In a world where power is everything and blood is thicker than water, Visenya must carve out her own path, not just as a Targaryen, but as the dragon she was born to be.
"The Forgotten Visenya" is a tale of love, loss, and the fire that burns withi...
The hall of the Red Keep was unusually quiet, save for the soft flutter of wings. Ravens had been sent across Westeros, their sleek forms disappearing into the grey sky. They carried news that would shake the realm—news of the betrothal of Cregan Stark, Warden of the North, to Princess Visenya Targaryen.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Within the thick stone walls of the royal quarters, King Aegon II paced like a caged beast. His footsteps echoed ominously, but his mind was louder. The moment he heard the news, his blood ran cold, then hot, like wildfire spreading beneath his skin. His sick fascination with Visenya had always been something unspoken, something he buried deep beneath layers of ambition and duty. But now, everything had changed.
The North would be united with the Blacks, with Visenya—a thought he could not bear.He clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms, the pain doing little to temper his rising fury. He had spent years overlooking Visenya, pretending that she did not matter in the grand scheme of his ascension, but she had always lingered in his thoughts. The wild, untamed dragon who defied convention, who rode her own path no matter what anyone said, had somehow lodged herself into his twisted mind. She was an enigma, a symbol of power he could never quite control.
And now she would belong to Cregan Stark. Aegon felt bile rise in his throat at the thought."I won't let this happen," he muttered to himself, his voice low but venomous. His fists slammed onto the table, sending goblets tumbling to the floor. "The North... with *her*? Do they not see what this means?" His breath came in shallow, rapid bursts as his mind raced, imagining the North standing behind Rhaenyra, Visenya by her side, Silverwing in the sky.
He stormed out of his chambers, his face darkened with anger. His guards stiffened as he passed, eyes wide with apprehension. Aegon had always been prone to fits of rage, but today he was on the brink of something dangerous, something no one could predict.
In the council chamber, the lords and knights had already gathered, awaiting his presence. His mother, Alicent, sat near the head of the table, her face weary from years of intrigue and war. Otto Hightower, always vigilant, stood by her side, but even he looked unsettled.
"Aegon," Alicent said softly as her son stormed into the room. "This news—"
"Is madness!" Aegon cut her off, his voice harsh and biting. "A betrothal? With Cregan Stark? Do they not understand what this means for us? The North has always kept its distance, but now—now they'll side with Rhaenyra. They'll side with *her*."
Otto exchanged a quick glance with Alicent before speaking. "It was an expected move, Your Grace. Rhaenyra's faction needed strong allies, and what stronger force than the North? Cregan Stark's loyalty will sway the balance."
Aegon seethed, his jaw clenched tightly. "Of course you think this is strategic," he snapped. "But this is more than just strategy. This is about Visenya. She's a wild card, and now she's *their* wild card. That wolf in the North doesn't know what he's taken on."
Alicent frowned. "You speak of her as though—"
"As though she *mattered*?" Aegon spat, his eyes blazing. "She *does* matter, Mother. Do you not see it? She's more than just another Targaryen. She's... she's like Daemon. Always defying, always pushing the limits. The people love her, and now she'll have the North behind her."
For a moment, the room was silent, the weight of Aegon's words sinking in. His obsession with Visenya had never been fully understood by those closest to him, but now, in his fury, it was laid bare. A sick fascination had festered beneath the surface—an unspoken desire to claim what could never be his, a desire tainted by power and blood.
Aegon's breathing became labored as he paced the chamber, his eyes darting between the faces of his council. He could feel their eyes on him, judging, wondering how much of his fury was driven by the looming war, and how much was driven by something darker.
"We cannot let the North side with the Blacks," Aegon hissed, his voice trembling with emotion. "We have to do something."
"What would you have us do?" Otto asked, his tone carefully measured. "The ravens have been sent. The alliance is being solidified as we speak. Short of marching an army to the North, we must prepare for the reality of this betrothal."
Aegon's gaze darkened, his hands trembling. "Cregan Stark thinks he can tame her," he said quietly, almost to himself. "But she's a dragon. She'll burn the North to ashes before she lets him control her."
Alicent stepped forward, placing a hand on her son's arm. "Aegon, we must focus. This is not the time for petty grievances. Visenya is but one piece in this game, and we must be smarter than them. The North may be lost, but we have strength in the Reach, in the Riverlands. We will outmaneuver them."
Aegon pulled away, his face contorted with rage and something deeper—an unshakable sense of betrayal. "She should have been mine," he whispered, so low that only Alicent could hear. "She was meant to be *mine*."
Alicent's eyes softened with understanding, but she said nothing. There was no reasoning with Aegon when he was like this, consumed by the twisted desires that had festered in his mind for too long.
Aegon straightened, his anger simmering beneath the surface. "Prepare the men," he said, his voice cold and resolute. "If the North thinks they can stand against me, they'll learn what it means to defy a king."
As he turned to leave the room, the door slammed shut behind him with a deafening thud, leaving the council to exchange uneasy glances. Aegon's fury was now a force that could no longer be contained, and the realm would soon feel the weight of his wrath.
Outside, the ravens continued their flight, their black wings cutting through the sky, carrying the news of Visenya's betrothal to every corner of Westeros. And as Aegon's anger grew, so did the storm that was brewing—a storm that would soon engulf them all.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.