in the eyes and tell me that Her Grace would want this.” Corlys insisted, gripping the edge of the table. 

“What would you have me do?!” Aegon roared out, the veins on his forehead protruding from the sheer force of his anger. “Rhaena was given the chance to live out her days in peace, just as Baela! But by allowing her to keep her dragon she felt emboldened and now two more lives will be ripped from this family.”  

“Your Grace.” Tyland interjected calmly, approaching the King. “Prince Aegon must be spared for the sake of peace, but he cannot go unpunished.” 

“I know this.” Aegon remarked, avoiding the man’s gaze. Often, he could not bring himself to lay his eyes on his face. A reminder of his fierce loyalty, one that he felt undeserving of. 

The Hand cleared his throat, sipping some of his wine to ensure a calmness came from his words. “Your Grace, the union between Prince Aegon and Princess Jaehaera must take place soon. Only then will you have him truly anchored loyally to your cause. He may not see her as a woman, yet. But he shares a fondness for the girl.” 

“How can you think of that at this moment?” Aegon replied with a crazed chuckle as he sat back down, shaking his head. “I married his fucking sister and still he wants me dead, risking her life, even. Do you truly think that my daughter will change that?” 

Before anyone could respond, the doors to the council opened revealing Lady Tyshara. 

“Your Grace, the Queen is awake.” Tyshara spoke the only set of good news thus far. 

“May I come with, Your Grace?” Baela perked up, anxiously worrying for the health of her younger sister. 

Aegon did not reply, but simply nodded in her direction as he walked out. 

“No decisions are to be made without my consent.” He commanded. 

Visenya groaned in slight discomfort as her senses returned to her. Her hand rose to clutch her forehead, an astounding headache overpowering her. 

“Seven hells….” She muttered faintly, opening her eyes to take in the hazy sight of her chambers. 

“Here, drink this, Your Grace. It will help.” Mareah insisted before Visenya could regain consciousness of the battle.

The Queen obediently sipped the elixir. It was a few moments before her memories returned to her. Her eyes widened as she realized her mother and siblings were not with her. 

“Where is my mother? Where is Viserys?” She cried out, shoving the cup from Mareah’s hands. 

“Visenya!” Aegon called out, rushing to her side to embrace her. “Shhh, you must remain calm for your sake and the sake of the child.” 

“N-no, where are they? You must tell me!” Her tone was desperate, decaying in sanity as she shoved at his chest. 

“Rhaenyra is with Viserys, sister.” Baela’s voice was a welcomed comfort. She sat on the opposite edge of the bed, resting a hand on Visenya’s leg. “Viserys is weak, but he lives. Rhaena and Aegon are well, but they are being kept in the tower.” 

“W-what? Why?” Visenya’s head snapped in Aegon’s direction, tears filling her brims. “Why are they your prisoners?” 

The King took her hands in his own grasp, kissing her knuckles weakly. “They tried to kill me, Visenya. Daeron and Viserys are on the brink of death, is that not reason to hold them?” 

“No, but they were only trying to keep Viserys alive. They never meant to hurt you, you know this.” The Queen urged in despair. “Aegon, you know this! My brother has never attempted against your life, even when you threatened his own and neither has Rhaena.” 

Mareah interrupted, setting a hand on the King’s shoulder. “Your Grace, she needs rest. Her strong emotions are not good for her or the child.” 

“I can speak for myself!” Visenya shouted, glaring at the pair. 

Baela wrapped her arms around her sister, combing through her hair. “Come now, you are of no help to Rhaena or Aegon if you make yourself ill.” But her gaze was on Aegon, fiery and with a thirst for vengeance. 

“If there was ever hope for your family’s innocence, it’s now gone.” Aegon whispered, swallowing nervously, knowing his words would cause a rift between them. “I can no longer afford mistakes out of love for you. I must act as a King.” 

“A King, is it?” Visenya questioned weakly. “A King who has no love for the crown, a ruler who would rather sink into his cups and ravage an entire brothel. You wish to lecture me on governance, husband? Was it not you who said you’ve no taste for duty–a man who would rather sail away.” 

“You are angry. But I will not suffer your insults while my brother fights for his life.” With that, Aegon kissed her cheek and left without another word. 

