Prologue

Disclaimer: I do not own A Song of Ice and Fire, Game of Thrones, House of the Dragon, nor any of George RR Martin's works

Rated M for strong language, violence, incest, age-gap relationships, some sexual content, and some occasional supernatural horror elements

Note: Laying down some foundation before we dive into the story.

Enjoy

Viserra could not recall a time when she saw her mother smile. Her earliest memory was of the wedding of her elder siblings, Baelon and Alyssa. There were so many smiles. So much laughter filled the throne room, she remembered. The clangs of wine chalices as people toasted to the new union, the steam coming off the roast pigs and chickens, the dancing shadows on the walls from the numerous candles - it was still clear in her mind. Viserra had fed on the merriment. She craved it. Hands of strangers picked her up and swung her around, keeping her from her septa. "Again, again!" she cried, clapping her hands.

The memory was bittersweet. For as wonderful as the night had begun, it ended with a dark frown from the Queen. As a child, the Good Queen Alysanne was like The Mother in Viserra's eyes. Elegant, beautiful, powerful - a woman of dignity, a woman who only had love for elder children. "Go to bed."

It wasn't the words themselves that cemented the memory in her mind. It was the unspoken words in between the words. The tone of her voice. The wrinkles of her brow. "Why?" she had asked. Why now? She's having so much fun. Everyone's having fun. Why must she go to bed? Why must her fun end? Why only her? Her septa was summoned and her mother turned away as Viserra begged to stay. She could still feel her septa's spittle on her cheek, ordering her to behave. Viserra did not understand what she had done wrong. Why was she being punished?

She asked herself that question many times over the years. When her brother Valerion died, barely a year old, Viserra attempted to cheer her mother up by reminding her she still had living children. Grandchildren, too! After all, Daella had just gotten married. More grandchildren would come. But her efforts were repaid with fury. Viserra could not understand why her mother was so angry. What had she done? What did she say? No one would explain it to her. Not her father who believed a gift she did not ask for would quell her questions. Not her siblings who were too busy, too self-absorbed, and too far away. Viserra had concluded that Alysanne's affection had run out by the time Saera was born. Daella took up all of their mother's time when she wasn't attending to her duties as Queen. Saera, Viserra, Gaemon, Valerion...Alysanne had nothing to give except halfhearted words and endless tears. Viserra grew to resent her dead brothers. Why should they care, though? They're dead.

By the time Viserra had turned thirteen, she had ceased to vie for her mother's attention. She got that elsewhere. She didn't need her mother. Lady Beatrice became her constant companion. She reassured Viserra. She loved Viserra. She would never abandon Viserra. Young boys and squires doted on her. She was unbelievably beautiful. Prettier than her sisters, prettier than her mother... "Tell me more," she would always say.

It was a game. They all tripped over themselves to worship at her feet. And why shouldn't they? But part of her didn't trust their words. She didn't believe their words. One day, she brought the young men to the Dragonpit and promised her maidenhead to any boy brave enough to stick his head into a dragon's mouth. Everyone was being utterly dramatic. Viserra knew no one would play her game. They weren't that stupid. The dragonkeepers lectured her, the Small Council lectured her, her parents and her brothers lectured her. At least, Alyssa, weak from childbirth, found her game funny. "I know it was only a jest," she said. "Take care that you are not seen like Saera in Mother and Father's eyes."

Viserra took great care to heed her sister's words. Hardly a month after Alyssa died, Saera's sins were laid bare. Seeing Saera being dragged to her chambers like a criminal by the Kingsguard was rather a delightful sight. No one liked Saera. She terrorized Daella, she mocked Alyssa, and she tormented Viserra. There was no love nor compassion in her vain heart. Viserra was smarter than Saera, though. For one, she would never stoop so low as to give her maidenhead to some knight...much less three of them. And, she knew the value of honoring her betrothal. Queen Alysanne had secured worthwhile matches for her youngest daughters after Daella chose to marry Lord Rodrik Arryn. Saera was promised to Tymond Lannister, heir of Casterly Rock, and Viserra was promised to Boremund Baratheon, Lord of Storm's End.

House Baratheon was a prestigious match. A better match than Daella's, Viserra knew. Her children would inherit Storm's End. Her children would be consorts for her nieces and nephews. Viserra always paid close attention when Queen Alysanne would plot and plan her matches. Aemon will be King one day, but he only has a daughter. Marrying Rhaenys to Viserys was a logical choice. A Baratheon would rise in status through Jocelyn, and Viserra would strengthen that bond in her marriage to Boremund. The Stormlands was only one kingdom, not seven, but it was better than what Daella had. It was certainly better than what awaited Saera.

