Winds of Winter
Ghost is silent, as ever.
When Visenya sets down on the Dragonpit, it is done quietly, and in the darkening sky, she goes unnoticed. The autumn air is sharp and insistent, tugging on her tunic and cloak the moment she dismounts, as if to pull her back in the air.
Visenya pulls her cloak tighter around herself, and comes around to face Ghost. “Stay here, love,” she tells him, voice drowned by the wind. “I’ll be back before you know.”
The ride to King’s Landing had been rough and hard. Visenya had, in her haste, not dressed properly for such a ride, and had been poorly dressed for the frigid air. For those few moments before Ghost rose above the clouds, she’d been pelted with freezing rain, soaked through her shirt, and spent much of the flight shivering. Visenya left Dragonstone shortly after breaking her fast, and soon hunger joined the cold knot in her belly. She’d been woefully unprepared for this, she admits. In fact, the only thing Visenya had the foresight to bring was her sword, and the armor she’d strapped onto Ghost’s back.
Visenya knows she should not have left so suddenly, so quickly. She was impulsive, and she prides herself on being the most level-headed of her siblings. Visenya couldn’t think, and the letter… if what it said was true, she doesn’t regret leaving as fast as she could.
Usually, it takes a week for the Lightning to sail to Dragonstone. Daenerys has made the flight on Drogon’s back in a little over a day. Visenya makes it before nightfall.
In the dark, Visenya finds the stairs down the side of the Dragonpit. Before she descends, she turns to her dragon, and his breath gusts hot over her face. His red eyes seem to appraise her, with her crazed curls in every direction, her hands resting on the pommel of her sword. For half a second, Visenya swears she can see herself through his eyes, a small, pale figure in the moon-lit night. She blinks, and the image is gone, so Visenya shakes it off. She takes a breath to calm herself, and makes her way down the steps.
Visenya’s on Rhaenys’s Hill, and can see the shadow of the Red Keep from here, but she does not want to go to the palace so quickly. Better to compose herself, to know what needs to be said. She pulls the hood of her cloak over her head and keeps to the shadows. She is confident in her ability with the sword, but Rhaenys wrote that King’s Landing has been restless of late.
No matter how quiet her entrance to the city had been, Visenya is not surprised when Varys catches her as she walks into the palace. “Princess,” he says, his voice smooth. “I did not realize you’d left Dragonstone.” He eyes her state of dress, her expression, and tuts, “Is aught well?”
Visenya had nearly barreled past him before catching herself. “Lord Varys,” she says. “I need to see my husband. And my sister.”
Varys steps aside, his eyes watching her with a seriousness that makes her feel like he knows why she is here. “The prince is in his solar, Princess. He is just about to retire.”
As Visenya makes her way through the palace, her steps slow. It is not that this area is unfamiliar; the opposite, in fact. Visenya has played and explored every nook and corner she could find in this castle, Daenerys alongside her, avoiding Septas Hia and Unella like the plague, as well as her siblings, when they were being too awful to bear. But she has not lived here since her wedding nearly two years ago, and even then she’d only been here for a few moons. Dragonstone is her home now, it is her husband’s seat, and the memories of this place had been none too good when she’d last left it.
Gods, she’s never felt worry like this before, not even when she’d been railing against her marriage to Aegon. That her father had known about this, and done and said nothing to her, that she had to hear it from her cousin—
She reaches Aegon’s chambers without realizing, and only stops when Ser Lewyn clears his throat. “Princess?” he asks. “When did you get in from Dragonstone?”
“Just now,” Visenya tells him absently. She shivers. The hall is drafty and her clothes still wet. “I must speak to Aegon, ser.”
Ser Lewyn raises a brow, “Princess—surely this can wait?”
He wishes to keep me out. Rhaenys must be in there as well, Visenya realizes. Good. This conversation was better with the three of them.
“No. Move aside, ser.”
With that, Visenya pushes past him before he can react, and opens the door.
His solar is dark, save for the dying fire. Visenya takes a moment to add a log, makes sure it catches, before putting wine over the fire to warm. Then, she goes to the bedchamber.
