𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕯𝖗𝖆𝖌𝖔𝖓 [𝗥𝗼𝗯𝗯.𝗦]

28

THE DRAGON'S CROWN

VISENYA smiled, although there was little truth to the bitter twist of her lips. She was proud of him, she whispered to herself. Visenya had to be. But in moments like these, when Daeron was nothing but tall-stiff shoulders and an arrogant smile. She couldn't help but shudder.

This is not the uncle I wished for...

But that mattered little in the grand scheme of things. As it always did. But she was, in a way, proud of him. Proud for him.

How could she not be? When Daeron was so sure of himself, standing amongst the rocks and timeless sand. That this was where his rule would begin, these people would love and admire all in which he was. It settled uneasily in her stomach. Burning. Rumbling.

A crimson warning that echoed ahead. How she knew not. Beware, danger lies on. That was all she felt. Visenya shuddered.

"Do they not wish to be conquered?"

Jorah shook his head.

"You didn't conquer them. You liberated them. There is a difference, My King."

"Some," murmured Daeron. "Love their golden and silver chains."

Visenya glanced at her uncle with a raised brow at such words as these.

"I sincerely doubt many enjoy the chains of slavery, Uncle. There is never a choice."

Visenya glanced at the great wide doors as they creaked open, people upon people wandering out. For all that she was unsure, the look of wonder in their once hopeless eyes was a sight to be seen. She smiled. It couldn't be quite helped. In times like these, though they were few and between, she was happy.

Arrax screeched from her shoulder, flapping his leathery wings in delight. Yellow-golden eyes watching the strangers in caution. But Visenya didn't seem to care, for she had helped. Free people. Liberate. It filled her heart with nothing but joy.

"This is Daeron Targaryen, the Stormborn, the Unburnt, the King of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros, Father of Dragons. It is to him you owe your freedom!"

She scowled furiously at Missandei. Visenya had hardly sat on the sidelines and whimpered in the tents as if she was a maiden that desired nothing more than a needle and thread. Visenya Targaryen was a warrior, it ran through her blood true much like it did with her namesake. And yet, it was Daeron. King Daeron that received it all. For the very first time envy boiled in her blood.