↳ xi. THE TARGARYEN KING
SEASON 1
EPISODE 8: THE LORDS OF THE TIDE
—HOUSE OF THE DRAGON—

HEAVY IS THE CROWN

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KINGSLANDING

|| THE EERIE SILENCE LAID HEAVY IN THE AIR AS THE EYES OF THE WARY FIXED UPON THE AILING TARGARYEN KING. His frailty was evident, and his once fiery presence now reduced to a mere flicker. Most who beheld him found themselves starved of words, their tongues tied in knots of apprehension and fear. Each pleading he would not see their trickery.

It had been quite some time since any bargained with him as that had become the queens' duty. Viserys's declining health over the months had not gone unnoticed.

Lord Vaemond piercing gaze fell upon Otto, a man known for his deceitful ways, with a promise of retribution. The king's presence now threatened to unearth his web of lies and expose his true intentions to all. Whispered conversations filled the hall, as the courtiers debated the future of the realm, uncertain of what lay ahead. The once-mighty Targaryen dynasty now stood on the precipice of change.

A play of worry flooded quickly across Alicent's face—the pain of desperation weighing heavily against her chest. Rhae's expression was not far off from hers and neither was Daemons—for he had known him the longest.

" King Viserys of House Targaryen. The first of his name. King of the Andels and the Rohar. And the first men. Lord of the seven kingdoms and protector of the realm." The guard ended vastly, his voice carried on through the thick walls—into the dark depths. With his name mentioned, the king slowly staggered himself forth. His loyal guards following in suit. Ben wasn't far behind the king, his gold and silver armor wasn't hard to miss among the plain and dull background.

His cane belted against the hardened stone, his posture hunched—his breathing labored with every inch. Forth-more, there were no distracted smiles or meaningless conversations from the petty lords that waited. They didn't even jostle another as some took a step back. Afraid of catching something from the king.

When Rhae came into full view, situated mere meters from him—he paused momentarily to gaze upon her. His eyes spoke of softness, when his lips could not. It was clear to lord Manderly that Viserys loved her deeply. Everything he tried was meant for Rhaenrya and perhaps that was because he saw Aemma there within her. So, Desmond would use this opportunity for his own benefit for the sake of his daughter.

As Viserys moved on, his sight landed upon his dear half sister Princess Naemera. She stood dutifully beside her husband, a regal figure amidst the bustling crowd. As the king observed her, memories of their shared childhood flooded his mind.

Her charisma mirrored that of their father, the late King Baelon, who had always held himself with unwavering dignity. And her fair complexion, reminiscent of Lady Viserra, her mother, but his mother's sister—reminded him of the gentle touch he had missed for far too long.

A small smile tugged at the corners of Viserys' lips, so delicate that only the most astute observer would have noticed. It was a smile laced with nostalgia and affection, an unspoken acknowledgement of the bond they shared. Her own lips curved into a knowing smile, her eyes sparkling with understanding— a subtle bow following in suit.

Slowly his gaze finds itself upon a withered Lord Manderly— a man whose health was not far off from his own. The king pardoned merely a warming nod which Desmond happily accepted. The weltering eye of purple then flickered to the second born of House Manderly—Vyselyra. Like a ray of sunlight breaking through the clouds.

A girl, whom shared his blood through his aunt Viserra and father Baelon. Vyselyra was quite the opposite of her mother, holding quite the temper and tricking young lads into following her towards the dragonpit. But now, seven and one, the White Harbor's divine took the last name of her mother Naemera Targaryen.

Targaryen bloodlines was quite hard to describe, let alone understand to those looking in. It was deemed best not to question it or even sit down to begin to fully comprehend as
the maesters claimed one could be there for a while.

He mustered what one could only imagine to be a smile to her. Her hazel eyes of gold had the slightest opportunity to dance upon his grim figure. The king held a strange appearance, almost as if it was contrived. His hair was wizened and straw-like, nearly fossilized it was so dry.

Something a lunatic in the low lands might have: straggly, unkempt and spittle flecked. He had sad, way worn eye and a distinctive gold mask covered the other side—leaving a rather ill impression. It seemed these eight years had done a number on his health.