Maester Gerardys was able to stabilize Viserys’ condition, but his expression was defeated. He sulked as he rejoined Rhaenyra at the foot of the bed while servants finished cleaning the blood off his face. 

“His survival is unlikely, Princess.” The man confessed bluntly with a heavy sigh. 

“There must be something you can do. Please.” Rhaenyra’s words broke with a choked sob, her hand covering her mouth as she tried her best to remain composed. 

“I have reached the extent of my craft. It is in the hands of the gods now.” He replied, bowing his head to her as he returned to Viserys’ side to monitor him. 

Rhaenyra cried without consolation into her hands, regretting every choice she had made leading to this. She should have listened to her daughter when she had the chance. 

She had sacrificed two sons to her cause, a third was intolerable. It was moments like these that made her question the importance of the throne. Her father had laid her out to be eaten and poked at by vultures the moment he named her heir. And every day since, she has fought for her birthright. 

Despite what many thought, she was only human. Targaryens were no more gods, than they were any more deserving of the throne than other houses. 

Rhaenyra the Cruel, they once called her. The death of Prince Jaehaerys and Prince Maelor forced onto her hands. She had not partaken in those crimes, and yet she was hated then. 

Life on the throne seemed to be less and less appealing. If Viserys died, she’d never forgive herself. As she was certain, neither would the rest of her children. 

Rhaenyra made her way towards the door, opening it to reveal a small platoon of guards stationed outside the halls. “Make way, I must see my daughter.” But it was to no avail, they would not budge. 

“Whether Aegon sits the throne or not, I am still your Princess and I am commanding you to fucking move!” She shouted at them, but the men only flinched at her tone. 

“Princess….” Lady Tyshara called out, sighing as she pushed through the wall of men, entering the chambers that Viserys was kept in. “You must temper yourself, please. It is not safe for you to make threats at court so freely.” 

“I do not know you, nor do I care for your counsel. I need to see my daughter.” Rhaenyra bit back sharply, glaring at the fair blonde. It was vastly clear she was a Lannister. 

Tyshara frowned softly, walking towards the corner of the room to pour a cup of wine for the woman. “My name is Tyshara Lannister, one of your daughter’s ladies and confidants.” As she handed her the chalice, her voice was reduced to a frightened whisper. “I’ve no love for war and politics, but I support whatever my mistress desires and has in mind. You need not hate me for the blood that runs in my veins.” 

Rhaenyra’s finger wrapped around the base of the cup apprehensively, her eyes observing Tyshara’s every gesture. “If you are so fiercely loyal to my daughter, then tell me of her health.” 

“Her Grace is well, Princess.” Tyshara replies with a faint smile, setting her hands on the skirt of her gown. “Lady Baela is with her, but her condition requires rest as you well know.” 

“Does she know?” Rhaenyra asked, sipping indulgently from her cup. “Is Visenya aware of her brother’s indecisive state?” 

Tyshara bit her cheek nervously, shaking her head in response. “No, Princess. She has only been told that he lives, nothing more.” 

“Go to her.” The fallen Queen commanded through her tears. “I need to be alone with my son.” 

Lady Tyshara nodded, bowing to Rhaenyra before retiring herself from her presence. 

In his study, Aegon paced the stone floors anxiously and without ceasing. Fear flooded his mind, a stage of paranoia that began to drown his sanity. If Viserys died, Visenya would never recover. He knew the fire that was dormant in his wife, she’d nurture like a seed of revenge. The livelihood and safety of the princes, thus far, had been the only anchoring element in her loyalty towards him. 

And yet, a more petrifying thought remained; should Daeron succumb to his injuries, he would be forced to put them all to the sword. Certainly, executing Rhaena would incur the wrath of Driftmark and the remaining Black loyalists. Prince Aegon, as it now stood, was the only heir available to the Iron Throne. His life could not be forfeit. As for Rhaenyra, a swift execution would be reasonable and still, the King could not bring himself to command it. 

“Your Grace, the council awaits your return.” Alfred Fell, Aegon’s loyal squire, interrupted as he entered the study. 

“They will be made to wait.” Aegon replied, his jaw clenching in anger. 

“Your word is my command, Your Grace. But I am afraid they are insistent on knowing your verdict.” The young man pushed further, avoiding Aegon’s line of sight. 

