Visenya swings her blade down, metal clanging against metal. A small bead of sweat runs down her forehead, falling from her brow bone and landing on the ground. She tosses her blade to the other hand, pulling it up just in time to block the incoming attack, their clashing swords forming a 'T'. She nimbly moves to the side, and away from her opponent, breaking away from his sword. With otherworldly grace, Visenya whirls around in a half-circle, now standing behind him, pushing her blade forward to pierce through his back. He turns around, jumping back before the hit makes contact, pushing it out of the way with his own.
Metal rings in the clearing as they continue their deadly dance. Geralt kicks his leg out, centimeters away from hitting Visenya's knees. She brings her blade down in a half crescent shape, smacking the side of his leg with the flat part of her blade. He grunts out a laugh, unbothered by the hit, but it allows Visenya to jump back from his assault.
"You'll have to do better than that, White Wolf," Visenya teases, bouncing on the balls of her feet as she awaits Geralt's next move. He snorts and lunges towards her once more. She sidesteps him, using her smaller size to her advantage. She laughs, the sound blending yet also clashing with the sound of two blades meeting in a bind.
"You're too arrogant," Geralt says, pressing against her blade with more force.
He smiles, a smile that's all teeth, nearly feral looking. Visenya's arm begins to shake, her strength quickly dwindling. But before she can attempt to pull back, Geralt suddenly drops his blade, the lack of resistance causing Visenya to stumble forward. At the same time, he sweeps his leg out, her stumble morphing into a fall.
Thud.
Visenya lands on her back, sword falling out of her hand. Without hesitation Geralt kicks it out of her reach, pointing his sword at her throat.
"It'll get you killed." His tone is grim, face set in a deep scowl. "-again," he adds as an afterthought. Her confession from weeks ago is still fresh, pushed to the forefront of his mind every time he so much as glances at her.
"Well if you didn't play cheap," Visenya says, minor annoyance etching a deep scowl onto her face.
"There is no such thing as playing cheap when it comes to fighting. You either win or you don't," Geralt says, scolding her like a father would an unruly and stubborn child. But if he's as old as Visenya thinks, she might as well be.
"Whatever," Visenya mutters, not moving from her position on the ground, instead she moves her gaze upwards. Threads of dawn emboss the sky, rays of pink and orange tinting it, their vivid colors offset by opalescent clouds. It's quiet, nearly too quiet, if not for her rapid inhale and exhale of breath.
"You're good, but you're too wild," Geralt says. He tosses his blade aside, reaching a hand down to help her up. Her face flushes red from exerting too much energy, with breathes that're too quick, the spar taking more of her energy up than it should've. Then again, for years her only constant companion had been Jaskier, and he ended up pricking three of his fingers before even fully lifting a sword. That was the last time she attempted to arm him.
"Don't patronize me," Visenya says, blowing away the stray hairs that fell out of her ponytail and onto her face.
"I'm not. I'm giving advice. Besides-" Geralt looks over at her, the corners of his mouth slowly pulling into a grin. His slightly sharper teeth give his grin a wolfish appearance, predatory and mischievous in nature. "-when did you become such a sore loser?" Geralt teases.
"I don't know, around the time you got slow," Visenya responds, grabbing onto Geralt's outstretched hand. But instead of using it to pull herself up, she yanks on it with all of her remaining strength, causing Geralt to tumble to the ground.
His eyes are wide with bewilderment and shock, a small giggle bubbling from Visenya's mouth, taking special notice of the green grass that mingles with his tangled white hair. Geralt scoffs, but there's a small smile on his face that betrays his amusement, small droplets of dew on his hair that glisten in the sun, like tiny beams of light.
Visenya sits up, repositioning herself to be more comfortable on the ground. Geralt follows suit, shaking his head like a dog. Brown twigs and emerald leaves fly in the air and disappear into the sea of green that's now tinged with dark brown.
Geralt opens his mouth and laughs, it's not overly loud and merry sounding, but it's more than he normally gives. The sound echoes in the small clearing, dancing away in the wind to bless someone else's ears with the soft sound. His eyes shine in the light, causing him to almost look ethereal. Visenya smiles, her heartbeat speeding up, ever so slightly, and for the life of her she can't figure out why.
