Visaera was drifting pleasantly, enveloped in a rich velvety blackness that provided more comfort and serenity than she had never experienced before.
"Breathe! Damn you, Visaera, breathe!" Pain radiated through her chest as a familiar voice broke through the peace, tearing her from the hands of the Gods and tossing her mercilessly back onto the beach of Blackwater Bay. Visaera sat up and spewed what seemed like half of the harbor from her lungs, coughing and sputtering painfully.
"Seven fucking hells," Aemond breathed in relief, falling back in the sand. Visaera blinked repeatedly until her eyes cleared enough to see the prince beside her. His riding leathers were soaked through and his hair was wet; it took her a moment to realize he must have pulled her from the water.
Her left arm was covered in sand and radiating with pain, reminding her of what she had done in Old Town, reminding her that Jace was long gone and she was, once again, injured and alone in the capital.
Visaera fell back in the sand, agony coursing through her, and laughed hysterically, squinting her eyes against the light of the sun.
"You all have a sick sense of fucking humor!" she shouted at the sky, shaking her head. She had felt the Stranger's embrace; she had been so close; she had been at peace... Aemond stared at her, eye wide with shock and confusion and Visaera continued to laugh at the God's cruelty.
When her hysterical giggling finally morphed into sobs, Aemond pushed himself up out of the sand and reached for her. The moment she shifted onto her left side, she screamed and the prince immediately halted, assessing her for injuries. Her broken rib and torn shoulder had been healing well but he worried that she had set them off again. When he turned her to inspect the shoulder, his eye widened.
"Oh, my gods..." He breathed out, finally seeing the burns beneath the crust of sand covering the length of her arm. "What the fuck did you do?" Visaera's mind was in shambles and she let out another hysterical laugh before choking it down.
"Kill me, Aemond," she whispered, finally looking up into his eye, "End the pain. Kill me before your mother does..." He shook his head, completely baffled by her insane behavior.
"My mother isn't going to kill you, Visaera. I—"
"No, she is... An eye for an eye and a life for a life, right?" she asked, staring up at him, her wide eyes burning. "Luke's dead... And so is Daeron. The game of debts will never end, not until the Stranger claims us all." She threw herself back in the sand, crying out as pain surged through her, blackening the edges of her blurry vision once more. The sound of Tessarion's cry, of her bones snapping... It echoed in her head and she thought she might vomit, despite her stomach being empty.
"Daeron? What do you mean Daeron's dead?" he asked. When Visaera continued to stare blankly at the sky, he leaned over and shook her, the pain in her shoulder surged as white flashes danced behind her eyelids and she screamed. "Visaera, what did you do?" he shouted, shaking her a second time.
"The Hightower is where it belongs, in pieces beneath the Whispering Sound," she answered snidely, surprised by her own boldness. "If only your predecessors were there as well." Aemond shoved away from her, knocking her back in the sand as he rose and began to pace.
"Fuck... Fuck! Are you mad or just fucking stupid?" he yelled, his eye staring at her with exasperation.
"Both, I'm sure," she answered without an ounce of sarcasm, accepting whatever came next; waiting for Aemond to unsheathe his dagger and thrust it into her chest. To her dismay and bewilderment, he cursed under his breath, knelt down in front of her, and hauled her over his shoulder.
"Fuck, you're so light, Visaera," he breathed sadly, trekking up the beach toward the back entrance of the Red Keep. Her arm and shoulder were throbbing with every step he took and Visaera merely squeezed her eyes closed and allowed the pain to swallow her.
Visaera drifted away from her body, from the Red Keep, finding herself deep in the caves of the Dragonmont. The sound of Carrion's heart beating settled the chaos raging inside her and her pain ebbed away. The dragon shifted, breathing out a puff of smoke that seemed to swirl around her, inhaling it gave her the strength she desperately needed.
"This will hurt, princess." She heard the words but, with her eyes closed, comprehension didn't dawn on her until her arm began to burn. The sting grew until it was agonizing and unbearable and Visaera thrashed about, screaming until her throat burned. One hand pressed firmly down on the left side of her collarbone, and another gripped her right arm, keeping her immobilized as she shuddered repeatedly.
"I know it hurts, Visaera, but Maester Corwell needs to clean it." She shook her head, refusing to accept Aemond's words, and battled against the hold on her as another stream of saltwater was poured over her burned arm.
"Stop! Stop! Please, just kill me!" she sobbed, begging for relief. There was a choking sound to her right and she instinctively knew it was Aegon. "Kill me, please, Aemond," she begged, "Your mother will if you don't." The prince inhaled deeply through his nose, looking like he was struggling to keep himself calm.
"She's awake now, give her milk of the poppy," Aegon commanded. Visaera only vaguely noticed that he sounded worn down and tired. She blinked her eyes, trying to focus on his face, but then the maester was blocking her view, tilting the vial to her lips. Already held down, Visaera had no choice but to swallow the milky liquid and wait.
Slowly, her breathing leveled out and the pain in her arm began to fade. Visaera's head lulled to the side and she caught sight of Aemond on her left his hand still splayed over her chest.
"Don't let her hurt me, Aemond. I'm begging you, just kill me..." Her mouth was feeling dry and sticky and her eyes quickly grew heavy. The prince didn't reply but he reached out and stroked a finger over her temple just before she fell asleep...
The sound of voices woke the princess some unknown time later. She cracked her eyes open and could make out the hazy shapes of Otto speaking with Aemond at the end of her bed.
