( AQUA REGIA )
⟵ ◊ ⟶

ON the day of her wedding, Princess Visaenys Targaryen had been four-and-ten years old for but a month. Hardly out of the genesis of her teen years, the princess would soon be bound in wedlock. She was to marry her father’s half-brother and her uncle, Daemon Blackfyre. Wielder of the Conqueror’s very own infamous blade.

The princess hadn't entirely understood why she was getting married to her uncle in the first place, but she was used to doing as she was told. Still, the arguments Visaenys had overheard of her mother fighting in her defense told her enough: her father would do whatever was necessary to maintain peace and order, even if that meant carrying out the questionable betrothal devised by his deceased father.

As Visaenys looked at herself in the mirror, the princess didn't know what to expect from the day ahead. She hardly had anything to do with her father's young half-brother, born the same year as she but already a knight and a marvel with the sword. They were both children forced into a match devised by the late King Aegon IV. Already coined 'The Unworthy', Visaenys thought the title was fitting.

"Why am I marrying him?" Visaenys murmured, never breaking contact with her indigo gaze in the mirror.

She hadn't the courage to ask why it was all happening until now, a fortnight after everything had changed.
After her grandsire had changed everything in a few short hours before he died.

With Visaenys and her mother in her chambers, maids worked diligently to finish the final touches on the cloak that would soon be draped around the girl's shoulders before it would be replaced by Daemon’s during the ceremony.

"Your king-father wishes to follow through with the commands of your late grand-sire," her mother, the comely Queen Myriah Martell, replied gently as she ran a boar-bristled brush through Visaenys's long, thick hair.

The queen was garbed in traditional Dornish formal wear, airy fabric in the colors of mustard and persimmon. Her long, wavy, raven-colored hair was swept to one side and brushed to gleaming.

Visaenys did not inherit any of her mother's distinct Dornish features, as most of her brothers had. Instead, she bore the infamous purple eyes and silver hair of her Valyrian heritage. A slightly darker-than-normal complexion, which could be brought on from a long day in the sun, was the only anomaly among her physical features.

"But I was meant to marry a Rhaemond Velaryon." A few years her senior, the young Velaryon heir had beautifully dark skin and expertly fashioned silver twists. Visaenys had only met him a handful of times, but she'd been smitten since their first interaction. The sudden betrothal to Daemon had left her angry, but she would follow her father's wishes without fuss.

Visaenys was betrothed to the Velaryon heir from the very early age of three. Still, after some very quick changes shortly before her grandsire's death, she was to marry Daemon instead suddenly. Something about the Velaryons angering Aegon for whatever reason and his general disposition to resent her father, Daeron, at any given time.

"I understand," Myriah replied with a sigh. She began to form a tight but expertly fashioned braid that would be swept up into a style typical of a royal wedding. "But sometimes things change, my love. You and Daemon will strengthen our house with the children you bear."

"Children," Visaenys murmured half to herself. She had known she would one day bear children but had never thought it would be by anyone but Rhaemond Velaryon.

"Yes," Myriah replied. "You both will reside in the household here in the Red Keep for a time as you become accustomed to your new marriage. Alas, if I had any sway in the matter, you would not be marrying Daemon in the first place."

Visaenys had heard whispers in the Red Keep about her uncle's parentage, and the shock rippled through the court when the late King Aegon betrothed her to him. Daemon was a Great Bastard, one of many children fathered and legitimized by her late grandsire, but that did not make him a prince. He was only a knight. Truthfully, it was seemingly an unfit match for a princess, she thought, but Visaenys's father always chose the path of least resistance when carrying out his stately affairs.

Nothing about Daeron changed the moment he ascended the throne just a fortnight before, so Visaenys now sat before a mirror in a charcoal and crimson wedding dress as her mother fashioned her hair in a particularly Dornish fashion—perhaps Myriah's silent way of disagreeing with the union that was about to take place.

Glancing across the room at the cloak that the maids agreed was finally done, Visaenys said, "Why do I need the cloak? We are of the same house."

