129 AC, the twentieth day of the second moon

"Kostilus," Visenya spoke from across the painted table.

"Kostilos," Joffrey repeated.

"No, not lo, lu. It's a u sound. Try again," Visenya encouraged her younger brother.

"Kostilus," Joffrey said again, this time with success.

"Good!" Visenya praised her brother, "and the translation?"

Joffrey thinks for a moment, racking his memory for the translation, "please?"

"Yes!" Visenya cheers.

The maesters were too preoccupied tending to Jacerys and Lucerys High Valyrian learning to help the younger boys. Aegon and Viserys are too young to start learning, yet Joffery seems to be left out of the Targaryen history lessons and the language of Old Valyria.

Visenya could not stand that one of her brothers was left out of these lessons, so when she first returned to Dragonstone almost three years ago, she took it upon herself to teach him. Plus, it kept the wet nurses away for just a few hours during her pregnancy.

"Visenya!"

Visenya turned to see Aemond entering the room, a stoic look on his face. "Joff," Visenya looked to her brother, "leave us."

Quickly, Joffrey left the room of the painted table, leaving Aemond and Visenya alone. "Husband," Visenya addressed Aemond, "what is it?"

Aemond is quiet, instead placing his hands on Visenya's almost flat belly and sighing. After Visenya had recovered from her labours, the couple began to try for a child again, but none seemed to stick–after two years of trying, they had begun to lose all hope.

"A raven flew in this morning," Aemond starts, finally making eye contact.

"News from Driftmark I hope," Visenya said, hopeful.

Lord Corlys Velaryon had been fighting in the Stepstones for six years, and when word of his near demise made it to Dragonstone, Visenya had prayed for the sea snakes' recovery. She knew that Lord Corlys was not her grandsire, not even close, but for the sake of her brothers, she considered him family.

"Unfortunately not," Aemond said, taking Visenya's hands, "Kings Landing."

Visenya scoffed and rolled her eyes. The last time they had heard from anyone inside Kings Landing was when Otto demanded Aemond back to the Red Keep–he declined.

"And what does the cunt want?" She mused.

Aemond chuckled; like father, like daughter. "Not the Hand, my mother," Aemond watched Visenya's body language shift; she stood straighter, cleared her throat and blinked rapidly as if the Queen herself was in the room.

"She has requested I return to Kings Landing for a short visit," Aemond tells her, summarising the letter he had received mer minutes ago.

He knew that his mother did not wish for his return to be a 'short visit', and with the sea snake's health on the decline, he knew what this meant. Lord Corlys never officially named Lucerys the heir to Driftmark, and with the realm believing Luke to be a bastard, his legitimacy was about to be put into question.

"A short visit?" Visenya mused, "with the state of affairs as of late, you and I both know that this would not be a short visit."

"Maybe I want to visit," Aemond queried.

Once the words left his mouth, Visenya withdrew her hands from his, shock and displeasure on her face. "You cannot seriously be thinking about returning to that snake pit, to the people who had our son murdered," she threw back at him.

Now Aemond was in shock. "We do not know that for sure, Visenya. It could have been natural," he pleaded with her for clarity.

"Your mother and grandsire have wanted me dead from the moment I was born, Aemond," Visenya tried reasoning with him, "and I would not put it past Otto to murder an unborn babe."

Aemond rolled his eyes, "you have spent too much time with Daemon. He's filled your head with wild fantasies."

Visenya took a step back, reeling with the words that Aemond had just spoken. As soon as the words had left his mouth, Aemond instantly regretted them; watching his beloved wife step away from him in horror broke his heart. He was never good at thinking before he spoke.

"Visenya I–"

"Go," she interrupted him, "if you so wish to surround yourself by the people who wish to tear us apart than by no means will I stop you."

Aemond stood in disbelief as he watched Visenya's silhouette disappear into the shadows of Dragonstone. He knew the consequences of his actions, yet when he found himself sitting atop Vhgar flying over the Blackwater, he did not regret leaving, for he missed his family–some of them.

His sister Helaena was alone in the wolf's den, and her children were most likely brainwashed by his grandsire Otto Hightower. Aegon was another matter; it would take Aemond everything in him not to kill his brother, but at his wife's wishes, he was to do nothing.

He did wonder if Daeron had also been beckoned home, for he had not seen his younger brother in over three years. Would his mother embrace him as she did years before? Or would she now shun him as a traitor?

A carriage awaited Aemond when he and Vhgar landed outside the city walls–how he loathed formalities. The journey back to the Red Keep was silent; apart from the noise of the bustling city street, it felt good to be back, but Aemond found himself missing the peace that Dragonstone brought.

The carriage abruptly stopped, and Aemond's full title was spoken just before the doors were open. Outside stood his family, minus his brother, on the steps of the Keep. His mother quickly rushed to embrace him, squeezing him tightly.

"I missed you, my sweet boy," she whispered in his ear.

"Come," Alicent spoke loudly, "we have much to tend to."

Quickly, Aemond was ushered inside, and he could already sense he had made a terrible mistake by returning. The walls were no longer adorned with Targaryen histories, and in their steed were symbols of the seven; he should have taken this as his sign to run.