Many noses of the lords crinkled in slight distress, some even peeling away from his presence. Vyselyra knew all too well the minds of men and the way it lusted for power. Of all, listening in partly to her father's meetings give her all the strength and knowledge one needed for such times.

Surely just by looking at him, Vaemond was the most distressed of them all. The man of merely only the second son was now to be given a true fight. And this brought a slight curve to one side of Vyselyra's mouth. Perhaps the gods were looking down upon her today.

As the king pushed himself up the stairs, he halted, glaring upon the man named as hand, " I will sit the throne today." He spoke of sternness. But even Otto had to accept this for he was not exempt neither, " Your Grace." Was all the old Hightower could muster.

Having fulfilled his mission of being blandly clear, Viserys moved for the throne. But unfortunately, his crown of gold barely having a bearing, slipped from his head and clashed violently against the floor. A wave of shock and discomfort flushed throughout the crowd—even Vyselyra felt for her grant uncle.

Dissatisfied with himself, he cussed upon those willing to help. Until a voice of man whom he still held care for ring between his ears. Vyselyra watched the heart felt moment of two brothers once torn between duty and negligence, reunited under their hardened circumstances for another even if they tried hiding it.

Once Viserys was seated upon his throne, only then Daemon took his place back beside his wife. Brushing pass a now confused and skeptical Vyselyra. Perhaps she had been harsh to judge the prince so quickly, there in that moment showed no monster nor an enemy to the crown—but a man lost.

The gold patch now alternated slightly to the side, with the crown that held heavy upon his head. As he took long, inhales, eyeing those that stood below. Then at that moment, rather breathlessly, the king began to speak, " I must admit my confusion. I do not understand why petitions are being heard over settled succession. The only one present whom might offer clearer insight into lord Corlys wishes is the princess Rhaenys."

A barely audible utterance came from Ser Vaemond, one expressing dissatisfaction or even irritation. Merely at the very mention that Viserys would hear her over him. Disgruntled, the man passed a lingering glare, forcing himself to allow the his sister-in-law to take her stance.

Rhaenys, crowned the Queen who never was much to her disappointment. But yet, having shared blood between them, Rhaenys never took to her once. And still, her grandfather Theomore Manderly was there to support her during the great council of 101 AC. Of course, it was her fathers ever tumultuous schooling on her families history. Still, perhaps she felt Vyselyra was undeserving of bearing the Targaryen name.

The woman of seven and six was quite taken by surprise at the very mention. 'Twas was a passing that woman dare speak on behalf of her lord husband. So gracefully, she took a few steps forward—making herself in line with Rhaenrya. Rhaenys passed a subtle glance over to Baela before speaking. 

"Indeed your grace." She paused, taking another step foward—her hands clasped tightly against her lower abdomen." It was ever my husbands will that Driftmark pass through Ser Laenor to his true born son, Lucerys Velaryon.

It was to the shock and anger of Vaemond, Otto and Alicent—a decision the old princess supports. Rhaenys begins again, " Also, I have received the proposal to betroth Jace and Luke to Corly's granddaughters." Rhaenys was confident Corlys would support her decision to accept Rhaenyra's proposal.

Vyselyra felt as though her world was crumbling— like shards of broken glass. The fluttering Targaryen flags taunted her, each thread whispering betrayal into the air. Her heart, once a steady drum, now lay heavy in her chest, a numbing ache spreading through her veins like icy tendrils.

Her gaze landed on the opulent throne, a symbol of power and deception. The golden seat seemed to mock her, promising glory yet delivering only deceit. What cruel understanding gnawed at her insides, twisting her stomach into tight knots? The sight before her felt tainted with lies and manipulation.

Turning to Baela standing by Rhaenys, Vyselyra's eyes burned with a sudden surge of emotions. Hatred, raw and unyielding, clawed its way into her heart. Why had Baela remained silent? How could she pose as a friend, all the while concealing this treacherous truth?

