Chapter 2
5th day of the Ten Moon of 295 AC
Her muscles were stone beneath her friend's skilled hands. Doreah applied the oils in her tense muscles, but the smell of cloves and lilac failed to calm her mind. She had spent an hour in the pools but not even the exercise seemed to be working.
Visenya was sleeping badly for the last couple of weeks. But bad sleep wasn't something new to her. It was how those sleepless nights kept adding to others to the point that even Dany was starting to worry about it. Soon, Dany would start to have questions.
Her sister had not known what was to happen. Not yet. Visenya needed assurance before telling her. For the time being, the eldest Targaryen entrusted Lemore and Missandei with making Daenerys' day fully occupied while she met the Lord Hand.
Her gamble needed to pay off or she would be a pawn in the Game once more.
'I needed you to be perfect today', Viserys taunted her.
Visenya would need to be perfect, but no in the way her brother desired her to be so. Still, his voice haunted her mind more clear these days.
'You are no dragon'.
'How many times do I have to tell you, you do not command me.'
'You're nothing but a weakling unworthy of the great name she carries'.
Her mind could conjure a perfect mirror of her twin. Cruel, obsessive, leering… Mad. She pushed that thought off her head. There was no space for cracks, not today.
"Senya?" A soft voice called her.
Doreah had stopped her massage, a large tower in dry hands. Visenya's own hands were shaking. When did she begin her shaking fits? Her friend's slim but strong arms helped her out of the bathtub and covered her wet body with the soft tower.
Doreah's hands were cold and gentle as their entwined with hers – hot and callous.
The Lysene Valyrian left Visenya's mouth naturally, but her words were everything but, "Perhaps something more regal?"
Purple eyes shifted to the soft satin dress she commissioned for this exact purpose, trying to ignore Doreah's worried look.
And Viserys's voice.
"No. I can't look like royalty, for I am no longer it," she corrected herself. "Do you think the color is right? Perhaps black would be better?"
Another woman would give Visenya pretty words about her appearance. While those would likely not be false, Visenya couldn't stand it. Not in the privacy of her rooms where she had other priorities.
Doreah's reply spoke of the years between them. Spoke of what was truly troubling her and her need to keep her mind from it. "Black is either too imposing or too mournful, you cannot be either. They are expecting a lost princess yes, but not a grieving widow."
Visenya nodded as she sat at her dressing table, allowing Doreah to work on her hair.
"The grieving widow would be a good play, but it has been too long since Viserys died, and had I been in any other situation well pass the time to remarry."
Her friend knew her too well, the years and the secrets between them were too great for either to lie. Visenya wouldn't lie and say today was a good day, and Doreah would not push her to talk, but would simply guide her towards something productive.
"For all they know, you lost your brother and protector as well as your husband. They do not expect you to be in complete control, nor should you act like it."
"I know. First reaction is the most important. But Jon Arryn has too many decades in the game to be fooled so easily."
"You don't need to kneel in a show of mercy, just not look like you hold half the cards."
"I own most of the cards."
"I know," Doreah said, smiling slyly.
Unlike most Lysene, Doreah was a brunette with blue eyes that were darker than usual. Her long limbs and narrow figure, while lacking the common curves seen in Pentos, was no less attractive. Still, no one would guess Doreah's origins at first if not for her accent.
Her friend had once told her that her mother used to boast of having the blood of a Westerosi lady. Perhaps it was the truth, but she would point Myr as an origin for her coloring, perhaps some Dothraki.
"Not everyone can look like a pureblood Valyrian, and some men like exotic looking girls, little princess," Doreah had told a lifetime ago when Visenya found her Lysine identity confusing.
They had met when the Targaryen siblings found themselves for the first time in Lys. Doreah had been just another girl Viserys enjoyed bedding in front of her. It was a currency in their marriage, but Lys had made it worse. The land of all pleasures showed Viserys much newer ways to torment her, but being forced to share their marriage bed with Doreah wasn't one of the horrors her brother inflicted.
Still, Lys ruined them both.
"Calm your thoughts, Senya," her friend advised her as soft hands oiled her back. "Daenerys will be waiting for you. She'll notice."
To break their fast. The new tradition of having the first meal of the day together. They never miss it since her return. Dany would prefer having dinner together, but Visenya's work sometimes made her return home long after the sun was set. Visenya wouldn't miss it, however, not when it was something family-like she could give Dany.
She missed the days Daenerys would feely run around the Sealord's house with childish careless. Dany missed it too even if she did not speak of it. How could she not miss it? They had been their happiest in that red door house. I'll give you a home with a thousand red doors, sister.
