Viserra first speaks with her mother once more in the years since she has taken up residence in the court of King Viserys in the early touches of morning following the wedding ceremony and the feast. Queen Alicent had sought to play host to breaking fast in a most intimate manner and merely the nearest relations of House Targaryen are to dine with the bride and groom for this celebratory morning meal — and Viserra and her mother are most certainly counted among those relatives are kept close to the bosom of the ruling Targaryens.

Or so that is the policy that is pursued by the supposedly politically active queen — all according to the words of Aemond.

Her lord father has long sat upon the small council of the king as master of ships and he is counted among the wealthiest of the Westerosi nobility — if not the wealthiest of them all with the success in his voyages and glory in the name of House Velaryon.

The breaking of the fast is to be held within the rose hall, a small banquet hall that is attached to the personal chambers of King Viserys himself and so named for the pink stone of its construction which reflects beautiful rose quartz in the day's light. I

It is a stroke beyond the low rise of the sun and already her vision is graced with the regal form of Lady Rhaenys Targaryen cloaked within a gown of silver and complemented by touches of Targaryen scarlet.

"Mama!" The utterance that is more akin to a joyous yell draws to an end upon Viserra's realization of the girlish name for her lady mother, a name to be dropped in the years of her youth, not when she has passed ten and six summers. She is ill in disguising the pleasure touching her features though body falls into a curtsey in a greeting more proper for her station.

"My mother."

"I always had told Corlys that you would be the one to grow the slowest and yet here I find you — a blossomed young woman." Rhaenys muses, voice soft with maternal affection and the deep lilac of her eyes brimming with the warmth of emotion that she hardly draws from visits to the Red Keep.

"It appears that you have flourished without my guidance."

"I flourished because you taught me resilience and when to use my power if needed." Her dusky dark cheeks are gently flushed with the praise of Rhaenys's words, merely delighting her heart upon their reunion.

Joy further flitters her heart when Rhaenys draws her into the embrace of a pair of maternal arms she had been separated from for years but forever familiar to Viserrra and always a welcome place.

"You have performed so well my little sea dragon." A plethora of butterfly light kisses crown the top of Viserra's head, the long fingers of her mother urging for Viserra's head to lay against her chest — as if a child once more. "But I have missed you so."

"As I have missed you and Father as well. I do not go a day without thinking of you or him, or Driftmark."

"I look forward to learning of what strides you have made in your education and how you have ridden Seashine." A tip of Viserra's chin upwards, gentle and urging her to peer into Rhaenys's gaze. "However, it has been a long past since you have returned home. I want my only child back at Driftmark.

"I understand, Mother. I would be more than content to return to Driftmark when the time comes."

The memories of the azure waters crawling upon the pretty gray and white sands of Driftmark's beaches to splash their coolness over her feet barren of any shoes tugs at the mind of Viserra in a manner of logging. Even the time in which Rhaenys had arranged a portrait of their family — when Laena and Laenor were still of the earth — and Viserra had been forcefully posed despite her seeming incapability of stillness — even those memories are tugs upon the strings of her heart. The kiss of the sea against her skin, to rest her weary head near the Driftwood Throne and in front of the aging fires of the fireplace — it is a tender reminder of the place where she has belonged.

However, in the midst of her longing for the isle of her birth, the visage of the second Targaryen prince graces her mind and the realization that Aemond will not be so unwoven from her affections or from her heart with such ease.

Two desires for her singular heart.

"I will speak to my cousin, King Viserys, about your return to Driftmark — he would understand. . . Or rather he should understand a mother wishing for her only child to return to her side."

It should be a task of particular ease — if the king is of sound mind and has not yet again taken ill in his chambers, as has become the norm in the passing of these few years.

Nevertheless, Viserra urges for hope for the sake of her mother — though her niece Rhaena may be fostered at Driftmark, Viserra knows of her mother's terrible loneliness for the loss of her elder children.

"I look forward to returning to Driftmark with you and Father. I cannot wait to meet Rhaena again. It's been far too long."

