"It was said by some that Aegon wed Visenya out of duty and Rhaenys out of desire" (AWOIAF)
Visenya Targaryen was a small child, Jaime Lannister saw. Her wet nurse, some Dornishwoman named Wylla, flinched away from him in fear when he opened the door, shielding the babe. He could barely blame her. It's been months since he killed Aerys and his father defeated Robert Baratheon, but Lyanna Stark had been promised to Robert. The wetnurse had been with the Lady Lyanna during her internment in Dorne, and perhaps fancied herself an ally of hers. Jaime couldn't imagine why she thought he'd hurt her, though, or the child.
"I am here to guard the princess," he tells the woman.
"Ser Barristan--he said he would be guarding her," she protested, still shielding Visenya.
"He will," Jaime says. "Tonight."
A soft gurgling noise sounds behind the woman, and Jaime's eyes follow the noise. Reluctantly, Wylla turns, and he sees the child. She's the striking image of her mother, Lyanna, and Ned Stark as well. Unlike Aegon and Rhaenys, when they see Jaime, she doesn't smile and lift her hands up to him, but regards him quietly, too serious for a babe her size. It reminds him of Tyrion as a child, quiet and still, trying to stay unnoticed. Perhaps all children who grew up without mothers were this way. Jaime takes his place near the door, watchful and bored and ashamed, all at once.
Visenya had only now been brought to court, seven months after her birth. She'd stayed in Dorne as long as Rhaegar had been able to keep her there, until Doran Martell had told him to get her out of his kingdom. The Dornish sun hadn't made the child any darker. In fact, against Wylla's darkened skin, the child looked pale as snow. Something about the child's grey eyes reminded Jaime of Rhaegar, but he decided it was Ned Stark he was reminded of.
"You may relax, my lady," Jaime tells the nurse, who still eyes the door as though she may try and leave. "I do not kill children."
"No," Wylla spits, "you don't. Not unless her majesty tells you to."
It's true that Elia had been less than pleased that Rhaegar had fathered a child on wild Lyanna Stark, and her anger when he told her the child would be brought to court had been a vicious thing. Jaime wishes he could find the words to tell this woman that it wasn't Visenya she was angry at, but Rhaegar. Elia would not have hurt this child, no matter how upset she was.
It's not my place to tell the smallfolk their queen's mind, he thinks.
Instead, he reassures the nurse, "Even if she told me to. Knights protect the innocent, after all."
The dowager Queen Rhaella comes to play with Visenya, dragging along the sulky princess and the smiling prince with her. It's rare that Rhaella leaves her chambers, even now, but she has taken to Visenya more warmly than anyone else in the castle. She is usually accompanied by her own daughter, Daenerys, but today it is just Visenya's older siblings. The two children ignore their half sister and play in the center of the room while Rhaella bounces Visenya on her knees, coos at the child, anything to make her smile. The smile comes eventually, when she dangles her dragon-embroidered kerchief in front of Visenya, and Jaime is startled to hear a laughing shriek from the otherwise quiet child as she reaches for it. Even Rhaenys and Aegon come over to see their little sister when she makes the joyous noise, unused to such a display from her.
"She's boring," Rhaenys says, when Visenya does not do anything else, just blinks confusedly up at her sister. "She doesn't do anything. Aegon always laughed when he was a baby."
Rhaenys huffs and turns to Jaime, "Ser Jaime," she says sweetly, "will you play with me and Egg?"
Jaime shakes his head, "I am sorry, princess. I cannot play until Ser Barristan relieves me of duty."
Rhaenys turns away from him. "You're boring now too," she says, in her high, sing-song voice. "Grandmother, can we go now?"
Rhaella, whose face had just begun to lose it's haunted emptiness, returns to it, "In a minute, dear."
She turns to Jaime as they leave, and squeezes his hand. It's improper for the former queen of Westeros, but Jaime is glad for the gesture. As well as being kind to Visenya, Rhaella has been kind to him as well, for what he's saved her from. "Good day, ser," she tells him.
Jaime wishes he could squeeze back, but with a rustle of her skirts, the dowager queen is gone, and only a scent of roses remains.
He regards Visenya as Ser Barristan stiffly informs him that he is relieved of his duties. Perhaps they have more in common than their dead mothers and Rhaella's kindness. The child is just as silent as he'd had to learn to be, when he was fifteen and named to the Kingsguard, and although she doesn't reach after him when he leaves like Rhaenys had when she was a child, her eyes follow him from the room. He hears her start to cry softly as he turns a corner, followed by Wylla's gentle, "Are you hungry, pet?" and suddenly, Jaime doesn't mind being put on duty with the youngest princess.
Visenya does not mind so much that Aegon was so unthinking as to not give her a gift for her thirteenth nameday. Instead, she giggles with her aunt Daenerys and plays dolls with Viserys's wife Margaery, and thanks Rhaenys sweetly for her gift of new riding gloves. Her grandmother had given her a fine new necklace, burnished gold inlaid with rubies and black opals, and her father had written her a song and played it out for her. Queen Elia had smiled softly at her and shown her the new harp she was commissioning for Visenya. Aegon had ignored her until the very end of the night, when he'd said, "Happy nameday, Visenya," and disappeared with his friend Loras to terrorize the kitchen maids in their quest for sweetmeats.
For Aegon's birthday, Visenya had gifted him a new bow, made in the Dothraki style. So far as she knows, he's never used it.
She is not disappointed, however. She does not have time to be, because after she leaves her father's solar, and retreats to her own room, Ser Jaime gives her the best gift of all; a letter he's smuggled into the keep from her uncle Eddard, her mother's elder brother.
"Oh, Ser Jaime!" she smiles at him, clutching the paper between her hands, "Thank you!"
His eyes sparkle as she grins down at her, "Do not thank me, Princess. My gift waits in the stables. It's a new horse, a proper one, not that pony you've been riding around."
Up until this year, Visenya had been the smallest of the royal children, and her father had not encouraged her to ride. It is only now that she's decided to learn, because in the previous letter her uncle had told her that her mother Lyanna had been a great horsewoman.
Visenya does not embrace Ser Jaime; that is not their way. Instead, she reaches into her petticoats and pulls out a handkerchief, one she's embroidered with a golden lion, just for him. "I made this for you," she says shyly. "I know that you miss your sister and brother, so I thought this would remind you of them."
His face does not change much, but she can see that the gift pleases him. "Thank you," he finally says. "Good night, Princess. Happy name day."
Visenya's name days, up until the previous year, had been great feasts. This year she had begged off, after Aegon had teased her, saying that it was a happy day indeed because this was the day she'd torn her way out of her mother and left Lyanna dying in childbed. He'd been stricken dumb after that statement, and Visenya knew he hadn't meant to be so cruel, but there was no way to take the words back and so they'd been left, bouncing about her brain.
A knock comes on her door just as Visenya slips into her nightgown. The knock is soft and demanding at once, and Visenya knows it's her father before she unbars the door and lets him in.
His eyes sparkle with mischief as he looks at all the books on her bed, "Ah," he says. "I should have known you would not plan on sleeping tonight. Did Lady Margaery give you these?"
"Yes," she tells him. "They are about Daeron the first, who conquered Dorne. The Young Dragon."
"I see," her father says. "But his conquest did not last long."
"No," she agrees. "But it is such a good story."
Her father's face is unreadable when he turns to look back at her. For a moment, she thinks that he knows of her uncle's letter to her, but he would not be so angry at that, would he?
"Visenya," he begins, in his serious voice. "You like stories, do you not?"
Confused, she nods.
"Do you know the story of the Prince who was Promised? I've sang you the song," he says.
"I'm sorry, father. I don't recall." She gets the feeling that the song is important to Father, but he shakes his head.
"It's all right. I haven't sang it since you were a child. Elia doesn't like it much." He stops, and takes a breath. "Do you want to see dragons again, my sweetling?"
Did she? Visenya had not ever recalled wanting to see dragons. Dragons were gone, after all. There was no use in wanting one if she could never have it.
