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i.  KHAZAD-DUM
SEASON 1
EPISODE 2

IT ALL FELL DOWN
___HOUSE OF THE DRAGON___
x
___THE RINGS OF POWER__

        | |  THEY SAY WERE ARE CLOSER TO GODS BECAUSE OF OUR DRAGONS;

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KHAZAD-DUM

|| A SINGLE LEAF LEAD ASTRAY FROM ITS LOFTY PERCH. From under the weeping willows' lamenting canopy, ones that laid calm upon the mountain side. It descended gracefully beside the delicate foot of a young maiden. One of a noble lineage, bearing the weight of a fragile crown upon her head—a princess of no one. A girl on the cusp of her 25th year. 

Her eyes, the mesmerizing shade of lavender, met the wayward leaf with a tender gaze—a fleeting smile playing upon her delicate lips. Bending over, she lifted the leaf delicately with slender fingers that bore the faintest hints of weariness.

The maiden turned the stem between her fingers with utmost care. Each vein, like brown maps upon a parchment of red, could tell a story. It had been many years since the princess had found solace amidst these lands, seeking refuge from the plight that had befallen her once-glorious kingdom. This place, on the outcrop of the mountains, offered respite from the ceaseless demands of her caretakers and the incessant voices of her companion.

There were faint whispers carried by the wind that spoke of this so called Princess—once the heir to a fractured throne, a title she bore with the weight of a thousand crowns. Yet those rumors were quickly shot down by the maiden's companion. Yet here, surrounded by the quiet beauty of nature, she found a fleeting sense of peace amidst the chaos. But this place was tainted by the same malevolence that had tainted her home.

  In the year of 125 AC, amidst a realm torn by strife and shadows of past glories, a new birth made waves across the kingdom. Visenya Targaryen, a name whispered with reverence yet burdened with foreboding, emerged as the second of her name.

Born to the Realms Delight and the Rogue Prince, Visenya's arrival was a stirring echo. The first daughter Rhae had birthed and one she loved dearly. As she drew her first breath in that turbulent era, Westeros seemed to hold its in anticipation—-unsure of what fate had woven for this Targaryen.

From her earliest days, Visenya was ensconced within the ancient walls of Dragonstone, surrounded by the relics of a bygone age. While other maidens of her age reveled in the simpler pursuits of childhood, she delved deep into dusty tomes chronicling the exploits of the legendary Visenya the Conqueror. With each turn of the age-worn page, a fire kindled within her, a fervent desire to carve her name into the annals of history as a mighty ruler.

Her father, prince Daemon, recognizing the fire that burned within his daughter, ordered that she be trained in the ways of the sword. Under a watchful eye, she learned to wield a blade with grace and precision—her young heart yearning for the day when she would don the crown of the female conqueror.

She wielded the weapon with a grace belying that of her tender years—her resolve as unyielding as the ancient stones of Dragonstone. In her imaginings, Visenya would often chance the hidden shadows—mockingly striking at nothing as if she fighting an imaginary force.

Delighted by the prospect of sovereignty, Visenya dreamt of the day when the gold would rest upon her—a symbol of her ascendancy. The Realms Delight, Rhaenrya her ever-vigilant mother, would stand sentinel by her side—a bastion of strength in the face of adversity. Even as her older half-brothers sparred with her upon the training grounds, she held her ground—her spirit unbroken by their taunts and jibes.

Jacaerys, with a sword hand tempered by ambition, oftentimes pushed the boundaries of their practice sessions. Yet Visenya met his challenges with a quiet ferocity, her gaze fixed upon a future where she would command both respect and fear. In the clash of steel and the dance of shadows, the seeds of a queen's destiny were sown, waiting to bloom in the crucible of conflict and triumph.

But yet, a tragedy befell the red keep. As her grandsire King Viserys took his last breath. And with him gone, the kingdom fell into despair—one's torn between Rhaenrya and Aegon as heirs—each aide taking up on arms.All the happiness that Visenya once knew vanished like a wisp of smoke in the wind.

The once joyous halls of the palace grew heavy with sorrow, and the laughter that once filled the air turned to whispers of uncertainty. It was in these grim times that Visenya's fate took a most unexpected turn.

At the tender age of nine, Young Visenya, with her silver locks and piercing violet eyes, was whisked away from the opulence of the royal court by the hand maiden who served her late mother, the queen, and a solitary dragon keeper. Together, they sought refuge in the shadows of a forgotten corner of the kingdom.

It was Elinda Massey, the dear handmaiden of the late
Queen, who stood as a beacon of hope in the darkness. A woman of small stature, with fiery red hair and piercing blue eyes, Elinda had vowed to protect Visenya as if she were her own flesh and blood. She had served the royal family faithfully for years, and now she would dedicate her life to safeguarding the princess from harm.

