The Unburnt

Chapter 5 - Boring feast

Authors note: I wish to mention that in this story, Daemon does not develop feelings for Rhaenyra as in HOTD, here he is supposed to end with Visenya, I am still trying to figure out the time line but what I can say is that between Rhaenyra and Visenya is a gap of 4 years, while between Visenya and Daemon is of 20, hence why so many betrothals and fuss over the Rogue Prince. In the next chapter I will make the timeline more clear but it differes from the original story stay assured

Visenya Targaryen

Feasts were my biggest nightmare, events spawn from the depth of Hell, obligated to speak to lord and ladies you do not like, to dance with moves you do not enjoy, to fake a new self upon the cusp of perfect politeness for the rest of the court. My favorite pastime was either embroidering or studying history, fascinated by the tales of Old Valyria. Consequent to learning of my uncle's devotion and knowledge of our ancestors, I also began finding Old Valyria as a primary interest of mine. Today it was different, not having any reason not to attend the evening feast with my family, my presence was imperative for the time being. It was a charade, one my young self hated. This feast was meant for my uncle Daemon, who came back home victorious from the Stepstones, a long war, away from Kings Landing, his family and all that was mundane for him. The tales have reached the court's ears, about how Daemon was changed man, a Rogue Prince turned now into a seasoned warrior. Grand Maester Mellos stuttered words around the corridors of how the bloodshed only did to heighten his desire for the wicked, for the sinful, for what was declared as not honorable.

I was suppressing any sign of discomfort as my maid Holgate, a kind older woman, braided my hair into an intricate design, my wish for keeping my silver hair down my back was revoked tonight as we all had to be on our best behavior, and flaunt our royal status, which meant unnecessary amounts of braids in my hair, uncomfortable gowns and a bucket of fake smiles. Mother Aemma was adorning my bigger sister's hair with some jewels, she was now twelve name-days old, and steadfastly approaching the age of marriage along with the supposed introduction as heir to the Iron Throne. My gaze went back to the mirror where I saw my reflection. Miserable, thats how I would describe one self. Behind me, my mother settled so she could also adorn my updo, small hairpins with jewels were pressed into the silver hair and bit into my scalp but showed no reaction whatsoever.

"For how long do we have to stay at the feast mother?"

"Oh my sweet, since you two are younger you shall be excused when your bedtime arrives," Aemma's sweet voice carries a hint of warmth that settles in my veins and brings my body to the present. Apart from my mother's voice, my uncle was the only one next to whom I would feel as comfortable as with my mother Aemma, and while he was gone at war I missed him dearly, so much that no letter he sent could ease the ache in my heart knowing he was here with me.

"Do not worry sister, you shall stay by my side, our cousins Laena and Laenor would also be here," adds Rhaenyra in an attempt to make me come out of my shell but my response was just a curt nod. I already dreaded the evening to come.

Sitting at the Royal table, both King and Queen, dressed in their most expensive gowns portraying perfectly the symbol of House Targaryen, respect and power. My father, King Viserys, looked quite angry as my uncle had yet to arrive at a feast he threw in his name. It was hilarious as if no one knew of how much my uncle detested such events. A hush fell over the Grand Hall as a figure emerged, dressed in fine clothing, a doublet of black tunic and red linen shirt underneath, my uncle Daemon walked with slow deliberate steps towards our seats, a gleam in his eye as the court murmured words about him as he passed the row of tables. He stops in front of the table and clasps his hand before him, a boyish smile on his face as he looks at his brother: