King Viserys manages just the briefest amount of energy in the battle against the sickness that had overtaken him, to grant his approval of Viserra's travels to Dragonstone for the attendance of Joffrey's third nameday celebration.

The singular condition being that she bestows upon little Joffrey a gift from his grandsire consisting of little wooden dragons constructed from the finest, most polished of woods — exquisite gifts that could still suit the wants of a boy in the midst of his toddlerhood. It will be a task that is easy enough in transporting it to the island of Dragonstone, stored away in a little satchel just above her hip.

By the way of her gowns, riding clothing, and other such necessities — well, her trunks will accompany her in manner of ship, her own kinsman Ser Jaenerys Velaryon shall be sailing his Lady Valaena from the harbors of King's Landing to Dragonstone.

Ser Jaenerys Velaryon, as charming as he is clever and he speaks with an accent that reflects more of a Tyroshi background than one of Westeros — his father and her uncle, Vaemond, had fostered him among the family of the Archon of Tyrosh.

However, he is much unlike his father in the nature of his personality — in possession of little ambition in his influence over petty politics, he prefers the sea to the company of people, and the ends of his hair are dyed the bright magenta of Tyrosh.

Ten years her senior, she has always seen her cousin as a delight, always brightening the court with his presence and witty way with words. Though he is her Uncle Vaemond's heir to his holdings given to him by the Velaryon name, his younger brothers are much more akin to the personality of their father and Jaenerys prefers to spend his days on his beloved Lady Valaena and surrounded naught by land and civilization, but the sparkling turquoise waters of the Narrow Sea.

"You are more dragon now than you are seahorse." However, now he speaks with a certain dryness to his tone and his expression is touched by the briefest tinges of disapproval, broad shoulders leant against a wall of her chambers.

"I have always been half dragon through my lady mother." Viserra returns his dryness with a sharpness of her own, hands stilling on the garment enfolded within her arms. "But I was born Velaryon and that will not change."

"Do not heed my words as an insult, little cousin." Jaenerys muses, his words but an echo beneath his breath for he means little to insult his more youthful cousin, his words merely guided by his experience of Viserra before her fostering with the Targaryens and now with the results.

"In the halls of Driftmark you would run all around the great halls barefoot and skirts wet with saltwater. Now you smile prettily to the king and curtsey with all the grace of a land born lady."

"As you must have seen, Jaenerys, there is very little access to the waters and the coast." Pallid brow raises with particular bemusement and fills his arms with the gown that is to be packed away. "Besides, going for an unapproved swim in a keep that is not my own would be most unladylike behavior."

"You were once as free as the sea, now you play by the dragons' rules." Sore temptation curls her fingers about the handle of her brush with the most obvious tease of his voice even as he folds her gown away with proper caution. "Though those rules did not necessarily stop you from punching a poor, old septa in the face."

Her cousin's words are entirely painted with light heartedness and no singular gesture of ill will, though there is no prevention of her instinct in freezing in her movements, as still as the marble statues that adorn Driftmark's great hall. For she had not spoken a word of the incident with another soul and Aemond had ensured that there was not to be trouble to trail her footsteps — a promise had been made.

"You look as ill as first time sailors on the sea." The warmth of his laughter now pierces the ice that had crept within the silence, her gaze unfreezing as her head tilts upon his taller stature. "Your secret is safe with me, not to worry." His sea calloused fingers curl around her shoulder in a squeeze of affection.

"I . . ." A stumble over her words, idle fingers caressing over the silk of another dress to be packed within her trunk. "I'm just curious how you would know such a fact."

It is most obvious to any gaze that Viserra is taken back with the shock of her cousin's knowledge, though less concern lies with the fact of his knowledge and it lies more with a promise potentially broken. Jaw stiffened and lips held closed until further reassurances depart Jaenerys's lips.

