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Chapter Text

THE BIRTH OF PRINCE MONTERYS & PRINCESS VISENYA 

Barely seven months had passed by since the tragic white wedding of Princess Rhaenyra and Ser Laenor of House Velaryon, which was a very happy and swell time for the King, who to his utter joy, found he was to become a Grandsire all too quickly after the couple came together in celebration of their joining Houses.  A little tightly pulled together, but something that was ignored by the proud man who huddled around his eldest child. 

The Princess of Dragonstone had often found herself sitting alone, her hand on the bump that stretched outwards from with her belly, that seemed to grow much bigger than she had seen her mother or Alicent's stomach had, calculating any movements that would be caused by her unborn child's hand or foot, fascinated by the way she was always responded back to eagerly whenever she poked her delicate pale skin.  A smile would dance on her lips, never more excited than that moment to meet her baby. Even if it had taken some time to accept the truth of the future. 

Lord Corlys Velaryon and Princess Rhaenys Targaryen had both travelled back to Kings Landing for the birth of their grandson. Their first grandchild. Pride had been the only shine to Lord Corlys since he'd found out the news — some dare say he'd even twisted the salt into the wounds of others. 

It'd be his grandson, wouldn't it? It'd be his grandson who sat the Iron Throne after his son's wife. It'd be his blood and his name in the history books. 

And he was prouder than the King himself with such a knowledge. Lord Corlys had pestered Laenor beyond humoured relief when he'd spot the Velaryon without the presence of his Targaryen wife by his side. 

And ever since the announcement of Rhaenyra and Laenor's first growing babe had been made, Lord Corlys had grown cold toward the competition. Calculating toward Queen Alicent Hightower and protective over the bump and it's future.

A pained huff ripped through the sweaty air as she gripped one of the midwives hands that had been extended to her, attempting to breathe more steadily but failing to do so out of sheer exhaustion. Her head ached to lift and shake in protest.  

She often wondered what it would be like labouring, what her Mother had suffered through time and time again, and this was far beyond her expectation. It felt like everything was on fire. Every muscle she possessed screaming at her.  

"It is alright," The midwife reassures, or rather lies, to her, the Princess continuing to shake her head in a hurried rush. "You shall be just fine. The baby will be here quickly, Princess. The head is crowning." 

Rhaenyra's eyes squeezed shut as a small cry of agony followed, not bothering to turn her head and muffle the sound with her shoulder. Despite knowing it would be painful, often attempting to prep herself with visions to prepare herself, this went above her first thoughts in the most innocent of ways. All that haunted her thoughts was how dangerous it was for women to give birth. How many fell during it and after to fever. 

"Princess, please. You must push or this babe shall not survive the labour." 

The midwife's exclaim causes panic to beam through Rhaenyra. The possibility had somehow slipped her mind that her son was also in a dangerous state and not just herself. A shaky nod in acceptance was all she gave in response. 

She couldn't lose the child she carried.

Not when she had waited months for them. Not when her fingers had cradled across her stretchmarks and her voice had whispered in announcement of who she was. When she, alone as Laenor swam in his own lake of misery and grief over Ser Joffrey, only had her child as company. As her love. As her everything. 

This child was hers. 

Her heir, they'd be. But hers. 

Her dainty fingers clung onto the maid's. Rhaenyra gave no acknowledgement to the fuss that gathered outside the large dark doors. And outside — in the open world — dragons stirred in the pit, catching every pitch with Rhaenyra's screaming echo. 

Her first attempt of a mighty push came at the price of her head being thrown back into the pillow, struggling. Her first effort into bringing her heir into the dynasty. And it was only encouraged from there on.

"You must push once again." The midwife told her. "For your first child. Pray shall the Mother make him strong." 

Him. 

They wanted a son first from her. The realm wanted the heir to have a son to follow through on her claim and Rhaenyra knew she needed just that — she was not naïve. And beyond her need to strength her claim in the most logic way possible, Rhaenyra did want a son. 

Though her heart also ached for a daughter, her little girl.

Her eyes burn into the ceiling above her. This was how her Mother had felt. Her Mother had been younger and just as alone. She gave another nod, small as it was, and swept up the strength to give another push as she'd been instructed. A royal womb. 

This is our battlefield. 

It sure felt like a fight. 

But she wasn't her Mother. Her Mother had suffered with the heartache of trying to provide her husband with a son and each birth had come with it's own difficulties. 

Princess Rhaenyra would prove to be the opposite of Queen Aemma before she took the Crown. After all, she birthed six sons. Six Princes. 

And one Princess.

It wasn't only her cry that invaded the heartfelt air. She was not alone in that. 

The sound of a new-born. The cries are new and loud and Rhaenyra's vision is blurry for the moment, though her body fills with desperation to catch a glimpse of the life she'd just brought into the world. That she risked her own being to have. 

"Where. . . where. . ." Her lips tremble. Her whole body shakes and the only thing she wanted to do was rest her head. But at the very same time, she fought for the bundle that the plump maid held securely to her chest. Where the cries came from. 

There's a smile on the woman's face. "It's a boy, Princess Rhaenyra," She sounds content with sharing the news, understandably happy. It was her that assisted in the future King's birth. Though the worry in her eyes was very-well hidden, it didn't hold strongly. "A healthy Prince." 

Rhaenyra was barely afforded a chance to smile, to take joy in the news, when a new, more profound pain rocketted through her body. The scream tore through her throat, grinding from behind her teeth. Sheets scrunched within her palms, midwifes jump into action.

"There is another!"

"What?!"

Rhaenyra was overcome with the need to scream, more pain and agony spreading throughout her body. 

"You must push again, Princess." The midwife ordered. "Push, Princess."

Rhaenyra ground her teeth so hard, she was sure they would crack. The sheets crumpled within her palms, pained and exhausted scream tearing from her throat. It felt like an eternity, one filled with painful agony, before a second young, and wailing, cry joined its brother.

Her body slumps backwards, exhausted and spent, covered in a sheen of sweat. Her neck aches as she keeps it lifted from its pillow, desperate for the sight of her babes. Two babies that she had, unexpectedly, brought into the world. 

"Wha. . . what..?" Her body trembles, aching and sore.

"A girl, Princess." The midwife voice says, muffled to the blood pounding in her ears. "As healthy as her brother. Kicking like a goat."

A girl, a princess, her little daughter. She could hear her from here, her girl was screaming without mercy, unhappy to be ripped from the comfort of Rhaenyra's womb and into the open world. Her twin shares her discontent, both children wriggling and squirming, tears streaming down their chubby cheeks from the arms that held them.

The afterbirth knocks Rhaenyra. She's forgotten about the words that women had slipped toward her, all hopeful to be giving a helping hand to the King's heir and her own, and her fingers imprint the bed with how hard she presses down. The sheets gather within her palm. 

"It's the afterbirth, Princess," One tries to comfort her, a hand on her shoulder and a rag against Rhaenyra's temple. She wants to help but Rhaenyra wants her to move. To give her some space to collect some space for herself. "It'll pass." 

"Give me them," It was meant to come out a strong demand, not an ask, but it's a whisper. A dent to her pride. The fire in her eyes doesn't melt and the need to take them builds. "Give me my children." 

Her Mother had never held Baelon. Rhaenyra wasn't sure about the other babes that had passed before full-term. She'd been so young and lacked an understanding then, but the older she got, the more she realised the burden Queen Aemma had been fated to. 

The midwife does as Rhaenyra wishes. The babes still cries in her arms as she stops and bends forward, doing her best to be gentle in the transfer in holding, and Rhaenrya gladly takes the twin weights against her chest. "They're kicking," There's a light warning, "Some babes are born more eager than others. These two seem to share it." 

There's a small knocking pain in her belly when a laugh slips from Rhaenyra's lips. It's small and breaking, as if flu clung to her chest and her throat was tightened. Her hands slowly wrap around their small backs, cries only just beginning to soften. It is awkward, holding each twin in either arms, but Rhaenyra refuses to let them go.

"They looks just like you, Princess Rhaenyra." 

Her eyelids fluttered. Understanding ran through her when she glanced to the midwife, before looking back to her son and daughter, his tuffs of blonde and silver hair atop of his head, her strands of silver. A crown would one day sit on the boy's head. His nose was scrunched up but his lips sucked on her skin now and she made no move to pull him away for he was quiet with his upsetting entrance. 

Her daughter stared at her, violet eyes that already resembled that of her sire's. It felt like a punch in her chest, an unforgiving ache that spread. Her girl was uninterested in anything else, nuzzling her small head into Rhaenyra's chest, eyes drooping, already tired from her loud entrance into the world. 

The midwife, Rhaenyra assumed, somebody that had served her Mother before her, hinted to know the truth. These children she had just birthed did not look like Ser Laenor. 

But they were all Rhaenyra so far. 

"They're perfect," She did not care for opinion. She was the Princess, after all. Her Father's daughter. Her Mother's only living child. And these children — these twins, her twins — looked that of the part. So she'd play that part. She had no choice in the matter. 

The next child, she promised herself. The next child would look like her husband whilst their first's looked like her. 

She ran her thumb across the boy's cheek to clear the blood as the wonder grew in her heart at the sight of him, and her little girl. She had never wanted marriage, never wanted children of her own, but she'd never loved something as much as she did in that moment as she held her first-born's. As she held the son she had once declared she never wished to bare, the daughter that she longed for her mother to bare, that she now held. 

But she had bore herself a son and daughter. Rhaenyra had done what her Father had wished for her, to strengthen her own claim to the Iron Throne, and she was determined to protect them in a way her Father had failed to do for her. 

Viserys' words of having a family of her own made sense in a way it never had done before. Looking at Monterys and Visenya brought her the same happiness her own Mother once had. But happier. 

Her body shook as the afterbirth slid out of her, making more of a bloody mess upon the bed she had been long assisted onto. A gasp was the only sign she gave this time, holding her children tighter to her even when the same midwife tried to remove them. 

"Please, Princess," The midwife insists, "Allow us to help you." 

Rhaenyra had always been stubborn. Her hands fought and refused to part with them, bright purple eyes daring for the midwife to try to take him again — the woman doesn't. Nobody tries again. 

"They are her first," Another midwife fills in for explanation at the stressed fall of others faces. Most were there during Baelon's birth. They feared a repeat of his fate with another Prince - especially at the surprise entrance of another Princess. She's the only who places her hands on Rhaenyra's legs and goes quick to work to remove the afterbirth from between. "It is alright." 

Sheets were being moved around Rhaenyra, the pillows surrounding her being swapped out for cleaner ones. Everything seemed numb aside from the weight of the new-born's. "They are healthy? Both of them?" She had to check again, eyes scanning over the pair of them. Looking for something that was wrong. But nothing seemed out of place — his eyes were blinking open and his goo-fingers laid flat against her collarbone. Her daughter's head laying across her chest, her tiny fingers playing with the straps of her gown with an interest. "They are fine?" 

The one who had removed her afterbirth looked back to her, a hand going to stop upon Rhaenyra's shoulder gently. A motherly touch. "They are, Princess Rhaenyra." And that seems to soften the tension in Rhaenyra's body. 

"Your husband, Ser Laenor, wishes to make way into the room, Princess," A maid that hadn't assisted during the birth, standing near the door, informs her. Her hands are nervous by her sides and she only looks up once toward Rhaenyra before glancing back to the ground. 

( She was not one of Rhaenyra's in waiting but the Queen's. Alicent Hightower had sent a lady of her own, eyes within the room, but she had been held at arms length by those that surrounded Rhaenyra Targaryen and her babes, the ones that knew of Rhaenyra and Aemma Arryn already moving with routine. 

It was this lady in particular that left with details of the twins in the Princess of Dragonstone's arms. The one who whispered back to the Hightower in green that Rhaenyra's new-born was that of "brown eyes, a common pug-nose, but blonde hair". The girl a "spitting image of an exiled Prince", that being the only half accurate share. For he had his Mother's purple sight and Targaryen nose, and she only showed signs of sharing violet eyes and sharp nose. ) 

As soon as Rhaenyra nods and a sheet is fitted over her legs, her white and blood-stained dress being itched back over her knees, one of the large doors are pulled open in welcome. A midwife stands close, her eyes darting between the babes and the door, the very same one that had looked at her with the slightest bit of worry. The same one that had watched Queen Aemma bleed out on a birthing bed. 

Ser Laenor Velaryon's face moved with worry as his eyes frantically searched for his wife. A pause in step came at the sight of a babes — a very much new sight, because he'd never so much as seen Rhaenyra around her younger half-siblings before — laying on her. One with tuffs of blonde and silver. The other with nearly pure silver.

"Rhaenyra," His voice sounding as if the air had been swept from his lungs. The freeze only manages another second before he's launching forward, nearly tripping over his own feet to get to her side. And when he arrives, bending so his knees hit the edge, this was the closest they'd been out of the court's eye. "Is. . ." 

Is it a boy or girl? Is what he wants to ask. 

Perhaps if it was a boy, they could name the child Joffrey. After the man Laenor had loved, the one Criston Cole had brutally murdered at Laenor's own wedding to Rhaenyra. It'd be a nice touch. But it was Rhaenyra's skin that was layered with an extra of sweat, it was her that seemed to struggle to hold herself up to greet him as she usually would.

Her eyes watch Laenor for a moment. She's cautious and he doesn't see why — the boy had hair like her, with blonde. Though his skin was pale, it would be easily swayed that the boy just favoured his Mother in appearance. The girl was the spitting image of her, with the difference of violet sight, compared to her lilac, and a sharp straight nose.

"Twins," Rhaenyra finally tells him, looking back to the heir and spare she was speaking of. Laenor's face softened at the reveal. And when she looks back up to him, after observing the redness to the babe's pale cheeks, he'd be a fool to miss the concern. 

"We have twins," Laenor then corrects her. He shifts himself to sit, careful to not brush harshly against her side but only to be able to peer better at the babe. His babe. Their babe. "We have an heir to the Iron Throne - and his protector." 

That's what he was. That's what Viserys had wanted for his daughter to have — security. She knew that. A good match-making husband and a child to back her claim. Her daughter was an added surprise - and Rhaenyra knew her girl would grow into a spit fire, that she would defend her brother and her family to her last breath.

That's not all these children meant. "They're more than that," Rhaenyra tiredly defends their worth. Children buried in their Mother's heart, not a pawn in a poisonous court. "Both of them."

The words would hurt, Laenor figured. The ones that would come once this boy and girl was presented in court and he knew they both had to prepare themselves for it. The pregnancy had come so soon and these children did not take after him as of yet. 

"Of course," He agreed, because she was right. "They are ours." 

He did not try to take them from her arms. Laenor simply sat by her side, an arm leaning up to rest against the board to keep himself from sitting back. It was then he knew this son would not be called by the name of the man that Laenor grieved still. "What is their names?" 

The question takes a second to bury before her brows furrow and her eyes meet his in questioning. A Father and a husband normally named their children, especially their sons. It was unusual to give the privileges to their wives and even she, after being told by both her Father and Lord Corlys, had expected as such. 

"It is not I who birthed them, Rhaenyra." Was his only reasoning. 

It was enough. 

She had thought of names. She's never spoken about them with her husband during the time she had carried her son, her children, for he had been lost in his world of grief and remorse and unable to communicate with her, so she had all but left him to it. Instead, during the times she had been free and sitting, her Sworn — Ser Harwin Strong — had been there. 

( Ser Harwin Strong — the rumoured Father of the heir she held in her embrace. One that nobody would suspect until the birth of her next boy, for that one wouldn't be so lucky — his dark-hair a giveaway to many that he was not the child of Laenor but another. And who else but the protective Sworn Shield of hers? )

And there was one that she had liked. One she had kept to herself and not shared after searching through the names of their family lines. 

"Monterys," The Velaryon-like name appeals to Laenor who cracks a smile at the slip, their eyes meeting again. "Monterys Velaryon." 

His Father — a man he dreaded to think of, knowing the Sea Snake would take one look at the boy's, and girl's,  features and his own would twist — would like the Velaryon touch. But he was unsure whether it'd be enough to calm the storm approaching. 

Jacaerys, Lord Corlys had suggested during their first night upon arriving back at Kings Landing to wait for the babe's birth. But this child did not suit that name. Though he didn't look like a Monterys yet, that name felt right and Rhaenyra wished for it to be used. 

"The first of his name soon enough," He nods in agreement that Rhaenyra was hoping for, taking a quick peek towards the strong winds outside. It was carrying far and wide, something strong about the weather — it had been gathering all day as people waited to hear about the new arrival of House Velaryon and House Targaryen. "The future King." 

