Author types as sweat pours down his face and neck. A sword of Valyrian steel resting on his neck in the hands of the captain of GRRM's liquidation squad.

"I 'Daemon Belaerys' author of this piece of fiction, and lurker of the neck hereby decree that anything you recognize belongs to George R.R Martin, owner of AsoIaF, Master of Prose and Ruler of the Books, The Old Man, Murderer of Favorites, and Lord of Procrastination"

Ahem, anyway. You can all thank my blasted cousin for this piece, since he was the one who told me that 'you don't have the fucking balls to write a 'fem-Jon' fic', so naturally, the fucking egocentric that I am accepted. However, I couldn't, in good conscience, let him have the last word so I thought, he wants 'fem-Jon- I'll do one better. We all know that Rhaegar wanted a Visenya for his Aegon, well in this case he doesn't just get a Visenya, he gets The Visenya, and let's just say, the baddest Warrior Queen in the history of Westeros won't be pleased to see what has become of her line, or her Kingdom…

Warnings: Sex almost from straight away, violence, cursing, incest... the usual AsoIaF stuff that you always find, in my fics at least. Also, you all know my usual writing style. Well, I guess it's more of the same. I've always liked Jon Snow, even if he is at times an angsty moody… bastard. Well, reading about the same angsty Jon Snow every damn time loses its appeal. Its bloody fanfiction for god's sake, try to not always write the characters at the exactly same way I say, so here you go, a fem-Jon fic where he isn't an angsty bastard. Isn't lusting for Robb, and doesn't play the 'meek' Lady Snow that we see so often with fem-Jon, hell, I don't even think that we'll see fem-Jon lust over Jaime either.

Some High Valyrian is also spoken. Translation is at the authors note at the bottom.

Oh, and I think I am the first person in fanfiction to kill of a particular character before that character is even introduced into his/her storyline according to the books/show. Have fun guessing until you find out which one.

Tower of Joy, Visenya:

Visenya was confused, no scratch that, she was completely befuddled. There she was, in a room that was not her own. Which was peculiar since she could most definitely remember retiring early in her bedchambers on Dragonstone one evening shortly after her seventieth name day because of an oncoming chill she'd felt for a few days prior.

Even more strange was that she was… formless. She could see neither her hands, arms, hair or even her breasts. For that matter, it also shouldn't be possible to see from more than one angle, but she did. She could see from above and below, not to mention from the sides, so yes, she was bloody well confused, and at her age, well, the last time she had been confused she had shown the relatively new and somewhat uppity Master-at-Arms on Dragonstone exactly why she had had as big a part of planning and executing the invasion as her brother-husband had. Said man was lucky to escape with nothing more than a broken arm, though likely his ego would never recover after having had his arse well and truly handed to him by a woman eight and sixty years old.

So yes, she was confused, confused enough that the couple rutting like animals in the room was actually a welcome sight as she had something to focus her mind on. The young woman, barely into womanhood was comely enough she supposed, with her long raven tresses and grey eyes. A finely sculpted face and large enough teats to interest a man she supposed, although her hips were still narrow enough that Visenya, and indeed most who knew of the rigors of childbirth would suggest giving the girl a few more years to ripen before trying to birth a babe.

The man she 'recognized' almost instantly. Somewhat at least. While she had never met, or indeed even seen him before, she knew her brother well enough to recognize someone of his seed. Furthermore, the utterly effeminate pout on his lips was so undoubtedly Rhaenys that she almost felt a pang of longing and sorrow through her.

"Rhaegar, Rhaegar." the girl moaned, loudly. So loudly in fact that 'Senya almost snorted in disbelief. Either the girl was a whore who didn't know better, was utterly inexperienced with fucking, or perhaps most unlikely, her great nephew or whatever Rhaegar was, was a most accomplished lover… which again she doubted, especially if he was anything like Rhaenys.

Now, her brother Aegon might have visited Rhaenys' chambers far more often than he'd visited her own, if only for the fact that he, like their lustful bastard brother Orys, wanted to just pound something into submission every now and then. Something he never got from her that was sure. Visenya might be one of her brother's two wives, but she was both his elder, and his superior in the arts of war, having been the one who introduced him to a blade the first time, and while she played her part… well enough in public, she never let Aegon forget just who was the Master, or Mistress if you will in the bedroom. So, while Rhaenys had him more often, and who knows how many other lovers on the side, the lustful little imp that she was, 'Senya had never seen Aegon leave Rhaenys' chambers as exhausted, or scratched or bruised as he'd be when leaving her own bed.

"Tonight Lya, you'll give me my Visenya." Rhaegar moaned as he, rather inexpertly in 'Senya's opinion rammed his cock faster and harder into his lover. A pathetic minute later that left 'Senya bemoaning the pathetic skills of her something or other nephew it was over. Rhaegar moaned, shuddered, and collapsed pathetically at 'Lya's side.

"I love you." the poor naive star struck girl whispered.

"I love you too my beautiful wife, my lovely she-wolf." Rhaegar replied in turn, looking more like a fop than she'd ever seen, and she had seen her share. Still, he had at least been a man smart enough to marry into former royalty if 'Senya's suspicion was true and that 'Lya' was a Stark of Winterfell, and she felt a sudden cold creep up her non-existent spine. Had her son Maegor lost the war against the Faith? He must have if her House no longer cared to preserve dragon blood by marrying Westerosi of all things. "I pray that my seed has taken hold tonight." Rhaegar whispered as he laid a soft, pathetic kiss on his wife's cheek.

And then it happened. 'Senya could feel something pulling her. Pulling her straight toward the Stark chit's belly in fact. 'No, No NO.' she yelled ineffectively, even though no one could hear her. 'Let me GO DAMN YOU.' she screamed with fury, but alas to no effect, and before she could even try to mount a resistance it was all dark, and warm, oh so warm, not to mention comfortable, and she grudgingly felt her 'eyes' close and her mind rest…

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Tower of Joy, Nine turns of the moon later. The Sword of the Morning:

"We leave for Dragonstone." Lord Commander Gerold spoke the minute he laid eyes on the still bloody and screaming babe.

'By the Gods she has a set of lungs on her.' Arthur thought. "And what, just leave them here to die? Rhaegar's last babe? His wife?"

Gerold sighed. "Do you think I desire to do so Arthur? We held out here after the sack on the off chance it would be a boy, but alas, no cock on the wee screamer, and lest you forget Viserys at least has both a strong castle, and the mightiest fleet in Westeros with him on Dragonstone, what does this little girl have?"

"Visenya." Arthur snarled, "Has me, and I am as duty sworn to defend her as Rhaella and Viserys. I swore an oath Gerold, to my friend, my friend who I accepted as my King before his father was even close to lying in the ground."

Gerold and Oswell both looked at him with harsh eyes, before finally nodding in restrained approval. "I wish you good fortune Ser, it has been an honor to serve at your side."

"No…" Arthur said slowly as he clasped forearms with first Oswell, then his Lord Commander. "The honor was mine, Ser."

It was less than an hour after the two Knights of the Kingsguard left for Starfall to seek passage to Dragonstone before the sound of approaching horses could be heard once more. Glancing at his increasingly paling Princess, who according to the wet-nurse most likely wouldn't live past the next hour he walked over to the window and stared down at towards the riders.

"Arthur." Lyanna whispered with a hoarse voice. "Who is it?"

"I recognize your brother Eddard, his friend Howland Reed, and one of Brandon Stark's friends, Ethan Glover I think." he told her calmly while hurriedly belting Dawn to his side.

"NO!" Lyanna screamed, clearly putting as much of her remaining strength into her voice as she could. "You cannot hope to defeat all of them, and my brother will not harm me."

"It is not your safety I fear for Princess." Arthur admitted as he glanced at the small silvery blonde-haired babe that was nursing at her mother's breast for the last time.

"Arthur please… stay. Ned will no more harm 'Senya, than he'll harm me." Lyanna's eyes were glazed and opening and closing on their own account now Arthur noted with worry.

