Purple eyes dart around the landscape, settling on the rolling fields that the cliff overlooks. The lush emerald blades of grass languidly sway with the wind, unbothered by the brewing war around them. The sky is a beautiful hue of blue with clouds aimlessly dotting it. The sun is placed high in the sky, illuminating everything in its path. Rays of sunlight hit Visenya's eyes, causing her eyes to glimmer like a well-polished amethyst gem. The light dances off her hair, creating a halo of sunlight. Her pale skin practically glows under the light, giving the appearance of something otherworldly.
If Jon was here, he might make a quiet comment about it, unheard and unseen by the prying eyes and ears that always seemed to surround her. His words would come out mumbled and stuttered, the awkwardness he carried when it came to conversations of romance making itself well known. Instead of berating him like Robb and Theon, their jabs lowering his already abysmal self-confidence, Visenya would simply smile at him. The twinkle in her soft eyes telling Jon she already knew what he was trying to say.
But he isn't here.
No, Jon is miles away serving at the Night's Watch while Visenya is in the Riverlands fighting a losing war. With Ned Stark executed for false charges of treason, the fragile string Visenya's sanity rested on is quickly snapping. The rug got pulled out beneath her, shattering the reality she'd built around herself. Bran and Rickon were believed to be dead, killed by Theon no less. Sansa and Arya were captive in Kings Landing and Robb was making stupid decisions at every corner.
The camp is stifling. The uneasiness the remaining soldiers are feeling crawls under Visenya's skin and fills her with a sense of dread. Morale swiftly dropped after the execution of Lord Kaarsark, and discouraged soldiers tend to not fight as fiercely for their king. So instead of allowing her brain to envision a million scenarios in which they lose and die horrible deaths, she left. Not far enough to miss anything of import, but with enough distance to just breathe. Something Visenya hasn't been allowed in a long time.
So she stands on a cliff that overlooks green fields that go on for miles. The soft chirping of birds and rustling of long grass and trees allows her to forget the brewing storm. Despite being far warmer than the North, Visenya feels a sense of peace she hadn't felt since before the King arrived. And if she closed her eyes for a moment as the breeze caresses her skin, she could almost convince herself she was home.
Home.
The word comes with a wave of emotions, mainly grief. Sometimes, if she tried hard enough, Visenya would manage to convince herself that the events of the past months weren't real. That Ned Stark never died, nor Rickon and Bran. Arya and Sansa were still home, bickering as usual, and Robb and Visenya weren't children masquerading as soldiers during a war. Subconsciously, her hand touches her cloak, gripping the navy blue fabric tightly in her hands. The fabric is soft to the touch, unlike the scratchy fabric of most traveling cloaks and vastly inappropriate during wartime, but Visenya couldn't bear to part with it. A smart decision since Winterfell is now rubble in the dirt. It had been a gift for her five and ten name day from Sansa. She'd spent months on the cloak, meticulously embroidering a dire wolf on one side of the shoulder and a dragon on the other, both in vivid shades of red. Delicate flowers and vines weaving around the two animals, adding a femine touch to it. Visenya's eyes prick with wetness - the tell tale sign of incoming tears - but she manages to suppress them.
'No, you are a dragon. Dragons do not cry.'
The mantra repeats itself in her mind, the words a constant reminder that she needs to be made of stone.
"Visenya," she hears a familiar voice call from behind. Slowly turning to face the person, she notices Robb briskly walking towards her.
'Remember what you are,' she repeats in her head as Robb approaches.
"I'd almost thought you'd ran off," he says upon closing the distance between them. He's wearing his traveling clothes, opting to take a break from his heavy armor. A boyish smile rests on his face. The crow's feet around his eyes that age him decades older than a boy of nine and ten disappear. His Tully blue eyes sparkle with a hint of mischief, reminiscent of the boy she'd know in Winterfell. His lips tug upwards and Visenya can nearly hear the reckless laughter that usually follows it. But this isn't Winterfell, and they aren't children anymore, still green and untainted by loss.
"And miss the wedding?" Visenya replies, her voice devoid of the playfulness that used to weave itself into her words. Her eyes pierce through Robb, the softness replaced with an austere glare. Since the North rebelled and began fighting a war, Visenya slowly felt herself slipping away. The carefree girl she was in Winterfell being replaced with a colder demeanor, becoming more and more like her namesake Queen Visenya Targaryen I.
The smile on Robb's face quickly disappears once he registers the tone of her voice, a winter chill lacing each syllable. His eyes narrow slightly at Visenya. His hand that hangs on his side tightens in annoyance, an attempt to keep himself from doing or saying anything too rash.
