Dark Sister and Visenya Targaryen
A Valyrian sword and its owner.
Of the two ancestral swords belonging to House Targaryen, Blackfyre was the one Visenya coveted. She had cast her eyes on it when she was too young still to wield anything other than a wooden sword, running her fingers on the hilt and caressing the blade as if caressing the face of a beloved.
She was the firstborn, but not the oldest son. Or the only son. That was Aegon, her brother, her eventual husband according to thousands of years of Targaryen tradition. Blackfyre was not for Visenya to wield, but for Aegon.
"This sword must have been originally forged for a woman. Look at its slender blade. It would suit you perfectly," her father told Visenya, when he was showing her Dark Sister for the first time. Or so he believed. In truth, Visenya had taken Dark Sister out too, in secret, long ago. She had disliked the feel of its hilt in her palm, had loathed the swing of its blade. Compared to Blackfyre, the sister sword had seemed to Visenya almost weightless, inconsequential, second-best at best, third-rate at worst.
Blackfyre would have suited Visenya better. Much, much better.
"There doesn't seem to be any ancestral sword for me to wield," Rhaenys said good-naturedly, after Aegon and Visenya were finally given possession of Blackfyre and Dark Sister.
"Do you mind at all?" Aegon asked his younger sister, looking concerned.
Rhaenys smiled. "Why should I mind? The new sword Father told the blacksmith to forge suits me perfectly. It is made specifically to fit me, not anyone else. And it is mine, all mine. I do not have to worry about thousands of years of family history, or about all the illustrious ancestors who wielded the sword in the past, and what a grave burden it is to prove myself as worthy as they were supposed to have been." She laughed. "And we all know dead ancestors are always good and worthy, and responsible for glorious deeds we cannot hope to compete."
Her sister had always been an incomprehensible mystery to Visenya. Burden? It was a challenge, a very exciting challenge, not a burden.
And a sword can be made your own, after all, even if it was not forged to fit you in the beginning. Even if that sword had seemed like a poor consolation prize at first, to replace the one you truly coveted, but could never have. Visenya realized this after her first kill with Dark Sister in her hand. The true power lies not with the sword, but in some mysterious alchemy between wielder and sword.
You are mine, and I am yours.