VISENYA SCOFFED at the sight of the bastard princes, she did not have the head to deal with the two mongrels now. She'd meet Aemond later, gods knew she wouldn't be able to take her brother away from his sparring in the middle of the crowd.
She frowned as she saw Jacaerys pick up a sword in the courtyard of her home, having him play with it like a mindless boy. He did not belong amongst this court, his brown hair a testament of it.

She uttered a humph, walking away annoyedly until Aemon's voice cut through the praises.
"I don't give a shit about tournaments. Nephew's, have you come to train?" Visenya's jaw twitch, fighting the urge to look back and see their reaction.
That was until a response was postponed by the opening of the gates, and Vaemond's delegation walking behind him.

Aemond smirked, yet Visenya grew uneasy at the sight of the confident man. She was on his side, yet she could not help but find the man distasteful.

𓆰𓆪

"Princess," One of Visenya's lady-in-waiting entered the room unannounced, the lady none other than Arianne Tarth—a forward girl with a taste for crossbows like no other.
Visenya looked up, hating unannounced visitors but turned her head nonetheless.

"Your sister...Princess Rhaenyra, speaks with Princess Rhaenys in the Godswood. She talks of marriage." Visenya quirked an eyebrow at her personal spy, who for once provided her with useful information that was not utter useless gossip from the servants.

"Between?" Visenya urged, yet her tone was uninterested, casual.
"The lady Rhaena and Prince Lucerys, and potentially the Prince Jacaerys with the lady Baela." Visenya tried biting her tongue.

"Good, they deserve each other. A traitor to the realm and a bastard." She scoffed bitterly, not caring enough about Lucerys or Rhaena.

"But, princess. They hold a threat against you, no?" Arianne walked forward, fiddling her hands nervously.

"If Baela is to be queen, then your position—" Visenya eyed her companionship, the fire of the dragon evident in her eyes.

"No one is a threat to me." She warned. "The Iron Throne shall be mine, even if I have to marry my drunkard of a brother to obtain it. Baela knows nothing about ruling as she runs around Driftmark or Dragonstone alike. I remained here, I attended court, I studied harder than a maester!" Visenya huffed, yes she did all those things, she deserved the throne. And yet she was the third born daughter of the king.

"And yet Rhaenyra remains heir." Arianne added carefully, she had no means to taunt the princess. But she needed to let her friend know.
"Mayhaps, yet the men of the realm would rather burn than to allow her to sit the throne." Visenya dragged her cup to her lips, ignoring the brewing headache.

"And what stops them from doing the same to you?"
Arianne clutched her palms.
"My grandsire is a smart man, and I've learned a lot from him. He'll try to control Aegon if he gets the throne, yet the one who'll have to fuck him is me. And we know my brother is a fool when a cunt is presented to him with a glass of wine." the girl winced, her fate had been written by her cunning mother and her grandfather. She'd be expected to bear Aegon's heirs regardless.

The thought of bedding Aegon made Visenya's stomach churn, but her ambitions laid clear to Arianne.

"Now leave, I wish to be alone." Arianne knew that this meant Visenya would drown in her cups as does her eldest brother. Knew that for Visenya to keep her tongue on a leash she'd have to inpair her senses around the broken dysfunctional royal family.

𓆰𓆪

"Father, how are you." Visenya stepped into the quarters of king Viserys, hands clasped in her back as she settled beside his bed.
The king wheezed in pain, bandages around his face. Rapidly decaying over the years in such manner that would drive even the stoniest of hearts to pity such man. "Visenya..." He forced his face to smile, it came loopsided like the very action hurt every fiber of his body.

"How do you feel, father?" the Targaryen girl's hand brushed against the few white strands that laid atop of the king's head, the skin felt ashy and hard. Viserys had pleaded her to not see him as a king, but as her father in his dying days.
"Better now that you're...that you're here." He wheezed pitifully again, "have you brought another book?"
The king's eyes were glossed over, an effect of Milk of the Poppy which the hand had ordered him to take minutes before Visenya's entrance.