"Very well." he spoke with a strange hitch to his voice, even as he stubbornly refused to acknowledge the tears that ran down his cheeks. In the year or so that he had known his Princess he had become very fond of her, in a platonic fashion of course. He had conversed with her, both before and after Rhaegar left. Listening to her as she spoke with hope and joy of the babe growing within her, and the possible future she would have.

He had been the one to hold her, and comfort her after she learned what happened to her father and brother in Kings Landing. And he had been the one again to comfort her, and swear to protect her and her babe after they learnt of Rhaegar's fate on the Trident, and lastly, he had been the one to hold her hand, stroke her hair and whisper encouragement while Lyanna screamed to the heavens, cursing everyone from the cook in Winterfell to Rhaegar or even the Gods themselves as she birthed her babe. Probably just as well he didn't go out to meet Eddard Stark and his companions, not with his hands being as they were, the left one broken, while his right was no doubt sprained at the very least because of the she-wolf and her surprisingly strong grip.

"I'll stay Lya." He told her, finally calling her the name she had badgered him about so many times. Taking a chair, he pushed it right to the head of the bed next to Lya, unsheathed Dawn and let it rest within easy reach at his side and then the door opened and Eddard Stark and his men came pouring in.

Seeing the hesitation in their eyes, as well as the pleading looks from Lya, Arthur stood up slowly and held his hands out in a non-threatening gesture. Stark nodded once and two burly northerners seized Arthur in a rather uncomfortable grip, one holding a blade at his throat while another held his own dagger rather alarmingly close to Arthur's cock.

"Ned." Arthur felt the weakness in Lya's voice hit him like a hammer, much like the hammer blow that killed Rhaegar on the Trident, a feeling shared by every single one of the northerners in the room.

"Lyanna." Eddard said with a trembling voice as he took the chair Arthur had so recently vacated.

"Is that really you? you're not a dream?"

Ned barely held back a sob as he smiled at his dying sister. "No, I'm not a dream sister. I'm here."

"I missed you, big brother." Lyanna said, her voice trembling from pain, fear, joy or perhaps all three.

"I missed you too," Ned replied, and Arthur could see the tears start trickling down his cheeks. He looked around at Arthur and the wet-nurse who was holding Lyanna's babe. "Get her some water, a Maester, anything." he pleaded.

"We did all we could." Arthur explained. "Nothing more can be done."

"No." Ned let out a broken sob, before Lyanna brought his attention back to her by clutching onto his arm with what strength remained with her, while also gesturing for the wet-nurse Wylla to bring the babe.

"Listen to me Ned, this is my V-visenya, if Robert finds out he'll kill her… you know he will, you have to protect her, promise me."

If Ned had been shocked at first, he was even more so when he laid eyes on the little girl… the unmistakably Targaryen girl. "Promise me." Lyanna continued to whisper desperately. While still alive, if barely, everyone could see she was already gone, neither words nor medicine could get through to her now, and with a final 'promise me' she fell still.

"Ned..." one of his bannermen said while trying to hide his sniffles. "What do we do?"

"You heard what Lady Lya wanted." a man bearing the crossed axes on a field of yellow of House Dustin grunted. "Lady Lya wants her baby girl to be protected and the Old Gods and the New hang Tywin, Robert or any other cunt who thinks otherwise."

A solemn chorus of 'Aye's' rang through the room in reply to the Dustin's words.

"Thank you, my friends." Ned said with a quiet voice, too broken with sorrow to put any strength in it.

"Ned…" Howland Reed halted for a moment as he gathered his words. "How will you explain the girl?" he asked, pointing out the rather obvious silvery hair and violet eyes.

"If I may," Arthur interjected carefully, wincing slightly as one of his captors pressed his dagger a bit harder against Arthur's neck.

"Silver hair and purple eyes is not uncommon in my family. My father and I both have it, while my sister has the eyes, and 'everyone' knows that my sister and Eddard were… fond of each other since Harrenhal."

"What are you getting at Dayne?" Dustin asked with narrowed eyes.

"Oswell and Hightower left the moment the babe was revealed to be a girl. "I swore to Rhaegar and Princess Lyanna that I would protect their child." Several of the men hissed or gaped in astonishment at how he addressed the now dead sister of Eddard Stark. "Let the Usurper, Tywin, hells, let the whole damn Realm think that I broke any and all vows to care for my sister's bastard girl… I'll even stand in the Sept of Baelor itself and lie my arse off if it means that I can protect what little is left of Rhaegar and Lyanna in this world."

For the longest moment Eddard stared at him, before nodding. "It'll be easier, and less cruel than to continuously dye her hair at least. You'll have to bend the knee, swear fealty to Robert." he explained as Arthur's captors removed their arms and blades from his person.

Arthur spat on the floor in response. "I'll not go near that man lest I forget myself and try to run him through. I'll send a letter proclaiming my fealty for whatever it is worth, along with my white cloak, I doubt you want to bring the girl anywhere near Robert or Tywin at any rate, and I swore to stay with her."

Ned grimaced, "I doubt Robert will accept that Ser Arthur, both he and Jon Arryn will no doubt argue that the Kingsguard is for life."

Arthur laughed, "If Jaime Lannister felt comfortable enough to push his sword through Aerys' back, ask Robert and Arryn how comfortable they are with the idea of Rhaegar's best friend guarding their backs, especially considering the fact that I am a Dornishman."

"I see your point." Ned conceded. "Very well then, you will ride north to Winterfell at once. I assume the wet-nurse will not mind following?"

"No, My Lord." Wylla spoke. "I've already received payment for my services."

Ned nodded in approval. "You realize I cannot let you leave the North ever again do you not?" he asked Wylla who nodded sadly. "I'll see to it that you are well taken care of after your services are no longer needed, have you any family that you wish to contact? Or have brought North with you perhaps?"

"N-no My Lord." Wylla denied. "My own girl was st-stillborn, and the father left us before he even knew of her. Dead on the Trident for all I know."

"And you my friends?" Ned asked. "Can I trust your discretion in this matter?"

Howland was the first to reply by dragging a dagger across his hand to draw blood. "I swear upon my own blood that I will keep this secret, and the girl safe My Lord." and one after the other, the Northerners swore an oath of blood, impressing even Arthur at their loyalty. 'Would that Rhaegar had more men like these.' he thought, as he placed Dawn back in its scabbard.

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King's Landing, one year later. Jon Arryn:

It had been a long and tiring year, Jon Arryn mused to himself as he could finally sit back in his favorite chair and just relax. First Ned had returned from Dorne, with a dead Lyanna in tow, completely shattering Robert who was quickly wedded and bedded to Cersei Lannister afterwards on Jon's recommendation. To make matters worse, he feared that the friendship between Ned and Robert had been ruined for good when Ned informed them that he had accepted Arthur Dayne into his service to, in his own words. "Keep an eye on him, and also to let my daughter know someone of her mother's family at least". A point that Jon could accept, and understand. With how the rebellion had ended, a daughter fathered by a Stark would not have been safe in Dorne, and Ned could hardly take Ashara Dayne with him North, not with him married to Catelyn Tully at any rate.

Robert though, he had raved and ranted. Ser Arthur had no doubt been there when Lyanna was captured, and even with Ned explaining to Robert about how Lyanna had been the Knight of the Laughing Tree and that Aerys had found out and demanded her head, about how Rhaegar had brought her to Dorne in secret while trying to find out a way to remove his father from the Throne, even then, it took all of Jon's skill, Ned threatening to secede from the Iron Throne and lock down the North, and finally Jon to physically strike Robert across the face and threaten to put a switch to his rear like he'd have to do during Robert's boyhood, before Robert finally decided to let things lie.

Robert still doubted the story of Rhaegar though, and refused point blank to let go of his hatred of all things Targaryen, and his fury at Stannis for his failure at capturing Rhaella and Viserys when he took Dragonstone had been terrible. So terrible that Stannis, still not completely recovered from his near death by starvation during the Siege of Storm's End, had been bedridden for a moon's turn after Robert was done beating him.