"Ah, yes. That Prince Aemond of yours." A fluttering of her heart like the quickness of butterfly's wings at the merest mention of 'yours', though Jaenerys is intentional in his ignorance of her girlish reaction. "He made an accidental mention of the incident as he was speaking to me, and he had meant to apologize to you for that."

"I wasn't expecting that the prince would be so sociable."

"He was most insistent on that apology." A shrug of his shoulder upon his return to Viserra's side near the entrance of her wardrobe. "I would not use the word sociable to describe him — courteous if anything."

"And I can keep you to that same promise of silence, yes?" There is a seeming return of life to her voice, now her words are once more laced with the tinge of amusement, and heart swelling with the mere thought of the prince's words.

"I see no reason as to why you should be in trouble for retaining the honor of your family." Lips curve in display of a half smirk. "I owe you a secret from the time you did not tell my father that I snuck out with my friends for a round of drinks the night before sailing to Pentos."

"Just a little more than a few rounds at the local tavern in Hull." A rolling tease of her eyes and further shake of her head. "If you can even recall that much from that night."

"You were but eight summers that night, all wide eyed and innocent as us drunken boorish teens left none too quietly from the castle. Hardly more than a babe."

"I make it my business to remember each and every little incident that happens." Viserra nods with an attitude of smug precociousness. "Perhaps I could use that information to manipulate people to my heart's content."


The night preceding the departure of Lady Valaena from the harbor of King's Landing and Viserra's departure on Seashine for Dragonstone, the queen has extended an invitation to both Jaenerys and Viserra in joining her small family supper. Jaenerys speaks for the both of them (sans Viserra's own preferred input) and inadvertently she is denied a polite decline of Queen Alicent's invite, and so she founds herself counted among the attendees of the intimate, vastly private affair that counts Viserra and Jaenerys among the queen and her children in addition to the queen's father and Hand to the King, Otto Hightower.

The queen has graciously seated her between her cousin Jaenerys, quite the colorful contrast to the Targaryens' silks of greens and dark velvets with his turquoise seahorse patterned clothing and braids dyed with Tyroshi magenta, and pretty and pale Helaena.

Queen Alicent herself rules from her roost at the center of the table, her elder prince at her right and the younger seated at her left, further accompanied by her father. The king once more is plagued by illness and the viability of his attendance in even the simplest of family matters grows lesser and lesser.

"Aunt Rhaenys says that her cousin is but a shell of what he once was." An observation of Jaenerys in the form of an utterance that just graces her ear, with a subtlety that would not catch the attention of anyone else.

"She came for Prince Aegon's and Princess Helaena's wedding. . . That was one of his good days." Her lips are nearly stilled, for she wishes not to draw attention to Jaenerys's curious inquiries. A nod of thanks is given when a servant serves her a plate of trout baked in clay and a salad of sweetleaves and nuts, drenched in her favored honey.

"I heard he's taken to wearing a mask of gold on the right side of his face to disguise his illness."

"You have heard correctly." A sumptuous piece of her trout is speared upon her fork and raised to her lips, her glance backwards to Jaenerys brief and unyielding. "But the queen shall hear none of it. Unless if you wish to be parted from your tongue."

"The Archon of Tyrosh punishes for far less. I know how to keep quiet when it is needed." Jaenerys muses, sipping from his chalice of spiced Dornish wine, quite the rarity within the Red Keep, but her cousin possesses a few friends in Dorne from his extensive travels and establishment of trade routes.

"Still. I would prefer not provoking the wrath of the crown just as I am to leave for Dragonstone."

The supper is an affair of shocking tranquility, blanketed by a strange warmth of silence save for the accompaniment of musicians and their instruments in the background. Few words depart the queen's lips but she appears to be all warmth and grace, and the charm of House Hightower with smiles pressed in Viserra's direction, her own chalice of wine being raised in tribute to her.

"How long do you expect to be gone, Viserra?" Alicent poses the question not as a queen but as the foster mother that has brought Viserra up through the years, guiding her education and her journey into a lady worthy of the royal court. "I know how much you would like to have more time with your mother."