Aegon stormed towards Alfred, gripping him from the front of his shirt violently. “I am your King! You will tell those feckless bastards that they will have an answer when I am ready, not when they order one from me.” 

Decisive seconds passed in silence before he released the man, frantically searching for the wine that he kept hidden in the bookshelves that lined the walls. 

“Tell the Small Council that they will have a response soon enough.” The King commanded, drowning his misery in the bitter liquid. 

“Your Grace, the Keep is in disarray…” Alfred tried to reason with him. Not because he shied away from facing the council, but because he feared for Aegon’s sanity.

“Do as you’re told, Alfred.” He replied in a curt manner, serpentine eyes threatening him. 

In the time that transpired between the King’s explosive episode and his arrival at his Small Council, was time better left unspoken. But of course, that was never the way of the Keep. 

As Aegon made his way back to his council, his expression remained solemn and with a shadow of melancholy. Silence deafening the sound of the large doors opening at his arrival.

The men rose to greet him, though their own faces seemed to have aged in his absence. 

Corlys was the first to inquire insistently. “Have you come to your wits, Your Grace?” 

Aegon remained deluded in his aversion to further war. As he took his seat, there was a sickly pale cast upon his face. His hair disheveled. 

“I’m sure the King has been prudent in his choice, Lord Corlys.” Lord Donald replied in the silence that Aegon allowed to linger further. 

Royce Baratheon, ever his father’s son, sat with an impatient tick to his leg. Tyland remained afoot and still, awaiting a response. While an intruding Lyonel Hightower had made his way into the council without taking no for an answer. Whatever agreement he had with Visneya was now in full play, and he had to take advantage of the King’s vulnerability. 

“The safety of the kingdom is my priority.” Aegon spoke calmly, albeit his breath shuddered. “But I will not risk the health of the Queen and the heir she carries.” 

“Your Grace?” Lyonel questioned, stepping closer to the wooden table. 

“Cousin, of course you’re here.” The King replied with a lifeless smirk. Now more than ever, he knew Old Town would circle the capital. 

Aegon forced himself to his feet, clearing his throat. “Prince Aegon cannot be executed, it is out of the question. Should Prince Daeron and Prince Viserys perish, the crown would lack heirs. Their death would not only weaken House Targaryen but would bring enough grief to trouble the Queen.” 

“And yet, the Queen is indeed with child, Your Grace. Must we continue to suffer the sons of Rhaenyra as heirs?” Royce broke through, almost all too quickly. 

“You claim to know better than His Grace?” Tyland replied abruptly. Not a man of violence or ill temper, the Lannister loyalist had grown fond of Prince Aegon and would not suffer insults to the young prince, knowing his actions were a byproduct of his imprisonment. 

“Lady Rhaena will be tried as an enemy of the crown.” Aegon continued, lifting his hand to halt the wrath of Lord Corlys. “Her royal birth will spare her from the blade. She will remain in the tower, as my mother has all these years. As for my sister….” 

A deafening silence froze everyone in their seats with the King’s choice of words. Sister. A term he had not used for Rhaenyra in all these years. Not in their presence, at least. Only with Visenya. 

“My sister will….” He cleared his throat, finding it difficult to speak suddenly. “Princess Rhaenyra will be allowed to remain at her son’s side. Should he die, she will attend his funeral under guard. And until the Queen gives birth, Rhaenyra will remain here. Once my child is born, I shall revisit what is to be done with her.” 

“But Your Grace!” Royce challenged, putting loudly to question the King’s authority. 

“I am King, Lord Royce! I sit on the throne! Not you or my fucking sister, but I alone.” Aegon shouted back, flinging his cup at the wall angrily. “The war has fucking ended, and we have had years of prosperity. I will not see my house ruined and this kingdom torn to pieces once more when it can be avoided.” 

“King Aegon knows what we all do.” Lyonel spoke, adjusting his posture to look every bit the lord he was. “Our lands would not survive another war. Not one made of dragons.” 

“Then it is settled.” Lord Corlys croaked out, unsettled by the idea of Rhaena being kept prisoner. But at least it bought him the time needed to come to a different arrangement. 

Perhaps, unseating both brother and sister was the only path that remained. 