–––––

Rhaenyra walked into the room of the painted table, listening to her eldest son practising the language of his ancestors. She smiles, listening to his lesson, proud of the man he has become–ten and seven.

"And landed at the Blackwater Rush," Jacerys translated from the maester helping him practice.

"Dranyot*," Rhaenyra corrects him, walking up to his side.

Jacerys repeats the word repeatedly, looking for the translation, "The end?"

"Mouth," Rhaenyra corrects him again, running her hand over her belly–only three more moons.

Jace scorns himself, frustrated he isn't picking up on the language as quickly as his sister did. Though she is two years his elder, Jace wanted to prove himself just as Valyrian as his sister. He may not look the part, but he should act it.

"Come on Jace, you knew that," he muttered to himself, "dranyot."

Rhaenyra looked at Joffery, playing with his younger brothers in front of the fire. It warmed Rhaenyra's heart to see her family together and enjoying the peace Dragonstone brought. Soon, another addition will be added to their growing family of six.

Jacerys continues to repeat the word over and over again, trying to make it stick inside his head.

"Perhaps that's enough for this morning," Rhaenyra interrupts her sons' constant repetition.

"No," he begs, "I want to keep going." Jacerys was determined to learn; from when he was a small babe Jace had always wanted to learn new things.

His lesson continued. "Aegon ordered the tree should be..." he pauses, "killed."

Jacerys looked to his mother, proud of himself for knowing the word. "Felled, it is a related word." His confidence drops at his mother's correction. He was just shy of being a man grown, yet he still could not master basic Valyrian–how could he help Visenya rule if he could not speak to her in secret tongues.

"I don't expect you to learn High Valyrian in a day, Jace," Rhaenyra tried easing her son, seeing how his lack of quick learning weighed on him.

"A king should honor the tradition of his fourbears," he spoke quickly, realising his mistake in language a moment too late.

"Well," Rhaenyra starts, "unless you're planning to depose your own mother and sister, you have plenty of time to study."

Jace looks down in shame. He knew that both his mother's and sister's positions would be challenged by many, and he only wanted to be the best he could in case the worst came. The lesson was interrupted by the appearance of Daemon, looking grim, bearing bad news.

Rhaenyra dismissed everyone from the room, allowing her and Daemon a moment alone, which they rarely get. They approach each other, and Daemon hands the small scroll to Rhaenyra that he had received from Baela.

She takes it, reading the words delicately written on the paper. "He means to call into question Lukes legitimacy," she said, the dragon's anger now sizzling within.

"And by extension Visenya and by extension my own claim to the throne," Rhaenyra said. Yet again, she was being undermined by the unsupportive men of the realm and an arrogant one at that.

"Vaemond cares only about Driftmark," Daemon tried easing the anxiety he could see building inside Rhaenyra, "and the Velaryon line, not about our politics."

Rhaenyra reads over Baela's writing again, looking for answers within her short words. "Has he made common cause with Otto Hightower yet?" Daemon asked. The ambition of both men sickened him.

"Hm," Rhaenyra hummed, "that is what I fear." She lowers the letter, now confused, "Rhaenys has flown to court, surely she cannot be planning to back him?"

This was a foul matter, and one Rhaenyra knew was coming. She had to start counting her allies, assembling support before it all fell away from beneath her.

"No, whatever disagreements we may have had, she's not cruel, or stupid enough to do that," Daemon tried his best to ease his wife, yet she was as paranoid as ever, and for a good reason.

"Disagreements?" Rhaenyra questioned, almost laughing at Daemons' choice of words, "she believes we had her son killed so that we might marry."

"Yes," Daemon is getting fed up with worry, his own ego blinding him, "and yet she's taken Baela to ward."

Rhaenyra is flawed by her husband's ignorance to see the truth of the matter. "Yes its Laena's memory, she honors. She has no love for us," she reminds Daemon of the fake murder they committed many years ago.

Laena died alone in Pentos and Laenor, 'killed' by them so that they may marry freely. Rhaenyra knew Daemon was a proud man and yet did not see the threat that loomed so clearly overhead; she began to question if the Stepstones had left him with a few too many blows to the head.

"Has the vipers venom spreed so far?" Daemon mocked, chuffed with himself and the hilarity of the situation.

"Those vipers rule in my fathers' name," she reminded him, "and my father..." Rhaenyra did not want to face what might have happened to him. The Greens may have had him killed years ago, and they would be none the wiser.

"What choice do I have?" She questioned, pondering the different paths that this council could go.

Daemon does not speak; he can see the stress consuming Rhaenyra and wants peace for them. He slowly stroked her swollen belly, excited to meet his third child by Rhaenyra so soon, and after what had happened to his daughter, he made sure that this babe would be safe.

"To Kings Landing then," Daemon lets a small smile slip. The coming weeks may be filled with treason, but he did miss the drama that court brought into his life, whether it was by his hand or another's.

–––––

Visenya stood at the ship's bow, watching as King's Landing came closer and closer into view. She had not stepped foot onto mainland Westeros soil in many years, and behind the city's high walls, she knew Aemond would be waiting for her.