"I'm afraid not, your gra—father. The time will not allow us for a story, mayhaps before you're ready to settle for the night?"

"As you wish, Rhaenyra." Visenya bowed her head  down as the words left her father's mouth. She was used to it, Viserys would always prefer her.
"It is Visenya that speaks, your grace." The teenager bowed her head, the first moment of rebellion. She wished to be recognized as who she was. The third daughter, not the first. For she was not Rhaenyra.

The king gasped, his throat burning. "Vis...Visenya, yes. Forgive me, my daughter." Shaking hands were raised as the ill king caressed his youngest's cheeks.

Visenya turned away from her father's embrace. For she no longer needed it. She had no need for love, her father's withering palm felt like that as of a corpse. "I must go. I have duties to attend." The Targaryen girl nodded and turned; leaving the king gasping for her name.

"Though it is the great hope of this court that Lord Corlys Velaryon survive his wounds, we gather here with the grim task of dealing with the succession of Driftmark." The hand, Otto Hightower and grandsire to the Queen's kids began the ceremony. He sat the throne of thousand melted swords with a superior air.
"As Hand, I speak with the King'd voice on this, and all other matters." Otto sat the throne he was not king of, "the crown will now hear the petitions."

Visenya, standing in the middle of her brothers clicked her tongue. Bored, she was. The heels of her shoes had begun to bring ache to the soles of her feet. She wondered how much longer would the succession matters be resolved—she already knew the position the Queen and the Hand would take, and it was not her nephew's.

"Ser Vaemond of House Velaryon." Otto offered a hand for the man. Who took the middle of the floor.

"My Queen, my Lord Hand. The history of our noble houses extends beyond the Seven Kingdoms to the days of Old Valyria. For as long as House Targaryen has ruled the skies, House Velaryon has ruled the seas.
When the Doom fell on Valyria, our houses became the last of their kind. Our forebearers came to this new land, knowing that were they to fail, it would mean the end of their bloodlines and their name."

Aegon yawned, "Could he just finish this speech?" He whispered, leaning towards Visenya who pushed her fingers to stop her lips from laughing.
From the corner of the room, Jacaerys Targaryen frowned. This was a serious matter, how dare she laugh?!

"...I am Lord Corlys's closest kin, his own blood.
The true, unimpeachable blood of House Velaryon runs through my veins." Vaemond finished his speech, a jab at the bastardized rumors of Rhaenyra's sons.

"As it does in my sons, the offspring of Laenor Velaryon. If you cared so much about your house's blood, Ser Vaemond, you would not be so bold as to supplant its rightful heir. No, you only speak for yourself and for your own ambition." Rhaenyra countered out of turn. Visenya raised a subtle eyebrow on her sister's boldness.
"You will have chance to make your own petition, Princess Rhaenyra." The Queen interrupted. "Do Ser Vaemond the courtesy of allowing his to be heard."

Vaemond turned to the throne's heir, a smirk foreshadowing his words. "What do you know of Velaryon blood, Princess? I could cut my veins and show it to you, and you still wouldn't recognize it. This is about the future and survival of my house, not yours." He spoke with finality. Rhaenyra did not strike a retort.

"My Queen, my Lord Hand. This is a matter of blood, not ambition. I place the continuation of the survival of my house and my line above all. I humbly put myself before you as my brother's successor, the Lord of Driftmark and Lord of the Tides." Ser Vaemond finished his speech.

Rhaenyra was now given the floor to speak for Lucerys. When the eldest sister stepped up, Visenya viewed it as courage, naivety to fight a losing battle.
Another wave of humiliation woukd come her sister's way. "If I am to grace this farce with some answer, I will start by reminding the court that nearly twenty years ago in this very—" The sounds of the throne room's door opening echoed through the stone.
The King, Viserys Targaryen walked forth, cane in hand. His golden mask to hide his deteriorating face.