Jacaerys' gaze met hers, a silent understanding passing between them. Vyselyra felt a flicker of something unfamiliar - was it betrayal crawling through her veins? Though logic dictated that she had no claim to this feeling, its intensity shook her to the core.

As her eyes darted towards Rhaenyra. How had Rhaenyra managed to betray her so profoundly? The answer evaded her, lost in a haze of confusion and hurt. First Laenor, now this...

Viserys sat unperturbed, seemingly content with the unfolding chaos. Vaemond, however, wore a smirk that cut through Vyselyra's discomfort like a blade. His eyes bore into hers, full of knowing amusement. He reveled in her unease, aware of the blatant lie that hung in the air like a heavy shroud.

Even Rhae locked solid upon her eyes—a soften appearance she played good at. In that moment, the Targaryen felt rather conflicted within— a thought dawning upon her frizzled mind. In the sense of it as she gazed upon a frightened child, perhaps she should have wedded her eldest son to her.

Viserys sighs heavily, "Then the matter is settled." reaffirming Lucerys as heir to Driftmark and the next Lord of the Tides. But outraged Vaemond refused to remain silent. He furiously snaps, " You have no authority to decide House Velaryon's fate." The old veleryon then turns to face Rhaenyra. " Not when you have broke centuries of tradition and Westerosi law to install your daughter as heir."

Vaemond then flickered his sight towards Jacaerys and Lucerys before angrily denouncing Lucerys as no true Velaryon. As much as the Manderly princess was upset by Rhaenyra's actions, she still hated seeing Lucerys being attacked.

Angered by Vaemond's presumption, King Viserys reminded lord Vaemond he was nothing more than a second son, whereas Lucerys is the king's trueborn grandson.

A hush silence filled the throne room as onlookers flickered their sight towards the Lord. Before he could speak again, King Viserys, through ragged breaths, pointed towards House Manderly.

"I believe we shall hear house Manderly's words on this matter." Lord Desmond Manderly then staggered forward upon hearing his house be called forth—The middle aged man stood haphazardly, fidgeting with his cane to stay still.

The princess of White Harbor noting her father's struggles rushed to his side, interlocking her arm with his in an attempt to hold him upright. Desmond glanced to his daughter with a meek smile—before trying to speak on House Manderly's behalf. Yet nothing came out of his parched lips.

Arthur had barely stepped forward when Vyselyra jumped at the opportunity, " I think what my father is trying to muster, is us Manderly' stay true to our words. It is our slogan, after all. Marked after House Stark." She cocks a side glance to Vaemond, " So we stand by House Targaryen and house velaryon's decision to keep Lucerys as heir to Driftmark." The young princess of Targaryen blood then bowed before the ailing king.

Words flowed from her mouth like warm honey. A faulty sense of a sugary coating upon them. Jacaerys could listen to her speak for hours if she'd allow it. Even if it were a mere hymn beneath her breath. That was her way of buttering everyone up and oh, how she just knew how to use it.

"As long as we receive your much needed attention and support, House Manderly will never hesitate to answer the call to House Targaryen. After all great uncle, I share blood with you through your father Baelon." The king merely nods lightly, " That's is true my dear.."

Vyselyra was quite unmatchable in intellect and wit. Lord Vaemond gritted his teeth back in forth, his fists tightening into a ball. His actions signaled his annoyance at her juvenile insinuations, but they were underpinned.

The Manderly Princess held a sort of pride to the way she stood there—her shoulders squared and head steady upon her shoulders. She was not letting these lords nor Vaemond best her. This wasn't the first court nor to be the last she would speak in for her father.

" So... I will not see myself wedded to a man of such.." Vyselyra eyes Vaemond up and down in disgust, "Callousness." The anger from her eyes showed the scared child within, the girl who was taught to fight and starved of the love she craved from her mother.

Jacaerys could see the pain beneath it and her soul drowning in this persona she'd carved to fit a world of indifference. But in that moment, could he have helped make it better?

" As you do my dear. I see my dear sister in the flickers of your face and in the will of strength." King Viserys takes a long painful inhale before his lips dare to speak, " Lord Desmond loves his daughter as I love mine. I will not sit idle by and let her be wasted by a man of your state Lord Vaemond. You are twice her age."