When she opens the door, Rhaenys’s breathy laugh echoes through the chambers, and Aegon’s low groan. Rhaenys looks to be atop him. Visenya leans against the doorjamb, unimpressed. “Aegon,” she calls, “Rhaenys. Come out to the solar. We need to speak.”
“Visenya?” Aegon’s head shows through the tangle of blankets, and she can hear his confusion. Rhaenys does not move, only turns her head.
“Have you missed us so much, sister?” Rhaenys teases, her voice sultry.
“Always,” Visenya says simply. “But this is important.”
Rhaenys lifts herself off Aegon, and her body catches the light for a moment before she pulls on her robe, muttering about the cold. It is only when she takes Visenya’s appearance in that she is shocked silent.
“You—you’re soaked, Visenya! And shivering. Did you come here through the rain?” Rhaenys hurries over to Visenya and starts pulling at her clothes. Visenya allows her. “Aegon, get Visenya one of my dresses to wear,” Rhaenys commands.
Aegon has shoved himself off the bed, alarm in his eyes, and rummages through a chest. “My clothes are warmer, Rhaenys,” he reminds her. “Come, Visenya. What’s wrong?”
Rhaenys struggles with the wet knot of Visenya’s breeches, and finally tugs them down over her hips. “F-Father plans to call his armies,” Visenya tells them, and suddenly the cold hits her stronger. “Do you really not know?”
Naked, Visenya’s muscles lock together, and she cannot move while Aegon and Rhaenys guide her to the bed. Aegon pulls her into a new pair of breeches, foot by foot, like a child, while Rhaenys manipulates her arms into a tunic.
“His armies?” Rhaenys echoes, while Aegon frowns.
“He has not been in King’s Landing this past moon,” her brother says. “He’s been in the Riverlands. Something about Lord Tully asking for his aid.”
“I know,” Visenya says. “Father has been ignoring letters pleading for aid from the Night’s Watch. My uncle Lord Stark wrote to Father as well, to no avail. Finally, Lord Edmure wrote to him, asking for his audience. It was the only way to get him North.” Rhaenys rubs warmth into Visenya’s arms. “My cousin Robb Stark wrote all to me,” she tells them. “He thinks Grand Maester Pycell and Jon Connington have been keeping the letters from Father, because they think they’re nonsense. But Lord Tully has convinced him of the dangers in the North, so Father has called the armies of Westeros. The news should hit King’s Landing soon, if it has not already.”
“When did you hear of this?” Rhaenys asks softly.
“What dangers?” Aegon demands, at the same time.
“This morning. I flew all day to get here. Daenerys should be right behind me, by a few hours.” Visenya tries to stand. “I want wine. I started to heat it in your solar…”
“What dangers, Visenya?” Aegon’s voice is soft and insistent, all at once.
Again, she shivers, but this time not from cold, and leans closer to Rhaenys’s heat. “The Others,” she says at last. “White walkers.”
Aegon’s face is frozen when she looks up at him. “Father is always…” Visenya trails off, then tries again. “Father always talks about you being the Prince that was Promised, and that you have to rid the world of some danger. What if this is it?”
“We do not believe in prophesy,” Aegon explodes without warning, and twists away from his sisters viciously. “We do not.”
The room is quiet, but for the crack of the fire. Finally, Rhaenys breaks it. “So what if we don’t?” she asks. “There is still a threat. We should go North. If there are White Walkers, they can be killed with fire, can the not? And we’ve got dragons who breathe the stuff.” Rhaenys presses a hard kiss to Visenya’s curls. “We shall leave in the morning.”
“We should go home first,” Aegon says. “We only came for mother’s nameday. We should go home and await instructions from Father.”
Visenya feels her heart sink. She pours steel into her voice. “Do what you will,” she says. “I’m going North. And Daenerys is joining me, once she reaches King’s Landing. She should be here by morning.”