"I meant it, you're improving," Geralt says, placing his arms on his knees and staring at the trees that surround them.
"Are you saying I was a bad swordsman before?" Visenya teases, the smile on her face quickly evaporates, however, when Geralt doesn't return the mirth. She scoffs and smacks his arm. "You are saying I was a bad swordsman!" she exclaims, disbelief causing a small laugh to escape her mouth. Ser Rodrik trained her himself and before him, Jon. Two of the best swordsmen in the North trained her, a bad fighter is the absolute last thing Visenya would label herself as.
"No, just...chaotic," Geralt says, seemingly unbothered by her assault.
"And that's supposed to make me feel better?" Visenya asks, raising a brow at him.
"No, but it's the truth. You fight well, but you fight without control or discipline." Geralt says.
"So I'm unruly?"
"Like a tornado or a wild animal," Geralt says, a smirk on his face. Visenya rolls her eyes, smacking him once again - just for good measure. With a huff, she tightens her ponytail, pushing away the sweat coated baby hairs that stick to her forehead. She stands from the floor, walking towards the edge of the clearing where her leather bag is haphazardly resting against a tree. Crouching down and opening the main pouch, she pulls out two apples - one red and the other green. She tosses the red one in the air once, then launches it at Geralt as soon as it grazes her palm. He catches it with ease, not even bothering to look in her direction. Visenya smirks, taking a bite out of the remaining apple.
"Would you believe me if I said I was raised by wolves?" Visenya asks. There's a smirk on her lips, a gleam in her eyes that says she's in on a joke that no one else knows. And she revels in it.
"Yes," Geralt simply replies, eyes wandering towards the sky, basking in the calm that seems so fleeting when on the road with a monster hunter.
"Well, I choose to take both of those answers as a compliment. It just means I'm a force to be reckoned with in - and out - of combat. I think my ancestor and namesake would come back from the dead just to murder me if I wasn't a half-decent fighter," Visenya says, staring up at the thick canopy above her. She inches closer into the forest, not committing to entering it completely, but getting close enough. The singing of birds in the distance soothing to her ringing ears, allowing her thoughts to pause if only for a moment.
"Hmm," is Geralt's only reply.
"She was a warrior queen, as comfortable in ringmail as she was in silks, as they say. She was legendary" Visenya says, wistfully staring into the trees, getting lost in the melancholy that usually follows when she thinks of her family.
She remembers the stories her Septa would tell her, and the old dusty books she'd find in the library. She can nearly taste the old stale dust that coated the books, flying into the air once her fingers made contact. But she also remembers her eyes desperately drinking in each word, fantasizing that she was the one flying on a dragon, so high in the sky no one could touch her.
Not Robert Baratheon, nor Tywin Lannister, not even The Mountain. But those were foolish daydreams of a child, who didn't fully understand the nuances of things, nor how horrible some of her family truly had been.
"And I was named after her. Sometimes I feel like I'm not worthy of it. It's not like there are a dozen other idiots with the same name - who are more foolish than the last, not like Aegon or Viserys," Visenya mutters to herself, hardly even registering that Geralt is still keenly listening to her ramblings.
"I didn't realize Jane was a family name," Geralt says, his red apple still in hand, untouched. Visenya breathes out a laugh, the sound being swallowed by a strong gust of wind.
"No of course not, it's Vise-" Visenya starts, but closes her mouth, turning to face Geralt who watches her with a curious gaze. She coughs, glancing at the trees one last time before returning her gaze to Geralt. "How do you know it wasn't my ancestors that made the name popular?"
Geralt raises a brow, his expression showing how little he's buying her pathetic save, but he doesn't press the issue, thank the gods. Visenya continues biting into her apple, savoring not only each sweet bite but also the silence surrounding them.
"You're light on your feet," Geralt says after a moment. Visenya turns to look at him, a question on her face with raised ashen eyebrows. "Use that to your advantage. Most of your enemies will be much larger than you, bulkier. Which means they're slower. Tire them out and run circles around them. You'll never be able to beat them with brute force." Geralt says, still looking towards the sky, eyes focusing on a particular bird.
