The Conquest

Visenya

The bells tolled in the Sept, echoing through the narrow, stone passages. It chanted in sync with the heavy beats of Visenya's heart. Stop it, she chastised herself. This is wedding, not battle. Although Visenya would choose battle without second thoughts than ending up in this disagreeable marriage. But it is better to have reins in one hand than lose in both.

A sharp knock on her door snapped her musings. She turned to face the handmaiden. Pretty little thing, she is. Short, redhead, petite. Frightened and attentive as if Visenya might take her head for slightest mark on her robes. 

"It's time, my lady." As if the bells haven't told her that yet. "They are ready for you."

"Fetch my cloak." She ordered and checked herself in the mirror. It's too dark to make out her features distinctly. Her white robe fitted perfectly on her blooming figure. Two pins of dragon heads attached to either side of her shoulder, holding the robe in place. She missed her bracelet on wrists, it made her feel more naked and vulnerable. A Valyrian steel circlet, bejeweled with rubies adorned her head. A single dragon head molded in gold hung around her neck. It had hung around her mother's, now with her. She wondered if her mother will make another for her sister.

The handmaiden returned with her cloak, red upon black. She threw it around her neck and fastened it to the robe. Visenya winced at the tug. "Careful, girl."

"Pardon me, my lady." Her voice shook. So did others. The servants are more polite and formal to her than rest their family.

Visenya knew people were less warm to her than her siblings. Unlike Rhaenys's beguiling smile, her smile never inspires affections in people heart; not that many people have heart anyway. She was not charismatic like her brother who won over small-folks and lords alike with his charm. "You have heart of Valyrian steel, lass. As cold and strong and magical." Her father had said to her. She was one and ten then, already mastered swords, lances and archery, trained with her younger brother each morrow till sun down. Aegon was strong and natural swordsman, Visenya was quick as shadow flickering on the walls and skilled. No man other than her brother, can boast of disarming her in duel. Her brother. Her brother whom she is marrying.

Out of the three siblings, their father, Aerion Targaryen favored Visenya most. She was his first trueborn child, even with birth of Aegon, his only trueborn son, the Lord of Dragonstone continued to favor her. In his indulgence, Visenya learned to wield swords, he was the one who gifted her Valyrian steel sword. It was light and made to be carried easily by a woman. "Dark Sister" she had named it.

As they grew up, all of the Targaryen children became educated under maesters about governance and knowledge of the world. A rivalry grew between Visenya and Aegon as to who will succeed their father. Their mother, Lady Valaena was of opinion that the seed was planted long before when her Lord husband approved of Visenya's bearing and encouraged her to take part in his ruling.

Over time, however, the favor shifted in favor of Aegon. Lord Aerion's health was failing; everyone, nobles and her family alike, deemed Aegon as the next heir.

"I am your eldest trueborn child, Father." She had reminded when the question of succession came up. "I am as much qualified to rule as is Aegon, if not superior."

His father had simply nodded and Visenya knew that she was alone in this. Her brother had supporters: their little sister, Rhaenys; their mother; the Velaryons; the Celtigars and the common folk. She had support only of Kerwin Celtigar, who, Visenya suspected had wanted to marry into greater houses as his brother Crispian Celtigar is to inherit the Claw Isles. Orys, Aegon's childhood companion and his most trusted friend, didn't choose either of them.