That's all some people would see when they looked to their son. A future King to sit the Iron Throne, another Targaryen ruler across the Kingdoms. A babe that could one day be another dragon-rider amongst their Houses. 

Rhaenyra's younger half-siblings, Aegon, Helaena and Aemond, with the youngest being twelve moons older than Monterys, currently had no dragon between them. Aegon and Aemond had eggs in their cradles, one's that did not hatch. Aegon's had turned to stone. Aemond still clung to his. 

A wet nurse waited patiently after respectfully nodding her head. "Monterys Velaryon," Rhaenyra proudly whispered. Most say today was the day she had changed from the Princess she had once been — it wasn't just her survival she fought for anymore. "That is your name."  

"And the girl?"

Rhaenyra's attention shifted to her daughter, the girl staring up at her mother as if she held all the answers in the world. Her lips softly tugged into a smile as she watched her girl - her daughter. There was only one name for this one.

"Visenya." She whispers,  shifting to hold her daughter closer, the babe nuzzling closer to her chest. "Visenya Velaryon."

Laenor laughed lightly, hand soothing over the girl's head. "A fine name, wife. She is sure to be the protective shield her brother will need."

( "Does it matter?" Jace was stopped by a hand on his arm as his older brother pulls him back, Monterys eyes wide and annoyed. His sister, arms crossed, brows raised and unimpressed. All dressed in Targaryen red and black, rich and powering to their Valyrian blood. "The whispers they speak, they would not dare to repeat in front of the King. Your name is Prince Jacaerys Velaryon." 

Jace's head lifts at his brother's words. The truth they held. Words their Mother told them. "That is my name." He repeats. )

The twins' fate was set.

Monterys Velaryon. The Father of the realm, he was remembered as. A King that always was, for he fought and survived the Dance of the Dragons, and his tale was a favourite to tell. 

The story of his twin sister, Visenya Velaryon, an untamed animal, as wild and free as the fire that burned beneath her skin. Her's was a story of loyalty, to her brother, to her mother, to her family. She would burn the realm down for them.

Were it not for Monterys, she just might have.

Chapter Text

It was known to Laenor that the added surprise of twin babes would make their lives slightly more difficult.

Neither him, nor Rhaenyra, knew what they were doing when they expected to have one child - and now with two on their hands, they were more than unprepared. 

Laenor loved the babes, truly, they bore his name, and he had sworn to treat them like his own. But, by the gods, were they terrors.

It had started when Rhaenyra had left for a council meeting, is what Elinda had told him. The twins were still sleeping, napping soundly in their cribs, side by side with each other. Monty's dragon curled around his head, whilst Visenya's crib laid barren of a hatchling. Laenor remembered how Rhaenyra was distraught when their daughter's egg never hatched, whilst Monterys' had cracked open within days of it being presented to him. He already knew what vile words was being spun of his daughter, who was barely past her first name-day.

When they had awoken, a maid had tried to feed Visenya her food. The princess had looked around with sleep-addled violet gaze, seeming to realise the person's arms she was in was not someone she knew, nor desired, to be held by.

That was when the screaming had started.

Unlike her twin, Visenya's upset and anger was loud, violent. She would kick and thrash, almost being dropped by the poor maid that held her. Her cries had kicked off Monty's own tears - the young boy not quite knowing what made him so upset, just that his sister was crying, so he did too.

Laenor had walked into chaos, Elinda practically shoving Visenya into his arms. She, and the maids, had scurried away before he had the chance to speak, both twins still wailing and crying for reasons unknown. Try all he might, Visenya still refused to quiet for him, seeming to be even more upset she was transferred to him.

He exhausted every option. He paced around the room, lightly bouncing her with light shushes on his lips, he tried setting the twins next to each other - as usually when both were set off, it was because they wanted to be near one another - but that was fruitless, the twins' cries only growing more and more. 

By the time the door to their chambers opened again, Laenor was sporting a light headache, his clothing disheveled, with one daughter crying in his arms, and one son with tears streaming down his chubby cheeks.

"What is going on in here?"

"Oh thank the gods." Laenor span to face his wife, desperation in his eyes. "Help me."

Rhaenyra raised a brow, unimpressed with the sight before her. The room was a mess, toys thrown in every corner. Monterys was crying loudly from his crib, though not as loud as his twin, who screamed with the might of a dragon from Laenor's arms. 

"What is wrong with them?" Rhaenyra took a step closer, peering at her daughter in her husband's arms, eyes flicking to where Monterys still wailed. "Honestly Laenor, I've barely been gone that long, can you not handle yourself and two babes?"

"She won't stop crying." Laenor rushed out, still desperately, and uselessly, bouncing Visenya in an attempt to soothe her. "And so Monty won't stop crying, and I have no idea what is wrong, I've tried feeding them, I've tried toys, I've been pacing around this fucking room for gods know how long, and -"

"Calm, Laenor." Rhaenyra stopped him, amusement in her lilac gaze. "Come here." She gently takes Visenya from his arms, Laenor sighing with relief, arms dropping in exhaustion. He watches through tired eyes, Rhaenyra smiling softly at her daughter, whispering sweet nothing as she lightly bounced and soothed her. To his utter shock, Visenya's cries began to quiet, the tears stopped streaming, and she began to settle within her mother's arms. 

Rhaenyra smiled gently, soft and loving, at her daughter. Visenya's head nuzzled into her chest - her tiny fingers gripping to Rhaenyra's gown as if she was scared the mother would disappear. She softly kissed her daughter's soft hair, growing longer and longer, almost to the stage where Rhaenyra is able to braid it. 

"Seems she just missed her mother." Laenor smiled, tired but happy. He gently soothed a hand over Visenya's head, Visenya twitching slightly before settling once again.

Rhaenyra hummed, attention shifting to Monterys, who peered from his crib with tear stained cheeks, eyes still wet and full. 

"Monty." Rhaenyra frowned, sympathetic to her children's upsets. She had never thought she could be so attuned to another person's wants, to be able to tell from one frown, or the tune of a cry, what each twin needed. It was a skill she had taken to like a dragon to the skies. "Here." 

"No, no, no." Laenor shifted away as Rhaenyra went to hand him the now settled Visenya. "Gods forbid she sets off again. I got him."

He plucked Monty from his crib, gently holding the boy to his chest. Monty tuckered into his father's arms, Vraxes screeching from his place in the crib.

Each parent smiled softly, one twin held in both their arms - Visenya was quietly babbling, playing the stray strands that had fallen from her mother's braid. Rhaenyra chuckled, soft smile stretched across lips, cooing at her daughter - eliciting happy giggles from the girl. 

Monterys was peering up at his father, quiet and calm in his arms. Laenor laughed quietly, pressing a soft kiss to his son's head. 

...

A quiet cry pierced the air of their chambers, growing ever more louder with each passing seconds. Rhaenyra grumbled, burying her head further into the pillow.

"That's your daughter." 

Rhaenyra huffed, "Humourous how she is my daughter when she causes trouble."

Laenor shifted, eyes still closed, voice soft and rough. "Well, we both know who it is she takes after."

"Curse him for it."

The cries still sounded from the twin cribs, and Rhaenyra prayed to every god in existence, Visenya does not wake her brother up. 

"She will only scream if I pick her up." Laenor says, lightly kicking Rhaenyra where she still laid. It was true - whenever Laenor took pity on Rhaenyra and moved to comfort their daughter, she would only scream in his arms, upset and angry, leading to Rhaenyra getting up anyway, and Monty to be awoken from the commotion - his own tears starting to stream. The same was said for Monty - who could only be consoled in his father's arms. 

Rhaenyra groaned quietly, shuffling out of the comfort of her bed. She rubbed at her tired eyes, sighing softly. Visenya was wriggling, squirming, in her crib when Rhaenyra peered inside, eyes wet and adorable frown on her face. Rhaenyra smiled, tiredly, reaching to soothe the crinkle between her daughter's brow. The sight of Rhaenyra seemed to calm Visenya some, however she still frowned, squirming from her blanket. 

"What is it, little dragon?" Rhaenyra spoke softly, all too aware of the still sleeping twin right next to them. "Hmm?"

Visenya babbled, little legs kicking her blanket away from her. Her arms reached up to Rhaenyra, her desire clear. Rhaenyra huffed softly, reaching down to pick her daughter from the crib. Visenya's head immediately came to rest on her shoulder, little fingers tugging on the fabric of Rhaenyra's gown.

"Ba."

Rhaenyra's head almost snapped from its place, staring at her daughter with wide eyes. Her daughter wasn't looking at her, violet gaze set on the other sleeping babe in his crib.

"What was that?" Rhaenyra whispered, "Who is that, little dragon?"

"Ba."

"Your brother?" Rhaenyra smiled, gently bouncing Visenya. 

"Baba"

"Yes, your brother." Visenya smiled, gummy. "And you're going to protect him, aren't you? You're going to look after each other - your brother will be king one day, and you will be right by his side."

Visenya cooed quietly, head leaning heavily on Rhaenyra's shoulder. It was a few more short moments before Rhaenyra knew her daughter had fallen back asleep - small, light breaths fanning on Rhaenyra's neck. The woman smiled softly, shifting carefully until Visenya was gently set within her crib again. Rhaenyra gently pulled the blanket over her daughter again, the fabric stitched with various sea horses and dragons - a gift from the Sea Snake.

Rhaenyra remained there for a moment, overlooking the twins as they slept soundly, Visenya clutching tightly to her blanket, Monty cuddled to his hatchling, Vraxes wrapped around his head. Each twin looked so alike, yet so different from one another, if you looked close enough. Monty held Rhaenyra's lilac gaze, whilst Visenya's was a deep shade of violet. Monty's hair was blonde, mixed with silver, whilst Visenya's was almost pure silver. Visenya's nose was sharp, and straight, exactly like that of her father's. Monty's was more soft, a small bump in the bridge that smoothed. Monterys was quiet, where Visenya was loud when upset.

But both twins laughed the same - small giggles falling from lips - they held that mirrored crooked smile, something inherited from their mother. Their eyes crinkled in the same way, frowned the same way, pursed their lips in the same way before the tears came. 

"Yes, you'll look after one another." Rhaenyra whispered into the quiet night. "My little dragons. You'll be the new age of Westeros."

She may not have known it that night, or even years after, but Rhaenyra spoke the truth that night. Under the reign of King Monterys Targaryen I, Westeros was brought to a new age, with his twin sister, Visenya Velaryon, as his sword and shield. The dragon twins were legends in history - and their names were still remembered, whispered and spoken of, generations after their deaths. 

Chapter Text

WHEN THE STRANGER COMES KNOCKING

      His fever was running high. Windows had been opened long ago to allow the welcomed breeze in, fragile attempts to cool down the frightened boy who kept calling for his Father, but efforts were proven for nought upon each check-up and it went unsaid — though, eyes betrayed the unmoving mouths — that the little Prince's health was not improving. 

Rhaenyra hisses through her teeth as she soothes his damp forehead with the back of her nimble fingers, and her eyes struggled to focus on one spot upon her first-born's pale face, leaning in closer. She'd been told — no, she'd been advised, because nobody could tell the heir to the iron throne she could not comfort her own sickly boy — to stay steer of him, of the child of only six, for her own safety. To protect her health. To ensure that the sickness that threatened his smaller self did not threaten her in the same manner. 

"Wake, sweet boy," She whispers to him. Her fingers don't leave an inch of him. One pushing hair away still, and the other latched around his own hand, hoping that he could feel his Mother close. "You're driving your Father and I mad with worry, with. . ." 

Her husband's terror increased with the image of seeing Monterys as he was, for he was the one the boy had been calling for most during his bouts of hysterical fever displays, and she knew Laenor was somewhere nearby. He was not drowning in his cups, as he thoroughly enjoyed during nights whilst she remained with their children in their family quarter, but he was with Visenya. 

Their daughter.

Her second-born, who did not understand the separation that had been wedged between the twins rather abruptly, and grew agitated with each answer of rejection whenever she demanded to see her brother. Not even the presence of Jacaerys, or holding the youngest of them Lucerys, calmed the Princess that knew something was wrong.

Something was wrong. 

( "Something is wrong," Visenya's face had blurred for a few moments in Rhaenyra's vision, the girl's body close to her Mother's face. Silver strands are pushed back carelessly as Visenya repeats herself, louder this time. "Something is wrong with Monty!" 

"Visenya?" Rhaenyra can still remember her response, the confusion that thickly clung on. Her hands were grabbed and her daughter's wide dark violet eyes did not appear so youthful in that light. They reminded Rhaenyra of. . . well, a different moment. A different person. "What has happened?" 

Her young and wild daughter started pulling at her parent's hand more, tugging and tugging, "It is Monty. He weeps," The words had struck fear down the heir's spine. The eldest of the children was only six, same as his twin sister, but he'd once hid his bruised and broken two fingers on his right hand when Rhaenyra had asked him to entertain Visenya and Jace whilst Luke had an unsettling day, so the thought of him weeping in the night had her shooting from her bed. "He says he is warm, Mother, but I opened the doors. It is cold now." 

Cold. Warm. Weeping. 

It was not only Visenya who had trembling hands as Rhaenyra had tugged at the soaked sheets wrapped around the shivering Prince, the two Princesses careful not to tread in the puke.

"Mother?" Visenya whispered, not at all like her to sound so quiet. Rhaenyra had long screamed for help, pitch louder with each minute that her son failed to respond. He'd been found with flushed cheeks, and hot skin, and his eyes shut. But it was not only him that suffered, for his twin sister's heart was breaking at what her brain could not put together. "What is wrong with him?" )

"I fear the might of your sister should you remain parted for longer," Rhaenyra humours the confession in the midst of the moment.

She knew that Visenya being without both her twin and her Mother, that Laenor would be struggling on top of what he was coping with, and unable to answer the firing questions that their daughter was no doubt throwing at him.

"It is easy enough to forget my twins are two when they so permanently live as one." 

Rhaenyra placed the wet cloth atop of her son's forehead, breathing out. Visenya ought to be comforted now, and Laenor would replace her here, and with that thought, something she convinced herself would benefit the children's preferences — her daughter had settled most by her Mother since Rhaenyra had laboured her twins, and there was no doubt in any mind that Monterys was his Father's shadow — most, she stood and smiled shakily down at him. 

She'd come back later, when her Father the King had declared he'd review his eldest grandchild. 

For a mere moment, her hand refused to part from his. She could not bare herself, but it'd only be a minute. A few at the most. And then his Father would be sat beside him, and he'd have loving company once more. 

"All will be right," Rhaenyra whispers, bending forward and pressing her lips softly against the crown of his head. A sob threatened to burst through her, but what good would that do for the room she stood within other than the possibility of startling her son awake and distressing him further? She had to wait until she was alone to cry into her hand, worried to the pit of her stomach at the thought of losing her first-born to fever. "You will wake, and all will be right again." 

And then, she fled from the room. 

All the while, Laenor had been struggling. His hand had been clasped down so tightly against the dragon-curved armchair that his knuckles had flashed white from the pressure, and his daughter's insistence on clawing at answers only beat him down a little more. He had no answers to give to the worried sister of the fevered brother. 

"Something is wrong," Visenya was saying, and her own fingers dug into the very same armrest, and then she's glaring at him as if Laenor is at fault for the fact she cannot lay her own gaze upon her brother. He was the one of few pair of hands that had prevented her from opening that door, after all. "Monty is never. . ." She cannot finish her sentence. 

Visenya cannot finish what she does not understand. 

But what she did understand, cruel and undeserving as it was, was that Monterys was not next to her. That he was not whispering something in her ear after she said something that made him laugh. No longer were they pretending to best one another with their play-pretend swords that their Grandsire had gifted them with upon their last name-day. And so for that, she deserved an answer to explain. Her young mind could not keep up with the emotion that tensed her home up. 

"Monterys will be fine," Laenor answers. As he had done the past three hours. He grew less convincing each time. 

And her deepening glare told him that, "But he is not!" 

He sighed, gathering himself to sit up straighter and relaxed his hand to reach and grab hers, "Visenya —" But she refuses to let him.

( That's not what she wants. Her Father's comfort, strange as it felt sometimes when he did attempt to bond with her interests, was not her Mother's and more importantly, it most certainly was not her brother's. And it was her brother's that she wished reached for her. 