"You don't agree…" Robb begins, but is swiftly cut off by Visenya.
"That's an understatement," she scoffs, rolling her eyes as she crosses her hands over her chest. Robb clenches his jaw as his lips are pulled into a tight line. "We should just cut our losses for now and march back to what's left of Winterfell," Visenya says, throwing a subtle jab at Robb for the state of their home. It's unfair, and keep down Visenya knows this. Neither of them could have foreseen Theon's betrayal, but that didn't stop the poison from coating her words.
"We can't afford that. With Walder Frey's men we can take Casterly Rock," Robb said, feeling his fuse shortening with each moment passing.
"What makes you think he'll give us the men?" Visenya asks, gaze firmly fixed on Robb with her lips downturned into a scowl.
"He accepted my proposal. My uncle will marry his daughter and we will have his men. He gave us his word." Robb said, allowing his annoyance to show through in his tone.
"Like when you gave your word you'd marry his daughter," Visenya bites back, her tone as cold and unwavering as stone. Robb visibly recalls, but quickly gains his bearings.
"If there's something else you want to say, you might as well get on with it! Tell me what you really think, Vis," Robb bites back, growing tired of Visenya's petulance. The usage of her nickname stings, pulling her back into a time before everything spiraled out of control. The times when she'd run around Winterfell without a worry, feeling safe and protected behind those tall walls.
She should've apologized and stopped the argument before it escalated. But pride got in the way as her temper continued to flare. All the feelings of anxiety and despair bubbling out at once as she lashed out a Robb once again.
"Fine. I think you're being naive to think Walder Frey would keep his word. He's a skeevy rat as it is, but you caused great offense when you turned around and married Tallisa instead. We're losing the war Robb! Half of our army is gone, the Kingslayer is gone, and our allies are dwindling. We should cut our losses for the moment and return to Winterfell. We can rest and slowly build up an army to march on Kings Landing or wherever you want to go at a later time," Visenya said, keeping her voice calm and collected.
"We need to attack…" Robb begins to say but is once again cut off.
"We need to be smart. Your father is dead, don't let Sansa and Arya follow because you're being impulsive," she reasons, however the mention of Lord Stark hit a nerve and Visenya regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth.
Robb tenses and straightens his posture. His lips are pulled into a tight, thin line, nearly disappearing from his face. His blue eyes glower at Visenya with a frosty expression. He opens his mouth, and the words are quiet and unlike the loud tone, he used before. Instead, these words cut deeper than any wound she'd received before.
"Leave, now. Stay at camp if you will or go to the wedding, I care not," Robb said, staring through Visenya instead of at her. She opens her mouth to mutter a weak apology but thinks better of it. Instead, Visenya does as he requested and leaves, making sure to give Robb a wide berth as she passes. Bitter regret lingers on her tongue, but she does nothing but continues looking forward, unable to find the words to convey her true worries and fears hidden behind her harsh words.
The chaos broke out all at once. One moment, Walder Frey was giving a speech, welcoming Robb as his honored guest, the next moment Talisa was on the ground, blood pouring from her stomach. Before Visenya could reach for her sword, soldiers with cross bolts that were perched on the balcony began rapidly firing. The bolts pelted the northern at the same time, the soldiers on the ground level killing anyone the bolts missed. It was a flurry of movement as they stabbed, beat, and choked anyone they got within range of. A few northerners attempt to fight, but most are so drunk that even if the slaughter hadn't taken them by surprise they never stood a chance. Two bolts stuck into Lady Catelyn, the woman falling to the ground immediately. Dozens of arrows pelted Robb, moving through the leathers like butter before he finally fell to the ground.
Screams ring in the room, the sound echoing in Visenya's head like a bad dream she can't escape. She finds her feet firmly planted on the ground, petrified in her current state. The rest of the room treats her like a ghost, moving through her to get a hold of Stark bannermen. Her hand rests on the hilt of her sword, her thumb tracing the dragon design on it. Visenya's eyes - wild and terrified - surveyed the slaughter, a silent scream stuck in her throat. Unsteady breathes puff out of her mouth like she forgot how to breathe properly. With each passing second, her mind slowly locks away inside her own mind, unwilling to face reality. It can't be real, a voice whispers in her ears. None of this was supposed to happen. Robb was supposed to win and they would go home.
Out of the corner of her eye, she notices Robb, still on the ground, but attempting to stand. His hands clutch onto the bolts still pierced into his skin. His mouth moved, but no words came out, or perhaps Visenya simply couldn't hear him over her own heartbeat. Blue meets purple as he locks his gaze onto hers.