"It would do well for Rhaena to see her aunt again." Rhaenys muses with silken warmth, her deep lilac gaze now flicking over the necklace of Valyrian steel that now adorns her youngest's slender neck. A silver brow raises in discreet curiosity, though there is not an emotion akin to anger as gently firm fingers grasp upon the aquamarine encrusted seahorse that sits just below Viserra's throat.

"Now, I do not wish to pursue another subject. . . However, I am quite curious as to where you obtained this piece."

The warmth upon her cheeks does not dissipate with the observation from her mother and rather it grows with the inquiry, for although she does not feel a touch of shame for the gift, Rhaenys does not look upon Prince Aemond with the same favor as she does.

"It was a gift. . ." Surely an admission that it is a gift would not bring Rhaenys to her quick witted temper — however an admission that it had been gifted by Prince Aemond would.

"A gift from Princess Helaena. She had been peering through the belongings of Queen Alyssa Velaryon and she had believed that it suited me."

A half truth laced into a half lie and Viserra means not to throw dear Helaena into the sea infested with a dragon of wit, but it's better for Rhaenys to be aware of the growth of her friendship with Helaena and not the blossoming passion between herself and the youngest prince.

For all of her mother's famed wit, Rhaenys is little likely to question Helaena herself upon the matter for she thinks little of the children between King Viserys and Queen Alicent —her feelings had been made most clear the day following the funeral of Laena and the night of Aemonda's claimation of Vhagar.

"I did not think any of the queen's children to be quite so thoughtful."

Viserra knows not what to make of Rhaenys's words though her lips are pressed together so that she may not speak another thought.

"But that Helaena is clever is she not? Gifting you my grandmother's necklace?"

"She thought it would suit me because we are both of House Velaryon."

"I must admit that I agree with her thoughts." A release of the seahorse pendant against Viserra's graceful neck, Rhaenys is gentle as she allows her hands to fall from her daughter's figure. "A trueborn Velaryon girl — the prize of my heart."

"Oh, Mother. You flatter me far too much." A display of her bashfulness in the way she ruffles out her taffeta skirts as if in inspection of dust imaginary to the eye.

"Chin up, Viserra."

Viserra follows her mother's words without failure, tender lavender gaze meeting the firmly gentle eyes of her mother — hardened by the cynicism of the world and yet tender with the love of a daughter.

"Do not forget that much like my grandmother Alyssa that you are now the pride and the hope of House Velaryon. Do not ever forget that is your place, Viserra."

Helaena is not a bride of rosy cheeks nor of brightly knowing smiles following the much important wedding night and the eyes of Aegon are shaded with deeper lavender and there is a reflection of resentment within his eyes.

Their presentation of wedding bliss is half an effort and Helaena follows in her duty with a small smile pressed to her lips — though it is pinched and there is no happiness to soothe the coolness within her gaze. Though there is not one within the rose hall to dare speak a word of concern — for the prince is not to be questioned.

Though she says not a word, Viserra gifts Helaena a small curve of a smile and draws her fingers around her shoulder in a squeeze of affection — it is the least that she can afford Helaena after a night that was likely tinged with disappointment and fear.

"I bid you good morning, Princess Helaena." Her murmur is soft as the daisies that the princess finds enjoyment in picking from the gardens and a curtesy that is owed to the princess soon follows.

"Viserra!"Helaena's one yell of her name is laced with more joy than all of her words at her own wedding and the feast following it. She is a blur of white gold and pastel pink skirts as she leaps from her chair and finds her way into the waiting arms of Viserra herself.

"Princess Helaena!" Surprise lines her words though Viserra does not find rejection in her heart for the princess that is but a year younger than herself and as closely entwined as a sister can be.

As her arms curl about the princess's body — all warmth and softly curved against her own — Viserra's eyes are in search of the queen for she does not know if Queen Alicent would speak her approval of Helaena's display or disavow Viserra's interference.

The prince himself does not voice a word for or against Helaena jumping from her seat next to his own and rather it is a low grunt that rumbles from his throat before a hand reaches out for the crystal pitcher of wine just before him on the table.