The words of the king make swords redundant, and it was him that Jaeharys chose to lead. Above all, Viserys was or at least tried to be a wise keeper of peace, one who is fair and shows equal love to all.

The second born of Velaryon blood then gazed upon Vyselyra—with eyes of brown like oak hungry with sly malice. He began raging that he will not allow House Velaryon to end on account of Lucerys, stopping short of openly calling the boy a bastard. Daemon, glaring at Vaemond, dared the lord to utter the words.

Pointing directing at Rhaenyra, Vaemond sneered, " She's a whore!" Gasps escaped from every lord and lady in the court—hands instinctively rising to their lips in astonishment. It was the first one dared to utter what every one else had thought about.

An apoplectic Viserys rises to his feet and dragging his dagger, " I shall take your tongue for saying such an insult to my daughter's honor." Sensing the unease, and that Vaemond may do something to his sister, Medrick readied his sword with hand upon the hilt.

Before Viserys could even grasp the gravity of the situation, Daemon wielded Dark Sister with malicious intent. In one swift motion, the blade met Vaemond's skull, severing the top with a sickening crunch. The metallic taste of betrayal hung thick in the air as the rogue prince tossed his sardonic words into the void, claiming the grisly trophy while allowing Vaemond to "keep his tongue."

Vyselyra stood frozen, a statue of shock and horror, as the crimson rivers flowed freely from the man's shattered skull. Her eyes, wide with disbelief, who rarely showed emotion, met the scene with a mix of terror and disbelief. Naemera, took a step back—a shiver running down her spine as Torrhen shielded her from the brutal reality unfolding before them.

The echo of Otto's bellow reverberated through the hall, demanding the Kingsguard to disarm the rogue prince. But Daemon, in a twisted display of defiance, had already relinquished his weapon, a smirk of satisfaction playing on his lips. The Manderly guards, ever loyal, tensed as if ready to strike, only to be halted by the commanding voice of Medrick—ordering them to stand down.

As the chaos unfolded, Viserys, the once steadfast ruler, crumbled under the weight of shock and pain. His body, a temple worn by years of rule and turmoil, could no longer contain the agony that gripped his soul. With a guttural groan, he collapsed onto the ornate throne, his pale face contorted in anguish.

Rhaenyra and Alicent, rushed to his side—pleading with him to seek medical aid—to no avail. Viserys, consumed by a sense of duty and righteousness, refused their help, determined to right the wrongs that had befallen his court.

"Call the maesters!" Naemera's voice cut through the chaos, her normally composed demeanor shaken as she rushed to her brother's side. Rhaenyra and Alicent hovered over the fallen king, their anguish palpable in the air. But it was the eldest Targaryen, the fierce and unyielding figure, who pushed her way through the sea of bodies.

The court hall echoed with the sound of shuffling feet and rustling garments as the King made his departure, escorted by his loyal guards. The air was thick with tension, a stark contrast to the opulent decor that adorned the room. Vyselyra, however, was oblivious to the commotion around her, her thoughts consumed by her own inner turmoil.

Her father's once formidable stature seemed to crumble with each passing moment, his frailty mirroring the vulnerability that seeped into her heart. Yet, it was not her ailing father that plagued her thoughts the most, but the betrayal that pierced her very soul.

It left her feeling wounded and her trust shattered. As she stood amidst the dispersing crowd, her gaze searching for solace before her eyes met Baela's.

The young Velaryon weaved through the dissipating crowd in search of a glimpse of the Manderly princess, a sense of determination etched into her features. As their gazes intertwined, Vyselyra's eyes bore a darkness that seemed to swallow the very essence of their connection.

Jacaerys soon found himself torn between the two women, feeling the weight of their unspoken emotions pressing down on him.

Since his childhood, Jacaerys had always harbored a deep affection for Vyselyra—her presence a shining beacon in his tumultuous life. He yearned to be by her side always, to protect her from the cruel realities of their world. Thoughts of proposing marriage had crossed his mind countless times, but the words always faltered on his lips, unable to capture the depth of his feelings.