"About the meeting. Missandei is going off with Dany so I need some woman's eyes in it. Will you act as my cupbearer?"
"No. Take Myria she is better trained for it, besides with a different look she would look properly highborn" A pureblooded Lysine, Myria was only three-and-ten but her Common Tongue was much better than Doreah's for she had been bred to entertain the Westerosi lordings that visited Lys.
"You read men better," Visenya countered.
"I read men's lusts better. From what you told me this Jon Arryn requires a more another type of reading. Not one between the sheets. The stag king, however -"
Visenya didn't even let her finish. "I don't want you in Robert Baratheon's bed." Visenya gave up trying to stop Doreah from using her past teachings on men but had made the formal slave swear to pick men who would not hurt her.
She owned Doreah a much better life than this. If she were a better friend she would stop Doreah from prostituting herself entirely.
Viserys had been a child with a maiden's body when Viserys wed her. But by that time she had lost much of her innocence to the cruel truths of the world. She had bled like a proper maid and bleed more when he came to her bed in Qohor, forcing her to hide her cried from Daenerys all the way to Volantis. The city that called herself the heir of the Valyrian Empire wanted nothing to do with them, and Viserys let his frustrations in the way most married men did.
It had been meeting Doreah's that changed some of her sorrows. The eldest girl took her under her wing and showed her more tricks and pleasures that most whores probably didn't know.
It calmed Viserys' rages. Most of the time. And when they didn't, Doreah was there for her.
Acknowledging Doreah's plot, Visenya spoke, "Tell Myria to dress like a princess. Get some of Dany's clothes."
"She's taller than both of you. I shall find something more appropriate in my closet."
"Not too much skin. We are going for Westerosi exiles, not Essosi breed. We need to look like proper high ladies who know nothing on men's working mind."
"Prudish Westerosi."
She almost smiled. "Get the old trunk. There are some Westerosi clothes in there."
.
.
Myria was a willowy girl with a childish face. In the rose brocade gown trimmed with gold satin, she looked beyond innocent. Her pale blue eyes and silver-gold hair showed her lysine roots, and dressed in that gown she would easily pass for Daenerys. If she stopped touching the satin for a heartbeat. And her eyes were not Targaryen purple, but her iris did have hints of lilac in them.
"You look good." She told the formal slave.
"I feel like a fraud."
We're all frauds, Myria.
"Think of it as playing one of your mummer's shows," Doreah spoke offering Visenya a hand mirror.
Visenya's hair hit the middle of her back, the shortest she remembered having it. Touching her white-gold locks she grieved for her long hair. Her face was no longer too gaunt but there was still a fragility to her features that good food didn't shake off. Her body lacked the womanly curves women her age should show and despite being cover, Visenya knew some of her bones were visible to the naked eye.
All in all, Visenya looked breakable and she hated it. In satin red gown was cut in the Braavosi style with a square neckline, with the detachable tube sleeves of Tyrosh cut at the elbow to show the chemise with ruffled sleeves famous in Myr. The skirt fell straighter cut that she typically wore for important meetings, not the full skirt typical in Braavos, or the layered of Tyrosh, but neither the flowing of Pentos. A mix of all, like her.
Visenya had a slight distaste for Pentosi fashion for it reminded her too much of Lys, only wearing those flowing garments in the privacy of her chambers.
She put down the mirror and took a deep breath. Opening her jewelry box, Visenya picked her favorite gold oval-shaped locket with a great amethyst in the middle and eight smaller ones around it. Opening it, the portrait of a silver-haired woman stared back at her. Visenya's heart tightened.
"Let's go down for breakfast."
.
.
Visenya acted like nothing was wrong, for the hour she spent with her little sister, speaking of her plans in vague ways while Dany shared her own busy schedule.
Her sister, when not studying in the manse, liked to travel through the city or a ride in the countryside. She had taken to sailing too after I left. Dany could do all of those today, as long as she was far away from the Prince's Manse as possible.
"Don't expect me for dinner," she announced before living. "I have a meeting today that I imagine will prolong well into the evening."
.
.
Visenya debated whether she should arrive first at the meeting. Knowing that the Westerosi envoys would be hosted in the Prince Palace, it would be hard to do so, but she still decided to arrive a bit earlier.
"Your Grace, you look wonderful this morning," The Prince of Pentos told her as he kissed her hands in a show of courtesy and even deference.
A man in his late twenties, the prince was tall with a scholarly appearance, and no distinct features. He had been elected five years prior and was so much into Illyrio's pockets that she didn't even need confirmation that he would be her ally. Still, they share a passion for the arts that gave them a lot to speak and bond about.
"The Westerosi had the same idea of you. They are already in the room."