"A monstrosity, Viserra!" A singular cry of desperation that is but a whisper within Viserra's ear, Helaena's face pressing closer to her own cheek and her fingers curling into her dress. "A monstrosity within walls of red stone. One that prides itself on the sun!"

"Shh, princess. It will be fine." Small whispers against Helaena's forehead and fingers entangle themselves with the princess's fluffed tresses, curled because of the braids she wore the night before. "I am here with you."

Though Helaena weaves her words in ways that many find that they lack understanding of, the desperation is made obvious to Viserra in her shaken tone and the clinging of Helaena upon her body. Her eyes narrow when she connects the word 'sun' to the golden scales of a dragon that are blindingly bright upon flights in the sky — the monstrosity Helaena speaks of must be her newly wedded husband.

"Helaena, my sweet love, what are you doing from your seat?"

The southron accented voice of Queen Alicent echoes from behind the two of them and with a mere tilt of her head, her vision reveals the sight of the queen entering from the terraces attached to the rose hall, further accompanied by her own mother Lady Rhaenys.

The queen is cloaked within the traditional forest green of House Hightower and complementing ornaments of gold that reflect her devotion to the Faith of the Seven, and her lush curls the color of hazelnuts are coiled in an ornate crowning braid — ever the visage of youth even at her age of thirty and five.

Her mother finds it wise to keep to herself and step away from the queen, her wise features painted with intrigue in her observation of Viserra and the princess within her arms.

"Mother . . ." A dimming of Helaena's pretty features and with reluctance she untangles herself from within Viserra's arms and returns to that facade of dulled emotions that she had worn next to her husband. "Merely a greeting to Viserra in the morning.'

Helaena graces Viserra with one last glance before she is brushing off the arms of her own mother and with all the diligence she manages, returns to the seat positioned at the side of Aegon. If the queen is taken back by the coolness of her daughter it is not displayed upon her features and instead a charmed smile is placed upon her rose painted lips — ever the charming queen she needs to play.

"It fills my heart with joy to see you reunited with your mother, Viserra." The warmth of her words does not seem to warm the chill that lays within her dark eyes, and her smile is simply a play for show. "Mothers and daughters have a special connection."

"It is thanks to the wedding between Prince Aegon and Princess Helaena that my lady mother and I have been reunited." Viserra drops into a low curtsy, skirts raising just a hair beneath her ankles as she drops down.

"A happy occasion for not merely one house but both of our houses." Alicent presses forward, words sweet and gentle, though Viserra cannot help the feeling of suspicion in the queen's more ulterior motives in discussion with both herself and her mother present. "A glad House Velaryon always makes for a glad House Targaryen."

Viserra subconsciously feels each of her fingers curl into the fabric of her skirts even as she maintains an expression of tranquility upon her features — she knows not of what the queen wishes to pursue now that her mother has joined her at King's Landing.

She possesses little care for the politics of the kingdoms and even less care for the ambitions of House Hightower — she has long seen the consequences of such ambitions as they become fruitful and vicious, and merely she does not believe that death is worth the ambition.

"House Targaryen has long been generous in understanding House Velaryon's needs and responding to those needs accordingly." Smile painted about her own lips and a dip of her head is given in show of respect. "I myself am extremely grateful for your graciousness to foster me within your walls. An experience like any other."

"You have flourished under the guidance of the maesters and the septas here, I am very proud of your progress." The praise thinly veils the truth beneath her wods and Viserra swears to spy a glint of ambition within her dark eyes.

"The closer that our houses are together the better it is for our realm."

Viserra finds herself in this moment mch preferring the company of dragons over the company of politicians — to Seashine she is merely Viserra but to those politicians she is a lady of Driftmark — a pawn to be utilized in the making of alliances without access to her own fate.

The hall smells of roasted quail and rabbit baked in milk, and Aegon has already passed beyond his fourth cup of the Dornish wine when Aemond makes his entrance into the rose hall without being accompanied by King Viserys.

The excitement of the wedding of the previous day had drained Viserys of his energy and so even in this morning he has taken to his bed for rest and recuperation — however it is his insistence on which they should dine with one another during the breakfast meal. In place of the king, however, two men who bring particular distaste to Viserra follow the footsteps of the prince — Ser Otto Hightower and Ser Criston Cole.

