↳ x. OF FEAR AND FREEDOM
SEASON 1
EPISODE 8: THE LORDS OF THE TIDE
—HOUSE OF THE DRAGON—

HEAVY IS THE CROWN

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KINGSLANDING

      || A GOLDEN HUE OF DANCING FLAMES CASCADED ACROSS THE PEBBLED ENVELOPE'S SURFACE. Vyselyra found herself in her opulent bedroom, enveloped by the rich tapestries and delicate furnishings. But the thought of spending the night confined within those walls was suffocating.

Her heart yearned for the vibrant lights and bustling streets of the city just beyond the castle gates. The princess sighed with slight exasperation, her furrowing brow creasing the skin across her forehead.

The poor girl half anticipated the note upon the table to be another warning about Vaemond or maybe a call to return home. Even with her acerbic tongue and her outwardly confident demeanor, this sense of disorientation had overwhelmed her—leaving the feeling adrift in a sea of uncertainty.

Yet amidst this rumbling internal turmoil, her curiosity piqued as if the little girl within her escaped for just a moment. Vyselyra tentatively approached the table before gingerly picking up the note—examining it with cautious interest.

Her index finger slid open the flap—hesitant at slowly unfolding the letter. The handwriting in a former greeting was elegant and delicate, that an ah-hah moment flashed across her mind. Only one person possessed that kind of penmanship - Baela. Within in her note, The young Velaryon had awaited outside the door of her unexpecting uncle—listening in...

The Manderly princess heart's quickened as her eyes strained to read the language of their blood faster—quickly deciphering the meaning. The words spoke of details about Lord Vaemond's cruel plan to have her betrothed to him. And if denied, he was ready to fight or even kill to have it happen.

The young princess let all previous glee slip from her, a vile expression had made across her features. Vyselyra just stared off into a lonely corner where a rather tall window sat. One decked with a multitude of glass panes. The night had fallen upon Kings Landing rather quickly—golden stars bloomed together across the velvet sky. And then the moon came across much like a mother does to her weeping child, singing a soft lullaby.

But attempting to suppress the tumultuous thoughts proved to be an arduous task for Vyselyra. She lingered in her current position, her gaze shifting hesitantly between the enchanting view beyond the window and the intriguing letter held delicately in her hands.

The trepidation that now coursed through her veins was unlike anything she had ever experienced before. A knot of unease formed in the depths of her being, causing Vyselyra to choke down the bitter taste rising in her throat.

Vyselyra gave into temptation and began pacing around. Her fingers intertwining more and more as worry made itself at home upon her face. She was known for her eloquence, her biting wit, and her ability to weave words into masterpieces of sarcasm. Reveling in the power of expression, using her linguistic prowess to assert her dominance in any given situation.

This letter, however, presented an entirely new challenge. Its contents seemed to hold a sway over the princess, what exactly was Vaemond thinking of doing? It was threatening to unearth hidden vulnerabilities she had guarded so fiercely. Ones that spanned years before.

The words of Vaemond the day before bounced around in her mind like a mad dog. The very thought of a man that wore more years than her to marry, worried the young woman. It was not at all what she had envisioned her life to be. One of solitary confinement, away from the world.

This fear, this thought alone gripped her heart like an unwelcome intruder, seeping into the cracks of her carefully constructed fortress. Its tendrils slithered through her veins, infecting her mind with doubt and insecurity.

She swayed beside the window, the world beyond a mere blur as her mind wrestled with these unfamiliar emotions. Vyselyra's snarky retorts faded into the background, replaced by a gnawing vulnerability she had long evaded.

Perhaps, amidst her brash confidence, she had lost touch with the very essence of her own humanity. Hence the way she treated Jacaerys and his mother. She could not hold the shame so suddenly placed upon her shoulders.

But even as Vyselyra wanted to leap for freedom, to sneak out the window as she always did. With quick glance down the window, a slight predicament presented itself - the ground lay far too elevated for her to reach. Faced with this quandary, the ensuing course of action entailed venturing through the door, albeit with the awareness that armed Manderly Gaurds might stand watch. Regardless, she embraced this risk as a necessary measure.

With grace, the princess of White Harbor gingerly opened the door, as if an auspicious alignment of celestial bodies intervened to forego any cacophonous disturbance. Peering outside, the only audible accompaniment emanated from the flickering flames, dutifully ensconced upon the walls.

Time weighed heavily upon her, precipitating a choice between seizing this opportunity to immerse herself in the ethereal radiance of starlight or forever forsaking it.