She bit her lip. "Shall you guide me and my cupbearer there?"
The prince's shrewd eyes looked at Myria and a knowing smile curved his lips.
"Illyrio is not with you?" He asked as they walked inside the palace.
"He thought better not to be present. I shall be my own representative."
The Prince gave her a knowing smile, "As the neutral party, you know I cannot take a side in this negotiations. But I had hoped my presence would give you some comfort, unfortunately, the Westerosi did not wish to have me at the table. Their lost, for you, are most formidable when standing alone."
Visenya smiled in response. "Have your guest been troubling you?"
"Not really. They are men of little vices and keep to their apartments. I made it clear no guard of them should be placed inside the palace where your meeting took place."
"Your Highness, I shall not forget how you opened your home to us."
They ended the conversation as soon as they entered the main hallway.
Inside the chamber, three men waited for her. She froze at the white shadow and was glad when the prince began the introductions. Visenya focused her attention on the Lord Hand, easily distinguished by his old age and the blue tones of his clothing. Next to him was a tall man with black hair and a strong jaw, dressed in fine but plain clothes.
"Lady Targaryen," the King's Hand began but then stop when he noticed that she failed to courtesy.
She wouldn't follow the protocol that they would demand of her: that was to courtesy before her superiors. Visenya was the head of House Targaryen, she would act like it.
"Lord Arryn," she held out her unadorned hand in a graceful movement.
The man's intelligent pale eyes looked between her neutral expression and the hand. He took it and bowed over her hand, suggesting a neutral ground, some might even say an equal ground. Interesting. Either Lord Arryn thought she was unlearned in the ways of the court, or things were direr in Westeros than reported.
Varys must still be mad at me if he's keeping information for himself.
"May I introduce you, Lord Stannis of Dragonstone."
She didn't react at Jon Arryn's implications and she could see the man cataloging her reactions. This was the man that held the realm together.
"Lord Stannis," she offered her hand once again, knowing of how uncomfortable the man was famously around women.
The man shocked her when he took her hand and bowed. She blinked. A sign of deference. It shouldn't matter that much to her.
But in her foolish sentimentally it did.
"I thank you for coming all the way here," she offered with her courtly voice when she recovered from the action.
"It is our duty to look forward to peace."Lord Stannis' voice lacked any of the pleasantries and honeyed tones she was used to. And he was tall. So tall, with lean but strong physic. He was not unhandsome.
But it was his eyes that caught her by surprise. Dark eyes – Baratheon blue –as endless as the ocean. They weren't gentle eyes, but more importantly, they weren't cruel.
"Something that I hope is a common goal to all in this room." Her voice was cordial but lacked any warmth that one would expect of a lady of a great house.
Then, at last, she was forced to confront the white shadow. Something burned inside her as she was faced with Barristan Selmy's kind blue eyes. He was still the formidable figure she remembered, but he looked older than she remembered him. His hair has gone all white, and there were more marks of age on his face. Ser Barristan aged, it was something she had trouble piecing together.
I must look even older to him. No longer a little girl who ran after Rhaenys and Balerion, or begged to see the outsides of Maegor's Holdfast.
'Mama is bruised, Ser Barristan. Someone hurt her…We have to help my mama.'
"Ser Barristan," her tone came colder than she would like.
"Princess," he spoke in the low tone of a man who was staring at a ghost.
Silence followed.
'Ser Barristan, mama was hurt again. I heard her cry. I swear. We need to help her… I saw it, pa-a-papa hit her and she fell and he said such cruel things…Please Ser knight.'
"Perhaps we should all sit." Visenya nodded her agreement at the Lord Hand.
She gestured for the girl in pink to accompany them. "I hope you do not mind I brought a companion."
"Princess Daenerys?" Lord Arryn sounded doubtful as Myria did a perfect – and deep – curtsey.
"No," suddenly, Visenya didn't felt like playing the original game, "Myria is one of my maids. She acts as my scribe and cupbearer."
Pushing the past aside for it would do her no good, she steeled herself and walked to the table. They took positions so that Lord Arryn would be flanked by Lord Stannis and Ser Barristan while she sat in front of the hand, Myria to her right, staring at the knight with curiosity.
"My lady, I must start by saying your letter took us by surprised."
For seconds, she feared Robert Baratheon's Hand would start by offering condolences.
"I am weary of running, Lord Arryn. I know little more of life than jumping from one place to another. My sister knows nothing but it. I wish to return to my homeland, to show Daenerys the land she was born in… Is it too terrible of me to wish for it? Or have I not paid for our crimes enough?"
