Chapter 3: Courting the Queen Who Never Was (88–92 AC)
The year after Viserys bonded with Balerion, 89 AC, solidified his reputation. The sheer spectacle of the Black Dread, a creature previously thought to be on the precipice of death, roaring back to life and taking to the skies with the young Prince Viserys on his back, sent ripples of awe and unease throughout the Seven Kingdoms. Whispers followed Viserys wherever he went – of a dragon dream, of a miraculous connection, of the boy who had reawakened the most fearsome beast in Westeros.
For Marco, now fully immersed as Viserys, this was merely the first phase. Balerion was his ultimate weapon, a deterrent against any potential challenge. But a true dynasty required more than just overwhelming force; it needed legitimacy, a clear line of succession, and strategically forged alliances. His next target was clear: Rhaenys Targaryen, the spirited daughter of Prince Aemon.
Rhaenys, the "Queen Who Never Was" in the original timeline, was a crucial piece in Marco's grand design. Her strong Valyrian blood, her claim through her father (who, in this timeline, was still very much alive), and her fierce, independent spirit made her the ideal choice. Marrying her would not only secure a strong Targaryen lineage but also consolidate the "Black" and "Green" factions that would eventually tear the realm apart in the Dance of the Dragons. Preventing that devastating civil war was paramount.
In 89 AC, Rhaenys was fourteen, already possessing a striking beauty and a sharp mind. She was often found in the Red Keep, visiting her grandparents, King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne. Viserys, now twelve, began his subtle campaign. He knew he couldn't simply declare his intentions; Rhaenys was no meek maiden. She valued wit, strength, and genuine connection.
His approach was indirect, built on shared interests and intellectual sparring. He would seek her out in the castle library, feigning a casual encounter.
> "Princess Rhaenys," Viserys would greet her, his voice imbued with a newfound confidence that charmed most, "I see you're lost in another history of the Freehold. Tell me, do you not find it tragic that such a magnificent civilization crumbled, not by external invasion, but by its own internal strife?"
>
Rhaenys, initially wary of her younger cousin's sudden, intense intellectual curiosity, would often raise an eyebrow. "Most boys your age are more concerned with swordplay, cousin. What stirs your mind to such somber reflections?"
"Perhaps," Viserys would respond, his violet eyes locking with hers, a hint of ancient wisdom in their depths, "because I see the echoes of such strife even in our current peace. A peace, I fear, that is as fragile as a dragon's egg."
He would engage her in conversations about Valyria, weaving tales of its grandeur, its dragons, and its arcane knowledge that he had gleaned from his exhaustive reading and his intimate connection with Balerion. He would speak of the challenges of ruling, the burden of leadership, and the need for a strong, unified House Targaryen. He never boasted, but his recent bonding with Balerion lent an unspoken weight to his words. His presence, even as a young boy, had begun to shift. The serum, combined with his own innate charisma, made him undeniably captivating. He was articulate, insightful, and possessed a quiet intensity that drew people in.
Over the next few years, from 89 AC to 92 AC, Viserys continued to foster their connection. He learned of Rhaenys's own ambitions, her frustration at being a woman in a patriarchal world, her desire for agency and recognition. He acknowledged and validated her intelligence and strength, something many men of the court often overlooked in favor of her beauty or her lineage.
During sparring sessions in the castle yard, where Viserys, thanks to the serum, was developing surprising agility and strength for his age, he would often observe Rhaenys as she trained with her own sword, often outperforming many of the squires. He'd offer genuine compliments, not flattery, but an appreciation for her skill.
> "Your blade work, Rhaenys," he remarked once, after she had disarmed a much older knight during a demonstration, "is sharper than most men twice your age. It's a shame our realm often forgets the strength of its dragonesses."
>
She would glance at him, a flicker of surprise and then a genuine smile touching her lips. "And you, Viserys, are becoming less of a bookworm and more of a warrior. Your bond with Balerion clearly agrees with you."
He never pushed, never forced. His strategy was one of slow, steady infiltration, building a foundation of mutual respect and admiration. He would ensure they were often in proximity at court events, subtly orchestrating their interactions. He'd make sure to praise her wit in front of others, or seek her opinion on matters of court, elevating her status in subtle ways.
By 91 AC, Viserys, now fourteen, had grown into a lean, striking youth. His silver hair fell perfectly, and his violet eyes held a depth that could be unnerving. Rhaenys, at seventeen, was a woman of breathtaking beauty, vibrant and confident. Their friendship had deepened considerably. They would ride together on their respective dragons—Viserys on Balerion, Rhaenys on Meleys, the Red Queen, a fierce young dragon she had bonded with years prior. These flights, soaring above the clouds, were moments of unparalleled freedom and intimacy. They would race, laugh, and share secrets carried on the wind.