A dip of Viserra's head in payment of respect to the queen , her thoughts briefly addressing her question — as Viserra does not expect an extremely extended amount of time on Dragonstone, admittedly she does desire time to be spent with her mother and her nephews and nieces.

"Indeed, Queen Alicent. It's natural for a daughter to miss her mother, yes?" She lightens her voice, fingers gently curling into her skirts beneath the table. "But I will not be gone for terribly long. Two weeks spent on Dragonstone and accounting for the journey, it is roughly a three day flight to the island. A three day flight from the island, so six days of travel."

"Twenty days — that is nearly a moon." It is not the voice of Alicent that now addresses her, but the interruption rather finds its origins in the second prince — his once idle, coolly tranquil expression now touched with hints of annoyance. "For a simple visit in celebration of a boy's nameday — quite a long time, is it not?"

"Aemond." Alicent's singular word is one of warning, sharp and demanding of her son's obedience, dark brown eyes now cool with sternness. "It is not unreasonable for her to spend two weeks with her family. After all, she has not even visited Driftmark during her period of fostering."

"Thank you, my queen." Genuine thanks graces her lips for the queen's defense of her against accusing words. "I hope that you will be understanding, Prince Aemond. I have missed my mother, my family, and the sea."

Tension tightens Aemond's jaw and it is as if Viserra can look upon the annoyance that flares just beneath his carefully constructed cool tranquility, especially with a gloved hand tightened into a fist beneath the shadows of the table.

His lilac gaze brushes over Viserra, an unfamiliar coolness brightening just beneath the surface and she cannot help the way that she shivers with the icy tension — the nipping winds of winter without truly existing within this space of warmth and particular intimacy.

However, Aemond does not seek to pursue an argument with both queen and lady, lips twisting into the frown that is his signature and focus presented more upon his wine and meal.

"Very well. If the queen accepts such terms then I shall have to accept such terms as well." Though the resentment that laces each of his words does not support his meaning in truth.

Her teeth sink into the softness of her bottom lips, enough to draw a brief feeling of pain but not yet to reach the blossoming of blood within her mouth, tension lining each and every part of her body.

Lavender hued gaze drifts from the visages of both queen and prince at the head of the table, a small feeling of shame caressing her heart. In the excitement in the planning of her excursion to Dragonstone in her reunion with her mother and other family members, little consideration had been taken in her absence in the Red Keep.

"All I wish for Viserra is for her to be happy. Naturally I will accept her travels to her mother even if . . . Certain families have not been reconciled." Though Alicent's words are slowly encouraging, there is the matter of Rhaenyra and her children — her little boys being Viserra's own dear nephews — that remains a silent tension in the room.

"As I had stated before, it is not my place to refuse Viserra's travels, where her heart desires to lead her to." In the face of Alicent's attempts in reassurances, the tension does not dissipate with such ease, even if Aemond does not present outward objection to Viserra's leave of the Red Keep. "She'll return as loyal and devoted to our family as she ever was."

The implications of his statements introduces another layer of potential conflict to brew — the parties of the queen and the princess had been established with the departure of Princess Rhaenyra from the Red Keep, and further by the maiming of Aemond by Lucerys Velaryon. Her mother and father have yet to outright declare their allegiance to either the party who possess loyalty to the queen, the so-called greens, or the princess's party of blacks.

Much like her parents, Viserra maintains her neutrality by way of the arising conflict between the heir to the throne and the mother of two princes.

"Of course, my prince." However, Visera is far wiser in her knowledge to speak of her loyalties and to bring about the temper of Prince Aemond — as ferocious and as swift as the anger of his dragon Vhagar in the old stories of Aegon's Conquest and Visenya's battles. "My heart does not dare dream of a future where I am not loyal to you."