"I'll keep it in mind."
o0o0o"So an alp?" Visenya says, tapping her fingers against the wooden surface of the table she sits at. Her posture is relaxed, languidly sitting in the uncomfortable wooden chair. The room they're renting is tiny, unbearably claustrophobic with the stench of stale air lingering in her nose at all hours. But it's the only one in the small village, their size and lack of constant travelers not allowing for them to sink too much money in the rooms, opting to spend their coin on ale and food. At this point Visenya would rather stay in a brothel than here, at least they try to sell the idea of luxury and comfort - no matter how off the mark they may be.
"Hmm," Geralt grunts, tossing his leather bag across the room. Visenya watches as it glides through the air like a cannonball before landing with a loud thump on the bed. She returns her gaze to Geralt, who moves across the room, towards her, a pitcher of ale in hand. He sets it on the table, the force of it causing small droplets of ale to splatter onto the table. The fire in the corner of the room crackles, forcing itself into their conversation like a bothersome sibling.
"Oh don't tell me, I know this one. Let me see...alps are the ones who take humanoid forms to lure their victims and then they drink their blood until there's nothing left, right? They also have the whole 'saliva that puts its victims to sleep and can cause horrible nightmares'," Visenya says, a slight smirk on her lips, eyes glowing with pride and self-satisfaction.
"You already know you're right," Geralt says, a lilt of amusement in his otherwise deadpan tone. Visenya smirks, grabbing a mug and pouring ale into it, careful to not spill any. She sets the jug back down, throwing her cup back and downing nearly all of it. The amber liquid is bitter, not as smooth and sweet as Cintran ale. It burns and not in a pleasant way. Her face scrunches up, lips puckering and eyes firmly shut, forcing the remaining liquid to go down her throat and not out her mouth.
"I know, doesn't mean I don't like receiving validation," Visenya remarks after managing to swallow the swill disguised as ale, glancing towards the sole window in the room. The sun is starting to set, and swiftly, night time will come before either of them have a chance to blink. Visenya pushes back her chair, the wood screeching against the floors.
"Hmm," Geralt simply replies, pouring a cup of ale for himself, and drinking it similarly as Visenya. However, he manages to keep any unpleasant expressions off his attractive face. Her eyes rest on his lips, gaze focusing on a droplet of ale that hangs precariously on his lips, nearly falling to the ground. A part of her wants to place her lips on his, to test if maybe the ale would be sweeter coming from his lips. But she snaps her eyes away quickly and banishes the thought, not wanting to linger on it for too long.
"So where are we off to," Visenya asks. She turns away from the table, grabbing her pack and beginning to shuffle around in it. "I can't remember where they take residence, so I can't be help there but-" Visenya starts to ramble, but Geralt cuts her short.
"What do you mean?" Geralt asks, standing from his chair as well. Visenya turns around, her cloak in hand.
"I mean, where are we going? We are planning on killing this alp aren't we?" Visenya asks, raising a brow at Geralt.
"I am going to kill the alp. You're staying here," Geralt says. His voice is stern, his mind set, leaving no room for argument. But Visenya has never been good at just sitting down and letting other people make decisions for her.
"Are you serious? You're trying to keep me out of this?" Visenya says, disbelief lacing every word. She laughs, a mocking one that lacks any warmth or humor.
"You're not ready for an alp," Geralt says, maintaining his cool and unattached demeanor. Yet Visenya notices a faint twitch in his eye, annoyance with her constant need to question every choice he makes.
"Not for a nightwraith either, apparently. Yet I helped kill that too," Visenya says, her temper flaring, fire lacing her words.
"And almost died in the process," Geralt says, his voice rising just a hair. Visenya scoffs, rolling her eyes, staring at the ceiling for a second before returning her gaze to Geralt.
"Every situation that involves fighting also involves almost dying. That's how fighting works, there's always a chance you won't come out alive," Visenya says, crossing her arms over her chest.
"So you throw yourself into every fight, even the ones you don't have the capabilities to win?" Geralt asks, sarcasm distorting his question.
