Elia gave Rhaegar all what he most desired : his precious warrior daughters, first Rhaenys and then Visenya, Aegon's sisters reborn. Now, all he needed was just that, an Aegon to complete the beautiful image he could picture quite clearly.

R + L = J.

Jon Sno-Aegon Targaryen's petulant glare did nothing to lighten Visenya's mood. Her brother was once again brooding, gazing wordlessly at the wall instead of helping her concoct the plan they needed to perfect.

She did her best to stay, truly she did, and did what Rhaenys always advised her to do : play nice. She asked him once, twice, thrice what route they ought to take when taking Astapor, which strategy would suit best, but all he did was wistfully sigh, lost in thoughts, and not once had he deigned response.

The strained silence went on until it was more than Visenya could endure. "What it is, Aegon?"

He recoiled. "Do not call me that," he told her, like he did a million times before. Visenya raised an eyebrow, and would have scoffed had she not wanted to maintain the stern, absolutely done with your shit, image she was projecting. She knew he well liked his name, liked how powerful it sounded, how belonged it felt being called that, though dealing with that guilt? filled conscience of his had pushed him to detach himself from anything remotely Targaryen.

"I'll call you whatever I see fit," she declared cooly. "now, do tell."

He bit his lips, furrowing his brows while doing so. It made him look younger, somehow, she thought. A lot more desirable, also.

Concentrate.

"I-"

"Get on with it."

A silence, again, and then, with a tone of defeat, he said, "Arya," as if that single word explained everything. It did, thought Visenya, ignoring the ugly feeling growing inside of her. Arya Stark was, is, and will always be Jon Snow's companion, a bastard he may be, or a king. She had always been, long before Visenya even knew of her little brother's existence, and will always remain so.

She gritted her teeth. It would not do, she told herself, to looking the jealous wife part before being titled one. "What of her?"

"She feels .. disregarded."

Like I do, perhaps?

"She understands not .. that I wish to -"

"- remain alone?" Visenya prompted. When he nodded, she frowned. Since when did her idiot of a brother confide in her, anyways? He could always go and whine to sweet, understanding Rhaenys. Their sister was better than the both of them combined with dealing with emotions.

But Rhaenys was not here, Visenya reminded herself, suddenly feeling cold. And with no one to turn to but her ..

"Then tell her so," she said simply.

He sighed, as if he couldn't believed she said that. "What do I tell her, pray enlighten me?"

"The truth would be more appreciated, I reckon. Though you ought to sweeten it a bit."

"Oh, you wish me to tell my eleven years old sis-"

She hissed.

"-cousin," he corrected, blushing, "that I am not her brother?"

She glared at him through narrowed eyes. For a moment, she felt the rage tearing at her lungs, plucking at her nerves until she wanted to twist Aegon's neck off. There are things they ought to do, more important things than discussing Arya Stark's disregardment!

She continued to eye him darkly until she noticed just how despaired he really looked - and only then did she let her face soften.

Was the girl that important?

"Have you," she started tiredly, "considered - admitting to her, perhaps-"

"No," he said with a finality that reduced her to silence. There was a sharpness in his pale purple eyes that surprised Visenya. "I would never-"

"You will one day conquer the Seven Kingdoms," she snapped, with us by your side, "when will you finally accept-"

"Perhaps I want no crown," he said savagely, "perhaps I wish not to be King-"

"Be quiet," she snarled then, already tiring from the argument. It always ends with that, does it not? "If you wished not to be King, you will not be here."

Another silence, Visenya ought to really get used to those. It dragged one and one, until Aegon could no more tolerate it. "I am not here for that," he said, voice low.

There was an odd expression on his face when Visenya turned to look at him - and what a face it was. Targaryen women were said to be the most beautiful ones in the world, but what of Targaryens men ..?

Dark curly hair - hair that shone silver in the light, oddly enough - framed those beautifully sculpted features : high cheekbones, classical straight nose, and sensual, full lips. A mouth to keep you awake at night, she giddily thought.

He was still staring at her. "You are beautiful."

She rolled her eyes, "what it is that you want, brother?"

Her only answer for several seconds was a snarl, then -

"Do not call me that." He was very close to her now. "You know full well what it is that I want," he traced her jawline with his hand, his eyes never leaving hers. He wound his arms around her, clasping her to him backwards.

Her breath caught in .. she could feel him, all of him. He rubbed a strong chin over her head, and she could almost sense him smirking, the idiot.

"Listen now, Egg-"

"Oh, but I hate that surname," he said, chuckling. I care not, ragged Visenya. "Yet you are so adamant in calling me that."

"It is as I said," she sniffled. "I'll call you whatever I see fit."

He wrapped her in his arms, pulling her against him. "Of course you will," he said, voice shaking from barely restrained laughter. "Tell me,sweet sister, what is it that you truly desire ..?"

She pounded on his chest with feeble fists. "For you to get away from my sight," she snapped.

He was laughing now, a full, breath-less laugh that could have had her blushing was she not preoccupied by keeping him out her way. "Oh, is that so ..? But tell me, Visenya," he purred the words out. "Tell me to stop."

She felt dizzy - and there was something tugging at her mind, a memory of some sort ..

Damn him, thought Visenya, her mood turning sourer and sourer. She always knew she would eventually share Rhaenys with another .. but with that gallant, politely cold fool brother they just found out about ..

Why, the thought never, not even once, crossed her mind.

Her sister seem to enjoy him. Of course she did, the teaser that she was. She also appeared to love the way Visenya's nasty glares greeted the pair every time they dreamt of one another .. it should not surprise Visenya. Rhaenys had always loved to get a rise out of her.

"Wait," said Jon Snow. Aegon Targaryen, Visenya reminded herself. He did look the Targaryen part, too pretty to be anything else, but he was also a Stark of Winterfell. T'is, she should not forget. "You might need this."

He gestured to her sword, laid over the back of a chair. Visenya noticed that Aegon hadn't come any closer, or even bothered to looking her way while speaking.

"Alright," Visenya had said then, using that awfully cool tone her brother always spoke with while addressing her, "give me my shield, if you will."

He stared at her longly. "Of course," he said, the strain obvious in his voice.

She noticed that he made contact only with the iron lid and not with her flesh. She lifted her fingers, and he drew back at once.

"Careful," she snarled, her anger too great to hold in any longer, "do not touch me, else you might get sick."

"Damn you," she mumbled, intend on pushing him away as swiftly as he once did her. Instead, somehow, she found herself holding his arms, her fingers tightly interlocked with his. Her gaze slowly moved from their clasping fingers to his face.

She narrowed her eyes at him, and then, with a smile so genuine she almost stumbled back, he bent his head down to her lips.