"What did you just say?"

It was late one evening after the King had personally killed Braxton Beesbury, one of Saera's lovers. Word has spread throughout the Red Keep that House Lannister decided to break the betrothal agreement. The crown had accepted it graciously, of course. Saera was damaged goods. She was sullied. But she was still a Princess. Queen Alysanne had announced that Saera would marry Lord Theomore Manderly. Saera accepted it and Viserra tried her best not to laugh. But that laugh was taken as an invitation. Alys Turnberry and Perianne Moore had been sent away. She had no one to talk to so she decided to visit Viserra. Droning on and on about being the future Lady of White Harbor. She would be rich, she would be loved, and she would be far away from Mother. It was in her boasting that Viserra's tongue had slipped. Saera painted a picture of her future: living in luxury, surrounded by strong sons and fair daughters to rule White Harbor and one day rule the Seven Kingdoms. "Just like Daella," Viserra muttered with a snort.

"What did you just say?"

Viserra's gut toiled. She attempted to play it off. "I didn't say anything."

"Yes, you did."

"It was nothing."

Saera grabbed a fistful of Viserra's hair and yanked her head back. It had become second nature over the years, her fingers slipping easily into Viserra's curls at the crown of her head, her nails scraping against Viserra's scalp, and pulling with a quick jerk of her arm. Saera forced Viserra to meet her gaze, ignoring Viserra's protests. "What did you mean? What about Daella? Tell me or I'll rip all of your hair out!"

The truth spilled out of Viserra unfiltered. She spoke it plain and true. Lord Manderly was old, fat, and a widower with sons and daughters aplenty. A great-grandfather with an unbroken line of male succession. Any children Saera would have would inherit nothing. Just like Daella. White Harbor was not her salvation, it was her punishment. And Saera had thanked their mother for the match. Viserra received a slap in response. But it was worth the look of revelation on Saera's face. "I will be Lady of Storm's End. My children will rule the Stormlands," she spat. "You will only ever be known as a whore and some fifth wife to some Northern lord."

She hoped her words hurt. She hoped they cut deep. She hoped the wounds would never heal. Those were the last words she ever spoke to Saera. Her sister was caught that night sneaking into the Dragonpit and was immediately shipped off to Oldtown to join the Silent Sisters. If her betrothal to Lord Manderly was broken, Viserra did not know and she did not care to ask. The Red Keep was better with Saera's absence. Father was content to forget Saera ever existed and Viserra vowed to do the same. A year later, word arrived from Oldtown of Saera's escape. Who cares? Viserra thought.

Another year passed, and Viserra became Lady of Storm's End on her sixteenth nameday. Boremund was more than twice her age, but he was handsome. Fierce and black-bearded. His smile was gentle and his eyes held promise of fidelity. That was enough for Viserra, but not for her admirers. The night before her departure for Storm's End, a local knight offered to save her from her fate and take her far away. "Where would you take me?" she teased.

"Anywhere you want to go, Princess."

"Then you can escort me to Storm's End," she said. "For my future awaits me there."

The fool had the gall to request the King's blessing for marriage. Viserra did not attend the audience but she did endure more lectures. The King even went as far as to request the Grand Maester "exam" her. Viserra endured that as well. She counted the hours, the minutes, even the seconds until she finally arrived at Storm's End. An imposing ancient castle that withstands even the greatest of storms. Lord Boremund and his people accepted her with open arms. She did not expect love to blossom, yet it did. Slowly. Naturally. And well after the birth of their children. Regardless, Viserra respected her husband and in turn, she was respected by him and his people. She was an excellent Lady. She was born for it. She knew her duties and aided her husband in all affairs. She was his confidant. She sat at his table of advisors. She tended to the needs of vassals and smallfolk alike. And as expected of her, she did her duty and bore his children.

Borros was born exactly a year after their wedding. Big-headed and red-faced, he was all Baratheon in looks and manner. It was the first time Viserra had known despair. Her heart raced with dread as the midwife carried the screaming babe around the babe. What if she would be a terrible mother? What if she could not give him everything he needs? What if, what if, what if...her questions died the moment her son was placed on her chest. And when his skin touched hers, she felt...love. A love as old and primal as the world itself. Borros clung to her breast, thriving on the nourishment of her milk. He was strong and he was perfect. He was everything Boremund wanted, and Viserra reveled in his delight.

