A/N: Welcome to a lil OG Visenya x Jon time-travel two-shot (probably)! Here's our second part!
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When Jon woke the following morning, he did so with a start. He dreamt a strange dream, one that saw him put back into an era long since forgotten — all that had happened, all that were involved; they were but words upon pages and pages of old tomes. Most, likely in the Citadel, where they'd been left since the era of their writing, by and large.
Yet when Jon looked to and from, his eyes shifting from wall to wall, balcony to balcony as they unblurred, he recognised it was no dream at all. No, the set of chambers he was in, were not his own. The more he looked about, the faster he came to one conclusion; they were not remotely familiar to him.
They weren't his.
Jon made to rise, throwing off the soft, silken sheets he'd been covered in. As he swung his legs from the bed, and his toes touched the cold, stony ground, a figure strolled in from one of the adjoining rooms.
"You're awake, little cousin?" Visenya — the Visenya from what he thought had been nought but dreams, sought him out in all of her naked glory, a sheen about her that told him she'd just finished bathing. "How sweet a sleep you had by my side. Was it my warmth that kept you close, or what it was that we did before sleep took us?"
He didn't know what to say to such bold words from a woman, much less one as renowned — and feared — as she who was before him. Even after a tumble in the sheets with her, there was still a sense of guard one needed when being around her. It didn't help the matter any that he remembered the rumours of her sorcery.
"Your Queen expects an answer when she asks a question," Visenya pushed him back atop the bed, and slid into his slap. Her hands found the hair atop his head, and mixed therein, then she gave a sharp tug. "Well?"
"Both, Your Grace," Jon was at a loss for words, and so he said what she desired to hear.
Visenya laughed. It was melodious and commanding, and more regal a sound than any he'd ever before heard. "You're terrible with women, aren't you? Did this Daenerys not teach you as a loving aunt might?" she tutted, and pointedly looked down, at their lack of clothing and the near connection they had. "How lucky for you that you've ended up here by the will of the gods. Mine own dreamer," she leaned in, her eyes drifting down before they rose back up with an imperious smirk. "What else might you spill for me?"
Much and more, he imagined.
"You've seen a dragon before, I see," Visenya had her arm looped through one of his own, and took long, confident strides towards a beast of legend; Vhagar, Queen of the Dragons. She was more majestic than any of Daenerys' children, and he thought them the greatest sight of his lifetime.
And they had been, at the time.
"I have," Jon looked away from Vhagar, and back to her. The battle-tested dragon as well as the manner which one had to climb atop her made her deserving of each and every legend he'd heard. "Drogon was the largest of Daenerys' three… but the one I rode was Rhaegal. He was smaller by a good deal, but a loyal, strong beast."
"Queer names," Visenya seemed amused, and then she pulled him closer, disregarding the servants and guards nearby that looked upon them; all seemed not to see, looking as they were. "Yet, a queerer tale you told me befalls my family. I wish to avoid that fate for my house, and so you'll aid me."
"Your Grace, there's no—"
Quicker than any woman had ever moved — even Val or Ygritte — Visenya stood before him, she seemed annoyed. "It was no request, cousin. You are here, in my time. Lest you know a way back, your hope to live and do so well, lay with me. So you'll do well to remain in my good graces — now, pledge to me."
"The King, or Rhaenys," Jon needed her to see reason.
"Aren't here, nor will they be for some time. They're off campaigning," Visenya saw his face twitch, and so without pause, she grabbed it; one pale hand, warm beyond any person had the right to be, made him look her in the eyes. "You know something. Spill your secret, my dreamer."
There was a covetous nature in her voice, and her hand's hold grew gentler as she pressed in. Soft, warm, and yet strong, the Queen made words pour from his mouth. "Dorne?" It was gruff-sounding.
"Dorne." Visenya's eyes flashed, and the smile that was on her face grew larger. "What will occur?"
"Rhaenys and her dragon will be slain in battle." Jon shifted. "That'll turn out to be the last attempt any of you make to try and conquer them. It'll fall to your future generations."
Jon had heard many a rumour that the sisters hadn't got along all that well with one another.
Yet, when he spoke what might occur within a moon's time, there was a great wrath about her, and then, an urgency.
She raced forward.
But she didn't let go of the hold she had on him. No, that lowered from his face, to his hand, and so he was forced to stay close as they sought the reigns of Vhagar.
Visenya said not a word as she started up. All she gave to signal her intentions was a look over her shoulder, down and at him; her order was clear.
Climb.
"Tell me, cousin, what strikes down my sister? Sorcery? Blood Magic?" Visenya's voice was loud, and the back of her person was pressed against the front of his; her warmth, even high in the sky and despite the whipping of the wind, did much to keep the bite of the cold away.