By way of her mother's hands, Visaenys turned away from the mirror to look at Myriah. The queen's warm gaze was enough to settle the nerves that began to rise with the discussion of her impending match with Daemon.

"It's all semantics, my love. As a princess, your match has everything to do with symbols, security, and the respect they garner." Myriah brushed a small curl of Visaenys's silver hair behind her ear. Her mother smiled. "I was nervous the day I married your father. After years of resistance, our match opened the door to bringing Dorne into the Realm, and now I am Queen. You do not carry such weight as that. Take peace in that, and face the day with a stiff lip."

Visaenys always trusted her mother's constitution. Myriah had been there for her for everything in her young life and had rarely been wrong. The girl may have lost her match with Rhaemond Velaryon, but she now was guaranteed at least another few years with her family in the Red Keep and King's Landing. She would never have to carry the weight of a crown as her brother Baelor would.

Visaenys forced her gaze to harden as if that alone was as strong as steel armor. "I'm ready to face the day."

Myriah chuckled lightly. "Then we shall make our way to the Great Hall."

♜

ARM in arm with her father, Visaenys felt the eyes of dozens upon dozens of lords and ladies focus on them as they stopped within the threshold of the giant doors that led into the throne room.

All was quiet, save for the settling of murmurs amongst the massive gathered crowd. Replacing the hum was the pounding of Visaenys's heart, which seemed to lurch into her throat every moment.

Ahead, a beautiful altar was erected on the dais a few feet before the Iron Throne. Roses red as blood were interlaced with ferns and white Morning Glory flowers, and the altar was flanked by two banners of the Targaryen three-headed dragon. The giant pillars that supported the throne room were wrapped in similar decor, giving the room a new sense of life compared to the dragon skulls and old stone. Flames danced in their scones, and somewhere, incense burned.

Standing with the High Septon in front of the altar was Daemon. He was garbed in similar colors as Visaenys: his doublet was dark charcoal, and his cloak was deep crimson red adorned with golden embroidery. His silver hair was not shortly cropped in the way her father preferred and instead fell slightly past his jawline in slight waves.

A stark contrast to the boy she'd seen sparring in the courtyard or training with the King’s Guard and other prestigious knights. It was as if she were meeting an entirely different person. As if she'd never met her uncle.

From the threshold, Visaenys and Daeron stepped off arm in arm. The long tresses of her dress made a hissing noise as they dragged on the stone floor, and their footsteps echoed against the walls of the cavernous room.

She could not see Daemon's expression yet, but she wondered if he was as nervous as she was. He had to be. They were barely out of their childhood and about to stand before an altar. Before the Gods, they would be bound to each other for the rest of their days.

Without noticing, her grip tightened on her father's arm. Likely becoming aware of Visaenys's sudden outward anxiousness, King Daeron leaned in and said softly, "Relax, my dear. I am here for you. All is well."

Her indigo gaze flitted up to him, and he looked down with a reassuring smile. Daeron's expression was always soft; thankfully, his gentleness kept her anxiety at bay. He was still forcing her to follow through with the wedding her grand-sire devised, but she held no resentment toward him. Her father always did what was right.

They arrived at the steps that led up to the throne. As Visaenys let go of her father's arm, she again looked to him for reassurance. He nodded, his smile gentle.

Steeling herself, Visaenys stepped up the dais to face Daemon, and she looked into the eyes of the boy she would be bound to from this day on. The anxiety seemed to wither as they looked at each other.

Daemon was taller than her, even at fourteen. His skin was slightly paler than hers, and his eyes a lighter violet. His features were seemingly already showing signs of manhood, with a sincerity Visaenys also recognized in her father. Daemon was gifted with a sword, she'd heard. He was already proving to be a skilled knight.

As handsome as he was, the thought of their future children's appearance crossed her mind.

They would have to consummate their marriage that night, and the possibility of a child becoming of it struck a chord in Visaenys that could be nothing other than fear itself.

Nevertheless, Visaenys may lament losing her betrothal to Rhaemond Velaryon, but Daemon proved an acceptable alternative as they stood before the altar together.