Jon could understand Robert, to a certain degree at least. Had Viserys escaped with his newborn sister in tow alone and without friend's things would perhaps have been difficult. But having Gerold Hightower, Oswell Whent and Willem Darry with them was something else. All three of them were formidable warriors, and in the case of Whent and Hightower almost as much of a symbol of the Targaryens reign as their charges themselves were, and thanks to Gerold's cunning by having the Dragon banner flying over more than one keep, and spreading out the Royal fleet, it had been impossible to find out just where the Targaryen children had been taken, with ships leaving both Dragonstone, Driftmark and Claw Isle, each and every damn ship heading to different destinations. And while the vast majority of the Royal Fleet had been smashed at anchor during a storm, Jon and Robert still had to contend with the fact that Viserys and Daenerys had left Westeros, and that there were six and ten different ships and destinations they could have gone to, the men and women, from Lords to the blasted smallfolk of those isles would rather consume wildfire than to speak a word, all of them giving the feeble excuse of 'I don't know My Lord Hand, they must have left from somewhere else.'

The smug smile of old Lucerys Velaryon, former Master of Ships and Lord of Driftmark was particularly vexing. Unfortunately, since he had bent the knee after the Targaryens fled, they could ill afford to punish him too harshly either. Large parts of the fleet Stannis had constructed had been smashed during the same storm the sunk the fleet at Dragonstone, leaving Lucerys Velaryon with more ships than any other Lord on the eastern coast of Westeros, him being the only Lord not bringing his ships to Dragonstone, no doubt on Hightower or even Rhaella's orders. Oh, Jon was under no illusions that the six and ten ships of his that had 'disappeared' with the Targaryens on one of them had not done so without the express command of the old sea snake, regardless of how much he bleated and cursed at his treacherous captains with a smile on his face. Furthermore, Jon wouldn't raise so much as an eyebrow in surprise if old Velaryon 'suddenly' acquired six and ten new ships relatively soon, alas with no evidence there was little he or Robert could do, not if they wanted the peace to continue, or Stannis to survive.

Oh, Robert could delude himself into thinking that Stannis could control the Lords of the Narrow Sea, and the rest of the Crownlands for that matter by giving Dragonstone to him, but for all their claims of outrage, Jon could see that Lords like Velaryon or Celtigar were rather pleased and he knew exactly why. Stannis was as much of a hostage as Lord Velaryon's son Monford was. But while Monford would be released after five years or if his father was to die before that time, Stannis and his eventual family would still be stuck on Dragonstone. Surrounded by Lords and smallfolk who were almost religiously loyal to House Targaryen.

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It was a very… odd experience to grow up a second time. Having birthed a babe once, 'Senya, or 'Lyarra' as everyone called her, knew that it wasn't a pleasant affair. And while pushing something the size of a melon out of her cunt had certainly not been a pleasant affair, being said 'melon' had been even worse. It had been so damn tight, almost like being squeezed to death, and then it was suddenly unbearably cold.

The added humiliation of having to wear nappies until she learnt not to make a shitty mess was unbearable. She was a fucking Queen, a Dragon Rider, Blood of Old Valyria, and one of the greatest warriors of her age. Certainly, better than her brother, and while her son had eventually surpassed her if only due to his prodigious strength, she was the one who had taught him all he knew. All this she had accomplished, only to suddenly be born again, with all it entailed.

She had to suckle from a strange woman's teat, she had to learn not to sully her gods forsaken nappies. She had to learn how to walk again, hells it took her seven moons just to speak her first word. Though the look on 'Septa' Catelyn's face when 'Senya called her 'fucking bitch' had almost made all of it worth it.

Perhaps Septa Catelyn, or rather, Lady Stark as everyone else called her might have, if not liked her, at least not hated her if she had made a tiny effort to fit into her role as a 'bastard', well fuck that. This time, she had no brother who she had to wed, even if she did miss his cock, no father to force her into anything, and most importantly of all, she had family to avenge. It had not taken long before she learnt a whole lot more than anyone would suspect. People talked, and also, Septa Catelyn preferred to have her as far away from her proper, perfect little trueborn brother as often as she could get away with.

And so long as 'Senya was still small she saw no problem of spending the majority of her days in Maester Luwin's care, who indulgently read book after book for her, or let her 'read' books of her own, no doubt thinking that she was just admiring the drawings. So 'Senya had found out just about anything that could be found out about what had happened to her House, to the descendants of her beloved brother and sister, and also how history had come to view her, and others of her House.

Needless to say, 'Senya was not pleased, at all. Sure, she had never been the most pleasant of women, preferring a sword, and honest hard truth, over frivolous courtesies. Of course, she had not been pleased with her brother taking their younger sister as a second wife, nor that he shunned her own bed in favor of Rhaenys' as much as he did. But to imply that Aegon had left her in King's Landing so that he did not have to suffer her presence on Dragonstone, or that she had made her son Maegor King over her great nephew Aegon, or even worse, become a kinslayer by poisoning her nephew…

Oh, how she had raged at these discoveries. While she had disagreements with both her brother and sister, she loved both of them, and would have died for any of them if it would spare their lives. And true, Aegon left her in charge in King's Landing, because he knew that she was the only one he could trust to construct and design the city to his liking. It had been a gesture of trust, and also a statement and recognition of her own power, rather than a lack of love between the two.

Her reasons for crowning Maegor had been from the start, her belief that Maegor was the better choice at that time. The crown was in strife with the Faith, and Aenys' young son Aegon, had neither the dragon or skill, in either warfare or politics to fight that war.

The rumor of kinslaying was the hardest to swallow though. For a long time, she had feared that Aenys, her nephew and stepson would be the only child she would ever 'have' after the two miscarriages she had suffered, both during the Conquest, which in hindsight probably explained a bit. Rhaenys had died while the boy was barely three, and somewhat sickly besides. Now 'Senya would be the first to admit that she, like her own mother had never been the most warm or lovable of sorts. But none who knew her well would ever deny that she didn't love her children, both of them, as since she had practically raised Aenys by her own with Aegon drowning out his grief over Rhaenys' death, and considered him to be her son, just as much as Maegor was.

Had she not been the one to crown Aenys after Aegon died? Had it not been her who sat by Aenys' bedside to nurse him back to health when the Grand Maester, a personal friend of the High Septon had declared with a certainty that there was nothing to be done? The fat fool had been right, and 'Senya suspected that it was he, along with his accursed friend the High Septon who had made sure that there was nothing to be done.

At least the books were somewhat correct. 'Senya had been far more than a 'mere' dabbler in sorcery. Her skill with her craft had kept Aenys alive for weeks longer than should have been possible with all the remedies and physicians in the world, and it was only Aenys' own pleas to her to let him go and to let the pain stop that she finally gave him up. Hearing him say 'thank you mother,' on his deathbed had been one of the few times in her life that she had allowed tears to fall.

At least she got her vengeance. Bringing Maegor back from the exile pushed on him, had let them strike back against their enemies. The Sept of Remembrance had been burnt down with the High Septon and hundreds of his followers inside. The Grand Maester had barely held out for an hour under her own personal questioning before he confessed to having poisoned Aenys at the High Septon's request, and hundreds, if not thousands of Warriors Sons had been killed, either by dragon fire, or the royally sponsored inquisition, that, much like the Kingsguard, had been both devised by, and staffed by herself, all the while Aenys' wife and children were kept safe on Dragonstone. Not as hostages, but from the religious fanatics seeking their death.

But, she couldn't deny that Maegor had gone off the deep end after her death. While she was alive, she had counselled him, and his brother and father before him wisely, even if they did not always heed her advice. But why Maegor would turn into a paranoid witless brute after her death she supposed she'd never find out, unless there was an afterlife. If there was she couldn't tell, her last memory being of going to bed the night she had died. Then again, perhaps there was an afterlife and one could not remember it as long as one was alive. Why she even was alive again was also a mystery for that matter.