As Vyselyra followed her mother out of the court, her steps quickened, the fabric of her dress swirling around her like a tempestuous storm. The prospect of a family dinner loomed ahead, a gathering that held little appeal for the princess weighed down by the burdens of her own heart. A mere formality to some but a burdensome obligation to others

Despite her reluctance, Naemera's insistence on attending the dinner for the sake of her grand uncle left Vyselyra with little choice but to acquiesce to her mother's wishes, her inner turmoil hidden beneath a facade of regal composure.
Watching her leave, Jacaerys knew he couldn't let her slip away.

          || AS VYSELYRA WANDERED BEHIND HER MOTHER, SHE HELD HER HEAD LOW. Naemera had made sure her daughter knew well to behave and not embarrass them like she had years ago. Frankly, Vyselyra would have preferred the streets of kingslanding—yet her partner in crime Baela, had betrayed her trust. The princess of white harbor found herself battling these unknown conflicting, feelings.

Whilst she raveled in not having to be married to Lord Vaemond, Vyselyra just couldn't get past the treachery. It seemed she wasn't having the greatest luck in finding trust in others. Atlas, here she was, being forced to a dinner with three families— her own, Rhaenyra's and Alicent.

She imagined each would be like snakes coiled, readying to strike at the slightest movement. Whilst Vyselyra was all for the drama, she didn't dare to see Baela or Jacaerys again.

So she walked slowly, lips tightly pursed whilst the sound of their shoes clicking against the concrete echoed. Her hands remained clenched together behind her back as her hair bounced to either side. Next to her walked Medrick and Torrhen—whom had surprisingly been invited to the dinner despite not having Targaryen blood.

As they entered the dinner hall, Alicent and Rhaenyra were already there and seated. Their children, however, remained standing. Aegon with his usual arrogance, appeared to have downed multiple cups of wine already. If it wasn't noticed by the slight lag in his step, then surely the slur to his speech was enough.

The grand hall was bathed in a soft, flickering glow from the ornate chandeliers hanging overhead. The air was thick with the scent of roasted meats and fragrant wines as the Manderlys entered, their presence commanding the attention of all the maidens and servants who scurried around to attend to them. Each member of the noble family was ushered to their designated seat with practiced precision.

Vyselyra observed Baela and Jacaerys engaged in conversation, their smiles dripping with insincerity, a subtle taunt aimed at her. Naemera was strategically seated at the far end of the table, across from Daemon and Rhaenyra. Torrhen, the wayward son with a penchant for indulgence, found himself under Naemera's watchful gaze, her hand quick to intercept any attempts to refill his goblet with wine, insisting he stick to water for the evening.

Desmond insisted on a rare occasion where his son remained sober, a wish that led to his reluctant attendance at the family dinner. To Naemera's left sat the begrudging lord, begrimed by his wife's insistence on his presence. Beside him sat, Medrick, Lucerys, Rhaena, Baela, and Jacaerys took their places.

Aegon had already settled beside the young Velaryon heir, with his wife Heleana seated on his other side. Meanwhile, Helena, the timid lady with a penchant for nervous rambling, fidgeted in her seat, her whispered mutterings barely registering amid the din of the festivities.

As the servants bustled about, setting the table with an array of delicacies fit for royalty, a glaring oversight became apparent—a vacant seat meant for Vyselyra. The princess, initially relieved at the prospect of escaping the awkward gathering, made to slip away unnoticed. But Queen Alicent, the epitome of grace and authority, halted her in her tracks with a simple yet commanding question.

"Princess, where are you going?" Her voice cut through the commotion, her gaze piercing through Vyselyra's facade of indifference, setting the stage for an evening fraught with hidden agendas and masked intentions.

Vyselyra's exasperated sigh reverberated through the grand hall, a subtle echo of her inner frustration. She pivoted gracefully on her heel, her emerald gown swirling around her in a mesmerizing dance, to meet the imposing figure of the Hightower.

"Well, if your keen observation has failed you," she began, her voice laced with a hint of biting sarcasm, gesturing elegantly towards the row of ornate chairs, "it seems that the arrangements for seating are lacking in adequacy, wouldn't you agree?"