As she meandered through the corridors, her thoughts ran erratically, perpetually oscillating between anticipation and trepidation concerning the unknown path awaiting her the following morning. To her surprise, Vyselyra came upon an outcrop within the castle. It extended beyond the walls—one that gazed upon those beneath.

But she were not there to look at the people below, but to gaze at the stars above. And when it seemed she had finally found a place of calmness to submerge the fears and shame—she were not the only one awake at such an hour.

It was not until the sound of merging footsteps emerged from the darkness that reality tugged at her once more. The weight of responsibility settled upon her shoulders as a voice, burdened with weariness, echoed from behind. . " Not planning an escape are we?" It was a voice she had grown accustomed to – her father's.

With a sudden jolt, she spun around to see her father standing there, slumped with a cane in his left hand, his walk marred by a slight stagger. Curiosity piqued, she inquired, "I could ask the same of you father, why are you out?"

Her father scoffed, slowly and steadily making his way toward her. Leaning against a nearby stone, he placed his cane beside him, a touch of exhaustion etched across his face. Taking a few labored breaths, he finally noticed the grimace in her eyes, the worry etched upon her forehead. He knew something troubled her deeply, something so profound that words dared not escape her lips, only unanswered questions lingering in her gaze.

"What worries you, my child?" he whispered softly, extending his hand to offer her solace amidst the heavenly tapestry of stars. Overwhelmed by her father's concern, the princess grasped his outstretched hand, seeking refuge in his unwavering presence. " I'm just.. worried." She fumbles to find her words for a moment—her brain trying to rationalize the scenes that had befallen before.

" I fear if Vaemond is not scared to dare put his hand upon a princess, I fear what else he may do If you can not step in for house Manderly tomorrow. My life will become Lord Vaemond's as the greens will not listen to Rhaenrya for that matter." She spoke rather carelessly—her words laced with fear. It was the first time she has ever shown any emotion towards Rhae. A sigh escapes that of her father as he holds her delicate hand with gentle squeeze.

Vyselyra gazed upon lord Desmond's worn face of many years—his eyes held a heavy cast to them, one's that could tell a story of a lifetime.

" It will be okay, I promise. I will stand up for you and our allies will follow in suit. I know of it." He pauses for a moment, glancing to the sky before his sight flickered back to her, " And if I can't, you will speak on my behalf. So Straighten your back and shoulders, hold that head high and stout, we are Manderly of white Harbor—one of the richest houses. We sail the roughest seas, we are not so easily scared."

But even with the comfort from her father, it did not heed in producing any salvation. From these were mere words uttered by a man whose days were far behind him. Vyselyra knew her father well and when he started at these little antics, it meant the outcome was not good. It was all the times she had listened in to his meetings, when he would speak in such a manner to ease the minds of those around.

"And what's this betrothal I hear of?" he suddenly inquired with a touch of politeness, playfulness lacing his tone. Her eyes widened, and her mind froze, as if a gust of cool air swept over her on a brisk afternoon.

"Ah..." she stuttered, gently placing her palm against her cheek, a faint pink blush spreading across her delicate features. "It's okay, my dear. I'm only teasing, only playing. Vaemond was very clear to speak with me on such terms." he reassured, though the smile gradually faded from his thin lips. Worry and seriousness clouded his face.

"Although I wish you would give Jacaerys a chance at friendship once again. Yet I wouldn't give each other false hope... if there is genuine affection for someone else..." he trailed off.

"There is not, father, I swear," Vyselyra quickly interjected, her words flowing forth without hesitation as she squeezed his hand. But deep within her, a whirlwind of emotions raged. Her once orderly mind now scattered like a million fragmented pieces.

"Your mother, despite my unwillingness to truly listen to the words she spoke, there is one riddle she heard from a seer.  One about you when you were younger, one that I can never forget," The princess raised a slight brow and pursed her lips to speak—but yet, held herself from.

Perhaps it was best Vyselyra did not hear the fate of which the woman spoke of. After all, rumors had circulated that the seer's the princess so desperately wanted to believe, were crazied.

"Nevertheless," he paused, his gaze fixed on the horizon, "we shall not speak of such things." His voice, once hoarse, had now acquired a calmness that resonated with authority.
"You were born a leader," he continued, his words carrying a weight of wisdom. "No Throne or crown is needed to validate who you are. Your true power lies will lay within your actions, and your kindness, your ability to inspire others."