"Precisely," Visenya says, turning away from Geralt and throwing her traveling cloak over her shoulder, clasping it so it'll stay on properly. She grabs her bag and sword, slinging the bag over her shoulder and attaching her sheath to her hip.
"You can throw yourself into suicide battles with someone else, you aren't coming," Geralt says, the volume of his voice continuing to rise.
"Yes, I am. What's the point of me being around if I'm not being useful?" Visenya exclaims, stepping towards Geralt. She feels like a child again, being scolded for wanting to learn how to fight rather than perfecting her needlepoint or sewing skills.
"You can come on the next hunt," Geralt says.
"That's what you said last time, and the time before that, and the time before that!" Visenya yells, waving her arm in Geralt's direction, emphasizing her anger and frustration.
"You weren't ready any of those times!" Geralt counters. Visenya slams her fist against the wooden table, the impact causing the ale to nearly tip over. Pain blossoms on the spot that made contact with the table, but Visenya can't be bothered by it at the moment.
"Damn it Geralt! Apparently, I'll never be ready according to you," she says, narrowing her eyes at him. The candles in the room wildly flicker, nearly going out as the temperature in the room drops, subtly at first, until it's nearly as cold in the room as the outside. Heat rises in Visenya, growing stronger with each passing moment. The smell of burning fills the room, light smoke wafting from the table into the air.
Like suddenly falling into ice, Visenya removes her hands from the table. There's a clear burn mark in the vague shape of her fist, the wood lightly charred. She sighs, loudly, closing her eyes and relaxing her clenched fists. The warmth in the room returns, the candles flickering with life once more. Her heart pounds, mind completely blank.
Silence.
"I need air," she mutters after a moment, not bothering to glance at Geralt. And before he can react, she flies out of the room, slamming the door behind her.
o0o0oNight cloaks Visenya, hiding her from any prying eyes and wandering gazes that hold no good intentions. She pulls the cloak closer to her body, hood up and head down, eager to be free from this stifling small village. The air is cool, but it's refreshing, easily tempering the fire in her.
"Get it together, Visenya!" she whispers, smacking a hand against her forehead, hoping the sting from the pain might smack some reason into her.
A child. That's what she's acting like. Screaming and throwing a tantrum when she doesn't get what she wants. It's irrational. And pathetic. Whining and crying won't get Geralt to agree to let her come, but that doesn't temper the frustration she feels when he won't. She's not a child, she's a woman, who can make her own decisions. Why should Visenya need a keeper to tell her what battles to and not to get involved in?
She continues marching forward, quickly leaving the village and all her anger behind. The grass is longer, instead of brushing against her ankles, it reaches the middle of her calves in certain spots. The trees are thick, their lush canopy of leaves acting like a guardian protecting her in their beauty. It's almost like the Godswood, but not nearly as beautiful, yet it evokes similar feelings in her. She deeply inhales, releasing it a moment later, allowing her tense body to melt and fly off with the breeze. Subconsciously, her hand grazes the embroidered direwolf, lightly tracing it with the tip of her finger.
Snap.
A twig cracks, echoing in the silence. Visenya pauses, head snapping up, eyes raking the surrounding area. Nothing but towering trees with shadows acting as cloaks. She turns around, hand ghosting over her sheathed blade. Her breathing is quick and uneven, hands shaking ever so slightly. Her lip trembles and she bites down on it, unwilling to show signs of fear or weakness.
"Who's there?" she calls out. "Reveal yourself, now!" she demands, eyes scanning the path behind her.
Silence.
She lets out a breath, watching as it appears only to dissipate into the cold air. She lowers her hand from her weapon, moving down the path she came from, eager for the warmth and light the tavern offers.
Snap.
She world around, gold eyes blazing like a fire in the thick of night. The forest seems endless, shadows dancing at the corner of Visenya's vision, mocking her with deafening silence and blinding loneliness.
"I said, who is there." Her voice is stone, not allowing even a glimmer of fear to seep into it. It cuts through the darkness like a freshly sharpened knife, her voice echoing far beyond what vision can perceive.
Snap.