Though she harbored no love for the simple folk of the village or the suitors who posed as Visenya's parents, she remained steadfast in her duty to the royal blood that flowed through the princess's veins. And another by the name of Amira— a woman of small stature, barely standing just about hip level to a fully grown Visenya. One of reddish hair and blue eyes- she seemed much smaller when put up against the dwarfs of the mountain.

Elinda knew not many would pay so much attention to a mere dwarf walking about in Kings landing with a brown satchel— after all, they were found to be a nuisance to many there. When both saw the hatred arising between the townsfolk, both made a break for the castle to save what little remained of the Targaryen line...

And that's how the young Targaryen princess came about this land—taken in like a lost puppy and cared for by those she deemed to be toddler size. Who were they at their small build to boss her around when she was the blood of the dragon... Within the years, the young princess learned quick enough the so-called dwarfs here were a force to be reckoned with. Not like the ones at Kingslanding.

She found solace in this humble mountain on the outskirts of the realm, Khazum-dum, where the clang of swords and the perfume of courtly perfumes were replaced by the muddy breeze and the call of birds.

Although she longed for the comforts of her royal birthright, Visenya did find companionship in her adopted family. She was now but a mere shadow of her former self. Her silver locks, once braided, now hung limp and tangled around her delicate face.

Gone were the days of luxury and opulence, replaced now by the harsh realities of survival. However, the same could not be said for the Targaryen princess. As an effort to protect her, a rule was adopted. One of which, in her stubborn twenties, she found it hard to believe.

Visenya's prison was fashioned from walls of stone and bars of iron—with cold, unyielding metal doors that were chained shut with an audible clang. They stood as sentinels between her and the world outside, a world she now longed to experience in the cloaked mystery of night.

The chains that bound those doors echoed with a haunting familiarity, a reminder of the suffering endured by her dragon companion and others like it who had been incarcerated within the confines of the pit. Visenya could feel the weight of their captivity pressing upon her, a heavy burden that she now bore in solidarity with her scaly brethren.

The decree that forbade her from roaming freely in the night had been established upon her arrival with Disa, a cautionary measure enacted by her mother to shield the Targaryen lineage from those who harbored ill intentions in the aftermath of the Dance of Dragons.

A guard, that barely reached the height of a full grown horses belly, was to stand watch outside as she slept— to keep her leaving said room and from rooming freely in night hours.

Disa was a woman of extraordinary talent. A woman who sang to the mountains—asking for their help in times of need. It did not take long for Visenya to figure out Amira and Disa were friends. Both woman had meant way before her, or even maybe her parents for that matter. Disa and Amira had bumped into one another on one of Amira's many trips back to middle earth.

Perhaps it were the mysterious encounters and creatures of Westeros that intrigued the princess of the mountain. Disa, was the princess of Khazad -Dum and wife to Prince Durin IV, or whomever he called himself. Visenya did not care for learning much of titles.

And as with any married royalty, children were soon to follow. In the past years, Disa birthed two sons years, princes'—that Visenya has the pleasure of getting to be around at every hour of the day... As much as the dragon princess hated to admit, she did enjoy the company of these even tinier companions.

But within the walls of the secluded Dwarven village, there once existed an air of skepticism and unease when the silver-haired girl arrived at merely nine— alongside Elinda. The dwarves there casted wary glances her way, their eyes clouded with suspicion and apprehension. It was evident that most of them wanted nothing to do with this girl, whose presence seemed to stir up dormant fears and uncertainties that had long been buried.

Upon their arrival, The revered leader king Durin, Disa's father-in-law and Durin's father, wasted no time in voicing his disdain for the newcomers—demanding that they be turned away without a second thought. However, Disa saw something different in Visenya—a glimmer of potential and possibility that others failed to perceive. She gently urged her husband to speak with his father to reconsider. Perhaps, she suggested, Visenya held the key to their collective prosperity and success, to a future filled with victory and triumph.

Yet, such optimistic notions were swiftly dispelled by the dwarfs of the mountain—a proud and insular community who harbored deep-rooted reservations about placing their faith in an outsider, especially a mere human like Visenya. The very idea of entrusting their fate to someone not of their kin was met with vehement rejection and disdain—echoing the sentiment that had long been ingrained in their society.

King Durin was a man of high suspicion and lacked finding the effort to put even a mere ounce of trust in anyone. Maybe he had heard the faint whispers upon the winds of never trusting a such a beast...

In all the stubbornness of a typical Targaryen, Visenya mirrored the same back at him. Titles and trappings mattered little to the Targaryen, who found herself drawn to the essence of a person rather than the facade they presented to the world. She did not care for the old man— remembering some of those her mother dealt with back in Westeros.