The Hand of the King and a knight of the Kingsguard — true vipers amongst the royal court if there ever were some.

Viserra pays very little mind to the approach of Otto and Criston, her dislike of them has been made well known even without a word exchanged with the men, and rather fixated her attentions upon the serving of the breakfast courses from the kitchens — particularly taken with the torrijas drizzled with a syrup from strawberries and further accompanied by strawberries themselves.

That would sweeten the bitterness of the presence of Otto and Criston within the rose hall.

"You look like Vhagar ready for a good meal." The familiarity of the smoothly dangerous voice trills from behind her back before the oaken chair next to her is pulled backwards and the space of emptiness is replaced with an intimidating figure clad within leather trimmed with dark, luxuriant mink fur.

"I truly look like a great big beast with an overbearing chin and teeth as sharp as Dark Sister? Is that what you're saying to me?" Viserra returns his teasing words with a comfortable ease, her own lips curling into a ghost of a smirk.. "To compare a lady to a dragon — and I had believed that you were the gentleman of the brothers."

"The most beautiful of the dragons I must say." One of Aemond's pale eyebrows raises, his expression sculpted into one of feigned seriousness. "That surely must be a compliment."

Viserra's fingers lace within one another in hearing the depth of his statement and in possession of keen awareness that her mother must be pressing her sight upon the interactions between Viserra and the prince. Though none may see it, she feels the flames burn behind the soft curves of her cheeks — gently fierce and as teasing as the words from Aemond's lips — of course he dares to tease Viserra in the face of her mother's sight and very presence.

"My mother is keenly watching us, Prince." Her utterance is more akin to a breath, her sights set upon one of the maidservants filling her dish with the instructed foods, fingers careful in how they brush over the silverware just in front of her. "I would hold your tongue for she is not afraid to give even Targaryen princes lashings with her words."

Viserra awaits for her plate to be served to the brim with food from her favored torrijas to spiced meats stuffed with cloves and garlic and from the periphery of her gaze she peeks at the corner of the table where Rhaenys is once more engaged in reluctant conversation with Queen Alicent herself.

If there is a lesson that Viserra has retained from her childhood years at Driftmark, it is that Rhaenys keeps a careful eye on all that surrounds her — even in the most minute of details that escape the gaze that is typical of most.

"Do you think so little of me that I would not brave the wrath of Princess Rhaenys Targaryen?" His face is leant into her with discretion, breath briefly warm against her curls that are loose against her shoulders. "Dragons do not frighten other dragons." Words that do not strike fear into her heart but a warmth that is strange to her — almost a pleasurable kind of warmth.

Aemond is quite likely vastly aware of the effects upon her and yet he pursues this particular attitude of teasing and playful words in the view of her very own mother.

"Words are words, simple as that. They are nothing compared to the actual firebreath of a dragon."

Her reflexes are a pallid comparison to the rapid laced movements of Aemond's arm as his is raised within an instant, discreet and silent, as careful fingers grace the aquamarine studded seahorse at the base of her neck. His touch is a paradox — tender against her skin in the brief instant that they connect and yet at the same time it is striking, as if he could steal the life of a man in an instant. Viserra has become frozen within an instant, fingers stills upon the silverware and lips parted in a gasp that does not quite leav her.

In the instance that her mother's attention is lavished once more upon her, Aemond's arm drops in a blur of dark lather and a discreet smirk plays upon his lips — as if tucking away their little 'fun' away to be kept a secret from both of their mothers.

Viserra desires that there is not a suspicion to begin blossoming within the shrewd imagination of her mother's mind — though a silvered brow lifts upon the slight nervousness etching upon Viserra's features.

"I hope that you consider yourself impressed, otherwise I shall be forced to repeat myself." His amusement is disguised beneath his breath, as if the disguise of his actions arrives natural to him, and he is apt at playing the roles of the devoted prince and the snarky lordling at once. "I find myself rather . . . intrigued by this little game of touching your neck."

"The moment that my mother sees you lay a hand on me, she'll desire your other eye as recompense ."

