The War of the Two Dragons || A Fire and Blood Story

Chapter 3

Visenya stood by the window of her chambers in the Red Keep, gazing out at the sprawling expanse of King's Landing. At sixteen, she had grown into a striking young woman. Her once slender frame had filled out, her curves accentuated by the finely tailored dresses she wore. Today, she was dressed in a gown of deep green velvet, adorned with intricate gold embroidery that shimmered in the morning light. Her platinum hair, cascading in soft waves down her back, framed a face that had lost its childlike roundness, revealing high cheekbones and a delicate jawline. Her violet eyes, always so expressive, now held a depth of wisdom and sadness beyond her years.
As she turned away from the view, Visenya caught her reflection in the mirror. She saw a young woman who had been forced to grow up too quickly, her beauty tempered by the harsh realities of court life. She sighed softly, adjusting the emerald necklace that rested at her throat, a gift from her mother. Her fingers traced the delicate design, a small comfort amidst the turbulence of her thoughts.
The years had not been kind to her family. Her father, King Viserys, now in his mid-sixties, had aged dramatically. Though only six years had passed, it seemed as though twenty had taken their toll on him. He now wore a mask to hide his disintegrating skin, which seemed to peel away in patches, a testament to the disease that was slowly consuming him. His once vibrant presence had faded; he spent most of his time in his chambers, either working on his miniature reconstruction of the Red Keep or being tended to by her mother, Alicent. For Viserys, Alicent had become more of a caretaker than a wife.
Visenya's heart ached as she thought of her father. He had never been truly present for her and her siblings, and the past six years had only deepened that absence. The once robust and commanding figure of the king was now a ghostly presence in the castle, a shadow of his former self. His health had deteriorated to the point where he rarely attended council meetings, and when he did, his presence was more symbolic than influential.
Alicent, now in her late thirties, had become more formidable. The stress of managing the kingdom in Viserys's stead had aged her, but it had also sharpened her resolve. She was always impeccably dressed in gowns of rich emerald, her auburn hair streaked with silver, and her green eyes, once filled with warmth, now radiated a steely determination. She was the true power behind the throne, ensuring that the affairs of the kingdom continued smoothly despite her husband's decline.
Otto Hightower, now in his late sixties, with almost entirely white hair and a face lined with more wrinkles, remained vigilant, cunning, and manipulative as ever. As Hand of the King, he never missed an opportunity to assert his interests and attempt to manipulate the king. His presence was a constant reminder of the political machinations at play within the Red Keep.
Her brother Aegon, now twenty,, had remained largely the same, if not worse. Shortly after their return from Driftmark, he had married Helaena. About a year later, Helaena gave birth to twins, Jaehaera and Jaehaerys. Despite now being a father, Aegon continued to be the immature and reckless young man he had always been. He drank excessively, lazed about, and often slept through the day only to venture out at night to brothels and, who knew, perhaps even worse places. He had grown even more disheveled, with a perpetual look of disdain in his green eyes. His fair hair, once neatly kept, was now often unkempt, and his posture conveyed a sense of entitlement and arrogance.
Helaena, now nineteen, had remained much the same—always in her own world, speaking in rhymes or allegorical figures that no one quite understood. She was a loving mother, often seen playing with her children, but she despised Aegon with all her heart. Visenya still remembered how, after their first night as husband and wife, Helaena had begged her mother to let her sleep with her for an entire week. Helaena's ethereal beauty was still evident, with her golden hair and soft blue gowns, but there was a sadness in her eyes that spoke of her unhappy marriage.
