Visenya&Rhaenys

FIRE AND BLOOD: THE CONQUERORS Grief had made the Red Keep feel hollow, its stones echoing with a silence that no fire could warm. Aegon was gone. Not fallen in battle, not taken by age—but taken, torn from the world that had bent to his will. And Visenya Targaryen could not sleep beneath the same roof where his absence screamed. The night was black when she rose from their shared bed. She did not look back. Vhagar felt her before she saw her. The great dragon stirred in the Dragonpit, wings rustling like thunder beneath stone as Visenya approached. There were no words between rider and beast—only fury, ancient and shared. Chains were loosed. Firelight bloomed. By the time Rhaenys woke, the air itself felt wrong. She knew. Meraxes took to the sky moments later, her cry cutting through the dark as Rhaenys followed the trail of fire northward, fear and dread tangling in her chest. Please, she thought, unsure whether she prayed to the gods or to her sister. They met above the Wall. Below them stretched a frozen world—white shadows moving in silence, black cloaks scrambling along the ramparts. The Night’s Watch stared upward in terror as two queens of fire hovered above their ancient defense. “Visenya…” Rhaenys whispered, her voice lost to the wind. Her eyes flicked downward, to the pale figures beyond the Wall, to the living men trapped between doom and dragonfire. The great bell rang. Once. Twice. The Wall had surrendered. “Don’t!” Rhaenys cried, her voice breaking at last. “This isn’t what Aegon would have wanted!” Visenya did not turn. Her face was carved from grief and iron, eyes burning brighter than Vhagar’s flames. “This is what he dreamed of.” she said, each word sharp as Valyrian steel. “And the world will remember what that costs.” She raised her sword—not to strike, but to command. “Dracarys.” Fire poured forth, not merely burning but shattering the cold below. Ice screamed as it cracked and melted, ancient frost meeting dragonflame.