"Yes," she told her father, because he seemed to want that answer.
He regards her. "Visenya," he says. "Do you know why I insisted you learn to wield a sword?"
"Because the first Visenya did?" she ventures.
"Aye," her father supplies. "Visenya did fight with a sword. Dark Sister. It was Valerian steel. What else do you know of the first Visenya?"
"Her dragon was Vhegar," Visenya says, warming up. "Her son Maegor had this keep built, and killed all the builders. She was the eldest of the siblings."
"What else?" he asks, and Visenya thinks. He seems to want a specific answer.
"She was married to her brother Aegon," she says finally. When she opens her mouth to continue, her father holds up a hand.
"She was," he agrees. Visenya stares at him. She had already known that. Why would he...?
Oh.
Panic rising in her throat, Visenya says, "No, no, please, father. I don't want to marry Aegon. He's my brother."
"Targaryens have married brother to sister for centuries," her father says, sternly. "You have known this since you were a girl."
"Marry Rhaenys to him!" she cries. "Rhaenys and Aegon get along better than Aegon and I do, you know that. Please, Father, Rhaenys--"
"--Will also be married to your brother," her father cuts in smoothly.
Visenya doesn't understand for a moment, and her mind scrambles to make sense of what her father is telling her. "You mean..." she tries, and she can feel tears choking her throat. "You mean..."
"It has been decided, Visenya," her father says, not unkindly. "He is the Prince that was Promised, and the dragon has three heads. You, Rhaenys and Aegon."
"I don't even know what that means!" she shouts at him, frustration and anger getting a hold of her. "Aegon doesn't even like me!"
Her father takes her into his arms, and the anger seeps out of her body. "Hush," he whispers. "Visenya, shhh, don't cry, sweetling." Visenya sobs into his doublet, shaking and cold even in this summer heat. It's all right, she tells herself. Her Father had been jesting. As long as he's holding her, she shall be all right. But then he says, "You will be all right.The first Aegon did not much like his Visenya, but they were married because it was their duty," he tells her, as if to reassure.
Visenya shoves him away. She's never shoved her father before. "No," she whimpers. "I will not, Father." She tries to be firm, but her voice shakes and she cannot see beyond the veil of tears.
"You will," he says simply, in a voice that leaves no room for argument. Then he leaves her, and Visenya sinks to her knees.
Half of King's Landing sees the royal princesses off on their journey to Dragonstone, her uncle Viserys's seat. Viserys himself hates the island, and spends all his time lavishing attention on his lovely young bride in King's Landing. Visenya had begged her father to allow Daenerys to come. Daenerys loved Visenya, no matter who her mother had been or how ill-begotten Visenya had been. Rhaegar had not allowed it.
"If Dany comes," he'd said, "you two will always play together, and leave Rhaenys to her own devices. I want you and Rhaenys to become friends, Visenya, not ignore one another."
"What does it matter?" she'd said bitterly. "You'll marry us to Aegon whether we like it or not."
Aegon is at the harbor to see them off, his eyes narrowed against the burning of the sun. He does not look particularly sad to see his sisters leaving to Dragonstone. He thinks Father will change his mind while Visenya and Rhaenys are off on Dragonstone. He does not think they will be married in two years time, when Visenya will be five and ten. Still, his farewell to Rhaenys is a warm embrace, and he even kisses Visenya's cheek swiftly, to appease their father.
Queen Elia can barely look at her daughter and husband, and instead tells them to behave, to not give Ser Jaime and Ser Arthur a difficult time.
Only Daenerys glares angrily at Rhaegar, and only Daenerys comes to hug Visenya. "I will write," she promises. "And visit next year. I will stow away on a trading galley if it means I get to come see you. And I will fight Rhaegar on this, I swear it."
Visenya nods, face numb. She knows it will do no good. No amount of tears had moved her father, and no amount of fighting would, either. She loves Daenerys for trying, though.
"You will become the greatest of friends while you are away," her father declares. "As close as true sisters. As close as the first Visenya and Rhaenys."
The first Visenya and Rhaenys had not much gotten along, but Rhaegar had always ignored what he didn't care to remember.
Rhaella bids farewell to her sons and good daughter, and then she escorts her granddaughters onto their ship.
Visenya does not allow herself to look back at her father. She would forgive him if she looked back.
Rhaenys stays on deck to wave to the smallfolk, a smile painted on her face. Visenya leaves her, and follows the captain down to the quarters they will be sharing. She'd protested that, but it would not be fitting for her to sleep in her Grandmother Rhaella's bunk instead, and this is a small ship, with only so many quarters befitting royal company. Soon enough, they will be out of sight of the shore, and Rhaenys will come down and they will both ignore one another until it is time to go to sleep. For now, Visenya stretches out on the pallet, and lets herself dream that it is not to Dragonstone she goes, but north, to White Harbor, where she will get on a horse and ride all day and night, til she reaches Winterfell. Her uncle would accept her with open arms, and she could even teach her little cousin Arya how to swordfight like uncle Eddard had said she wanted to.
It is a nice dream. Visenya is almost smiling when she falls asleep.
The voyage is not so long. Visenya spends most of her time with her grandmother and Ser Jaime, who is so kind and understanding that she weeps when he holds his arms open to her. It is not their way to embrace, but she falls into his arms, and cries and cries. He tells her, "If you were a child of mine--" but cuts off angrily, and just soothes her, smoothing her hair and rubbing her back. Rhaenys finds them this way, and Visenya turns away from her sister, embarrassed, and perhaps ashamed to be found like this.
Rhaenys just nods carefully and exits the room. She has spent her time aboard with one of the deckhands, called Edwyn, and the Captain's first officer, whose name Visenya has not cared to learn.
She and Rhaenys have not spoken about it yet.
Rhaella either ignores the fact that her granddaughters are miserable, or tries to. She chatters happily with Ser Jaime and Visenya.
"I've always loved Dragonstone," she confesses. "It's where I had Daenerys."
When they finally see Dragonstone, Visenya has to agree with her Grandmother--she's never seen anything quite like it. When they disembark, she feels the bite of the wind and her eyes cannot find any colors but gray and black and the green moss growing on the sides of the rocks, but she loves it anyway, and throws off her cloak to feel the air on her skin. Rhaenys is shivering, and snaps, "Oh, quit showing off," at her, but Visenya just laughs, and for the first time since their father has told them they are to marry Aegon, the sisters share a smile. It's uncertain on Rhaenys's part, but Visenya tries to make hers reassuring. She grabs at Rhaenys's hand. "We will be all right here, Rhaenys," she ventures. Her sister's smile fades.
"I-" she begins, her dark eyes watering. Suddenly, she is too far from Visenya, wrenching herself free and turning away. "Come on," she tells Ser Arthur, who eyes Visenya with something akin to pity. "I want to rest before supper."
Visenya feels as though she may cry herself, and she blinks up at the dragons carved into the keep, and tries to recount all the Starks since Torrhen Stark to keep the tears at bay. From behind her she hears a clomp clomp as Ser Jaime leads her horse, Blackfoot, down the ramp. "Princess?" he says, a question in his voice. Visenya smiles tightly at him. Without a word, she pulls herself ahorse, and digs her heels into his sides.
"Ya!" she yells, and then all she can feel is the wind in her hair.
There is a shout from behind her, but Visenya has left her troubles far behind, and the air bites at her face and drags the folds of her gown behind her, but she does not care. She's been practicing her riding, and she wants her father to be shocked when she returns. She wants to show him she is her mother's daughter, and will not be cowed.
It's also in moments like these that Visenya fancies she can fly away from her problems.
Dragonstone is not a big island. Visenya thinks she can ride around it all in one day. She can be back in the morning. It will be worth the reprimands, if only to have one day of freedom before she has to face Rhaenys's silence again.
But it is not to be. She can hear a horse being urged behind her, and when she turns in her saddle to look, the wind whips in her hair and obscures her view. It's Ser Jaime, though. She knows that voice. And she knows that he will catch her. Blackfoot may be fast, but he's still too unpracticed, too young to outrun Jaime's horse.