So, with a second chance at life she was determined to make herself known again, not as someone else's wife, not as a cruel man's mother. No, she would make the name Visenya Targaryen known for only her own actions, to leave a legacy that would make the name Visenya Targaryen be whispered in the same breath as Aegon the Conqueror or the Last Hero for thousands of years after her death.

It was of course this determination that was the biggest reason why Septa Catelyn loathed her very existence. It took Robb nearly three and ten months to say his first word, which to Septa Catelyn's apoplectic fury was 'fuck' taught by 'Senya herself, who had seemed far smugger than a babe of one year had any right to be. While it had actually taken both her and Robb just about the same amount of time to learn how to walk. Senya had stopped using nappies and the wet-nurse's teat shortly before her second name day, while Robb had not been weaned until close to his third name day, and still used nappies almost into his fourth year.

While Robb was still struggling with his sums and letters, Senya was already putting Sansa and the newborn Arya to sleep by reading them tales in fluent High Valyrian, a language she was more proficient in than Maester Luwin himself. Not surprising considering it was her 'mother's tongue', and if only Septa Catelyn had known just how many languages Senya could speak, read and write, she'd probably have a heart attack.

Septa Catelyn of course did not take any of this lying down, and fought back tooth and nail… as well as she was able to at least. She never once attempted to put her hands on her, the warning glares of Ser Arthur saw to that. Trying to badmouth her or spread malicious rumors didn't help much either, as the people of Winterfell, for the most part adored her. She may still be as cold and reserved, blunt and capable of delivering cruel hard honesty as she'd always been during her years as Queen, but she was never once malicious, and even with her hard exterior, people always whispered of what a beauty she would grow up to become. "Just like winter our little Lady Snow is." people would say. "Cold and harsh, but beautiful nonetheless"

Truthfully, the only thing Septa Catelyn easily got 'away' with, was to bar her from the high table, and to refuse her presence her little sowing circle of gossip mongers, which was just as well. Her new family of Starks was decent enough. She didn't have them, and reluctantly had to admit a certain fondness for them, but she had never had the greatest patience with small children, which was part of why she had been stern, but still fair with her own. And she was no better now than she had been during the time she raised her own children, which was probably the largest reason of why Septa Catelyn was almost tearing out her own hair as Robb, and soon enough Sansa and Arya and Brandon followed her around like little ducklings.

True, Robb was a boy, he was older, bigger, and would eventually… probably be stronger, but 'Senya was a Queen. She was used to leading armies, she could silence fully grown men, who had grown hard as stone after the butchery of war with naught but a glance. Bending her young, innocent and naive cousins to her whims was child's play, which considering her current lot in life was truer than she cared to admit.

When she and Robb were about six her 'father' was called south along with the rest of the North to fight the Ironborn. It was also the first time she laid eyes on William Dustin again, one of the men who had accompanied her uncle Ned to the Tower of Joy. Rather than meet with the Northern host on the way south he had personally ridden to Winterfell while sending most of his host on their way to Moat Cailin. Ostensibly so that he could speak with Lord Stark about fostering his son Brandon in a few years once the boy was old enough, but judging by how quickly he sought out 'Senya and 'uncle' Arthur she was reasonably certain why he had come North.

He had smiled at her, praised her beauty, japed about how her 'father' would have to beat men away with a big stick, grumbled a reluctant greeting to Ser Arthur, gotten a bit misty eyed while recalling her mother, never mentioning her mother's name of course, and grumbled a few more words to Ser Arthur, causing both her and Arthur to share a disturbingly similar roll of the eyes the moment Lord Dustin was distracted.

The look on Septa Catelyn's face when Dustin whispered a few choice words about just what would happen should he, or some other choice Northern Lords find out that she had 'hurt Ned's 'little' girl' had been like having a second name day in one year.

It was during this year, the year 289 after the Conquest that Arya Stark was born, that the Ironborn rebelled, and that not even three weeks after returning home with his Greyjoy ward that 'Senya decided that when she took back the Throne she had helped her brother forge she would see the line of Greyjoy extinguished root and stem, and the Iron Isles turned into a scorched wasteland reminiscent of doomed Valyria.

Not even three weeks after showing up at Winterfell like he owned the place, the little cunt of a boy had managed to earn the enmity of near everyone in Winterfell. He ran his mouth constantly, picked fights with others, and only those younger and weaker than himself. Called her, Visenya Targaryen herself a whore, cast similar slurs about her mother and offered to pay her a few coppers for her maidenhead when it was time so that she could 'get some practice for her future profession'.

Rather than run off to 'daddy' 'Senya exercised the patience that her past self was so known for. She waited a few moons while Robb was introduced slowly to the sword, bundled up in large amounts of padding and with a wooden sword in hand. He had potential, 'Senya would give him that, definitely more than the Greyjoy who even being five years her and Robb's elder only won due to having a good deal more strength than seven-year-old Robb.

It was during one of these sessions that 'Senya stepped into the practice yard and, sadly, picked up a wooden practice sword.

"Let's see how you face against someone who knows what they're doing Greyjoy." 'Senya spat, while giving a truly smoldering glare at Ser Arthur who tried to put an end to her desire.

Greyjoy, predictably laughed. "You… you think you've got the skills to take me? You a girl?"

"Rather a girl than a cowardly, talentless cunt of a boy like yourself Greyjoy." 'Senya bit back with the icy calm that she was so known for.

"You..." Greyjoy reddened while the majority of men in the yard, even old Ser Rodrick snickered appreciatively.

"Lost for words Greyjoy?" 'Senya drawled. "Or perhaps it's your balls you've lost, they certainly seem small enough for you to lose them, perhaps we should find you a gown instead. Gods know I won't need them." Which was true of course. Septa Catelyn, and every seamstress in Winterfell had conceded by the time she was four that dresses was something she would never wear voluntarily, preferring trousers, shirts and tunics instead, she'd wear some ring mail too, if she could get away with it. Sadly, none in her size was around, and though she still knew her way around a needle well enough to make her own clothes, she had never been, and probably never would be, a blacksmith. Her only works had been the forging of her own sword Dark Sister and the crowns of herself and brother and sister, and working Valyrian steel had nothing to do with blacksmithing, and everything to do with the manipulation of magic and dragon fire.

Angry shouts of warning or to stop filled the yard as Theon lost control at her taunt and threw himself at her, intent on beating her black and blue, a distinct possibility due to her lack of padding, but at the same time, as remote as the chance of someone hatching dragons without instruction.

Theon was big, far bigger than her, and stronger too with his twelve years to her almost seven, but there was one thing that no one but she herself knew. From her fifth name day, until her seventieth she could count the days she had not practiced with a sword or other weapon on two hands with fingers to spare. Five and sixty years she had spent honing the crafts of war. She was passable with mace, spear and morning star, good with bow and lance, and a monster with a sword in hand. Preferring to cloak herself in mail and plate than silk dresses, she had been a hard and deadly woman. And while her current body was feebly in comparison to what she had once been, she was still much stronger and fitter than anyone would guess, having started to train and push herself again since her fourth name day. Furthermore, Greyjoy was an unskilled arrogant boy, while she, she prided herself in knowing every bone in a man's body, and how to break every single one of them.

His first wild swing was ducked under. The following reverse stroke she leant away from, the furious overhead chop was sidestepped and then it was her turn to play. With a speed and strength none would have expected she started as dirty as she could by stepping up close and personal and rammed the pommel of her practice sword right into Greyjoy's perfect nose. A swift follow up jab in the throat had him bent over and coughing to regain his breath. Spinning around to his back a quick hard thrust to the back of his knee sent him to the ground. To finish it all she grabbed his left arm in a proper grip, utilizing both her arms and legs she too went to the ground on her back, and with all her strength and body behind her 'twisted' and broke Greyjoy's arm with a sickening snap.

It was of course at this point that her 'father' finally showed up, shaking with anger, at herself and the now sobbing Greyjoy. "Call me or my mother a whore ever again, or slap my brother around and I'll do more than break your arm boy." She sneered at his whimpering form before turning her hard and unflinching violet eyes on her 'father'.