"An eye for daring to tease the fairest maiden in the land?" Continuance of his words without a singular pause in his speaking, attentions entirely fixated on the Dornish spiced wine that is poured into his glass and the arrival of his food. "I never thought the queen who never was to be such a harsh purveyor of justice."

A stumble upon her words that do not reach away from the silence before her lips are once more closing against one another, fingers finally closing around the fine silverware and raising them upwards to be used. His teasing once again is burning dragonfire behind her cheeks even if the flush is not easily seen against her dark cheeks before slyly hiding her face between her soft silver gold curls.

"Do not fret too much, Viserra." Fingers settle against her dress covered knee before squeezing in affection. "You'll have the last word one of these days."

The afternoon's sun burns as brightly as the gold of yellow topaz against the clear azure skies, Meleys's magnificent scales of scarlet rippling like rubies and carnelians under the sun's unrelenting gaze. The conversation that Rhaenys had intended with King Viserys had been left unresolved and unspoken though a promise had been made upon her own heart that Viserra would be soon returned to her homeland of Driftmark — just but a glistening isle just beyond the reaches of the horizon.

Viserra is to remain continuous in her pursuit of her education under the guidance of the maesters and the septas though there is a longing within heart for beyond the pretty dancing of needles and threads, and beyond the histories of the crownlands long gone.

A return to the sea is the desire that drives her heart.

Her gaze remains peering into the bright azure sky long beyond the departure of the red queen at the horizon where sea meets sky, the curls of her hair ever gently twirled by the late spring breeze for she knows not when she shall greet her mother once more.

"We shall communicate by raven with the king. You shall soon return to Driftmark, my little seahorse."

The sting of tears comes to blur the vision of her eyes though the maturity of her nearly seventeen summers calls for the dismissal of such childish emotions that belong to her years of adolescence and not the tears of a youthful woman who is to be utilized in forging alliances with House Velaryon.

The weakness of her tears shall serve her no purpose in the provision of success and allies for her house and though she may yet possess a special tenderness for her lady mother and her lord father, slipping behind into the reaches of her childhood merely ensures failure in her need for maturing.

Viserra steps within the dully lit darkness that makes up the caves of the Dragonpit, eyes becoming half closed with the adjustment into the flush of shadows that would be endless save for the warm glow of the lit braziers that line each personal lair of the dragons that take up residence within the confines of the Dragonpit. In spite of the heat that is naturally given away from the body of a dragon in waves.

However there is a chilled feeling about the air within the confines of the caverns that lead beneath the surface of the earth, and causing Viserra to further draw her cloak about her shoulders, the soft velvet warm and a brief comfort.

However, the coolness of the caverns nipping her skin is well worth the cost of a visit to her beloved Seashine.

Though Seashine is far from counted among the largest of the dragons to reside within the Dragonpit, she has grown at the side of Viserra from the cradle, arriving as a gift in the form of a dragon egg from the king himself. As Aemond had taken to claiming Vhagar in the midst of his adolescence, her most precious bond had been forged from the moments of her being placed within the cradle for the first time following her birth. A sisterhood forged from the earliest of her years — in truth it is a bond that is steel in nature, a bond that would be severed merely in the face of either one's death.

The crudely carved rocky path that guides her to the lair of Seashine is barely a discernible touch against her thick soled riding boots, her thick, woolen riding gown just barely brushing against her ankles. The lamps are pale gleaming topaz rocks within the shadows of the darkness and though the shadows merely grow in strength as her journey delivers her forward, her familiarity with the confines of the Dragonpit leave her knowing her very location.

Her bond with her dragon does not bend with so much ease beneath the weight of darkness.

Within moments, the visage of sea green and turquoise scales seep within her vision, sparkling just a touch beneath the dull glow of the lamps. The shaking of chains is indication of Seashine's awakened state before the glow of her sea green gaze is lifted to where Viserra has positioned herself just above her lair.

"Seashine, naejot." Gentled fingers raised in a welcoming stance and remaining as still as stone — it is the sign and the singular word for Seashine to come forward and approach her bonded rider — she need not say it twice.