In the years following, a new dynamic began to emerge, centered around Prince Durin, a figure of kindness and warmth who possessed a natural charm that endeared him to all who crossed his path. His interactions with Visenya revealed a softer side, a willingness to embrace differences and find common ground amidst the turmoil and discord that threatened to tear them apart. Visenya found herself linking the similarities between Disa and Durin a lot and often chuckled at their nonsensical bickering.

Now Elinda tried her best to mask what had truly happened, saving Visenya from an inevitable nightmare that befall her mother. But that had only worked until Visenya's wondering mind of curiosity grew far beyond the barrier of which Amira nor Elinda tried so hard to uphold. At the grown age of which Visenya has reached, reality and realization began to hit harder than crumbling rocks against a pool of water.

Coming here all those years ago was a way to protect her from those that wished harm, but it also deemed to her to a life without cause. Her days were ensnared in a repetitive dance of rituals and routines, each step leading her further away from the vibrant spirit she once possessed. Elinda was well, not the most entertaining. It was the same old story after story.

The staring eyes of those old fools who believed in the old ways and following the same routine day after day. Even being at her 25th year, she were still coddled like a child daily by Disa and Elinda.

But complain as she may, Visenya knew she was better off here then there. And for all she knew, she could have well been the last Targaryen heir breathing— knowing her half brother's were dead and the others she had knew little of. Viserys the third was no where and lord only knows of what befall of Aegon the second. If that were true, and all her brothers were dead—then she would be the heir. But how fruitless that thought was...

Living here in this Khazad-dum, a place fulled with mysterious customs— as if her own customs weren't enough. Visenya was truly alone, raised away from the rest of the world, from her home, from her kind, with no crown, without her mother or father—it seemed not even her name held status here. Or that's even if the half the population there knew of who she truly was...

And so Visenya stood at the edge of the outcrop— her vibrant crimson cloak billowing behind her in the breeze. With a graceful gesture, she released a fragile leaf into the wind, watching as it twirled and pirouetted, embracing its newfound freedom. Oh, to feel the caress of the cool air against her skin, a sensation so foreign to her now that her dragon laid slain in the fiery chaos of the dragon pit.

The disgruntled Targaryen princess leaned against the chiseled rock, its gnarled stone reaching out like fingers to brush against her skin. Visenya stood at the edge of the expanse, a solitary figure among the sea of emerald hues that stretched endlessly before her. Her solemn demeanor was accentuated by the vibrant contrast of her piercing violet eyes, which gazed wistfully across the undulating landscape. The verdant patches of foliage seemed to dance in harmonious cadence, a silent symphony of nature's beauty unfolding before her.

Strands of silver hair, like gossamer threads, framed Visenya's face delicately, while the rest was intricately braided and secured with a shimmering silver dragon pin—an emblem of the dwindling glory of House Targaryen. It was a meager token, a reminder of a legacy teetering on the brink of obscurity.

The sun's golden rays caressed Visenya's skin, its warmth a bittersweet reminder of a lost connection. It evoked memories of Rhaenyra, the one remaining thread binding her to a past she both cherished and mourned. With a determined swallow, Visenya attempted to banish the haunting visions that plagued her every waking moment, yearning for a reprieve from the relentless torment of her memories.

Closing her eyes with a deliberate sense of surrender, the princess allowed herself to be enveloped by the howling wind, its invisible embrace a comforting presence in the tumult of her mind. As a gentle breeze ruffled her hair, Visenya's mind drifted to memories of a time long gone, a time before tragedy had stained her world crimson.

She remembered the soft caress of her mother's loving touch. Rhaenyra, the keeper of her heart's deepest secrets and sorrows. The memory of her mother's laughter, like silver bells in the wind, brought a bittersweet ache to Visenya's heart. Recalling the melodic cadence of her voice as she sang ancient lullabies in the lilting tones of high Valyrian.

Amongst the rustling leaves and distant echoes, a voice, ethereal and melodic, wove its way through the air like a haunting melody.

"Visenya..." it beckoned, a gentle cadence that seemed to blend seamlessly with the howling wind. It carried a familiar tone, reminiscent of her mother's lullabies.

Her eyes fluttered open slowly, not wanting the voice to wash away—drowning out the clamor of the world around her. A soft smile graced her lips, the warmth of nostalgia enveloping her like a comforting embrace.

But the serenity was shattered in an instant as the voice shifted, morphing into a sharp, urgent pitch that sliced through the tranquility like a blade. Visenya's eyes darted from side to side—her heart racing as she tried to make sense of the sudden change.

"Visenya!" The booming voice shattered the fragile peace, causing her to startle and whirl around, her violet eyes wide with surprise. Amira stood before her, a formidable figure with hands planted firmly on her hips—her expression stern and unwavering.