"King Viserys of House Targaryen, the First of His Name. King of the Andals, and the Rhoynar, and The First Men. Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm." Such powerful titles reminded the court of the power of the king. And despite Otto's advances to cloud his judgment in Milk of the Poppy, the dying man persevered as he walked the path to the throne.

Of course, he'd come to defend his favorite offspring.

The king's walk was slow, yet with bated breath they watched as he neared the throne with each step a arduous gasp left his lips. It was pathetic, it was sad, and it was admiring.
"I will sit the throne today." He declared with his head turned to Otto, who could only nod in obedience.

And so the king rose the steps, the golden crown of Jahaerys falling. "I said I'm fine." Viserys repeated when the shadow of a man picked up the crown. Daemon Targaryen, the king's brother, Rhaenyra's husband. And so Daemon helped Viserys to the Iron Throne, and then the crown sat upon the king's head.

"I must...admit...my confusion. I do not understand why petitions are being heard over a settled succession. The only one present who might offer keener insight into Lord Corlys's wishes is the princess Rhaenys." The king glanced at his cousin. The princess who had her inheritance stolen. The Queen who never was.

"Indeed your Grace." Rhaenys nodded with a sympathetic smile. Walking the floor, the answer rested in her words. "It was ever my husband's will that Driftmark pass through Ser Laenor, to his trueborn son, Lucerys Velaryon. His mind never changed. Nor did my support of him."

"As a matter of fact, the Princess Rhaenyra has just informed me of her desire to marry her son,  Luke to Lord Corlys's granddaughter, Rhaena. And potentially a match with Jace and Baela. A proposal to which I hardly agree." Visenya's stomach churned. Jace was to be married to Baela?
Why was she surprised when she had heard the idea beforehand? Why did her veins grow hot at the thought of the bastard?

Jacaerys's face was blank as his eyes burned through Visenya. His attempts to catch the smalled spasm of a nerve were feeble. How could she feel so unbothered? No, of course she would. This was Visenya, the master of pretense. Or maybe she did hate him as she stated. Hated him as he hated her.

"Well...the matter is settled. Again, I hereby reaffirm...Prince Lucerys of House Velaryon as heir to Driftmark, the Driftwood Throne, and the next Lord of the Tides." Viserys declared.

Vaemond's eye twitched, a nosal sound escaping him. "You break law...and centuries of tradition to install your daughter as heir, again. Yet you dare tell me, who deserves to inherit the name Velaryon. No. I will not allow it." The true Velaryon's hands clenched as he defied the king.

"Allow it?" Viserys squinted his eyes, "Do not forget yourself, Vaemond." The king shook his head.

"THAT. IS NO TRUE VELARYON!" Vaemond roared as the tip of his finger landed on Lucerys'd direction. "And certainly no nephew of mine." Jacaerys eyes squinted in rage, his head tipped sideways.

"Go to your chambers." Rhaenyra looked at her children. "You have said enough." The princess's tone was composed yet stern.
"Lucerys is my true-born grandson. And you...are no more than the second son of Driftmark." Viserys reinstated.

"You...may run your house as you see fit...but you will not decide the future of mine. My house survived the Doom and a thousand tribulations besides. and gods be damned...I will not see it ended on the account of this—" Vaemond paused, the tip of the accusations laid at his tongue.

"Say it...." Daemon urged on, a darkness in his eyes that Visenya found easy to recognize. For she had it on her own. Her veins raced now, she had forgotten of the aches on her feet.

The room was silent, the only sound being the king's strangled breaths as the courtiers and the royal family watched. Waited for the accusations that were whispered for the last sixteen years be now said out loud, in front of the King.

Vaemond smirked, tauntingly. "Her children...are BASTARDS! and she...is a whore." There was a collective of gasps. The king raised from his feet, it was known to the realm the punishment of such claims against the crown.
The Queen's children, with the exception of Helaena bit their tongues, drowning out their laughs deep inside their lungs.
"I...will have your tongue for that." Viserys grabbed his dagger. But there was no need.

—————————————-

WE ARE SO BACK, UGH!