Chapter 5
When Visenya shifts below Aegon, he mumbles, “Are you uncomfortable?”
“No,” she assures him, and places a hand between his shoulder blades. “Keep going.”
With a shuddering breath against her temple, he moves again, a slow, barely controlled thrust that has Visenya biting her lip and exhaling shakily. “Best way to stay warm,” she jokes breathlessly, arching into him.
He doesn’t answer, merely presses a kiss to her hairline and moves again.
When they are below the furs like this, Visenya feels like the two of them are the only ones in the world. It helps that they’ve set a pace this slow, drawn this out until all she can feel is him, all she can taste…
His fingers in her hair are cold when he pulls her face to his for a kiss, but the fingers at her clit are warm when they circle, press.
“I love the way you sound,” he tells her, when Visenya whimpers. He moves a little deeper. “Only for me, isn’t it?”
“And Rhaenys,” she breathes, feels him smile against her mouth.
“And Rhaenys.”
Their sister is in her own chambers tonight, exhausted from the day. Visenya is happy she's resting, though she wishes she'd joined them.
They don’t talk much after that. There isn’t any reason to make much noise, other than their soft breaths in the cold air, Visenya’s occasional gasp muffled against Aegon’s shoulder when he hits the spot just right. She peaks after what seems a long while, but that’s alright, they’re taking this slow and it’s worth it—especially when Aegon comes with a groan once Visenya rakes her nails down his back, whispers his name in his ear.
“Best way to stay warm,” he agrees, laughing into Visenya’s mouth. She can taste herself on his lips still.
She shoots him a tired smile. She needed this. She needed to feel life happen tonight. This is what they're fighting for. This is what they need to protect, the warmth in the night, the sweat and pain and also the love. Visenya is glad they did this tonight, no matter how tired they both were.
Visenya closes her eyes soon after, spent. Sleeps comes easy for the first time in a long while, in this cocoon of safety she and her brother have made.
It takes all day to move the wildlings south of the wall. Lord Stannis and Visenya’s uncle oversee the taking of hostages—the king’s “blood price”, Tormund had called it—while Visenya takes stock of the men and women marching through the gate. They look warn, and tired, and ill-fed. Halfway through the day, Visenya joins Rhaenys in feeding the young ones from the gigantic stew pot the cook set up in the yard.
Tormund Giantsbane finds her there, and when Jaime moves to stop his approach, Visenya shakes her head.
“Tormund Giantsbane,” she begins, “this is my sister, Princess Rhaenys. Rhaenys, this is Tormund, who Aegon and I met beyond the wall.”
Tormund eyes her sister curiously. “Two princesses, a prince and a southern king. I’ve met more kneelers today than I thought I ever would.”
Rhaenys just lifts a brow. “Kneelers? If anything, we are the ones they kneel to.”
Tormund’s eyes are clouded. “Aye. That I’ve seen. Do you have a dragon as well?”
“Yes,” Rhaenys says, and ladles stew to a wildling girl.
“I’ve heard you three are married,” Tormund says warily, as though he expects an outburst from Visenya. Her lips press together.
“We are,” Rhaenys replies, voice mild. “Our father wished it, and we married two years ago.”
Visenya keeps her eyes trained on Tormund. No matter the circumstances of their marriage, she will not let anyone question it.
“What of it?” she demands, voice cold.
Tormund looks down at her and laughs. “You’ve quite the glare for such a small girl,” he says, diffusing the tension. “Nothing,” he answers. “But incest is viewed badly beyond the wall, it’s an insult to the Old Gods. Be aware that the free folk will not love you for it.”
Visenya knows how the Gods view incest. She’s still not quite happy about it herself.
Rhaenys puts down her ladle and looks Tormund straight in the eye. “We have brought your people south,” she says emphatically. “We have saved them from certain death and we will do so again in this war. Your people may not love us, but we will have their respect. And their obedience, for as long as you expect our protection.”
Tormund lifts a bushy brow. “Fire and blood,” he mutters, before he turns to go. “Fire and blood indeed. That may be what is needed for this war.”
Visenya hopes it is.
The first night they come, it is not yet in force.
Visenya is readying herself for bed when she hears it. One blow of the horn, and she tenses. Two blows of the horn, and she’s already grabbing Dark Sister from the covers where she’d laid it down.