Chapter Text

The sun had not yet graced the skies when the Stranger began its journey towards the Red Keep. The air was tense and dismal. Summer was afoot and somehow the halls of the fortified castle were adorned with bitter air and frozen routine. Not a soul moved, not a one. 

Aegon had spent the night in his chambers in solitude. Visenya refused to be in his presence. 

He didn’t resent his wife, but sleep became distant for him. HIs gaze focused on the ceiling, a mayhem of emotions coursing through his head. 

Queen Visenya was summoned to the infirmary by request of her mother, Mareah was the one to bring her the desperate words of the Princess. 

Visenya’s steps were quiet but hasty. Her heart sank with every inch that she trailed closer, her ringlets unkempt as they hung past her waist, blending in with the gold of her sleeping robes. 

“Mother?” She breathed out, pushing past the doors of the infirmary with a perturbed expression. 

“Visenya, quick. Come.” Rhaenyra extended her hand towards her daughter as she knelt at Viserys’ bedside. The prince was pale and cold, his breathing hardly noticeable had it not been for the slight rattle in his chest. 

The Queen discarded all apprehension as she joined her mother’s side, her eyes filling his tears as they swept over the state of her brother. 

“Viserys……” Her voice was fragile, spirits low while her hands shakily reached for those of her younger brother. “Do not do this to me, please. I could never forgive myself.” 

Whatever strength was left in the fair son of Rhaenyra and Daemon had been kept for his sister. The ghost of a smile spread across his calloused lips. 

“Do not mourn me, Senya. If I die, I will die a warrior as I always dreamt of.” Viserys coughed out, wincing at the pain that spread through his body. 

“Shhh, you must save your strength. You will overcome this, do you understand me?” Visenya replied sternly as Rhaenyra covered her sobs with the back of her hand. 

Visenya rose from her knees and rushed to the opposite side of the bed, crawling onto the mattress to cup her brother’s face, brushing back his sweat stained locks.. “That night in the dragonpit, do you remember? You swore we would take back what is ours. But it is a folly, and I am sick of pretending it is possible. You will get well and we will return to Pentos.” 

“We are not of Pentos, sister.” He whispered, welcoming her warm embrace. “You carry his child, he will never harm you. Use that to avenge our losses.” 

“Do not ask that of me. Viserys, I beseech you.” Visenya wept against his cheek, shaking her head weakly. 

“The throne is ours, Visenya.” His eyes fluttered open, a frail hand rising to rest on Visenya’s milky cheek. “Promise me.” 

“Viserys.” She pleaded softly, the dawn around her seemingly frozen in time as they spouted vows. “Y-yes, I promise.” 

Rhaenyra took a hold of her son’s resting hand, holding it against her cheek. No words escaped from her mouth, but her eyes grieved loudly for all to see. 

“Your little heart always trailed after Jace….but I would have made you happy, too.” The revelation that came from the prince was a shock to mother and daughter. For if he ever held feelings for his sister, they were never evident. 

“M-mother.” He continued, wincing as death began to creep into his heart. “Do as Senya commands. If you need to play a false game to weaken the Usurper’s mistrust of you, do it. Do it for my sake and for the sake of your birthright.” 

The time was not certain, but the Keep was awoken by the torturous wails of the Queen and her mother. Rhaenyra and Visenya both clung onto the body of the lifeless Targaryen. 

The Queen’s ladies, unreadied and in their sleeping robes, rushed into the infirmary to lament the death of the Prince alongside their mistress. Even Floris, who never displayed a glitch of emotion, stood there in silence with bitter tears staining her face. 

The King was awoken by an anguished Alfred who insisted he make haste. Aegon grumbled in defeat, thoughtless and sleep deprived as he let himself be led by the boy. 

Upon arrival, he had no words to speak. What could he say to comfort them? All he could do was stand solemnly in silence. His presence was a reverence that provided Viserys an honorable death. Mourned not only by his mother and sister, but by the King. 

In the tower, Rhaena and Prince Aegon were informed of their brother’s demise. And while Rhaena fell to her knees, loudly keening his death, Prince Aegon only remained stone faced and silent. Having lost his Velaryon brothers had been sufficient torment to last an eternity. But the death of Viserys was the final nail in the coffin of their cause. 

There was a morbid stench in the air. Fires were lit in honor of the Prince, yet they did nothing to cleanse the air of whispers and fears that floated through the halls of court. 

