Chapter Text
CHAPTER FIVE
“meeting the paternal grandparents”
“Hello, princess,” Alicent murmured, her voice barely audible as she lifted Visenya into her arms. The baby was so small, so impossibly delicate, that Alicent was almost afraid to hold her. Yet as she gazed down at the child, a soft smile crept onto her face—a smile weighed down by a sorrow that never seemed to leave her anymore.
The court loved to speak of how much Visenya resembled her father. They sang praises of her bright lavender eyes, her silver curls, and her sun-kissed complexion—features so unmistakably Velaryon that they left little room for doubt. But as Alicent studied the infant, she saw something the rest of the world missed.
She saw her.
Rhaenyra.
Her best friend.
Her once best friend.
It was there in the curve of Visenya’s smile, in the shape of her small nose, in the spark of mischief glinting in her bright eyes. Alicent’s heart twisted painfully. She wasn’t just holding Laenor Velaryon’s daughter—she was holding a piece of the girl who had once been her dearest companion, her confidante, her other half.
Visenya let out a soft coo and reached out with her tiny hand, her fingers brushing against Alicent’s nose. Alicent chuckled at the gesture, the sound light but tinged with melancholy. “You are fond of me, aren’t you?” she whispered, her voice wavering slightly.
The baby giggled, as if in agreement, and Alicent’s smile deepened—then faltered. How long had it been since someone had looked at her without expectation or suspicion? How long since someone had simply smiled at her with no strings attached?
“Not many people are,” she admitted quietly, her words heavy with an ache she could not name.
A burst of laughter interrupted her reverie, and Alicent looked up to see Aegon darting across the room, his little legs moving as fast as they could while a group of flustered maids chased after him. She sighed, a familiar exasperation tugging at her.
Her gaze shifted to Laenor, who stood nearby, watching her intently. His posture was calm, but his eyes were sharp, wary. Alicent recognized that look. It was the look of a parent protecting their child from perceived danger. The realization stung, though she could hardly blame him. She had hurt too many people, failed too many times, to deserve the benefit of the doubt.
Alicent turned back to Visenya, her voice dropping to a near whisper, as if sharing a secret. “That whirlwind over there,” she said, nodding toward Aegon, “is your uncle. Prince Aegon. He’s... spirited, to say the least. Full of energy. And full of demands. Sometimes, I don’t know how to keep up with him.”
She paused, her voice faltering. “But it’s not just Aegon. It’s all of them—my children, my family. Keeping them safe feels like trying to hold back a storm with my bare hands.” Alicent swallowed hard, her throat tightening. “And there are only two ways I can keep him safe—keep all of them safe. He either takes the Iron Throne... or becomes your consort.”
Her grip on Visenya tightened, as if holding onto the infant could anchor her crumbling resolve. “I don’t want the crown for him, not really. Not if it means taking it from Rhaenyra. I’ve already taken too much from her.” Her lips quivered, her voice breaking. “But please, princess, if it comes to it... if you and Aegon are bound together one day... give him a chance. I’ll do everything I can to make him good enough for you. I swear it.”
A tear slipped down Alicent’s cheek, and she quickly wiped it away, laughing bitterly. “Listen to me,” she said, shaking her head, “pouring my heart out to a baby as if she can understand. I must sound utterly mad.”
But then Visenya reached up again, her small hand brushing Alicent’s nose, her eyes wide and filled with something Alicent could only describe as understanding. Alicent blinked, startled by the strange sense of comfort the child seemed to offer her.
She smiled, a real smile this time, though it was still laced with sadness. “I hope you grow to be kind,” she whispered, pressing a soft kiss to Visenya’s forehead. “And strong. And wise. I hope you grow to be everything the world needs you to be.”
She paused, looking deeply into the baby’s lavender eyes, so filled with a light that reminded her achingly of a younger Rhaenyra. “You’ll grow up, and the world will weigh heavy on your shoulders,” Alicent whispered. “But I hope, with all my heart, that you grow to be good. Good enough to rise above the darkness. Good enough to bring back the light.”
