[POV: Visenya Targaryen]

Visenya had expected him to be afraid.

She had not expected quite this much.

Jon Snow stood with his back to her at the edge of the black shore, his entire body drawn tight beneath the black clothes the blood magic had given him. One hand had already gone to his hip, searching for a sword.

There was nothing there. His fingers closed around empty air. That seemed to frighten him more.

Visenya looked down at herself. The blood magic had restored something familiar for her as well. Not the old woman she had eventually become. Not the infant lying asleep somewhere far beyond this place. She looked perhaps seventeen. Eighteen at most. Near Jon's age.

Her body was lean and strong again. Silver hair fell freely down her back. Dark riding leathers had replaced blankets and swaddling cloth. No crown. No Dark Sister. That last absence was irritating. Perhaps the magic had decided allowing either of them weapons during their first conversation would be unwise. For once, Visenya could hardly disagree.

The sea rolled against black stone. Behind her, Dragonstone rose into the darkening sky. Or something resembling Dragonstone. The towers were familiar—dragon heads carved from stone watched the shore, bridges linked structures shaped like wings and claws. Yet pieces were wrong. A tower slightly too tall. A wall where another ought to have stood. Details reconstructed from memory rather than stone.

Visenya had reached through their shared blood looking for somewhere she understood. Apparently some part of the blood magic had answered with home.

Jon still had not turned.

"Turn around," Visenya folded her arms. "I don't bite."

"That's very comforting."

His voice. His actual voice. Rough. Young. Human. Visenya had heard it before, though Jon had no reason to know that. She had heard him shout commands through snow. Speak to friends. Argue with brothers of the Night's Watch. Whisper to his wolf. She had heard his last words.

Now he was speaking to her. That was strange. Interesting. And becoming irritating.

"Jon."

His shoulders stiffened. "Do not call me that."

Visenya raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

"Because nobody here knows that name."

"Precisely why you should turn around."

That did it. Slowly, Jon turned.

Visenya watched recognition reach him. First the silver hair. Then her face. Then the eyes. Purple. His own eyes widened. He stopped moving. For several heartbeats, even the sea seemed quieter.

Visenya knew exactly what he saw. The woman in the blood. The face behind the red current. The hand that had caught him.

Jon stepped backward. Then another half-step. He looked ready to run. Visenya almost took offense.

"Really?"

"Stay there."

"I have not moved."

"Keep it that way."

She stared at him. He stared back. His fear had changed. Before turning, he had feared the unknown thing behind him. Now he feared her. That was considerably more interesting.

"You."

"Yes."

"The river."

"Yes."

Jon swallowed. "You were there."

"I was."

"You pulled me out."

"I tried."

His eyebrows drew together. "Tried?"

"Things became complicated."

"Complicated."

"Yes."

"The river started flowing backwards."

"I noticed."

"There were roots everywhere."

"I noticed those too."

"And then I woke up as a baby."

"So did I."

Jon's mouth opened. Closed. Then opened again. "Who are you?"

Visenya considered the question. "Visenya Targaryen."

Jon stared. Then frowned. "I know."

"Do you?"

"You're the babe beside me."

Visenya almost smiled. He had worked that out. Good.

"My sister."

"Yes."

Jon waited. She waited. His fear gave way briefly to irritation. "I asked who you are."

"And I answered."

"No, you told me the name everyone has been calling you for a week."

Visenya tilted her head. "Then ask a better question."

Jon's jaw tightened. "Who were you?"

Better.

Visenya looked toward Dragonstone. Her home. Or the memory of it. When she looked back, Jon had not moved.

"Visenya Targaryen."

He looked increasingly annoyed. Visenya allowed a few heartbeats to pass. Then she added, "The first."

Jon went still. Completely.

Visenya watched his face. At first there was nothing. Then thought. Then memory. Then recognition. It came slowly enough that she could almost see him moving through names and histories inside his head. His eyes widened.

"No."

Visenya sighed. Jon took another step backward.

"No."

"You have already said that."

"Queen Visenya."

"Yes."

His face had lost color. "The Conqueror."

"One of them."