"Princess," her knight pants, when he finally catches up to her. She is breathing hard as well. "Do you honestly want to be stuck on the stony shore of Dragonstone at night? Especially on a horse? You could stumble into a rock and fall to your death."
"I know," Visenya says bitterly, once she has caught the breath the wind had stolen from her. "That would be such a pity, would it not?"
Jaime's eye's, when she meets them, are full of pain for her. "Aye," he says. "It would be. Come on, Princess. Let us go back to the keep. We shall have a lesson before supper, and then you can tell me all about the conquest of Dorne again." She shakes her head, so Ser Jaime takes a breath. "I can tell you about Harrenhall," he offers.
Without a word, Visenya wheels Blackfoot around and sets off towards the castle.
The next morning, Visenya rises with the sun, and sets off to explore the castle that is now her home. She briefly debates inviting Rhaenys along, but decides against it; her sister can do her own exploring. The castle is dark and damp and dimly lit, but Visenya finds her way around it, stopping in the Chamber of the Painted Table for a long while to marvel at the map of Westeros. It is then that Visenya realizes for the first time that she, along with Rhaenys, will be queen of the Seven Kingdoms, and that one day she will help Aegon rule from the Wall to the southernmost tip of Dorne. It is a scary thought, that so much will rest in her hands.
Her days take on a sort of routine: Visenya has always been an early riser, so she wakes before most in the castle to practice at swords and the lance with Ser Jaime, and occasionally with Ser Arthur when Ser Jaime is still asleep. She's been getting better at "the art of war", as her father has called it, and her body takes on a lean hardness that she'd been unable to achieve in King's Landing with the rich fare she'd eaten every night, with all the sweet cakes she wanted. Visenya has been swinging a sword since she was four, whether it be wood or live steel, and at three and ten, she fancies she would be able to beat Aegon in a fair match. Her brother has dutifully accompanied their father to the practice yard every morning, but Aegon has no passion for swordfighting, not like Visenya does. He prefers to ride in tourneys, and he is a better lance than she.
Afterwards, Visenya breaks her fast with her grandmother and her sister, as well as Septa Hia, who'd accompanied them from King's Landing. For the next few hours, her day belongs to the women of her world, and Visenya practices her needlework, her singing, and occasionally prays in the small sept. It's after the noon meal that she is free once more, and runs out of the castle to find Blackfoot, to ride on the stony shores and amuse herself in the tall grass fields, where she is alone, and hidden.
At night, she returns to her room, escorted by Ser Jaime or Ser Arthur, and practices the harp that Queen Elia had made for her nameday. Often, she falls asleep with it in her hands.
It is not so hard between Visenya and her sister, mostly because they never spend much time together. Visenya has no idea what Rhaenys does in her free time on Dragonstone, but she often shows up to the evening meal tired, shuffling her feet and staying quiet, leaving the conversation to Rhaella and Septa Hia. One time, Rhaenys accompanied her on a ride across the beaches, but it was too difficult to steer her horse carefully among the rocks, and she turned back before Visenya.
In fact, their first real interaction happens when Visenya wakes up to a bloody bed.
Visenya is so shocked that she does not go to her morning lessons, and when Ser Jaime comes to find her, she stutters, "Rhaenys- I need my sister. Please."
Rhaenys takes one look at the sheets, and orders Ser Jaime from the room.
"It's just your moon blood," she tells Visenya. "Nothing to be so worried about, little sister." Her voice takes on a teasing lilt. "When I bled, Mother threw me a small party in the Maidenvault. Only girls who had flowered. I felt so grown up."
Visenya stares at her sister. She is gripping the fabric under her fingers so hard that her knuckles ache. "I knew this would happen," she says, "but not so soon. I'm too small. I thought I would be taller when it happened, or look more like a woman."
Rhaenys giggles, and the noise is so out of place that Visenya feels the knot of tension in her back loosening. "Silly, silly," her sister says. "It's now that you'll begin looking like a woman. We shall send to father, and ask him to allow a seamstress to attend you. All new things for you, new gowns, new smallclothes. You're practically ready to be married now."
Her sister doesn't seem to realize what she's said, so Visenya just looks away. There's an unexpected anger in her chest, and she pushes it down. "What if I don't want to wear dresses, or look like a woman? Or be married?" she mutters. "I like the way I am now. If I'm married, I'll have to have babies. I'd have to stop learning to fight while I'm pregnant, I'll bet."
Rhaenys, to her surprise, doesn't get upset. She simply pats Visenya on the hand and squeezes. "We don't always get what we want, little sister," she whispers, then stands to leave. "We all learn that sooner or later."
True to her sister's words, Visenya's body starts to change soon after, and her moods follow. Suddenly, Visenya feels a cloud over her head, and the world around her seems darker than usual, angrier. When the seamstress does come, Visenya refuses any dresses; instead, she tells the woman to sew her a wardrobe of breeches and tunics and boots easy to move around in. The woman is so scandalized that Visenya finally relents and is measured for a gown as well, one she ignores once it is finished in favor of the soft pants and linen shirts. The first day she wears them down to break her fast, she takes a knife to her hair as well, watches the tendrils float down to the ground and land in a pile. Septa Hia is scandalized, and clutches her chest, and even Rhaenys's nose scrunches up in distaste. Rhaella, however, laughs, a sweet sound that Visenya's heart lightens at, and tells her she is, in fact, Visenya come again.
That's what Father wants, she thinks hotly, that's what he'll get.
That evening, without her father's permission or consulting anyone, Visenya sits down and pens a note to Stannis Baratheon, the lord of Storm's End, the closest kingdom to Dragonstone, requesting that he bring his daughter Shireen to Dragonstone to be a companion to the princesses, and any other ladies their age in his household. They arrive within a fortnight, and although Shireen and her cousin Derya are younger than them, Rhaenys takes a special shine to the girls, and at least now is not always alone.
"Play a song for me," Rhaenys demands one night, shortly after Visenya's fourteenth nameday. There is a glass of wine dangling from her fingers, and she doesn't take her eyes off the fire. She'd come an hour ago to Visenya's chambers, and refused to leave. Since the Baratheon's departure, Rhaenys has seeked out Visenya more than normal, and Visenya was starting to get tired of it.
"Why?" Visenya scoffs, and flicks her sister's hands away from the harp. "You don't like it when I sing."
"That's not true," Rhaenys insists, her words slurring together. "You haven't sang for me in years."
"Because you and Aegon told me I sounded like a dying frog," Visenya reminds her. "And that my fingers were butchering the harp."
"Play for me," Rhaenys repeats. "I'm bored. Play something beautiful."
Visenya sighs, and reaches for the silver harp besides her. The first note she plays is wrong, and she frowns at the harp, fingers already adjusting the strings, retuning it. "Have you heard the song of Brave Danny Flint?" she asks, and already her hands are positioned above the notes.
"No. Sing it for me."
"It's a Northern song," Visenya warns. But then she stops thinking about her sister, and begins to play.
The music washes over her, and there's nothing that Visenya can lose herself in like music. Her father had insisted she learn to fight, but that had never taken away from Visenya's enjoyment of womanly arts, like music and needlepoint. She does not really play for anyone but herself and Ser Jaime, but there's something relaxing in the thought that she can create these sounds. The song she's chosen is sad and slow, but it is beautiful, and she loves nothing so much as a beautiful song hanging in the air.
When she is finished playing, there is an odd look in Rhaenys's face. "That was sad," she finally says. "Why are you always so sad? Can't you ever be happy, for even one moment?"
"I am happy plenty," Visenya argues, softly. The notes are still echoing in her head, and she does not wish to disturb them. "When I'm riding, when I'm fighting-"
"When you're alone, then. Why aren't you ever happy with me? Or Aegon?"
Rhaenys's hand has tightened around the cup, and Visenya snaps, "Oh, sorry, dearest sister. Did I not congratulate you well enough on our upcoming nuptials? While I'm at it, shall we make a schedule and present it to Aegon when we return to the capital? 'Oh here, brother, we've decided that we're so happy to marry you, and we've drawn out the nights you may visit us!' What have I to be so happy about, I ask you?"