"A scorpion shot slays her dragon, and she falls," Jon then pauses for a moment, recollecting the tales he'd heard. "Most agree she fell from her dragon, I suppose. Some claim she was captured and held in Dorne, such was the reason neither you nor Aegon went back."
Visenya's frown deepened, and then she turned to face forward as she'd been doing for much and more of the journey. His answer, truthful as it was, seemed to give her pause.
Perhaps she doubted him, or she went to think about how it could have happened. They had taken nearly all of Westeros, and yet, they allowed Dorne to take the life of both dragon and rider.
Sister and wife.
"We pause here, upon the road to Dorne. Vhagar need rest after our travels, expedient as they've been," Visenya patted the great beast upon the scales of its neck.
Then she swung herself free of the saddle, and started down the ropes needed to scale her companion. With her head only just visible, she paused in her descension to fix Jon with a look of impatience. "We're close to Aegon's camp, little cousin — with me. There's no room for you to wait on Vhagar's back."
Jon frowned. He had thought Visenya would share word of his forewarning, and explain it away as a dragon dream or prophecy given unto her by the sorcery she practised. Evidently, that didn't seem to be the case.
So he moved to do as she requested, and as he followed her down, he put words of questioning forth. "Is it wise to bring me along… Your Grace?"
"Visenya, or perhaps Auntie, if you'd like to be particularly scandalous," Visenya hopped the rest of the day now, the impact making far less noise than it should've. Thereupon the dew-covered grass, she peered up at him. "You mean to question my wisdom?"
She's just like Daenerys.
"I don't question your wisdom, I just wonder what about your plan involves me," Jon made haste in climbing down, and he mimicked her, hopping down whilst a few paces high. The impact with the ground sent a reverberating feeling up his body, and made grunt; it was harder than she'd made it out to be. "Surely it'd be best if they didn't know of me as you do."
"On the contrary, my brother has had visions on occasion, and my sister," Visenya paused in words, but continued on along the muddy path she'd seen them on; it led from Vhagar, to the camp they'd glimpsed high above the clouds. "Is as dear to me as any person has ever been. You have siblings, I'm sure — one's you've likely known from when they were a mewling babe. Grow as they might, there's always that babe ever-present in your mind."
Jon swallowed down his thoughts of Arya and Robb, Bran and Rickon. Sansa.
He understood, and so he said as much as soon as he could trust his voice to give away not so much as a hint of how he felt.
"If it pleases you, I trust them to keep your secret just as I will. We're your ancestors, your predecessors," Visenya pulled him closer, knocking aside underbrush and vine as they walked side-by-side, her body oft pushing into his own. It seemed she cared not for personal space, or mayhaps it was as she'd said when first they'd met — she 'claimed' him.
The Valyrians and Free Folk had much in common.
Jon didn't think it wise, but if the Gods hadn't intended to see him change what occurred, why else would they have sent him here as they'd done?
Mayhaps a second chance for all was meant to be given, and… this era, these Targaryens, had to be the centre of it all.
No sooner than the meeting had ended — one that'd stretched for the remainder of the evening and much of the early morning — did Visenya see her and Jon, henceforth a Targaryen by acknowledgement of all three, to the tent meant for her.
Aegon and Rhaenys would remake the plans they'd initiated, and thanks to Jon's knowledge, see a different manner of war fought. If Dorne wished not to be conquered, so much so that they'd rather survive in the midst of the desert, than that would suffice; many a Harrenhal could be made.
If not by those means, then Visenya and her sorcery… She could change much.
Valyrian blood-magic.
The thought sent a shiver down his spine.
But all of it was forgotten when Visenya strolled out from behind a changing blind, her only apparel the jewellery she'd yet to remove. She sought out wine not a moment later, and poured but one, large glass.
"You will return to Dragonstone with me, and serve as my sworn shield," Visenya strolled towards him, his eyes drinking in her form despite the in-depth look he'd had thrice over. By the look she wore, she was pleased she could enthral him so. "I'll keep you close, my little dreamer."
Visenya took a long sip, then moved to him and raised the glass to his lips.
Jon drank readily, the incense she'd set to burn filling his head with a fogginess. One that saw his desire to have her grow twice over.
Filled with confidence and that aforementioned desire, he pushed aside the cup and pulled the great Queen flush against him. Her eyes flashed, the violet so clear, so powerful, just as she was.
Mayhaps she'd used sorcery on him, mayhaps she'd even been the one to bring him here.
It mattered not.
He pulled her down into a searing kiss. She'd been so forward and blunt, so passionate and fiery, but he'd not be bent to her will so easily. He wasn't a green boy.
Visenya let loose an appreciative moan when he deepened their kiss, and then she tried to push him down. Her dragon was ever-present in her actions and words.
But this time, Jon resisted.
He fought her for control, and after wrestling it from her, he did as she'd done.
He took her.
Visenya didn't let it end there; the night was young.