"Aegon's sister."

"And wife."

Jon stared at her. Not at her hair. Not at some imagined shadow of Maegor behind her. At her. Queen Visenya Targaryen. The woman who had mounted Vhagar and burned armies. The woman who had crossed Westeros beside Aegon. The woman who had helped forge the Seven Kingdoms into one realm. The woman with Dark Sister at her hip. The woman whose name had survived in histories written nearly three centuries later.

Jon knew exactly who stood before him. And he was terrified.

"Seven hells."

Visenya's eyes narrowed. "Must you?"

"You are Visenya Targaryen."

"I am becoming concerned that your memory is failing."

Jon ignored the remark. "The Visenya Targaryen."

"Yes."

"Vhagar."

"My dragon."

"The Field of Fire."

"I was there."

"Harrenhal."

"I was also there."

"The Vale."

Visenya's patience began wearing thin. "Yes, Jon."

He rubbed one hand across his mouth. "You conquered half of Westeros."

"A little more than half."

Jon stared at her. Visenya lifted one shoulder. "Dorne remained troublesome."

He looked as though that was somehow worse. "You carried Dark Sister."

"I did."

"You threatened lords with a dragon."

"When necessary."

"You put a sword to Aegon's face."

That caught her. Then she remembered. "Ah."

Jon gave a short, incredulous laugh. "Ah?"

"He needed better guards."

Jon simply stared. Visenya almost smiled.

Then he said, "And Maegor."

There was something different in his voice now. Not the source of his fear. Something added to it. "Your son."

"Yes."

Jon hesitated. "You helped him take the throne."

Visenya's expression cooled. Not because he had frightened her with the accusation. Because centuries had apparently done what centuries always did. Simplified.

"That is a longer conversation."

Jon looked at her incredulously. "Is it?"

"Very."

"You crowned him."

"I did."

"While another king lived."

Visenya studied him. "And you already know everything worth knowing?"

"No."

"Good."

The word came sharp enough to stop him. Visenya stepped forward. Jon immediately stepped back. She stopped. There. That fear again. Not of Maegor. Of her. That was almost useful. Almost.

"I am not going to kill you."

Jon said nothing.

"You are my brother."

"That has not stopped Targaryens before."

Visenya's mouth flattened. "You have been a Targaryen for seven days and already you are insulting the family."

"I've known the histories longer than seven days."

"Histories."

"Yes."

"Written by whom?"

"Maesters."

Visenya made a small sound of understanding.

Jon noticed. "What?"

"Nothing."

"That did not sound like nothing."

"It sounded exactly like what I intended it to."

Jon looked toward the sea. Then toward Dragonstone. Then back at her. His hand had still not strayed far from where Longclaw should have been. Visenya decided not to mention it. Yet.

Instead Jon asked, "Did you do this?" He gestured around them. "The castle?"

"All of it."

"Yes."

"With magic?"

"Blood magic."

Jon's expression immediately darkened. Of course it did. "You say that as though it should make me feel better."

"It was not intended to."

"What did you do?"

"I reached for you."

"From where?"

"Our bodies."

Jon looked toward himself. "This isn't my body."

"It is."

He frowned. "My old body."

"Your mind remembers it."

"And yours?"

"The same."

He studied her again. "You looked like this?"

"Once."

"You're about my age."

"Here."

"What does that mean?"

"It means blood remembers more than flesh does."

Jon did not like that answer. Visenya could tell.

"Blood magic," he repeated. "Yes."

"Is that what brought us here too?"

"Partly."

He went rigid again. "Partly?"

Visenya considered how much she actually knew. Less than she would have preferred. "The working that caught us in the river was mine."

Jon stared. "You did that?"

"I created it."

"What was it supposed to do?"

"Bring me back."

"And me?"

Visenya looked at him. "You were part of it."

Jon went still. A moment ago he had looked wary. Now something sharper entered his face. "What?"

"The blood magic was meant to bring both of us back."

Jon stared at her. "You just said you made it."

"I did."

"And you meant to bring me back?"

"Yes."

His hand shifted toward the place where Longclaw should have been again. Visenya noticed. She did not comment.

