What happens when Rhaenyra and Daemon's night in the brothel turned out to be more than what the princess admitted to? What happens when a child is conceived that night? What happens when that child is a girl, born the perfect image of a Targaryen p...
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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.
