The Unburnt

Chapter 19 - Targaryen Grief

You would not believe this, but the previous chapter changed the story, it did change the outcome because this constant spat between Visenya and Rhaenyra, especially after Visenya's recent labors, it's quite the momentum.

Also, be aware of foreshadowing! (ah, I cannot wait to write the next chapters, the twist will be twisting) I wrote this, just this morning and I have been squealing ever since! THE PLOT TWIST, JESUUUUS! You will love every bit of this, it may seem like a wtf moment, but be patient. It's about to get very Targaryen.

High Valyrian in bold.

Visenya Targaryen

I sat near the hearth, wrapped in the comfort of the flames' glow, but no warmth could ease the restlessness in my heart. The fire in our chambers struggled to keep the chill at bay, but it was not the cold that gnawed at my bones. It was the weight of everything—of loss, of whispers, of treachery hiding behind every corner of the court. My son, my dragon-child, was gone, and though the flames of the pyre had taken him, the ashes still clung to my heart.

Daemon was across from me, cradling our son, Daryon, in his arms. The boy, now nearing his first nameday, tugged at his father's long silver hair, tiny fingers tangled in the strands as he gnawed on them with the determination only a babe could possess. It was a scene that might have been laughable to anyone who knew the true nature of Daemon—the Rogue Prince, feared and temperamental—brought to softness by a babe's curiosity. But to me, it was everything.

"Never cut your hair husband," I murmur and he winks at me. I blush like a maiden, which is nowhere near the truth, as my body has brought forth two babes, and the Valyrian Gods were kind enough to keep Daryon healthy. "Last winter was kinder." Almost a year ago I gave birth to our first child, one that was so quiet and obeying, that my father always joked that perhaps our boy had taken more on him. My father, who was now my goodbrother.

Gods what a headache our family was.

"I cannot stay here, Daemon," I say, breaking the silence. My voice is steady, but beneath it, there is a tiredness given our ordeal. "I cannot breathe within these walls any longer."

Daemon sigs, his eyes flickering toward me before returning to Daryon. The boy tuggs at his father's hair again, and Daemon chuckled softly, the sound strange in the heaviness of the moment. "The winter has made travel impossible, Visenya. We cannot leave until it dies down. The roads are frozen, and even the dragons grow sluggish in this cold."

"I do not care for the cold, nor the roads. I care not for the dragons being sluggish. I need to leave this place, Daemon. I cannot stay here and watch them feast on our pain."

"Do you think I wish to stay? To watch my wife suffer at the hands of this wretched court?" His voice lowers, the fire of his temper simmering beneath his words, that temperament kept at bay only by luck. "We must play the long game, Visenya. We cannot leave in haste, not while the realm watches us."

"You certainly have become one to care for what the realm believes. Turning into my father."

Daemon's gaze meets mine, his jaw set in that stubborn way that both infuriated and endeared him to me. He wanted to say something but remained silent. A muscle in his jaw ticks.

"Perhaps," he said slowly, "there is a benefit about our stay here. There might be a way to sway the realm to our favor, while we prepare to depart for Dragonstone after Winter. Otto Hightower..."

"Otto?" I repeat, my tone laced with disbelief. "You would suggest we ally ourselves with him?"

Daemon shrugged, his expression unreadable. "I've met with him before. Many moons past. He may be a viper, but he is not without ambition. And ambition, ñuha ruklonītsos, can be used to our advantage." My little flower.