The Fire That Burns Within US - Aemond Targaryen

Blood Of My Blood

138 - Dragonstone

Dragonstone had never been a place that Visenya felt welcomed, she should have, but unlike Driftmark, which was also by the sea, it needed a true sense of home. The Targaryen's rather a fortress than a home.

Being tied to a bed in only pants and bindings around her chest didn't make her feel welcome. Visenya doesn't remember much about getting to Dragonstone, having lost concessions shortly after Daemon had tied her onto Caraxes. Still, she does remember trying to fight the maester when he had removed her armour and shirt to treat the stab wound she had gotten from Daeron. Visenya doesn't like maesters, and they are old fucks that are too suck in their ways to realize other ways of treatment.

Visenya had argued with the maesters like usual but to shut her up; they had given her the one thing she feared they would, Milk of the Poppy. She can feel the effects, clouding her mind more than the pain. Not only the pain from the stab wound but also the fact that she had been born less than a fortnight ago and wasn't nursing since she left Harrenhal.

Then there is the situation with her wrist, rubbed raw from her trying to get the chains off. Visenya must have been rather adamant about getting them off while still on the high from the milk of poppy because she could see bloodlines running down her arms. She doesn't know what the cuffs and chains are made of, but the metal is still cutting into her wrists, and she has lost feeling in her fingertips from them being held up for so long.

Visenya rolls her neck, and the cracking of her neck relieves her stiff neck. She is cold and doesn't want to be here any longer. Another thing that makes Dragonstone even more unwelcome is the gourds that stand post watching her, not outside her room but inside it. Visenya knows well enough that the guards' gazes are not one of hate or fear, she is completely exposed to them, and if they wanted, they could do anything they want to her; she is at their mercy. Fucking chained to a bed half naked. One had even dared to comment on helping her relieve some of the pain in her chest.

As the door opens, Visenya lifts her head and is relieved at the sight of her Grandsire. She knows that her Grandsire wouldn't let any harm come to her so long as he is in the room; the two guards tense up as Lord Corlys enters the room. Visenya does her best to send him a smile, but she lets her head rest on the pillow, having her neck strained too much and having no strength to lift herself.

Corlys couldn't believe the sight before him; the second he heard that Visenya has been taken hostage, he tried to find what room she was in, but the Blacks seemed not to want Corlys to see Visenya. The bloody bandage wrapped around her stomach makes his curl, and the lack of clothing makes him wonder how Rhaenyra could treat her daughter like this, only having a wrap around her chest and pants. Corlys remembers when Visenya was just a babe, being able to hold her in only one of his hands and how here she is, tied to the bed like a wild animal.

"By the gods," Corlys mumbles before looking at the two men standing guard. He would tie them to the bow of his ship for the way they are looking at Visenya, the way they shift on their feet tell Corlys that they enjoy watching his granddaughter. "Give me the keys at once,"

"The chains are not to be removed, Lord Corlys," One of them speaks up, and Visenya rolls her eyes; they are loyal fuckers.

Corlys looks at Visenya's wrists, noting how her hands are limp against the shackles and the blood following the cuts. How could a parent allow their child to be treated this way, to inflict pain on them? The unmistakable metal stares back at him, sharpened to the edge; Rhaenyra wanted to hurt her daughter. To use shackles made to inflict pain, made of Valyrian steel. How could a mother do this to their only daughter? How could someone do this to their own blood?