"Now, what have I told you about daydreaming?" Her voice held a hint of exasperation, a familiar chastisement that Visenya had heard countless times before. "We have responsibilities to uphold, my dear. You of all people know the weight we carry." She exclaimed before carrying on with her mission. Dragging out a cart deep from within the cave—filled to brim with large amount of stones.

Visenya lowered her gaze, feeling the weight of Amira's words settle upon her like a heavy cloak. She let out a disdainful huff at the mundane complaint that slipped from Amira's lips. "The aimless wandering in the mountain is dreadfully boring," she remarked, her words stumbling over one another as frustration colored her tone. Amira's eyes spoke volumes of disappointment as she fixed the young princess with a stern gaze.

The old dwarf emitted a low groan of exhaustion. Summoning the remnants of her dwindling patience, she turned to face her charge head-on, her resolve unwavering. "Enough," she declared firmly—her foot meeting the hardened earth with a resolute thud. Wiping her hands on her blouse, the elder fixed Visenya with a potent stare. "It was a monumental task to convince the king to allow you to remain here."

The palpable tension between them was thick, fueled by Visenya's unyielding pride that refused to concede. "I simply cannot bear it any longer. I departed for my realm as a mere child. How could anyone possibly recognize me now?" she mused, a flicker of defiance flashing in her violet eyes—as if the striking combination of her silver locks and amethyst gaze were not giveaway enough.

" Vis, we've had this discussion countless times. You are well aware of the answer—it's always a resolute no. The world beyond these walls is fraught with danger, yet you persist."

As Amira tossed the final stone into the barrel, a momentary pause presented itself, affording Visenya the opening she sought. "I am a Targaryen bereft of a dragon," she proclaimed, each syllable punctuated with fervor. The distance between them narrowed as Visenya dared to challenge the confines that bound her, her resolve unyielding and her spirit aflame with an undying yearning for freedom.

The aged dwarf merely faced the disgruntled Targaryen. Now a look of disbelief made itself at home upon her features. "M'Lady," she began, her voice steady yet tinged with a hint of uncertainty, "There may yet be a time... the dragon keeper has exclaimed there are some dragons that may have survived the fight."

Visenya's heart skipped a beat, a thousand questions swirling in her mind like a tempest raging within her soul. "Don't call me that..." Her royal demeanor faltered for a fleeting moment, a look of bewilderment dancing across her features before she composed herself once more.

"And how do we know that? I've been here now for years and years and have never heard anything about one..." Her words hung in the air like a delicate veil of doubt.

Anita rolled her eyes in exasperation, a silent plea for Visenya to cease her line of questioning. But the fiery princess was not one to back down from a challenge, her determination as unyielding as the stones of the ancient fortress that surrounded them.

"Amira, please... just once I would like to go out on my own..." Visenya's voice wavered with emotion, her longing for freedom palpable in the air between them. "To go out and search for a dragon..." But before she could utter another word, Amira raised a finger—cutting off her protests with a finality that brooked no argument.

"Enough with this subject. I wish to not hear another word about it." Her tone was stern, a command that left no room for further discussion With a heavy sigh, the senior dwarf turned on her heel, retracing her steps back towards the safety of the village, the young princess trailing mere feet behind her. "Come now, Disa and Elinda awaits your return."

Reluctantly, like a wilting flower bending to the will of a fierce wind, Visenya acquiesced, the flames of her rebellious spirit momentarily extinguished. She knew that this was not the end of the matter, that her desire for freedom would be a topic of heated debate come nightfall.

The Targaryen princess continued on, muttering to herself when a haunting melody swept through the whispering leaves—-carried by the gentle caress of the wind. It was a sound that echoed with familiarity, a tune that tugged at the strings of her forgotten hopes. A symphony of hums and squeals danced upon the breeze—swirling and twirling in a mesmerizing chorus.

Startled, Visenya halted in her tracks, the melody wrapping around her like a comforting shroud. She lifted her gaze skyward, out of the outcrop—seeking the source of the enchanting serenade. Her eyes scanned the vast expanse, a canvas of cerulean brushed with clouds of ivory. In the depths of her soul, a silent plea whispered for a dragon to materialize—its wings casting shadows of wonder upon the earth.

But reality reigned supreme, cruel and unyielding. No majestic beast soared through the heavens, no creature of myth and legend descended from the azure heights. Visenya's heart sank like a stone cast into a bottomless abyss. It was not a dragon that graced the skies, but a lone bird.

For a moment, Visenya had new hope, that a dragon was alive. But now as quickly as it came, that hope vanished. There a profound sadness caressed her heart and tightened its grip. Perhaps it was all lie and the dragons were truly gone... And it was a shattered and fruitless hope that one would ever come...

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AUTHOR'S NOTE
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ELROND COMES IN NEXT CHAPTER!!!

Get ready 😈

Who's ready for Elrond and Visenya to meet???