The baby cooed, her innocent laughter bubbling forth again, as if offering comfort to the troubled queen. Alicent smiled through the tears threatening to spill. “Thank you, little one,” she said softly. “I think I needed that.”
Visenya regarded Alicent with a mix of pity and detached calculation. The queen before her was a woman molded by forces beyond her control—a pawn in schemes so vast and cruel that they had devoured her innocence and left her brittle and hollow. It wasn’t hard to see how Alicent had become what she was: the world had taken from her, bled her dry, until all she had left were sharp edges to protect what little she still clung to.
A woman’s first blood does not come from between her legs but from biting her tongue, Visenya thought, her tiny hand patting the tip of the queen’s nose with a gesture almost maternal. Oh, poor Alicent. Poor girl.
But pity had its limits. The suffering that had shaped Alicent did not absolve her of the pain she would one day inflict. Her future cruelty—toward her children, toward Rhaenyra and hers—would not be born from necessity but from a selfishness she wrapped in the guise of maternal fear. Alicent Hightower had deserved better from life, but that didn’t make her blameless.
Visenya sighed inwardly, wishing for a moment that she could speak, that she could give voice to her thoughts. Instead, all she could do was offer comfort in the form of soft coos and chubby hands, knowing that, for now, it was enough.
And then, as if on cue, the doors to the nursery swung open with such force that they slammed against the walls. The jarring sound startled everyone, cutting through the fragile moment like a blade. Visenya’s internal musings dissolved into irritation.
Oh, good heavens, what now?
“Where is my granddaughter?”
The commanding voice rang out, and Visenya’s irritation gave way to astonishment as her gaze landed on the woman standing in the doorway. Her long, platinum hair glimmered in the light, her presence regal and undeniable.
Visenya froze. Rhaenys.
The Queen Who Never Was.
So this was the dragon who might have ruled, if not for the curse of being born a woman.
Her father rushed forward, his face breaking into a wide smile as he embraced the woman with open arms. “Mother!”
Visenya’s breath—or what counted for it in her tiny, infant lungs—hitched. She watched as Rhaenys held her son tightly, her expression softening into something that could only be described as fierce love. And standing just behind her, towering and unshakable, was Lord Corlys Velaryon himself. His presence was as vast as the sea he commanded, and the pride in his eyes as he placed a hand on Laenor’s shoulder was unmistakable.
Her grandparents.
Visenya’s heart—if such a thing were even capable of coherent emotion at her age—stirred at the sight of them. They were imposing and warm all at once, embodiments of everything she had always imagined Velaryons to be. The Sea Snake and the Queen Who Never Was. Legends in the flesh.
Alicent, still holding Visenya, stiffened, clearly caught off guard. The queen’s smile faltered as she attempted to adjust her stance, to regain her composure in the face of Rhaenys’s undeniable presence.
“Mother,” Laenor said again, his voice bright with joy, “Father. I thought you were too busy to visit.”
Rhaenys smiled, a gleam of mischief in her eyes. “And miss the chance to see my granddaughter? Nonsense. Where is she?”
Rhaenys's sharp eyes immediately landed on the bundle cradled in the Queen's arms. Her confident stride faltered, just for a moment, but it was enough for Corlys to glance at her in quiet concern.
She inclined her head, her husband following suit with a bow that was both respectful and distant. “Queen Alicent,” she greeted, her tone measured and polite, though there was an unmistakable edge to it.
Alicent’s lips pressed into a thin line, her arms tightening slightly around the baby in her hold. “Princess. My lord,” she replied, her words clipped, though not unkind.
The air between them felt brittle, like a glass spun too thin, threatening to crack under the weight of unspoken history. Rhaenys’s gaze lingered briefly on the child before flicking back to Alicent’s face. There was no open hostility, only an unnerving calm.