Naemera, her mother, caught off guard by her daughter's boldness, readied herself to intervene and offer an apologetic tone to mask Vyselyra's perceived rudeness. However, Alicent, the cunning mistress of manipulation, intercepted with a feigned look of shock, her fingers delicately clutching a pearl necklace as if seeking solace in its cool touch.

"Oh dear me, how could this oversight have occurred?" she exclaimed, a melodious laugh escaping her perfectly painted lips, eliciting a subtle raising of Vyselyra's sculpted brow. Even Rhaenyra, elegant as ever, paused mid-sip of her goblet, intrigue sparking in her violet eyes. Why was the princess being strategically separated from her kin? What game was Alicent playing?

"Perhaps you would find the company of Aemond suitable," Alicent proposed with a saccharine smile, clasping her hands together in a facade of innocence that grated against Vyselyra's senses. The Queen's nonchalant demeanor clashed with the undertones of excitement in her voice, akin to a poorly concealed secret yearning to break free from its constraints.

With a regal gesture, the Queen commanded a servant to remedy the seating predicament, a silent order swiftly obeyed as the young boy retrieved a chair from its concealed position behind a towering pillar. Jacaerys observed the unfolding scene with a mix of bewilderment and envy—his lips forming a tight line as he noted Vyselyra's deliberate avoidance of his gaze.

In that fleeting moment, Vyselyra entertained the notion of voicing her displeasure at being separated from her family amidst a sea of communal unions.

As Vyselyra shot a scathing glance at her mother, Naemera's silent disapproval silenced her words before they could escape. With pursed lips, Naemera redirected her attention to the seat being offered, a small gesture that spoke volumes. It was as if disappointment had settled over Vyselyra like a heavy cloak, weighing her down as she gracefully approached the chair just as it was being placed beside a motionless Aemond.

The instant she took her seat, Aemond seemed to transform into a statue, his features immovable and his gaze distant. Only Heleana, typically reserved, offered a semblance of company with her quiet presence beside her.

Yet, even as the dinner unfolded, Vyselyra remained aloof to Baela's persistent attempts at engaging her in sensitive discussions, her eyes drifting heavenward as if seeking solace. The ornate fork on the princess's plate garnered more of her attention than Baela's words ever could.

With anticipation hanging heavy in the air, Vyselyra laced her fingers together before setting them delicately in her lap, releasing a heavy sigh that reverberated through the tense atmosphere.

Though she carefully avoided meeting his gaze, she could sense Jace's eyes on her, a palpable tension simmering beneath the surface. The proximity of her seat to Aemond seemed to unsettle Jacaerys, his unease palpable. Was it a reminder of the events that had transpired years ago at Driftmark that left him so discomfited?

As they sat there, Aemond never once spoke to her yet, merely taking short sips from his cup. About the only thing she heard from him. Yet Visery's ragged breath grew as the room's chatter subdued, almost matching Desmond's. "How good it is to see you all tonight... together."

Alicent gazed at her husband intently before speaking up,
"Prayer before we begin?" Viserys was quick to nod in agreement—with everyone following into position. But Vyselyra was quite disgruntled with it.

It appeared Aemond may have shared the same sentiment as he leaned back into his seat—watching as his mother clasped her hands together, "May the Mother smile down on this gathering with love. May the Smith mend the bonds that have been broken for far too long. And to Vaemond Velaryon, may the gods give him rest."

It appeared no one else held the same grace as she did for Vaemond. As Daemon stifled a laugh. Viserys, though calculated pants, spoke out. "This is an occasion for celebration, it seems. My grandsons, Jace and Luke, will be marrying to further strengthen bonds between our houses. A toast to the young couples."

"Wonderful..." Vyselyra uttered beneath her breath, earning a slight hum of a laugh from Aemond. The Manderly princess the. glanced upon the youngest Velaryon boy— Lucerys—where a sense of unease was working its way through him. Ever since he was a boy, Lucerys hold the fact that if he became lord, then that meant Corlys was dead.