On one such flight, Balerion's immense shadow dwarfing Meleys, Viserys spoke to Rhaenys over the roar of the wind.
> "This is true power, isn't it, Rhaenys?" Viserys shouted, his voice carrying over the wind, gesturing to the sprawling landscape below them. "To command the skies, to look upon the world as if it were a tapestry woven for our eyes."
>
> "It is," she yelled back, her eyes alight with joy, "but power can also be a burden. A heavy crown for a king, or a queen who never was." She said the last part with a wry, self-deprecating humor, a nod to the constant speculation about her claim.
>
Viserys knew the sting of that truth for her. He would address it, not with false promises, but with a shared vision.
> "Perhaps," he replied, looking at her, his expression serious, "the burden is lighter when shared with someone who understands its weight. Someone who sees the possibilities, not just the limitations."
>
At court, others began to notice the growing closeness between Prince Viserys and Princess Rhaenys. They were often seen deep in conversation, their heads close, a comfortable familiarity between them. While others saw a natural camaraderie between cousins, Marco saw the pieces of his grand design falling into place. He was planting the seeds of an inevitable union, one that would be seen as natural and beneficial by the court, rather than a forced political match.
By 92 AC, Viserys was fifteen, and Rhaenys eighteen. He was no longer a boy. His frame had broadened slightly, and his movements were deliberate, assured. He had honed his charm, his ability to read people, and his talent for subtle manipulation to an art form. He knew the precise moment to offer a compliment, when to provide a listening ear, and when to challenge her intellect, always in a way that made her feel respected and valued.
During a lavish feast in the Red Keep, celebrating the King's nameday, the hall was abuzz with music and laughter. Viserys, now a prominent figure, effortlessly navigated the throng of lords and ladies, exchanging polite pleasantries and gathering snippets of information. He saw Rhaenys across the hall, surrounded by a gaggle of young lords, all vying for her attention. He watched her politely fend them off, her eyes occasionally scanning the room, as if searching for something, or someone.
He moved towards her, a cool, confident stride. As he approached, he subtly caught her eye, and a faint, almost imperceptible smile touched her lips before she turned back to her admirers. He waited for a lull in their conversation, then approached.
> "Rhaenys," Viserys said, his voice a low, warm rumble, cutting through the din, "might I steal you away for a moment? I find myself quite bored by the endless pronouncements on the merits of boar hunting, and I suspect you might as well."
>
She laughed, a bright, clear sound that drew eyes. Her current suitors looked displeased, but none dared challenge the Prince who rode Balerion. "Indeed, cousin. Lead the way."
He guided her to a secluded alcove overlooking one of the castle courtyards, the sounds of the feast muffled by the thick stone walls. The moonlight streamed through the narrow window, casting them in silver.
> "Rhaenys," Viserys began, his voice dropping to a serious, almost intimate tone, "you're wasted on these petty lords. Their concerns are small, their ambitions smaller. They see a beautiful princess, a fertile womb, a powerful name. They do not see you."
>
She looked at him, her eyes bright, a hint of curiosity and challenge in them. "And who might that be, cousin, who sees me so clearly?"
He stepped closer, his gaze intense, unwavering, conveying the full weight of his conviction. "Someone who'd burn the world to keep you. Someone who sees a queen, not just in name, but in spirit. Someone who understands that you were born for more than idle courtships and dutiful smiles." He paused, letting his words sink in. "You belong with someone who recognizes your strength, who will stand with you, not before you, as we shape the future of this realm. Someone who knows that power is not just inherited, but forged, and that our house, together, can be an unassailable force."
Her breath hitched slightly. The intensity of his gaze, the sheer conviction in his words, was disarming. It wasn't a declaration of love, not yet, but a declaration of purpose, a shared destiny. It was an appeal to her ambition, her pride, her fierce Targaryen blood. He wasn't courting her with flowery words of romance, but with the promise of power, of partnership, of a future where her strength would be celebrated, not confined.
He extended a hand, palm up, an invitation. "A partnership, Rhaenys. A true union of dragons."
She looked at his hand, then back into his eyes. The years of shared conversations, of intellectual understanding, of soaring the skies together, culminated in this moment. The groundwork was laid. The mutual respect had blossomed into something deeper, something that bordered on undeniable attraction. She slowly, deliberately, placed her hand in his. Their fingers intertwined, a silent acknowledgment of the path they were now set upon. The stage was set for the next, crucial step in Viserys's grand gambit.