"You don't like it?" Rhaenys snarls, suddenly alert. "Then leave, Visenya. No one is keeping you here. Run away to the North, be with your mother's family, like you always want to be. Run away!"
"And be called a coward?" Visenya asks hotly. "I shall tell you now, Rhaenys, since you do not seem to want to know me enough to find this out yourself; I am not a craven, and I will not shrink away from my duty, no matter how painful it is to me, no matter how little I want this. I am no oathbreaker, and I've given a holy oath in front of the old gods and the new when we were betrothed to Aegon. You may hate me for it, but I'm not going anywhere."
"You're acting like you don't have a choice," Rhaenys shoots back, and Visenya laughs in her face.
"I don't," she says. "Don't you think I begged Father? I did, and he would not listen. We are slaves, Rhaenys. Women are always slaves. First we are slaves to Father, and soon we will be slaves to Aegon, and when we die we are slaves to the gods. We don't have choices, not when it comes to this."
There is silence in the room, and Visenya does not dare look at Rhaenys. She feels something cold in her chest, something painful and intense at the words she's let, for the first time, escape, and knows that it is true. Finally, her sister breaks the silence.
"I don't hate you," Rhaenys protests, voice small. "I just never know what to do with you."
"Why do you have to do anything?" Visenya asks, and there are tears in her throat. "Just leave me be."
There's a clink from Visenya's side, and when she turns, she sees Rhaenys placing her cup on the small table between them. Suddenly, her sister is standing over her, and for a moment, Visenya is scared. She cannot say where the fear comes from, but it is there, until Rhaenys leans down and Visenya is faced with the strange feeling of another pair of lips on hers.
Rhaenys clambers onto Visenya's lap, hands fisted in her short hair. Before Visenya cut it all off, she could not have known that they would become wild curls when short, and when her sister pulls at the strands hard, Visenya's scalp burns. She does not know what to do with her hands or with her mouth, and the kiss must not be very good, because Rhaenys makes a disappointed noise before she bites at Visenya's lip.
"Stop just sitting there," Rhaenys hisses, and ducks her head down again. This time, Visenya puts her hands on Rhaenys's hips, tentatively, and hopes that was the right thing to do. There is a gasp from her sister when Visenya tries to copy her motions, her mouth still moving a half-beat behind, but then Rhaenys moans, and the sound echos through the chamber.
Visenya is so confused that she nearly stops. This is not what they do, her mind protests. She and Rhaenys ignore one another, they fight at their worst and they offer little comforts at their best. They do not kiss, they do not moan or pull each other's hair. The kiss is too new, and Visenya is too wrapped up in her own mind to enjoy it, but she is suddenly aware that this is the first time someone has put their mouth on hers, and that someone is her sister.
Rhaenys's hips are moving against Visenya's and she breaks the kiss with a frustrated noise. "Gods," she says. "Gods, Visenya..."
"What are you doing?" Visenya asks, her voice hoarse. "Rhaenys, you don't- we don't even get along half the time. Why did you kiss me?"
"Don't ruin it," Rhaenys says, and kisses her again. This time, her tongue parts Visenya's lips. "Gods, just shut up."
She's lonely, Visenya realizes. Her sister has been so lonely that this is better than being alone for one more moment.
Rhaenys shudders against Visenya a minute later, and Visenya realizes that she's trying to undo the laces of her tunic. Carefully, she pushes Rhaenys's hands away.
"I could make it good," Rhaenys tells her desperately. "Visenya, please."
"No," she says, and her mouth is dry. "We're to marry Aegon, Rhaenys. Not each other."
Rhaenys gives an anguished laugh, "Oh, you know nothing, Visenya. Do you think he honors us as we do him? Do you think he's not out there dipping his candle into all the maidens of Westeros? What's one secret between sisters?"
Visenya takes her sister's hand away from her breast, which she'd been squeezing too hard. "A secret is a lot," she says. "One secret becomes two, two becomes three and one hundred more follow. I don't want these kinds of secrets between us."
Rhaenys bursts into tears.
When they come back to King's Landing, their brother and father await them in the court. They are announced officially, and Visenya can see people looking disdainfully at her leather breeches and her shorn curls and the sword hanging from her belt, but her father's eyes seem to approve. Aegon embraces both his sisters, and it seems a bit stiff to Visenya, but she hadn't bothered writing him from Dragonstone like Rhaenys had, so she doesn't much care.
Daenerys, however, had written the most, and even visited for the turn of a moon. It is Daenerys's hug that Visenya returns, a smile breaking out over her face.
"There is to be a tourney in the next three moons," her father announces to the court, "to celebrate the wedding of my children! The wedding will be held the day after, and it will be a celebration fit for the next king and queens of Westeros!"
The first thing Visenya does when with her father is demand that the Starks be invited to her wedding.
"They are my kin," she tells him. "You're inviting the Dornishmen, are you not? For Aegon and Rhaenys. I want my uncle Eddard and his children to come to my wedding."
Aegon scoffs at Visenya's tone, "Lord Stark is a traitor," he reminds her. "Father would never allow him to journey here."
"He's been pardoned," Visenya shoots back. "And I won't get married without the Starks here, Father."
"I won't allow it," Rhaegar tells her. "But his children may come. It's time you met your cousins. You must foster good relationships between us and the North."
Visenya resists the urge to stick her tongue out at Aegon. It's unladylike, and too sisterly. She's determined not to act like a little sister to him. That will just make what they have to do harder.
Robb, Sansa, Bran and Arya Stark travel South with the Northern party, accompanied by their mother, and Visenya is the first one to greet them on the Kingsroad, racing towards them the moment she sees the direwolf flag on the horizon. Blackfoot easily outpaces all her guards horses except for Ser Jaime's, and when she kicks up in front of the Starks, it is only with Ser Jaime behind her for protection. It is worth seeing her cousin's face, though, at their wild royal cousin making a fool of the red cloaks.
"Princess Visenya?" The eldest one says, a boy about her age with red hair and wide blue eyes.
"You're Robb Stark," she says, the glee in her chest unexpectedly making its way into her voice. "I've been waiting to meet you," she grins.
His eyes seem to travel down, taking in her attire and how she rides the horse like a man, and he grins back. "Arya's going to love you," he says, grinning back just as stupidly. "I'm so happy to meet you. Finally," he adds. Then, his face sobers up. "My father wishes he could have come," he tells her, just as his sisters finally trip out of the wheelhouse and run over to meet her as well.
They all have direwolves, and the creatures fascinate her to no end. In fact, Visenya spends all her free time with her cousins, shirking all her wedding duties except for one trip to the smith, and a final dress fitting, but even then she takes Arya with her, both of them dressed as boys. She's never had this much in common with anyone, and she's never felt so special as when she is around Robb and Bran and Arya, and even Sansa sometimes, even though she's not the refined princess her cousin had expected. Aegon is much more like the prince of a song, but to Visenya's surprise, Sansa does not much like him.
"He isn't very courteous to you," Sansa explains to Visenya. "I shall only warm to him once he pays as much attention to you as he does your sister."
It's the first time in her life, Visenya realizes, that people her age like her more than her siblings. It's a warm feeling, one that makes Visenya tear up at night, when Arya and Sansa sleep besides her, but they are good tears. Happy tears.
The day before the wedding tourney, Visenya sneaks out of the Red Keep alone, back to the smith's. She corners his apprentice, Gendry, and waves a bag of coins under his nose.
"My armor?" she prods.
The smith's apprentice frowns down at her and says, "You won't be able to carry it back to the keep alone."
"I've got a horse and wagon," she reassures him.
The boy shrugs and takes her money.
She'd decided to participate in the tourney as a mystery knight the moment her father had spoken of it. Her shield she's painted herself, a red background with the face of a snarling white wolf on it. Visenya's always been better with a sword, and entertains the idea of entering in the melees, but people would definitely see her face then, and her father would force her off the field. Visenya wants to be anonymous, at least in the beginning. She wants to win.
