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I.
Visenya would not consider herself curious by nature, but she is interested to learn which lord will win a match with her charming, high-spirited younger sister.
As for her future, Visenya need not wonder.
A highborn lady may dream of her promised lord, but those dreams would consist of the tenebrous face of a stranger. However, Visenya had known the face of her betrothed almost as well as her own.
The milky breasts of a wetnurse, now an old, greying woman with sagging jowls and age spots, had nourished them both. When Visenya was still just a child, Bea once spoke fondly of how much difficulty she had weaning her when Visenya's intended was born, two years after her. "Her ladyship gave me no end of grief," Bea had snorted, laughing. "I did not fancy yerself attached to me lik' that, as it sometimes happens with my lot, yer were always independent enough. No, you were just mad at being made to give up something.”
They had shared the same maester, a young man who had been born to an inconsequential house sworn to the King in the Stormlands. Visenya remembered how although Maester Arlan had been of a nervous disposition, he seemed to thrive when teaching.
They had been trained at arms by the same battle-blooded master-at-arms. Ser Haldon was the one to instil in her the belief that almost wasn't good enough.
And they had shared the same parents.
Aegon and Visenya were the last scions of Old Valyria. She and her siblings were the blood of the dragon, and the dragon may lie with a common beast, but it was the custom to marry kin to kin. Wedding brother to sister was the preferred way, and so it had been for Daenys the Dreamer and Gaemon the Glorious, and their children after them. Failing that, inquiries would be made of other familial branches. Their own mother was a Velayron, but she was distantly related to Lord Aerion through their shared female ancestor, Tyria. Tyria, the youngest child of Gaemon and Daenys, had been married into the Velayron family. It was deemed acceptable; although they were no dragonriders, the Velayron’s could boast Valyrian descent, with many sharing the same distinctive purple eyes and silver hair. Through Tyria, Lady Valaena was the great-great-great-great granddaughter of Daenys and Gaemon.
In the end, it was Aegon who answered her question.
But perhaps she should have known all along it would lead to this, and instead wonder if their lord father would consent.
Mother was vehement about it not going through. It was said she desired for Rhaenys to marry a Redwyne. Lady Valaena had argued with her husband House Redwyne possessed the largest fleet in Westeros. Lord Aerion laughed. “We have dragons.” Lady Valaena had shaken her head. “We cannot always depend on your dragons, my lord," She empathized.
Visenya's mother had also argued that the Redwyne’s possessed royal blood, having ruled as the Kings of the Arbour. They ruled until the demise of their last king on an ill-fated sea voyage. This had enabled his cousin, King Meryn III Gardener, to claim House Redwyne as his vassals.
Lord Aerion had waved his hand in dismissal. “The blood of kings is a single gold coin. The blood of dragons is a treasure.”
And so, a month before her brother was to become her husband, it was announced that Rhaenys would be wed to Aegon as well. Two sisters, two wives.
Visenya was told privately, before the announcement. Aegon was not entirely thoughtless.
“You do not need to wed Rhaenys to bed her.” Visenya contended in an acidic voice.
“You would have me dishonour our sister then, by taking her as my mistress?” Aegon had bit back, crossing his muscular arms.
“So, you are happy to dishonour me then?” Visenya raised her chin. I don’t care if you want to fuck her, brother. You've already been promised to me, and besides, I suspect you would not be able to satisfy me half so well as those lovely ladies we met in Lannisport.
What I care about are my children’s rights not being jeopardized.
I’ve spent my entire life believing that my children by you will inherit Dragonstone. And you choosing to marry Rhaenys as well… risks that.
“We are both the blood of Valyria. I would never do anything that would bring shame upon you.” Aegon’s jaw was clenched, Visenya could see the veins in his neck throb. “And marrying Rhaenys will not do that. There is a precedent for it in our history.”
While Aegon might not have cared for seeking Visenya’s forgiveness, Rhaenys did.
“I hope that you do think ill of me, Visenya. It’s just that Aegon and I love each other so." She had beseeched, taking her sister’s hands into her own.
Visenya gave a half-smile. “Yes, you’ve always commanded his heart. Something I cannot say for myself.”
Rhaenys had tried to protest, but Visenya had shrugged her shoulders. “Rhaenys, do not insult my intelligence with flatteries, although I know your intentions are pure. Aegon and I have always known that it was our duty to wed one another. It’s something we do not have a choice in. So, if Aegon can take you as well, how could I begrudge him that joy?”
What else could she say? It was already decided, taking out her wrath on Rhaenys would help nothing. Her sister had beamed and hugged her.
II.
42 A.C.
In another world, her son Maegor would have been the first in the line of succession.
But Rhaenys had given Aegon a son first. A paltry excuse for a Targaryen, but a son nonetheless. And Aenys’ marriage to his own Velayron had proved more fruitful than both her and Rhaenys’ marriages combined; with three sons and two daughters. When the eldest Rhaena was born, questions arose about who should be considered Aenys’ heir- his younger brother Maegor, or the newborn princess. Visenya had proposed a betrothal between the two. However, Aegon took the advice of that interfering High Septon and given Visenya’s son to Ceryse Hightower instead. The Hightowers were a proud house to be sure, but a Hightower could not strengthen her son's claim to the throne in the way Rhaena could.
Aegon had once told her he would never do anything to shame her. But he was wrong. His actions had brought disgrace upon her, upon them all.
If he had never married Rhaenys, she would not have to deal with a nephew so hopelessly incapable of embracing fire and blood. Even Aenys himself knew that it was Maegor who was truly deserving of the crown. He had admitted as such when he had gifted Maegor Blackfyre at his coronation, five years before. “He gives you the sword when he would do better to give you the crown. He is no Aegon.”
So, when Aenys had died, Visenya had crowned Maegor at Dragonstone, while Aegon and Rhaena remained besieged at Crakehall.
Maester Gawen had challenged the coronation in his reedy voice. “This is nothing but a usurpation.”
Maegor had beheaded him for such insolence. He would turn out to be the first of many casualties to come.
Damn the inheritance laws. Visenya had fought a war to put her brother on a throne. She owed their son nothing less.