Marissa came four years later, head full of raven-black hair and the same deep purple eyes as Viserra. She is Queen-material, Viserra decided. The second the maester placed Marissa in her arms, Viserra began formulating a plan. Aemon had perished on Tarth, Rhaenys had been passed over, and Baelon was now Prince of Dragonstone. His eldest son, Viserys, was fifteen. And now I have a daughter. Jocelyn visited as was her duty as Boremund's sister. She was polite and made an effort to bond with Viserra, noting Marissa's beauty and Borros' warrior spirit. "Will you not go to Dragonstone? Your mother would be delighted to meet her new grandson."

"She has a dragon," was all Viserra said and Jocelyn did not push. Viserra liked that about her aunt. Jocelyn neither pried nor nagged, opting for peace rather than conflict. A trait inherited from Queen Alyssa.

King Jaehaerys also had a dragon. And when Vermithor plopped down in the main courtyard of Storm's End one day, Viserra nearly burst out in tears. She had no expectations when it came to her sire, yet there he was. When he greeted Viserra, she swore it was the first time he actually looked at her. Were his eyes always such a dazzling violet? she wondered. Viserra placed her newborn son into her father's arms and he smiled. Smiled! The King stayed for a week. It was one of the happiest times of Viserra's life.

With Marissa, Viserra opted to present her at court. And though Baelon was heir to the Iron Throne, he resided in the Red Keep, serving as Hand of the King. Therefore, his young sons resided in the castle with him rather than Dragonstone. Viserys had just claimed old Balerion and was every bit his father's son. Viserra had a plan. She would secure her daughter's future. Marissa would one day be Queen and Baelon was open to the idea. He had wished Viserys would marry for love, but he knew royal marriages were built on alliances not love. Many agreed...save for one. The aging Good Queen greeted Viserra not with smiles or praises, but with questions and accusations. Why did she not inform the Queen of Borros? Why did she not invite her to Storm's End? Why did she not bring her children to Dragonstone? Why did she not write? Why is she so distant? Why is she so wilful? Why is she so cold? Why was she punishing her own mother?

"You are the Queen. Why would you need an invitation?" Viserra threw back. "It is you who are distant. It is you who are wilful and cold. You have no time for me, why should I have time for you?"

If her words hurt, if her words cut deep, the queen did not show it. "I know of your plans," Queen Alysanne said calmly. "You are not as sly as you think are, Viserra. Baelon is now your father's heir and Viserys is his. You have a daughter. A beautiful one at that. But I see the way you prance and preen around your nephew. I've heard the things you whisper into your brother and father's ears. You aim to make your daughter a Queen."

Viserra held her head high. "Not a Queen. The Queen. And she will be a better one than you."

Despite their renewed bond, Viserra could not sway her father in her favor. Not against the Queen. It was decided that Prince Viserys would marry the eleven-year-old Aemma Arryn by the end of the year. Viserra hid her anger. She took the loss in stride. If anything, she knew it was the Queen's desperation plain and simple. Viserra returned to Storm's End and held her children tight. The love Viserra had for her children was the most natural feeling within her. How could her mother not feel the same?

The gods were cruel, it was well known. With her children dwindling in number, Queen Alysanne tried many times to mend her broken bridges. Viserra did not answer the Queen's summons and she did not bother to write back. She would not make peace like Maegelle nor would she be consoled like Gael. Karma, whispered the dark parts of Viserra's heart. Word had spread of little Aemma's many difficult pregnancies save for one daughter, Rhaenyra. Not a son in sight. Daemon had claimed Caraxes and was immediately married off to House Royce. "The Queen has lost her mind in her old age," Viserra surmised. Why else would she send a dragonrider to a mere vassal House?

A century after Aegon's Conquest, the Queen died. Viserra felt nothing. She stood with her husband rather than her brothers, her arms around her children. Baelon was as bereft as their father and Vaegon was indifferent, his maester chains hanging heavy on his shoulders. Aemma stood beside Viserys, belly swollen once more. She was sturdier than Daella, but no less frail. Daemon had defied his wife and flew to Dragonstone with his young daughter, Alyssa. She was a strange little thing. Same age as Rhaenyra. Her hair was a deep brown save for strips of silver framing her face. Her big, round eyes were different colors - one brown, one purple. Alyssa come again...though far prettier.