But just because she want to doesn't mean Visenya actually believes she will win. That night, at the feast, Aegon asks Rhaenys for her favor, and it does sting, a little, that he'd not even considered asking Visenya. Rhaenys actually shoots her a sorry look, after she's given it. She shakes her head and decides that she doesn't care, however, and secretly asks Arya for her favor. It's a sorry piece of embroidery, and even though Arya had said it was a wolf, it looks more like a lump of dung, but Visenya doesn't mind. Her cousin has other strengths.
In the morning, she dons her armor, with Sansa's giggly help and Arya's excited intensity, Robb and Bran standing guard outside her tent. The armor is padded underneath, both so she can fill it out and look like a man, and also because it will soften the blows of her opponents lances. Then, she mounts Blackfoot, who she's painted a white stripe on his snout as a disguise, and makes her way to the field.
Her first passes are against Ser Barristan's squire Rollam and Lancel Lannister. She wins both easily, and their lances barely touch her. By the end of the third round, against Ser Beric Dondarrion, where he hits her once before she unseats him, the crowds have nicknamed her "The White Wolf", and the royal family is sitting straighter in their seats whenever she passes. Her absence is explained by Robb and Daenerys, who tell Aegon and Rhaenys that she has gotten her moon blood early. By then, Aegon has already unhorsed Ser Garlan Tyrell and a Dayne boy, and Sandor Clegane.
"That's our dear sister," Aegon says, loud enough for Visenya to hear. "A delicate Northern beauty." His voice is mocking, and Rhaenys shushes him.
When Visenya goes up against Ser Barristan, it is her first time against a member of the Kingsguard during the tourney. She's jousted against him as a younger girl, with practice lances and padded armor, and knows the he always aims for the center of his opponent's weight. So she shifts forward when they meet, and the lance slides off her breastplate. Her lance shatters against his armor, and a squire tosses her another. The crowd is roaring, but Visenya's focus is directed on her opponent, and in that moment, nothing else matters; not the wedding, not her brother, not the fact that her uncle was not allowed to see her married. All that matters is the twenty yards in front of her.
When the dust settles, Ser Barristan is blinking up at her from the ground.
Aegon wins his tilt against Ser Gerold Hightower; Visenya wins against Ser Jonothor Darry. Aegon unhorses Ser Arthur Dayne after three hard passes; Visenya does the same to Ser Loras Tyrell. Aegon beats Thoros of Myr; Visenya narrowly unhorses Ser Jaime, who she's sure has figured out who she is.
Finally, it is the prince against the white wolf.
A glance at the Starks tells her that they never thought she'd get this far. Robb's face is white, and Bran and Arya look so excited that they're falling out of their seats. Sansa's eyes are wide and her hands are at her throat, clenching the rose Ser Loras had thrown to her earlier.
Daenerys is grinning at Visenya from the royal seats. She waves her hand in the air and yells "Targaryen!" and Visenya smiles grimly underneath her visor.
She may not win. In fact, Visenya doesn't recall ever winning in a joust against Aegon. But she's going to win, or end up on her arse. There is no other way for this to end.
She salutes the king, and then slides her lance into position.
When her brother's lance shatters against her breastplate, Visenya reels around, and Blackfoot almost throws her, but she narrowly stays in her seat. She's tired, and Blackfoot is exhausted too, she can feel it. The paint on her shield is chipping around the wolf's eyes, and the red underneath is starting to show. With the second pass, Visenya plants her feet firmly in the stirrups and leans to the left, and there is an explosion of wood chips, but still Aegon is upright. Gritting her teeth, Visenya tightens Arya's favor around her arm, sends a prayer up to the old gods of the North. Her mother's gods.
As she turns her horse around, she sees her father's face, frozen among the crowd. He looks shocked, and Visenya knows he's figured out her game as well.
It's the last tilt. No matter what, this is the last tilt, Visenya tells herself. Her shoulder aches.
Blackfoot charges quickly, but everything moves slowly for Visenya. When her lance strikes Aegon's shield, she lets out a yell.
She's still yelling when he hits the ground.
The entire crowd is silent for a space of two heartbeats before they're all on their feet, cheering. Visenya can hardly breathe, but she gets down off her horse to help Aegon up. He looks dazed, his eyes unfocused. Visenya nods at him, climbs back atop Blackfoot, and then someone is there, handing her a crown of white roses.
When Visenya tosses the helmet off her head and onto the ground, silence is shocked back into the world.
Names start running through her head. Rhaenys is the first, but it would start too many rumors if she crowns her sister Queen of Love and Beauty. She briefly considers Arya and Sansa, but a Targaryen crowning a Stark would bode ill, so she tosses that notion. Jaime Lannister would be funny, but again, politics forbids it. By the time she sets her horse for a trot to the royal seats, she's narrowed it down to two names. Daenerys is her aunt and her best friend in the world, but Dany had been crowned by Ser Barristan in the last tourney, and Visenya doesn't want to make this a repeat performance.
Her mind is made up in the few seconds it takes to stop before her grandmother.
"Rhaella Targaryen," she says, and her voice is loud, if a bit hoarse. "I name you Queen of Love and Beauty."
When her grandmother steps up, tears in her eyes, Visenya knows she's made the right choice. Aerys had never crowned her, and Rhaella was too great a woman to not be recognized.
The crowd is still on its feet, whispering, when Visenya rides back to the gates of King's Landing.
Robb Stark walks her to her husband. Oberyn Martell walks Rhaenys, and they both wear the cloaks of their mother's houses. It would be awkward, Rhaegar had reasoned, for the girls to have Targaryen cloaks taken off to be replaced with more Targaryen cloaks. Catelyn Tully had sewn this direwolf cloak for Visenya, for which she was glad; there was no time for her to sew one during all the madness.
Aegon is tall and silver underneath the stained glass window of the sept. His violet eyes move uncomfortably between Rhaenys and Visenya, and she can see the nerves make their way into his expression, no matter how he fights to keep calm.
The thing that Visenya remembers most about her wedding is Rhaenys's hand squeezing hers, and the smell of incense. She does not remember Aegon's short kiss or the words she says, or the angry look Queen Elia sends her father. She kneels down a Targaryen and rises a Targaryen, but in those moments, everything has changed.
Her father presents her and her siblings with four petrified dragon eggs at the wedding feast. "The ages have turned them to stone," he declares, "but they are beautiful to look upon."
Visenya has little use for beautiful things. Instead of admiring the eggs like Daenerys does, she dances with her cousins, eats too little. When the bedding is announced, watches as the majority of men clamor around Rhaenys, while fewer remain to undress her. It's alright. Aegon is not going to be bedding her tonight. The honor this night is Rhaenys's. She's seen the way Aegon looks at their sister.
She is deposited in her chambers in her smallclothes, and through the heavy oaken door she can still here the merriment and the calls of the bedding. She hopes Rhaenys is not in too much pain.
She is sleeping when the door creaks open, and Aegon comes in, eyes dark. She lifts her head sleepily.
"Aegon?" she asks. "What are you doing here?"
He laughs bitterly. "Haven't you heard, Visenya? It's our wedding night."
Visenya struggles to untangle herself from the furs she's piles atop herself. "You're to bed Rhaenys tonight," she says, much more alert now. "Why are you here?"
"I have just come from Rhaenys's room," he says, and sits on the edge of Visenya's bed. She does not want him to sit. She wants him to leave. "Father..." he begins, then tries again. "I am to bed you both tonight. By Father's wishes."
Visenya cannot believe her ears. "And if Father told you to cut off your cock," she hisses, "would you do that too? If he wished it?"
"Visenya..."
She shoves the covers off, "Come on, then," she taunts him, "do as Father wishes."
Aegon clenches his jaw. "I do not want to make this difficult, Visenya. I don't know why you seem to take pleasure in goading me."
