The Conquest

Visenya

Clang.

Steel met with steel; metallic melody echoed throughout the smoking hill. The young lad's step wobbled as he made to sidestep and slipped his footing. Visenya retracted her sword giving her opponent chance to pick himself up.

The youngest Velaryon regained his stance quickly enough, gripping his sword by two hands, panting heavily. A drop of sweat slid down the bridge of his nose. His breath turned into puff of smoke in the chilly morning.

"Again." Visenya commanded. She remained in same pose, weight resting on one side, Dark Sister in her right hand. The cold air was seeping through her chainmails and she longed for the warmth of furnace. But she had to train the young squire her uncle had deposited at her service.

Colrys was still fragile from the blow he took years ago, wincing at the slightest hit on his belly. He was quick on his feet however and quick witted, he could act before anyone got close to him.

He was collecting his strength, drawing heavy breaths. But that did not fool Visenya who was a seasoned warrior herself. She had anticipated Colrys's sudden lash that came on her; she blocked lazily and pushed him back.

"Do not grunt." She chastised. "It gives you away."

To his credit, Corlys got up and clutched the neck of sword. Instead of lunging head on, he danced forward, using his intellect to read body language. She whacked to his left. Sure enough, Corlys met him with swing of his sword. Before they could clash, Visenya had ducked and kicked his knee, knocking out his balance so he fell back on his arse.

"That was not fair!" He yelled, covered in dirt. "You were attacking to my right. I was caught off guard."

Visenya tutted. "You should be looking at my eyes boy, not my hands. And you expect the battle to be fair? A battle is never fair. You and your sword are one. When you fight, you use all of you."

She was about to recount him the story of her brother's first training with her when a shout from courtyard was heard. Visenya looked for the disturber. Maester Cyrus stood in his grey robes waving a scroll in the air. Several chains hung from his neck making him droop with weight, resulting in his crooked back.

"Clean after yourselves." She ordered the master at arms, heavily set man, muscled like a bull. He shot her a hostile look as she passed him. His pride was hurt waiting on a woman wielding swords. He was gifted fighter and a trust-able man, otherwise his head would have come off the first day.

She took off her gauntlets and unclasped the lock on breastplate. The ringmail fell to the ground with ringing thud.

"A raven from the Storm king, my lady." He informed in wheezy voice.

During her predecessors time, all scrolls were read by the maester first and delivered to the Lord of Dragonstone who usually was the eldest child. Perhaps that was why, Aegon had entrusted Visenya with this, to show she still was above him even if he was the Lord of Dragonstone. She unrolled the scroll and scanned.

"Fetch my brother." She commanded. The maester nodded and scurried away.

Once in her chamber, she instructed the maid to draw her bath. In the privacy of curtains she striped off her robes and sank into the scalding tub. She did not flinch at the stinging water. Targaryens were the blood of the dragon. Fire gave them strength and life. It cleaned away their sins, purified the soul.

The words of the scroll did not leave her mind however and she rose quickly and dried herself. She put on her robe: red embroidery on black. The Targaryen colors.

"Where is my brother?" She asked the guard at the door of the west hall where the painted table was installed. A huge slab of wood carved in the likeness of the land of Westeros, designed by thirteen men who had traveled with her and Aegon in their voyage throughout the seven kingdoms.