He wasn't pleased with her. Neither was Septa Catelyn. Fortunately, according to him, 'Senya herself thought rather the opposite. Theon would regain the full use of his left arm. She was then treated to a long and tedious lecture about how a 'Lady should not play with swords' and no one, not even Arthur could convince Eddard Stark that letting her train with swords was a good idea, at least not officially, though he no doubt approved of it privately seeing as how he had a rarely visited part of the Godswood cordoned off, and told Ser Arthur that if ever was to take any squires he should practice there, where the Gods could keep an eye on him and his 'southern ways', which obviously resulted in Senya and Arthur spending hours there every day.

'Senya, had been most impressed with Ser Arthur. He was as good if not better with a sword than any she had ever met, including herself and her son Maegor, and judging from Arthur's look of awe and showering praise he was completely amazed at her own 'natural' talents. After all, how could he know that she had a good forty years or so on him? It wasn't like she could just say 'Oh by the way Ser Arthur, I am the real Visenya Targaryen, wife to the Conqueror and all that, oh and I also witnessed my own conception, how neat is that?' At best, she would simply be laughed at and never taken seriously ever again, while at worst, she would get either the kiss of a blade to the neck or a padded room to amuse herself with for the rest of her days with slop for dinner.

No, far better to pretend to have an abundance of natural skill, hardly a leap of the imagination considering her other skills such as language, reading, writing or even strategy, herself having viciously crushed the ego of Roose Bolton during the harvest feast on her fifth name day by beating him and Maester Luwin in two simultaneous games of Cyvasse. The coins she got from the Lord of the Dreadfort, as well as a share from all the bets made had not gone amiss either. Although she had to thank Ser Arthur for that last one, if he hadn't gone into the Kingsguard and then 'left' it to stay with his 'niece', she suspected that he could have become one of the most famous sellswords in history, he certainly had a mercenary instinct when it came to games of skill or chance to make most sellswords green with envy. The fact that he was an anointed Knight, among the most highly respected ones in all of Westeros actually, just meant that most victims… men that is, never saw it coming until it was too late and he was whistling a merry tune while counting out his newly earned winnings.

A few more years and Septa Catelyn looked to be getting the upper hand in their little 'game' at last when she briefly managed to turn Sansa against her by telling Sansa just what it meant to be a bastard. Now as said, 'Senya was quite fond… very well, she did love the little brats that had become her new family, and though she loved them the idea of all of her 'siblings' following her around and/or badgering her all that time was certainly not something she 'enjoyed' exactly, she wasn't about to let 'outside interference' dictate who the brats she had to admit were cousins could accompany either.

So, she held her tongue, as Sansa suddenly didn't want to play anymore, didn't want to hear this or that tale about knights and courtly romance, which truthfully was just as well. The sooner the girl had her eyes opened the better. Oh yes, 'Senya let it all happen, she didn't so much as flinch or twitch when Septa Catelyn gave her a smug look whenever Sansa drew away from 'Senya. Perhaps the history books were right after all when they called 'Senya cruel. Most people would certainly think she was after how she let Septa Catelyn finally feel safe and victorious, only to have it all collapse when Sansa received three new dresses for her name day, all sowed and embroidered painstakingly by 'Senya's own hand, and of a quality that would have made a seamstress quite a lot of coin in a place like King's Landing or the Reach.

After that Sansa was back to worshipping her big 'sister' who apparently could be both a Lady, a bastard and a Warrior, all without even wearing a dress. Sansa almost broke her poor mother's heart even when asking if she could braid her mother's hair like 'Lyarra always has her hair braided.' She never did get to braid her mother's hair like 'Lya's', but at least got a consolation prize of being allowed to do it to Arya's hair instead. Arya and Sansa, being polar opposites of each other, normally wouldn't even be able to agree about whether water was actually wet, so seeing the pair of them actually agree on something and giggle like girlish sisters rather than at the very least near mortal enemies was as refreshing as it was original, and also provided Senya with some piece of mind.

Even better, with seeing both her daughters running around trying to emulate 'Lya', Septa Catelyn had sought comfort/refuge with her husband, and unsurprisingly to some, was now with child again, which to 'Senya was great. A Septa Catelyn with child meant her attention was elsewhere, Arya, Sansa and Bran would be ever more occupied with their eventual brother and sister, leaving Senya with more time to practice with her sword, or sorcery.

Speaking of sorcery, she had to scratch her head sometimes. The Maesters, as well as just about everyone else spoke of how magic was dead, and how it had died with the dragons. She had almost given in to temptation to show Maester Luwin just how 'dead' magic really was the one time she discussed the subject with him.

Although she wasn't surprised either. The Citadel had been trying to either control, or eradicate anything to do with magic for millennia, fearful and envious of its power. Luwin had spoken of how a Maester had to light a glass candle, of how they had hundreds if not thousands of spells and incantations, but none of it worked. 'Of course, it bloody doesn't.' she'd been tempted to shout in frustration, but she held her tongue. Magic was not something everyone could do, furthermore, unless you had a tutor or the right kind of books, you had little chance to perform magic, let alone survive dabbling in it and coming out unscathed.

Now, only some people had the ability to perform magic. Valyrians most famously had been such experts in it, and used it for so long that it was part of their very being, how else would they survive with over five thousand years of breeding only within the family? Magic had been the answer, and it also proved a possible reason why her House had fallen so far. If knowledge had been lost, or worse, deliberately destroyed, rites and rituals neglected it was no wonder why her family had eventually started to succumb to madness, frailty and birth problems and defects, as with her now dead grandmother Queen Rhaella, who'd experienced one and ten pregnancies, but only had three children actually survive more than a year, most of them being miscarriages or stillbirths.

So yes, things went pretty much how it had always done. Septa Catelyn pushed out her newest babe named Rickon. Robb, Sansa, Arya, and Brandon all continued to grow, and play, all of them with their specific areas of interest. Bran developed an unhealthy obsession with climbing, and could often be seen halfway up a wall, tree or tower in Winterfell, as sure-footed as a squirrel. This was a blessing in disguise, as it forced Septa Catelyn's focus and ire elsewhere, giving 'Senya more time to focus on other matters.

Rickon, babe that he was did little else but sleep, shit, drink from his wet-nurse's teats, and cling to his mother's skirts. Utterly uninteresting, but an adorable brat all the same. Sansa, as always was living halfway in her own dream world of courtesies, tales of knightly chivalry, dreaming of the 'wondrous' southern court and the fancy dresses, and dances and musicians that must frequent them, and no one, not even 'Senya had the heart to burst Sansa's bubble with a dose of reality. Even when King's Landing was still under construction, it, and their court had been a nest of vipers, and she doubted that three hundred years had done anything to improve the nature of the court.

Arya, her own little dark-haired clone did her best to emulate 'Senya as best she could, begging both her and her father on her hands and knees to be allowed to learn how to fight. Something that Ned Stark forbid with the same authority as the harshness of winter, and despite how much she pleaded 'Senya would not let Arya partake in her own sessions with Ser Arthur. She did however teach Arya a few moves in the privacy of their quarters. Nothing fancy, and nothing with an edged weapon, but rather her hands and feet, how to use her smaller size and speed to her own advantage. Where she could strike a man to do the most damage with the smallest effort. Besides, it was only a matter of time before Arya badgered Robb into teaching her a few tricks with the sword.

On her own personal front, she 'plotted' with Ser Arthur. How much her protector knew, or suspected she didn't know. He never asked, and neither did she, but they often discussed politics, the various Houses in Westeros, who they owed their loyalty, how many men they could field, their main source of revenue, and how many sons and daughters they had.

Arthur who was 'exiled' from Dorne still received a generous stipend from his brother, Lord Allard Dayne, on the first of every month. It was coin which Arthur didn't really need, and at 'Senya's suggestion, he spent almost in its entirety in the North and in the capital and surrounding lands. The various smallfolk were glad for a little extra coin, and more than eager to pass on little bits of information in return. For the most part, it was worthless, but they discovered a little nugget of gold every now and then, such as Roose Bolton's bastard living up to his 'title', or that resentment was growing exponentially in the Crownlands.