It was Monterys who knew how to just sit beside her and provide comfort without uttering any words. His small hand would lay in front of them and hers would eventually, in her own will time because she fumed while he was patient, reach out and latch onto him as he would her and all was fine. All was fine because it was the dragon twins in their world, finding their footing with such a destiny hanging over their heads, for the future of the throne had been laid out for them.

And between all that, what her brother would one day be, and what she would one day become, Visenya never wished to be parted from the one person she'd been born into the realm beside. Monterys. 

One name, two young siblings, and yet to her — to her, her brother's name was worth a thousand and more. And it always would. )

"Mayhaps you could play with Jace and —" He cut himself off, a hand stressing down the side of his face. He loved his daughter, he loved his children, but it was his first he found he connected most with. The boy had always preferred him. Monterys was not. . . so open, nor a piercing dragon — as he often put it. Monterys could be protective, even for a boy of six name-days, as proven when Alicent Hightower had glared toward Jace's dark curled-hair and Monterys, in retaliation, had balled his little fists and turned to his Father to get the Queen to stop, but he struggled to not be quiet. 

"I just want Monty." 

But Visenya was more driven and forward, and it shined through at her young age already, and so Laenor could only imagine the Princess she'd continue to grow to be. A little like another, Laenor guessed. 

"He is not — you cannot see him, Visenya," Laenor tried to more firmly say this time round. He ignored the burning of her upset but angry glare, and not just because he was her Father, but because she could not see her sickly brother. "I cannot change this." 

Her Mother's scream for help washed through her memory. The way Laenor had rushed through the chamber doors, eyes wide and horrified, and he'd ran right past Visenya who was huddling Jace close to her with Luke still sound asleep, but Ser Harwin had stopped beside them, and crouched down to offer them closer company of somebody who understood what was happening. He'd not given the Princess any answers. 

Nobody had. 

Nobody would tell her why Monterys was so far. Why he felt — because she could feel it, she swore she could, but she was six and she failed to process what exactly it was that she was feeling from him — the way he did. Why she was not allowed to sit with him and offer her hand out the way he would for her. And all she wanted was an answer for it. 

Maybe it would make a little more sense if she got one. 

"Visenya," The sudden call of Rhaenyra's voice gave the room some warmth, and the young girl turned her head to watch her Mother walk toward them, looking as if she'd not slept. Her hair was braided, however, and her Arryn-blue coloured attire reminded Visenya of her Queenly Grandmother, Aemma. "Let me sit and we shall talk, my girl." 

Laenor itched forward as his wife, his cousin and best friend perhaps, sat. Rhaenyra fiddled with the rings on her fingers as she looked back up, first toward her expectant daughter and then her lingering husband. 

"Will you sit by him?" Rhaenyra asked of Laenor. If not, she wondered whether he'd continue to sit with Visenya so she may return. She could not stomach the ache of leaving him alone. 

The Velaryon nodded, standing up so quickly that Visenya took a step back, her Mother grabbing her hand to steady her. "I will," He answers, and she knew that's where he'd been wanting to go. He disappears after and leaves the Mother and daughter behind. 

Visenya's finger follows him, "Why can he —" 

"Visenya," Rhaenyra gently tugs her daughter to sit. Her hand sweeps back some of the girl's hair, despite the worry that tugged at her heart. Despite the image of her son. "I know how hard this must be," Her daughter's mouth formed to open before clasping back shut, and Rhaenyra sighed at the sight, "I do understand. But your brother is. . . he's sick and until he is better, you can't. . ." She breathed deeply again, the words clogging in her throat at the look on Visenya's face. "See him, sweet girl." 

Rhaenyra noticed the innocent despair. She immediately held onto her daughter's hand tighter, transferring some of her strength for the awake but pained twin child of hers, but. . . Visenya stared down at the contact. 

"Why does Father get to see my twin but I cannot?" Visenya's eyes stared into her Mother's. They were the same as Monterys' — a light lilac, calm and patient, and her lip trembled. "He is my brother and Monty would wish for me first!" 

Monterys had spoke Visenya's name as he wept to begin with, but Rhaenyra had said enough times that his sister could not visit him. Evident in the way that he stopped asking for her and stuck to his Father solely. 

"He did," Rhaenyra confirmed. Her other hand flattened against Visenya's cheek, thumb rubbing beneath her daughter's eye, sadness filling her own. And it took everything in her not to reveal her true fears in front of her only daughter. "Your brother is sickly, Visenya, and. . ." 

That was not all. Visenya knew that was not all. 

She'd accidentally overheard two of her Mother's ladies-in-waiting, drowning in their own worry and pity toward the heir's side of the royal family, and the possibility of. . . death, and the (what should of been) hushed whispers of the stranger, and their prayers. The Seven was not something Visenya was interested in, and her brother shared that sentiment, but she knew enough to know of prayers.

( "I pray the Prince doesn't die," One says to another. Visenya presses herself further into the wall, blinking as she stared hard down at the ground. "I shall keep him in my prayers. Let us not summon the Stranger." )

"Will he die?" 

Rhaenyra's heart stopped and she near leaped forward, holding her daughter tighter. Speechless for a second, she truly was, and worried beyond speech, how had Visenya could across that thought? They'd been careful not to say anything of the sort around her or the younger boys, even if it had stunned her over and over. "Visenya —" 

"And what will happen if he dies?" Visenya stares at her, waiting for the answers she's been longing for. If she had them, then perhaps Monterys could feel as if he had them like she could feel his. . . sickness. His pain. How tired he was. Because she could move, and she could talk, and she was not vomiting or with fever, yet she felt as if she'd been training all day and all night long with nought to eat or drink. "I know little of death." 

Death. 

Death? 

Monterys was sick, not on death's door. Rhaenyra was adamant on denying such an outcome. For both her sake and Visenya's, and those little boys who adored their older twin brother and sister. 

"Your brother is not going to die," Rhaenyra pulled Visenya closer, urging the younger girl to listen. She'd never wanted this moment to come, and for years, and four children between, it never had — but here was the first calling of a motherhood's condition that went beyond the love and nurture. No Mother should outlive their child and no twin should have to breathe alone. "Where did you hear this?" 

"What happens if he does?" Visenya asked again. Her brows remained concentrated, as much as a girl of six could. And for Visenya — who bore the sharp but gorgeous features of. . . dare Rhaenyra think him, her Father — that was partially easy. "Will I go with him?"

"Enough," Rhaenyra put a stop to that before it could grow out of hand. Her daughter needn't be worrying over death. "Death is apart of life, at the end," She thinks of her Mother, and her Mother before her, and so on, as she sat with her daughter and hoped for Visenya to live full first. "There's no easy way to speak of it, Visenya, truly. But death is not stalking upon your brother nor you, and even if that were so," And gods, she wished that never were, "He wouldn't be alone if fever ran too high." 

Visenya knew that where death was, so was her Grandmother, Queen Aemma. Her Mother spoke softly, stuck in memories, when recalling the late first Queen of Visenya's Grandsire. But she didn't wish for Monterys to join Aemma, no matter how greatly her Grandmother was spoken of, because she never once saw the woman. And wouldn't that mean she'd never see Monterys? 

That to her, and forever would it be, was unacceptable. 

"He shouldn't be alone," Visenya's fingers twitched beneath Rhaenyra's hold, and the Mother sighed, for she agreed but her son wasn't alone. . . "Vraxes is alone. They're both alone and Monty wouldn't like it. Why can't you put them together?" Her dark violet eyes lit up, turning her body to angle herself closer to Rhaenyra, as if thinking of the most brilliant of plans. "Wouldn't that make them both better?" 

"Visenya —" 

"Please!" 

Rhaenyra stopped short of her upset, looking into her daughter's desperation to be heard. And the more Rhaenyra thought of it, and truthfully it was seconds long at the most, the more it seemed to make some sense to try — Targaryen's had special bonds with their dragons, and Vraxes had been unsettled and causing stress within the dragon-pit since Monterys had fallen ill, and as she stood, she wondered how she hadn't thought of that herself. 

"Of course," She pulled apart the thoughts in her head. She thought of King Aenys. Sickly born Aenys. "Laenor!" 

And half a fortnight later, with plenty of hassle and heart-tugs of feeling the ache that ran through the other's bones, Visenya was finally allowed to sit by her brother's bed. His rash was gone, and his cheeks had returned to a much more healthier appearance, and he'd even managed to eat something a little by the day since being placed beside his dragon in the pit. 

His bowl of half-ate soap remained by his bedside, as Laenor had placed it there and left to fetch more water for the boy, only to return to find Monterys asleep and Visenya sitting beside him with permission from Rhaenyra. And instead of disturbing the twins, and running the risk of angering Visenya by forcing her from her brother's side, he'd left them to it and closed the doors behind himself. 

"Vis. . . Visenya?"

He sounded breathless, but his eyes were fluttering open and his fingers squeezed Visenya's own small ones back to the best of his weak ability. 

In turn, Visenya leaned forward, a smile growing wide on her lips at the sight of him finally waking in her presence. No matter the reassurances from any other, she'd been unable to see it for herself, and now she was. "Monty?" A laugh slipped through her teeth, simple yet heavy for the first time in what felt like a lifetime for a child. "You are waking?" 

His brows flickered to meet in the middle, gaze seemingly hazy. ". . . maybe?" 

Her other hand latched onto his arm, and she no longer felt the heat radiating from his skin that she'd heard others worrying over, but that didn't stop the flare in her chest at the sound of his coughing. "Should I fetch —" 

"Are you. . ." Monterys turned his head toward her and neither of them heard the door open, Visenya itching closer to hear her twin more clearly. She nodded, letting him know she was focused on listening. "Are you okay?" 

As if dodging a strike, Visenya whipped her head round to stare up wide-eyed to him. Sometimes, despite his height — because he was tall at six, and Visenya had once heard Laenor say something about how tall the twins would be once they reached a larger age — and his love for studies, and stories, and tracing his fingers across his favourite of pages, she thought she older. 

And she only thought she the older twin at times because her brother could be with little thinking. 

But death had been mentioned more commonly of late, and not just by the ladies-in-waiting. Visenya had heard Aegon mutter something about it in passing, her eldest Uncle uncaring of her brother's well-being, and her leg had came out to swipe the back of his calf, and the satisfaction she'd felt for Aegon even speaking of her brother dying to fever was worth the half-assed lecture she'd been given by Laenor, who hadn't repeated the incident to his wife, and Aegon had clearly failed to inform his own Mother. 

For Alicent Hightower would never live it down that Rhaenyra's daughter — "untamed girl, too wild for a lady of such high station," in the Queen's own bitter words to her Sworn in secrecy — had dared touch Aegon. 

"You fool," Visenya shook her head, insulting him as she heard her Mother insult her Father before. And then she's lifting herself up to settle beside him, her arm wrapping around the front of his shoulders. He'd been cleaned and changed that morning, her Father had told her, ready for his first walk back on his feet later for clearer air. It was needed for him. 

Monterys gave a small cough instead of his intended laugh, but otherwise his free hand came up to grip the bend of her elbow, content with the presence of his twin sister after being bed-ridden and Visenya forbidden for her own health from seeing him. It hurt to breathe any heavily than gentle through his nose, but gone was the temperature of his skin and the wet rag on his forehead. "Vraxes?" He asked quietly. 

His dragon had been beside him. He briefly remembered that, somewhere over the time that had passed between his sleeping and whimpering, but he wasn't sure when. He could just remember Vraxes' nuzzling scout and his own fingers circling around a limb, wishing for strength. 

Visenya's shoulder shrugged against his side, half her head against the pillow and the other half digging into the side of his face, supposedly forgetting that he'd been weak during his sickness and he'd not felt weight against him in a while, but he made no motion to be bothered by it. After all, prior to this spell, Visenya and Jace all too often took turns making a tease of their older brother. "He was with you," She tells him. "And now you are better." 

( She'd not realised that it was her idea, her innocent worry over her brother and his dragon and the knowingness of what Monterys would be calling out for, that had saved her brother's life. The sickness had been slowly threatening to take over the young Prince entirely, and it began to dig it's heels into the roots of even the Queen Alicent's mind, who in all her. . . difficulties against Rhaenyra, that the child would more likely die than live. 

And it was Visenya's desperation to piece together back a boy and his dragon that had prevented the stranger from knocking on a door that was not willing. 

This way of hers, the simple instinct to protect, would last forever. Especially where it concerned those she loved most. ) 

Chapter Text

The children of Rhaenyra Targaryen were wild children — full of games and fun, bright smiles and joyous giggles — as they played and fought in the main family chamber.

The eldest of the brood was sat back against the cushions of the settee as he watched his siblings, laughs spilling from his mouth at the chaotic scene. Their Mother was due back soon and they were supposed to be entertaining the younger of them.

Visenya faux a roar as she hauled Luke over her shoulder, pushing Jace away with a laugh. The young boy on her shoulder giggled loudly in her ear, flailing his limbs about and lightly hitting Visenya on the back in an effort to get her to put him down.

"I've got you, little dragon." She taunted, swinging Luke around. "I'm going to boil you in a pot and eat you!"

( Her eyes caught Monterys, and he shook his head at her, though that didn’t stop him from preparing for her to suddenly dumb Luke’s weight against him. Which she planned to do. Jace no doubt thought himself safe from her play and she wished to prove him wrong. )

"No!" Luke giggled, limbs flailing harder. "Save me, Jace!"

Jace rushed his sister with a laugh, tugging at her arm to try and release Luke. That gave her the perfect opportunity.

Visenya smirked, gently dumping Luke onto her twin — who huffed as he steadied their younger brother, who was laughing loudly as he landed on Monterys’ legs. He’d taken to the skies on Vraxes all morning (his reasoning to not joining in on the play).

That left Visenya turning her attention to Jace, wrapping her arm around his neck and locking him in a head lock. 

Luke leaned back against Monterys, now half remaining on his eldest brother’s leg and somewhat tilted a little to the side. The curls brush against Monterys nose and he sighs, trying to escape the tickle.

They watch as Visenya ruffles Jace’s head, laughing as he yells and tries to escape. "The mighty Jacaerys, defeated by his sister. What will the people say?"

"Visenya, please unhand your brother."

The four turn at their mother's voice, the woman walking — more like limping — into the room. Visenya nods, dropping her brother who falls to the floor at the release. He glares at Visenya, lightly hitting her arm. Visenya glares back, lightly shoving his head.

The two continue to squabble, making Rhaenyra sigh heavily. Monterys stands up, pushing Luke slightly ahead of him, and hears his Mother’s exhaustion. “Vis, Jacaerys, stop it.”

Visenya grins at the sound of her twin joining in, enjoying the way Jace continues and she again shoves him away from her. "Jace began the —" The said brother shoved her again and she's forced to wrap her arm around his shoulders, laughing.

Monterys shakes his head at them, but his lips twitch. "You can't win against her," His words make Jace glare toward him, but Monterys puts one hand up in surrender, "She only loses against me." 

That caused her eyes to widen, looking to her twin. Where she expected him to be straight-faced, he resembles her a little more with the grin plastered across his expression. "You lose to me also," She stated. Which was the truth — where one of them won one day, they lost the next. It was a repeated cycle between them and it made sense, they were twins and they did everything together. They knew each other. "Admit it." 

"I didn't deny it." 

"But —" 

"Enough," Their Mother cut in again, more stern this time. Her expression is light upon gazing at them though when they turn their eyes back to her. Rhaenyra shakes her head at them when she spots the glare Jace still sports for his sister, "You are worse than dragons."

At the mention of dragons, the two younger boys perk up. Monterys' shoulders drop and Visenya feels torn between following the excitement of Jace and Luke, and standing back with her twin. But his head gives a small shake and she follows by Luke, one hand on his shoulder. 

"We chose an egg for the baby," Luke says, as the pot is opened and the egg is revealed. He had personally picked it out. 

Rhaenyra smiles widely, still a slight hint of pain in her posture. "That looks like the perfect one," And Visenya lifts her head proudly, glad for it. 

Monterys sticks his arm out before Ser Harwin got the chance to, his wrist small and skinny in comparison, but his eyes shone with determination to bear the weight of her to get comfortable. Visenya's face softened at her twin's gesture, knowing he just wished to be proved useful as they spoke of the dragon egg. "It's fine," He told Rhaenyra who hesitated, "Sit, Mother. Rest." 

"Sweet boy," Their Mother murmured as she held her first-born's arm, and sat down, unsuccessful in keeping her weight from him. Though he showed no sign of struggle. When she lifted her head, she met Visenya's eyes first, and smiled at her only daughter. 

"We let Luke choose." Jace says, interrupting the moment.

