In the evening, Visenya was sitting in the king's chambers, but despite the late hour, she had not yet untangled her hair or changed into her nightgown. She was sitting at the table, with her legs thrown over it (she had not even known that her uncle Oberyn had such a manner) and was playing with the clasp, running it between her fingers.

She was waiting for Tyrion, whom she had asked to come over to her to discuss 'something important'. That was exactly how she put it.

A small letter she had received from Christer Renel was lying open on the table near her feet. She had finally read it and it was this important matter she wanted to ask Tyrion about. And in the meantime, distracting her thoughts from making all the important decisions, she played with the clasp and thought about its owner, not even realizing that a gentle smile had appeared on her face.

She remembered how only a few hours ago they had been holding hands and she dreamed of him raising them to his lips and placing a kiss on her skin. She could have sworn he had intended to do so, but for some reason unknown to her he had decided against it. And then he had addressed her so formally...

Maybe she was reading his signals wrong? Or maybe they weren't there at all? Could she have just imagined all this? No, she certainly wouldn't be able to confuse it with simple courtesy.
She wondered what he thought about all this, but wouldn't go ask him, that would be stupid...

She was going to consider it further, but at that moment the door to her chamber opened. She looked at Tyrion, not changing her posture. She only discreetly put the clasp in her pocket.

"You wanted to see me, Your Grace?" he said, closing the door behind him.

She watched without surprise as he reached for the wine before coming to sit down next to her. He, on the other hand, hadn't expected to find her sitting like this. He clearly didn't know her as well as he thought. Just like back then, after the decisive victory over the Lannister forces, when he thought she would want to behead both Randyl and his son, and he wanted to dissuade her. And she surprised him positively, because it turned out that she didn't even intend to do that.

"Yes." she replied shortly, leaning out to reach for the letter lying on the table. She handed it to him and waited for him to read it.

"Where did you get this?" Tyrion asked. He immediately deciphered the initials, Petyr Baelish. Was he in the capital? Where did she get this letter from, when?

"It doesn't matter." she replied dispassionately, taking the letter from him and playing with it instead of her clasp. "Do you know who it's from?"

"Petyr Baelish." he had no doubts about it. He wasn't happy that she was asking only questions, and didn't want to answer any of his. Nevertheless, he decided to try again, with a different question. "When did you get it?"

She didn't want to talk about it. She simply didn't consider it important. She didn't know that Tyrion was worried that Baelish had decided not to withdraw from the game of thrones yet. For Visenya, it wasn't a reason to worry, after all, she had received the letter from someone she owed a lot to. Despite the strange impression that had remained with her after her conversation with Christer, she didn't consider it a threat.
Her opinion changed only slightly after she learned the identity of the sender of the message. When she had been at court years ago, she hadn't had much contact with political games.

Tyrion, on the other hand, decided he would have to tell this Varys.

"It doesn't matter." she repeated her previous answer, which only made him angrier.

"If everything doesn't matter, then why did you ask me to come?" yes, he didn't like her attitude.

He was just as aware as Visenya that the war wasn't over yet, but he didn't see why she would act like that. It seemed to him that she had been under much greater pressure many times and was coping just fine. She looked... Tired and bored. She sat and played with a piece of paper, not giving her conversationalist more than a single glance.

She had asked him to talk, which meant she knew that this was a serious situation and was seeking his advice, but at the same time her thoughts were occupied by something else that was winning her attention.

"Should I go to this meeting?" she asked, this time looking at him.

And yes, Tyrion was right, something (someone) else was occupying her thoughts and causing what he interpreted as boredom, when in reality Visenya was worried.
I'm definitely imagining too much.

"Absolutely not." he replied immediately. "Baelish is one of the most dangerous men in Westeros. He doesn't care about anyone but himself. Even if he offers to help you, it's only in something that will benefit him more than you."

"I am dangerous too."

"That's not the point. You're in power, you don't have to talk to him, what can he give you? There's no point in risking it." he didn't like how Visenya seemed to be dismissive of the threat. Did she feel too confident? Why expose herself unnecessarily? "Cersei escaped, which means she must be planning - or already planned - how to kill you. This must be a trap."