"Visenya!" Robb weakly shouts. Her eyes stare through him as the corners of her mouth begin to tremble. Suddenly, she's rushing forward, moving to reach Robb. The action causes her to become visible to the room again. A Frey soldier meets her charge and attempts to stab her with a dagger. In a trance, she brings a hand up and slaps the dagger from his hand, taking out her own dagger and stabbing him in the abdomen; a clean kill. With the soldier dead, she continues running towards him, avoiding the trail of bodies - both alive and dead - that block the path. In a single fluid movement, she dives to her knees, grabbing onto Robb's shaking hands.
"Get Greywind and get out!" he exclaims, his voice barely above a whisper. When they were kids of only eight and Visenya read too many fairytales and thought too highly of Robb, she'd often compare his eyes to stormy clouds. So vivid and piercing, eight-year-old Visenya was convinced they could be a weapon. Those same eyes she thought the world of glaze over, his breathing erratic and faint as he slowly fades from consciousness
Salty tears soak her face, her porcelain skin that glowed in the snow is now red and blotchy. She grips onto Robb with an iron tight grip, shaking her head in defiance. The blood from his wounds soaks his clothes and covers Visenya.
"I'm not leaving you!" She vehemently protests, her voice much louder than Robb's strained rasp. The tears pouring from her eyes become more aggressive, washing away some of Robb's blood that stains Visenya's hands. "I told you this was a bad idea! Why didn't you listen to me, you idiot!" Visenya yells at him, her voice cracking every other syllable.
"Go," Robb said, attempting to weakly pull away. Visenya, no longer able to speak anymore, simply vigorously shakes her head in disagreement. Robb manages to release his hands from her grip, pathetically pushing her away. "Go," he says, his voice stronger than before. "Go and save my sisters."
She pathetically falls to the ground from the shove. Her eyes stare at Robb's still form, unblinking. Thoughts race through her head, too fast to process. The noise around her dims until all she can hear is a ringing in her head. With the grace of a newborn pup, she stands from the ground. She spins around, looking anyway to escape the carnage in the room. Another soldier rushes towards her, weapon at the ready. A piercing scream leaves her mouth as she grabs his blade with her bare hands, the sharpness cutting her hands, but she doesn't notice. With a strength she doesn't normally possess, she jerks the blade to the left, throwing the man off his balance and to the ground. In a haze of bloodlust and rage, she climbs on top of the man, viciously stabbing him until he no longer moves. Shortly after she climbs off the dead body, now wielding her dagger and the dead soldier's shortsword, another soldier rushes her. Visenya just steps to the side. She picks up a fork from the ground and throws it behind her. The prongs of the fork pierce into the man's eyes as he screams out in pain.
Purple eyes dart around the chaotic room, looking for any signs of an exit. The main door is locked, keeping anyone from entering or leaving the hall. The number of Stark soldiers were rapidly dimming with each breath Visenya took. For each Frey soldier she took down, they killed 4 northern soldiers. Another soldier, smarter than the others, attempted to shoot at her from a distance. The bolt pierced her right shoulder, momentarily bringing her out of her daze. Without a moment of hesitation, she grabs a dagger from a nearby dead soldier and flings it at the soldier with the crossbow. It sticks in his left thigh, the man crumpling immediately.
"Fuck!" she shouts out, the stress of the situation finally dawning on her. However, by divine intervention or otherwise, she notices something out of the corner of her eye. A figure rushing through an opening of sorts. Due to the mayhem in the room, no one else seems to notice. Visenya isn't sure if the opening will lead outside or further into the keep, but it's her only option. With the speed and ferocity of a direwolf, she sprints towards her only chance of safety. She no longer focuses on killing the soldiers in her way but instead just dodging them. Each second is precious if she's to survive this wedding, and it can't be wasted killing an enemy soldier.
Vengeance later, safety now.
Stepping through the opening she notices it leads to the ramparts of the keep. Visenya bull rushes her way through it, sword and dagger clutched in their respective hands. The cool air that hits her face brings hope. However the sounds of more screams filling her ears, reminding her that this nightmare is far from over. Fire dances in her eyes as the Frey men burn the tents in their camp. The loud cheers of the soldiers pierce through the screams echoing in the camp. Visenya, from her spot in the ramparts, watches the figures dancing around the fires, momentarily pausing to beat down the odd soldier who'd survived. Her reverie is broken when the distant sound of a woman's mangled scream from inside the hall reaches her.
Lady Catelyn.