"Thank you, Jace." Luke says in gratitude.

They were still young when Jace was born, but Visenya vividly remembers picking out an egg for him. And when Luke had been a new-born, Visenyra remembered attending the dragon-pit and watching her twin pick out Luke's egg. Jace had clung to his side, pointing between them, but Monterys had been dead set on the egg that would hatch to become Arrax. Again, Visenya had gone with her brothers, though with the absence of her twin, and allowed the then youngest to choose.

"Not everyday an egg leaves the dragon-pit, Princess." Ser Harwin says as the children continue to look at the egg. Visenya saw Luke go to touch it, and her hand snapped out to stop him. His fingers lightly grazed it and he flinched back, blowing on his lightly burned finger tips. Visenya shakes her head fondly at him, running her hands through his thick curls. "I thought it best to escort the lads and the Princess."

Lads. 

Visenya could feel her twin before looking at him. Which she did out of the corner of her eye. He was standing by their Mother, having just helped her sit down, and there was a pout on his lips. The younger twin thought it rather humorous, as he'd been absence for the choosing of the new babe's egg due to taking to the skies with Vraxes. 

It was his own fault, but his arms remained by his sides and he was sulking anyway. Soft, Visenya thought. Her hand fell from where she'd ran it through Luke's hair back to her side and she moved around the table to walk over to Monterys. Despite her amusement, she knew that he most likely felt left out to some degree. 

( Again, even if it was his own fault. But her brother, more serious than she most often, was gentle like that. He liked to be present with them, and if he was not with his dragon, then he and Visenya were glued to the hip. )

She stopped beside him and turned. They were shoulder to shoulder. 

"Do not make fun of me," Monterys muttered, his lilac eyes locking his gaze onto her. The grin that had toyed her face had dimmed, though not for any bad reason, and she nudged against him at his words. "I did not know you were picking the babe's egg." 

( "Laenor and I thank you, Commander." She heard Rhaenyra say, situating herself to a comfortable position on the seat. ) 

"That is because you were still asleep at breakfast," Visenya did exactly as he asked her not to. She caught the roll of his eyes at her words. "You picked Luke's." 

Monterys glanced toward their brother, who Jace had taken over making sure he didn't reach for the egg again. "Arrax is a calm beauty," A smile slowly grew. Visenya was happy for it, her grin returning wider. "It was a good choice of mine. You, however, picked Vermax for Jace. Don't they call him ill-tempered?" 

( "Another boy, I heard." ) 

Her eyes narrowed and she nudged her shoulder against her twin's again. "And what of your dragon?" 

( Vraxes was not. . . a great beauty. Visenya had heard the dragon-keepers say more than once. And she didn't think it helped that they compared him to Sunfyre, or Dreamfyre, or even Arrax. His colouring was dark, pitch-black with silver-lined wings, and he was not overly pleasant to look at to others.

Visenya thought him magnificent and Monterys did not tolerate such words against his dragon. Vraxes was young, but he was growing at a good and slightly faster rate, for he was out a lot more as of late. Monterys often rode alongside Laenor with Seasmoke. )

Visenya struggled to hide her grin when her brother nudged her back, a little harder than she had. "There's nought wrong with my dragon. Father picked him." He must of saw something in his twin — it was the gleam that shone at the remark that came to her — for he quickly continued, "Do not." 

"What are my twins conspiring about together over there?" 

Both their heads turned to face their Mother, and Rhaenyra smiled at the sight that never failed to remind her of how lucky she was for them. They were one in two parts and everything they did was proof of that. 

( Her Father, Viserys, had made a comment only a year or so ago about the twins. To have them be Jaehaerys and Alysanne, or Baelon and Alyssa, come again for the future. To have them wed in the tradition of House Targaryen, for Monterys was heir after her, and Rhaenyra had been swift and sharp in cutting that down. It hadn't been brought up again and she'd keep that to herself.  

The twins were twins. Brother and sister. Any with sight could understand that. And strictly that. 

They were Aemon and Baelon re-born. That the court agreed with. They were all that their family had once lost. 

Monterys, with his love for reading and his questioning but careful attitude, was a more modest child. He reminded his Grandmother, Prnicess Rhaenys, and the rest, of the late Prince of Dragonstone, Aemon. And Visenya, in true fashion, resembled Prince Baelon — more fierce and standing, and eager to train. Alicent Hightower's whispers did not help the young Princess — was she brave, or was she mad, as Baelon the Brave was often thought of? )

Visenya smiles at her Mother, moving a little closer. "Nothing, Mother," She spares her twin by not telling Rhaenyra of his feelings. She knew he'd rather that. Even if her Mother's eyes told Visenya she was not believed. "How are you?" 

Rhaenyra huffs. She expected no different, in truth. "Quite alright, my girl." She takes Visenya's hand in her own, thumb rubbing soothingly at the rough, calloused palm. All those years of sword training had shown, in the girl's lean figure, strong arms, and rough hands. Monterys was the same, though he was a little taller and carried more weight of a build to him, even at his young age. And he often wore gloves.

( Rhaenyra humours what the Queen might think, or what she already thinks. )

"What a fine knight you are going to make, eh?" Laenor says softly to the babe.

Visenya's attention was captured by the bundle in her father's arms, lightly stepping to peer up into the man's arms. The smile pulling at her lips was real and genuine — eyes gazing at the newest of her brothers — another one for her to protect. 

She felt her twin beside her again, his arm brushing hers as he did the same. 

Monterys peeked at the babe, who opened his eyes, dark and brown and the opposite of his own — and Visenya's — and he holds no doubt that the babe will have the dark of hair to match. Like Jace and Luke. For a second, his eyes watched Ser Harwin and then he's looking toward his twin. Visenya offers him a smile, though she understands what he's saying. 

( Does it matter? Visenya is asking him. 

Not to us, he tells her back. )

The babe wiggled, small hand waving in the air. It grabbed his only sister's attention and she giggled, holding a finger out to the babe — to which he grabbed with his tiny fingers — and Visenya's smile widened even further. A grin grew on Monterys face, his own hand curling the blanket back around the babe's feet. 

Rhaenyra's heart full as she watched her eldest twin children laugh with her youngest — Joffrey's gummy smile and little gurgles tugging at everyone's hearts. 

"What's his name?" Visenya questioned, barely moving her gaze from her newest brother. 

"Joffrey." Laenor answered, smiling softly at the girl. Monterys eyebrows flicker in confusion. He'd expected his Mother to follow through and name this child after their Grandfather, Lord Corlys, as she said she would. When he turned to look at Rhaenyra, she gave a small shake of her head. 

"Rytsas, Joff." The Valyrian rolled from her tongue. (Hello, Joff.)

Laenor hummed a laugh, hand coming to caress Visenya's cheek. The girl allowed it, eyes shyly flickering away, and Monterys was glad to see it. There were not many people she allowed to touch her, beside her Mother, him and their younger brothers. Visenya's love was a given — once you had it, you treasured the pouring — but she often omitted her Father from the privilege. His touch was something that was often foreign, her skin prickling with the connection of skin. 

She loved her Father, even if he was likely to be absent during the days. He chose drinking and games with his squires, the rumoured lovers. And when he was not absent, Visenya thought Laenor's connection had always best been with Monterys, and that caused some confliction between their own (her Father, never her brother). It was Monterys that he would take to ride with him, for Monterys had a dragon, and it was Monterys that he called on most to bond when he was sober. 

( Monterys had noticed it, and Visenya knew that also. She blamed him — her twin — none for it though. Her Mother had always said Monterys had swayed with the sea and salt in her Father's veins most, and Visenya connected better with the fire of her Mother. )

"Might I?" Ser Harwin asks, his eyes flickering from the newest of Rhaenyra's children to the floor. 

Their Mother's smile is soft and delicate. It always was when it came to her champion. He was a good man, one of the greater men she knew, and with the way he was with the boys, even connecting to Monterys, and how he indulged Visenya in her mischief, but still disciplined her into a fine warrior.

Monterys steps back first when their Mother states, "Ser Harwin wishes to be introduced to Joffrey," to their Father, and Laenor accepted with utter understanding. He watches his youngest brother be handed to the breakbones Commander and looked away just in time to see Luke's hand latch onto Visenya's when she moved within reach of the boy. Jace rounded to near Monterys though. 

( Monterys would say favourites was not a thing. The love was all the same — the twins shared some form of connection that the rest of their siblings couldn't understand, but that's because they'd come from the same womb at the same time, and been laboured into the world together — but. . . Monterys, Jace and Visenya, Luke, it seemed to be when it came to the younger siblings seeking out the elders. )

Their Mother was the children's safe space. . . with the slight exception of Monterys, Visenya believed. Rhaenyra was where they found the gentle love and reassuring touches to soothe them. Though Monterys didn't share it — he didn't need to — Visenya knew Laenor was where Monterys sought out the reassurance more. They had a voice for them to listen to. 

But it was different with siblings. Monterys and Visenya were their protectors. . . just with differed approaches. Visenya was the shield and sword in defence of her brother's, one place behind the heir of their Mother, and yet all eager to stand in front to protect even the oldest of them. Her tongue and anger as sharp as an edged blade, her body that stone wall between them and those who seek to dare harm her brothers. She'd be her brother's shield and sword, the face of the royal army, when he sat the Throne. The most trusted. 

Monterys did not lack for strength, he was compared to Prince Aemon and Princess Alyssa most after all, but he had a calmness to him his sister didn't possess. The balance served them well as they stood side by side. He was silent in his youthful protectiveness, and he enjoyed the cautious observations, but it was there all the same. For his sister, and his brothers, and for his parents. In court's eye, he was the heir. One of his greater skills was his patience.

It's how it's always been — how it will always stay. 

"Joffrey, is it?" 

Monterys knows that's no Velaryon name and he knows his Father is the one who gave it to him. He sometimes drunkenly rambled about a dead Joffrey, about how the Queen's dog had killed him. And Monterys had told Visenya, for secrets never lasted long if at all between them. 

"Father, please may I hold Joffrey?" Luke asks, hands reaching up for the babe in the Harwin's arms. Ser Harwin gently diverts the boys hands, as Laenor begins to lead them out of the room.

"No, no. No." Visenya tugs Luke back by his tunic, as Jace follows beside Monterys. The second youngest boy groans lightly with annoyance. "It is back to the Dragonpit for us. Before they send out a search party." Visenya sends one last look to her mother, and her brother in the arms of Ser Harwin. "I will see you at training, Ser."

Harwin nods, "No slacking today, Young Princess. I will not be lenient of you being lazy."

Visenya smirks mischievously, a smirk that reminds Rhaenyra of someone all too familiar, "I would expect nothing else, Ser." 

Moving Jace in front of him, the first-born of the Princess's brood turns to her, shaking his head at his sister's response. "Rest easy, Mother," He tells their tired parent, more demanding than anything. He sounds worried, more than she'd liked to have seen from him, and Visenya places her hand on her twin's shoulder, grinning to settle him.

With that, the twins leave with their younger brothers out of the family quarters, and begin their trek back to the dragon-pit, where all Visenya would do is stand there as her brothers train with their dragons.

What joy. . .

The twins stood behind their younger brother as the dragon-keepers brought Vermax out, the egg that Visenya had chosen for him. He was already unhappy, being demanded to calm by those guiding him, and Monterys lifted his head, a small smile playing on his lips. He feels himself shake when Visenya bumps against him, knowing what he was amused by.

Jace turned to them, anxiously waiting. He wanted the reassuring encouragement that only older siblings could provide. Visenya would send the same look their Mother did, helping to calm his nerves, but it was Monterys' smile that lit Jace up most. The same way it would of Luke, but the opposite way round. 

Visenya looked in fascination as Vermax was brought before them, and the young dragon continued to grumble and shake, still young and insolent, living true to the dragon-keepers calling him ill-tempered. 

Much like his rider, Visenya thought with a smirk. But Monterys' grin remained on his face, thinking something similar but in reference to his twin. 

It was Visenya who was yet to claim a dragon — not for the lack of trying. The dragons lurking within the dragon-pit did not call to her, and none felt right, which she'd told Monterys after asking him how it felt. How it was supposed to feel. Her consciousness tugged her further from Kings Landing and that's how she knew her mount was not awaiting for her here. Her dragon resided in another place — a deep rumbling in her dreams, baleful green eyes staring into her soul, scale as dark as the shadows that lurked the City.

The scales reminded her of Vraxes when she woke. But the eyes were different and the grumbling was older. Vraxes' dark silver gaze seemed almost black, not the green she imagined. 

When Vermax was bound forward towards them, Aegon yawned obnoxiously beside the twins and Visenya took to glaring at the boy. She resisted the urge to slap him, as she knew not to cause anymore problems for her mother with the Green Queen — plus, Monterys was beside her. His hand would catch hers. The same way his eye did, and he gave a small shake of his head, though the upward tug of his lips didn't dim. 

She sent him a grin back.

Jace was struggling to get Vermax to listen to him. The young dragon roars, making Jace step back slightly and attempt to order him again. He'd not rode his dragon yet, and Vermax was still learning. Both the twins beam proudly when Vermax listens, sitting back on its haunches. 

When Jace looks back again, Visenya nods approvingly at him. Monterys smile says it all. And Jace cannot contain the glee at the reactions from the twins. He admired them. He truly did. He wanted to be just like them, a perfect mix, fierce and strong in his own right as Visenya was already in hers, for she'd knocked him on his ass more than he'd of liked, her skill better than his. She spat at what was considered 'lady-like' and did what she needed to protect them. And Monterys, with the same hand and talent, gave him a little more freedom (child-like in all honesty) when participating in sparring. But Jace had watched the twins, and the way they rotated in their wins and losses, and if there's anyone's approval he would want, it was theirs. 

A goat is brought out, and Vermax perks up at the sounds the animal releases, knowing the next meal has arrived. The grumbling in anticipation made Jace excited. But when Vermax goes to stalk toward the goat, Jace calls out to him.

"Vermax!" 

The dragon didn't listen to him.

Jace repeats himself more firmly, "Vermax!" 

Again, Vermax refused to listen. He's hungry and fishing for his meal, screeching for the goat.

It forces the dragon-keepers to involve themselves again, "You must hold mastery over your dragon, my young Princes," One speaks, whilst the other translates. The twins knew High Valyrian well enough for conversation, but Jace and Luke did not. Least, not yet, though Monterys was certain they knew more than their eldest Uncle. "As Prince Aegon and Prince Monterys has with their dragons, Sunfyre and Monterys. Once they are fully bound to you, the will refuse to take instruction from any other." 

Vermax screeches again. Visenya looks to her twin, and there's a pride in his face at the topic of his bond with Vraxes. She felt she somewhat envied that companionship, but she knew she'd have her turn as well someday soon. And there was something brilliant watching her twin brother confident in his own connections that it soothed anything else she felt. Visenya was proud of him. As she'd always be. 

"Can I say it?" 

The dragon-keeper nods in response to the boy's excitement. 

Vraxes struggled in the dragon-pit if he didn't take to the skies. Monterys had already been with his dragon that morrow. One day, Vermax would no doubt be the same. Jace glances at the others in excitement, but is turned back around by the dragon-keeper sternly. 

"Dracarys, Vermax!" 

The young dragon stalks forward, screeching with eagerness and opening its jaws, before Vermax unleashes a stream of fire onto the goat. Monterys didn't often watch Vraxes eat. He then begins to feast on it.

Visenya steps forward first, placing an approving hand to her younger brother's shoulder. Monterys sighs, ignoring Aegon's next yawn, and smiles at his brother as well. The dark-haired Prince returns the gesture widely, nodding back at them. 

"Well done, brother," The only sister congratulates him.

Monterys reaches forward and pulls his brother close to him. "You were great." And Visenya nods again, agreeing. 

Jace's expression lights up at the sentiment, enjoying the attention and the approval from the twins. Velaryon by name, but he thought they were more Targaryen. In his eyes. 

Aegon speaks from behind them, "Aemond, we have a surprise for you." Aegon's insolent voice makes Visenya turn around, but Monterys intended to ignore the older Prince. 

Her twin brother was the one somewhat close to their dragon-less Uncle. Aemond was found best mannered in Monterys' company of them all, despite being Alicent Hightower's favourite of her four children, and it was when Aemond spoke that Visenya saw Monterys pay attention. 

"What is it?" 

Luke's voice, young and excited, makes the twins look to him. "Something very special." He says, and runs off toward one of darkened corners. Visenya's eyes follow him with a frown. 