"Why?"

"That is not the question you should be asking."

"It is exactly the question I should be asking."

Visenya sighed. "The working was never meant to bring us here."

Jon's expression tightened. "Here meaning Dragonstone?"

"No." She gestured vaguely around them. "This is only blood and memory. I mean this time."

Jon said nothing.

Visenya continued. "The blood magic was meant to take us both back to the beginning."

"What beginning?"

"Yours."

Jon stared. "My what?"

"Your birth."

Silence. Visenya watched him process it.

"The first one," she added.

Jon gave a short, disbelieving laugh. "You expected to send us back to when I was born?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because that was where you were supposed to begin again."

"And you?"

"With you."

His brow furrowed. "As what?"

Visenya looked toward the sea. "That was less certain."

Jon's expression became incredulous. "Less certain?"

"The working concerned blood, spirit and rebirth. It was not a damn birthing ledger."

"That is not reassuring."

"It was not intended to reassure you."

Jon rubbed a hand across his face. "So you made blood magic that was supposed to send both of us back to my birth."

"Yes."

"And instead we ended up..." He gestured around them. "Here."

"Decades after the conquest," Visenya said.

Jon's eyes snapped toward her. "You know the year?"

"No."

That stopped him. "Then why did you say—"

"I was repeating the conclusion you have clearly reached."

Jon stared. Visenya raised an eyebrow. "You have been muttering names to yourself for days."

"I have not."

"You have been thinking loudly."

His face changed immediately. "Can you read my thoughts?"

"No." Visenya almost smiled. "Apparently that fear is going to remain."

"Considering who I'm speaking to, yes."

There it was again. Not Maegor. Not even blood magic. Her. Visenya found she minded that less than she probably should.

Jon looked toward the sea. "So something went wrong."

"Obviously."

"With your spell."

"With the working."

"Your working."

"Yes."

"The first time you ever used it."

Visenya's mouth flattened. "Yes."

Jon almost laughed. Almost. "So even Queen Visenya can fuck something up."

"Once."

That actually made him smile. Briefly. Visenya disliked how pleased he looked.

"The river was not meant to reverse," she continued. "The roots were not meant to appear."

Jon's amusement disappeared. "The roots were fighting the blood."

"I know."

"And then everything broke."

"Yes."

Jon looked toward her. "And we landed two centuries before I was born."

"Approximately."

"That seems a rather significant mistake."

Visenya gave him a cold look. "Would you prefer death?"

Jon considered that. "No."

"Then appreciate the partial success."

"I was already alive before your magic got involved."

"You were bleeding into snow with several knives inside you."

"Fair."

They stood in silence for several moments. Then Jon's expression changed. Something occurred to him.

"If you meant to bring me back..." He looked directly at her. "You knew me before I died."

Visenya said nothing.

Jon noticed. "How?"

There it was. Visenya had wondered how long it would take him. "You were in the blood."

His brow furrowed. "What does that mean?"

"The river was not simply blood." She looked toward the dark water surrounding Dragonstone. "It carried memory. Birth. Death. Pieces of every life tied to the bloodline."

Jon looked uneasy. "My life."

"Yes."

"You saw it?"

"Pieces."

"How many pieces?"

Visenya considered lying. There seemed little value in beginning their second lives that way. "Many."

Jon's face changed. "What does many mean?"

"Years."

He went completely still. Visenya watched the fear return. Different now. More personal.

"You watched me for years."

"Yes."

"Without me knowing."

"You were centuries beyond me and I was dead. There were limited opportunities for introductions."

"That isn't the point."

"It is part of it."

Jon paced away several steps. Visenya let him. His shoulders had drawn tight again.

"What did you see?"

"Enough."

"Enough for what?"

"To know you."

Jon turned sharply. "You don't know me."

Visenya met his eyes. "I know you rode north of the Wall."

That silenced him.

"I know you joined the Night's Watch."

His face hardened.

"I know you became Lord Commander."

"Stop."

"I know about the wolf."

Jon's expression changed. "Ghost."

"Yes."

A long silence. Visenya continued more quietly. "I know how you died."