The Stranger was not done with House Targaryen. A year after Alysanne's death, Baelon followed. And the Seven Kingdoms nearly came undone.

King Jaehaerys called a Great Council at Harrenhal. This is it. This was the chance Viserra was waiting for. Plans formulated in her mind. Boremund stood firm with Princess Rhaenys. She had Baratheon blood. By rights, she was the rightful heir. Viserra learned long ago not to argue with a Baratheon. One would have better luck with a wall. She would do her duty. She would support her husband in backing Rhaenys. "Marissa could marry Laenor or Borros marry Laena," he suggested.

Viserra was not against those prospects, but she did not want to commit to anything until the matter of succession was secured. As loud as House Baratheon and House Velaryon declared their support for Rhaenys, Daemon was louder. He was a Targaryen through and through, but he was no politician. Viserra managed to speak to the young warrior in private. "What promises have you made? What will you give to those who pledge their support to Viserys?"

"I promise nothing," Daemon said. "My father was named heir before his death. By law, my brother is the rightful heir."

"Yet, he only has a daughter."

His smile turned smug. "And his wife is with child again. Aemma is older now, stronger...she will give my brother a son."

"And where is yours, dear nephew?"

Daemon bristled like a dragon woken from a nap. "My grandmother was good at many things, but matchmaking was not one of them."

"On that, we agree."

Daemon was smart. Almost as smart as Viserra. The difference was his expectations solely relied on the might of the blood of the dragon. We are Valyrian, we are royalty, we are divine...that should be enough. Viserra knew it was not. Aegon was not given his crown, it was taken with fire and blood. So it must be defended, it must be supported by promises and alliances. And it helps that Viserys is a man. Sure, Rhaenys did have a son, a dragonriding son, but he was a Velaryon. Viserys was male. His wife was pregnant and it could very well be a son in her belly.

Fourteen claims were heard, but only two were taken seriously. When the final decision was made, the lords gathered in the great, damp hall. Viserra took her place behind Rhaenys and Laenor. She eyed the supporters behind Viserys. House Arryn and the rest of the Vale. Daemon had Alyssa on his hip, opposite his sword. He held her possessively as if he were the one who birthed her. The septa attempted several times to take her from Daemon, but he refused and eventually ordered her away. The maesters arrived with the final decision, carrying a small chest as a great treasure lay inside. Viserra noticed her daughter covering her ears. "Marissa, what's wrong?"

"It's so loud," she said.

Viserra frowned. She should've known. She should've recognized this moment as the first sign, but how could she? Marissa was a special soul. As intriguing as she was beautiful. She had a habit of creating elaborate stories for her numerous imaginary friends. Marissa would giggle late at night and could sense when a storm was nigh. But she was always happy, always delightful. Marissa squeezed her ears and her innocent eyes glanced around the burnt, quiet hall. "They're so loud."

The maesters had approached the King. There was no time to tend to Marissa, no time to ponder her meaning. Viserra summoned Septa Wanda and handed her daughter off. This moment could not be missed. She had to hear the words. She had to know who would inherit the Iron Throne. The maesters set the chest down before Jaehaerys, bowing their heads before opening it for him. The old king leaned down, grabbing the scroll at the top that held the final decision. He cleared his throat as he unrolled the stiff paper. "It is declared by all lords paramount and lords vassal of the Seven Kingdoms...that Prince Viserys Targaryen, eldest son of Prince Baelon Targaryen and Princess Alyssa Targaryen, be made Prince of Dragonstone and heir to the Iron Throne."

Daemon was the first to cheer. He shifted Alyssa in his arms so that he could clap loudly and proudly for his brother. The entire audience joined him, rejoicing in the decision. An heir had been chosen. Viserra was not surprised. Deep down, she knew what the great lords of Westeros would choose. She glanced at her husband, his face a mix of rage and disbelief, then shifted his gaze to Rhaenys. The Velaryons were distraught. The Sea Snake especially. All ignoring Rhaenys herself. She simply exchanged a look with Viserys who was attempting to seem guilty. Yet in the haze of cheers and cries, Viserra should've turned back to her daughter. If she had just turned around, if she had just remembered her daughter's distress...perhaps, her worst fears would never have come true.

End of Prologue