The Crownlanders cared not one whit for Robert Baratheon, even now over a decade after the rebellion, since, with the exception of the Darklyns, the Crownlanders had been, to a fault, staunch Targaryen loyalists for near three centuries, something that wasn't overturned in a fortnight. Almost universally excluding them from any position of power or responsibility in favor of Lannisters and their lickspittles, along with a few Stormlanders and Valemen certainly did not help the resentment any, and if Baratheon or Arryn thought that having a single Crownlander on the Kingsguard would placate them, the Usurper and his Hand were delusional to the point of insolence. That said Knight, 'Ser' Boros Blount, was a fat craven pig and almost as big a disgrace to Knighthood as Gregor Clegane certainly didn't help any.

After she had her first moonblood sometime after her eleventh name day things took a turn for the 'worse' as Septa Catelyn tried to badger her 'father' into having Senya wed or be betrothed as quickly as possible. It certainly did not help matters any that she herself had made some discreet inquiries/offers in the Riverlands either. And the time that a gaggle of Freys had shown up in Winterfell to 'have a look at the girl before accepting' had been the only time she had actually seen Ned Stark absolutely furious with his own wife. He hadn't struck her, he was too good a man for that, but he had coldly informed her that if she ever sought to go behind his back with marriage offers ever again he'd send her packing back to Riverrun without her children until he decided to invite her back.

Of course, by this time it was too late really to salvage the situation, and other Lords, both in the North, and all the way down to the reach attempted to organize a betrothal to a second or third son, a nephew or perhaps a bastard they had a degree of fondness to. And while Lord Stark was dutiful enough to read each and every one of them, and kind enough to discuss them with her, or even encourage her to accept some of them, like the one to Harrion Karstark, of Brandon Dustin, both of them heirs to their House, Visenya refused them all.

A few had even been bold enough to show up in person to ask for her hand on the harvest feast during her fourth and tenth year, which coincidentally was the first time the majority of the North learnt that she was a skilled warrior, after she had sent first Daryn Hornwood, then Asher Forrester and lastly the Smalljon Umber to Maester Luwin, all of them in need of stitches and bruise ointment, things calmed down after that, at least with offers from Northern Houses.

A few short moons later, everything changed. It had started so innocently with 'father', Robb, Bran, Theon and a few guards leaving to execute a deserter. Upon their return, they brought with them a litter of direwolves, even an albino runt for herself that Robb proudly informed her was named Ghost, due to his white coat and silent nature.

That was also when they were informed that the King was riding for Winterfell, and that he would no doubt be asking 'father' to become the new Hand after the sudden death of Jon Arryn. 'Senya had actually been relieved when she and Ser Arthur had been instructed to keep themselves scarce during the King's visit, and though she could see his point, she didn't think that making herself scarce really meant 'you'll stay locked in your room for the duration of his visit', at least she had Ghost, and a few books to read, and space enough to exercise at least, though the boredom of almost complete isolation was taxing.

It had been almost a moon's turn when 'father' finally visited her long enough to actually converse and share the news of what had happened. He was going south to become the Hand of the King, Arya and Sansa would be going with him. Sansa was betrothed to Joffrey the Crown Prince, Brandon had fallen from the First Keep and broken his spine and had yet to wake up, and she would have to marry…

"I'm sorry… can you say that again?" she asked harshly, while Ser Arthur looked to be close to strangling him.

"I cannot bring you south with me, and while Robb will be the Stark in Winterfell, he is still near two years away from manhood, and as such Cat will be acting as his regent."

"And she has made it abundantly clear that I will be thrown to the streets as soon as you leave is that it?" she asked calmly.

'Father' looked pained as he nodded. "It is either that or accept one of your many marriage proposals." he said, somewhat exasperated at the thought of all the proposals he'd received and rejected over the years.

"Very well, Ser Arthur." she turned her head to her 'uncle', "Are you packed?"

"Lyarra?" he asked confused.

'Senya took out a sack and started to pack her belongings that she couldn't go without, such as the gold she'd saved up over the years, change of clothes, spare boots and such. "I believe I'll take my chances on the streets." she said simply as she shocked both of them by drawing a cut in her palm.

"LYARRA!" 'father' shouted as she drew blood and went to take the knife from her hand.

"Stay back." she hissed as she gave them both a smirk and then placed her hand inside the blazing hearth. "Māzigon naejot nyke zōbrie mandia." she spoke harshly as she felt the magic take hold, and with a grunt of effort she withdrew her hand holding a long slender blade in her hand. The pommel and cross guard was wreathed in gold in the shape of burning flames with a smooth ruby set in the center of the cross guard. The blade itself was thin, about two fingers wide and just shy of forty inches long, with a single fuller running the length of the smoky, almost black metal, although, depending on the light, streaks of red like the color of blood seemed to run over the blade every now and then.

"Wha-Lyarra," Ned gasped with both him and Ser Arthur staring at her in shock.

"Visenya." she hissed to their shock. "What? Did you think I didn't know uncle? I've known since I was a little girl."

"Ly-Visenya." Ned hiccupped. "I only ever wanted to keep you safe."

"I know." she said with a rare smile, "But you cannot protect me anymore, and I'll never let myself be sold to any man… No, if I ever take a husband it will be one of my own choosing."

"But…" he paused, staring a bit closer at the piece of Valyrian Steel she packed carefully into a few shirts that she had intended to dispose of but hadn't actually gotten around to throw out yet. "IS that…"

"Dark Sister yes." she smiled grimly, it had felt good to finally have the blade she had forged from blood, steel magic and dragon fire in her own hand again after all these years.

"How..." he whispered.

"I am Visenya come again uncle." she said with a sly smile at her intended pun. "And like my namesake, I too have knowledge of arts thought by most to be a myth." she held up a hand to forestall him. "I'll say no more about this uncle."

Her uncle must have read the determination on her face because he let the matter lie. "And what will you do then? You cannot just wander aimlessly."

She shrugged slightly, "I am certain there are plenty of places I can travel to, and I'll have Ser Arthur with me. Perhaps the Reach. With their multitudes of tourneys and generous tourney purses I'm certain that neither Arthur or myself will starve."

Ned narrowed his eyes at her. "You want the Iron Throne," he said coldly.

"Of course I do." she admitted without hesitation. "It is only a question of time before war is upon us again. Your friend the Usurper has done nothing to heal the Realm, and Joffrey will not do a better job than his father, all I have to do uncle is to wait for the eventual uprising that will come when Robert or Joffrey goes to far."

Her words seemed to strike him like a dagger to the chest. "Lya-Visenya, please, please do not do this."

For the first time in her life she sneered at her uncle. "You may be blind to your friend the Usurpers, faults but I can assure you that I am not." she almost felt a stab of joy at seeing the pain on his face at hearing the word uttered with such venom from the girl he had raised as his own daughter. "The man who climbed over the broken corpses of my own siblings to take the Throne my family built, and what did he do to the men who did the deed? He rewarded them. Tywin Lannister, the man who entered my grandfather's city under the guise of friendship only to rape and pillage it got his wish of having his daughter as Queen, and he and all his men were allowed to leave the city they raped and burned with all their ill-gotten loot with not so much as a word of warning… that is that man you call your friend, for while Robert did not do or order those things himself, his actions after clearly shows that he agreed and dare I say approved of the Lannisters actions."

"It was a different time." he said angrily, not really able to summon up a proper rebuttal.

"Perhaps, and yet the man hasn't changed… but if it will soothe your bleeding-heart uncle I swear that I'll not be the one to draw first blood, I'll not be the one who provokes war. Your friend the Usurper or his heir will be the ones who does that, not me."

"And if I were to stop you?" he asked her coldly.