( What do these idiots have planned now? And what has Aegon wrapped her brothers into? In most recent years, Aegon had taken more interest in his niece and nephews, attempting to lure them into his schemes. Visenya never fell for it, she knew her Uncle was merely looking for someone to shift blame onto when his antics inevitably caught up to him, and it was a miracle for any to grab Monterys' attention at all if he refused to look upon you, which was his usual when it came to the drunken Prince. 

And despite neither twin involving themselves, Jace and Luke were all too eager to join in on their Uncle's ways of fun. ) 

"You and Visenya are the only ones of us without a dragon." 

Visenya glares at Aegon, but so does Monterys for the mention of his sister. He'd no right. 

Aemond doesn't react, "Indeed." 

"And we felt badly about it," Aegon fakes his pity, "So we found one for you." 

Visenya's stomach dropped. They better not have. . . she found Monterys' gaze, who is thinking the same, before he's burning holes toward their brother. Luke had yet to return, so Jace was taking the heat of it. 

( Better Jace than her, Visenya thought. Deep down, she did not like for her twin to be against her. To openly be angered by something she'd done. He never had been, but Visenya had never been cruel. This was cruel, and she saw the consequences of Jace's involvement in Monterys' glare. )

"A dragon?" Aemond was in stone disbelief, and that only stirred on Monterys annoyance. Jace's smile died. Visenya was glad for it. "How?"

"The Gods provide." 

Just then, Luke comes running out, holding a rope that was leading a pig. . . with straw wings attached to it. Visenya narrows her eyes at it, and the anger beneath her skin simmers. Her hands clench tightly, shaking with the effort. 

Monterys doesn't look, but he can hear the animal, and he knows what it is that their youngest brother present is presenting. 

"Behold. . ." Aegon announces.

"Do not." Jace is warned by Monterys, and the sheer resemblance to their Mother's own disapproval, and bent back at it. He didn't announce the name, "the pink dread!" with Aegon and Luke, and stared toward the ground instead. He'd earned Monterys disappointment, and he knew Visenya's as well, and the combination of both loud and silent anger was enough to kill any amusement in the prank. 

Little Luke caught his sister's gaze instead — his bright gaped smile dropping in seconds, a light frown on his lips and a shine to his eyes as he witnessed his sister's fury. Monterys didn't look toward him.

"Be sure to mount her carefully." Aegon taunts, oblivious to the obvious tension in the air between the siblings of his half-sister's children. "First flight's always rough." He then snorts obnoxiously, imitating a pig.

Visenya could barely contain the inferno in her chest at that, marching forward to shove Aegon away from the humiliated boy. The lanky Prince stumbled, protested on his lips and a scowl pulling at his long face. Visenya glared — full of heat that burned hotter than dragon fire. Her gaze stooped to Luke, flickering to the rope still in his hands. The boy caught the message clear as day — dropping the rope like it burnt his hands. His eyes still shone with wetness, ashamed at himself for invoking the twin's anger. 

Her twin is pulling Jace along, for Visenya had Luke handled. "We were not taught to be cruel," Monterys stated to Jace, whose eyes widen with self-shame. They hadn't been. "So why would you to decide to be? Cruel to your own kin, nonetheless, when it is up to us to uphold the future of our House as one." 

"I did not —" Jace goes to protest, unable to come up with a reasonable excuse that he thought Monterys would think good enough. "I just. . . followed Aegon." 

Visenya shakes her head at Luke, nodding him along to her. "I will be telling Mother about this display," She tells him. And then she smacks her Uncle upside the head, the insolent boy whining at the pain. "You are lucky I don't damage that ugly face of yours. Take that pig back where you got it from, and then out, all of you." But Monterys is already practically forcing Jace from the dragon-pit and leaving Aegon to deal with the pig. 

"So you think Aegon a good influence? His drunkenness and his lack of study prove to that, does it?" Monterys did not waste a second to fire. Jace did not think anything he said would quieten how the twins felt.

( Visenya's shared look of understanding with Aemond went unnoticed. They may not be the best of friends — Monterys was the one who upheld a friendship with their Uncle, and she knew how ashamed he must be at how their brothers had acted against Aemond's pain of his lack of dragon — but this was a pain they both shared. Something between them. An ache that Monterys didn't understand personally. )

Jace steps back a little, looking toward Visenya who hurries to them with Luke's arm between her fingers. "Vis —" 

"Not a word, Jacaerys," Visenya cuts him off. She's confident Monterys had already expressed what he thought, if the wounded look on Jace's face was anything to go by. "What you did was not only disrespectful, but hurtful. To Aemond and to me." 

"It was cruel." Monterys corrected, and Visenya nodded in agreement, and hearing how Monterys thought of it only made Luke's lips jerk out in a sad pout, wishing he'd never brought that pig out. "And you thought to do it anyway." 

Cruel. Jace had been cruel toward Visenya, not thinking of the same situation for her. It was the first thing that had clicked for Monterys and Visenya didn't doubt the tension in her twin's shoulders came with that realisation. There was little Visenya was insecure about — sure of herself and her presence — but her lack of dragon, the one thing that separates Targaryen's from the rest of the world was something she buried deep, the one thing that made her feel even the slightest bit inferior to her family. 

And somebody had laughed on that. 

Her brother was the calm wave between the twins. Patient and more obedient, his leash was tighter in the court's eye he'd told her once and so he had to act the part best, but there was one sure way — the first way — to anger him. To upset his twin sister. 

"We're sorry." Luke whimpers, sure of it. 

Visenya hums, "We will be having words later. Now, we will be telling mother about your actions, and see what she has to say about it." She automatically expects Monterys back-up, and he provides with a look over his shoulder and his nodding agreement. 

"But. . ." Jace shakes his head, "It really was Aegon's idea. Not ours." That defence hadn't worked with the elder twin, and it certainly backfired with the second. He shrinks back when Visenya angrily looks to him. 

"And that makes it better?" Visenya asks.

The younger of the boys don't answer, just kept their heads down in shame as they make their way back to the Red Keep.

Monterys hadn't been present when their Mother furiously gave Jace and Luke an earful — about being family, of the amount of Targaryen's who'd went years before claiming a dragon, their Grandsire amongst them. The cruelty of the actions did not go amiss. Rhaenyra made them apologise to their only sister, for she knew this display had also hurt Visenya, even if her daughter did not openly talk on it. Her daughter was insecure about not having her own dragon, not being able to join her Mother, and her Father, and her twin in the skies as she wished to, or even stand and prepare her dragon to do so like Jace and Luke.

Rhaenyra was confident the girl would claim her own mount in time — but it did not mitigate the damage done with this one prank — she could see it in the way Visenya's eyes shone with her anger. And her first-born in the world had not left his chambers to speak to his brothers, and only Visenya had been granted permission by him to enter, where she'd stayed until she had to go to bed herself. Visenya was still too angry to talk to them after what occurred the previous day, separating herself from them to avoid her wrath for a day

It was the next day the younger boys approached their sister. They walked up with their heads down in shame and started spouting their meaningful apologises, tears leaking down their cheeks. Visenya had sat, stone-cold mask on her face as she listened. When they were done, she nodded.

That did not stop her lesson. "I have no dragon," She says, looking at the pair. "Do you think of me any less?"

"No!" The boys screeched, horrified she thought such a thing. 

"So you understand how what you did was hurtful. To Aemond. And to me, your sister?" 

They both nod, because they did understand now. They whispered more apologises, having never meant to upset her, and having not really thought through hurting Aemond either, and Visenya nods, moving forward to place kisses on their brows like their Mother did.

"I forgive you," She tells them. Their faces light up. "But learn from your actions. Do not let Aegon wrap you into his schemes again." And they both nod. 

"We won't." Jace pauses, something crushing in his expression despite her forgiveness. "Will Monty forgive us now you have?" 

( Visenya didn't bet on it. Not yet at least. But she wasn't going to say that when Jace looked as he did. )

"You have training with Criston Cole, and I have training with Ser Harwin," She instead says, and Jace's eyebrows furrow, "There you'll see Monty. So it is best to get ready." And the boys nod at that, sharing a look before rushing off to get changed into their training garbs. 

Rhaenyra smiles proudly at her only girl, taking her rough hand into her own and squeezing it gently. "Well done, sweet girl."

Shrugging, Visenya responds, "They are young and fools sometimes." She pauses, as Rhaenyra nods, before continuing. "Monty is angrier than I." 

Rhaenyra's other hand runs down Visenya's hair. "Your twin wishes to lead by example for your brothers," She sighs, "Perhaps that anger is more served in disappointment. And more for himself than them. . . but they have you both. And it is a good thing you are here to stop your brothers from becoming fools." 

Though she laughs, Visenya's thoughts linger with her brothers.

His eyes catch sight of his sister arriving in the courtyard, her gaze looking up toward their Kingly grandsire overseeing the training of the young Princes. His shoulders round and he nods toward his brothers to catch sight of Visenya. 

Visenya, however, saw the way Aegon was eyeing some of the passing maids, and the way they cowered from him, and she sneered in utter disgust at the boy. He truly knew no bounds. She was glad her twin was nothing like him. That her younger brothers would never be like him. She stood back with Harwin as they observed the training, and crossed her arms as Criston Cole neglected her brothers training. 

Outside of Visenya teaching the younger two some moves in their spare time, she was glad to see that Monterys was currently doing the same in teaching them. Luke waved over at her, and she smirked at the light shoulder whack that Monterys serves him for the distraction. But Cole was sparring with her two Uncles, and she frowned at the clear favouritism. 

Visenya walks over to them, wrapping an arm around Luke's shoulders first. She does the same with Jace when Monterys taps their swords together for break. He'd won their little compeition. 

"I can never beat him," Jace complains lightly to Visenya. 

She shook his shoulders at that and cracks a grin at Monterys' small beam of laughter. She doubted that he ever would either, though Jace would become a great swordsman himself. "One day." She tells him but Jace only shakes his head in denial. "Watch them," She points toward Aemond and Aegon who was failing against the KingsGuard, "Learn from their mistakes. See how they're all over the place? They're swinging too wildly. No plan, no technique. They should be working together." 

The two boys nod, and Luke is the one to ask, "Like you and Monty do?" 

Visenya's grin is answer enough. Harwin nods in approval. 

"Weapons up, boys." Harwin tells Luke and Jace. "Give your enemies no quarter." 

Monterys, however, turns on his heel and tips his sword in Visenya's direction. "I've bested one of my siblings today. Let's make it two." 

Her eyes narrow at the challenge, but given their back-and-forth, Visenya figured she'd be the next to win. That's usually how it went. One won, one lost, and over again it went. Monterys won the last spar. "Don't get cocky." She warns. 

( Cocky wasn't really in his nature. ) 

Harwin was fed up with the lack of teaching from Cole, however. "It seems the younger Princes could do better with a bit of your attention toward them, Ser Criston." 

If the man hadn't hated them enough before, he certainly did now. Criston turned toward them, expression unimpressed. "You question my method of instruction, Ser?" 

Luke mouthed Ser Harwin's full titled name to himself, and Monterys places a hand on his arm, stepping a little closer. He didn't want his younger brothers becoming the sole focus on Alicent Hightower's Sworn.

"I merely suggest that your methods be applied to all your pupils."

Criston looks hard toward Harwin for a moment. His hatred is heated, but Visenya only tensed when she saw Criston's eyes stop on her twin. The disgust isn't hidden overly well, and it was something she felt rage grow for. How dare he look at her brother in such a way? 

But Monterys hand is resting on her shoulder next, and he's standing by her side, and she feels her chest lighten. "It's fine —" 

"Very well." 

Her eyes widen when Cole roughly grabs Monterys by the top plate of his armour, pulling him forward. It takes her twin a second to find his balance. "Monterys, you will spar with Prince Aegon."

The only thing that stops Visenya from moving forward at the disrespect is Monterys own defence, "I am Prince Monterys, first-born to the heir. Am I not, Ser Criston?" And the KingsGuard tensed, remembering who was watching down at them, and realising he'd disrespected Rhaenyra's son so openly, and by the correct use of titles. 

"You will address the heir's heir with his correct title," Both the twins glance to Ser Marko Mormont who spoke, a frown heavy on his lips. He looks appalled. "And you will do well not to touch the Prince in such a manner again, Ser Criston." And the King nodded from where he sat. 

Ser Criston looked as if he'd swallowed a sour cake. Visenya wanted to giggle. "My apologises," He manages to utter, looking to Monterys. "The Prince Monterys will spar Prince Aegon," And when Aegon laughed, Visenya sneered but Monterys remained unbothered. Aemond didn't react. "Eldest son against eldest son."

Monterys looked to his twin as Visenya crossed her arms over her chest, giving him a nod of encouragement, full of confidence that her brother would win this one. Aegon was decent enough, but it was mainly his taller height that he held the advantage over her brother for.

Harwin seemed to have a problem. "It's hardly a fair match."

"It is alright, Ser Harwin," Monterys reassures him, relaxing his fingers in a wave motion against the handle of his sword. "I remember all you have taught me." He pauses, glancing to Visenya again. "Besides, my sister is a harder opponent. I win and lose against her." And she proudly lifted her head, glad they were one and equal, and he was unafraid to tell others of it.

Aegon's laughter died at the insult. At being told he was less than Visenya. 

"I know you've never seen true battle, Ser. But when steel is drawn, a fair match isn't something anyone should expect." 

"You call me less than her?" Aegon basically screeches to his eldest nephew, who only scowls somewhat. But Aegon is pointing toward Visenya, "A girl who is not born for swords and shields? A girl?"

Visenya's anger bubbles. Monterys steps back, the wooden weapon pointed to the ground still. "Yes, a girl," Monterys sounds as if he's taunting, "Don't make her kick your ass, Uncle." And she walks around Jace and grabs him by the shoulder. His eyebrows furrow at the interruption. "Yes?" 

"Do not lose against him," Visenya speaks into his ear, "You may be shorter but you are stronger. And I will hold it against you forever if you do not best him." She's only somewhat. . . no, she's not joking. Her fingers grip his arm for a second — the only touch in the world that was natural to her, for he was her and she was him, and she couldn't deny that, her twin — before nodding and stepping back, and he returns the gesture with an eye roll. 

"Blades up."

Monterys twirls his sword, and Aegon holds his with both hands for a second, and then they engage. Visenya feels the anxious fuss from her two younger brothers as they watch on. Monterys blocks the charge that Aegon had cast in his direction, his weight leaning on his back leg before he spins around, and smashes his body against his Uncle's with his shoulder ramming against Aegon's. 

He was shorter, but quicker, and he knew it. 

Visenya could not contain the pride. Certainly not at the look on Aegon's wide-eye expression as he realises Monterys was not as fragile as his age might make him seem. 

He was arrogant, his swings were sloppy. Visenya knew that her brother saw all the same she did. And he hated arrogance. He hated cruelty. He hated what Visenya thought Alicent Hightower allowed. 

"Come here!" Aegon's embarrassment makes him shout out, swinging his sword and forcing Monterys to lift his and dodge the attack. He's capable of matching every attempt after that. He was right — his spars with Visenya were more challenging. They were less predictable and more fun. The thing Visenya guessed Monterys struggled with was thinking of how to put it to a stop fairly. 

Her hands slap when Aegon screams in anger again. Monterys had turned and hit the back of Aegon with his sword. 

He won. If that were real, Aegon would be dead. 

Monterys is grinning when he turns back to his siblings and she's right there with him. Though it dims when he has to rush forward, shoving the dummy that Aegon had fallen into away from him. Her hands clench so tight that her nails stab into the skin of her palm, pride melting into worry that none could see save herself and her twin brother, who holds out his right hand in her direction so briefly none else understood. 

Do not. 

( "Foul play!" Harwin had already called out. 

"I'll deal with him." ) 

The world only fades slightly when Monterys steps in front of her and Ser Harwin is right beside them, leaning down. "Are you alright?" She asks automatically first, eyes scanning where his skin is visible. He'd let himself get distracted because he thought the sparring had been over, but he should of known Aegon and Criston better than that. "I'll kill him." 

Monterys is playful when he responds, "You'd kin-slay for me?" 

For her brothers, she'd do anything.

"Don't jest about such things," Ser Harwin lectures, "And do not lose focus next time you believe yourself to win." 

Even Visenya looks to Ser Harwin with that same look. "But he did win," She points out, "He won fair. You saw it with your own eyes!" She defended Monterys.