The King had ordered the immediate preparations for the funeral of Prince Viserys. 

In the end, Rhaenyra had to be tended by Maester Gerardys, for the pain of losing yet again another son was too much for her heart to handle. Visenya fared a bit better, but once her tears had dried, she could not bring herself to move from her brother’s bedside. 

“Your Grace, the body is to be prepared by the Silent Sisters.” Sansara spoke cautiously, laying a hand on her mistress’ shoulder. 

Tyshara bit back her sadness, approaching to drape a blanket over the woman. “Your Grace, please. You must prepare yourself for the rites.” 

“Lucerys was murdered by Aemond, and he is dead.” Visenya spoke like a withering breeze, caressing her brother’s cheek with her knuckles. Her eyes sunken and melancholic. “Joffrey was thrown from Syrax’s back and she is dead—I think of the endless ways Daeron will suffer when he pays for Viserys’ life.” 

Sansara’s face paled at the Queen’s violent oath. Her love for Daeron weakened her resolve, but she now understood that it wasn’t just foolish to care for him, but utterly dangerous. 

“You will kill him?” Velaena asked, eyes zeroed in on her perished cousin. 

“Not now.” Visenya replied all too easily, as if her lips did not utter treason. “Not while we mourn my brother. Not while Daeron is weak. I wish to challenge him at full health.” 

Without another word, she rose from the bed and allowed her ladies to guide her back to her chambers to be dressed for the funeral. 

Both Rhaenyra and Visenya wore similar drapes of fabric for the cursed event. Black silks without a spec of luxury or delicate embroidery. Plain dark gowns that displayed their suffering. 

The women arrived at the pyre that had been set out at the rocky edges of the Keep’s godswood. 

King Aegon stood at the foot of the stacked wood with Princess Jaehaera, a somber expression painted on his visage. He dressed in all black, with a gold dragon embroidered on his chest to set him apart from everyone else. 

Against the better judgement of the Small Council, Prince Aegon and Lady Rhaena were permitted to attend. A platoon of guards watching their every move as they grieved the fallen prince. 

Visenya was expected to remain at the King’s side, but she could not will herself to do it. 

“Prince Viserys was my nephew.” Aegon spoke loudly, avoiding his wife’s despicable gaze. “He was valiant and strong, as any Targaryen prince should be. His courage, though treasonous, is a thing to be admired for generations to come. He will be remembered as a true warrior. One who died a dragon’s death.” 

Not a pair of lips uttered a word in the silence that followed the King’s speech. 

Rhaena cried into Baela’s chest as Lord Corlys comforted his granddaughters to little avail. 

Prince Aegon joined his mother’s side, slipping his calloused hand into her grip. It took Rhaenyra every withering ounce of strength to refrain from crumbling to the ground. 

“Your Grace.” Floris whispered towards Visenya, lightly tugging on the sleeve of the Queen’s gown. “They await your command.” 

Visenya nodded absent minded. Her steps carried her no further than a few meters from where her mother stood. It was a miracle that she did not fall, her legs stumbling in the process but she refused any help from Ser Doran and the King. 

Silverwing appeared from behind the cliffs of the Godswood, her reptilian gaze softening at the evident suffering of her rider. 

“This world will not see the likes of my brother anytime soon.” Visenya shook her head as tears spilled from her reddened brims. “I can only hope to have the fortune of birthing a son who shares his honor and valor. Viserys, he…. he fought loyally for what he considered to be proper. He fought for our mother’s throne.” 

Her choice of words was perilous as they were disagreeable to the King. 

Aegon shifted in place—lilac hues glistening with the pain of her expression. 

“I only wish my brother could have known what I now know—my husband, King Aegon, Second of His Name, is our rightful King.” She forced a strained smile, toying nervously with her hands. “Perhaps, he’d still be alive then.” 

Visenya rose her head regally, staring straight into Silverwing’s darkened hues. 

“Drac—Dracarys!” She commanded. 

The sparkling beast adjusted her stance, roaring towards the skies before setting her flames over the body of Viserys. 

The palpable loss was enough to send Rhaenyra into a chaotic spiral. 

The Dowager Queen dared to mock the rites by appearing in a gown of green. 