And then there was Aemond. Of all her siblings, Aemond, now eighteen, had changed the most over the past six years. He had always been tall for his age, but now he towered over the rest of the family. His platinum hair, grown out to his shoulders, was often pulled back in a half-up style. His features had hardened, his jawline becoming more pronounced. He exuded a fierce pride and had truly become a man. He always wore a bandage to cover the eye he had lost six years ago, the night he bonded with Vhagar. Thinking back to that night and Aemond, Visenya remembered how their relationship had changed drastically. They had once been inseparable, confiding in each other, sharing their struggles, fears, and difficulties—the only two without dragons, the ones targeted by their brother's cruel jests, the so-called "useless" ones of the family. But from the moment Aemond claimed Vhagar, everything changed. He became the person at court with the greatest potential power, and he knew it well. As he grew older, he became more ruthless, cold, and calculating. No one dared insult him as they once did, not even Aegon. Aemond and Visenya remained close—he was the only one who paid her any attention besides Helaena—but their relationship had changed. Since becoming more ruthless, Aemond had also become more possessive and jealous of Visenya.
There were moments when Aemond's possessiveness showed. He had once confronted a young nobleman who had merely spoken kindly to Visenya at a feast, accusing him of trying to court her without permission. The tension had been palpable, and the young man had quickly excused himself, leaving Visenya embarrassed and angry. Another time, Aemond had demanded to know where she was going every time she left the castle, insisting that she not associate with certain people he deemed unworthy. His protectiveness had turned into an obsession, and it felt suffocating. Visenya remembered an incident when she had gone riding with a group of noble ladies. Aemond had followed them unannounced and made his presence felt, ensuring everyone knew that Visenya was under his watchful eye. The ladies had exchanged uneasy glances, and Visenya had felt humiliated, her freedom curtailed by her brother's overbearing nature.
Visenya's mind wandered to her youngest brother, Daeron, now sixteen. Thinking of him always brought pain. A year after they returned from Driftmark, Daeron was the only one who hadn't changed. He remained a breath of fresh air for Visenya, always affectionate and deeply attached to her. Alicent and Otto, worried that this bond might lead Daeron astray, decided to send him away to train as a knight. Visenya hadn't heard from him in five years, and she was quite sure that any letters Daeron sent her were intercepted by Alicent. Yes, because since that night six years ago, when Visenya went against her family, everything changed for her. Besides her ethereal beauty—everyone in the castle called her the most beautiful—there wasn't much else in the eyes of Alicent and Otto. Visenya didn't have a dragon. She didn't know how to fight with a sword. She read a lot and was very intelligent, but she didn't use her intelligence to scheme or manipulate people like her grandfather did. As a result, she was considered the black sheep of the family. Aegon, despite being an idiot who did nothing but drink and rape maidservants, was the firstborn son and thus everything was excused. Helaena was the perfect, calm mother, Aemond the perfect warrior, and Daeron the prodigy child. Visenya, on the other hand, was seen as a failure who dared to turn her back on the family. Alicent and Otto gradually began to exclude her from the family. Whenever she entered a room where intrigues or political matters were being discussed, everyone fell silent, as if fearing she might be a spy, or simply because they wanted to isolate her further. Visenya was mostly confined to the tower and attended fewer than half of the banquets her siblings attended. What she enjoyed was reading, devouring books about dragons, ancient Valyria, novels, anything she could find. Another passion of hers was riding horses, as the stables were the only place she could go freely.
Visenya's gaze from the window focused on her brothers in the castle garden, practicing sword fighting with Ser Criston Cole. The clang of steel on steel rang out as they parried and thrust, each blow a testament to their skill and strength. Aemond stood out, his movements fluid and precise, his platinum hair catching the sunlight as he moved. His intensity was palpable, and it was clear he had become a formidable warrior.
Suddenly, the castle gates opened, and a grand carriage bearing the Targaryen sigil entered the garden. The sight of the familiar emblem stirred a mixture of emotions in Visenya. The carriage was elaborate, with a sleek black finish and ornate gold detailing that caught the sunlight. The large Targaryen dragon sigil was emblazoned on both sides, the red and black colors vivid and striking. The wheels were reinforced with iron, and the windows were covered with rich, crimson curtains that fluttered slightly with the movement.
Her heart raced with anticipation and trepidation, wondering who had arrived. She felt a strange mixture of hope and fear as she watched the carriage roll to a stop. The door, painted a deep, glossy red, swung open, and a footman in Targaryen livery stepped down, bowing deeply.