Amidst flickering candles casting dancing shadows on the walls, the air was thick with tension and merriment intermingled. Viserys Targaryen's voice resonated through the chamber, his words dripping with honeyed promises of unity through marriage. Yet, as the smooth melody of his speech filled the room, Vyselyra's gaze wandered to the edge of the feast where Alicent Hightower sat, her enigmatic smile flitting from Aemond to her.

A flicker of disbelief crossed Vyselyra's features as she witnessed the exchange—a subtle play of glances and smiles that sent a shiver down her spine. Just as she was about to scrutinize further, the clinking of goblets interrupted her thoughts, pulling her attention back to the immediate surroundings.

A servant materialized at her side, refilling her goblet with a deep crimson wine that spilled over the rim, painting the delicate glass with scarlet tendrils. The heady scent of the vintage assaulted her senses, momentarily clouding her mind as she tried to focus on the conversation swirling around her.

And then, like a thunderclap in a calm sky, Aegon's words cut through the jovial façade of the feast. The raucous laughter froze on the lips of the guests as the prince, his face flushed with wine and bravado, brazenly broached a topic that should have remained buried in the depths of decorum.

With a sinking heart, Vyselyra watched as Jacaerys Velaryon, the embodiment of composure and restraint, visibly stiffened at the mention of such indiscretion. Baela's discomfort was palpable, her eyes darting to Medrick for comfort then to the foolhardy prince who dared to tread on dangerous ground.

A tense silence descended upon the room, broken only by the rustle of silk and the clatter of tableware. Jacaerys, the paragon of the Velaryon house, rose from his seat with a resounding thud that reverberated in the hushed hall. All eyes turned to him, their expressions a mixture of curiosity and apprehension, as he commanded attention with the power of his presence alone.

The drunken prince Aegon finally sat down—after eliciting the reaction he wanted from Jacaerys. He then looked up at the angered Jace with intrigued eyes, quite proud of himself. whilst Alicent silently pleaded with her eyes he wouldn't cause a commotion.

"Aegon would you shut up..." Vyselyra sneered, her eyes bore into Aegon's. Each syllable that escaped his lips was a venomous dart piercing her resolve. She longed to wipe that smug grin off his face, erase the memory of the flames he taunted her with. Despite the burning rage within her, she maintained a mask of indifference, masking the seething hatred that threatened to spill over.

Aegon, ever the provocateur, turned to face her with a wicked glint in his emerald eyes. His words dripped with malice, each one a dagger aimed at her heart. "Oh, what? You'll try to burn me like you did before?" His voice was laced with mockery, the unspoken challenge hanging heavy in the air.

"I just might... don't threaten me with a good time..." Vyselyra mocked with a subtle smile—much to her mother dismay.

The tension in the room reached a boiling point, palpable to all who bore witness. Aemond, ever the vigilant observer, rose slowly from his seat, his gaze flickering between his warring brothers. His expression was a mixture of concern and anticipation, as if silently daring Aegon to push further.

Sensing the impending storm, Jacaerys, the peacekeeper of the group, interjected with a subtle cough. With a graceful motion, the brunette raised his ornate goblet, the rich crimson liquid within it reflecting the flickering candlelight like spilled rubies.

In a gesture of mischief, Jacaerys lightly tapped Aegon's shoulder with his free hand, the subtle action a silent plea for peace in the midst of simmering hostility.

"To Prince Aegon and Prince Aemond. We have not seen each other in years, but I have fond memories of our shared youth. And as men, I hope we may yet be friends and allies. To you and your family's good health, dear uncles." Jace raised his cup even more to the heavens before back down with a huff. Even Medrick paused in chewing his food, his eyes darting from his sister to Aemond who finally sat back down.

Most diverted their attention to the ailing grunting of Viserys as he weakly rose to his feet. "It both gladdens my heart and fills me with sorrow to see these faces around the table. The faces most dear to me in all the world... yet grown so distant from each other... in the years past."

Torrhen remained zoned out for most of the speech and happenings, he didn't dare eat much from his plate in retaliation for not being able to drink.