Following the supper that had dawned with such hope and warmth that was not typical and ended with the silence of a tension that speaks of worry for the future, the queen has made a request for a private conversation with Viserra within one of her studies. Jaenerys had ushered along with a few words that he shall see her at dawn the next morning, ready to sail for the rocky shores of Dragonstone.

Aemond had not uttered even the briefest of farewells, a most obvious implication of the emotions that he possesses in reaction to her departure.

Amends will be required upon her arrival once more in King's Landing — the soreness of her heart demands it so, she much prefers not to be made an enemy of the prince. Not when her heart is one of longing and desire for affection and not at all the tension that merely increases the distance between them.

"I shall not keep you for too long, dear." The silken drawl of the queen's voice draws Viserra from the innermost privacy of her thoughts before she is ushered to the queen's side to lounge upon a luxuriant, verdant softa. "For you must rest well tomorrow for your journey."

"Yes, my queen."

In obedience with the queen's words, Viserra sits herself to the side of Alicent, who now is much more alike a dainty, little lady without a care in the world than a queen. Her curls, the dark color chestnuts and streaked with shining auburn fall loose against her back, dressed with simplicity in a nightgown of pale green silk and lace — Viserra had never experienced such intimacy with Queen Alicent before these moments.

"You are nearly ten and seven, as I was speaking with your mother." Her words are soft and as affectionate as any other mother, gentle as her fingers draw Viserra's arm within her lap. Her skin is soft and warm, as pale as apricots against the deep brown of Viserra's own, fingers trailing down the smoothness of her forearm in a caress. "A woman now."

"As my mother has told me as well, I am nearly grown." Unease is cool in her veins but she does not part her arm from the queen's grasp though there is ill-ease about her intentions for this shared conversation. "That is why she wishes for my return to Driftmark."

"A child no longer. . ." Murmurs soft against Alicent's mouth, gaze dropping with the continuance of her caresses against Viserra's arm. "You shall return to Driftmark in time, I promise you that. I do not seek to strip you of your childhood."

A pallid brow is raised with confusion, her lips now becoming marked with a frown. Sharpness shortens her breaths on the realization of Alicent's statements, however Viserra cares more for her honor to her house than her defiance of the queen — it is what her mother would wish for her to do rather than display defiance that is utterly useless at the end.

"I am very appreciative of your thoughts, my queen. . . But if I may inquire, what is it that you need from me?"

There is an emotion that is something akin to a melancholic sadness that paints itself on the queen's features, her dark eyes a reflection of the girl that she once was. A reluctant swallow of Viserra's dark throat before Alicent continues her words, never ending the gentleness within her voice but now in display of the politically apt mind that is an inheritance from her father.

"Your mother and father have long sought allies beyond the extent of House Targaryen and other houses of the crownlands." Alicent need not continue beyond her introduction, for Viserra possesses well awareness of the subject matter that the queen wishes to speak of.

Alliances between noble houses, Viserra is nearly of the age to wed, and a way to construct these very alliances is marriages between houses. Clarity brushes her mind, a stumbling realization that there is a painful realization that her freedom will soon draw to a close.

"Yes. . . My father has made it a great goal of his to make our house very influential and wealthy. We are among the oldest and the most loyal of the houses beneath the Targaryens — he wishes to be recognized as such." Dryness clutches her throat, however Viserra pushes through the threats of coughing. "And that will only come through alliances."

"You understand very well." The queen dons a genuine smile, even if there is a certain sadness tinging her lips, and dark eyes soulful with an emotion that could nearly be described as regret. "The duties us women have to fulfill to bring greatness to our houses, and I wish to make that transition for you . . . as smoothly as possible."

"What alliance are you exactly proposing, my queen?" The words of the queen are pretty and they must be a comfort for a girl whose role is to serve as an alliance maker in marriage and to produce babies for the bloodline of her husband — but Viserra requires not such pretty words of nothing, she desires more an understanding of what the queen wants.