Corlys broke the tension with a warm, if cautious, smile. “We had hoped to meet our granddaughter today,” he said, his deep voice steady, though there was a faint challenge buried beneath the warmth.
Alicent hesitated, her fingers flexing against the silk wrappings of the child. For a moment, she looked as though she might refuse. But then she offered a small, strained smile and inclined her head. “Of course. The princess is eager to see her family.”
Her words were polite, but her tone betrayed a hint of reluctance, as though handing over the child would mean conceding something far greater than a simple gesture of goodwill.
Rhaenys stepped closer, her movements deliberate, and gently extended her arms. “Then let me hold her,” she said softly, her voice a blend of command and longing. There was no room for argument, only the quiet authority of a grandmother claiming her place.
Alicent hesitated for a fraction of a second, then carefully handed Visenya over to a waiting Laenor. Rhaenys stepped forward, her arms outstretched. “Oh, look at her,” she murmured, her voice softening as she took the baby into her arms. Her touch was firm but gentle, her eyes scanning Visenya’s face with a look of wonder.
Visenya’s tiny hand reached for a lock of Rhaenys’s hair, and the older woman chuckled. “Oh, she’s strong, isn’t she? And curious. She’ll grow into a fierce one, I can already tell.”
Lord Corlys stepped closer, his deep voice rumbling. “A fine Velaryon heir if I’ve ever seen one.” He glanced at Laenor and added, “You’ve done well, son.”
Visenya looked up at the couple holding her with an awe that belied her tiny form. Gods above, they’re stunning. She wanted to squeal in delight, but all that came out was a soft coo. It was enough, though. Her small hand reached out, grabbing nothing but air, and yet it drew a warm laugh from her grandmother.
“Has her egg hatched yet?” Rhaenys asked, her tone light but her gaze sharp, as if the question carried the weight of destiny.
“It’s too soon for that, Mother,” Laenor replied, his voice tinged with gentle exasperation.
Rhaenys arched a silver brow, her smile turning sly as she glanced down at her granddaughter. “Never too soon for a dragon rider,” she sang lightly. Her lavender eyes sparkled as she gently swayed Visenya, who gurgled in delight.
Visenya’s tiny fingers reached out again, grasping at the air as if in agreement. Yes, precisely, she thought. Let’s get that dragon egg going. I want my dragon!
Corlys chuckled at his wife’s enthusiasm, his hand still resting on her shoulder. “You’ll have her in the skies before she can walk,” he teased, his deep voice warm with amusement.
“Perhaps,” Rhaenys replied with a knowing smile. “But she is her mother’s daughter. And her father’s, of course.” She shot Laenor a pointed look, making him roll his eyes fondly.
Laenor sighed, though his lips curved into a reluctant smile. “If her egg hatches early, I’m blaming you for setting her expectations too high,” he quipped, though his gaze softened as it rested on his daughter.
Visenya cooed again, her little fists waving with excitement. Oh, this was going to be splendid. The idea of riding a dragon— her own dragon —sent a thrill through her tiny body.
Rhaenys leaned closer, her voice dropping into a gentle murmur meant only for her granddaughter. “Don’t worry, little one. You’ll have a dragon soon enough. It’s in your blood.”
Visenya cooed softly in response, as if to say, I wouldn’t expect anything less.
“Patience, Mother,” Laenor laughed. “The dragons know when the time is right. They always do.”
Rhaenys tilted her head, her gaze flicking briefly to her son, her expression one of amusement and challenge. “Perhaps. But I’ve found that sometimes, it’s the rider who decides when the time is right.”
Corlys, standing close by, watched the scene with a quiet smile. “She already has the spirit of a dragon,” he said softly, his words meant for no one and everyone.
Rhaenys grinned, her eyes never leaving Visenya. “That she does. And I’ll make sure she knows what to do with it.”
Visenya cooed again, her small hand brushing against Rhaenys’s silver hair.
If I must be a dragon rider, I suppose I’ll make it look effortless.