Visenya doesn't answer, but quenches her embarrassment and pulls up her nightshift. Aegon's eyes turn away, face red.
"Go on," she says, and she has to force the words out. "Do your duty, Aegon."
She shuts her eyes and lays back against the bed. She does not open them until he is finished.
When the pox that has spread through King's Landing takes their uncle Viserys, the only people who seem unhappy are his siblings and mother. Rhaegar, Rhaella and Daenerys lock themselves into a room while they cry for Viserys, and his wife Lady Margaery seems tired, but not overly distraught. Visenya herself is relieved. He'd always been cruel to her. Visenya secretly thinks it is a blessing, because Viserys was going to be mad, everyone thought so.
They gather at the Sept of Baelor quietly, only close family, for the burning of his body. Aegon has his arm around Rhaenys, who stares grimly into the flames. Rhaegar soothes a weeping Rhaella, and Daenerys is in hysterics, and clutches at Visenya. "Only death can pay for life," she tells her niece, but Visenya has no idea what she means. It is not until the pyre is lit that Dany darts away from Visenya, and comes back with an armful of the eggs Rhaegar had given for his children's wedding.
Aegon and Rhaenys had cooed over those eggs, but left it at that. Daenerys had seemed to obsess over them, to keep them near the hearth in her bedchambers, to hold each in turn when she was sad, as if they comforted her.
"Dany!" Visenya shouts, drawing her father and Aegon's attentions. Daenerys pays no mind, and walks slowly towards the fire. "Dany, stop!"
There is a great crack when Dany steps into the fire, and Visenya drops to her knees, unable to take her eyes from the flames. No, she thinks. No no no no NO.
But then the fire roars and when the flames die, Daenerys steps out naked, her clothes burnt away. There are things wrapped around her, and Visenya realizes, too late, what they are. That day, there are four small dragons born into this world.
Rhaegar insists that his children name their dragons after Balerion, Vhegar and Meraxes, but Visenya refuses first, so Aegon and Rhaenys follow her example. Visenya likes the white dragon most, so she names it Ghost. The name fits, because Ghost is the smallest of the dragons, but the quietest, and one day, Visenya hopes, the most deadly of them all. Rhaenys names the golden one Viserion after Viserys, an honor Visenya thinks is wasted on his charred bones. Aegon names the red one Thorn.
Which leaves one.
Visenya can see the excitement in her father's face as he watches the black dragon. He wants it, she knows. He wants it to choose him, so he can help with the stupid prophesy that his children do not seem to care much for. But Visenya thinks she knows who that dragon belongs to already, and when it curls around Daenerys's shoulders, her aunt holds it fiercely.
"Drogon," Daenerys declares. "For the dragons who have come again."
Visenya is not the only one who sees the disappointment and envy in Rhaegar's face. But then he clears his throat, and says, "We must get them out of the city while they grow. It is too dangerous, and dragons grow better out of captivity. I believe the four of you should return to Dragonstone, at least until they are large enough to ride."
Back to Dragonstone, Visenya muses. Aegon will hate it there, even though with Viserys dead he is now Prince of Dragonstone. Visenya doesn't mind, much. She's been longing for the freedom afforded to her there, the freedom to ride and fight and stay away from this court. And this time, her father cannot tell her who she can and cannot invite along with her. Perhaps she would extend an invitation to Arya, or to Shireen again. And Daenerys would accompany them this time.
Quite cheered by these thoughts, Visenya turns to Ser Jaime when he is escorting her back to the royal suite. "It won't be so bad," she tells him, holding Ghost to her chest. "I've a dragon to protect me now." She grins at him.
Ser Jaime smiles back at her fondly. "That you do, Princess. Soon, that one will be doing my job for me."
Rhaella and Septa Hia do not accompany them this time, but Maester Harrold from the Citadel, who has studied dragon lore, and Tyrion Lannister, who wheedles his way onto the ship, claiming that he's read all about "dragon rearing" and believes he can be of great help. Ser Jaime laughs, and it is years off his face.
"My brother," he exclaims, "when did you become an expert?"
But no one can dim the gleam in Tyrion's eyes when he takes in Ghost and Thorn, stretching their wings over the water, flying in circles. Or how close he and Daenerys have become, so close that Drogon allows him to pet her.
While they're on the boat, a day out from Dragonstone, Rhaenys comes into Visenya's cabin. She lets Viserion and Ghost play in the corner of the cabin and approaches Visenya.
"Viserion was scaring the crewmen," Rhaenys explains, as she climbs into the pallet with Visenya. She curls around her and lays her head on Visenya's shoulder, reaches her hand to card her fingers through Visenya's hair.
"You have a husband," Visenya jokes. Rhaenys laughs, and the sound rumbles through Visenya's chest.
"So do you," she says, and lifts her head to kiss her.
Kissing Rhaenys is still not comfortable to Visenya. Her sister is too rough with her, too demanding. Visenya's not sure why she allows it, if she gets nothing from it. Truthfully, she does not allow anything more than kissing and Rhaenys's feverish groping. That, at least, elicits a reaction from Visenya's body, and it is not too comfortable for her to admit it.
This time, Rhaenys unlaces Visenya's shirt quickly, and kisses her way down to her breast before Visenya groans and shakes her head.
"Not here, Rhaenys. We're on a boat, and Aegon's cabin is right next to mine. Why don't you go to him?"
Rhaenys raises her head, and her eyes appraise Visenya, half naked in front of her. "Because, dear sister," she drawls, "sometimes, I don't just want Aegon. Sometimes I want you as well."
"Greedy," Visenya gasps, when Rhaenys takes a nipple into her mouth. "The first Aegon was greedy as well. He had only to marry Visenya, you know. But he wanted both sisters."
Rhaenys laughs quietly. "Aye," she says. "So I am greedy as well, am I?"
Visenya nods, her eyes shut. She cannot look at what Rhaenys does to her.
She is surprised, then, when Rhaenys closes her shirt and laces it up. Visenya can feel her sister's lips on hers, light as a feather.
"Just hold me?" Rhaenys asks. She snuggles into Visenya's side before she can answer.
Visenya wonders if Aegon knows that Rhaenys seeks her out this way. Aegon has only ever visited her bedchambers three times in the three moons of their marriage, but she knows that he's in Rhaenys's room all those other nights. Ever since their wedding night, when she'd cried out from the pain and refused his apologetic kisses and words, Aegon has been unbearably kind to her, but it is guilt that makes him kind, not love. She thinks he might care, though, if he knew that Rhaenys has stolen into her room to kiss her desperately while he slept. Visenya remembers the time on Dragonstone when she'd told her sister she didn't want these kinds of secrets. Rhaenys had cried, and would only stop if Visenya kissed her again. She'd expected that once they went back to the Red Keep, these visits would stop. But they don't, and Rhaenys stays in Visenya's cabin all night.
When they reach Dragonstone, Aegon wrinkles his nose and elbows Visenya, "Is it always this dreary?" he asks. "Why does it seem that the moment we've come onto this wretched island, the sun has hidden away?"
Visenya stares at Aegon quizzically. He doesn't seem to realize he's willingly touched her. "Yes it is always dreary," she replies, "but I like it anyway." She turns to Ser Jaime, "It's early yet, Ser. Would you join me for a ride? I want Ghost to stretch his wings."
"Surely, Princess Visenya," he says. "I will get the horses."
And he goes, leaving Visenya alone with her brother on the shore. Daenerys and Rhaenys are already picking their way to the castle, Drogon and Viserion circling above them.
"Visenya-" Aegon begins, then stops. He clears his throat. "May I join you? For that ride? I want to see the island. And perhaps Thorn will enjoy exploring it as well."
She regards her brother. He looks like he wants to take the words back, but Visenya sees a nervousness in his eyes. "Did Rhaenys put you up to this?" she asks. "Because I don't need you to be nice to me, Aegon. If you want to claim your rights, I will not stop you."
"Gods!" he exclaims, "Can I not want to go for a ride with you without you making it about our blasted marriage?" He glowers at her, "Visenya, not everything is about you!"
