Groaning, Visaera rolled over in her bed, her eyes dancing rapidly behind her lids. A thick layer of sweat covered her skin, though she didn't yet feel it. Instead, the smell of smoke and decay filled her nose; sand sticking uncomfortably to her skin as the wind whipped around her.
Ahead of her, a tall man with silver, braided hair marched across the beach holding up a white flag of surrender. As he paused and raised his sword up like an offering, Visaera watched as men slowly surround him; nervousness filling her stomach, weighing her down like lead. She didn't have to know what was happening to understand that the men were enemies.
As the leader of the men approached and took the sword from his hands, the silver-haired man in the black armor plunged a dagger through his chest and then gripped the sword he had offered once more. Her breath caught in her throat as she watched him dart, quite suddenly, across the sand, slicing through his opponents, making quick work of each man. He hissed in pain as a flaming arrow struck him in the shoulder. And then, out of nowhere, dragonfire rained down on them all, burning her skin and filling her veins...
Visaera woke, screaming in agony and clawing at her chest until it was raw; searing heat still coursing beneath the surface of her skin. Her mind quickly processed that she was still in her bed but panic had seized her, stealing the breath from her lungs until they seemed to collapse k. Her chest.
Her eyes were completely open now, but the man from her dream was still visible in her head, standing beneath the bleeding leaves of the Weirwood tree, hair cropped short and eyes closed. As she gasped for air and clambered blindly across the room for a glass of water, Visaera was unable to shake the man from her mind.
Even when the glass was empty and she had steadied her breathing, the memory of his face remained in the forefront of her mind. It wasn't the first time his image had haunted her. For as long as she could remember, she had seen him in her dreams; she knew he was important, she only had to figure out why...
At breakfast, the princess slumped over the edge of the table, head cradled in her hand, and picked at her food in silence. After the nightmare, she had been unable to fall asleep, tossing and turning beneath the covers. She had longed to sneak back into Aegon's rooms, but the memory of being stuck in the passageways filled her with fear, the thought of being trapped in the walls at night, more so. Remaining in her own bed seemed like the best course of action for her until dawn arrived.
Her head felt hazy and she struggled to focus on anything, even the plate in front of her.
Across the table, her mother stared at her with worry, but still, she said nothing of the dream. For too long, her brothers and uncles had made fun of Helaena's ramblings and called her mad under their breath. Visaera knew that they would never see things the way she and Helaena did, so she kept the visions to herself and picked at her plate, unable to force the food down her throat.
The horrid dream set the tone for a horrid afternoon. Instead of going to her lessons, Visaera moped about the corridors, hiding behind statues whenever she heard footsteps approaching, determined to avoid her Septa. She pondered over the dream and what it meant. Each time she thought someone might spot her, she disappeared as best she could. Visaera found herself standing behind a tapestry, tucked in an alcove, when she heard voices approaching. Pressing herself as close to the wall as she could, the princess placed her hand over her mouth and listened intently as the voices drew closer.
"I know that, but just look at them!" It's Queen Alicent, she thought to herself, eyes widening in surprise at the shrill tone of the queen's voice. Even with the sound muffled by the tapestry, Visaera could tell she was angry. She imagined the pinched expression the queen often wore whenever she looked at Rhaenyra or her children. "Rhaenyra does as she pleases and my children pay the price! Her bastards roam the keep, torturing my son. It's not Aemond's fault he doesn't have a dragon!"
Wondering what her brothers had done to her uncle this time, she felt anger stir in her gut at the queen's callous words. It was true, her brothers had a tendency to pick on Aemond, but so did his own brother, Aegon. It was always good fun, wasn't it? She knew what the word bastard meant; she knew about the rumors that swirled about their parentage; she never imagined the queen herself would stoop to repeat such gossip. Then she heard Ser Criston's voice...
"We don't know that they're all bastards, my queen. Perhaps—"
"Really, Ser Criston, even Visaera! She's more likely Daemon's than Laenor's. You, of all people, should know the outcome of Rhaenyra's rash decisions!" What on earth did she mean by that? "That child is a Targaryen through and through, just look at her." Rhaenyra's daughter squeezed her hand over her mouth to silence the whimper that threatened to reveal her. From the casual way she threw the insults about, Visaera could tell that this wasn't the first time the queen had said such things about her and her siblings.
Resentment boiled in her gut and all the positive feelings she had toward Alicent evaporated. In fact, the thought of her saying such things made her feel sick to her stomach. If she was willing to speak so brazenly in the corridors, what was she saying behind closed doors?
When their voices and footsteps finally receded, Visaera ran, tears clouding her vision, through the corridors. She needed to get away, away from that alcove, away from the queen's callous words, away from the knowledge that she was considered no more than the product of some unspoken indiscretion.
Her world was falling apart, cracking around the edges and splintering off into unsalvageable crumbs. Even when her lungs burned and tears poured down her cheeks, she continued to run, until she was outside, reaching the sanctuary of the gardens. As she rounded the corner of a long hedge, she bumped into an object and fell back on her bum, letting out a pained sob.
"Hey, what in the seven—" Aegon took one look at his niece's tear-stained face and pulled her off the ground and into his arms. Despite the distance between their families, it made the prince's heart ache to see Visaera hurting. "What's wrong, Vis?" he asked softly, wrapping his arms around her comfortingly and waiting for her choking cries to subside. His embrace was warm and familiar and the princess pressed her face against his chest, inhaling his scent.
