The Lion and the Wolf ~ Game of Thrones

12

A/N: So, I'd made a mistake in the timeline (not that it really matters) that bugs the hell out of me. So, to clear it up for anyone who's a tad confused, I'll outline it here.

279-280 AC: Robert's Rebellion, Visenya's birth, Joanna's birth.

Everything from then on out is following the show timeline—ages, dates, e.g.

294 AC: Theon outs Visenya. Ros rejects Visenya.

296 AC: The Royces visit Winterfell. Visenya and the "godswood girl" meet.

So, it's been four years since she's been outed, two years since she started living in the Wolfswood, and two since she'd met the godswood girl (who you first generation readers already know the identity of.) Sorry if it is confusing, but none of us are really here for in-depth timelines, right? Maybe I'll do that in a different fic.

Enjoy!

-xXxXx-

King's Landing.

Visenya Targaryen.

I'd had to get out of there as quickly as possible.

Because the door swung shut behind me, the tears were flowing again. I hadn't spoken about Ros for so long that I'd almost forgotten about the freckled, fire-kissed girl I'd loved but couldn't have. Four years ago, when the prisoner had revealed my secret after I'd refused to fall prey to his blackmail, she'd been dragged into it, used as a scapegoat, and my sweet Ros had suffered. We'd not even been lovers, but no one would believe me when I swore it.

My chest still bled with heartache and rage when I thought of it.

Perhaps it was useless, but I wrapped my arms tightly around myself and pretended it was Mother comforting me. As much as the notion distracted me from Ros and what had happened to her, it only made me miss my mother more. In the months since I'd learned about who and what I was, the dreams of her had been my only balm. Joanna helped in that regard more than she could ever know, but... dreaming about Lyanna Stark's smile kept me from going mad.

I stopped by a window and looked out over my city. It seemed almost lovely from Aegon's High Hill, but I knew, down in those streets, I knew, this was the most disgusting city in the Seven Kingdoms, perhaps in the Known World. Each day of living here only served to enrage me further. I'd still not found Father's plans for a city on the southern shore, it more than likely having been destroyed during the sack that killed Elia and my brother, but Varys was searching each of the Silver Prince's former residences throughout the city for them.

In any case, we needed a source of income before we could even begin considering such a massive project... Didn't the Pact of Ice and Fire between Lord Cregan and Prince Jacaerys apply to me? My heart skipped. Perhaps I'd have Varys travel to Braavos and look into that. He was no stranger to making money, I'd come to realise.

So lost in thought, I failed to hear the clattering of footfalls rushing down the stairs and into the corridor—the old man would have twisted my ears and shouted that they were useless. It was both an amusing and depressing thought, so I ignored it and caught myself on the windowsill before stumbling onto my arse. A curse grumbled from my lips, and I pushed myself off the sill and whipped around, ready to rip the throat out of my assailant, but stopped when Arya sat on the tiles underfoot. Big grey eyes looked up at me, glistening with tears, and she sniffled.

It almost made me fall to my knees and try to comfort her, to wipe away those tears, to threaten to butcher whichever bastard had made my little sister cry, but those weren't my instincts—those were Jonelle's. "Why do you hate me?!" It made me blink to hear the genuine heartbreak in her voice, the hiccups splitting her words. "Why, why, why?!"