"As I was speaking to your mother some time ago, I wish to bring House Hightower and your proud House Velaryon together. As intimate as House Targaryen and House Velaryon."

Viserra is not even afforded the time for a singular blink of her eyes when Otto Hightower makes his entrance within Alicent's study, a man of nearly thirty summers in accompaniment at his side.

She possesses no recognition of the man, though his curls that are the color of melted chocolate beneath the sun and eyes as green as the wild grasses of the sweet Reach plains speaks the name of Hightower utterly and completely. He is lavished in velvets of dark green trimmed with gold and the sharpness of his jaw grants him more appearance of a true knight than a petty lord that plays his games in the protection of his towers. Thick and finely shaped dark brows, he is a man most attractive in nature — any lady would desire him just from the superficiality of his appearance.

"Lady Viserra." If Otto reads any dislike of his character upon Viserra's features he does not display any reaction, his expression carefully neutral and polite smile adorning his lips. "Might I introduce you to my eldest nephew, Ser Lucamore Hightower, the eldest son and heir to Lord Hobert Hightower?"

Just as Viserra is to rise to her feet in display of etiquette, the mentioned Lucamore Hightower is at her side in the merest of seconds, ushering to stay within her seat upon the sofa. Rather he takes to none knee upon the ground, fingers curling around her own hand and raising her hand to his lips in his own display of courtesy. A Hightower he may be, but the charm within him is impeccable and would have any lady swooning.

"My lady." His voice is as thickly rich as the clothing he dons — accented with the Southron accent of the Reach, perhaps with the beauty of a singer.

"Do they teach the art of perfecting kisses on ladies' hands in Oldtown?" Viserra decides to muse despite the misery that has clasped around her heart, playing the role of a charming lady that the queen has undoubtedly envisioned her to be.

A glimpse of terror dusts Otto's features in response to her words and the queen herself is taken back by the forwardness of Viserra's statement — however laughter is what rumbles beneath Lucamore's chest as he stands from his knelt position.

"The charm naturally runs in the family as you may know already." A grin displays a dazzling whiteness of his teeth and Viserra surmises that while he is grown, his personality is far more of a youth than it is the maturity of a man. "But if every Oldtown lady were as beautiful as you, there would be no shortage of the demands of those lessons."

Flames gather behind her cheeks upon his compliment but she manages her gaze shared with him — unlike the teasing, little compliments from Aemond's lips, these do not draw deeper excitement within her for all the charm that she feels.

"Pretty words for a pretty face." She returns her own compliment before her gaze is shifted back to the queen and her father.

"Excellent. Excellent." It seems to be a repetition of words that Alicent says to herself as she rises from her sofa and greets her cousin with a delighted kiss upon her cheek, relief most obvious in her slight form. "You two seem to have made a great impression upon one another."

"Very difficult to argue with someone with a beautiful face and a sharp tongue." Lucamore once more laughs, furthering his display of more boy than man. "You and Princess Rhaenys did not lie when you both wrote to me of her charms."

Viserra feels as if she has been dragged into the North and left without protection or the warmth of clothing, barren of even a rag as she freezes in the midst of winter. A smile may display itself on her lips, but it certainly does not touch the surface of her eyes — just how long had this proposal of marriage been arranged by her mother and the queen? Especially without the knowledge of herself and the promise of her mother to deliver her to Driftmark before any such marriage? Was she to be thrust into the life of marriage straight away from her fostered life at King's Landing? What of the thoughts of Aemond? Did the queen confide into him?

A swirl of thoughts makes for a cluttered mind that slowly becomes a haze even as she remains still and without emotions as a statue all the while the Hightowers busy themselves for a wedding that she had not ever been aware of until this moment.

"I would like her best as a spring bride. Flowers blooming and gardens thriving — she'll be the pride of Oldtown. No — the pride of all the Reach."