Another twig, this time closer than the previous two. Like she's made of air, Visenya quickly turns, but instead of stifling nothingness, a figure stands a few inches away. It's a woman, with blood-like hair flows over her bare shoulders, the tips of it resting on its stomach. Her skin is pale, nearly grey in hue, but what's most alarming isn't her lack of clothing nor the murder in her eyes, but the blood splattered all over her. Some of it is dry, coating parts of her body like armor, while a few splatters appear to be fresh, still dripping off its body and splashing onto the ground.
It smiles a twisted smile that perfectly displays all her sharp teeth, tinted crimson from the blood.
An alp.
"Fuck."
They move in unison, Visenya unsheathing her blade as the woman - or creature - lunges forward. It proves to be faster, body-slamming her to the ground. Its hands grab a hold of Visenya's nails digging into her flesh. She screams but clamps her mouth shut, not willing to feed the lust for blood and pain in the creature's eyes. It snarls, pushing against Visenya's arms with inhuman strength, pressing them onto the damp ground. It hisses, droplets of drool tainted with blood falling onto Visenya's face. She thrashes, attempting to force the beast off of her.
Her eyes feel heavy, suddenly, the desire to sleep and never wake up washing over her like a tsunami. But she fights against it.
'If I sleep now, I'm dead. Stay. Awake,' she keeps repeating in her head, willing the words to manifest into reality.
It hisses once more, almost mockingly. It leans down, inches away from sinking her teeth in Visenya's throat. Visenya lifts her head, siphoning all the strength she can manage and smashes her forehead against the beast. It wails, falling back in pain, allowing Visenya to scramble out from under it. The creature continues to scream, the noise deafening. The sound causes her insides to twist and her head pound, to the point that she fears it might burst. She grabs the sides of her face with both hands, hoping to muffle the sound and make the pain stop. She closes her eyes, thoughts blurring together, as memories she only sees in her dreams fare to life in her head.
"In the name of the Warrior, I charge you to be brave. In the name of the Father, I charge you to be just. In the name of the Mother, I charge you to defend the innocent. Arise, Visenya of House Targaryen, a knight of the Seven Kingdoms." Jaime Lannister's face appears in her vision, a much younger version than the one she'd last seen. His gold hair is soft and thick, falling perfectly into place. He holds a wooden sword in one of his hands, resting the flat part of it on her shoulder.
Visenya giggles, the noise hazy and unclear. She stands from her kneeling position, curtseying to Jaime, stumbling forward, and nearly face planting.
"Thank you, good ser," she replies, a beaming smile on her childish face. He kneels, so his eyes meet hers. He holds out the small wooden sword, the size suited for a child of five.
"Now go, protect your mother Queen. It is your duty as a sworn member of her Queensguard," he says.
"Fuck!" she screams. She rapidly blinks, attempting to force the images away. There's too much danger, too much at stake to lose focus for even a second. The creature prowls towards Visenya, grabbing onto her leg and pulling her body towards it. Like a sack of grain, her body drags in the mud towards the monster. Visenya is powerless to fight back, only able to pray that the pain in her mind and body will go away. The creature flips her body: back against the ground and face looking towards the sky. She kicks her legs, managing to miss the alp each time. Its hands continue to move up Visenya's body as it pulls her closer.
"Where are we going, Ser Jaime? Shouldn't you be protecting my grandfather?" Visenya asks, rushing to keep up with Jaime's longer strides.
"I need to show you something," he says, voice grim but not harsh, yet it lacks the mirth normally present. He stops outside a door, and in her desperation to catch up, she nearly smacks into his legs, but narrowly avoids it since Jaime stops her body. He opens the door, which creaks loudly as it swings fully open. They're in a room Visenya is all too familiar with, her mother's chambers.
"Why are we-" Visenya begins, but cuts herself off as Jaime moves into the room. He strides through it, eyes focusing on one wall in particular. She rushes after him, eyes alight with curiosity she needs to sate.
He stops in front of a wall, crouching down. He doesn't turn, doesn't acknowledge Visenya, even as her smaller feet patter against the stone floor, getting closer to him. She pauses only when she stands beside Jaime, grabbing his arm with one hand, placing her small head on his armored shoulder. A wall, there's nothing else there but a wall; yet his eyes trace it intently, searching for something she can't see.
"A wall?" Visenya asks brows furrowed with a small pout on her lips.
