» 10/1/2020 - ivar x targaryen oc «
In the great City of Pentos, inside of the Magister's extravagant mansion, there was a young princess. Her hair, silver and silky, tumbling down her slim back in loose strands and untangled braids. She barely re...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
═════ ╫ ═════
A chorus of loud knocks were heard outside the door of Visenya's chamber in the Magister's mansion, and the young princess put down her brush and turned around to nod at one of the slave girls tending to her sheets. Quickly, the girl bowed her head in acknowledgement and opened the heavy, wooden door to reveal the Magister with a slave man hidden behind him.
"I hope we have not disturbed you, princess," the Magister said then, lowering his head respectfully. "How do you fair?"
Visenya smiled. "As any could cope being separated from the two people you have had spent your entire life with." It is true. Without her, Daenerys and Viserys had left with Khal Drogo and his khalasar the day after the wedding about two days ago. Viserys had thought it wise that Visenya stayed behind with the magister until he returned with his army. He claimed that she would be safer from the Dothraki men that would want her.
The Princess of Dragonstone barely hid her shiver of discontent. Despite her brother's intentions to keep her safe from the hands of 'savage men', as he liked to call them, Visenya knew that the savagery in Viserys was all the reason why she was kept here. To ensure that she remained pure for him. She did not want to even think of what would happen to her when he returned.
Viserys had also taken Ser Jorah Mormont with him, as well. Visenya was disappointed. She had grown fond of the knight during the hours they spent together at the celebrations, and a small part of her hoped that Viserys would let him stay as her personal guard – but when Visenya had asked Viserys of this, he had simply scoffed and waved her away. He said that he needed to begin his Kingsguard, not a 'princess party'. Safe to say, she regretted asking since Viserys remained gruff with her after this. He refused to even say goodbye to her before he left.
"If it pleases you, princess," Magister Illyrio spoke then, beckoning for the slave behind him to approach with something long and covered in his hands. "I bear another gift I had waited to give you."
The slave knelt before her with the item presented forward. When he took off the cloth covering, Visenya gaped at the sight. It was a beautiful sword, longer than her arm but thin and very light when she picked it up.
Taking a closer look, she noticed that the hilt was made of black dragon-hide, the cross guard in the shape of wings and made of gold. In between the wings was a large ruby that shone brightly in the setting sun. The blade itself was magnificent and well taken care of; glinting silver in the sun's rays peeking through her curtains. It was very sharp, and looked as if it could cut through iron.
"This is one of the ancestral swords of your house, my princess," Magister Illyrio stated. "I have managed to use my connections faithfully to find it within the waters of the Gods Eye and smuggle it out of Westeros into my hands. As it belonged to your ancestral namesake, it is now yours."
"Dark Sister," Visenya whispered in awe. Her ancestor, Queen Visenya Targaryen, one of the two sister-wives of Aegon the Conqueror, fought with this Valyrian steel blade over three centuries ago. It looked as new as it did in the history books. It was said to be lost during the Dance of Dragons, a Targaryen civil war, when its wielder, Daemon Targaryen plunged it into Aemond One-Eye's skull as they fell into the depths below with their dragons, Caraxes and Vhagar. Visenya never imagined she'd be ever holding such a weapon.
With tears in her lilac eyes, Visenya placed her hand on the Magister's arm. "Thank you, Magister. I am grateful for all these generous gifts you have bestowed upon me and my family. As always, you are much too gracious."
The old man nodded, pleased. "It's my pleasure, princess." He straightened up then and added, "I have also organised for a warrior from one of the Free Cities to come and aid you in your training. Viserys doesn't know of this, however-"
"My training?" Visenya echoed, her lilac eyes wide. "You want me to learn how to fight?"
He stared at her blankly. "Would you like to?"
Peering down at the sword in her hands, Visenya thought of her ancestors. She imagined the great, yet monstrous things they had committed in their lives when they held this sword in their hands. The threatening echoes of the warrior queen, Visenya, fighting and conquering the Vale. Looming shadows of Vhagar entangled with Caraxes in the air as Prince Daemon Targaryen leaped from his saddle and pierced Dark Sister into the only other eye of Prince Aemond.
Energy rushed through Visenya's veins. The memories of she and her siblings suffering on the streets of the Free Cities flashed before her eyes. The flickers of the red door, her mother's cries of pain, and the crashing of the sea against the cold rocks of Dragonstone. No, she did not desire to be so hopeless anymore. She wanted to be a true Targaryen, not to grow old and die forgotten. Known only as one of the daughters of the Mad King.
"I would." Visenya decided then, determined as she pulled her sword closer to her chest. "When will the warrior arrive, Magister?"
"In a week's time, no doubt," the Magister replied, and Visenya noted the thrilled smile he had behind his grey-and-white beard. "In the meantime, become acquainted with it. I hear a blade treated well does so in kind on the battlefield, princess."
Visenya nodded again, looking away from him and back down to her sword. From where she stood, she could also feel a phantom warmth radiating from her chest of dragon eggs under her bed nearby. The essence of them burned and lapped at her skin. She excused it as a trick of her own excitement.
"Thank you again, Magister. This truly means a lot to me," Visenya said, blinking thoughtfully still at the Valyrian steel of her ancestral blade.
The old man acknowledged her gratitude with a subtle nod and exited her chambers with the slave following obediently and closely at his heels.
The slave girl reached to take the sword from Visenya, but the princess pulled away and shook her head. Obediently, the slave girl backed away and returned to cleaning the bedsheets.
Visenya eyed the chest of dragon eggs peaking from under her bed and wondered if they were burning hot, or if it was just the formidable Pentos heat again.