"She can be used as leverage," the prince insisted. "Rhaenyra has already lost one child and Visaera is injured. She will not risk losing her firstborn."
"Aemond, they attacked our home and your brother... Your mother is absolutely distraught. We cannot take any more risks for this girl. It would be better for all of us—"
"No," Aemond insisted tensely.
"Aemond, you are the hand of the King now." Otto reminded him, "Please used your best judgment—"
"She was supposed to be my wife; I intend to see that through," the one-eyed prince answered tightly. Otto laughed in disbelief, shaking his head.
"This is a mistake. She will never come to our side. You heard from her own lips what she's done!"
"She's too important for us to end her life," Aemond replied, "And the King agrees."
"What are you suggesting, Aemond?" Visaera strained her ears to listen, but the world faded out of focus and she drifted off to sleep once more.
After the brutal cleaning when she first arrived, Aemond let no one else touch Visaera, not even the maesters. Each time she woke, he was there, at her side, and Visaera began to wonder if he was sleeping in the chair next to her bed.
The prince regularly rinsed her burns and changed her bandages with his own hands, offering her milk of the poppy whenever the pain grew too great for her to handle. Visaera didn't know how long she had drifted in and out of consciousness, only that her eyes had finally stopped burning.
"Fuck," Visaera hissed behind gritting teeth as she squeezed her eyes closed. Aemond was changing her bandages again, rinsing the wound as the maester had instructed. The last dose of milk of the poppy had been hours before and the pain was quickly returning in full force.
"I'm almost done," Aemond informed her, his expression intensely serious as he gently rubbed a salve over her sore, open skin. It stung horribly but left an odd tingle in its wake and Visaera exhaled through her nose.
"Why are you doing this, Aemond?" she asked, glancing at him. The question had been sounding in her mind since he first carried her off the beach. He was still staring intently at her arm as he began wrapping the bandage around it while she continued to grit her teeth.
"I made a promise..." he breathed as if that was an obvious answer.
"Yes, that was before I left," she reasoned softly, still baffled by the fact that no one had tried to kill her since Aemond brought her back to the keep, "and before I burned the Hightower and killed your brother... You should hate me, as Aegon does." The corners of Aemond's mouth twitched like he was trying not to laugh.
"Aegon doesn't hate you, my darling," he answered, looping the bandage up over her elbow.
"He does," she insisted.
"For someone who seems to know him so well, that's a rather amusing assessment," he replied.
"I left him, twice. He hasn't come to see me, not once since I've been here. How long have I been here, anyhow?" He glanced at her and smirked, not bothering to answer her question. For days, she had been dosed with milk of the poppy, completely numb to both her wounds and feelings, denying them, but even as she spoke the words, the pain in her chest returned. Grief, all she carried was grief and guilt, for Aegon's suffering, For Tessarion and Daeron, for Rhaenys, for Luke... She never wanted war; she never even wanted the crown. She hated herself for everything that had happened since she first left Dragonstone.
"I don't hate you, Vis. How could I?"
"Even though I killed Daeron?" Aemond shook his head.
"I love my family, but I haven't spoken to Daeron in years..." Visaera held her breath at his words and then Aemond sighed. "I hardly know him. But I know you... I know that underneath everything, you have a good heart," he added, stroking her cheek, "and I still want you, dragonfire and all..." She recoiled from his touch, unable to handle any more of his affection without feeling sick to her stomach.
"My brother... Did you kill him?" she asked suddenly, desperately needing to know and yet dreading the answer.
"Luke's death was an accident, Visaera," he answered simply. It was her turn to snort.
"My brothers came and attacked the fleet and only one of them returned. My grandmother might have been a casualty, but how could Luke's death have been an accident?" Aemond shook his head and continued to focus on her arm, tying it off at the top of her shoulder.
When he didn't answer, she sighed and changed the subject. "So, you don't hate me?" she clarified, feeling more confused than ever.
"I don't hate you." he echoed.
"You hated me when we were children..." she whispered fighting the urge to cry.
"No, I avoided you when we were children," he corrected.
"You threw my book," she replied with a teary-eyed smirk, remembering the nameday gift she had searched so hard to find. Aemond scoffed and rolled his eyes.
"I was a child—"
"So was I," Visaera replied.
"I had yet to claim Vhagar. The reminder that I had no dragon wounded my pride. And now we both ride the beasts of Old Valyria."
"Mm," she agreed. When he finally finished, Aemond tossed her old bandages in the fire and cleared away the water basin, silence growing in the room. "May I write to my mother?" she asked, laying back against the pillows and trying to focus on anything except the intense pain returning to her arm. "I only wish to let her know I'm still alive."
"Your mother knows, Visaera. We sent a raven nearly a week ago." Visaera quickly absorbed the information, realizing she had already been in the Red Keep for more than a week. She tried to force herself up from the pillows, but Aemond pushed against her chest, holding her firmly in place.
"What did the raven say?" she breathed.
"That you are safe, and healing, and that any further attack from your mother or her supporters will put your life in danger."
"I truly am a hostage, then?" she asked softly, staring up at the canopy.
"Would you expect anything else?" he asked softly. Visaera didn't bother with an answer, chewing on the bottom of her lip instead. With the conversation effectively put to rest, Aemond reached for the vial on the table and handed it to her. Visaera swallowed the milk of the poppy and was drifting off to sleep in mere moments...