This manages to pull Visenya from her mind, pushing her to act. Moving down the steps of the ramparts, she makes a mad dash to getaway. The only way out is through the burning camp. Bracing herself for the potential fights, the grip on her dagger tightens. The first soldier notices her and she flings the dagger. He manages to dodge away from it in time, but Visenya simply slashes at him with her sword when he closes in. On her way past him, she picks up her dagger not stopping at all. The surroundings pass in a blur, nearly away from the keep. Then she hears it. The chanting of men.
"The King in the North!" a crowd of men shout in a mocking tone. Visenya stops mid-stride, turning around to see. For a single, stupid moment, she has a sliver of hope. Perhaps Robb managed to escape and his men are rallying to him. The sight before her is something far worse. A group of Frey men were gathered around a horse that has a figure resting on it. However, its head has been replaced with a direwolf; Greywind's head to be specific.
Robb.
The jeering men parade his dead body around, laughing loudly as they do so. The tears that had momentarily dried on her face return full force; Visenya's legs fail her as she falls to the ground. She stares at the scene before her unblinking. Her mind screams at her to run, to get up and leave. But she feels paralyzed. She knew Robb was dead the moment his body fell to the ground, there was no chance he would make it out. But she wasn't prepared to see it; not like this. To watch his corpse, head cut off and replaced with Greywind's severed head, be paraded around the destroyed camp like a prized pony.
A bloodcurdling scream escapes her mouth as an unfamiliar warmth begins to fill her body. This draws the attention of a few nearby soldiers. Yet even as they approach, malicious grins on their faces and weapons ready to rip into her, she can't force herself to look away.
"Well if it isn't the Dragon Princess. Thought you could get away did ya?" one of them teases, most of his teeth rotted off. The ones that manage to cling to his gums are coal black. Visenya crawls backward attempting to make a getaway. She flings her dagger at him, but he easily knocks it away with his own dagger. The heat inside her steadily rises is temperature as a sense of dread sets in.
"You like the fire?" another man jeers. A bolt whizzes past him, piercing Visenya in the leg. She cries out in pain, clutching the wound as she continues to back away - much slower this time.
The fire continues to blaze inside of her, the temperature so scorching she can barely stand it.
"I bet ya she does. Call her Lightbringer, they do." a third replies. He rushes forward, grasping her injured leg in his dirty hands. She attempts to kick him, but with the adrenaline fading so does her strength. A sob escapes her mouth as the man pulls him towards her.
"Where's your light now, Princess." the first once mockingly asks. Another bolt whizzes towards them, landing in Visenya's chest. The light around her slowly fades away, a dull pain pulsing in her as the men around her begin to gut her with their blades.
The fire inside her became unbearable. She lets out another ear-piercing scream as the intense heat escapes. She's conscious long enough to watch as fire erupts from her, throwing everyone in the vicinity to the ground from the force of the blast as the fire charred their corpses.
The last thing she sees before falling into darkness is the fire illuminating her surroundings and Robb's dead body.
Bird cawing in the distance echoes in Visenya's mind, pulling her from her unconscious state. A heavy gust of wind blows through the wood causing nearby greenery to snack on Visenya's prone body. Water trickling in the distance mingles with the sound of the leaves being pushed by the wind. Visenya lifts her head from the ground and with hazy eyes, takes in her surroundings, nothing in the vicinity familiar. It was dark and cold and seemed like the complete opposite of the trees surrounding the Twins. These trees are spindly and reach towards the sky like a bony finger, unlike the thick lush trees that surround the Twins, giving life to a dull keep. These leaves are a dull green, appearing to have the life sucked out of them. Most of the ground is dampened mud, coating her body in the slick substance. Moss is speckled throughout the ground, breaking up the mud. The smell in the air is pungent, a blend of decaying vegetation and stagnant water on a warm day.
She slowly pulls her body up, cracks resonating as she does. Fragments of the past day begin to piece together in Visenya's mind. The argument with Robb, the wedding, and then...the slaughter. And just as soon as she stands up, Visenya's legs grow weak as she falls on her knees. On instinct, she throws her hands up attempting to lessen the fall. The mud squishes between the palms of her hands. One tear falls and then another and then another, and soon she's in full on hysterics. A wail escapes her lungs, the sight of Robb, dead on his horse burning itself into her brain. With her head hung a strangled cry escapes her lungs, sounding more like a dying cat than a human. The tears continue to pour down her face and she watches as they drip onto the floor.
'No, it can't - this can't be real. They can't be dead,' she thinks, hopelessness bubbling inside her that is quickly replaced with rage.
Pure unbridled rage.
Like a child throwing a tantrum, she pounds her fist into the ground, mud splashing on her face with each hit.
'It's not fair, it's not fair. It's not fair,' she repeats in her mind, timing each word with a punch.