"It's not just a wall, look." Jaime runs his hand down the wall, pausing on one spot. He digs his fingers into it, grasping onto… something. Visenya watches with wide eyes as a portion of the wall slides open, revealing a small opening in the wall - large enough to fit a child and no more. "A crawlspace."
"Why'd you show me this? I don't need to hide?" Visenya asks, tilting her head to the side in confusion. She turns and looks at Jaime, her nose twitching slightly as she looks up at him.
"You will. The war isn't going well, and if the city is attacked I need you to promise you'll hide here?" Jaime pleads, speaking in a hushed tone, keeping the words hidden in her mother's chamber.
"I don't-" Visenya starts, but is cut off before she can argue further.
"Promise me," Jaime says again, his voice more pleading and desperate. It's a funny sight thinking back on it with adult eyes and a jaded mine: the lion begging for something, throwing aside all pride and appearances of regalness.
Visenya hesitates, watching him carefully for a moment, eyes too sharp for a child of five.
"I promise."
Visenya slams her head against the dirt ground, trying to get the distant memories out of her head, hoping to force her body to stay awake and not succumb to sleep. Long, sharp, dirtied nails grab a hold of her shirt, pulling up her upper body. It snarls, lunging its face towards Visenya's neck.
Searing hot pain spreads through her body. Yet it doesn't leave her on fire, instead, it's numbing like ice. Momentarily, the pain it's screech caused is soothed, only to return tenfold. It's like a million daggers are stabbing into her body, over and over again, in the dead of winter. She begins convulsing, screaming, louder than before.
"Well, if it isn't little Visenya. Look at you, you're not a child anymore, no, you're fully grown, fighting Robb Stark's little war," Jaime Lannister says, sarcasm and mocking lacing every word. He lifts his dirt-caked face, looking up at Visenya with wide green eyes that somehow manage to still sparkle, even in all the filth that surrounds them.
"Shut up. I didn't come here to talk to you," Visenya says, keeping her voice as cool and calm as the winter winds. Her voice is low as to not alert any nearby guards, allowing the heavy wind to obscure most of her words.
"Really? Come to just see the spectacle then? See the state of the man who killed your grandfather and ruined your life?" Jaime spits, but he lacks any real venom. He's like a lion, trying to make himself appear as large as possible in hopes of avoiding real conflict. Visenya ignores him, however, moving closer into his cell without fear.
"Or maybe you want to laugh?" Jaime mutters, banging his head against the post he's chained to
Silence is his only response. Visenya moves further into his cell, holding something cold and metal in her hands that glints in the moonlight. Once she's within arm's length from Jaime, she crouches onto the ground, purple meeting green.
"Well come one, don't leave-" Jaime begins, but promptly shut his mouth, tightly clenching his jaw with furrowed brows.
Thud.
The metal chains fall to the ground, inches away from Jaime. His eyes follow the chains that no longer bound him, lines of confusion appearing on his forehead underneath the dirt and blood on it.
"Thank you, for my life," Visenya mutters. Jaime moves his gaze back to her, and in her glossy eyes, he softens his armor - if only for a moment. Visenya begins to shake, like a leaf in a storm, remembering the simpler times that she ran around The Red Keep like a wild animal, and when Jaime Lannister wasn't enemy number one to her family. Then like the wind, Visenya turns, quickly disappearing into the night.
She tries to headbutt the creature again, but she can't move her head far enough to attempt it.
'Fire, use fire!' Visenya yells at herself, willing the flames that usually dance under her skin to flare to life. But nothing happens. She closes her eyes, focusing harder this time, trying to replicate the feelings swirling in her mind when she argued with Geralt. Tries to reign in the adrenaline from the Cintran Betrothal Feast or even the anger and grief she was drowning in at Blaviken.
Nothing, not even a flicker of heat.
She lets out a cry of frustration as the alp continues to drain her of blood. The world becomes dark, eyes heavier than previously. She continues to shake, trying to fight off the beast, even when her limbs feel like dead weight. Moments later, everything begins to feel light, the pain and fear slowly slipping away until she feels nothing at all. Eventually, her eyes flutter closed, the world turning black.