Though Seashine may not be a beast of most impressive proportions nor in possession of the sharpest talons readied for battle, she is perhaps one of the most beautiful with scales dappled with the colors of the sea and fine silver and the sea green of her eyes reminds Viserra of the Summer Sea.

Though there could be potential reliance upon Seashine in battle for her speed — comparison quite impressive to her mother's Meleys — and the agility of her slender body would provide more ease in the avoidance of weaponry and traps meant for dragons.

Though Viserra would never dare to hope for the violence and madness that are the traits of war — she had been born within the verdant spring of peace and she's very much of the preference of not seeing the innocents fall to the darkness of conflict.

An even louder rattle of chains soon follows the command in the language of Valyrian before the walls of earth and stone soon shake with the rise of the she-dragon to her clawed feet. Though small, Seashhine certainly is not a dainty little thing and her presence is made well known by the vibrations of her movements that follow each step taken, her long and scaled tail dragging about the stone covered flooring without care to raise it off of the floor. Seashine is not a dragon of many noises save for the heat of her breath which already graces Viserra's face a ways away and her small little snorts that are occasional after her sighs.

"Seashine, kelītīs."

Seashine halts at the border of the lamps' reaches and the shadows that are beyond, half of her still enshrouded within the darkness and, the graceful length of her neck and elegant features lit by the brightness of the lamp. Seashine has extended her neck forwards, gracing Viserra's hand with her smooth and well kept scales of her snout, her heated breaths as warm as the baths that she had found herself enjoying taking.

This exchange of affection is as close to the definition of gentle as a dragon may grow to — Seashine in all of her manners is much more alike a lady than a warrior especially in comparison to the dragons of more fierce natures such as Caraxes and her own sibling Seasmoke.

"Rāpa, Seasmoke." Her voice is taken with more gentleness than her dragon's affectionate nuzzling of her hand, as if Viserra's fine, lithe fingers are far bigger than they truly are. Though Seashine rarely needed reminders to gentle her reactions — she acts more alike a spoiled house cat than a true dragon.

Perhaps Viserra had spoiled her far too much.

Viserra is far too entangled within her interactions with the she-dragon that she merely takes notice of an arm clad in dark leather just reaching nearly against her shoulder by the warning of Seashine's demanding huffs.

"Thought I might find you here." His whispers are gruff against her ear and never fail to draw shivers up her spine in realization of Aemond's body near her own — against her own perhaps if she shifted a singular inch backwards. "Your mother left and you seemed rather upset."

"You know me very well." She cannot quite help the giggles that part her lips, hand remaining upon Seashine's pretty snouth, though her eye is careful to observe both dragon and prince. "I always come here to be with Seashine."

"Very predictable of you, thank the Seven." His own words are covered in subtle mirth, his gloved hand reaching for Seashine's snout only for rejection to be made in the form of growls that rumble within the depths of her throat.

"Oh hush now, Seashine." A scolding of gentle nature as she takes one hand and entangles her fingers between the hand of Aemond that's near the she-dragon and guides it to the surface of smooth scales and a pouting nose. "Aemond would never hurt you. . ." Her words fall into whispers then into a silence that is comforting to her, and tilting her head in study of the beauty of his Valyrian features awsh with the lamplight — a terrifying beauty should the shadows overcome the light.

"He would never hurt me." A declaration that is not quite a yell but a promise nonetheless, fingers remaining intertwined with his own hand as they caress the dragon's long neglected snout (or so that is what Seashine would claim — being the spoiled house cat she is).

Viserra no longer provides effort against temptation with the allowance of herself to weaken against his body, shoulders now laying against the warmth of his chest, their hands remaining linked together in the caressing of Seasmoke's scales. Further her head tilts in meeting the singular eye of his gaze with her own and the most playful of his smirks touches upon his rosy lips before his silver-gold head is guided forward to meet her lips with his own.

Breathless and brief, the kiss is tended nonetheless, her gaze becoming half lidded with soft affection and need, though his lips never quite part her face as he whispers his words.

"Nothing in this world could ever make me hurt you."