Visenya stood frozen, her mind racing with possibilities. Could it be Daeron, returning after all these years? Or perhaps Rhaenyra, come to visit after so long? She felt a pang of loneliness as she realized how isolated she had become. Her family had drifted apart, each member consumed by their own ambitions and struggles. She longed for a connection, for someone who truly understood her.
Visenya watched with curiosity as the regal carriage entered the garden. She saw Aegon and Aemond halt their training, glancing at the carriage before exchanging malicious grins and approaching it, snickering. Trumpets blared, echoing through the castle. Visenya observed everything with trepidation, pressing her hands against the window. She tried to breathe slowly to avoid fogging up the glass.
At some point, the castle doors swung open: King Viserys and Alicent stepped out. The trumpets blared again. A man stepped down from the carriage and shouted, "All hail Rhaenyra of House Targaryen, Princess of Dragonstone and heir to the Iron Throne, and her royal consort, Prince Daemon Targaryen."
Visenya couldn't believe her ears. It was the first time in six years that she saw Rhaenyra and her family. And if both Rhaenyra and Daemon were there, then there was a good chance their children had followed them. How had they grown? How had they changed? How had the events of six years ago affected them? Lucerys, Baela, Rhaena... Jace...
Visenya focused on that last name, remembering the brief but meaningful moments they had shared six years earlier. She recalled the time, just seconds before saying goodbye, knowing they might never see each other again, when he had taken her hands in his, and it had been one of the warmest and gentlest touches she had ever felt, not like the cold, detached touches of Otto or Alicent. Lost in her thoughts, Visenya realized the glass had completely fogged up. She quickly wiped it clean but, to her great disappointment, everyone had left the garden. The servants were now removing the carriage. Visenya cursed herself for a few moments, her heart pounding.
Suddenly, the door swung open. A maid entered, followed by two others, saying, "Her Grace the Queen has ordered us to clean and dress you. You are required to attend the audiences today, and later, dinner."
That request seemed strange to Visenya. Why would her mother Alicent want her to attend these events? There had to be a hidden motive. Maybe it was because if Visenya were absent from such an event, rumors might spread that she was dead, which would weaken the Hightower bloodline since a Targaryen dying of illness was always a disgrace to the family name. Or perhaps Alicent wanted to show Rhaenyra that all her children were in good health. Or maybe Alicent was ready to marry Visenya off, and what better occasion to announce it than in front of Rhaenyra, to make her tremble at the prospect of a possible new alliance? By now, Visenya was of marriageable age, and she knew well that her mother and grandfather would have no qualms about giving her to the highest bidder, either to secure more support or a powerful ally in the future or to strengthen their bloodline and claim to the throne.
This last thought made Visenya shiver, thinking that, for the last reason, she might be married off to Aemond. The idea of it made her shudder. Aemond had become increasingly possessive and cruel, and the thought of spending her life with him was a nightmare.
The maids approached and began to prepare her, washing and dressing her in an elegant gown suitable for the occasion. The dress was a deep green velvet, soft to the touch and richly adorned with intricate gold embroidery that traced floral patterns along the hem and sleeves. The bodice was fitted, accentuating her waist and curves, and the neckline was modest but elegantly framed with delicate lace. Emerald brooches, matching her necklace, were pinned at her shoulders, holding the flowing fabric in place. The skirt billowed gracefully as she moved, its weight and texture a constant reminder of her status and the expectations placed upon her.
Once ready, Visenya looked at herself in the mirror, seeing a young woman who seemed like a perfect princess, but feeling inside her a confusion and anguish that no dress could hide. The emerald necklace rested perfectly against her skin, drawing attention to her slender neck and the elegant line of her collarbone. Her hair had been styled in loose waves, cascading down her back and framing her face in a way that highlighted her high cheekbones and delicate features.
The maids led her through the castle corridors, her silk shoes echoing on the cold stones. Each step brought her closer to the great audience hall, where her family and guests awaited. She felt the weight of her role, the duty to represent her house despite everything she felt inside.