Viserra does not sleep into the latest hours of night nor in the earliest hours of the morning, when the sky still wears darkness and glittering with the silver of stars. Though the introduction to her so-called groom had been a mere half hour before her dismissal to bed, sleep had never been delivered to her for the stress of her so-called marriage weighs upon her shoulders, the secrets that her mother may have kept from her, and her lack of consideration for Aemond's feelings on the matter of her departure.

And so she finds herself before the door of Aemond's chambers, feet barren of shoes against the chilled floor, a candle dully glowing gold in the darkness of the night within her fingers.

She cannot find solace in her sleep in the hours before she leaves and her source of comfort has always been the presence of Aemond. Perhaps she lavishes too much hope upon his presence for sleep for he may be too little forgiving of her rashness but perhaps it is worth the chance she is taking.

Fingers curl into a first before she knocks it against the tough surface of the wood that is just visible in the darkness of the shadows and the provision of her candle.

It is the distinct little pattern of knocking that they share with one another in their secret little visits with one another — and for the swiftest of moments she believes she is to be ignored.

She is not.

"Aren't you visiting your precious Dragonstone later? Why are you visiting me in these absurd hours?" The bitter sarcasm is harsh with a clarity through his yawns with the opening of his door in revelation of Viserra at the other side.

There's a flinch of her features upon receiving the coolness of his greeting, but perhaps she deserves it for her lack of communication.

"I. . ." She is slow on her words, thinking perhaps this is an idea terrible in nature. "I could not sleep and I came to you."

"What could I possibly do to assist you this late?" The harshness that drips from each word dissipates near immediately when his singular eye finally intakes the figure of Viserra nearly overtaken by exhaustion and stress. Though his temper is as ferocious as wildfire, the sympathy and his softness for her overwhelms the annoyance he may have held. "Oh. . . Viserra."

The breaking of his voice from anger into a soft kind of sympathy is what drives Viserra into his arms, not at all minding the way her head burrows into the softness of warm flesh and the beating of a heart that quickens with her embrace.

"You've worried yourself all night. . . Again." His sigh is soft though not resentful as he retrieves the candle and its holder between her fingers and closes the door with his hand — it is not the first such occasion that Viserra has grown ill with her worry.

"I was a damned fool . . ." A halfway apology murmured into his chest, half exposed by an unbuttoned nightshirt. Despite the pallid nature of his skin, Aemond is entirely all warmth — the very fire of a Targaryen that Viserra finds herself in great enjoyment of as her face is burrowed against a lithe and lightly muscular chest.

"You did a fine job of annoying me, that is the truth to say." His words are half murmurs as they come to sit upon the edge of his bed, Viserra's slight form tucked within his arms and chin against his chest as she finally raises her gaze to him. "But to worry yourself ill over it . . . I do hope your travels are not affected by deprivation of rest."

"It wasn't the only thing that I have been worrying about. . . "

"Ah. That is expected. My feelings are not nearly as important as I thought they would be." His words are half teasing, but Viserra is clearly not in the mood for the teasing as arm reaches out for a fluffed pillow and makes a clean landing upon his pale head.

"That is not what I meant!" Her quieted yells cut through the noise of surprise from his lips and she dettaches herself from his body, merely to be brought back to the warmth of his chest with her back against him, and his arm tucking around her waist.

"You are not nearly this short tempered with me." She feels him frown into the curls of her hair, scented by the honey and fresh lavender of the soap that she uses. Perhaps in sensing the severity of her worries, he draws closer and stills his lips atop of her head. "What worries you, Viserra? Another slight upon your honor? Are you worried about Seashine?"

The very use of her name in such tenderness nearly draws Viserra to tears but she puts an end to them before they blur her eyes — Aemond need not worry so needlessly over the problems of her life. Drawn into the comforts of his embrace, her breaths are shaken and laced with nervousness but she manages to continue her words with the comfort of his arm about her waist and delicate kisses raining upon her head.

"I am to be married, Aemond."