“We go with you,” Rhaenys says, and shoots a look at Aegon. He sighs, and comes over to them, kneels by the bed, right before Visenya. His eyes are apologetic, for his outburst.
“Fine. We go with you,” Aegon agrees.
The news reaches Kings Landing just before they leave. Visenya is up before first light, waking up a kitchen maid who grumbled as she prepared provisions for their flight. Aegon and Rhaenys order Lord Connington and Grand Maester Pycell to write every lord in the Seven Kingdoms, calling their banners for their king. They join Visenya in the Dragonpit just as the sun breaks free of the clouds. This time, she’s bundled in furs Rhaenys stuffs her into.
Varys meets Visenya at the Dragonpit when she is escorted in, a safe distance away from the dragons, but marveling at them all the same. He tucks his hands into his long sleeves when Visenya approaches.
“You are lucky,” he tells Visenya, “to be one of four dragon riders left in this world. It must be a marvelous feeling.”
“It is,” she agrees. “Lord Varys…My grandmother is old, and sick…”
“I will watch over your grandmother as best I can,” Varys assures Visenya. Stiffly, she nods her thanks and walks to her sister.
Already, Visenya can hear the crowd outside. “Seeing us off to war,” she mutters.
“It may not come to that,” Aegon reminds her. Rhaenys meets her eyes.
It will.
Daenerys had flown in the early hours of morning. She joins them now, her silvery hair tied from her face and dressed in her riding furs and leathers. Visenya thinks her aunt looks like a warrior. “I spoke to Ser Jaime before I left Dragonstone,” she tells Visenya. “He will meet us at Winterfell. He will take a boat up to White Harbor.”
Visenya can feel her shoulders sag with relief. She could use her white knight right about now.
Before they leave, Rhaella bids them luck, and Elia embraces her children, and even gives Visenya a kiss on the cheek. “Be safe,” she tells her, and Visenya echoes the sentiment.
When the dragons emerge, the smallfolk gathered below them roar, a cheer that swells and reverberates in Visenya’s ears. Drogon, Viserion and Thorn are bigger than Ghost, and more impressive besides, but Visenya’s always been the smallest of her siblings as well. So long as he is faster, Visenya does not care that the smallfolk take a greater liking to Drogon. And Ghost is faster, because while the other beasts are still getting their footing on the roof of the pit, Visenya and Ghost have already launched into the air and pointed North.
The land below her changes slowly and then all at once. Slowly because she cannot tell when it begins to shift, and all at once because once she notices the greens turning to brown, and then gray, she wonders how she could have missed it. The riverlands, the greenest part of Westeros, are wet and windy. There has been so much rain that when Ghost lands near Riverrun four days into their journey, he nearly loses his footing in the mud.
Ghost has landed to hunt. He kills a calf, scaring bewildered farmhands. Visenya tosses them a silver stag, enough for three cows.
A little girl has accompanied one of the farm boys. “Are you Princess Rhaenys?” she asks, nose wrinkled at the stench of burnt meat. “Or Princess Visenya?”
“Visenya,” she tells the girl, watching Ghost eat. “What are you called?”
“Alinor,” the girl says, and her smile is a pretty thing, underneath the straw colored tangles. “I’ve never seen a dragon before, nor a princess. Though you don’t look very much like a princess.”
Visenya looks down at her breeches and worn cloak and riding jerkin. They’re warm enough, and the boots have kept her feet from freezing in the air, but Visenya barely thinks about what she wears anymore. She hasn’t the time.
“I suppose I don’t,” Visenya allows. “I don’t really like dresses,” she confesses to Alinor. But Alinor isn’t looking at Visenya anymore.
“Dragons!” Alinor says, pointing at the horizon. “More dragons!” She runs off to the farm boys, shouting at them to look up.
Visenya squints up at the greying skies. It’s true, Viserion, Drogon and Thorn fly towards her, if her eyes can be trusted. When Aegon and Rhaenys land, the farm boys and Alinor stay away, whispering. Visenya does not blame them. Aegon is lightly armored and Rhaenys wears her circlet atop her brow, and they are what princes and princesses are supposed to look like, not muddy and tired like she is. Viserion and Thorn join Ghost in his feast, and Visenya is left looking at her brother and sister.