As she entered the hall, all eyes turned to her. She felt the whispers, the curious and judging glances. But among all those eyes, she sought only one look, that of Jacaerys. She hoped to see in him a reflection of the warmth and kindness she remembered, something that would give her hope amidst the chaos.
The scene in the audience hall was sumptuous: tapestries depicting the great battles of the Targaryens decorated the walls, golden chandeliers illuminated the space with a warm, soft light, and the tables were covered with silk cloths and vases of fresh flowers. Alicent sat on the throne, her demeanor regal and calm, but her eyes betrayed a certain tension.
Visenya took her place next to her brothers, feeling once again like an outsider among them. Aegon and Aemond whispered to each other, occasionally shooting her looks of disdain. Helaena, with her usual dreamy air, played with a small flower she held in her hands.
Aegon leaned over, his breath reeking of wine. "So, sister," he sneered, "enjoying your little moment of attention? I doubt anyone really cares."
Visenya straightened her back, refusing to let Aegon's words affect her. "Why are you always so eager to belittle me, Aegon? Is your life truly that empty?"
Aegon laughed, a harsh sound that echoed in the hall. "Touché, dear sister. But at least I have my diversions."
Aemond, standing on her other side, glanced at Visenya, his eye narrowing with suspicion. "And why are you so dressed up for the occasion, Visenya?" he asked, his tone dripping with jealousy. "Hoping to catch someone's eye?"
Visenya met his gaze, her heart aching at the distance that had grown between them. "I dress as befits a member of this family, Aemond," she replied evenly. "Is it so wrong to take pride in our house?"
Aemond's expression hardened. "Just remember, Visenya, your place is here with us. Do not forget that"
Before Visenya could respond, the doors of the hall opened again. Rhaenyra and Daemon entered, followed by their children. Visenya's heart pounded as she watched them approach. Jacaerys, Lucerys, Baela, and Rhaena had grown, yet there was something familiar about them, something that took Visenya back to those days spent together.
Rhaenyra entered the hall, a vision of regal beauty. She had matured into a striking woman in her late thirties, her long silver hair cascading down her back in elegant waves. She wore a gown of deep crimson with gold embroidery, the color accentuating her Targaryen heritage. The bodice was intricately designed, hugging her form and showcasing her queenly presence. Her eyes, a piercing violet, scanned the room with a mixture of authority and warmth.
Beside her, Daemon looked every bit the formidable warrior. His platinum hair was tied back, revealing a face that had grown more rugged over the years. He wore a black leather doublet adorned with dragon motifs, his presence commanding and intimidating. A sword hung at his side, a reminder of his readiness to defend his family at any moment.
Baela and Rhaena followed their parents, both having grown into beautiful young women. Baela, with her striking features and confident demeanor, wore a dark blue dress that complemented her fierce personality. Her hair, a mix of silver and dark streaks, was styled in intricate braids. Rhaena, softer in her demeanor but no less stunning, wore a gown of lavender, her long hair flowing freely. Both sisters carried themselves with grace and poise.
Lucerys had grown into a handsome young man, his features a blend of his mother and father's. He wore a green tunic with silver detailing, his dark hair falling in loose curls around his face. There was a quiet strength in his eyes, a hint of the man he was becoming.
Jacaerys advanced confidently, his hair grown more curly and the puffiness once present in his face gone, replaced by a more prominent jawline and an intense, profound look in his eyes. His dark hair, now longer and wilder, framed his face in a way that accentuated his strong features. He wore a deep blue doublet with silver embroidery, the fabric rich and luxurious, indicating his high status. His movements were assured, and he exuded a sense of maturity that was both surprising and captivating. His eyes meeting Visenya's for a brief moment. His gaze was intense, filled with unspoken emotions. Visenya felt a strange calm wash over her, a sense of reconnection and hope that she hadn't felt in a long time. She remembered their last moments together six years ago, the warmth of his hands holding hers, the kindness in his eyes that had given her a fleeting sense of comfort in a world filled with coldness and cruelty.
