Sorry, I'm just having a blast writing Syrah/Visenya.
(Dragonstone: 2/6/289 AC) Syrah III
"How long must I endure this charade?" Syrah mused; her tiny hands clenched into fists beneath the desk during one of their strategic lessons. Lessons she felt far too advanced for the children around her, but she cared not. Evidently, this foolishness had served the Fire Nation well enough to allow them to conquer their world, if their histories were to be believed. "I have fought battles, commanded armies, and ruled a kingdom. And now, I must pretend to be an ignorant child? Patience, Visenya. Patience. This is but a temporary setback."
At just five years old, Syrah—Visenya reborn—knew she was already a formidable presence, especially when compared to all the mouth-breathing simpletons that surrounded her. "Children," she hissed internally. The room always smelled of cheese, and she despised it. Her mind, sharpened by lifetimes of warfare and rule, chafed against the limitations of her current form. Each day at the Academy of Dragonstone was a reminder of her predicament. She learned quickly, her mind absorbing information like a sponge, but the fortitude required to navigate her daily life was a new and bitter lesson.
The Academy, she spat, not at its concept but at the shackles they placed upon her movements. For a structure made of wood, it was a grand thing, built upon the place where the Targaryen dragons, her family's dragons, would once land, to the north of the island. The Academy was a place of learning for the children of what remained of the Fire Nation and those whom the Fire Lord could press into her service. The halls echoed with the footsteps of eager students and the stern voices of their instructors—Chi-Ha, Chang, Lee, among others. The walls were adorned with tapestries depicting great battles, their strange version of dragons, and assorted legends of the Fire Nation, a constant reminder of the legacy these children were expected to uphold. But above all, were the portraits of the Fire Lord that haunted every hall and room within the very flammable building.
Visenya Targaryen was a woman of action, and sitting in one place for too long made her uncomfortable. Every day she remained trapped at the Academy meant the Fire Lord discovered another hidden vault or stash of treasure. Her time was running out, she knew, but the Firebitch was far too thorough and observant to allow her free reign. Many times, had she tried sneaking away into the Targaryen tombs beneath the castle to visit the grave of her son, but always had she found the woman's guards. Syrah, despite her small stature, not only moved with a grace and confidence that belied her age but knew the castle like she knew the contours of Dark Sister. However, its newest resident had learned quickly that it held many secrets, and so too did she learn how to properly guard them.
"That accursed woman," she clenched her fists once more, hearing the cartilage in them crack like bone. Even gaining access to the library at Dragonstone had been a near-insurmountable task for her. Though a part of her had regretted it, learning about the fate of her beautiful son. Of the treachery that had befallen him. She had raged as any mother would at learning about the death of their child, but she had had no enemies with which to direct her wrath. And that had made her even more furious. Coupled with the knowledge that not only had her blade been lost to time, but the death of Vhagar over the God's Eye had been enough to make her feel as if she could burn down the world.
"Rhaenys' line was weak, to let the lords run over them as they did. As I suspected," she had told herself when she had learned of the so-called 'Dance of Dragons.' "What a stupid name. The only Targaryens worth a damn in the whole affair were Aemond and Daemon."
She could hear her instructor continue to drone on about Fire Nation history. Something she had studied the moment she could hold the tomes that held such knowledge. Because of her well-read nature, her instructors rarely called her out to explain what had just been spoken. She excelled in her studies, mastering lessons in history, politics, and the arts of war with an ease that sometimes drew puzzled glances from her teachers but never questions. So often had they commented on her uncanny ability to grasp complex concepts and her natural talent for strategy and combat that it had grown wearisome. The only promise the Academy yet held for her was the promise of lessons in Firebending. Even saying it had made her mouth water. She had seen the abilities of the instructors and learned about the movements required simply by watching them, but as of yet, she could not divine how to draw forth the fire from within. It was infuriating. Especially when she had seen firsthand the demonstration made by the Fire Lord to those within the Academy. The harnessing of lightning and its use as a weapon.
"Lightning. To wield such power…" The thought of it made her pulse quicken. "In my past life, we had no such thing. How is it done? How can I bend fire to my will, as my ancestors once commanded dragons?"
Nonetheless, her days at the Academy wore on, as did her nightly attempts to probe the security of Dragonstone. Each attempt proving more fruitless than the last.
"That fucking bitch. She must have a chink in her armor, somewhere," she snarled internally at her repeated failures, watching as her morning at the Academy began anew. Physical training—martial arts, weapons practice, and endurance drills, all worthy of her time, yet an annoying distraction just the same. Syrah participated alongside the other children, her small body pushing through the exercises with a determination that left her peers in awe. She held back just enough to appear prodigious but not suspiciously so, her knowledge of history notwithstanding. The instructors were competent, but none could match the knowledge she had accrued over her previous lifetime. The many battles, the many times she had heard grown men cry out in pain or shout in fear.
After several hours of physical training, her brow laden with sweat, her body screaming in pain, did the instructor by the name of Chi-Ha order their cessation of activity. She had directed them to form in equal rows of eight columns and then sit, a command that had been most welcomed by the bone-weary children.
"You have all done well to endure this training as you have," the scarred woman said, her tone resolute. "But we are now rapidly approaching the time for learning firebending. A time, I am sure many of you have been looking forward to," the quick glance the instructor had cast in her direction would have been missed if Syrah had been just another five-year-old girl, but she was not.
"Finally!" she smirked internally.
"Firebending is just as much about breathing as it is about physicality," the woman continued, ignoring the groans of protest from the exhausted gaggle of children facing her. "Now, we will begin with the basics."