When the third alarm is sounded, an icy fear wraps itself around her heart.
She is in her armor and her furs when she descends, and her father and Daenerys are already waiting for her, grim.
“About a hundred of them, it seems,” Rhaegar is saying. “Perhaps more. They are still coming from the trees, and we’ve not any lights on the ground.”
Lord Stark and Robb have strapped into their boiled leathers already, and Robb’s mouth is set in a line. If not for the quiver in his hands, Visenya would think him ready for war.
“We shall not fly all the dragons,” Rhaegar continues. “Those are just more targets for them. Dany and Visenya will take theirs and provide support from above. We shall open the gate for the soldiers once the two of you have driven them back with dragonfire and created a space for us to fight in.”
“I should go,” Aegon says, pulling on his gauntlets.
“You and Rhaenys are the heirs to House Targaryen,” Visenya finds herself saying. “If Dany and I fall, you can still carry on the line.”
Aegon looks murderous, but sets his jaw. “Visenya,” he whispers harshly, when he is close enough to lower his voice. “Do not do this. Back me, back me against father. I cannot let the two of you go alone.”
“You cannot go,” she hisses back. “You are the only male heir. And Rhaenys’s control over Viserion is not that of a warrior. She’s not battle tested yet. This choice makes sense.”
Aegon catches her arm as she turns away. “You are siding with him,” he says, voice hard. “After everything, you still side with him.”
Visenya wrenches her arm away, hurt by his words. Without speaking, she turns away and rushes to get Ghost.
The air is frigid at night, but even more so tonight. There’s a cold in the air that infuses Visenya’s bones, and even with Ghost’s warmth under her, she finds that she has begun to shiver. When Daenerys mounts Drogon, Visenya sees that her aunt is cold as well, and that her lips are blue before she pulls up her scarf. They’d discussed their strategy, and Visenya is ready—though she does not feel so.
In a few powerful strokes, Ghost is in the air, white against the sky—and the winds are so harsh, Visenya needs to hold on tight lest she fall off.
And then she has flown beyond the Wall.
It seems like there are mostly wights, Visenya decides, when her eyes have stopped tearing in the wind. They are all wildlings, with ratty clothes iced over and primitive weapons. Some even look up when she flies above them, though the rest trudge on to the Wall.
“Dracarys,” she yells, hoping Ghost can hear her over the gusts. She’s practiced the command before, so she knows he recognizes the sounds, muffled as they are.
She needn’t have worried. He lets loose a stream of fire gladly, and Visenya watches as the wights below burn. As she pulls Ghost up, she is warm for the first time. The hot fire below heats her skin.
She stays close to the wall. She needs to clear a path around the gate for the soldiers, lets Dany and Drogon, far bigger than Ghost, stray closer to the trees.
Ghost lets out another stream…and for a hazy moment Visenya loses herself. She is the dragon, and he is her. She’s lighter than air, filled with fire.
Visenya catches herself just as she starts to lose her grip on the saddle. This is not the place, she scolds herself. She may be strapped in, but she can still fall. Visenya feels nauseous, almost too hot now.
When the path has been sufficiently cleared, Visenya lands on top of the wall. “It’s clear!” she yells to the sentry, who drops a torch on the south side, as agreed. A signal, to the waiting armies below.
In front of her, Visenya can see Drogon let loose another column of flame. She loses track of time, once the army spills through the gates, dragonglass weapons at the ready, fighting through the fires. Once, she thinks she sees Robb among them, fighting besides Lord Stark.
And then she sees him.
An Other.
He’s far from the battle, nearly in the tree line. He’s got a horse, his skin is almost blue and he’s got a spear aimed at the sky. Not at Visenya—at Daenerys.
Visenya screams wordlessly, and Ghost responds in kind, a roar that has Visenya’s ears pounding. Daenerys looks up, but she still does not see.
It’s a good thing Ghost is the fastest of the dragons. Visenya collides midair with Daenerys just as the Other throws his spear. There is a searing pain in Visenya’s arm, a cold pain greater than any she's ever felt...
...and then Ghost is bucking around in the air, panicked. The last thing Visenya remembers before she blacks out is Drogon breathing flames over the Other, and Ghost falling to the ground.