Ser Barristan looked stricken. She wondered what tales Varys spread of her life in exile. It was likely a nicer tale than the truth.
"No, my lady," Jon Arryn spoke in a gentler tone. A grandfatherly tone that she didn't trust. "But it takes great courage to do what you did."
"I no longer have a brother, a husband, binding me. I am widowed, rich, and well-protected… And yes, unlike Viserys, I am aware I am the queen of nothing, so I am willing to treat with the Crown for my possible return."
Lord Arryn seemed lost for words. Perhaps it was the serene yet assured way she spoke, Ashara always said men would not expect it from a small and young woman. Perhaps, they imagined a foolish girl or a broken young woman.
"What do you want?" Lord Stannis was the one who spoke, in a tone both curious and sharp.
"Dragonstone," she replied without effect. "One might even say it is my birthright," the man frowned and she bit a smile. "I'll settle for sharing it."
Visenya would forever cherish the face Lord Stannis made at her forward tone.
"Why not go for the highest prize?" Lord Arryn asked.
She scoffed. "I might not set a foot in Westeros in more than a decade, but I am well aware of what happens when women of my house try to go for the crown. I would end up like my brothers and Daenerys like my niece."
Lord Arryn closed his eyes as if his brows carried the height of the world.
"So you would agree to marry Lord Stannis," Lord Arryn asked.
Her eyes went to the tense man that would be her husband by the end of the year. "I am not forcing anyone to marry me, but I am willing to wed if Lord Stannis if he is also."
"The king commanded us to wed before we parted from Pentos." The King's brother said in a tense tone.
She froze at that. "So soon?" she let the words out without meaning to.
"I am sure it can wait a couple of weeks," Lord Arryn assured her. "I shall be needed in King's Landing, but Ser Barristan will act as a witness, together with two vassals of Lord Stannis. I've been informed by our host that there is no Sept in Pentos, and to appease the faith, a second wedding might be needed in King's Landing."
A public wedding in the Great Sept of Baelor. The beautiful Targaryen princess returned to marry the King's brother. She pretended to be undecided about it.
"If you find it necessary. But I will need three weeks to settle my affairs in Pentos."
Lord Arryn looked to the Master of Ships who nodded.
"I took the liberty of bringing my wife, Lady Lysa, and Lady Clarissa Velaryon offered to come and help you in the transition."
"I shall thank them for their wiliness to help," she said with a courtier's smile, but then turned more serious, "Now, our contract."
"Contract?"
She started at the Hand of the King, "I am not entering a marriage without assurances, my lord."
"Speak them," Lord Stannis grunted out.
She turned to her soon-to-be husband. "I want to be Stewart of Dragonstone, you may appoint me a second if you believe incapable of such task. But I do wish to do something with my time. I saw too many women being locked away as soon as they are wed. I won't spend my time imprisoned in my chambers."
Visenya saw Ser Barristan flinch from the corner of her eyes. It took a lot of control not to glare at him.
"What else?" Lord Stannis asked, unpleased.
"Daenerys will be given a place in my household. I shall bring ladies from Essos with me, too. I will pay any expenses of said household. And she won't be married until the age of seven-and-ten. To a man I must approve."
"Lady Daenerys marriage falls under the head of her house and possibly the King," Lord Arryn spoke in a careful tone.
Bring up that bastard Joffrey and I will leave this table.
"I am the head of her house, for she is a Targaryen, not a Baratheon. Besides, I will have her marry a good and gentleman. A man who will care for her and perhaps even love her. I would rather have her marry a poor and gentle knight than a mad king with all the gold in the world."
Her father's memory wasn't just in her mind. Jon Arryn, for the first time, gazed at her with pity. And Ser Barristan seemed to want to say something, but before he did, Visenya continued her point.
"I want it written in my marriage contract, or there won't be any marriage."
"A man of both yours and Lord Stannis approval."
A small win, better than any other woman would receive. The political situation was truly dire in Westeros. Still, how easy it would be for her husband to override her in any possible decision. She pressed her lips together.
"You have my word, I won't force your sister in any marriage." Lord Stannis said with a seriousness most men lacked. "When the time comes, you'll have the last word."
She nodded her agreement.
"One last thing. Two, truly. I am willing to set my dowry to a 300 000 Golden Dragons," she enjoyed the silence in the chamber. The figure was picked on propose, for it was almost a third of the yearly income the Iron Throne had. It was a show of power and something to hook those who desperately needed money.
"What do you wish for such a dowry?" Lord Jon proved his wit with that question and the way he posed it to her.
He knew how much that money was needed, but he believed she didn't.
Lord Arryn, I am much richer than you can imagine. She was Illyrio's prodigy and heiress, and her mother left them half a million golden dragons.