After his outburst, Visenya expects Aegon to go after Rhaenys and Dany into the castle, but he refuses to leave, and calls for his horse to be saddled. Ser Jaime stares in disbelief when Aegon swings onto his saddle and stares pointedly at them.
"Well?" he says, "Where shall we ride?"
Visenya glares at him. Why must he ruin everything? "The shores," she tells him. "It's quite rocky and treacherous," she warns, "so take care where your horse places his feet."
Aegon nods down at her, and for a moment, with his hair streaming in the breeze coming off the ocean, Visenya sees how kingly he looks, in his black and red finery and his fiery lilac eyes. It is only for a moment, however, and he is just Aegon again once more, spoiled and hateful and arrogant, waiting for her to mount beside him.
"Last time we were on these horses," Visenya tells him, "I knocked you straight on your arse."
A choked laugh sounds behind her, and she doesn't have to look at Ser Jaime to know that he's struggling to hold it in.
"Aye," he says, eyes gleaming. "If I'd have known it was you, I'd have known to aim differently, you know. You won by trickery."
"I still won," she retorts, and digs her heels into Blackfoot's sides. "That's more than you did."
She shoots out ahead, and gods, she's missed this. In King's Landing there's nowhere she can ride this way. It's as magical as the first time she let loose on Blackfoot.
Ghost screeches above her.
The dragons grow quickly, and by the end of the first moon, they are the size of the hounds that had been kept in the Red Keep. Visenya is determined that her dragon should grow bigger than her cousin's direwolf Grey Wind by the end of the second month, and so she feeds him burnt chickens. There are no sheep or cows on Dragonstone, so Rhaegar sends them with the next boat, and soon the dragons have eaten them all. Visenya spots Ghost on the horizon one time, swooping into the sea and pulling out a fish larger than any she's seen before. He lands a few feet from where she sits on a rock and breathes fire, burning the fish, and then tearing into it madly.
Daenerys and Drogon have the strongest bond among the dragons and their riders, and Dany seems to have no fear of her great black beast, already the biggest of the four. Tyrion thinks that he will be the first to accept a rider, just because he is the largest and strongest of them all. Visenya grins at her own Dragon. Drogon may be the strongest, but Ghost is the swiftest, and quieter than the rest. When he flies at night, no one can see where he's gone.
The four of them have fallen into some sort of peace, it seems. Rhaenys and Aegon are wrapped up in one another nearly all the time, and Dany keeps Visenya company. Sometimes she takes out her harp and plays for them all; it is then that Aegon's eyes soften to her most, and he looks almost longing after she plays. One time, Ser Jaime remarks on it to her afterwards.
"You have a silver tongue, Princess," he says, watching Aegon and Rhaenys leave the hall together. "It seems you may melt even the hardest of hearts when you play your harp."
Tyrion laughs, startling Visenya. He'd been too drunk to move before. "If that's your way of telling her that her brother wants into her cunt, Jaime, you could choose better words."
Visenya scoffs, "You know nothing. Aegon wants Rhaenys. He just feels sorry for me."
"Why would he?" Tyrion asks. "You look quite happy here."
"I am," Visenya confesses, and it comes as a shock to her that the words are true. "Dragonstone has always made me happy." She clears her throat. "But he is sorry for me because he hurt me on our wedding."
Jaime looks murderous, but says nothing. He'd been the one to see her wincing the next day, unable to get out of bed for hours, begging him to stay besides her and tell her about her mother.
Tyrion nods. "Ah," he says. "The wedding night is often painful, I am told." He laughs bitterly, "But what would I know of that? I've never been married."
There's pain in his voice, so Visenya excuses herself, and goes to sleep.
She and Aegon seem to have come to an understanding. They spar together now, and sometimes he rides with her, but things will never be easy between them like they are between him and Rhaenys. They seem to get along quite well, if the noises coming from Rhaenys's chambers make any difference. One day, Rhaenys has a mark on her throat so purple it matches her eyes, and the next day Aegon has finger shaped bruises on his hips when they spar. Rhaenys shoots Visenya a filthy look as she licks her lips, but Visenya just looks away.
They don't mention it. That seems for the best.
It is nearly a year into their self-imposed exile that Rhaenys announces that she will be making a trip to Dorne to see her uncles Doran and Oberyn. Rhaenys, out of all of them, has the most trouble staying in one place. She leaves by ship, and takes Daenerys with her, to meet with Quentyn Martell, whom Rhaegar likes very much and wants his sister to marry, and Tyrion goes as well, having never been to Dorne.
Visenya knows she would not be welcome there. Doran Martell has refused to allow her to step foot in Dorne as long as he lives. It puzzles her that Aegon chooses to stay, though. But he makes no mention of it, even if his eyes are clouded when the ship departs. Visenya wants to ask him what troubles him, but they are not close enough for her to do so. Instead, she throws his sword at him and tells him to saddle his horse. The ride clears her head, and the fight they have on the stony grounds have her grinning wildly. She beats him, but it is a near thing. Ser Jaime has to help her back onto Blackfoot afterwards, and her shoulder is so sore she thinks she may have pulled it.
That night, Visenya is readying herself for bed when she hears a knock on the door. Ser Jaime enters when she calls out, saying, "Princess, your brother is here to see you." His face is tight, and Visenya can feel dread sinking into her stomach.
"Let him in," she says, in her most commanding voice. She is not scared.
Aegon enters quietly, and bars the door behind him. Visenya has already started pouring herself wine, and offers him a cup after a moments deliberation. He nods his thanks and takes the goblet.
When she drains the cup, she says acidly, "Do you wish to claim your rights, husband?"
Things have been better between them recently, but Visenya cannot seem to help the bitterness when it comes to this.
"Visenya," he says quietly, "I do not want it to be like this."
"Like what?" she shoots back.
"This...angry, all the time. It would not be so bad for us to get along, would it?" Aegon looks unsure. "We are married, Visenya. We have taken oaths before the Seven and now we are wed, for all our lives. We may as well be nice to one another."
"I don't keep the Seven," Visenya blurts out, unable to think of anything else to say. "I keep the old gods. My mother's gods."
Aegon looks at her, puzzled. "All right," he says. "But that does not invalidate our marriage."
"I know," she retorts. "I'm not stupid, Aegon. I just- you should know that, if we are to make this work."
He nods. Visenya continues, her voice growing louder. "I am not Rhaenys," she informs him. "I do not need your flowery words or your praise or your kindnesses. You do not want me as a wife. I've known that since we've been married, Aegon. Since before then. Since we were children, even. You've never liked me, and it does not hurt me that you do not like me still."
Aegon makes a pained noise. "When we were children, I followed my mother's example," he tells her. "I did not mean to, and by the time my mother warmed to you, it seemed too late to change. I was cruel, and I meant to be cruel, but I realize now that was wrong."
Visenya blinks. That is not what she expected him to say. "You were cruel," she says quietly. "You and Rhaenys both. You hurt me."
Aegon crosses the room, and takes the cup from Visenya's hands. He lays a hand on her shoulder, rubbing it slowly, not meeting her eyes. "I know. I'm sorry."
When he presses his fingers between her shoulder blades and pulls her to him, Visenya does not resist. When he kisses her, she does not stiffen up and turn her head away. In fact, it may be the first kiss she enjoys, slow and deep and intense in a way Rhaenys's kisses never have been. Aegon tastes like oranges, the last of the season now that autumn has come, and he moans softly into her mouth. There is no clash of teeth, no pulling of her hair, and no rush. Visenya discovers she likes it this way.
The bed seems too far away, so Aegon bears her down into the furs in front of the hearth. They're warm and soft, and Visenya mewls when he presses his nose against her jaw to kiss her neck. She's embarrassed and too warm; she's never before in her life made a noise like this, but she can feel Aegon's smile on her skin, and he draws the noise out again.