The ceremony was carried out quickly. After Visaenys was given away by her father to Daemon, the Septon performed the steps necessary to bind them before the Seven. The words uttered by the old man hardly registered with the princess until it was time for her to recite her side of the vows, that which took place as she faced Daemon, their hands clasped together.

The words felt foreign, spoken by others many times she'd seen, but never would she have seen them said by her. As she repeated after the Septon, Visaenys didn't break eye contact with him. Much to her surprise, neither did Daemon. The ceremony concluded with her cloak being pulled away and replaced by Daemon's and a kiss—the first she had ever had in her life. Somewhere inside her, a spark was lit.

The ceremony ended as quickly as they were ushered to the altar. The gathered nobles applauded and cheered for the young couple, tossing rose petals as they descended the dais to exit the throne room.

As she walked arm in arm with Daemon past the flanks of nobles, Visaenys quivered from nerves that had built up in her system since the moment she woke that morning.

After the giant throne room doors closed behind them, severing the crowd's view, the two were left in the quiet corridor with a handful of guards. The muffled voices of those in attendance were still audible through the heavy oak and iron doors.

Daemon let go of her arm quicker than she expected, and she looked at him in surprise.

"Finally," Daemon muttered, flattening his doublet against himself.

"Finally?" Visaenys asked in confusion.

He looked at her, sighing in exasperation. "Yes, finally. I want to retire this doublet and go to my chambers. I had a stringent training session this morning and wish to rest."

Visaenys cocked a brow. "We've still a feast to attend. You can't miss that."
Daemon sighed and rolled his eyes in a characteristically boyish way. "That's unfortunate."

For some reason, Visaenys felt a flare of anger. "I will not attend our wedding feast alone. Once we've appeared, you can leave if you want to be a child."

Daemon huffed in mock indignation. “I didn’t ask to be here.”

“And neither did I!” Visaenys quipped. She crossed her arms and rested her weight on one leg. “I was meant to marry Rhaemond Velaryon, but instead, I’m married to you now.”

Daemon seemed wounded by her words. He cocked a brow, a sneer appearing on his features. “And what is wrong with me?”

“For a knight, you’re a hot-headed, self-centered child.” Her eyes narrowed, meeting his energy. “I would have been better off marrying Rhaemond Velaryon, but because your father demanded it, here we are.”

For some reason, Daemon’s features softened. As if he somehow concluded that his behavior was unnecessary, he sighed. His shoulders slumped as he said, “You’re right.”

Surprise filled Visaenys almost immediately. Her mouth opened slightly as she tried to find the words. Had he become aware of his discretions so quickly? “I’m right?”

Expecting him to fight with her relentlessly, the princess was oddly surprised to find that her uncle was perhaps more intelligent than she gave him credit. That, at least, he wouldn’t demand relief from the feast before even appearing and embarrassing her before the court and visiting nobles.

“Yes, you’re right. I am behaving like a child,” Daemon sighed. “I didn’t want to do this, but that’s not your fault. It’s my father’s fault if anything.”

Visaenys was delightfully surprised at how mature Daemon was for his age. Perhaps his skill with a sword was not the only thing he had going for him, she thought.

“Well, thank you,” she replied somewhat awkwardly. “You do know what is expected of us tonight, yes?”

Daemon’s cheeks flushed, and Visaenys saw the first glimpse of the child he still was. “I do.”

Visaenys swallowed, and suddenly, she didn’t know what to do with her hands or expression. There she was, a married woman with no real grasp on what that meant. This was all foreign ground to the princess, and she was seemingly treading the dark alone. She didn’t know even the slightest what went into what they were meant to do later that night. All she’d been told was that she was supposed to do it.

Visaenys sighed heavily to break the tension that had begun forming like a thick film between them. “I’m sure the nobles have already begun their migration to the feast hall. We should make our way there.”

Daemon shrugged his shoulders and cleared his throat. Offering an arm to her and nodding, he said, “Agreed.”

Taking his arm, Visaenys allowed Daemon to guide her to their first appearance as husband and wife.