"I want it written down that I am still allowed to keep my trade business as part of my dower."
"No." Stannis rebutted right away.
"Thank we got no deal," she said with finality.
Silence set in the room as a stubborn Targaryen stared at a stubborn Baratheon.
"Perhaps we can come to an agreement," Jon Arryn tried to negotiate.
She was enjoying seeing the Lord Hand sweat a bit.
Westerosi nobles cared little for counting coins, but Visenya had learned that money can wins wars as fast as steel. It is something well known in Essos. It was time Westeros learned it as well.
"I am willing to pay the Iron Throne 10 000 Golden Dragons per year in taxes. If you allow me the independence to work."
She could see Lord Jon Arryn fighting very hard to keep his face from giving away his shock. No wonder the crown's finances are in such a terrible ordeal if the men ruling them know little of it.
"A wife's place is not traveling."
Breathe. "I can do my work from Dragonstone, Lord Stannis."
"Are you willing to transfer part of your money to the Dragonstone coffers?" the King's Hand offered.
"Yes. The same amount I shall pay the Iron Throne, no more. And I'll pay for Daenerys dowry and all of my ladies if needed."
She didn't offer to pay for any of her future daughters and run the risk of hitting Stannis's pride. She could see in his tense muscles and gritting teeth that he was far from pleased.
Knowing there was little more they could speak off, she turned to Myria who gave her the parchment with the contract.
"This is what we spoke off, it shall need to be added and edited. Read it, my lords and you can give me an offer tomorrow."
It was so easy to get what you wanted when your adversaries did not take you seriously.
.
.
"Will I truly go with you to Westeros?" Myria asked her in her native Lysine Valyrian as they strode through the Prince of Pentos' palace.
"If you desire it so," she said linking her arms with the girl. "I won't force you to go. If you desire to stay, there is work for you here." Seeing the girl's worried expression, she added quickly. "Scribe work, not any other type."
"Will I have to wed?"
"If you find a man worthy of you that wishes to wed you, I will pay for all expenses. If you wish for me to find you, I shall."
"But, I'm nothing more than a bed slave."
Visenya felt a spike of anger go through her. "You are no slave! You are Myria, my companion and scribe. One day, you may still be my scribe or something better. You may be a wife, or not. But you shall always have a place at my table."
The girl nodded with wet eyes.
"I will go with you, your grace."
"You must not call me that, Myria. No longer. In private I shall be Visenya. In public, my lady."
They kept walking, as she distracted Myria with tales of Westeros and mostly Dragonstone. The two silver-haired girls were sitting on a bench when a shadow covered their sunlight. She looked up to see Lord Stannis and a man clad in simple brown leathers and wool.
"This is Ser Davos Seaworth."
"Well meet Sir. This is my companion, Myria."
"My ladies," he said with a Crownslander accent.
"We have come to an agreement," The Lord of Dragonstone said with a tense tone. "I shall agree to your proposal, but Ser Davos will be your second, and will ensure your behavior is legal and proper."
She couldn't help but smile at Ser Davos, knowing his reputation well. "It will be a pleasure to work with you, ser."
Author Note: This story's moldboard is at my Pinterest account margot1996david.
Sparkly She-Demon: I hope you still like it.
Sarada: Thank you.
Osterreicher97: Yes, with the amount of time Targaryen's spent in Essos and with how the continent works, you would except they would buy some properties there. There won't be a Blackfyre plot (anymore, Aegon died young, but Varys siding with her *is* important).
Visenya is well aware how the country wouldn't side with her – not without a cost, and you are right that Stannis is their best beat to be back in power. There are many things that are against Visenya getting the Throne by herself. But it doesn't mean she doesn't have a few tricks (and allies) up her sleeve. She won't let the Targaryen name died with her. Besides, she knows Robert reign is ending (if she needs to push for it, she will, but Cersei is her biggest ally in that), so she'll just bid her time on Dragonstone, with her ships, imports and very much loyal to her bannermen. Perhaps even getting an heir on the way (Stannis last push to realize what Cersei has been doing.) before the war to follow. Renly and Robb may be something she won't expect, but she'll work around it.
I am so happy when I see people agreeing with me about Renly the dumbass. I think this time Renly will find the Reach lords are not as united as they were in canon. Stannis won't need a shadow-baby to end his brother this time, just to make a deal with his wife.
Lord Cheshire: new POV coming your way. Is the "who killed Viserys" a question at this point? … Well, Westeros believes Robert or Tywin did it, and Robert being Robert won't openly deny it, only celebrate the death of more dragonspawn, so he might as well say he did it.