Tyrion kept thinking about how to make her safer, while the Queen acted as if she was immortal. She went to the Dragonpit as if nothing bad could happen to her in the city just because Cersei wasn't here. What if she and her army were somewhere nearby? He didn't assume that his brother had lied to them, but that he simply might not know about all of their sister's plans - especially since he had clearly distanced himself from her.

All it takes is one well-aimed arrow, a knife, a spear, anything. It's so easy to lose your life, and Visenya was constantly exposing herself. Many people had already tried to kill her, but instead of being more careful, she seemed to have gotten used to it. The argument that as Queen she couldn't be afraid to risk it for her people as they risk for her didn't appeal to him at all.

If she dies, who will lead them? She is the last of her line, fighting not only for the future of people and a better world, but also for the good name of her family, for it to be associated with something more than the Mad King. If she dies, everything will be lost. And she does not want to understand that.

Or maybe she is already so under pressure that she denies it herself, to feel better.

"You said that Baelish only cares about himself. What could he gain from a deal with Cersei? If he is still alive, he must be intelligent enough to choose the side he supports properly." she noted.

Personally, she did not think that she was putting herself in danger. Yes, she was afraid for her life, but at any moment someone could burst into the room, attack her on the street, or try to poison her food. If she worried about that and considered every possibility, she would go crazy.

The letter was given to her by the person who helped her, there was no reason for her to want to hurt her now. She thought she should at least listen to Baelish before making a decision. He could be indifferent to her, or he could become her ally or enemy. She would rather avoid the latter.

"He supports only himself."

"I remind you that Varys ordered my and my aunt's murder. And yet I did not call for his head when you appeared in Meereen, although it would have been fully justified." her tone sharpened as she remembered Daenerys' death.

She still had moments when she questioned her choice to let Varys live. He had helped her, but he had also done her much harm. If it had not been for her aunt's death, she would not be who she is now. What if it had been better? If she had remained Princess Visenya, and not become Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and all those other titles?
She certainly would not be so lonely, she would still have a family member by her side...

She has no one left, no matter how many times she dwells on it, it will not bring anyone back to life. But it is hard to accept reality sometimes.

"Varys stands with the people, Baelish would burn the world if it made him king of the ashes. You don't make deals with madmen." Tyrion pointed out, also taking on a harsher tone. He understood her attitude towards Spider, but here she had to look at the bigger picture than just her personal quarrels. He was glad she had done so earlier, by sparing his life, but it would have been nice if that view had stuck with her a little longer.

"If you call every man with great ambitions a madman, then I'm surprised you're even speaking with me."

After her words, he felt attacked, but he didn't show it. He didn't think he deserved such treatment from her, but he tried to explain it to himself by her nervousness.
She remembered her unpleasant past, and he was still questioning her views. It was true that it was his task as the Hand, but he had to reckon with the fact that his words could provoke such a reaction.

"Morbid ambition is madness." he replied calmly, deflecting her accusation.

He would never call her mad, she was one of the best people he knew, he admired her. Very young, yet intelligent at the same time. Only sometimes - like everyone else - she had to be proverbially poured with a bucket of cold water and confronted with reality. That was the advisors' task - often very unpleasant, but a task nonetheless.
It was good to serve her anyway, she didn't consider herself infallible. Yes, she could be stubborn, but it was possible to reason with her, something that was impossible with Joffrey.

"Is that another of your wisdoms?" she muttered. She wanted to get up from the table and turn her back on him, but she overcame the temptation.

"That's a fact."

After these words, there was silence between them. Neither of them said a word, they just looked at each other for a moment, until they both looked away. Visenya started playing with the letter again, and Tyrion with his goblet of wine.

She will do what she thinks is right anyway - he thought to himself. He could hope that his words reached her, but in the end, it was her decision that was final, he would not force her to do anything.

Tyrion was rather known for not liking silence, so he searched his mind for something to say to lighten the atmosphere. Finally, he remembered something he had planned to tell her anyway, so he might as well do it now.

"I wanted to thank you." she immediately looked at him, clearly surprised. "For sparing Jaime's life." he clarified, raising his goblet as if for a toast.