As Lord Desmond finished speaking, he reached out and placed a tender kiss upon her forehead. The warmth of his love enveloped her cloudy mind, comforting her in a way that only a parent's affection could. It was in moments like these with her dad that Vyselyra found solace....one she'd come miss sooner than later.

THE NEXT MORNING WAS UTTER CHAOS—the  very day of the council, one that would turn the fates of both Lucerys and Vyselyra. One that would show rather she'd remain free or be sold like a brood mare.

Rhaena pounded on her door with such vigor that the sound reverberated through the air, causing passerby to pause in their footsteps. "M'lady, it is time to rise!" she boomed, her voice carrying the urgency of the approaching day. Baela winced at the clamor, a frown etching itself upon her face.

With a drowsy sigh, Vyselyra threw back her covers and stumbled out of bed, her lack of grace evident in her disheveled state. As she swung open the door, Rhaena rushed in like a wild creature—bustling about with brushes and garments in hand. Baela, the epitome of poise and duty, entered with calculated steps, adding stability to the morning calamity.

Vyselyra's hair, once again a tangled mess, cried out for attention. Rhaena swiftly assisted in selecting a suitable dress, providing an undergarment, her hands moving like a skilled seamstress. As Vyselyra struggled to dress herself, her grunts and groans resembled the croak of a toad, amusing onlookers who might assume an amphibian had found its way into the chambers.

Rhaena along with Naemera helped her of course, especially with so little time left. Her mother of principal, stood beside Rhaena and helped guide her along. Having her mother's help was quite the hassle—it seemed as when she was younger, Naemera did see to it her being dressed properly. The older princess meekly smiled upon her daughter as she took a step back.

Vyselyra was quick to braid her hair—for once, it was only time when it felt like it was endless. Rhaena helped place a tiny dragon pin within her hair—before both then took turns glancing into her table mirror. Both girls shared a lovely smile with Rhaena leaning slightly behind her, her hands upon Vyselyra's shoulders.

But as both girls took the time to bask in their beauty, both saw Baela in the corner of the mirror—her eyes seemingly focused upon the princess of White Harbor.

Baela stood quite poised, frequently playing with her fingers—watching as both her sister and cousin played with their hair and earrings. She desperately wanted to join in, but the anxiety in the pit of her stomach said differently. As Vyselyra's sight flickered to her, the smile slowly faded, as the usual excited and happy-go-lucky Velaryon princess held a distraught gaze.

There was something that nagged behind the curtain of her eyes—a desperation clasp to speak, but nothing would come out.

But even then, with Vyselyra now angled towards her, the eldest Velaryon stood quietly—her eyes going everywhere but her. Thankfully, the awkwardness was yet again saved as there was knock about the door—Thankfully, the prevailing awkwardness was abruptly interrupted by a resounding knock on the door.

Startled, the young prince entered the room, much to the girl's displeasure. "It is to commence soon," Jacaerys stated calmly, to which Baela nodded briefly before diverting her gaze away from him. Concern etched across his face, the prince couldn't help but wonder what had caused this uncharacteristic behavior in her.

Jacaerys eyes gradually settled on the woman whom he held dear—Vyselyra. Struggling to extricate herself from the chair, she found solace when Rhaena came to her aid. The hem of her dress trailed behind her, quietly whispering as she walked towards Jacaerys.

Adorned in the colors of her noble houses—Manderly's light turquoise and Targaryen's black interlaced with subtle hints of red—she emerged like a vision.

On her garment, a majestic dragon, its wings gracefully extended, intertwined with delicate webs of white silk and iridescent black beads. The dragon's intricately crafted hands boasted dagger-like claws, reaching out as if frozen mid-flight.

Adorning the neckline, a cascade of shimmering pearls, blending hues of red and orange, formed a sinuous path, reminiscent of a dancing flame.

The gown's design revealed her shoulders and collarbones, casting an ethereal glow upon them. Vyselyra's presence was nothing short of enchanting—her elegance radiating amidst the room's ambiance.

As Jacaerys beheld her, an overwhelming surge of emotion welled within him. He marveled at her beauty, captivated by the intricate details that adorned her and the subtle grace with which she carried herself.

Captivated by the sight before him, Jacaerys momentarily forgot the tension that had pervaded the room. With a subtle swallow, " We mustn't keep them waiting ." Jacaerys stuttered as the boy was quite flustered.

But princess of the Harbour groaned softly, for she was not ready for this council— not ready to listen to men bark orders about what shall be done with her life. And to add onto it, her father was not well and that quite worried her.