He takes his time undressing her, and when Visenya screws her eyes shut, he just waits until she opens them again. When he finally gets her breeches off, Visenya feels warmer, not colder, and then he is sitting back on his heels to regard her body. She does not even have to fight the urge to squirm, and finds that she is relaxed and pliant, not stiff like the times they've done this before. Aegon's eyes return to hers, heavy-lidded and darkened with desire, something Visenya has never seen directed at her before.
"Visenya," he whispers, and then again, "Visenya."
She tries to reply, but her mind is muddled, and she can only see Aegon, his body golden in the firelight, his hair falling down his forehead and into his eyes. Tremblingly, she pushes her hand up to move it out of his face. He shudders against her, and then his mouth is back on hers. It's a little harder this time, but Visenya doesn't mind, and when Aegon parts her with his fingers, she moans at how slippery she feels down there. This is the first time he's felt her this way, and slowly his fingers circle and press into her.
She helps him shed the last of his clothes, and Visenya can hear a tear when she pushes his shirt off his shoulders. It's the furthest thing from her mind, though, when Aegon steadies himself by placing a hand near her shoulder, and starts to push into her. Visenya tenses against him, and he kisses her brow.
"Relax. This won't hurt if you relax, sister."
But she can't relax, he must see that, so he waits, licks into her mouth hotly and soon, her muscles loosen, one by one.
"Ready?" he asks. Visenya nods. "I want you to tell me you're ready, Visenya," he says.
She gasps. He wouldn't be so cruel as to leave her here like this, would he? But she cannot seem to speak, so she forces her mind to work.
"Please," she gasps. "Aegon, please."
When he enters her, she makes a wild noise that echoes through her chamber and maybe even beyond it, but Visenya cannot care yet. She scratches at his back, keeping him inside her, while he begins to move back and forward, and his hands are between them again. one at her breast and one where their bodies meet. Outside, dimly, she can hear a dragon screeching, and wonders if it's Ghost before she wonders no more. When she peaks, it is with a shout, unable to keep the noise in. Aegon comes soon after, spilling hot and long inside her.
And then Visenya pushes him away, rolls so her back is towards him.
She cannot breathe, it seems, and she cannot tell him that it's not him she's pushing away, but she needs some space. Gods, Ser Jaime had probably heard everything. She is embarrassed and angry and stirred and there aren't words for what she feels right now, but there's an emotion rising in her chest that makes her want to cry.
"Visenya?" Aegon whispers. "Did I- are you all right?"
She's not, but she is. How can she tell him what she's feeling?
A sob breaks through her throat, and she says, "It's not you, I'm-" happy? sated? angry? emotional? a woman? None of the words seem to fit.
"Shh," he whispers, and she feels his knuckles skimming the column of her spine before he settles his hand on her hip. "Visenya, come here." She lets him roll her over to him, hold her close to his chest. She is so much smaller than him, and her head fits beneath his chin.
"Why are you crying?" he asks, rubbing her back slowly.
"I don't know," she admits.
"I thought you knew everything," Aegon chuckles.
"Apparently not," she says, smiling despite herself. "Is this-is this what we'll do, now?" she asks, sounding very much like a child.
"If you want," Aegon says, unsure. "I enjoyed myself. Did you?"
"Very much," she tells him. "Too much. Rhaenys-"
"-will not protest. You're both my wives, both my sisters. We should make the most of this situation Father has forced us into."
Visenya is quiet. "I used to worship him," she finally says. "I loved him more than I loved myself, did you know that? And then, and then...on my thirteenth nameday, when he told me...he saw how miserable I was. He knew I would hate it, but he didn't care, Aegon. He cares too much about his stupid prophecy. The reason he tore apart the realm all those years ago- my mother- it was for this. I don't want to be his instrument."
"He loves us," Aegon says. "I know what you mean, but he really does love us."
"Not as much as he loves his Prince that was Promised," she retorts. "How well does he know any of us, Aegon?"
"Not very well," he admits, his arms tightening around her. "But then, we don't know each other very well either. I'm willing to change that. Are you?"
"Yes," she whispers.
The next time he takes her, it is on the couch that Rhaenys first kissed Visenya on, two years before, and this time it is Visenya doing the taking. This time it is she who bears him down, seating her thighs on each side of his hips, and setting the pace. Aegon peppers kisses on her chest the whole time, and talks far more than before.
"Gods, Visenya, how I've wanted you," he gasps against her sweaty shoulder as she lowers herself. "Ever since you played me that song in the Great Hall. Since before then, even, when you threw off your helmet and I saw that it was you, you who had beaten everyone that day. Never deny me, Visenya. Sweetling, sweet Visenya, it's only the three of us against the world."
He says less sweet things too, like "Fuck" and swears Visenya wouldn't even use, words as filthy as she can imagine, but those words just send shivers through her and spur her on.
She does not peak again, but it is nice to have him inside her all the same, nice to see him unravel because of her. She lets him kiss her after, and when he lifts her, she is too tired to protest, and lets him lie besides her in the bed.
"It's time," Daenerys says, and in the cold dawn light, Visenya can see the steely determination in her aunt's face.
"It's time," Visenya repeats, and stares up at Drogon. They are alone this morning. Aegon spent the previous night with Rhaenys, and Visenya knows it will be a while before they awaken. Still, she is glad that Daenerys has come to her first, to share this moment with her. Daenerys is her dearest friend, tied with Ser Jaime, and they have not had so much time together of late.
Drogon is the biggest of the dragons. Today, Daenerys has determined that he is big enough, finally to take her on as his rider.
Dany steels herself, and Visenya wraps a cloak around her aunt. "It's cold up in the sky," she jokes, and watches her aunt smile nervously at her. Once she turns back to Drogon, though, the nerves melt away.
"We were meant to do this," Dany tells Visenya dreamily. "I know it. We're all meant to save the world."
"From what?" Visenya asks. Daenerys has been speaking this way of late, dreamily and nearly as obsessed with prophesy as Rhaegar. But she does not answer Visenya, and instead climbs, slowly and unsurely, above the black dragon.
She fits into the saddle Visenya had helped her make, a makeshift saddle that would be discarded as the dragons continued to grow.
Visenya expects Daenerys to look down at her, for reassurance or in fear, but her aunt just looks ahead as Drogon maneuvers his body around. Her silver hair shines in the gray light of day, and she looks like a warrior. Visenya cannot help but fear that a war is coming.
"Do you feel that?" Daenerys asks. "Those are the winds of winter. Winter comes, dear niece. We must be ready."
And then, before Visenya can fathom a way to respond, Drogon's wings beat the air, and he is rising, rising, taking Dany with him.
Visenya's breath leaves her body as she watches the dragon take to the air, her aunt on his back. Daenerys's hair streams behind her, and there's a shriek of unbridled joy before Drogon takes off into the horizon. Visenya watches as long as she can, until her tears are streaming down her cheeks with the effort. Ser Jaime steps behind her.
"Princess," he says. "Are you well?"
"Yes," she says. "I'm happy. Can you tell?"
Ser Jaime's smile is in his voice. She does not have to turn to hear it. "I can, Princess." When he speaks again, his voice is somber. "This is not the life I would have chosen for you, Visenya. If I could have chosen at all."
She turns to look at him. His face is drawn. "Do you remember what you said, one time? You didn't finish, but you said that if I was a child of yours, you'd..." she prompts.
Ser Jaime meets her eyes. "I'd make sure you married someone you were happy with. Someone you loved. I would never want to make you sad."
Visenya nods. She steps in close and touches Ser Jaime's face. For a moment, he closes his eyes and breathes, and Visenya sees how the years have taken a toll on her knight. "Thank you," she says. "For wishing the best for me. It means more than I can tell you." She takes a breath, drawing on her bravery. "You've been like a father to me," she admits. "More so than my own. You've taught me nearly everything I know."
Ser Jaime opens his eyes, and they twinkle like emeralds, the only color in the dark landscape of Dragonstone. "You've been like a daughter," he whispers. "Will that be all, Princess?"
She smiles at him, and turns back to watch the horizon. Ghost, Thorn and Viserion have joined Drogon in the skies. "Yes. I'd like to watch the sunrise."