Drogon continues on Northward.
“Daenerys wants to make it to Riverrun,” Aegon calls to her, as he dismounts. “To warn Father of our coming.”
Rhaenys slips off Viserion’s back with a squeak, as Viserion and Thorn join Ghost in his feast.
“He should be warned,” Visenya mutters darkly. “Ignoring the pleas of your Warden of the North and the Night’s Watch is not the mark of a good ruler.”
“I’m sure he had reasons, Visenya,” Rhaenys says, and places an arm around her. Visenya leans into the touch, keeping an eye on the farmboys. Aegon pulls out an apple from his satchel, and tosses it to her.
“His reasons. I’ll tell you his reasons. Jon Connington told him it was an attempt to get him North,” Visenya spits. “To kill him.” Absurdly, Visenya can feel tears in her eyes. She turns her face away from her siblings, and eats the apple.
“Visenya—” Aegon ventures, coming closer.
“My family is in danger,” Visenya hisses, throwing the core down, and still she cannot look at her brother. She slips out of Rhaenys’s arms. “I don’t care that Father will be upset we came without summons, and I know that’s why you sent Dany ahead. To calm him. But my mother’s kin are in danger. They have been for months. And he’s ignored them. Left their pleas unanswered because he thought Jon Connington was right. The North would not rebel against the throne for old slights. I’m to be queen one day. Lord Stark would never do anything against Father, because then he hurts me as well.”
There is quiet in the valley, save for the whispering farm boys and the girl. The dragons have halted their feast, and have turned their heads to watch their riders.
“Visenya,” Aegon says again. “We will go North, and we will help your mother’s family. We will fight whatever comes to harm them.”
“Aye,” Rhaenys says. “Visenya, we are in this together.”
Visenya wipes at her eyes discretely and nods.
Rhaenys squeezes Visenya’s arm, then she is slipping away and calls over her shoulder, “Come on, then. There’s not much light left, and it looks like it’s going to snow tonight.”
Rhaenys hauls herself up onto Viserion’s back, tearing him away from the charred carcass. There isn’t much left of the cow, and Visenya sees that the dragon’s maw is bloody.
“We’ll find shelter at Riverrun,” Aegon says. “Rhaenys and I saw it from the skies. I saw the towers a few leagues ahead.”
“I know,” Visenya replies. “I saw it as well.” Aegon makes to walk to Thorn, but Visenya catches his wrist. “Aegon. Thank you. For coming.”
Aegon’s violet eyes meet Visenya’s, and there’s a fire in there that she usually only sees when they are abed. Her cheeks burn, and she remembers that not twenty feet away, two farmhands and a little girl named Alinor are watching. “Visenya,” he says in a low voice, one that sends a shiver up her spine. “Of course we came. This is our fight, and you will not have to do it alone. Don’t let your emotions bottle like that again, though. If you’re upset, talk to us.”
“I can’t promise it will not happen again,” she tells him. “I’m not good with words.”
“You’re not,” he agrees. Without warning, Aegon pulls her to him, and kisses her hard. Almost immediately the kiss softens, a caress. Aegon knows how she likes to be kissed. Visenya welcomes it, clutching at his arms and stretching up on her toes. She can hear the farmhands whispering, because surely it is not this sister that Aegon loves, when he can have the beautiful princess with the long raven hair and the beautiful eyes. The one who looks like a maiden from a song.
Why can’t it be both? Visenya thinks, and she wishes that Rhaenys could come down off Viserion so she might embrace her as well, kiss her as well, apologize with actions, not words. It would not do, though, to have such a display in front of the smallfolk. Never in front of others, they’d all agreed that first time.
“Riverrun awaits,” Visenya pants, once they’ve separated.
“Father, too.” Aegon’s violet eyes search her face. “Don’t anger him, sister.”
“What can he do?” she shoots back. “I’ve got a dragon.”