The dagger that Rhaenyra had hidden under her cloak would’ve been a joyous perpetrator, had Ser Doran not intervened as she charged at Alicent. 

“You malicious cunt!” Rhaenyra shouted angrily, struggling against the arms of Ser Doran as the knife clattered on the ground. “This is your fault! My brother led astray with your lies and now the ashes of our kin scatter the earth. Are you happy?” 

“That’s enough!” Aegon interjected, summoning a pair of guards to remove his mother from his sight. “Take her.” 

Visenya forced her anguish to dissipate, tugging on her mother’s arms. “You must temper yourself, please!” 

“The Queen shall retire with her mother. Rest is needed to mend the wounds of the heart.” Aegon sighed, unsure of how else to subdue the escalation. 

Visenya had no option but to have Ser Doran help her bring Rhaenyra back to her chambers. 

Once safe in the confines of the Queen’s apartments, Ser Doran retired. And even then Rhaenyra lifted her angry gaze at her daughter. She wasn’t angry at Visenya, no. She was angry at herself for sending her precious little girl into this den of snakes. 

“Your rightful King?” Rhaenyra sneered in her direction. 

“What did you expect me to say?” Visenya spat back, closing the space between them. “Did you wish for me to call Viserys a hero? A man who died fighting for the one true Queen?” 

“Your words do not matter to me as much as your intent.” Rhaenyra looked beyond her daughter’s face, finding a modicum of comfort in the rays of sun that shone through the windows. 

Visenya’s brows furrowed, her hands reaching for her mother’s hands in desperation. 

“Daeron will pay dearly for this; this I promise you.” 

“I do not care for Daeron.” Rhaenyra whispered coldly. “I have no more kids to spare than Aegon does.” 

Days of grief turned to weeks. Words unspoken and moments not shared passed by unrequited for both the King and Queen. 

Aegon understood that Visenya needed time. It was futile to attempt to apprehend her affections in the wake of her family’s disaster. 

As for Visenya, she lacked appetite and was often bed bound to her mother. Both women were in a distressing state of mourning. 

Once a day Prince Aegon was allowed to visit them, and while it did little to subdue their anger, it was fruitful in planning their diplomatic attacks against the crown. 

Whatever strife was nurtured between both factions of House Targaryen, the King had seen enough blood and war to haunt him for the rest of his days. 

It shocked the courts when he summoned Rhaenyra to a meeting in his study. Whispers of her trial and execution spread like wildfire through the halls of the Keep. 

Such damaging rumors could not have been far from the truth. 

The sound of doors being open announced the arrival of Queen Rhaenyra. She refused to dress in color, taking a fondness to black gowns and cloaks. 

“Sister, be welcomed.” Aegon spoke in her direction, rising in her presence. A gesture that signaled his growing respect for her. 

“Aegon.” She muttered, taking in the gloomy space. It had not changed much since her father’s death. His books remained intact, as did his scattered figures of dragons. 

“Please, sit.” He offered, motioning towards the empty chair across his desk. Aegon’s own face was pale beyond Valyrian recognition. Dull and grey. As if being away from his wife for this long had drained the life from him. 

Rhaenyra did not speak, but graciously accepted. Her health was in clear deterioration. 

Aegon sighed, his hand wrapping around the flagon of wine to pour into their cups. 

“I have asked you here to come to terms with our situation.” 

“You will not ask about Visenya?” Rhaenyra interrupted with a whisper. 

The King blinked at her perplexed with her question. “I…. have sufficient reporting on the Queen and her health.” 

“She’s a comfort to the people, isn’t she?” She added with a sad smile. “Her kindness and tender heart—it’s a wonder how she’s survived a house as hazardous as ours.” 

“The smallfolk love her.” Aegon confessed, agreeing with the statements made. “She refuses to let them suffer. At the end of each day, food is sent out from the kitchens. Not scraps, but decent food to nurture the needy and their children. In her short time here, she’s financed soup kitchens and lends the aid of our maesters to the people.” 

“A true Queen.” Rhaenyra remarked warmly. 

“Yes, indeed.” Aegon leaned forward on the edge of the desk, his expression softening. “Sister, what Visenya has built here, not I but her, is something worth surrendering for. She is your blood, your only daughter. Do not take this away from her.” 