Jon looked away. The black shore suddenly seemed much colder. "Then why me?"

Visenya frowned. "We have already established that the blood magic was intended for you."

"That isn't what I mean." He looked back. "Why did you choose me?"

Visenya studied him. That required a different answer. One that began much earlier than Jon Snow.

"Aegon dreamed."

Jon blinked. "What?"

"My brother."

"I know who Aegon is."

"Good. Progress."

Jon gave her an irritated look. Visenya continued. "Before the Conquest, Aegon had a dream."

Jon folded his arms. "I hate prophecies."

"That has no relevance whatsoever."

"It has quite a lot of relevance if you're about to tell me one ruined my life."

Visenya ignored that. "He saw winter."

Something in Jon's face shifted. "A darkness coming from the north."

His irritation disappeared. Visenya watched carefully.

"A cold unlike ordinary winter. Death moving beneath it. Men divided when they needed to stand together."

Jon had stopped breathing normally. "Beyond the Wall?"

"Yes."

His eyes narrowed. "How do you know that?"

"I told you." Visenya stepped closer. "I watched you."

Jon looked suddenly ill.

Jon’s breath hitched. The wind off the black sea suddenly felt biting, carrying the phantom chill of a winter that no one else in this time—not even the fierce dragonriders of Valyria’s shadow—truly understood.

"You saw it," he whispered, the words barely audible over the crash of the dark waves. "You saw the army."

"I saw the white waste," Visenya replied, her voice dropping its earlier edge of mockery. There was no amusement in her eyes now. Only the cold, stark gravity of a warrior who recognized an enemy even across centuries. "I saw the dead rising. I saw a realm tearing itself apart over crowns and thrones while the true darkness marched south."

Jon looked away, his jaw working as he swallowed the bitter taste of memory. The Battle of the Bastards. Hardhome. The Night King raising his arms beneath a dead, grey sky. All of it—the blood, the fire, the endless sacrifices—flashing behind his eyes.

"And you thought," Jon muttered, his voice shaking with a dangerous mix of disbelief and exhaustion, "you thought the best way to handle the end of the world was to cast blood magic and pull a bastard from the Watch across two hundred years of history."

"I thought," Visenya corrected, stepping closer until the air between them hummed with a strange, invisible tension, "that a kingdom built on sand would fall when the frost came. Aegon dreamed of a united Westeros for a reason, Jon. Not for glory. Not for gold. For them."

Jon stared at her. Really stared at her. Not at the silver hair or the smooth skin of a seventeen-year-old girl who had once commanded dragons, but at the ancient, unyielding will behind those violet eyes.

"You're insane," he said flatly.

Visenya let out a short, dry breath that might have been a laugh under different circumstances. "I am a Targaryen. We are all touched by fire."

"We are stranded," Jon countered, gesturing wildly to the twisted, memory-built towers of Dragonstone looming behind them. "In the past. Before the dragons are grown, before the realm is conquered, before any of it. If your spell dumped us here—wherever here is—we're out of time."

"Then we make more," Visenya said simply.

Jon opened his mouth to argue, to demand answers, to tell her about every single reason this was a catastrophic mistake. But before a word could leave his throat, the black shore began to tremble.

It wasn't the ground shaking. It was the air. The grey sky overhead fractured like thin ice, splitting into jagged veins of crimson light. The towers of Dragonstone flickered, blurring at the edges as if a great wind were erasing ink from parchment.

"What is happening?" Jon demanded, his instincts instantly flaring, looking once more for a weapon that wasn't there.

"The blood is letting go," Visenya said, her gaze fixed on the breaking sky. Her body was already beginning to shimmer, the edges of her silver hair dissolving into red mist. "Our minds can only hold this space for so long before the flesh reclaims us."

"The flesh?" Jon's voice rose in panic as his own boots began to shift into motes of red light. "Wait—where are we waking up?"

Visenya turned her head, meeting his eyes one last time before the current of the magic pulled them under.

"Nearer to the beginning than you'd like, Jon," her voice echoed, fading as the darkness rushed in. "Try not to stab anyone this time."