Visenya 1
The breeze kissed her flesh with the chill of winter, yet it was only by the strength of her bloodline that she endured the ocean's gales without discomfort.
She sat upon the bed, roused from sleep and only half-rested from her exhaustion. The sight of her husband standing there, bathed in moonlight, felt more like a lingering dream than reality.
He was serene…like mercy. Beauty of flesh and non-flesh, with a false strength still.
Under the watch of the moon, his skin shimmered, the sweat of his toil glinting on a form too perfect for a warrior.
Yet he was no warrior—not a fighter either. Her brother bore no skill for the violent arts, his sword hand supplanted by hers, who wielded Dark Sister with such refine and lethality…
That truth spoiled her love-kissed sight—the half dream given true vision. She blinked, lashes flattering with maiden-charm. Then an ember of anger blazed, overpowering the love for but a flicker.
She had been proud of her martial talent, once upon a time. Lavishing in the recognition, a feat earned under the eyes of warriors and knights alike.
And her father—now ashes to the wind—had been proud…exuberant.
But then her brother shattered it, his dark truths wrapping her in chains of docility and shame. He had always possessed a talent for such things—crushing dreams, twisting innocence into malice…into treachery.
…she looked at him again, standing there like a gift to life—the corruption within hidden.
She hated her love sometimes. The way it ate at her destiny. How it demanded in her leniency and patience even in the face of shame and humiliation.
Aegon would not discomfort himself for her—he would not deny himself greed and lust for what he thought his by right of birth.
He had her, but even that did not quell him.
He desired Rhaenys still, his designs for her a shared secret…such a graceless secret. Yet Visenya held her silence—a tacit agreement. Not that Aegon sought it, nor did he heed her counsel when it clashed with his schemes.
Schemes that saw Dragonstone flourish and bloat under his defiant direction.
An heir to rulership, the great unfairness.
She dreamed sometimes, of a world where she was born a man and her father proclaimed her heir. Of a world where her brother wore a dress and warmed her bed. She liked to think that she would have treated him better, perhaps even equally.
Not like a common whore…a serving wench.
She clutched the linen sheets close to her chest, up her bare form that still had phantom holds and touches of her brother's passion, his ravenous carnality. He had seen her warm his bed for the longest time now that she would find it no surprise to find layers of dust in her quarters.
Ever since father's death. And that was two moons ago.
A part of her hated that she indulged his depravity, enjoying it even…rationalising it. She deemed it his way of mourning, though Aegon had told her he merely hungered for her comfort. A comfort she was duty bound to give as his wife, at least such was her other reason.
He turned to her, the change in position so abrupt.
"I intend to take the divided lands west of us come year's start," he said, the words leaving his lips with ease. His tone held neither determination nor confidence—just a dry, indifferent air, as though his declaration was but an inevitability, one that bore no hint of challenge or strife.
Her lips pulled into a line, though she would have desired it to be the cold, stern mask she wore with ease…that demanding air so vicious. She wondered for the reason behind his sharing for but a moment before deciding to just request it.
"Why?"
Aegon met her gaze, eyes of violet that almost glowed under the shadows and moonlight. Then they moved to her neck, where the lingers of his passion had left red blemishes. And lastly to her chest—the sheets that hid it. That made him frown, so she allowed the sheets to fall. His frown did not abate.
Her treacherous heart ached at his disapproval. She wanted to ignore it, learn to withstand him and demand equality.
That was never to happen.
Aegon turned to the open window again, the sea breeze tussling his hair with fabled majesty. "I dream, as you well know by now." She nodded despite his turn.
"In my dreams, I am king—the greatest this barbaric realm has yet to see. I dream of a realm of prosperity, of flourishing far beyond our ancestral home. And I dream of family, vast and beautiful. I dream of other things too, of greater joys and darker horrors. But all my dreams happen inland, not on an island."
He looked at her, "I intend to see my dreams fulfilled, Visenya." He paused for a second, "And I will require your aid."
Her heart trembled. Aegon seldom sought her aid, and when he did, it was never for acts so great.
Visenya hid her eager well.
"What kind of aid?" she asked, her tone careful, measured. Aegon's grand visions could well require nothing more than her womb.
"All sorts," he admitted, amusement in his eyes. "You will bear me children, of course. You and Rhaenys both. But I'll also need your mind, support, discipline, and viciousness." He touched his chin, a stubble there. "Your sword, perhaps?"
He whispered those last words, but she heard him. She knew what her brother thought of her martial prowess; a wasted gift. He did not think that a woman belonged on a battlefield, or war all together.
He rationalised it, of course, poisoned her eager with consequences and regrets. He even called her an exception once, in front of Rhaenys. Now her sister was trying to mimic her in order to win Aegon's attention.
She was failing, and growing even more desperate.
Her brother was ready to wield Visenya's exceptional nature as a weapon, crushing and twisting the confidence and significance of the people she held dear. All to awaken her to the weight of her actions…to temper her sense of importance.
Control, one every noble sought. And that was what she was scared off, Aegon was not an uncommon ruler, and his dark nature could be easily replicated.
Thus, she was cautious…deliberate about her martial inclinations.
"How will you go about it?" She decided on a different topic, an important one even. "The houses will band together if we proved to be the aggressors in this."
"Do they scare you?" Aegon asked, raising a brow.
She knew he understood her meaning and knew her well enough to be certain she neither feared nor respected the Andals and First Men. Still, Visenya shook her head, a frown tugging at her lips.
"You cannot eradicate all the houses, Aegon. It will breed malice and treachery. Even among the smallfolk."
Her brother was no tyrant—or at least he did not present himself as one. Even when he took Saltpeak from the Darkwoods, he ensured that events were shaped to cast him, and House Targaryen, in a favorable and almost benign light.
The Fair Dragons.
It still baffled her how he managed such deception and justification, especially when it had led to the extinction of that branch house.
Schemes upon schemes upon schemes. That was her husband.
"Just a few of them, I believe," Aegon said, moving near her. His form loomed over her, intimidating. "And you need not worry about our house's image." He leaned close, eyes calm. "I have made for things to develop in a most…agreeable manner."
He pulled himself back before she could be lost in his presence…his proximity. Visenya hid her desire wonderfully, though she knew that her brother knew of it, his corruption too deep and compulsive.
Aegon gave little praise to her discipline, turning instead to the tray left by the side and poured himself that strong wine of his in a short cup of clear glass. "Do you want any?"
She reflexively touched her abdomen, heeding his old wisdom. "I dislike that wine of yours."
He shrugged, but said nothing.
Visenya had yet to tell him—yet to tell anyone, truly. She did not know the reason for her hesitation…or perhaps she did, but refused to admit it.
Sometimes, she truly wished she could carve out her heart and suffer not this twisted feeling.
Aegon did return to bed after a fashion, forcing that affectionate embrace upon her as they once more slept. They would wake at the crack of dawn, refreshed from their midnight passion.
A/N: The first chapter was meant to read like that.