'Senya snorted. "The only way you can stop me is the one we both know you won't take, and that is to march back down to the great hall and tell you friend the Usurper the truth. He'll have my head by the end of the day, or perhaps I'll be raped half a hundred times first by his Knights before being split in half like my stepmother Elia, at least I do not have any babes he can murder first so that I might get raped with my children's blood still on their hands."

Ned winced. "I would never…"

"I know uncle, but it is time for me to forge my own path. You've kept your promise to my mother, I've grown up safe and loved."

She accepted the big bearhug he gave her. Even returned his 'I'll always love you like one of my own,' although she'd never in a million years admit that Ser Arthur was right when he later asked if that was a tear he could see in her eye. He may technically only be a bodyguard, but he had genuinely treated her like his own niece, and yes, she was fond of him… but she still had an appearance to maintain.

Rather than risk getting seen by the King she and Arthur left in the middle of the night atop a horse each, with a third horse trailing after them on a line with their provisions. "So where to now?" Arthur asked finally.

"It is customary to refer to your Queen as Your Grace you know," she replied with a small grin.

"Aye that is true," Arthur admitted with a laugh. "Yet I have spent the last four and ten years under the belief that you did not know anything… so forgive my 'Your Grace' for being just a little out of practice."

"Very well." she sighed theatrically. "I suppose I can forgive you, you were the only one to remain with me after all."

"Aye I was," he admitted softly. "The war was already lost by then, and I for one would not leave my best friend's child alone to die."

"And I thank you Ser," she said, giving Arthur another one of her rare smiles.

"So, do you truly intend to take back the Iron Throne?" he asked her.

"I do, and I know just how to get it."

"How?" he questioned.

"Well… at first we'll need coin, so that means tourneys, of which we'll find plenty of in the Reach. I assume you'll not mind riding in the honor of your favorite 'niece,' Lord Commander?"

If he was at all shocked or surprised at being named Lord Commander of her Queensguard he didn't show it, not that she had any other candidates lining up either for that matter. "I believe 'Your Grace' that if we continue our charade you would be my 'only' niece."

"And therefore, be right there at the top of your favorites." she countered.

"Aye." he admitted when he stopped laughing. "It'll be good to teach those Reachmen what a proper Knight can do."

"Being wined and dined, for being the Sword of the Morning, and then taking their coin is just a happy coincidence I'm sure." 'Senya admitted somewhat drily.

"Aye there is that," he admitted with a smile.

"What do you intend to do with all of this coin then? Raise an army? purchase the services of the Golden Company perhaps?"

Visenya wrinkled her nose in distaste. "Hardly, but having such a large amount of coin should be enough to gain you and I an audience with Lord Velaryon. Once I convince him we need but to wait for the opportune moment."

Arthur nodded thoughtfully. "And how do you intend to convince him to declare for you? Viserys is still alive, even my words can only do so much while a male heir of your House still lives."

Visenya smiled at Arthur, a rather chilling smile compared to the warm one he'd received earlier. "Who do you think Velaryon will declare for? "A man across the sea with two Knights in his service and nothing else? Or a woman with blood ties to the largest of the Seven Kingdoms, with a large amount of coin at her disposal, and lastly a living dragon at her disposal."

"A dragon?" Arthur said skeptically, "And where does this dragon hide itself? As I doubt you have room in your pockets."

"Fear not Ser, the dragon awaits us beneath the caves of Dragonstone… well as soon as I hatch it at any rate."

Arthur's eyes widened. "H-hatch it? Ly-Visenya..."

'Senya cut him off right there. "I know that attempts have been made to hatch dragons several times the past few hundred years, the last attempt at Summerhall nearly bringing an end to my House, so I ask you Ser… Do. You. Trust. Me?"

"With my life." he admitted.

Visenya nodded. "Good, trust in me and I can assure you that everything will go as I have planned. Hatching a dragon is not difficult at all, provided you know what to do."

"And you do?" he asked. "How, and for that matter there are other things to that you know that makes me wonder."

"One-day Ser… One day I'll tell you the full truth, but not yet."

"I can assure you, you can trust me," he said.

"I know," she replied calmly. "It is not a matter of trust, it is a matter of belief, you still have so much to see, so much to learn before you will be able to even remotely accept the truth. So, until then, I ask you to advise me, protect me, but most importantly trust me, and my decisions."

"I will, Your Grace."

000ooo000ooo000ooo000ooo000ooo000ooo000ooo000ooo000ooo000ooo000ooo000ooo000ooo000

Rather than ride all the way from the North down to the Reach the had journeyed to White Harbor where Lord Wyman was more than eager to host 'Ned's girl' and to take their horses off their hands., new ones could always be purchased when they arrived their destination. To their great fortune Lord Wyman even had three ships that were destined for Oldtown, ships that according to him always stopped at first Dragonstone and then Sunspear to pick up provisions and fresh water, which suited her and Arthur perfectly.

During the nights, they spoke in hushed voices about the future, and in Arthur's case, about the past. With her now knowing the truth, he felt safer at telling more about her family, her father and grandfather in particular. While Aerys would never regain an inch of respect in her eyes, she could sympathize with him slightly. It could not have been easy for him, with all the misfortune he and Rhaella shared with so many of their children dying, either from birth, still in the womb, or a few weeks or moons after their birth. Also having Tywin Lannister as Hand couldn't have helped.

Normally, she could have appreciated having a man of Tywin's talents as Hand. But the man had no humility what so ever, he had ambitions far beyond his station, and did nothing to quell the rumors about his services as Hand, and in all likelihood encouraged them. So yes, she could see how Aerys had eventually succumbed to madness and paranoia. Another thing they spoke of often was dragons, more specifically Arthur's worries. And this evening it was about how to keep it all hidden.

"Your Grace, dragons are not pets." Arthur protested as yet another of his arguments had just been shot down.

"Of course, they are not. They are magnificent beasts of war, and almost as intelligent as women, certainly more intelligent than men."

Arthur rolled his eyes at the jab. "And just how do you intend to keep a dragon hidden?"

"Easy. We stay off the main roads, travel by night, make sure it is fed. A few instructions and the dragon will know to keep itself hidden from others."

"But how?" he asked, yet again.

Visenya sighed. "For the first few weeks it will be small enough to stay in a cage which can be covered up. During this time, it will require roasted meat five times a day. A moon's turn, two at the most and it will be capable of flight. At this point it is ready to hunt on its own, it is, from that point on fully capable of taking care of itself, it will also at that point be intelligent to understand and obey my instructions, like staying out of sight unless called for, not to hunt livestock or men when it gets large enough to do so."

"And how will it stay hidden when it has become that large?"

"Do you have any idea how high a dragon can fly Ser?" she asked Arthur, who had to admit that he did not. "Dragons can easily fly for hours or days at a time in the cover of clouds, and then, like a bird of prey it'll swoop down with tremendous speed and accuracy to snatch up its prey. They are, I think I read the term 'power gliders' once, in that with but a few beats of their wings they can simply glide through the air for hours, only really pumping their wings to pick up speed. So, if when we travel by day it'll glide through the sky, high enough that anyone who does happen to cat a glimpse will simply think it to be another bird."

"I suppose there is no dissuading you is there?"

Visenya smiled. "No Ser, I am quite set with my plans."

When they finally reached Dragonstone Visenya was almost giddy. It had been four and ten years since she had last set foot in her home, and to see the Baratheon banners sway back and forth in the wind was almost painful. Seeing the red priestess stand in the town center preaching her vile faith was worse.

"Who is that?" Visenya asked as she pointed out a woman with abnormally large ears who was listening to the crimson haired priestess with rapture, one of the few who did fortunately, and Visenya felt a wave of pride and warmth for the people on the island who still kept faith in only one thing really, and that was dragons.

"I'd say that is the Lady Selyse." Arthur admitted. "I see no reason for any other woman to be accompanied by Baratheon guardsmen, and she does have the Florent ears."

"What game is Stannis playing that he lets a red priestess of all things stand on this island and preach her vile faith?"

