A/N: Welcome to a lil OG Visenya x Jon time-travel two-shot (probably)! It was a fun lil write!
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Jon looked out, across the rapidly darkening battlefield as a sobering thought struck him.
They'd lost.
The War for the Dawn had, initially, started out successful. Their lines had held, they hadn't charged in head-on as some had wanted, and they'd proven able to hold Winterfell. But then they had shown up, and leading an army that went beyond just corpses they'd raised. Direwolves, Ice Spiders, Mammoths, just about any animal one could imagine walked side-by-side with the Others, and struck forth, surging past the skeletons and Wights that'd been attacking.
For it was one thing to ask a man to fight a dead man, but another altogether to ask him to fight creatures the size of storehouses, or even larger, as was the case for no small amount of horrors brought out by the Night King.
He turned to look towards the wall to the left that'd just started to crumble, and with Ghost at his side, he surged forth with a half-dozen men that could be spared from where he was in the centre.
Rhaegal was up above, and provided no small amount of help by way of scorching hundreds of all types of the Night King's force, yet it failed to make so much as a dent in the overall number he could call upon. There were simply too many, and their strategy, good as it'd been, hadn't been enough.
The Realm, had it united, maybe, just maybe, could have bested the forces of the dead… but the Lannisters had lied. There were no Dornish spears either, nor Reachman, nor Krakens, it was simply the North, the Vale, remnants of the Blackfish's forces, and Daenerys' troops.
Not nearly enough, now that one could see the full force of what the Others could bring to bear.
And to think there'd been hope.
Jon wouldn't go down without a fight though. No, he would hack and slash and make his way to the Night King to see this ended.
But, as he drew nearer to the breach where Wights, Walkers and beasts poured forth from, all went black, and the world as he knew it, faded away until not so much as the howling wind or crackling ice could be heard.
Light.
Bright light, and a heat he'd not felt in all his years alive were what greeted him when next his vision was restored.
He rose from where he'd been, splayed out atop… sand, and looked around so as to spot what the noises were that he heard. When he took in water, more than he'd ever-before seen, and saw that it surrounded him atop a long, sandridden coastline, he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was in the North no-longer.
When he looked behind himself, away from the water, the wind and the sand, he found a towering cliffside, and a keep buried therein. One that was dark, brooding, and made in a style that any would know.
"Dragonstone." Jon rose on shaky knees, and made to find purchase in the sand around him so that he might better stand.
He didn't expect that hand of his to come into contact with fur.
In an instant, his head snapped towards his flank, and there, partially buried in the sand with a snout covered therein, he saw Ghost peering up at him… and then his companion promptly licked his face.
Jon couldn't help but smile, and as Ghost rose from the ground, offering support by way of firmly tucking himself against Jon's flank, he was thankful he wasn't alone. That was made all the more apparent when a screech — a jealous-sounding one if ever he could differentiate the nosies dragons made — came from high above.
Rhaegal was here as well.
Yet nobody else seemed to be.
But that changed within a minute's time, and as he slowly made his way towards a path he'd found when scanning his surroundings. He had been intent on finding somebody, anybody, to speak with, so long as they weren't an enemy.
Gods, he didn't know what'd happened, or how.
A screech from up above, and from a dragon much larger than Rhaegal, came as a patrol of guards came trotting down from the mouth of the keep's bridge.
With the men coming down to meet him, and a dragon with a silver-haired rider up above, he sank into the dirt and sand mixture.
They were Targaryens, and that meant, they were most certainly friends.
When next he opened his eyes, he found himself not in a cell, nor in the chambers upon Dragonstone he was familiar with, but rather, in the Maester's workspace. He was laid out atop a bed, whilst a man and woman nearby spoke, seemingly without care if he overheard them or not; they weren't alone either, he could see four other men, all in plate and dressed like those he'd seen running towards him, by the doorway.
Slowly, Jon pushed himself up, but as soon as he did so, the woman walked over and promptly pushed him back down, into the soft, cushioned mattress.
"You'll stay there until I've said otherwise," The woman with hair that seemed identical to that of Daenerys said, her tone far more commanding than the aforementioned Daenerys' had ever been.
"Your Grace," The man — the Maester, Jon presumed — said with a bow to her, and then he ducked away… from his own workspace.
Whoever this woman is, she seemed to command more respect and be made of sterner stuff than Daenerys. That didn't bode very well for him.
"Ser Celtigar, leave us." The woman didn't so much as look towards the men as she spoke. Her eyes were focused entirely on Jon, and her hand had yet to leave his chest from where she'd pushed him down.
"Your Grace, Ki—"
The man was silenced by a wave of the woman's hand. "Your Queen has spoken. Leave us at once, Ser, and have the door closed on the way out."
Jon saw the man grimace, as if he'd bitten into a sour-tasting fruit, but all the same he did as the woman commanded; he confused Jon too, at the mention of some sort of 'King'.