A shadow of a smile passed over Visenya's face, but it was quickly replaced by a slight sadness.

"I have no reason to hate him..." she sighed, reaching for Tyrion's goblet to take a sip of wine from it, then handed it back. "...But at the same time, I can't return his affection, not in the way he would want me to."

The topic of unhappy love came back to her like a boomerang, she would rather get angry at Tyrion and argue with him.

Their conversation turned to lighter topics, they even joked a bit, but it didn't help her for long. When it got very late and she was finally alone, it was time to rest.

She started by taking the ornament out of her hair and taking off her rings. She placed them on the dresser and went to stand if front of the mirror. Her hands slowly moved under the material of the outer part of the outfit, to which the cape was also sewn. When she had it off, she reached behind her back, untying the sewn-in corset, which was holding the main part of her outfit. She pulled it over her head and then went to sit on the bed to take off her shoes. She rested one leg on the other's thigh and untied the strings holding the shoe on her foot, then did the same with the other. She stood in front of the mirror again, looking at herself in her shirt and pants. Her hands went to her hair, and here her movements slowed. She unbraided her hair and ran her hands through it right next to her head, then combed it along its entire length with her fingers.

She touched her cheeks, running her fingertips down to her neck, then her cleavage and further down to the tie of her pants. She slowly loosened them enough to slide them over her hips and they fell freely to the floor, leaving her only in shirt. She unbuttoned it too, also slowly, letting it fall off her shoulders.

Standing naked in front of the mirror, she looked at herself in the context of what wouldn't leave her head.

Is she attractive? Are her facial features symmetrical? Aren't her eyes strange, having a different color than most people's? Do her lips have a nice shape? Maybe they're too small? Or too big? Is her hair nice, does she tie it up well? Or is her figure ugly? Is her waist too small? Or her bust? Isn't she wide enough in the hips? Maybe it's her thighs? Or her belly?

Daario called her the most beautiful woman who had walked this world, but he loved her, of course he would call her that. What if she's not that pretty? Maybe he doesn't like her?

She ran her hands over her cleavage once more, but this time it was bare, and when her hands reached her breasts, shivers went through her body. What if it wasn't her hands touching her? If she felt someone's warmth next to her, and not just imagined it? She could feel the silkiness of other lips on hers, the stubble gently teasing her face, the hands holding her tightly around the waist, while she herself gently tugged at her curly hair.

She put on her nightgown only to squeeze the edges of it and pull it up after she lay down on the bed, imagining that it wasn't her hands doing it. She closed her eyes and slid her hands down to her thighs, spreading them slowly. She couldn't stop herself. She was alone, no one would hear her - especially since she would try to be as quiet as she could.

She had never touched herself, but she remembered Daario doing it. How his hands and mouth explored her body, every nook and cranny, caring for it as if it was the greatest treasure in the world. Unfortunately, she only had her hands and her imagination to use, but she was certainly able to relieve herself, at least a ran her fingers down to the spot that was begging to be touched and that always received a ton of attention from Daario. He often kissed her there, whispering sweet nothings that she didn't understand anyway, because she was too focused on the pleasure.

That night she also occupied herself with this thought, until tiredness caught up with her and forced her to hide under a warm duvet and drift off into dreams, where she could exceptionally truly rest.

And she was not the only one who enjoyed herself that night, thinking about someone specific and then finally having a real, heavy and relaxing dream.

As she said, the next day they said goodbye to King's Landing. However, it was not in the morning, but only around noon. In the morning, Visenya did something else that Tyrion strongly advised her against: she went to meet Petyr Baelish. As you can see, she came out alive, and was sitting on her horse, ready to leave the city.

No one paid attention to it, but it was very important to her, namely the white material that hung from the back of her right shoulder, attached to a silver, ornate chain that crossed her torso diagonally. It contrasted with the red and black of the rest of her clothing, but it matched the silver jewelry. Usually it was the deep red material that flowed down her back when she didn't wear the cloak, but today was different.
She hadn't worn white since she had had to flee the arena in Meereen. She didn't think she deserved that color, as it was the purest of all, a symbol of goodness and innocence, but it was her way of showing happiness. She started to wear it again because of that boy... Robb Stark. It was her peculiar way of showing that she accepted her feelings, even though no one else could understand what she meant by adding it to her outfit. The important thing was that she knew and it meant a lot to her.