"I will do it again," Monterys muttered and leaves to go stand back in the centre of the yard, blinking at the look of anger and humiliation cast across Aegon's face. He'd never seen that look directed toward him before. Normally, Aegon didn't care for the twins since he'd failed to rope them into his scheming and realised they preferred to stick together. 

"You!"  

Monterys manages to move out of Aegon's jump forward, "Me?" 

"Close on him. Press him backwards!" Visenya shoots Ser Harwin a look at the instructions given to Aegon by Ser Criston. What was he doing? Surely even Ser Criston's small brain knew the wrongdoings of his words? "Stay on the attack! Use your feet!"

The only goodness in this was the fact Monterys did not stress, but met each attempt steadily. Visenya's looks on with disbelief when the dummy that had been previously shoved down is what trips her twin brother up and causes him to meet the ground, her heart leaping to her throat at the change of pace. He hadn't been knocked down, but he was down all the same. 

"Do not let him get up!" Aegon had looked back toward Criston who continued speaking orders. "You must —" 

Monterys prevents Aegon from continuing his brutal swings, his eyes flaring angrily at the tricks being played upon him. The dishonour and the lack of respect. 

( Visenya had never seen her brother not play fair during spars. )

His leg comes up and flies forward, knocking Aegon's ankle. The sudden hit makes Aegon cry out and Visenya breathe with relief as Monterys rolls over to the side and pushes himself up with haste, managing to swap their positions as he now stares down at his cheek-flushed Uncle. Their Uncle who glares at him with hatred and anger. Every bit a dragon done wrong, but Monterys was more headstrong. 

"There," Monterys stated. His training sword falls to the ground, making it clear he'd of had plenty of time to strike. "I bested you twice over." Then he begins walking back to Visenya, Jace and Luke, and she rolls her head at him. He's almost back in front of her when he speaks, "That was not so hard." 

"He almost had you." She finds it in her to tease him. Though she's tense, muscles hard. 

He didn't get the chance to respond, as Ser Harwin pushes himself forward and comes between Monterys and an angry Aegon who'd gone to attack from behind. "Enough!" Their Mother's Champion demands, shoving the pure silver-haired boy away from Rhaenyra's eldest-born. 

Visenya's fist is clenched, glaring at Aegon. Her shoulder skims Monterys as they watch Aegon scream back at Ser Harwin about touching him, and the King calls down to mind his first-born son to Alicent. When she's sure — and only when Visenya is sure that Aegon would not attempt to try such again — Visenya turns to Monterys again, eyebrows furrowing. Ser Criston and Ser Harwin continue to speak. 

"I am fine," Monterys answers her cautious gaze. He pats the front of his own shoulder. "The fall did not hurt." 

"That was clumsy." She judges, and is right to do so, and he agrees. "If that were real battle, that could of cost you." 

"Well, it was not." Was his only paid reassurance back. It was not good enough. Not when the thought loomed over Visenya that her brother could someday be lost at battle because he fell over a body. 

"We will practice." 

A sigh leaves his lips, Monterys knocking her shoulder with his in an attempt to lighten her mood. "Very well," He accepts, "I —" 

The sound of a fist smacking skin has Visenya's hands locking to pull her twin forward instinctively, almost fighting as he goes to do the same, but she steps in front first, a protective body, and he turns his head to watch as Jace and Luke flinch backwards. It's also Visenya who manages to catch sight of what it was — Ser Harwin throwing swings, with angered grunts, as Criston Cole falls to the ground, blood spilling from his lips and above his brow. 

"It's fine," Monterys reassures Jace and Luke. He pulls at Visenya next, and she doesn't fight it, turning to clench her finger grip around the fabric of Jace and Luke's tunics, moving them away from the scene. Monterys lingers forward for a second, but moves back when she gives him a look, even when she itches to join her mentor for whatever it was that had cost him his cool. 

"He said we. . ." Jace hesitated, and only continued when the twins nodded to do so, "Cole said. . . Ser Harwin had the devotion for us as if we were his. . . sons." 

Treasonous words. Visenya regretted moving back instead of forward, but she could not leave her younger brothers undefended. 

"Say it again!" Ser Harwin booms as more Guards rush over to pull him from the bloodied Ser Criston, who is chuckling from his place on the floor. Why is he laughing? "Say it again!" 

Ser Criston had gotten what he wanted. That's what the pit in her gut was trying to tell Visenya — the feeling of something bad happening rearing it's ugly head.

And it did. 

After what had happened in the training yard, Harwin was ordered away from the Red Keep to join back at Harrenhal. He was it's heir, after all. He and his father would be returning to the castle, Ser Lyonel returning to see his son prepared as it's future Lord.

Jace and Luke were heartbroken most. Luke didn't understand the seriousness but the twins feared, and Visenya's raged, over the way they knew Jace developed an understanding for it. 

She was angry, furious even. Her mentor, a man she looked up to, was being sent away for reacting to a taunt made at him. An insult made at her mother and her brothers. An accusation that lay beneath the words. It wasn't fair. Monterys had told her of how Cole had killed a man at her mothers betrothal feast, had bashed his face in until he was nothing but mangled skin and broken bone, completely unrecognizable — but somehow the man still walked free, no evidence of a punishment for his crimes. 

It wasn't fair. 

Monterys was no better. She even thought he felt a little guilty. Perhaps I should of just lost, he'd told Visenya. And that only fuelled her rage even more — the swirl of Monterys believing himself to possibly be the point of blame when every part of her twin brother was good, which is more than she could say for Aegon or Criston.

( No, she had told him back. You win every time. )

Visenya stood tensely beside Monterys who was staring toward the ground, as Harwin came to say goodbye to them before he would depart. They weren't. . . his, they knew, in the way their younger brothers were, but gods, it hurt all the same.

The large knight walked over to Visenya, lightly lifting her chin so that her eyes would meet his. He smiled softly, "Train hard, Young Princess. I will be back one day, and I will judge your skills when I am." 

Visenya nods tersely, "I will not forget what you have taught me, Ser."

"See to that you don't." Harwin says, smiling kindly at the young girl he had trained for many years. A girl he has watched grow and become skilled with a sword. A girl he loved as his own. Who he knew would grow into a fierce woman, beautiful like her mother. . . and strong like her father. 

He switched his eyes to Monterys, who refused to look up. Visenya poured with anger but it was as if her brother refused to let himself react at all. "You are the elder. You and Visenya," The mention of her is what had him finally looking to Harwin, "I expect you to protect your brothers, sister and Mother as I have, never forget all I have told you, and continue to train alongside your Princess Visenya. You two will lead the rest by example." 

The weight threatened to take his knees. But he'd do his duty and fulfil his promise. Visenya hoped he knew he was not alone. She was his sword and shield, and so long as she was there, none would get to him. 

"I promise." 

"Good lad." 

But Monterys is tense and there's a tear in the corner of his eye that slowly trails down and over his cheekbone as Harwin bids his goodbye to their brothers and Mother. The brothers was the man's actual sons. Not Monterys. Laenor. . . was his Father. He didn't wish to feel hurt. 

"It is fine to cry," She tells her twin quietly. Jace steps to them when Harwin turns to their Mother now and leans down to kiss Joffrey's small head. Her hand is grabbed by his at her words and Visenya returns the squeeze just as firmly with comfort. "None will judge you for it, big brother." 

"I will be a stranger when we meet again." He whispers to Rhaenyra. They hear him.

Rhaenyra looks tearfully at the man who had served her faithfully. Had given her three sons she had loved with all her being. Had taken her eldest two under his wing, and the younger of the twins, as Visenya disregards social norms of what a Princess should act like. Training Visenya with a sword as the young girl continued to sneak away from lessons to pick up one and swing it about. Harwin was an honourable man and she loved him dearly. Despite knowing neither of them could ever show their love for one another, due to the consequences it would bring. Harwin could never claim his sons as his own, as it would bring catastrophe for all of them. Her heart ached to see him leave, their youngest son barely a few days old.

Harwin steps back, bowing slightly, "Princess."

With that, he picks up his sword and belongings, and leaves the room. The occupants look on sadly.

Jace runs after him — following him out the door — standing and watching the knight walk away. Visenya sees their mother go after the boy, her own body pulling her towards Luke as Monterys waits for Jace to return. 

Visenya smiles sadly at her younger brother, running a hand through his thick curls before pulling him into her arms. Luke wraps his small arms around her body, and basks in her presence. Visenya always gave the best hugs.

The two stood like that, until Jace and their mother came back in. Visenya smiles sadly, holding an arm out for the other boy, who rushed to join their embrace. Visenya ran soothing hands over their backs. Monterys nodded his head to himself, watching on, before looking up to their Mother as she walked back in and stopped at the sight. 

( Her heart clenched. The twins always believed they had to be the strongest of them, so that they could protect Jace, and Luke, and now little Joffrey, and their parents from any harm that may befall them. It hurt her like a wound. That her eldest children thought they must shove themselves and their emotions down and aside so that they put their brother's first.

Rhaenyra hated the feeling that swallowed her whole at it. As if she'd failed her most important role. Being a Mother. Witnessing the weight and the burdens that situated themselves on the twins shoulders and threatened to pull them down. She hated it. She hated feeling as if she'd. . . caused it. )

The conversation with Laenor slithered its way to the forefront of her. The wise sailor flees the storm as it gathers.

The storm is gathering and it was time for them to leave. She knew they had to. 

( Monterys eyes narrow in on his Mother as Visenya continues comforting Jace and Luke. )

To Dragonstone. 

Luke looked green as Monterys and Jace sat side-by-side, hushed conversation between the trio being the main source of entertainment. As much as the elder three had tried, none of their comforting had done Luke much good in feeling sea-sick as he did, and so they tended not to bring it up at all. The move to Dragonstone was done as swift as possible — everything they owned and intending on bringing with them packed, their goodbyes brief, and boarded on the ship. 

 Visenya stayed on the deck, gaze washing over the waves that pounded against the ship's sides — violent and unforgiving in their nature. It was a fascination — one she did not always engage in, but her twin did, and she understand why. Unforgiving like the sea was — like that of fire. Calm and contained one minute and the next, it could rob you of your life. 

( She thought. . . how similar the sea and fire was to her and Monterys. The sea was Monterys and the fire was Visenya. )

The looming castle of Dragonstone reared its gloomy stature as they docked upon the island. The scent of smoke, ash and salt clung to the air — the rumbling of the dragon mount like an old song that Visenya had listened to a thousand times. 

Her violet eyes widened in wonder at the dragons that flew overhead — free of the chains that held them in Kings Landing. Her gaze raked each of them — all the new dragons that lurked the island. Vraxes was amongst them, and she heard the sounds of steps come up from behind her, where Monterys then appeared, his gaze already locked on his dragon.

It was better here for them.

Rhaenyra smiled at their wonderment. "There are many unclaimed dragons on this island." She smoothed a hand through her daughter's hair as she stepped to the side of the girl.

Visenya smiled widely, the static under her skin running through her veins — like an nostalgia she didn't know she had missed. Rhaenyra could feel the girl practically vibrate under her palms, the Princess laughing quietly, soothing a hand to Visenya's cheek. 

"Do not be too hasty, my girl." Rhaenyra laughs, "You will have time to find your mount."

Visenya nods, but her ears barely hear the words, gaze always flickering back to the dragon mount — to its deep rumbles and looming figure. Syrax and Seasmoke were heading that way, and leading Vraxes to do the same. Her brother's younger dragon would thrive better here, and once she claimed her own mount, she could enjoy the freedom with them. 

Rhaenyra sighs, shaking her head fondly. She leads their family off the ship and to the castle, telling the maids and children to get situated. Visenya and Monterys were parted as they came across their own chamber's that they would make their own now. 

The stone walls, dark and gloomy, casted shadows over the room. The dark and red tapestries giving way the colours of House Targaryen, of their House. The twin's rooms were awfully similar to one another. In her room, Visenya looked over the old desk and furniture, barely a speck of dust covering any layer, showing how cared for the chambers were. 

"This was once the Queen Visenya's chambers," Rhaenyra's words made Visenya's head snap around to find her Mother standing there with a smile upon her face. "When she and her brother, and sister, Aegon and Rhaenys, planned their conquest of Westeros here at Dragonstone. Your brother's chambers is next door, the King Aegon's chamber. I think here, this chamber. . . it only fitting to go to you." 

This was the Queen Visenya's chambers? The first Visenya? She looked with wide eyes, disbelief in them. "Really?" 

"Yes, dear girl," Her Mother nods, softness to her lips. "I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised you would take after the Warrior Queen when I named you." And Visenya smiles widely. Out of all their ancestors, Visenya was her favourite — a warrior, skilled with swordsmanship. said to have been better than her brother. She'd slashed his cheek to proof his guard's unworthiness, creating the KingsGuard. And Visenya rode a fearsome mount, Vhagar, though the now large dragon had once been smaller. 

"And Monterys is just next door?" 

"He is," Rhaenyra confirmed, "And your younger brothers are across from him. Joffrey will reside with me for the time being." 

With the reassurance, Visenya rushed to explore her new chambers, taking in every each of the space and the old books that held untold secrets Visenya had yet to uncover. Visenya didn't think she could find a place so quickly that would feel just like home.

Moving next door, Rhaenyra glimpsed into those chambers to find her eldest son standing on the balcony, his hair blowing back and his hands against the stone ledge. He was staring up and over the dragon-mount, and she went to stand beside him.

"There is a stone of a dragon's egg against my will," He suddenly told her, his nose scrunching up as he caught her eyes. "It taunts me."

Her eyebrows raise, voice dropping teasingly as she leans closer to her boy, "Will it serve to give you nightmares?"

A small scoff leaves him, as offended as he could pretend to be. "I am a sea-dragon, Mother. It does not scare me, but it serves to remind me that some eggs did not live to it's potential." He looks over his shoulder, as if feeling the presence, "I shall cover it with a blanket." 

The disrespectful root of those before them would not do any well. She placed her hand on his shoulder, drawing him closer. "That egg had once belonged to another Prince or Princess of House Targaryen," She understood his small concern, but it did not sway her. "Mayhaps it will remind you of those who come before us more than it reminds you of the cruelty of stone."

He'd barely looked elsewhere after seeing the dragon egg, standing right in front of it with wide eyes, before escaping to the balcony. But that thought seemed well enough, he supposed. 

Her hand ran through his blonde-silvered hair next, "Your sister is just next door. She resides in the old Queen Visenya's chambers, a fact that gladdens her so," He smiled at that, imagining her excitement. "And you share the space of King Aegon. His sons each took turns in using his chambers after him."

Monterys gave a hum. Three Kings had shared these chambers. He'd simply be another name. But he appreciated the value of the chosen space for him. "Thank you, Mother," He gave a thought as to whether one of Aegon's sons had been involved with the dragon egg. "It already feels. . ." 

"More at home." Visenya's voice finished for him and two heads turn to find the younger Princess walking toward them, a gleam in her eyes. She's already happier here than elsewhere, and Monterys was glad to see it. That was enough. Visenya stops beside her twin brother and looks over at him. 

Home.

As the moon gleamed across the island — barely able to peak through the heavy clouds — Visenya lay wide awake. She couldn't explain it. Her mind refused to quiet, not even the gentle crashing of waves, or the rumbles from the dragon mount, able to lull her to sleep. There was something tugging inside her, refusing to allow her mind to rest. Her frustration was evident in the way she tossed and turned, kicking the sheets away and glaring across the dark room. 

( Should she wake Monterys? He'd be able to calm her, she thought. He was always able to. )

Huffing in annoyance, she sat up. Tossing the sheets off herself, she walked across the cold floor to the window. She looked up at the massive mountain outside, where faint screeching echoed across the lands.

Dragon mount — where untold dragons await — wild and volatile in their nature. 

After a moment of contemplation, she sighed heavily. Walking around the room, she shredded out of her night gown, changing into simple breeches and a tunic. She wraps a cloak around herself, pulling the hood up as she laces her boots. She knew this was foolish, but she was determined. She quietly opens the door to her chambers, peering through the hall for any guards on duty. Slithering her way out, she ducks into the shadows - hiding from tired eyes. 

Before continuing on, she opens her brother's chamber door and slips through the gap. She's not surprised to find Jace and Luke sharing his bed space, with Monterys right on the edge. Her brother struggled to say no. (Sometimes, he pushed the book further toward his face whenever one of their siblings asked him for something, pretending he cannot hear them. She always found it amusing to watch. Bookworm, she'd tease.) 

Deciding not to wake him up, because that came with the risk of also waking Jace or Luke, Visenya gave a small smile at the snores slipping from Monterys' mouth, before leaving. 