With one last punch, Visenya pushes her body up. Her legs are shaky with each step she takes similar to a foil walking for the first time. One step and then two, three, and then four before she finally collapses with a shout. She unstraps her sheathe and throws it at a nearby tree. Her sword clangs against the branch but otherwise makes no other noise. The hilt of the blade glints in the dim lighting, practically mocking Visenya.
'I should've fought harder. I should've dragged Robb out kicking and screaming,' she thinks, angrily swiping at the tears on her face. 'That stupid idiot!'
With one last bout of anger, she swipes her fist out and hits the tree near here. The throbbing of her hand matches with her heartbeat, the pain numbing the turmoil in her mind.
"I'm sorry Robb, I'm sorry my last conversation with you was so cruel. And I'm sorry I failed you Lady Catelyn," she whispers, her words being carried away by a gust of wind. With a sigh, she picks at the fabric clinging to her legs. Inspecting one of the crossbow bolts that pierced her leg is surrounded by her dried blood, but the wound seems completely healed. Her brows furrow in confusion. That wound was deep and shouldn't have healed so quickly. With a million questions on her mind, curiosity takes over any further brooding.
She crawls over to a puddle of murky water, intending to clean off the blood. Visenya pauses as she stares at her reflection. The figure is the same person. Silver hair - tangled and matted with blood and mud - and pale skin that currently looks sullen. However, her eyes are unfamiliar. Her once bright purple eyes that always gleamed with mischief were dull and...amber? She reaches a hand out towards the puddle, touching where it was reflecting her eyes. Removing her hand from the water, she simply watches the water ripple for a moment, enraptured by the sight.
'I need to find a nearby town, maybe get some answers.' she thinks to herself.
On impulse, Visenya reaches both hands into the murky water, grabbing some of the mud that was on the bottom. Without a moment of hesitation, she begins coating her silver hair in the mud as a means of disguising the color. The Twins or not, silver hair would be a dead giveaway that she's a Targaryen. She unclasps her cloak, holding it in front of her. She contemplated leaving it behind, not wanting anything that could identify her as Visenya Targaryen, but she didn't have the heart. Not only was it a gift, but a gift from Sansa. And despite the hope pushed beneath her rage and grief, somehow she knew she was farther from Sansa than just a few territories. And she desperately needed something close to home, more now than ever. So instead, she simply flipped the cloak to the other side. Before her emotions can get the better of her, she swiftly stands to her feet and picks up her sword, set on finding civilization.
She was wandering through the forest for an unknown amount of time before she heard something other than birds. The distant sound of people talking. Visenya picks up her speed, eager to be around other people. She breaks through the forest and sees a road. She rushes towards it and begins following it. After just a few moments of a slow jog, she finds herself at the entrance of a small town. People mill around, doing their daily tasks, and working. As she enters the town, people stop and stare at her. She forces herself to be unconcerned, placing on the cold facade she often put on in Winterfell. Whenever visiting Lords would come to Winterfell, they often didn't make their strong opinions of her - more so her house - a secret. She notices there's a large building that most of the people are entering, and the people leaving it are obviously drunk.
Visenya enters the rowdy tavern, narrowly avoiding the drunk patrons that nearly run into her. She deftly avoids the barmaid that is carrying more drinks than she can handle. The stench of state piss and vomit assaults her senses and her nose scrunches up in distaste. Taverns are all the same no matter where you are. She swiftly approaches the bar, gaining the attention of the older man that appears to be the owner and most of the patrons at the bar.
"Excuse me," Visenya says. "Where am I?" she asks. The man sets down his glass, taking a moment to size her up.
"Blaviken." he gruffly says, eyeing her suspiciously. Visenya's eyes move to the barmaid who is currently fighting off some drunken patrons who were getting too handsy.
Blaviken. She'd never heard of this place before. This whole day has been bizarre so far, and Visenya doesn't know if she can keep up.
"Get your hands off!" the barmaid shouts, smacking one of them with a serving tray. She lets out a huff of annoyance as she walks away from them. The lecherous men obnoxiously laugh as she leaves, unbothered by her reaction.
"Looking to hire another server?" Visenya asks, returning her gaze to the man. He looks her over once more, contemplating the offer.
"You any good?" he asks.
"I'm a fast learner." she quickly replies and leans against the counter. "Tell you what, I'll work for free for room and board."
"Deal." the man instantly replies, holding his dirty hand out for her to shake. She takes his hand in hers. "What's your name girl?" he asks. Visenya's mind blanks for a moment, not sure if she should tell him her real name.
"Jane." she simply replies.