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Since she was old enough to think for herself, Visenya Targaryen knew she was different. Was it because she did something wrong? No. Was it the people around her? Of course. Although she was the eldest sibling, Visenya was aware of always being outshined by her little brother and sister. And it was plainly obvious, in truth. Aegon and Rhaenys were much more than enough of what their parents might have wished for their children; first Aegon, the middle child and future Lord of Dragonstone. He was a robust and healthy boy since he had been born only two years after Visenya, and Lord Aerion couldn't help but dote on him constantly, grooming him to be both the perfect warrior and a just lord. Their parents hadn't minded much when little nine year old Visenya had asked them to be trained in arms alongside her brother. And why not? It was obvious that Visenya would marry Aegon when they came of age, and since Visenya had never been much lady-like to begin with (and with no necessity to be shipped off to marry some Velaryon cousin who might wonder why his lady wife knows how to wield a sword), it wouldn't be much of a grievance. And it wasn't like Lady Valaena hadn't had a spare daughter to groom into the lady she wished for.And that was Rhaenys' turn, four years later from her birthyear. Visenya could remember the night when her lady mother's screams could be heard all over Dragonstone as she brought Rhaenys forth into the world; the old maester had told her to go to sleep and wait for word of her mother and the baby's wellbeing on the morrow, but little Visenya hadn't listened and instead stole off from her bedchamber to hide in one of the ancient fortress' many dark hallways which was close to the birthing room. She had also brought her little brother with her; to her disappointment in later years, Aegon hadn't been as bold at two as he was at twenty. He had tried to cover his ears with tiny pale hands to muffle out the screams, but Visenya swatted them away and told him that he was the blood of the dragon and should listen to the sounds of a dragon hatching. However, to her despair, those words did nothing to cease his uncontrollable wailing.Rhaenys had turned out to be everything Visenya was not.A lively child, lover of songs and tales of knightly valor, and the most delicate Valyrian features that Visenya would ever see. Rhaenys was ever the dutiful daughter, and there was nothing she enjoyed more than doing needlework with their lady mother and tending to and flying on her beautiful silver dragon Meraxes, who was even bigger than Visenya's. The latter, although she liked to fly well enough, loathed the tiny needles used to sew the Targaryen three-headed dragon. She preferred a Valyrian steel one, and much bigger by that. Because at age 14, Visenya was already a skilled swordswoman, and woke up every morning eager to knock Aegon into the ground and viceversa as they had done countless times, teasing and cursing and laughing all the while.****He is your lord now, Visenya thought, and your future husband. He can do as he pleases.Aegon and Rhaenys were sitting in front of her, two pairs of purple eyes fixed on hers as she gritted her teeth and tried to will her hands to stop shaking. What was it that Rhaenys had and Visenya didn't, to make Aegon want to marry her as well? No, no, it was all wrong. It should've been just her, the eldest. Rhaenys was meant for someone else, anyone else, and Visenya would have made sure of that. If it had been up to her, Visenya would have found a match for her beautiful and sweet sister as far away from Dragonstone as she pleased. And if Rhaenys dared to ask to be wed to someone of Valyrian descent, Visenya would be only too delighted to put her on a ship and send her to Mantarys so she could choose freely from all the twisted monsters that dwelt there. But that was folly, and Visenya knew that there was nothing she could do to defy Aegon's lordly wishes. So she just inclined her head and asked his leave to go, which he granted meekly enough. Visenya only allowed herself to let fall a few angry tears when she was safely away on Vhagar's back from her siblings' cursed purple eyes.****Aegon was king now, and it wasn't an easy thing to rule such an unstable and war-torn realm. Visenya learned that soon enough, and although it was nothing compared to the thrill of the fight, she proved herself to be apt to the task. What she didn't seem to be apt for, something which her brother Aegon could surely attest to, were her wifely duties. Visenya was no fool, she knew the reason why Aegon seldom came to visit her bed and preferred to spend his nights with their little sister. Although he still hoped a child from her, a strong son who could succeed him when he would no longer be in this world. But Visenya had a realm to rule and a suckling babe wasn't something that she would prefer to have attached to her teat in her foreseeable future; and it was nothing that a little herbal tea couldn't solve. So that was when Rhaenys announced a sudden feast, and the applauses of the lords and ladies gathered in the throne room for the parents-to-be threatened to deafen her. Visenya hadn't joined them, and excused herself silently from the feast. It was a long night, and her bedchamber had ended up completely destroyed as the queen dropped Dark Sister from her hand to lay down amidst the ruins.****It was after her son Maegor's birth and Rhaenys' death that a light had started to break up the dark on Visenya's future. Her nephew had turned out to be a weakling, sickly and afraid without a mother's guidance. Whereas Maegor was everything he was not; and it wasn't a long time before the smallfolk began to whisper that Maegor was the Conqueror's trueborn son. Over the years, there wasn't anything Visenya enjoyed more than hearing how her nephew's realm was falling apart with every single thing he failed to do. She thought that her reckoning was close, come in the form of the future King Maegor of House Targaryen, the First of His Name. She couldn't help but let out a little smile, which anyone else would have thought was a tender one meant for the nephew laying on the bed in front of her, as she gave him to drink from a small silver flask and bid him good night.