Rhaenyra chuckled breathlessly, shaking her head as she cast her gaze on the ground. 

“What do you propose, then?” 

Aegon’s lips tightened, his psyche unresolved in what words to use to convey his intentions. 

“Young Egg is to be officially installed as my heir until my child is born. He will wed Jaehaera and remain at court.” He bit the inside of his cheek, palpable tension transpiring between the warring siblings. “But Dragonstone will fall to you. You may take Rhaena with you, if you please. An appropriate allowance will be given to you both. You will be free to travel to King’s Landing to visit the Queen, as she will have the freedom to visit you.” 

“And what of Jacaerys?” Rhaenyra spoke out, the intrusion only excusable by the worrisome fear of a mother’s heart. 

Aegon furrowed his brows in confusion. “What of him?” 

“He remains in Pentos, but upon his recovery he will seek to be at the helm of my alliance with the Free Cities.” Her eyes glistened only with tears of candid vulnerability. 

“Lady Velaena will be sanctioned to retake her journey to Pentos as an envoy to the Prince.” Aegon replied, a bitter sense of jealousy filling his mouth. “The Queen has a fondness for him. You can see why I cannot permit him to be at court, should he accept my terms of peace. He will be welcomed, however, on Dragonstone or Driftmark, as per his lineage.” 

Rhaenyra pondered the offer, guilt waving over her. What would her supporters say? What would Jace say? Would he understand that this was done to spare the lives of her children? 

“Visenya will be thoroughly looked after?” She countered, trailing her eyes to meet his gaze. “She will want for nothing and will be allowed to negotiate on our behalf for our needs?” 

“The Queen owns my heart, Rhaenyra.” Aegon replied, almost ashamed of his confession. “If I am a spec of a better man than I was before, it is her that I attribute it to. Duty requires me to take your head, honor demands that I imprison your children, but if I sue for peace it is for the sake of my wife and only her.” 

“What of our dragons?” Rhaenyra inched closer to the edge of her seat, toying with the trim of her coat. 

“Seasmoke will remain in the Dragonpit. Morning will return to Dragonstone with Rhaena but should she venture close to the mainland with her beast, I will meet her with Sunfyre. Verraxes lives, but he is young and riderless. I won’t shackle your late son’s dragon to the pit.” 

Aegon’s terms were more than the black faction could ask for. Rhaenyra was in mourning; she had no appetite for war and bloodshed. 

Visenya was cunning and began to weave her web, but the Queen needed time. Months, years, all bought by her mother’s seeming obedience. 

“I will stay until the birth.” Rhaenyra spoke, not as a suggestion but as a demand. “After which I will retire to Dragonstone with Rhaena.” 

“Very well.” The King agreed reluctantly but knew it would better the spirits of his Queen. 

The gods seemingly smiled upon Aegon, even if just for a glimmering second. 

A certain peace had settled over him once Rhaenyra signed their agreed upon terms. But his heart ached for Visenya. Being parted from her violet eyes and comforting laughter was as torturous as dragonfire. 

“Your Grace.” Ser Marston Waters, one of Aegon’s most faithful members of the Kingsguard, called out, stopping the King in his steps with a bow. 

Aegon fixated his eyes on him, sternly motioning for a stance at ease. “What is it, Ser Marston?” 

“It is the Queen, sire.” He replied, though he was not allowed to finish his words. 

“Has something happened to her?” Aegon’s eyes shone with concern, closing the distance between him and Ser Marston. “Speak!” 

“N-no, Your Grace.” The man stumbled over his words, straightening his posture anxiously. “The Queen has been in the Godswood since sunrise, sire. She refuses all food and water. Ser Doran reports that all she does is lay under the shade and slumber upon the grass with Princess Jaehaera.”

The King’s face softened with worry, nodding towards the man as he walked past him without another word. The rift between him and his family was painful as it was with Alicent and Daeron. He could not bear to lose his wife and daughter, too. 

His legs carried him sternly and swiftly. The breeze of the outdoors was amenable, but it was of little consequence to Aegon. His deep set burden weighed heavier the longer it took him to arrive at the Godswood. 

“Your Grace.” Ser Doran said, rising to his feet from the rock upon where he sat, bowing to Aegon in reverence. 

Despite his presence, Visenya made no effort to move. Her eyes focused on the butterflies and dragonflies that soared over the short blades of grass that surrounded her. 