Naemera's piercing gaze shifted to her half brother, just as he nonchalantly removed the golden shield that concealed the grotesque deformity marring the left side of his face. With a deliberate flourish, he let the shield slip from his fingers, letting it crash onto the polished oak table with a resounding clatter.

The shield revealed the horrifying truth that he had been hiding from the world—the decaying flesh, the exposed bone, the putrid stench that emanated from the exposed wound.

Vyselyra couldn't contain the visceral reaction that crept upon her. A visible shiver ran down her spine as she tried to mask the revulsion contorting her delicate features—her nose involuntarily crinkling at the ghastly sight before her.

Her grimace went unnoticed by all until the room fell into an eerie silence, broken only by the sound of the shield hitting the table. In that moment, all eyes turned toward Vyselyra, their expressions ranging from curiosity to judgment.

"There are beasts beneath the boards," Heleana's voice rose above the silence, an oddly timed interjection that saved Vyselyra from the uncomfortable attention that had befallen her.

With a sigh, the king began, "My own face... is no longer a handsome one." A soft chuckle slipped, "If indeed it ever was. But tonight... I wish you to see me as I am. Not just a king... but your father. Your brother. Your husband and your grandsire. Who may not, it seems, walk for much longer among you."

His pants grew louder, "Let us no longer hold ill feelings in our hearts. The Crown cannot stand strong if the House of the Dragon remains divided. But set aside your grievances. If not for the sake of the Crown... then for the sake of this old man who loves you all so dearly."

Viserys coughed violently, slouching back into his chair as Alicent tented to him immediately. Even Naemera felt her breath hinged at the wounded sight of her brother. As the servants prepared the main dishes, Alicent shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Everyone had slowly returned back to holding their individual conversations, with some eating the small appetizers.

Even the music started up at the order of King Viserys—a soft muse delicate strokes upon the instruments.

Alicent found herself in a delicate dance of diplomacy. Her slender fingers clung to Viserys's arm like a lifeline as her steel-gray eyes darted back and forth between Naemera's piercing gaze and the disdainful stare of lord Desmond Manderly.

The tension in the room was palpable, each breath heavy with unspoken words and hidden agendas. And yet, Alicent knew she must forge ahead, her heart pounding in her chest as she summoned the courage to rise from her seat. With a steady hand, she lifted her goblet, the crystal catching the flickering candlelight as she turned her attention towards the imposing figure of Lord Manderly.

Her crimson lips pressed into a firm line, betraying none of the turmoil swirling beneath the surface as she spoke with measured determination, "I wish to propose a union..."

Vyselyra arched a single elegant brow, a silent question lingering in her eyes as the queen's voice faltered for a brief moment before continuing, her tone laced with a blend of authority and desperation, "Your daughter remains unclaimed, as does my son Aemond."

Before Alicent could finish her entreaty, Lord Desmond's voice sliced through the tense silence, a curt denial that hung heavy in the air like a storm cloud, "No..."

He paused, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips as he raised his goblet to his mouth, savoring the taste of his wine before continuing, his gaze unwavering as he redirected his attention to Vyselyra, "She will be wed to a Northerner... Lord Cregan Stark. Our alliance with House Stark is paramount, forged in centuries past, unyielding in its strength."

As the weight of Desmond's words settled upon her shoulders, Alicent stood frozen, her grip on the goblet tightening as a tremor ran through her slender frame. Viserys, ever the mediator, nodded in silent agreement with Lord Manderly. Claiming, given past circumstances, Aemond would be spared this union deemed too hostile by even Vyselyra's standards.

"Very well..." Alicent muttered before quickly sitting back down—her eyes fixing upon the plate of food before her. Whilst Vyselyra was pleased her father spoke up for her, she wasn't happy to be wedded off to another right away. She had barely managed to escape the claws of Vaemond.

———————————————————————

AUTHOR'S NOTE
———-

WE BACK HOMIESSSSS

NEW CHAP😈

Also, the whole do Windermere and Vermax like each other?
My homie, Windermere quite literally tried to knock Vermax out of the sky, what makes you think the dragon liked him?

*Literally Vyselyra at Viserys*