Someday,
with his spirit to guide me
and his memory beside me
I will be free
to fly on my father's wings
- Quest for Camelot
When she grew up, Visenya Targaryen would spend many nights staring into the mirror. She was told over and over again, that she looked just like her mother - but she had her father's eyes. His eyes, deep and dark blue, like the vast ocean that separated her from the place where he had breathed his last. She was told he had died smiling at her mother. She wondered what his eyes had looked like, as he died.
Her mother spoke very little of her father, no matter how much Visenya begged. But to be honest Visenya had stopped asking years ago, when she was still a child. For every time she asked, her mother's face went very hard and then she sent her errant daughter to bed no matter the hour. And later the same night, Visenya would lie awake and listen to her mother's anguished sobs.
Mother had loved father very much, Visenya knew. Perhaps that was why she never spoke of him, would never let his name be mentioned in her presence. Or perhaps that was to spare Visenya. She wondered if she knew that she would not allow her father to be spoken of, to spare her grief. Perhaps, they were both trying very hard to protect each other.
So, Visenya knew very little of her father. She knew he had been a hero, a warrior, and noble and good. She knew he had loved her mother very much, and she knwe that she had inherited his eyes.
Oh, and one more thing. His name.
Jorah Mormont.
