Chapter Text
They weren’t meant for each other, Aegon and Visenya.
It is simple to say and admit so, for they are not each other’s fated—each other’s perfect one; they did not bear each other names, had not have it appear somewhere in their bodies even as Aegon turned six-and-ten; the typical age of which the gods (whether of Valyria, or of the Andals, or of the First Men) would bless you of the name of your soulmate, the one you would forever “love”.
But with the two of them being unbound—with Aegon and Visenya not being each other's only one—it had been a true disappointment for both their Lord Father, the Lord Aerion, current Archon of Dragonstone, and his soulmate-wife, their mother, the Lady Valaena; and if it weren’t for the bizarre miracle the year and some months after Aegon turned sixteen, they would’ve forced their eldest son and daughter to wed each other nonetheless, just to secure the peace within their family.
But alas, it seemed as though the gods are on their side once more—for by her 16th nameday, Rhaenys’ name suddenly appeared on both of her siblings’ wrists; marking Aegon and Visenya as hers instead of each other's, marking both her siblings eternally bound to love her more than they ever would learn to of each other.
Through the youngest Targaryen born, through Lady Rhaenys the most beautiful, House Targaryen would be secure once again—blessed by the fourteen as they were, with their eldest son and daughter being tied for eternity still; even though not directly to each other as their parents wanted them to be, even though not as soulmates in its simplicity—
With Rhaenys, they remain connected and bound forever nonetheless. With Rhaenys, a shared bond—an eternal tie and fructuous harmony that would always exist between both of them.
All for their younger, beautiful sister; all for Rhaenys, who they would both always love and put first.
It was easy for their parents then, and for Aegon and Visenya as well, to accept and decide the obvious, rightful course of action to take;
And so as soon as the necessary preparations for a Valyrian union had been set, the three legitimate children of Aerion and Valaena Targaryen are married in the custom of those who worship the fourteen flames; the custom almost lost entirely if not for their existence.
All three would bleed, and drink and kiss. All three would hold each other, and would vow to be of one flesh, one heart, one soul, now and always.
After that—
They had been happy enough together, all three of them.
Or at least, that is what Aegon and Visenya had both believed to be the truth of things—that is what they both thought Rhaenys would agree with;
They both had no reason to doubt so, after all—for both Rhaenys and Visenya readily held Aegon as he dreamed of the Long Night, had both readily supported him after he told them of the necessity of conquering and uniting Westeros under the rule of the last remaining dragon lords of Valyria.
As for Visenya herself, she never doubted the bond between all three of them for both Aegon and Rhaenys had remained stubborn and kept embracing and loving her—even as her heart bled then slowly healed from falling in love with another who had already chosen someone else, even as her mind and body forgets Orys… the one who she thought might’ve belonged to her like she did with Rhaenys.
And so, Aegon and Visenya thought that Rhaenys was as content of their situation as the both of them did; for the three of them had been each other’s constants in every single thing, in every single moment—and everything in between.
His sisters had supported him, conquered six of the seven kingdoms with him.
Her siblings had listened to her wisdom, had let her rule with iron fists as Aegon flies to settle small and smaller rebellions within the continent—as Rhaenys arranged marriages after marriages to secure their influence in a way that does not involve violence.
They were perfect, they had been perfect.
More so as Rhaenys gave birth to the kingdom’s heir—Aenys, who is entirely hers and Aegon's—more so, as every kingdom except Dorne had yielded and bowed to their wishes, their mighty dragons.
They had not just changed history; they had remade it—
It was a true pity then, that Aegon and Visenya both had been blinded by glory—and had... forgotten the one thing they shouldn’t have ever neglected.
But with their contentment with how things are, with their satisfaction and serenity with having everything they wanted and sought and fought for, for years now—
They missed Rhaenys’ slow-brewing unhappiness at everything they now had, had missed the jealousy ill-contentment that bloomed within their younger sister and soulmate as she watched both her ones seemingly become closer and closer, and not need her as much—as Rhaenys witnessed how Aegon and Visenya could be good and well enough on their own together; even without her to tie them entangled, even without her to draw them closer.
(In truth, everything had started long before the conquest; when Aegon chose to take Visenya alone to a trip in Old Town, then to Lannisport for some "errands"—of which she previously set aside and forgotten easily enough when they returned, for Aegon told her they just had a table commissioned.
A table that ended up being the very "painted table" Aegon would end up using to conquer six of the seven kingdoms, the key to their subjugation; the very one he trusted Visenya alone for opinion and judgement, or whatever else he needed her guidance and perception—)
Rhaenys hated it; that her Visenya is hailed as Aegon’s magnificent warrior-queen—as beautiful as she was fierce and mighty, loyal only to him; as her Aegon is hailed as the only one Visenya fiercely loved—the only one she prioritized and strived to protect, going as far as to guard and shield him herself every time he faced a threat to his life.
All the while Rhaenys slowly became known just as the mother of their sickly son.
All the while she remained acknowledged only as the wife Aegon loved more, but never really seemed to trust enough.
She hated it, being perceived so lowly by mere sheep who talk of things they do not know.
She loathed it, that the courtiers' and smallfolk's words alike are enough to rile and needle her—make her doubt the love her soulmates bear for her alone.
And so, it drove her to desire nothing but to prove herself worthy of her title as conqueror alongside her brother and sister, alongside her soulamtes; and so, it drove her to want nothing more than prove that she is more than his brother's lover, more than a womb to bear the heirs Visenya did not want to carry in the first place, if they didn't require it of her.
Queen Rhaenys Targaryen would pour all her attention and focus of her unknowingly last years alive with the single-minded goal of conquering the entire kingdom of Dorne, of conquering an entire nation for Aegon like Visenya did the Vale years prior.
The war would continue on for many years; growing more violent and bloody as she relentlessly pursued to do as she vowed to accomplish, as the dornish continue to fiercely fight for their country—proving themselves like the Rhoynish they are descent of who too had refused to bow to the fires and dragons of the Targaryen's own ancestors.
It will end soon enough however, in 10 AC—for after a decade after Aegon conquered six kingdoms alongside her and their elder sister, Rhaenys would famously "fall to her death" as her dragon Meraxes perished while in flight—shot in the eye by a poisoned bolt-scorpion in Hellholt during a savage battle for conquest, during another attempt to make the Dornish bow before them; (though in truth, the beloved Queen's death is not as straight-forward as it seemed, wrapped by mystery and uncertainty if she suffered more than she did at the hands of people who were rumored to despise and loathe her more than they did her brother and sister, than they did her fellow conquerors.)
Well, in the end, it did not really amount to anything at all—for when she fell, there was no true closure to be had by those who loved her;
for in the end, her body was never returned to her grieving sister-wife and husband-brother—to her son who cries and cries, to her Aenys who longs to once more to be close to the mother he barely knew; his mother who dead before he could truly remember and recall her in the future.