Visenya Targaryen knew many things to be true. She was Harwin Strong's daughter. She was a Targaryen Princess regardless. And she was not going to marry for love.
With a war looming, Rhaenyra Targaryen must do everything in her power to strengthen h...
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Visenya woke in a fevered state, a dream about her wedding night had roused her. What had started off heavenly, Lord Stark kissing her neck and pulling her clothes from her until she was trembling with need had become frighteningly horrible. It had been so perfect, so intoxicating. Only for him to transform just as Visenya moved to undress him. He transformed into a direwolf, huge and growling. And he ripped her throat open until she woke, gasping and grasping for her throat expecting to feel her vocal chords in shreds bathed in blood.
Dread and fear were not uncommon to Westerosi brides but Visenya resented fear and she didn't want it. It was fear of the unknown she told herself. Fear of a life bound to a man she didn't understand, who she was quite sure didn't like nor understand her either. Fear of an alliance with the North that would be her responsibility to keep strong for her mother and brother's sakes. Fear of a wedding night that she had dreaded since she was old enough for her mother to tell her what marital duties consisted of.
The Queen had made a comment about Haelena flowering much sooner than Visenya. The girls knew that being a woman came with the sight of blood and more changes than they could keep up with. But what they hadn't been aware of was the link with babies.
Visenya's brothers scoffed with laughter when she had asked at dinner how women became withchild. Her mother had shushed the boys, opting to tell Visenya in private that night.
"It can be a duty, for many women it is nothing but their responsibility to their house. But it can be a pleasure, dearest... that is why they are called pleasure houses."
Rhaenyra had brushed her hair, braided it for sleep, and waited as the girl processed it.
Her brow furrowed and Rhaenyra knew a question was on the horizon.
"Women can enjoy it too?"
She asked very unsure of herself. The way the Queen had spoken, it had seemed like a dreadful bother that meant closing your eyes and waiting until it was over, a time for counting backward in your head or reciting poems silently to keep your mind occupied.
"Of course they can, they do, just as much as men. Women are the very same with their needs and wants."
Her mother had told her, being sure that Visenya never felt the same guilt and shame she had in realising she wanted sex just as much as her partners did.
Visenya didn't distrust her mother but so far her experiences with boys had been lacking, clumsy and dare she say, boring. Boys who were either trembling with the fear of touching a real Targaryen princess or too busy getting their own pleasure that they forgot she was there at all. Boys who had bony fingers and dry lips, who made no noise at all, or who made awfully unappealing noises like whimpers or grunts.
Whatever lay ahead of Visenya on her wedding night, she wasn't sure it would ever be anything like the stories she'd heard from handmaidens or the female servants who gossipped outside Viseyna's chambers in Dragonstone.