As the tall doors of oak slowly opened, revealing the proud lord that resided at White Harbor— wearing a outfit similar to the colors of his daughter's dress. Vyselyra's eyes gazed upon all the lords and ladies decorated in the colors of their respective houses. All having resided in the hall, patiently waiting for the reminding of Rhaenrya's supporters to come in.

Of course, as it always was, the Velaryon prince and princess find themselves seemly glued at the hip once more—Baela carried on about something that made Jacaerys chuckle. Vyselyra took note of this unusual courting, never had both been so interested in another's affairs. Perhaps she had missed more than she has originally suspected.

As both conversed, Vyselyra's long-held grudge had replaced the new held feelings for a moment. Her eyes studying Jacaerys's every move, and Baela's for that matter.

Naemera wasn't exactly liking it either, was this all a show? A slight groan from her was enough to speak volumes to Vyselyra. And younger Targaryen flickered a spout of shared annoyance back.

As they entered the grant hall, with practiced nonchalance, Vyselyra graciously took her place beside her father, whom held onto his cane for dear life. Naemera took up her position on the other side—quickly retrieving a handkerchief from his pocket—before holding to his mouth. His wheezing becoming worst by the second. He was quite enlightened to see the colors so bright upon her dress.

With every step she had taken, Vyselyra's regal poise and the delicate craftsmanship of her attire served as a reminder of the wealth the Manderly's held. Naemera sported the same level of craftsmanship—they were here to put on a show. Isen stationed himself behind lord Desmond with Arthur to his right. Which much to Vyselyra's disappointment, as now he would have a keen eye trained on her.

But Isen merely nodded to the princess, both sharing a locked sense of secrecy for he had not told anyone of what he has seen. Both of her brothers stood to the right of her, with Medrick decked out in the finest Manderly clothing whilst Torrhen seemed to be caught in a daze. Caught once more at the pubs in Fleabottom—drinking the night away.

Rhaenrya stood slightly to the left, just tad in front of them. Jacaerys was positioned not far from Vyselyra— Daemon taking stance beside him. Luke, having noticed her, flashed a slight smile—trying to ease her whilst Rhaena stood behind him. And yet, Baela took her place beside her grandmother Rhaenys. Odd, considering how close Jace and her were a few moments ago.

Before the hand of the realm spoke, Vyselyra took it upon herself to fully take in the room. Everything had become so different, so much from when she last saw the grant room at such a delicate age—the Targaryen dragon was now replaced but at least the flags held fast. " It seems the Hightowers have done some decorating." Vyselyra whispered to Medrick. The boy chuckled under his breath, providing a subtle nod.

Otto gracefully took his place upon the throne—sitting just for himself to speak on behalf of the king. Of course, Lord Desmond was not in the most comfortable with this. For the lord merely rolled his eyes as he began to speak.

Then Vyselyra's eyes settled upon the others. There to the other side stood Aemond, his sight did not stray from her one bit. Aegon as always was off and seemed lost within his thoughts once more. And the ever present Helaena stood close to her mother, her eyes flickered around the room.

Only once her eyes of blue landed upon Vyselyra, her demeanor changed—a slight smile plastered across her dainty lips. That was until Alicent noticed and quickly nudged the young girl. Which Helaena focused back to holding a solemn look.

Vyselyra merely gave Alicent a side glance as she stood there, her father reciprocated as well. But the Queen didn't do anything, instead positioning her sight back to lord Otto. And to even add more salt to the wound, Vaemond was not far from the princess—his continuous presence and eyes lingering over her body urged an uneasiness to spread like fire. A thin replica of lust, based more in desire and conquest.

She swallow sharply, hiding the bruise with her other hand—assuring no other would catch a glimpse of it. For as before, some may spin lies....

Even all the words spoken between the parties, Vyselyra could not withstand hearing such a grown man carry on about his claim. And even as Rhaenrya gladly reminded the lord of his status and where he stood, she was interrupted by a rather upset Alicent. To which Lord Desmond responded with a slight hint of annoyance, quite frankly perturbed. Rhaenrya flickered the lord a slight smile for having taken her side once more.

Of course this little intrusion was something Vaemond did not take lightly too—and he would soon make it clear enough.

As Rhaenrya moved to speak part on her matter, having fully been granted permission, one word was all that came forth before the grant doors opened once more—revealing a Ill—stricken king Viserys at the other end.

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Im so sorry this took forever 😭

I went and redid some of the writing !!

Next chapter will be up shortly!!

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