"Breathing?!" Visenya's mind raced at the thought that that had been the obstacle obstructing her learning to harness fire.
Still, firebending—the prospect of wielding flames again sent a thrill through her, even as she chided her own idiocy at being blindsided by something as simple as measured breathing. The instructors had shown its potential, and she craved it the moment the flames had left their hands. She recalled the Fire Lord's demonstration, the raw energy, the deadly precision. Lightning, used as a weapon. She had thought it madness but seeing it had ignited a fierce desire within her. To harness such power, to bend it to her will—yes, this was something worth enduring the Academy's monotony for.
As the instructor continued, Syrah's attention sharpened. The children around her fidgeted, their exhaustion evident, but she remained focused. Breathing, the instructor emphasized. The rhythm, the control. It reminded her of the breathing techniques she had mastered for swordplay and dragon riding. The principles were not dissimilar—focus, discipline, and a deep connection to one's inner strength.
Chi-Ha's voice cut through her thoughts. "Stand up, all of you. That's enough rest. We will begin with breathing exercises."
Syrah rose smoothly, her small frame poised and ready. She followed the instructor's movements, inhaling deeply, exhaling slowly. She could feel the warmth within her chest, a flicker of something powerful. She concentrated, drawing on her memories, her past life's experiences, and the faintest of connections she still held with Vhagar. The world faded away, leaving only the rhythm of her breath and the potential of the fire within.
As the lesson progressed, the flicker grew stronger, more insistent. Syrah's frustration melted into determination. She could do this. She would do this. The Fire Lord's power was not beyond her reach. She would unlock it, master it, and then—
"Focus, Syrah," Chi-Ha's voice jolted her back. "Feel the breath. Let it guide you."
She obeyed, letting her mind clear. The heat in her chest swelled, and for a moment, she felt it—a spark, a promise of the fire that lay dormant. It was enough. Syrah's lips curled into a small, fierce smile. The Academy had finally offered something of value. And she would take it, mold it, and use it to reclaim her destiny.
"Patience, Visenya," she reminded herself once more. "This is but the first step."
As she and the other children moved into the basic firebending stances, Syrah observed the others closely. Their movements were clumsy and hesitant, lacking the precision and confidence that came naturally to her. "Fools," she thought, watching as a boy to her right struggled to maintain his balance. "They are as green as summer grass."
Chi-Ha began the lesson, demonstrating the basic breathing techniques and controlled movements essential for firebending. "Focus on your breath," the instructor commanded, her voice firm but steady. "Feel the fire within you, let it grow with each breath."
Syrah mirrored the movements with an ease that surprised even herself. She felt the warmth building within her, a slow burn that spread from her core to her extremities. "There it is," she thought, excitement bubbling beneath her calm exterior. "The fire is there, waiting for me to command it."
Chi-Ha moved among the students, correcting stances and offering words of encouragement. When she reached Syrah, she paused, her eyes narrowing slightly beneath her scarred brow. "You have a natural affinity for this," she said, her voice devoid of the usual sternness. "Keep focusing on your breath, and the fire will come to you."
Syrah nodded, masking her triumph with a meek smile. "Thank you, Instructor," she replied, her tone humble. Inside, she seethed with impatience. "Soon," she thought, "soon I will wield this power and bend it to my will. And…wait, no. Patience."
The lesson continued, with Syrah growing more confident in her abilities with each passing moment. She practiced the basic forms and techniques, feeling the fire respond to her commands. It was a small, flickering flame for now, but she knew it would grow. She would make it grow.
As the lesson came to an end, Chi-Ha gathered the students around her. "You have all done well for your first lesson," she said, her voice carrying a note of pride. "Firebending is a skill that requires patience and discipline. Continue to practice what you have learned today, and you will see progress."
Syrah bowed along with the others, her mind already racing ahead to her next opportunity to practice. "Patience," she reminded herself once more. "This is but the beginning. I will master firebending, and then I will take back what is mine. Fire and Blood."
As the children were dismissed, Syrah lingered, watching Chi-Ha as she spoke with another instructor. This one she knew as Chang. He was old, she noted. And as she stared at him, he looked to her and for the briefest of moments she thought his eyes flared blood red. She blinked her own, believing it a trick of light, or some such, but only found the man continuing his conversation with Chi-Ha as if nothing had been amiss.
Dismissing the incident, Syrah made her way back to her quarters, her mind replaying the lesson's events. She practiced the breathing techniques and forms in her mind, visualizing the fire responding to her commands. "I will master this," she vowed silently. "I will become the greatest firebender the world has ever seen."
As night fell, Syrah lay in her bed, staring at the ceiling. The day's events had left her both exhilarated and exhausted, but her mind refused to rest. "I must find a way to break into my vaults should any still remain," she mused, her thoughts drifting to the glass candles and the dragon eggs. "I wonder if utilizing either would increase the power of my bending? And if they do, then…" something cold gripped at her heart. "What if the Fire Lord discovers them first?"
With a final, determined breath, Syrah closed her eyes, allowing herself a brief respite. "Tomorrow," she thought, "I will continue my quest. I will find if the Fire Lord is truly worth of her title."
As sleep finally claimed her, Syrah dreamed of Maegor and Vhagar, of bouncing her son upon her knee, and of pressing her head upon the scaly crown of her winged battle sister. She dreamed of the power that had once been hers and would be hers again. For she was Visenya Targaryen, the Dragon of Westeros, and she would not be denied.