He had only been gone a few days before they had set sail, and she wondered if he was happier here. Above flew Quicksilver, playing games with Vermax, Arrax, and Tyraxes; she smiled.

"Princess," a royal guard interrupted her daydreaming, "we should make landfall within the hour."

She thanked the knight and continued staring out into the blue water below. Suddenly, from above came the mighty roar of a dragon. Visenya looked up, searching the skies, and circling was the green underbelly of the biggest dragon alive: Vhgar.

Visenya's felt giddy, knowing her husband had taken to the skies to welcome her–she felt safe. She could hear Aemonds' cheering as he descended down towards the boat and quickly, at the last second, dodged.

–––––

The high walls of the Red Keep loomed larger than Visenya last remembered. Anxiety grew within her now; if they had come for a visit, this fear would have been lessened, but they were here to fight for Luke's birthright and to defend the family against traitors.

"All hail Rhaenyra of House Targaryen–" at least they were being formally welcomed, "–Princess of Dragonstone and heir to the Iron Throne–" the greens ought to remember that– "and her royal consort Prince Daemon Targaryen."

As Visenya stepped out of the carriage and into the dull light of Kings Landing, she searched the courtyard for their welcoming party, but none was in sight. Visenya glanced at her mother, who looked more disappointed than upset. Where was Aemond?

Soon, Lord Caswell rushed out of the doors, making his way to Rhaenyra. Visenya did not care for the lords right now; she wanted her husband. Then, in a frantic scurry, Aemond fell through the doors and quickly rushed to the princess's side.

"Aemond," Visenya quickly embraced her husband; almost a week apart had made her homesick.

The couple embrace, holding each other tightly. "You smell of dragon," Visenya whispers in Aemond's ear.

"And you smell of the sea," Aemond whispered back. "Come," they pull away from each other, "we have much to discuss."

It doesn't take long before the pair return to Aemond's chambers, which have not changed since he left. They sit in chairs opposite each other, and one of the servants brings a pitcher of wine into the room, leaving as quickly as they came.

"Wine? At this early hour?" Visenya questions, but pouring two cups nonetheless.

"To survive court, it's much needed," Aemond quickly replies, taking his wine and quickly sculling it.

Visenya eyes her husband, inspecting him for any injuries. "Have you enjoyed being back?" She asks, sipping on the sour wine–Dornish.

Aemond rolls his one good eye and shakes his head. "Gods no. The only person I can stand to be around is my sister," Aemond abruptly stands and starts pacing the room.

"And how is my sister by law?" Visenya could feel Aemond's stress; it was not hidden well.

She had never seen Aemond so stressed; he kept his calm for the most part, but now she could see the restless nights, the tension in his shoulders. Visenya was worried about what had caused such a lack of self.

"Miserable. She has told me of the dreams she's been having and her sleepless nights, and now I feel the same," Aemond rests himself on the back of the chair, "We need to leave as soon as this Drifrtmark situation is over."

Visenya sat straighter, "why?"

Aemond discards his eye patch, letting his sapphire eye gleam in the light–by the gods, does he look tired. "Rhaenyra has no love here at court; my grandsire has sunk his teeth deep into any lord he can," Aemond sits back down, taking his wife's hands in his, "Otto would put us to the sword if it meant Aegon could wear the crown."

A chill runs down Visenya's spine, "how do you know this?"

"Helaena, her dreams have become clearer and clearer as tensions rise," Aemond falls to his knees, praying to Visenya, "Let's leave."

Visenya is caught off guard. Aemond had suggested running from the throne before, but this time he was serious.

"Aemond, I cannot just abandon my family, not if what you say is true," Visenya removes her hands from his, "I have a duty. I am my mother's heir. A burden I cannot run from."

Visenya stands, and Aemond follows. "Please, my love, for our children," Aemond retakes Visenyas' hands, holding on tighter.

Visenya freezes; they have no children, only a son that now rests with the conquers. "Helaena, she saw it, our first one to come soon," Aemond had a glint in his eye; he was hopeful.

"Aemond," Visenya spoke softly, "we have tried for many years now, and I will not die on the birthing bed as my grandmother did."

Visenya could hear Aemond's heartbreak; he had so much hope left, wheres she had lost it when their third did not even show before they were gone. "I have mourned too many children; we both have. Let us put this to rest for now."

Aemond was reluctant but had dropped the topic before nightfall. However, that night, Visenya could not sleep, and at the hour of the bat, she called for Delaya. The handmaiden came quickly; sleep still clouded her mind.

"Did you bring them?" Visenya asked in a hushed tone, sitting at the edge of the bathing tub.

"Grain seeds as promised, princess," Delaya hands the seeds to Visenya, "but might I ask why?"

Visenya doesn't respond immediately, instead staring at the seeds in her hand. If Helaenas' dreams were true and Otto's desire to put her raper on the throne were true, then a child would not be wise at this time.

"Hope," Visenya replied, finally looking at Delaya, "but we shall by day's end."

–––––

*spelling is not accurate as I could not find the translation and spelt it by listening