(122-07-24) Dragon Dreams
Dragon Dreams
Summary: Visenya awakens from her fever dreams; Rhaegor checks in on her.
Date: 24 July 2015
Related: Venom & Misdirection
Players:
Torren..Visenya..Rhaegor..

Visenya and Torren are both in bed still. Visenya is sweating profusely and has a disturbed look on her face. Torren is not touching her, but he has a look that seems to be a mixture of concern and something else. They both look like they've just been woken up rather abruptly. Visenya sits up slowly as she is still rather weak, and leans back against the headboard of the bed. "I don't want to go to sleep again. Ever."

"It is just the poison," Torren says, and now he does reach for her hand. "But the worst is past now. It will be better now. The fever has broken and now you will recover." At least he sounds like he knows what he's talking about, and not like it's just wishful thinking. "Here," he says, and with his other hand he hands her a cup of water, "you need to drink something."

One of Visenya's handmaids raps faintly at the door, slipping into the chamber. She looks relieved to see Visenya sitting up, and tells her, "It's Prince Rhaegor, Princess." She hesitates, and then admits, "He's been sitting at the door for hours. Ought I let him in?" No doubt the scream that tore her from her slumber has worsened the Targaryen's anxiety; he has not attempted to visit Visenya once more since Torren hustled him off on all those errands after they'd first moved her to the bed.

Visenya takes the cup with her uninjured hand, and she seems to hold it a little more steady than she did before. She gulps the water down in several swallows before handing the cup back to Torren and asking, "Is there more?" When her handmaiden slips into the chamber she gives her a bit of a confused look. As if she's forgotten she exists at all. Finally her words sink in. She turns her head to give Torren a hesitant, guilty look. But in the end it is Rhaegor who wins out. "Yes."

When she asks if there is more, Torren nods, taking the cup back. He starts to refill it from a carafe next to the bed, but when the handmaiden comes in, he looks up, and his expression becomes impassive. As it tends to, at certain times. He glances back to Visenya, but at her guilty look, his own expression does not change, and he just hands her the newly filled cup without comment. He doesn't add his own permission, but neither does he forbid it.

The handmaid disappears, and Rhaegor enters the room in her place more or less immediately thereafter. The girl had seemed relieved by Visenya's appearance, but the Targaryen prince redefines the word. It's obvious from a combination of his body language and his expression that he wars with the instinct to go right to Visenya's side. In the end, he resists it. "Forgive me," he says to Torren, standing on ceremony even if it is a bit of a hollow apology. "I heard a scream." But he hardly looks at the Martell; he studies Visenya's features searchingly. "Has the worst of it passed? Might I be of some assistance?"

Visenya's left arm beyond the bandaging shows horrific colors, and it is swollen. But, at least it is not rotting like viper bites sometimes do. She takes the cup from Torren and her right hand seems a bit shaky, but she can grip a cup and is able to bring it to her lips and drink without assistance. Which is what she's doing when Rhaegor walks in. Drinking again. "It was me." She admits before wiping her lips with the sleeve of her thin chemise. "I think I will live."

Rhaegor nods, because what else is there to do? There is no mistaking the degree to which he is welcome, but he has seen enough of Visenya to at least take some comfort in her state, even if the fraction it relieves his worrying is negligible. "Very well. I will be on hand if you have need of me. I am sending some of my men ahead with Lady Fowler and her party to transport the prisoners to Skyreach at first light." And then he inclines his head, and makes to leave the way he came.

Rhaegor nods, because what else is there to do? There is no mistaking the degree to which he is welcome, but he has seen enough of Visenya to at least take some comfort in her state, even if the fraction it relieves his worrying is negligible. "Very well. I will be on hand if you have need of me. I am sending some of my men ahead with Lady Fowler and her party to transport the prisoners to Skyreach at dusk." And then he inclines his head, and makes to leave the way he came.

Visenya watches as Rhaegor inclines his head, and she lets him reach the door before she calls out, "Rhaegor." There is a moment's hesitation before she says, "I dreamed of the Whoremaster. And of my hatchlings. They are not in the Uplands anymore." She adds then, "But I believe there is a Valyrian blade to be found there, and it will be a match to the panpipes found by the Hightowers."

"I appreciate your diligence, Prince Rhaegor." It even sounds sincere. And, well, it probably is, at least on some level. He can understand the man being worried about Visenya, and there is no reason to begrudge him it. He may have been happier to just have Rhegor come in, check on Visenya, and then leave, but when Visenya speaks, he just falls quiet, letting the two of them discuss it.

Something unfamiliar ripples through Rhaegor as he hears her revelations, having turned back from the door at Visenya's call. Obsession. Mania. His pale amethyst stare burns with it. Dragon dreams. He doesn't even hear Torren, though his gaze does flick the prince's way when she mentions the Valyrian blade. Back to Visenya. "What did you see? Where are they now?"

"I saw her lair in the Uplands." Visenya tells Rhaegor, "But it was empty. Than I saw her through a crack. …And then I was in a desert and it was empty save for a fig tree where one of my hatchlings ate one of the figs while sitting in it's branches." She frowns then before continuing onwards, "And then there was only sky, and it was limitless and overwhelming."

Rhaegor's stare becomes distant, like he's trying to recreate the sequence she narrates in his mind's eye. But there is a palpable tension in his frame, strung tight with the maelstrom of warring impulses and emotions that the thought of once again riding a dragon inspires. When he comes back to the here and now, his stare hones in on Visenya. "We should still begin with her lair," he says, at length. Already looking ahead. Valyrian steel.

"Daevon searched for that sword forever…" Visenya says quietly, and with a bit of sadness in her voice. She's begun to long for her twin's company, and taking the sword from him when he'd searched so long seems wrong. Finally she says, "If we do find a blade I want it for any children I may bear." That said she says to Rhaegor, "I think I need to rest until dusk. Torren has had a litter prepared for me so we can make it to Skyreach."

Rhaegor nods, and brooks no argument. Valyrian steel is a priceless and precious in its own right, but it's not what causes his blood to burn now. Torren. Rhaegor looks to the Martell, and inclines his head again, as he had the first time he turned to go. "I will leave you both," he says. If nothing else she's given him the gift of something to distract a bit of his attention from the all-consuming dread that befell him when the viper sunk its fangs in Visenya's flesh.

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