She walks quietly through the castle. The halls silent, everyone slumbering away peacefully, having no knowledge of what the Young Princess was about to do. Her brothers and Mother included. Reaching the outside, her gaze fixated on the destination in her mind. 

A light huff left her lips, her feet moving with purpose, carrying her body to its desired location. The trek up the mountain was hard — loose rocks and steep steps leaving her panting with sweat lining her forehead. She could have walked for hours before she came across the cavern, a wide arch to its opening. Some part of her whispered that she'd woke her twin up and had him wait and watch this moment happen. . . but then she wondered if Monterys would of even waited behind. She wondered if Monterys would of approved of her doings at all.

A large, humongous dragon laid before her. Scales as black as coal, the largest dragon she has ever seen. It seemed to be sleeping, but as she scuffed forward, the mighty beast opened its eyes. Menacing, emerald green eyes stared straight at her, baleful and bright, making her entire body go cold. 

The Cannibal.

( She could hear Monterys' voice in the back of her head, telling her this was an incredibly terrible idea. That though dragons were sacred, they were dangerous and you shouldn't just be wandering to claim a dragon by yourself. )

Visenya had heard stories about the dragon. Monterys had read some of the tales to her — how it feasted on hatchlings and waiting eggs, earning it it's holding name. How it was rumoured to have lived during the Doom, fleeing to Dragon Stone before even the Targaryen's arrived. Monterys had told her that some believed Cannibal wasn't even a dragon of House Targaryen. She didn't believe that, for the connection she felt in her chest, but she thought her twin brother believed some part of that story.

Visenya's breathing stops as the wild dragon sits up, eyes searing into her own. She stands frozen as the wild creature stalks towards her, bearing its sharp teeth at her. It roars in her face, making her stumble back and fall to her arse. 

She breathes heavily in fear, panic shooting up her spine, the dragon stalks closer and closer to her. Opening its massive jaws at her, and she could see the smoke build in the back of its throat — its sharp teeth like massive swords in her face. 

( Get up. She tells herself. Get up. Monterys voices tells her. Finish what you came searching for. )

Mustering what little courage she had left, Visenya raised her hand. She felt it right. "keligon!" (halt!)

The Cannibal paused in its advance, letting Visenya get back to her feet. She shakily stood, slow in her movement to not startle the wild terrifiying beast, looking wearily at the mighty beast. "Lykiri, Cannibal. Lykiri." (Calm, Cannibal. Calm.)

The dragons menacing green eyes glared at her, growling deeply at the name, bearing its teeth. 

Visenya jumps back at the sight, shrugging. "Okay, Visenya. Don't get burned alive." She mutters to herself. (Monterys would be furious with her if she was slain by this dragon before her and she hadn't even told him her plans.) She holds her hands out in front of her. That same tugging feeling pulls at her as she looks at the beast. She couldn't explain it — this feeling of connection that was beginning to thread. Like two old friends meeting again for the first time in years. 

( There was only one connection that reminded her of. The feeling of another half to you. And her chest lifted at the realisation. )

Licking her chapped lips, she breathes shakily. When she speaks, her voice is firm. "Dohaeris!" (Obey!)

The Cannibal glared at the small girl. Visenya huffs, hand held out slightly and repeats herself, "Dohaeris!" (Obey!)

The Cannibal glared harder, moving its large head closer to the girl. Visenya stood stock still as the dragons large head came closer to her. The Cannibal observed the small girl, her strong stance and refusal to back down, despite the fear that lingered inside her. The mighty beast shook its head, grumbling from deep in its throat raking its way past its maw. 

Visenya braced herself against the deafening roar, but kept her stance. Her ears had a persistent ringing to them when the dragon stopped. She opened her eyes, and stared straight into the emerald green of the dragons.

"Dohaeris." She says lowly, not breaking her gaze from the dragons. (Obey)

The Cannibal grumbled — seeming more curious as it looked at her — still standing. Visenya stared determinedly at the dragon. When neither moved, she began to slowly stalk forward, hand held out in front of her. The dragon eyed the outstretched hand, but made no move of discomfort. Visenya furthered her journey, getting closer and closer to the dragon, pausing when it grumbled or growled.

"Lykiri, lykiri." She whispers, her hand barely an inch away from the thick scales. (Calm, calm.)

( From womb to tomb, she'd tell him. From the sea to the sky, right? 

With this, she could finally sail the sea and flight the skies with her twin brother.

As she should. As he'd be glad for. . . after he got over his frustration of her putting herself in danger with a wild dragon. )

Breathing deeply, she pushed forward and her fingertips grazed the rough scales of the dragons snout. She paused there and when the great beast makes no noise of complaint, just looks intently into her eyes, she flattens her palm on the snout.

She gasps at the heat radiating from under the scales, it was unlike anything she had ever felt. More personal than when she'd touched Syrax (and Vraxes hadn't allowed her too despite how much Monterys had communicated his reassurances). She smiles widely, laughing breathlessly in disbelief.

The Cannibal grumbles under her palm, making no move to shift away. Visenya smooths the scales, running a rough hand over the hard skin.

She rakes her eyes of the beast. He was magnificent, beautiful even. His coal coloured scales making him almost invisible in the darkness of the night. His menacing, emerald eyes that looked so much like wild fire, that she found herself staring into them and their beauty. 

( His colouring reminded her of Vraxes. Both dark, both capable of being beasts in the night. She was unaware how much that possibility would bring joy to her, making her feel closer to her twin, and their dragons alike. 

But this dragon was bigger, and she couldn't wait to tease the fact in Monterys' face. Not that he'd care, Visenya knew, for her brother's greatest pride was his badly-spoken dragon born from his cradle, and she'd have to give it some time before he stopped speaking on her recklessness. )

"iksā gevie." She whispers. (You are beautiful.)

The dragon croons, surprising Visenya with the way he starts to lean into her touch.

"muña vestras iksan se dāritys sigligon." Visenya murmurs. "Ziry, tolī, ēdas iā zūgagon zaldrīzes. Nyke pendagon iksā vok, naejot sȳngagon se qrugh hen hen mirri kasta cunts."  (Mother says I am the conqueror queen reborn. She, too, had a feared dragon. I think you are perfect to scare the shit out of some green cunts.)

The dragon perks up under her palm. The Valyrian soothing him, pushing harder into Visenya's touch. Visenya laughs heartily.

The Cannibal, moves away from Visenya slightly. The young girl is barely able to convey her disappointment before her eyes widen when he lowers his wing down, crouching lower to her level. The invitation was clear. Like a puppet on strings, her legs begin to carry her towards the dragon. She pauses by his side, lightly placing her hands on his sides, waiting for his rejection. But, it never comes, Cannibal just sitting and waiting.

Visenya breathes sharply, gripping onto the hard spikes to heave herself onto the dragon's back. There was no saddle, so Visenya gripped onto the spikes until her knuckles were white.

"Kostilus, gaomagon daor rughagon nyke." Visenya begs, as Cannibal picks himself up, flaying out his wings in preparation for flight. (please, do not drop me.)

Cannibal grumbles deeply under her, shaking his massive head. Visenya tenses in preparation. This is not how she thought her first flight with her own mount would go, without even the security of a saddle. 

( Her brother was going to be furious after he congratulated her. )

Visenya yelps when they take off, gripping tightly to the rough spikes, using all her strength to not slide about. She leans over slightly, and her eyes widen as the ground gets further and further away, the castle she thought was huge earlier, now a mere speck.

Up and up they go, into the clouds and above, the moon shining down on them, glistening off the scales beneath her. She looked, eye wide in wonder and excitement. Cannibal levels out under her, his roar echoing off the hills. She sits up slightly, tightening her core to keep her balance.

It was amazing. You could see for miles, everything looked smaller than ants beneath the boot. Visenya smiled widely, her cheeks hurting from the stretch of it. She holds her arms out, whooping and cheering. She laughs loudly when Cannibal joins her, roaring and screeching boomingly.

Eventually, they circle back to dragon mount, landing roughly. Visenya slides down from his back, landing with a roll. That does not stop her from laughing wildly, wide eyes staring at Cannibal, her dragon.

"Bona... iksin..." She is unable to complete the sentence, laughing breathlessly. (That...was...)

She pats soothingly at the dark scales. "Iksi bonded sir, ñuha raqiros." She smiles, "Nyke could iepagon daor sȳrkta mount, gevie valītsos." Cannibal rumbles under her touch. (We are bonded now, my friend. I could ask for no better mount, beautiful boy.)

She runs a hand over the dragons side, "sir, ivestragī's urnēptre ñuha lentor skoros emi achieved." (Now, let's show my family what we have achieved.)

She pats the scales one last time, and Cannibal lowers his shoulder again allowing Visenya to climb upon his back once again.

Visenya smirks, "Sōvegon!" (Fly!)

Rhaenyra jumps awake at an earth shaking roar echoing over the castle. Laenor shoots upright beside her. Though they may not make love together — they still enjoyed the comfort of someone sleeping next to them, showing them they are not alone. Especially during these first nights at Dragonstone. 

"What?" He asks, sleep still evident in his voice, "What was that?"

"I do not know." Rhaenyra mumbles. She untangles herself from the sheets, walking over to the window. She sees nothing but a peaceful sky and calm town for a moment. . . until a large, massive really, black mass flies over them, its wings beating winds down upon them. 

Rhaenyra jumps back, eyes full of fright.

"What? What is it?" Laenor asks, seeing her reaction.

"Cannibal." Rhaenyra utters, eyes locked on the mass flying overhead. Her eyes catch onto something, squinting with the effort to make out what it is. Her face drops when she figures it out, disbelief and anger — and slight worry — igniting in her.

"That foolish girl." She shakes her head. She marches over to the doors, opening them and talking to the guards outside. She ignores Laenor's questions in the background. "Ser, would you please check if the Princess Visenya is in her chambers?"

The knight nods, setting off to complete the task.

"Visenya?" Laenor softly scoffs, Rhaenyra closing the door and pacing the floor. "Surely she would not —"

"Trust me, she would." Rhaenyra shakes her head, "I swear, that girl is so reckless, and foolish, so much like —" She cuts herself off, breathing deeply and shakily.

"Yes." Laenor nods, "I am afraid she does take after him, quite a lot. Be glad it is only the one of the twins who do." 

Rhaenyra merely laughs, but there was no humour behind it. She continues her pacing, so much that Laenor was worried she would wear a hole into the floor.

After what felt like hours of waiting, a knock sounded at the door, Rhaenyra rushing to open it.

"My Princess." The same guard she had ordered earlier, panted heavily. "We have found the Princess."

"Is she in her chambers?" Rhaenyra questions quickly.

"No, Princess." The guard shakes his head, "She is in the courtyard with the Prince Monterys. Princess. . . she —" 

"Only one twin? That girl will be the death of me and her brother wishes to aid her it seems." Rhaenyra groans. She snatches up a cloak and shoves on her slippers. She marches out of the chambers and down the corridors.

Her husband shakes his head, doing the same. "You know well as I that Monty is much too —" Jace and Luke appear, sleepily rubbing their eyes, and momentarily distracting him, "— responsible than. . . this." 

"Mother?" It is Jace that takes to asking, "What is going on? Where is Monty?" 

"Your sister has done something foolish." Rhaenyra answers, shaking her head, "The girl knows no bounds. And your brother allowed it!" 

She continues her trek throughout the castle, making her way down to the courtyard. Luke, Jace and Laenor followed behind her, their footsteps echoing throughout the castle.

They make it out to the fresh air, the cold night beating down upon them.

The lot of them make it down to the courtyard, where Visenya stands, smoothing her hands over a massive dragon that purrs under her touch.

The Cannibal.

Rhaenyra and the boys freeze in shock at the sight. Visenya, the small girl, stood next to the monstrous Cannibal, the dragon that feasted on its own kind. The girl was dressed in simple breaches and a tunic, a cloak hastily wrapped around herself.

But instead of smiling widely when she catches sight of them, as she'd wished, Visenya was currently bickering with her twin. Monterys, in fact, hadn't aided her plan to claim a dragon tonight as Rhaenyra had suspected of him, and Laenor was correct in his statement. 

"You could of gotten killed! It is the middle of the night, Visenya, and you left your bed to claim a dragon with no mention of your doings. Not even to me," Her face was straight, and the dragon lifted it's head somewhat, "And with," He threw a look to their side, where Visenya glimpsed toward them, before leaning in and whispering, "No saddle? You are asking for death!" 

Visenya shook her head, "I just wished for a dragon!" 

"And you couldn't of done it without sneaking out and risking yourself more so?" 

She was silent, for that was a fair point. However. . . she'd already followed through on her wishes and gotten herself a bond with a dragon. The Cannibal. Not just any dragon. But her twin was right in his worry and that was why she didn't tease him for his words. 

His eyes followed her arm and up the dragon's face, a slow gleam of awe shining there. Visenya found herself also slowly grinning at the look on her brother's face, spotting the small nod from him also. 

"I am proud of you, my sister." He says more quietly after and her face feels as if it aches with her response. But then he takes some steps back and let's their Mother take over. 

The smile is still on her face when she turns to them fully again, "Mother!" She's beaming with pride and joy, "Look! I did it!" She flattens a hand onto the dark scales of the menacing beast. "I've claimed a dragon." And the said dragon grumbles, lightly nudging her and Rhaenyra swears her heart stops. Visenya, however, does not seem bothered. The girl smiles, petting the beast — as though she was not standing next to one of the most feared dragons in the realm. 

The way the girl so casually talks to the dragon, standing fearlessly beside its mountainous form. Rhaenyra knows all too well who she is looking at, who the girl will inevitably take after. 

Slowly walking forwards, wearily eyeing the beast beside her daughter. Visenya merely smiles, continuing to pet the great beast.

Rhaenyra wants to scold the girl, wants to shout and rave. At the same time, she wants to take the girl into arms and not let go, and wants to share in her excitement. Visenya was her father's daughter, every arrogant and insolent action was all linked to one man. 

( Monterys had undoubtably done both, anyhow. The lecture part came after, and she'd missed his relief. )

So, Rhaenyra compromises. She swats the girl upside the head lightly, not too hard but not soft either. As Visenya whines, she pulls the girl into her arms, clutching her tightly. Visenya confusedly hugs back, arms wrapping around her mother's taller frame. Rhaenyra looks cautiously at the large dragon over the girls shoulder. The great beast does nothing except watch them. When she pulls back, she places her hands on either side of the girls face.

"Well done, my girl."

Visenya's face brightens at the praise, a wide smile stretching across her face. Rhaenyra lightly smiles back.

( Her girl.

Her little warrior. )

Monterys smiles his half-smile when Visenya looks in his direction again, now standing beside Laenor who has one arm shielding the younger boys from the dragon's sight, and her eyebrows draw closer at the sight, buried against their Mother's arms and front. 

( He'd paused at the sight of her stood with Cannibal, his eyes slowly taking in the large and beastly frame of the wild dragon, as if unsure whether the creature stood where he stood, before locking eyes with her and moved forward again. 

"Are you okay?" He'd asked before anything else. Visenya had nodded, glancing toward the Cannibal, and opened one arm up instead of speaking, and instead of saying anything when she hadn't, he'd stepped closer for his own to rest on top of hers as she pulled him closer to draw their foreheads against one another. Her skin was warm and her arm was trembling. 

Out of excitement. 

She was unable to speak with words, so this is how they spoke when they couldn't. 

"You claimed a dragon," He whispered. Her fingers dug into the night-robe of his wear and her forehead dug harder against his. "You're a dragon-rider, Visenya. Like the old and the new." 

Her eyes opened and searched his when they flickered back up to meet her stare, "Like you. We can finally fly together." 

"A dragon-rider," He slowly pulled himself away, looking back up at the dragon. The smile on his face filled with pride and wonder, and Visenya's hand gripped his for a second, "Most fearsome of them all. I feel that suits you most, Vis." 

The tease came as a surprise, but she shook her head and responded, glad to not see the worrisome side of him yet, "I can't wait for Mother to see that I have finally claimed a dragon." 

And the mention of their parent had triggered his own mothering — as Visenya called it — concerns. )

"Do not worry us like that again," Laenor then says, and Monterys' smile grew somewhat as he turns his head to the side, no doubt already knowing what his twin sister was thinking. 

Monterys was right, as Visenya's smile turned more mischievous, "I will not, Father."  

Chapter Text

THE FIRST OF MANY

There was a curious type of serenity to Dragonstone – the gloomy, desolate rock bringing a sense of security, of home – something that King’s landing often omitted, the shit stinking city more like a cage than a home.