As she watched him now, she couldn't help but wonder how the years had changed him. He seemed taller, more sure of himself, with the same dark hair and striking features she remembered. There was a maturity in his gaze that spoke of experiences and burdens carried over the years. She wondered if he still thought of her, if he remembered their shared moments with the same clarity and fondness that she did.
Aegon, noticing the exchange, smirked. "Ah, look who it is. The bastard lover himself."
Aemond's expression hardened. He reached out and gripped her arm possessively, leaning in closer, both to speak more quietly now that there were unwanted guests and to assert his dominance and possessiveness towards his sister, making it clear to everyone. "Just remember, Aegon, never joke about something like that again. Visenya might be useless, but never would she stoop to marry a bastard."
Aegon smirked, moving closer and placing an arm around Visenya's shoulders, his eyes lingering on her cleavage. "Calm down little brother. I don't care who Visenya marries," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "The only thing that would sadden me," he whispered in her ear, "is not being able to admire your... qualities anymore." His gaze dropped pointedly to her chest, making his meaning clear.
Visenya pulled away from Aegon, her cheeks flushing with anger and embarrassment. "Enough, Aegon," she hissed.
Aemond's gaze shifted to Jacaerys, his expression unreadable. "It seems our guests have arrived. Let's hope they remember their manners."
***
As Jacaerys entered the grand audience hall, he was immediately struck by how much had changed in the six years since he last set foot in the Red Keep. The familiar scent of polished wood and burning torches filled the air, evoking memories of his childhood, but everything else seemed different. The grandeur of the place felt more imposing, more ominous, as if the very walls were closing in around him.
A sense of excitement and trepidation washed over him. How had everyone changed? The thought of seeing Visenya again, after all these years, stirred something deep within him. He remembered their brief but meaningful moments together, the warmth of her hands, the kindness in her eyes. Would she still be the same?
He glanced around at his family, noting the changes that had occurred over the years. His mother, Rhaenyra, now carried herself with an even greater sense of authority and resolve. Her regal bearing was unshakable, her eyes sharper, filled with the wisdom and sorrow of the past years. She had become a pillar of strength for their family, but Jacaerys couldn't ignore the weariness that sometimes clouded her gaze. Despite her strength, he worried about the burden she carried, particularly with Daemon's increasing ambition and abusive tendencies. It was clear that Daemon's ambitions had shifted towards the throne, and his ruthless nature had only intensified.
Daemon, ever the formidable presence, seemed more tempered but still radiated an aura of danger and protectiveness. His platinum hair was tied back, revealing a face that had grown more rugged over the years. He wore a black leather doublet adorned with dragon motifs, his presence commanding and intimidating. Jacaerys had a complicated relationship with his stepfather. On one hand, he respected Daemon's strength and the security he brought to their family. On the other, he despised the way Daemon treated his mother and feared his growing ambition.
Baela and Rhaena, his sisters, had grown into confident and beautiful young women, each bearing the grace and strength of their lineage. Baela, with her striking features and fierce personality, wore a dark blue dress that complemented her bold spirit. Her hair, a mix of silver and dark streaks, was styled in intricate braids. Rhaena, softer in her demeanor but no less stunning, wore a gown of lavender, her long hair flowing freely. Both sisters carried themselves with grace and poise, embodying the strength of their mother and the charisma of their father.
Jacaerys felt a particular fondness for Baela. Rumors had been swirling about their potential betrothal, and while the idea initially made him anxious, over time he had grown to appreciate Baela's spirit and intelligence. There was a sense of comfort in the familiarity and shared history they had. He admired her strength and resilience, traits he found increasingly attractive.
Lucerys, his younger brother, had grown into a handsome young man, his features a blend of their mother and father's. He wore a green tunic with silver detailing, his dark hair falling in loose curls around his face. There was a quiet strength in his eyes, a hint of the man he was becoming. Jacaerys felt a protective instinct towards Lucerys, knowing that the younger boy looked up to him for guidance and support. Lucerys had always been more reserved, and Jacaerys wanted to ensure that his brother felt safe and valued within their often tumultuous family dynamic.