In addition, it somehow helped her to relieve some of the burden of carrying the entire dynasty on her shoulders. She was no longer surrounded by the colors of House Targaryen alone, but something that expressed her as a person. It was not her last name that would determine who she would be, but she would determine what her last name would mean.
Black and red were important to her since she had fled the capital, and these were the colors she wore until she became Queen of Meereen. This had to do with the fact that under Tywin's thumb she could never wear them, but through all this they began to define her more than she would have liked.

Now she could feel at least partly like 'just Vis' again.

"The Queen doesn't seem as terrible as she was portrayed to be." ser Davos told Robb as they rode out of the city. He nodded ahead, where Visenya was a few meters away, only glimpses of her silver hair and profile as she spoke to ser Arthur. "But she certainly won't give up on subjugating all the kingdoms to herself, no matter how kind she is in private."

"Are you suggesting something, or are you just thinking out loud?" Stark replied, glancing at Visenya as if his gaze didn't dart there every few moments, hoping to see her smile, even though he'd like to see her laugh even more. He'd only heard her laugh quietly to herself once, but she'd been standing with her back to him, in the Dragonpit. Sometimes she smiled, but she usually remained serious. And it was no wonder, there wasn't much to laugh about.

"I wonder if there's a good way out of this that would make everyone happy." Robb looked at him, frowning. "What? That's what diplomacy is all about."

"No, that's not what I mean. I have the impression that you already have a specific solution in mind, but you don't want to tell me directly and you'd rather I come up with it myself." he explained, looking ahead for a moment, biting his lower lip slightly and shaking his head before looking back at Davos. "I'll make you sad, I don't think about it. I'd rather not, not yet."

"Before you know it, this conflict will arise between you again."

He sighed. It was clear that neither he nor Visenya brought up this topic when they talked to each other. They preferred to discuss lighter things or, on the contrary, heavier ones, concerning their past. He knew that this matter would come back to them someday, but he preferred to pretend that it didn't.

"If you have a suggestion, I'm all ears."

"Nothing ends conflicts like marriage." hearing Davos' words, it was good that he hadn't been drinking anything, because he would have surely choked. He almost choked on air, it was obvious from his face. "Is it such a repulsive proposition?"

"It's not that simple." he replied, as if he hadn't fallen asleep with the silver-haired woman's name on his lips the previous night. Robb himself hadn't thought about it, but at that moment Talisa was more of an excuse to avoid discussion than a real reason.

"But it would give many possibilities." Davos noted.

"She doesn't look like a woman looking for a husband."

Their gazes went to Visenya. Every time they had the opportunity to see her, she looked very serious. More like a King than a Queen, because those they knew from history wore dresses, didn't lead armies, and above all became Queens by marrying a ruler. Well, except for Rhaenyra Targaryen, but the Maesters didn't name her the first independent Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.

The woman who rode not far ahead of them had something about her that inspired respect just by her presence. The way she walked, the way she held her head high and her back straight. All she lacked was a crown, although even without it she looked very regal.

"She'll need at least a lover, after all, she won't leave the continent to the dragons."

"I don't intend to become one." at that moment, their yesterdayconversation flashed through his mind, where in response to his words: 'You certainly won't be the last of your line' she replied: 'I don't know'.

He had already thought about it then, but still couldn't understand what she meant by that. Didn't she want to have children? In that case, she must have had some other plan for who would take the throne after her. Or maybe... What if she meant by that that she couldn't have children? But how would she know that? Someone had told her that? Where did she come to such conclusions? She was young, she still had many long years ahead of her.

At that moment, Visenya looked over her shoulder - and Robb quickly looked away - and she was not met with any gaze directed on her, which hurt a little. Used to being adored by Daario, she began to miss how much attention he paid to her and how he behaved around her: sometimes allowing himself too much, but in the end everything he did was for her, because he loved her. She might not reciprocate that deep feeling, but she could still draw happiness from that relationship.

Now she regretted a little that she had left him in Essos, no matter how it would be seen if she had brought a lover with her.