“Stepmother….” Jaehaera whispered to her, but to no avail. 

The princess sat up, offering a tormented smile to her father. “Your Grace.” 

Aegon’s lips tightened into a tight line, approaching Jaehaera to kiss the tops of her head. 

“You look like a jewel today, my girl.”

“Thank you, father.” She replied shyly. 

“Here, come.” The King offered his hand to Jaehaera, helping her to her feet. “Why don’t you have Ser Doran accompany you to the Dragonpit, hm? I’m sure Morghul misses you dearly.” 

The princess was apprehensive about leaving the Queen’s side, but she knew that it had been nearly a month since Visneya had spoken to the King. 

“Of course. I miss riding, too.” Jaehaera replied with a soft smile. She bent down to kiss the Queen’s cheek before being escorted away by Ser Doran. 

Aegon waited for her to be out of range before facing his wife. Still, he said nothing. He remained silent, unsure of how to proceed. 

“I will not visit you.” Visenya uttered barely above the decibels of a whisper. 

The King chuckled breathlessly, glancing around to find the origin of her humor. 

“Are you mad?” He replied, crouching down to her level. “Do you think me so cruel, that I would seek you out in your grief, with the sole intention of fucking you?” 

Visneya laughed to herself, anyone who witnessed her reaction would deem her out of her wits. For the sound did not reach her eyes. Dull and soulless. 

“It’s all you care for. Wet cunts and delectable wine. I do wonder, do you even care that my brother has died? Does it haunt you that your usurpation of the throne has led to the deaths of thousands, including Daeron’s ability to walk again?” 

Aegon’s temper was a fickle thing. Only weathered by Visenya’s comfort, but it seemed she insisted on setting his wrath ablaze. 

He gripped her arms and forced her to sit up, looking at her with seething tears in his eyes. 

“Enough!” He shouted at her, his expression softening when he took note of how pale and lifeless she appeared. “Please, enough….” 

“My brother is dead.” Visenya uttered painfully. Her voice cracked as she spoke, unafraid of his violent reaction. 

“I know.” Aegon whispered in return, his hands moving to cup her face in an aggressive manner. Not to manhandle his Queen, but out of desperation. “And I’m deeply sorry for it.” 

“You’re sorry?” She breathed out, dubious of his words. Incoherent insolence that bittered her heart further. Her brows furrowed, a wrinkle upon her forehead as tears fell with ease.

“Sorry!” Visenya spoke once more, louder, angrier. Her hands fisting his robes in her palms. But they were set on beating against his chest, releasing every ounce of distress. 

Screams of anguish came from the Queen’s mouth. Servants stilled at their sounds, but did not dare to approach them. 

Aegon’s arms wrapped tightly around her, burying his face into the crook of her neck. He inhaled her scent as she unraveled her sadness before him. 

“I don’t….” He whispered against her flesh, digging his fingers into the curve of her waist. “I don’t know how to make it go away. I wish to take your pain and all I do is worsen your wounds.” 

Whatever pain nestled into the caverns of Visenya’s heart, she found difficulty to maintain her fight against Aegon. She vowed to settle the debt of Viserys’ death. But wailing as she was, there in his arms, all she could think of was how much she had grown to care for her husband. 

“I am obliged to be your Queen, but I cannot bring myself to be your wife.” The young woman confessed, sobbing into his doublet bitterly. 

“You do not have to, my love…” Aegon kissed her cheek repeatedly, brushing a tender hand through her ringlets. “Oh, sweet girl. I’d do anything to heal your heart.” 

Such words came forth like a sacred oath. But the King’s love and devotion for the Queen blinded him from the vengeance that brewed in her. 

“I want to love you.” She whispered to him, not uttering another word. 

Chapter Text

Hey lovelies! 

I wanted to post this quick update because I've been so MIA with my fics and I wanted to apologize for that. Life has been sooooo crazy and messy lately, lol. I'm a full-time college student +
 have a full-time job, so it's been quite hard to find time to write chapters. 

That being saiddddd! I ask that you give me some grace and patience. A week from now I should have a new chapter up for you! And for those of you who follow my other works, chapters will be out by the end of the month. Thank you so so so much to those who are reading my works, I adore you! xoxo