Their family bond had grown stronger through the trials they had faced. The loss of loved ones, the constant threat of political machinations, and the ever-present need to defend their claim to the throne had forged an unbreakable unity among them. They had learned to rely on one another, to support and protect each other no matter the cost. Despite Daemon's abusive tendencies, they stood together as a family, their loyalty unwavering.
As Jacaerys scanned the room, his gaze fell upon the children of Alicent Hightower. He felt a wave of mixed emotions wash over him. Aegon stood with a smug expression, his eyes filled with a sense of entitlement and arrogance. His hair was tousled, and his clothes, though rich and finely made, were worn with a careless disarray. Aegon had grown more unruly and disdainful, his hedonistic tendencies only becoming more pronounced with age. Jacaerys despised Aegon for his arrogance and lack of responsibility. Every encounter with Aegon was a reminder of their animosity and the disdain Aegon seemed to hold for everyone around him.
Aemond, on the other hand, exuded a cold and calculated demeanor. His tall, imposing figure was accentuated by his dark, brooding attire. The eyepatch covering his lost eye only added to his menacing presence. Aemond's features had become sharper, his gaze more intense, and the air around him seemed to crackle with restrained fury and ambition. Jacaerys felt a deep-seated resentment towards Aemond, not only for the violence of their last encounter but for the calculated cruelty he now saw in his cousin's eyes. Aemond had always been driven, but now he seemed downright ruthless.
Helaena, with her dreamy air, seemed almost detached from the tension in the room. She stood playing with a small flower, her expression serene but distant. There was an ethereal quality to her, as if she existed in a world separate from the turmoil around her. Jacaerys felt a mix of pity and frustration towards Helaena. Her detachment from reality made her difficult to connect with, but he couldn't help but feel sorry for her, living in her own world while chaos swirled around her.
Finally, his gaze fell upon Visenya. She had grown into a stunning young woman, her presence commanding yet vulnerable. The elegance of her dress, the way it highlighted her figure, only made her more enchanting in his eyes. Her long hair cascaded in soft waves, framing her delicate features. The silken strands caught the light, shimmering with an almost ethereal glow. Her eyes, once filled with innocence, now held a depth of sorrow and resilience that stirred something deep within him.
Jacaerys took in the delicate curve of her cheekbones, the fullness of her lips, and the graceful arch of her eyebrows. Her skin was fair and smooth, a perfect canvas for the subtle blush that colored her cheeks. The transformation from the girl he remembered to the woman before him was profound. The childlike roundness of her face had given way to elegant contours, and her figure had developed into the curves of a woman. His gaze lingered on her, appreciating the softness of her features and the strength she exuded. He realized, perhaps for the first time, just how deeply he cared for her.
Just as Jacaerys was absorbing the sight of Visenya, a sudden movement caught his attention. He saw Aegon lean over, his breath reeking of wine, and make a crude comment to Visenya. Aemond, too, moved closer to her, his hand gripping her arm possessively. Aegon's arm was around her shoulders, his eyes lingering on her cleavage, and Aemond was asserting his dominance over her. Seeing her being treated with such disdain and possessiveness by her own brothers made his anger flare even more. There was an undeniable sense of protectiveness that surged within him, but also a feeling of jealousy and possessiveness that he found difficult to understand. The thought of another man, especially Aegon or Aemond, being so close to her in such a way was an unbearable sight. He struggled to understand why he felt this way, but the sight made his blood boil. He had always cared for Visenya -from the event of the six years before-, but the intensity of his emotions in that moment took him by surprise. She had grown into a beautiful young woman, and the thought of her being mistreated in that way by anyone, was unbearable and upsetting.
He felt his jaw clench and his fists tighten at his sides. The memory of Visenya's kind and gentle touch, the warmth of her eyes, flashed through his mind. He struggled to maintain his composure, knowing that any outburst could have severe consequences.
The doors of the audience hall creaked open, and swift footsteps echoed as they advanced down the corridor leading to the throne. Alicent sat composed upon it, while Otto, the Hand of the King and her father, stood by her side. The man who entered was Vaemond Velaryon.