Chapter 32 - Her kepus, the fire to her blood

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Hello my loves, also 40k reads? Well, thank you for loving our power couple. Finally, I managed to edit this chapter, I was so sleepy last night I could not post it, sorry for the waiting. This took longer because I wanted to settle some of the key points for future chapters, because I want to write more fluff and smut for our Daemon and Visenya, and how their life is back at the capital. I alove the intrigue of politics but oh my God isn't it tiring, because there is so much to come up with (since I am not following cannon, so I ACTUALLY have to come up with some original plot). Also isn't this chapter quite long? Yes it is, because our couple is well...power coupling *mischievous smile*

I want to make a disclosure, that Daemon loves Visenya, just as she loves him. With that being said, they have a unique relationship and what works for them may not work for you. I cannot fully consider this chapter as dubious consent, but just in case some of you don't like to read about that.

Warning: undefined dubious consent

High Valyrian in bold.


Visenya Targaryen

128 AC


The sun rises earlier, casting its golden rays upon the blanket over furniture in my chambers, however within these stone walls, I feel only the chill of distance. Two months have passed, and the space between Daemon and me has grown day by day, wide and unyielding.

Summer has come, yet its warmth does not reach my heart, nor does it soothe the ever-present tension that lingers in the halls of the Red Keep. Daemon and I are like ghosts, haunting each other in corridors and at supper. His presence is a shadow on the periphery of my vision, a storm brewing but never striking.

Most nights, I find him in the nursery with Arlion, our youngest son, who is almost two years of age. Sometimes I even hear his singing lullabies to the soon-to-be toddler. Each day I repeat the word Kepa, searing it into Arlion's mind, so he always bables it whenever he is with Daemon, pulling a smile on his father's face. Daemon cradles him as though the boy were the last tether to something pure in this cruel and unrelenting world.

It is a sight that should bring me comfort, but it only deepens the ache within me. I do not know how to end this. This silence. This stalemate. Daemon is my husband, my uncle, my anchor. He is the only one who can bolster our claim, rally the lords to our cause, and protect what remains of our family, the future King of Westeros. Yet I feel as though he no longer sees me. I am alone, even with my children. And yet, I need him.

The Iron Throne looms over us, but its promise is tainted. My visions have always been a cruel truth, showing me the cost of every gain. I remember the vision I had before we came to Harrenhal, of Daemon placing King Jaehaerys's crown on my head. At the time, I believed it to be a sign of triumph, of victory. Now, I see it as a warning. The throne will come, but only at a terrible price. Daemalia paid that price. Her absence is a wound that refuses to heal, festering between Daemon and me. I can feel it in every glance he avoids, in every sharp word he spares for the maids and the servants but not for me.

We speak only in passing, stolen moments in the corridors or tense meals with our children. He sits at one end of the table, brooding and aloof, while I sit at the other, trying to hold together what remains of our family. I miss him. Gods, how I miss him. His touch, his smirk, the way his voice could soothe my darkest thoughts. But what I loathe more than this estrangement is the waiting. Waiting to rid myself of Rhaenyra, to see her cast down from the pedestal my father so foolishly placed her upon.

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