Today, a tournament unfolded in homage to Visery's newest heir, a bittersweet moment steeped in celebration and sorrow. Visenya's mind understood the occasion's purpose, yet her heart ached with a longing for it to be a tribute to her own existence, her own worth.
As she listened to her father greet the guests, her focus wavered, consumed by worry for her mother's health and the treacherous pact her family had made with Otto Hightower, a devil cloaked in ambition.
Deep inside, Visenya felt the urgency rising; her mother was in labor, and she couldn't shake the instinct that compelled her to check on her. In the end, all that would matter to them would be the birth of a new child.
Suddenly, her attention was captured by her sister and closest confidante, engrossed in discussion about an enigmatic knight. She blinked and turned, her heart leaping when she noticed Boremund Baratheon stride forward, declaring his intention to win Princess Rhaenys's favor. The name he uttered—'the queen who never was'—pierced Visenya's heart, igniting a harsh truth within her. If her mother's child survived, Visenya realized with dread, she too might find herself cast aside, her claim to the throne dismissed, just like Rhaenys. In that moment, she understood the profound sadness behind Rhaenys's gaze; they were reflections of one another—two daughters of conquerors, both stripped of their birthrights, both yearning for acknowledgment in a world that refused to see them.
As she listened to the frivolous chatter between her sister and Alicent about the spectators, Visenya chose silence, retreating into her thoughts, praying they would let her be. But even in her isolation, she caught a glimpse of her future with a bitter chuckle when her uncle named her future stepson. The glare of her betrothed felt like ice against her back, chilling her.
She witnessed her uncle's request for Alicent's favor, watching as joy illuminated her face, and an inexplicable pang twisted in Visenya's stomach. But she swallowed it, tightening her grip on her heart as her father rushed away, an ominous shadow trailing him.
Instinctively, she followed, fear unfurling within her. She had to see her mother; her heart refused to slow its frantic pace.
What she found was a haunting tableau of her mother's helplessness. Visenya's body ached to rush forward and embrace her, yet fear bound her feet, forcing her to watch as her father made decisions that would carve their fates. The terror in her mother's eyes shattered Visenya's soul. All this for a son!
In that moment, her heart shattered. She braced herself, terrified of witnessing her mother's death. But curiosity also gripped her—would her father truly command the end of Aemma's life?
Then she heard her mother's anguished scream.
Visenya's heart dropped as she encountered the devastating aftermath—a lifeless form where her mother once stood, and a newborn boy, the son her father had craved. Overwhelmed, she fled as the world around her spun into a dizzying haze.
She dashed to her room, the relief of having taken the moon tea washing over her like a cold wave—it meant she wouldn't have to endure the pain of childbirth for years, yet a horrifying revelation struck her: she never wanted to be a mother at all.
When she learned the babe had survived, rage ignited within her. She hurled a chair across the room, splinters raining down like shards of her broken heart. Her father and this child were responsible for waging war on her mother's life.
Now, they stood over her mother's funeral. Visenya wished with all her heart that this loss might sway her father to delay her impending marriage. Yet he only saw a chance for a male heir, a desperate hope that weighed heavily upon her.
She felt, with a bittersweet pang, that the fleeting hours of the babe's life were bathed in happiness, a stark contrast to her own sorrow. Visenya would never be the son they desired.
As she watched her mother's body consumed by flames, she ached for her mother's warm embrace, for the soothing words that always made the world right. But Aemma Arryn, her beloved mother, was lost to her, forever.
The harsh truth sank into her bones: her father had decreed that she would wed Otto by the week's end. No longer would she be Princess Visenya Targaryen, Heir to the Iron Throne; she would become Lady Visenya Hightower, bound to a man she did not love, destined to bear his children.
The very thought curdled her stomach. Desperate to share her anguish, she found herself before her dear friend Alicent's door.
She burst into Alicent's room, her heart racing at the sight of her friend draped in the faded memories of a dress once worn by Alicent's mother. The sight struck Visenya like a bolt of lightning, leaving her breathless and bewildered.
"Run away with me to the Free Cities!" she half-whispered, filled with desperate urgency, her heart pounding in her chest.
"Don't be ridiculous, V," Alicent giggled, though confusion danced in her eyes.
"I'm serious, Ali! We won't take my dragon, and no one will ever find us. We could be on a ship tonight, sailing away to freedom," Visenya pleaded, her voice thick with longing.
"V, you are destined to be queen of the Seven Kingdoms one day. Would you really sacrifice all of that for a reckless escape to the Free Cities with me?" Alicent questioned, a mix of disbelief and concern coloring her tone.
"In a heartbeat," Visenya replied swiftly, her resolve unwavering.
"I can't. My father would be furious, and yours would be too. I have to go visit my father. So, I must bid you good night, Visenya," Alicent reasoned, her voice heavy with the weight of responsibility.
"Please, Ali," Visenya whispered, a single tear escaping down her cheek, each drop a painful testament to her longing.
"I have to go. I know you miss your mother, but it will all get better soon," Alicent smiled softly, though her eyes glistened with unspoken sorrow as she turned away.
As Alicent stepped out of the room, a chill settled over Visenya's heart, the harsh reality sinking in: she would soon be bound to Otto Hightower, a fate that felt as suffocating as it was inevitable.
YOU ARE READING
Blooming tragic
FanfictionVisenya was always viewed as one of the perfect and most beautiful princesses in the realm, that's were here alias came from "The realms pearl" or "The realms flower" and "The realms happiness" Otto Hightower was King Viserys hand since the fall of...