"Stannis doesn't give a fuck, bloody traitor that he is." one of the commoners spoke as he spat angrily on the ground.

"Aye." another man agreed, "Gone to the dogs this place has, ever since good Queen Rhaella died birthing her daughter."

"I take it none here are pleased at having a Baratheon ruling the island then."

"Se skoros iksis ziry naejot ao pār? Iksi mirre pazavor naejot se zaldrīzoti kesīr." one of the men surprised her with speaking defiantly in High Valyrian, and from his finer clothes and clear Valyrian features, Visenya guessed that he was probably the town Mayor or another position of authority, he was definitely a dragon seed, or descended from one, mayhap a bastard uncle, he was too old to have come from her father's loins, and Aerys had at least had enough mistresses to make him a plausible father.

"Ñuha kepa's qogron emagon udrāzmi bisa tēgembōñ syt jēdri." she replied proudly, causing gasps and wide eyes from all around her as people took a closer look, many whispering with awe or had tears in their eyes, while others noticed, and recognized Ser Arthur.

"And..." the man swallowed. "And who was your father? What is your name?"

Ser Arthur looked around worry and suspicion, understandable she supposed, but this was her home these were her people, and she would never show fear while on Dragonstone. "Rhāegār iksis ñuha kepa. Iksan Visenya hen Targārien Lentor." she told them.

"Welcome home my Queen," the dragon seed said with a tearstained voice as he bowed low.

"Rise." she said as she hurried to bring him up again. "I cannot reveal myself to the Realm as a whole just yet, but one day soon I will return with men and steel at my back, and then…I will take back the keep of my fathers, until that time you all must keep quiet. Bow, scrape and pay lip service to the Usurper's brother, and know that we will have the last laugh."

A low chorus of 'Aye's' met her ears as men nodded with determination.

"I do have a few questions however." she said with a smile as the dragon seed led her away from the main square and into the largest building in the town, which served as both harbor warehouse and census office.

"I will gladly answer all your questions, but first, I am Vaelun, harbor master on Dragonstone."

"I am pleased to have met you." Visenya said calmly while permitting the man to place a reverent kiss on her hand. "The priestess." she almost spat the word out. "How long has she been here on, and where does she lodge?"

Vaelun obviously shared her disgust as he spat on his own floor. "She arrived a fortnight ago and has been preaching her vile faith in the town square ever since. A few of the younger lads almost started to believe her but we've set them straight. Currently she lodges with old Tom, who runs the tap house, but who knows how longer that will be for."

Explain?" Visenya snapped.

"The Lady Selyse has been completely taken with her, she has even invited her into the castle itself to dine with her on three occasions this last week."

"Abomination." Visenya hissed in disgust. "That bitch of a Florent who cannot even produce her own husband a single son, dares to sully the keep of my fathers with that eastern filth…" she looked closely at Vaelun, perhaps a test was in order. "If I were to ask, how many men could you mobilize in a day?"

"Perhaps eight hundred men and boys from the town, and half the garrison. Give me three days and I could have as much as five hundred more from the various hamlets and little town on the other side of the isle."

"Half the garrison." Arthur asked in surprise.

"Oh yes, Stannis brought a good hundred men or so with him, including a number of Knights, and his wife brought another fifty Florent men-at-arms. The rest of the garrison are proper sons of Dragonstone, we know where our loyalties lie."

"Excellent." Visenya told him, "but for the nonce I require an even dozen. Men who can keep their mouths shut."

"I know just the types." Vaelun said with a proud smile.

"Good, you have until nightfall to gather them. Once you are certain the abomination is asleep I want you to club her unconscious and bring her to me, bound and gagged. I myself shall await you all at the mine entrance by the eastern shore."

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It was perhaps an hour or two past midnight when twelve men found them near a small hole in the mountainside, right where the sea meets the shore, and between them they were carrying a tied-up bundle of red. "You made it, good." Visenya nodded approvingly as she ignited a torch with a snap of her finger. Soon after, another five torches were lit and divvied up between them and then they entered the small entrance to the mine.

It was obvious that the mine hadn't seen any use in centuries, and though it had been a long time since she herself had been down here she still knew her way through the winding tunnels filled with jagged formations of razor sharp dragonglass, which reflected the torchlight into a kaleidoscope of color all around them. After almost another hour's walk Visenya halted their party in front of an insignificant piece of cave wall, that is until with a muttered incantation that none of the others could hear the illusion briefly ended, and where before it had been just another piece of dirt and razor-sharp rocks there now stood a thick circular door of steel, with no lock, no hinges nor even a handle.

With a quick cut to her hand she smeared the blood on the door and to the complete shock of the rest of the party said; "Come," and then walked right through the door as if it wasn't even there. Now Arthur had seen a lot of shit over the years, and he trusted the young woman who he loved as if she was his own daughter, but to see her just walk through a solid door or wall… Some of the others didn't share his disbelief, or rather the faith they had in the Targaryens was so strong it bordered on religious fervor, and seeing one after another of them disappear through the wall Arthur shrugged and followed.

The Room they entered wasn't large at all. In the center stood a large altar with a depression in the middle large enough to hold a large man, with three circular plinths surrounding it. One on each side of where a person's head would rest, with a last one at the base where the feet would be, and Visenya was already scurrying back and forth. Two twin plinths both held a censer with incense that had already been lit, filling the room with a sweet smell, while the last plinth, which was the lowest of the three, slightly shorter in height than the altar itself already held a dark red dragon egg.

"Secure her," Visenya spoke with a cold tone that sent shivers down Arthur's spine. Rarely had she ever spoken with that tone, but when she did, people obeyed, as was evident as the men quickly put the struggling red priestess on the altar and secured the human shaped bars over her to prevent her escape.

Arthur shuffled in discomfort. He like everyone had heard tales of the original Visenya, and his own little 'Senya had admitted to knowing the forbidden arts, but to bear witness in person… that was not something that he had ever thought he would do. The hissed incantation that Visenya spoke was such a surprise that he almost jumped. When the altar let out a blast of red light he actually did jump, he probably swore as well, and almost returned the fish he'd eaten earlier when he saw the result of the ritual that had been enacted.

Of the red priestess, there was nothing left but bones covered in ratty red robes, and a tarnished ruby choker. The rest of her was pouring out from a small hole at the end of the altar in a continuous stream of blood. Each drop of the life-giving fluid hit the top of the dragon egg and ran down its side to pool underneath it in a deep cup that had been carved into the plinth of black stone. Once the last drop had escaped the altar Visenya stepped closer and raised her arms before speaking another incantation in High Valyrian.

"Ondoso Perzys Ānogār iksā āzma," she spoke harshly and then blood pooling beneath the egg ignited in a furious blaze of blue-violet flames. At first, Arthur thought he was going to die it was so hot, but eventually the heat disappeared and so too did the flames. Once his eyes readjusted to the darker light he felt his knees hit the ground as he, like the twelve other men stared in awe at Visenya, and the red dragon that perched on her shoulder…

AN:

I felt this was as good a place as any to stop. This was supposed to just be a fun little oneshot/challenge, but ended up to be a monster of over 13k words, and I definitely like the idea of continuing this, especially since I seem to just dig myself deeper into a hole with Bloody Wolf, rather than try and climb back up again.

As alwyas a big thank you to my wonderful beta Tallman7 for keeping up with me.

Translations:

Māzigon naejot nyke zōbrie mandia: Come to me Dark Sister.

Se skoros iksis ziry naejot ao pār? Iksi mirre pazavor naejot se zaldrīzoti kesīr: And what is it to you then? we are all loyal to the dragons here.

Ñuha kepa's qogron emagon udrāzmi bisa tēgembōñ syt jēdri: My father's line has ruled this island for years

Rhāegār iksis ñuha kepa. Iksan Visenya hen Targārien Lentor: Rhaegar was my father. I am Visenya of House Targaryen.

Ondoso Perzys Ānogār iksā āzma: By fire and blood you are born.

Cheers.

Daemon Belaerys.