Dragonstone was free.

The most free that Visenya had ever felt, its open skies and roaring mountain – that held dragons and secrets still unknown – she was transfixed with the scent of salt, smoke, and rain that clung to the island. Whilst the scent of the city – stinking of shit, piss, and other foul odors – left her often suppressing gags.

Here she was unrestrained – no scathing looks or scowls, no peering eyes that followed them everywhere – free to rough house with her brothers, uncaring of who watched, free to fly with Monterys all day if she wished to, their dragons flying in sync with one another, as they so often did. Free to laugh, to joke, to stand close with Lucinda – the two often away in their own corner – even if Monty gave her teasing looks for it. 

Monterys was right, the first day they had arrived. This place had felt more like home from the start.

“You’re getting sloppy, sister.”

The undignified scoff that fell from her lips – the kind that would have pious Ladies of the court sneering down at her – gave way to the sharp smirk upon her lips. 

She skidded along the course sands of the beach, body bending to duck under Monty’s swing to her chest. She returned the attack with her own, blunted blades hitting each other with a clang, laughing lightly with her blade pointed toward him.

“Don’t get so cocky, brother. Just because your betrothed is watching.”

The twins circled each other, each step precise and measured. This was a daily occurrence for the twins, training upon the sands. Each day without fail, they would meet with swords, trading blows and jests, until one of them was either defeated, or they were pulled away for other business. Often than not, it would be the former. This was their sanctuary – here upon the beaches, near the tides, with the roaring of the dragon mount behind them – where they had vented anger without words, where they had worked through grief and sadness with each swing and slash, letting the overwhelming emotions pour out of them until they were nothing more than exhausted masses, scrambling to hold one another in some way. 

More days than before, it has been Monterys who would drag his sister to the sands – shoving a sword in her hand and forcing her to block and parry him – he knew better than most how volatile her emotions were, how they could overwhelm her until she was trembling with rage. It was these days where her swings were more unpredictable, more sloppy, more reckless, almost as if she was looking to get hurt. He knew of her scarred knuckles – where the skin had burst and bled where it had met rock – and he knew it was not an accident that had caused these scars. It would not be until Monterys would shove her to the sands, cold metal pointed toward the delicate skin of her neck, would that anger melt away to reveal the concealed emotions laying beneath. And he would sit beside her – dropping his blade – silent, palm laid just within reach. Sometimes it would take seconds, sometimes minutes, one time even hours, but her calloused hand would eventually link with his – grounding herself with his touch, and all things she had buried beneath would spill.

Visenya’s eyes momentarily darted toward the balcony – where two figures were standing together – both of dark hair, both the twins held dear to them. 

Lyanna Stark was Monterys’ betrothed – a way to secure an alliance with the North – a comely lady, who Visenya had teased was too good and stubborn for her brother – often when Monty would come to rant about his betrothed, her stubborn nature and firm resolute – Visenya knew the girl held an affection for her brother, a fondness that was returned, though not in the way Lyanna would have hoped. Visenya knew another wolf was the one who held her twin’s heart.

Next to her was Lady Lucinda Blackwood – the lady-in-waiting provided to Visenya by her mother – a girl Visenya was determined to hate, until she had slithered her way through the cracks of Visenya’s walls. She was almost loath to admit it, but Luncinda had earned herself Visenya’s trust, her affection – to which she has buried deep within her, locked away behind walls so thick. Monterys – so attuned with the way his sister acted, to her ticks and tells – was the only one privy to that secret that she held so close. He would tease her, during the quiet moments between them, and she would reward him with a shove that would leave him laughing. 

“Do not act as if you are not the same.” Monterys grunted, darting back from a cut that would have left him without a head if this were a real battle. “With your dear lady-in-waiting.”

Visenya did not deign him with a reply, darting forward – following him – flourishing her blade against his attack, returning with her own. Back and forth they went – one advancing, the other defending – it was a type of dance they had developed, circling around one another with practiced steps, so attuned to the way the other would move. Monterys would swing, Visenya would duck. She would slash, he would block, their blades filling the air with a song of ringing metal.

To others it was enchanting to watch – two people so in sync with one another – able to see a swing coming before it had even happened. It was certainly so for the two ladies upon the balcony, eyes locked on the two moving figures upon the sand. They both watched their persons – Lyanna watching Monty, whilst Lucinda’s gaze followed Visenya’s every move. There would be times where one of the twins would glance to the balcony, and their lilac or violet eyes would connect with grey or forest green ones. It would only be for a second, but the second was a touch too long. 

Visenya was not one to make mistakes often – normally so focused on the battle in front of her, determined and iron willed to win this bout of training – but today was one such anomaly where she made a mistake, and she blamed it all on enticing forest green eyes, on her brother’s teasing words. 

She twisted under Monty’s swing, skidding through the sand, and gliding until she had stopped behind Monty’s figure. She could feel Lucinda’s eyes on her – as she had throughout the whole session – burning, tingling on the back of her neck. The sensation was distracting, so much so that she paused for a second.

But a second was too long.

She cursed herself later – disappointed and frustrated – she knew such an act would cost her life upon the battle field, and she had lectured Monty for such acts in the past. She was supposed to be better, be stronger, if she had any hope of protecting her brothers in the future. That was her job, and she tortured over every little mistake she could make that would jeopardize that. 

She did not notice the elbow until too late. It connected harshly with her face – Monty’s sharp and lithe limbs holding a certain strength that none would expect – she felt the crack, the feel of bone snapping under bone. There was a stinging in her eyes, suddenly filled with so much water that her vision blurred. Her body tipped until she sprawled along the sand, a second later her hand darted to clutch at the throbbing along her nose – a sharp agony that spread along the rest of her face – a wetness already clinging to her skin, her mouth filled with iron.

She could vaguely hear the waves crashing along the sand, the course material still blurry in her watered vision – though it seemed more red than normal –  and Monty’s slightly smug – though he would deny it until his dying days – laugh before he fell silent. Visenya could only assume he had turned to look at her, to bask in his victory, a tease already on his tongue, before he actually saw her.

She blinked the tears from her eyes, and finally saw that the sand was not an abnormal colour – it was coated in blood. Her blood. 

She pulled her hand from her face, and that too was dripping with red, blood running off lithe fingers to the sand bellow. Her face still felt wet, her mouth still full of that unforgiving and vile metallic taste. She spat, and more blood painted the sand. 

“Shit.”

There was the sound of a sword dropping, thumping to the ground, before Monterys was crouched beside her, hands hovering unsure over her hunched figure – Visenya could picture his wide eyed look, the guilt that probably already coated his entire face. The image made her want to laugh.

It hurt to do so, the pain a type of throbbing agony. She was sure she looked mad – blood dripping from her nose, painting her teeth and lips red. 

“You’re laughing right now?!”

She laughed harder at him – coughing against the blood that still dripped into her mouth. “Fuck.”

Monterys was in disbelief – slightly sure that his twin had gone mad in a matter of seconds – he was unsure of what to do, hands hovering still as she spat and coughed. Her face was the picture of a massacre, blood spilling from each nostril – a split had opened upon the bridge of her nose, skin broken under the power of the hit, and the guilt swallowed him whole – her teeth were stained a pinkish red, and the sand beneath them looked to be a painting of various shades of red. 

Frantic footsteps made his head dart up, Lyanna and Lucinda panting and wide eyed. Monty had not even noticed them leaving the balcony. 

“Oh my gods.” Lyanna blurted out, and Lucinda’s glare was enough to say what Monty did not.

Lucinda knelt beside him, closer than would seem proper to his sister. Her hand paused before connecting with Visenya’s shoulder – his twin only tensed for a moment before relaxing, and in any other scenario, he would have been happy to see it – Visenya’s head tilted to look at the Blackwood girl.

“My lady.” Visenya smiled – a terrifying smile in truth – teeth stained. “This is entirely your fault.”

Lucinda scoffed, amused and worried all the same. “And how do you conclude that, Princess?”

Visenya did not answer her, and Monterys would have teased her for the shy look in her eye, the blush that was hidden under the smeared blood upon her face. 

Visenya winced as Monterys’ fingers gently probed the sensitive nerves around her nose. “Sorry.” He apologized quietly, and his gentle touch expressed his regret for the situation. Visenya merely gripped his hand within her own, and squeezed. 

The three carefully helped Visenya to her feet, Monterys clutching her to his side, even as she tried to wave him off, insistent that she was fine – as she so often did when she felt vulnerable. He ignored her, walking through the castle halls – servants and maids alike horrified at the sight of the Princess – until he reached maester Gerardys.

The old Maester took one look at Visenya – the blood, the split skin upon her nose, – before he guided Monty to sit Visenya down, whilst he gathered whatever materials needed. It was not long before Rhaenyra was made privy to the incident, and she was marching into the chamber where her twins – her troublesome firstborns – were held. 

Visenya smiled that wicked smile at their mother, tight with the pain that still throbbed along her face – made worse by Maester Gerardys’ probing and touching. 

“What have you done?” Rhaenyra darted to her daughter’s side, lilac eyes already raking over every inch of Visenya, as if looking for more hidden injured.

“It was my doing, mother.” Monty’s quiet admission – full of shame, guilt, regret – had her head darting up. “My fault.”

“It wasn’t.” Visenya insisted, hand darting blindly for her brother’s. Monterys took the limb, allowing Visenya to squeeze it comfortingly. “It was my own fault. I got distracted, I didn’t see it coming. Don’t blame Monty.”

Rhaenyra allowed herself a small smile at her daughter’s defense of her brother. Running a hand through sweat riddled curls – curls that only ever came out when he daughter’s hair was free of its braid, or slicked with wet. “I’m not, sweet girl.” She looked to her son, comforting against his guilt. “I’m not.”

Rhaenyra looked over the other two girls in the chamber – Lucinda’s gaze locked upon her daughter in the chair, whilst Lyanna’s seemed to dart between both twins, each gazes worried and pinched with concern. 

“Perhaps you two might clean up.” She looked to the blood – her daughter’s blood – that caked along their hands, staining some bits of their clothing.

Both girl’s gazes seemed startled as they looked to her – Lucinda looked ready to argue, a frown pulling at plump lips, forest green eyes narrowed – it was only Lyanna’s hand along her arm that brought Lucinda from her state, though the girl’s gaze stayed locked on Visenya the whole way out. Both of them bowed, Lyanna pausing to gently squeeze Monterys’ arm – her son looking to the limb, to her eyes, smiling tightly. Some of the tension along his shoulders seemed to ease, and Rhaenyra was happy to see the two had developed a bond during their betrothal. 

The Blackwood’s gaze was still connected with Visenya’s – Rhaenyra almost missed the look shared between them, the blush that dusted Visenya’s cheeks as she left. She chose not to say anything, for her sake or her daughter’s.

 Monterys became a silent sentinel beside his sister, watchful gaze carefully studying the maester’s every move as he treated his sister. Wiping the blood from Visenya’s face, stuffing her nose with cotton, studying the alignment of her nose.

“I would say that your brother has managed to break your nose, Princess.”

Monterys swallowed against the new assault of guilt and regret – hearing he had hurt his own twin in such a way. He felt his mother’s eyes, the eyes of Lyanna. He did not wish to see the comfort held within them – did not wish to be abolished of his guilt. No matter what anyone said, he had still hurt her.

“I regret to say.” Gerardys warned, looking only to Visenya as he spoke. “But this will hurt, Princess.”

Visenya’s scoff said more than words – gave an insight to the agony already ridden along her face. She regretted it upon seeing her twins' downcast expression, deciding to bite her cheek against any more sounds of pain. She did not want to add to his shame. 

Gerardys gently pinched the top of her nose – sparks of lightning tingling along every sensitive nerve that her eyes begun to water again – it almost seemed like years before he pulled, firm and hard, aligning the broken bones together again. 

The sharp agony, pinch and blood filled her mouth once again – though this time from her own doing, sharp teeth biting through the inside of her cheeks – she groaned quietly, cursing herself for it. Her mother’s soothing hand through her hair, Monty’s hand squeezing hers, was the only things to distract her.

“The appendage will have a slight crook.” Gerardys wiped the blood from his hands, picking a needle and string from his desk. “And you will have a small scar.”

“My first battle wound.” Visenya laughed, and paid the price with the throbbing pain. Monty’s hand squeezed tighter, and she saw the angered look in his eye at her teasing.

“Do not jest at this.” He scowled, though it was not directed at her.

Visenya’s smile dimmed, and she squeezed his hand more firmly. She waited until his eyes connected with hers again – silently conveying that he was not to blame. And he was not, it was her own fault, and that of Lucinda’s. She had distracted her, and she should not have allowed herself to be distracted. 

The twins shared that look for a moment, Visenya keeping their gazes locked until she saw the tension melt from his shoulders, until his hand became looser in hers. 

“Neither of you are to blame.” Rhaenyra insisted. “These things happen, it is no ones fault. Better to learn from this now rather than later.”

“Yes, I shall learn that Monty’s elbows are entirely too sharp to be normal.” Visenya grinned, delighted to see the small pout that pulled at her brother’s lips.

“They are not.”

“My face would speak otherwise, dear brother.” 

Rhaenyra cut them off, seeing the bickering coming from miles away. “Enough you two.” The twins fell silent at her command, though teasing looks and small grins were impossible to stop. It ignited a certain fondness in her chest each time, her twins – her firstborns – were a special space in her heart. Holding the same love she held for all her children, though they would always be her firsts – nothing could change that – her dragon twins were a delightful surprise.

Gerardys was focused as he stitched the spilt skin upon Visenya’s nose – already a crook could be seen, though small, nothing more than a bump along her bridge. Years from now, Visenya would still recall the tale of the first of many times she broke her nose – speaking to her nephews, who would listen to their aunt with apt attention. She would still laugh at Monty’s same pouted look, and smile, bumping his shoulder with hers when no one was looking, still soothing that lingering guilt Monterys would hold. 

Later, when Gerardys had stitched the wound closed, covering it with a paste that stank, that he assured would protect the wound from corruption. Rhaenyra, ensuring the twins would get into no more trouble, left them to their solitude – as they so often held between them – the two huddled along the open window.

“What made you so distracted today?” Monterys finally asked, the question that itched at the back of his mind for hours.

The huff that Visenya released, the blush along her cheeks, the darting of her eyes to the waves. He smiled – teasing and amused – laugh bubbling in his chest.

“It was the Blackwood girl, wasn’t it?”

Visenya glared at the horizon, insistent of not looking at him. “I do not wish to answer that.”

The laugh burst from his lips, for a moment, all guilt and regret forgotten for his action – more amused at his twin’s predicament. Visenya kicked him for his amusement, socked foot connecting with his leg. He laughed still, light and joyed. It was impossible for Visenya to fight her own grin, hiding it behind silver strands as she ducked her head.

“That would have gotten you killed in a real battle.” Visenya knew he was mocking her for her usual lecture, and she glared lightly.

“Good that it was not a real battle.”

Monty grinned, humming. “We shall practice it.”

Visenya kicked him again. 

Small knocks upon old wood captured the twins' attention, waiting until the door opened and heads of dark hair peaked through the gap.

The twins grinned at their brothers, Luke and Jace venturing further into the chamber until they came beside their elder siblings.

“Lyanna says that Monty broke your nose today at training.” Jace says, gazing up at his elder sister.

“He did.” Visenya nodded, “I know now to be wary of his sharp elbows. You should too.”

Monterys rolled his eyes lightly, a small grin on his lips still. “She tells lies. It was her own fault, only she is too embarrassed to speak the real reason.”

This time she kicked him harder, and he winced with a laugh. He slung an arm around Jace’s shoulder, holding him close, whilst Luke shuffled closer to his sister – Visenya grinning as she ruffled his dark curls.

“We match now, little lord.” Visenya grinned at him, thumb soothing over the bridge of his nose – where an old injury had long since healed. 

Luke grinned shyly, pinching his nose. “That paste stinks.”

Monterys and Jace laughed, Visenya scoffing as she shoved Luke lightly. The smaller boy giggled – and soon the room was filled with the sounds of joy and teasing.

Though years would ease the guilt Monterys felt for this incident, they would not diminish his twins amusement when teasing him for it. Nor would Monterys’ own jests of a certain Blackwood girl fail to make his sister blush. Visenya would tell all that she was proud of the injury – that it was only her twin that could defeat her in such a way, for he was the strongest of them all, and the only one out of the two of them that was worthy of the crown upon his brow.