What happens when Rhaenyra and Daemon's night in the brothel turned out to be more than what the princess admitted to? What happens when a child is conceived that night? What happens when that child is a girl, born the perfect image of a Targaryen p...
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The water was choppy as they crossed the bay and Visaera clung to the railing of the ship, fighting the urge to vomit up her breakfast. Heavy black clouds shrouded the sun from view, reflecting perfectly the melancholy the princess was feeling. She hadn't spoken a word to her mother all morning, not at breakfast, not in the harbor, and not as they boarded the ship and Rhaenyra bid her goodbye.
As the ship moved across the blackwater, she watched the her family and their dragons disappear into the distance ahead of the sails. She didn't want to feel it, but resentment still managed to boil up in her gut as she watched her brothers and parents fly overhead. The gods weren't fair when they forced her to be born into the Targaryen bloodline without a dragon, and her family was cruel for making her travel alone. Even Joffrey had been tied to Rhaenyra's chest before she mounted Syrax.
As they were rowed to shore from the anchored ship, Visaera looked up at the castle in the distance, her astonishment written all over her face. Her nose was filled with the smell of salt and sulfur and brimstone as the wind whipped around her. It was colder than King's Landing, a lot colder. Without the protection of the bay, the elements could be felt in full force.
Already, she hated it. And yet, even in her horrid mood, Visaera couldn't deny that the castle was beautiful. As they marched up the long bridge, she stared up at the towers, looking like great stone dragons. Her dreams of flames and smoke suddenly seemed more familiar, as if Dragonstone longed for her to feel the dragonfire that burned in her blood. Instead, it only reminded her was that she didn't have a dragon of her own.
A faint buzz settled around the edges of her consciousness, like the sound of fireflies hovering in the night. She entered through the stone mouth of a dragon, and her footsteps echoed off the walls as she was escorted into the great hall.
"This is where our ancestors first settled after the doom of Valyria, nearly two-hundred years before Aegon and his sisters conquered the Seven Kingdoms." Rhaenyra recited, as her daughter glanced about. It had been years since the princess had been inside the walls of the keep; she seemed to be nearly as impressed by the castle as her children were. "Alright, then, go find yourself a room." Jace and Luke were already running around the castle, settling into their new home. Visaera remained where she was, still staring about.
"Visaera—"
"Please, don't," she begged her mother, "I'm here, aren't I?" she asked. Without another word, she marched out of the hall and went to find her chambers. The stone walls held little warmth compared to the Red Keep and, by the time she found a set of rooms to her liking, she was shivering.
"Here, my lady, let me," one of the maids insisted. She was young, only a few years older than Visaera, and she had long, auburn hair.
"Please," Visaera, acknowledged, standing back to so that she could start a fire. "What's your name?"
"Alarya, my princess," she replied as she stacked wood in the hearth.
"My mother only just brought you here to Dragonstone?" she asked. As she struck the flint and steel together, attempting to light the kindling, the girl answered to the affirmative.