"Aegon," His throat tightened and he swallowed the lump in his throat as she sobbed out his name, her voice filled with sorrow, "Am I a bastard?" The prince let out a heavy breath and ran his hands affectionately over her soft curls, trying to come up with an answer. He wanted to tell her the truth; she deserved to know what the rest of the realm thought. The hurt look in her eyes was too much for him and the thought of adding to her pain was nearly unbearable.
"Don't listen to gossip, Vis, no good can come from it." Aegon finally told her. "You're a Targaryen; that's all that matters, isn't it?" It wasn't merely gossip; she had heard the words straight from the Queen's mouth. His avoidance of the question was answer enough for her and Visaera felt her heart breaking in her chest. Her entire life was a lie...
Aegon cupped her face in his hands and pressed a gentle kiss to her lips, eager to banish the sadness in her eyes. Visaera kissed him back, relief flooding through her. If nothing else in the world was true, at least she knew that her uncle loved her, regardless of the circumstances of her birth. His unwavering affection soothed the aching in her soul. That was the first time Aegon Targaryen kissed her, and it wouldn't be the last...
In bed that night, the princess lay awake, staring at the canopy, repeating Alicent's words in her head. She hadn't bothered to ask her mother for clarification, but suddenly the reoccurring dreams she had been having made sense. Even without confirmation, she knew, in the depths of her soul, that the man in her dreams was her father...
The realization changed everything for the princess. Where her parents' presence had once provided her comfort and words of encouragement, she began to see only lies and deceit, chipping away the very foundations of all she held dear. In fact, the more she watched them, the more she saw through the façade that held together the future of Houses Velaryon and Targaryen; the future of the crown...
Solitude became her companion as her thoughts turned dark, the voices in the back of her head grew louder with each passing day, until they began to scream. For the first time in years, Visaera paid attention during her lessons and focused whenever her brothers spoke about their dragons; anything to silence the horrible thoughts in her head.
When the voices won out, sending her spiraling into turmoil, she tried to imagine what her life would have been like if things were different. She wondered if her father even knew she was alive; that she was his...
"Where have you been?" Aegon's voice startled her from her thoughts as he sat down beside her under the Weirwood tree. She had chosen the spot, imagining for a moment she was standing there with the man from her dreams; imagining what her true father would have been like. "What are you doing to yourself?" The prince caught hold of her hands and examined them. The needlework she had been fiddling with had somehow made its way to the ground during her ponderings.
When her nails had begun to pick at her cuticles, she had hardly noticed, but, once Aegon had mentioned it, she realized how badly the raw bits stung. He kissed the back of her hand and rubbed comforting circles over her skin, thinking about how the mindless fidgeting reminded him of his mother. Alicent constantly picked and scratched at her nailbeds, turning to Grand Maester Mellos when they finally turned bloody. She had been doing so long before he was born. When he was young, the sight disgusted him. As he got older, he began to understand that the real problem was whatever triggered the habit. Seeing Visaera doing the same to her own delicate hands left him feeling unsettled. "What's wrong?" he finally asked, nudging her. Instead of answering, Visaera shook her head and picked up one of the scarlet leaves that had fallen to the ground.
"Do you ever wonder why things happen, Aegon?" she asked. The prince snorted and raised an eyebrow and the princess scoffed. "Not trivial things, like why it rains," she explained, "I wonder why the gods brought me into this world; why I have to be punished for someone else's mistakes..."
Aegon didn't answer, but the expression on his face conveyed that he understood exactly what she was trying to say. In fact, Aegon knew exactly how it felt to wonder why the gods had brought him into the world; it was a constant question in his mind. Why had the gods decided to bless him with royal blood and then curse him with two parents who gave no shits about him?
He would never voice the question out loud; to do so would make him seem as weak as he often felt. It was one of the reasons he spent so much time with Visaera. She loved him unconditionally; she never judged him or spouted expectations at him. Whenever they were together, she was happy to merely be with him.
"If you could choose for yourself, what would you change?" he asked her. A long silence followed, the only sound between them was the whispering of the wind through the leaves.
"If I changed who I was or where I was born, I wouldn't have you..." Her heartfelt reply warmed his insides and Aegon felt himself grinning as she laid her head on his shoulder.
"Let's just fly away, Vis," he whispered in her ear, trying to imagine it was that easy. A smile brightened her face and she indulged him.
"Where? Where are you going to take me?" she replied eagerly. Aegon thought for a moment before speaking.
"One of the free cities, across the Narrow Sea..." he finally answered.
"And where would we live? Surely, we couldn't beg for scraps..."
"No, I would never let that happen," he assured her. "I'm sure the jewels and trinkets we've accumulated could pay for more than shelter."
"Mm," she acknowledged, "We would have to find trades. I could work at an inn, or—"
"Not on your life, Vis. Scrubbing pots and cleaning sheets? No, you'll... We'll have a garden... And chickens... You can sell eggs and vegetables in the market square." He closed his eyes and imagined it for a moment; just him and his favorite person; no worries in the world, no duties, no one scolding him for not meeting their expectations... For a moment, it felt real, a vision he could almost touch. When he opened his eyes, however, he found himself back in the Godswood; his cheek pressed to Visaera's temple.
Risking a glance down at her, Aegon found her eyes closed, as well, as if she was trying to imagine the same thing. Oblivious to his observations, he watched as a soft smile spread across her face. The sunlight was catching her hair; making her curls shine like starlight.
Despite how young they both were, Aegon knew he was in love with her. The fact that she was nearly three years younger than him, that their mothers hated one another, that she was likely a bastard... None of those things mattered to him.
Visaera... The way her eyes lit up when she was truly happy, the way his name always fell from her lips with affection, the way she fell asleep with a look of contentment when she was in his arms... Visaera was the only person in the world that mattered to Aegon Targaryen...