♜

VISAENYS’S mother and father must have made an effort to make the wedding feast as grand as possible, the princess realized, as she and Daemon entered the hall at the behest of guards opening the giant doors. Tables were laden with countless dishes, and servants had already begun distributing ale and wine to the attendees. Similar decor to what had covered the throne room also decorated this hall, and the innumerable candles cast a warm glow in substitution of the evening light waning outside.

The king and queen had already made their trip down the aisle of tables to the seats of honor at the head of the room. Just as they did for Visaenys’s parents, the nobles stood in observance of the bride and groom just before they stepped off the threshold.

Soon enough, they were seated beside her mother and father at the table of honor. The countless eyes watching her were intimidating, but she steeled herself. Daeron rose from his seat after the nobles had taken theirs and lifted his chalice in a toast.

“To the Princess Visaenys and Daemon, the bride and groom. Shall their marriage be fruitful and prosperous for the Realm and House Targaryen.” He looked to Visaenys. “To my only daughter: I pray you see many years ahead of you and the fruit the womb may provide. And to Daemon: I grant you the right to build your keep along the Blackwater Rush. You and your descendants will receive all titles and incomes that go with it.”

Daemon nodded and smiled. “I thank you, Your Grace.”

“None of that, Daemon. We’re brothers; you may address me as such.” Daeron replied with a genuine smile before turning to face the assembled nobles.

Everyone had gathered, from Oldtown to Winterfell. Even Lord Jonnel Stark had come all the way down from the North, though he looked distinctly out of place with his thick black beard and gloomy grey eyes.

“Now let us feast!”

A cheer went up from the assembled nobility as the servants passed roasted joints of beef, chicken, and pork and copious amounts of fresh bread, fried fish, and vegetables slathered in rosemary sauce.

Visaenys’s father, as ever, tucked in with abandon. It was the one vice he had allowed himself, though he was never as bad as her grandfather.

“It’s good to see you married, sister.” She heard someone say. She turned from her father to see her brother Baelor standing before her and her husband, along with her father’s squire, Edmund Arryn.

Baelor and Daemon were born in the same year despite being of different generations. Both were tall and strong, with the determined, fit frame of natural warriors and an affable nature that made others feel at ease around them.

That was where the similarities ended, though. Daemon had inherited all the classic Targaryen looks, while Baelor’s dark hair and eyes took more after his and Visaenys’s mother than their father.

“Thank you, brother.” Visaenys smiled. “It is good to see you as well, Lord Arryn. Is your father here?”

Edmund smiled and bowed slightly. “Alas, the Hill Tribes are causing trouble for him again. He’s currently at the head of a small host in the Mountains of the Moon.” he replied.

The heir to the Eyrie was not a physically intimidating man like Daemon or Baelor, but after years of seeing him serve as her father’s squire, she knew that behind his soft blue eyes and thin frame belied a quiet strength.

“You should send a raven to your father,” Daemon said, “Give me five hundred swords, and I could deal with them permanently.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, Ser Daemon,” Edmund replied with a thin smile.

“Is your father not searching for a betrothal, Lord Arryn?” Myriah asked.

“Lord Blackwood’s given me permission to pay court, Lady Mya, Your Grace.”

“Another one of my many siblings,” Daeron said, waving a hand, “I thought she would take the Targaryen name when legitimized, but it seems Raventree Hall agrees more. I look forward to hearing of your betrothal. As for you, Baelor, Lady Jena has had her blood; you shall be wed before the year is out.”

Amazing how quickly things happen after a competent king replaces a terrible one, Visaenys thought.

In less than a moon’s turn, her father had been crowned, prepared a royal wedding, and was already preparing another one for later in the year. That was without going into what he would likely do with the City Watch and other officials, something only her mother and Baelor were privy to.

She always knew that many of their parents’ efforts would go into molding Baelor to be an ideal successor; it was inevitable. Their father had always said that the mess that the Unworthy had left behind would not be cleaned up in his reign and that much of it would fall on Baelor’s shoulders.

Still, she would’ve liked more time with her parents before