Daenerys didn't have a husband, and her only active lover was, well, him.
"Your name?" The woman's eyes, piercing and violet, captured his own. Her face was fierce, and more sharp-looking than Daenerys'. She seemed like a warrior, and he could make out a scar here and there on her otherwise perfect-looking skin.
Whilst he was lost looking her over, he only just noticed her arch an eyebrow before that hand on his chest rose to his chin. There, it raised his head, and so she spoke again.
"I know we're related. I saw your Dragon, and even now he yearns for you," The woman's gaze was piercing, critical. Enough so that most would have withered under it. "Say aloud your name, and our relations. I'd know if my brother whelped a bastard."
Jon made to rise up, at least partially, again.
But just as she'd done before, the woman kept him laid out across the bed with that hand lowering to his chest once more. Her eyes bore into his after that attempt, and with a silent order that dared him to defy.
He sighed. Val, Daenerys, Sansa, all of them would likely get on well with this Targaryen, whoever she was; he still thought it strange he'd never met her, nor heard of her… but the world was a large place, and perhaps even Daenerys hadn't heard of her other family members.
"Jon Snow… Your Grace," He'd hesitated in using the title on account of already having a Targaryen Queen that he'd sworn himself to.
"Northern," The woman mused aloud. "Who sired you? Who bore you?"
"Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark," He shifted, unsure of whether or not he should share his 'true' name. One that he still didn't fancy, but one his parents had given him and those around him had recognized. "They called me Aegon Targaryen, but I've only learned of that, of all of it, recently."
It couldn't hurt, and the truth was an important matter betwixt allies.
"Aegon Targaryen?" The woman snorted. "You're much prettier than him — and whilst I recognise that you look to be kin, I cannot say that same about the names you gave. Rhaegar Targaryen, or whoever he claimed to be, was likely my lovely brother who just so happens to share your name."
Jon shook his head. "Rhaegar was the elder sibling to Daenerys and Viserys, son of Aerys, second of his name. His name wasn't Aegon… though he did have another son of the same name."
The woman narrowed her eyes, and fisted his jerkin. With their eyes locked together, she searched for any signs of deceit.
"Perhaps you're the greatest liar I've ever met, or you're mad, but you think you speak the truth," The woman sounded amused, as if the matter at hand was unimportant. "Tell me, nephew or cousin, what's my name?"
"I couldn't begin to gu—"
"Do as your Queen commands — my name, or what you think it to be." The woman was incessant.
"Rhaella?" Jon thought, perhaps, she was Daenerys' mother. Death had a little less finality to it since he'd come back.
The woman scoffed. "You saw the scars across my skin," In an instant, a blade was between them, one that was sharp and very recognizable. "Who am I?"
"Visenya." Jon furrowed his brows. "You might have her name, but you're not her. I minded my Maester's lessons enough to know she passed generations ago."
"Tell me more." Visenya slid atop the bed, and with Darksister in her hand, insisted that he say more of her.
So he did.
By the time he was finished recounting all that he knew of Visenya Targaryen, and her — their house as a whole, it had grown dark outside. The only light from candles that servants had brought along with an evening's meal for them.
Throughout his telling her all that he could, she grew nearer and nearer, until it led to where he now found himself, that being tucked in the corner of the bed with the wall on one side and her on the other.
Visenya Targaryen was a woman bolder than even Daenerys. One that spoke her mind and demanded respect.
"Cousin. Such is the relation I'll claim," Visenya had made her decision after all that he'd said, for there was far too much that he remembered truly for her to deny otherwise. "In fact, I'll simply claim you. A dragonrider that answers to any but House Targaryen is something we can't allow, and where else might you go, little cousin?"
Jon didn't really know, but Visenya's gaze… was predatory. Her grasp of him was as it'd been earlier as well, that being tight, her hand fisting his jerkin whilst the other had grabbed his thigh.
"I could go North, or Essos, somebody has to know a way fo—"
"I forbid it," Visenya said as much with a wide, queenly smile on her face. To her, that was the matter put to rest. "Your Queen commands you to stay here. You're family. My family, and I would have you with me whilst Rhaenys and Aegon go galavanting around the countryside."
"What abo—"
Again, she cut him off, her gaze hardening. "That's the matter to rest, cousin," She rose from the bed, smoothed her dress and held out a hand. "With me. We're going to my chambers for a proper meal, and then, I would have you."
Jon blinked at her words, and he nearly stumbled as he'd followed after her. Obviously, he knew he was at her mercy given the situation. Mayhaps, even, this was all a dream.
He fancied Daenerys, he'd slept with her, so perhaps this 'Visenya' was in his mind.
"And your King?"
Visenya looped an arm through his, and started them off to the door.
"Worry not of anything," Her grasp grew tighter. "You're mine now."