↳ ix. DRAGONESS OF HEARTS
SEASON 1
EPISODE 8: THE LORDS OF THE TIDE
—HOUSE OF THE DRAGON—
HEAVY IS THE CROWN
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KINGSLANDING
|| THE DARLING MOMENT SHARED BETWEEN THE YOUNG PRINCESS AND PRINCE WAS INTERRUPTED—- quite much to Jacaerys's displeasure. The young prince lusted for the touch to last an eternity. For her eyes to lay upon his with that glint of hope to sparkle—one often hidden behind a darkness. The tension between him was palpable, hinting at an underlying enmity.
But upon her guard scrambling in hast through the grant doors, his armor of silver and green, makes rhymes through the hall. Vyselyra Instinctively shoves Jacaerys away. Her face twisting with grimace, merely not because of the guard; but as if it told a story of a hatred remembered.
Both flickered glances between another, the moment before dawned upon both —as they relatively knew lord Vaemond and his mouth was that of serpent. Slithering enlightenment to entertain those that had befallen to mingling words of truth and lie. It would all soon spiral with the knowledge he had been gifted.
Looking back on it now, Frankly, wasn't the smartest acquisition one could suggest, but it was just in ruling for she could not bare another word that snake dare meander.
A husky voice deep with hoarseness sang between her ears, " Princess!" The appointed guard calls frantically—his voice that spoke of many years upon it. " Are you alright?" He hastily questions, faulting with guilt upon his features. A man of vast understanding and infinite patience, immediately recognized the chaotic panic in Vyselyra's hazel eyes.
The guard glances over the entirety of the young princess. His frantic gaze of brown then landed upon the subtle bruise forming around her forearm. Isen's face was short of an expression—a fine line poised for his lips said it all; eyes holding the wisdom of a soul that had tasted life's both bitter and sweet.
As the lone guards finger grazed across the risen skin—-the protector of White Harbor raised his eyes slowly, suspicion mounting upon them, to the prince of Dragonstone. But Jacaerys did not move to protest this as instead, he merely tightened his stance—-practically upset he would dare accuse.
Vyselyra noted this and moved to intervene before it heated more. As much as she'd love to see the prince suffer, Vyselyra found herself speaking on Jacaerys's behalf. "Yes, I am now." Her words ceased momentarily, noticing neither man was fazed by the words she spoke. Typical...Exhausted and frustrated, Vyselyra pushed Isen's hand away with some force.
Once fully regaining Isen's attention, only then Vyselyra felt it necessary to proceed, " There was a rather distasteful moment shared with Vaemond, but Jace helped me." Her words spoke of sternness towards the man, whom without much thought, placed the blame upon Jace—-merely because of the unjust lies that were centered around his birth.
Vyselyra meekly smiled upon her set comment, before her eyes flickered over to Jace. Unfamiliar emotions churned like wild rapids inside her heart, threatening to drown her in their fury. Rounding her sight back upon a rather perplexed guard. The man then merely nodded—but by the looks of it, he wasn't all along. His choose in stance spoke of absolute uncertainty—-yet no words dare escape to express his feelings.
As much as Vyselyra would have loved to stay and chat away, more important matters staked claim to the princess's mind. It was of the upmost urgency, that her father was notified of it all—-even of the fake betrothal, much to her discretion. Forth more, if she did not mention, the young princess feared of the repercussions that both may face.
But there in that moment, Jacaerys wished nothing more than to be the light in her presence, to guide her once more like when they were children. Atlas, it always seemed something got in the way for there was much more important matters at hand. A kingdom never sways of quiet truth and a man determined will never hush cruel lies.
So without wanting to further the consequences nor of the outcome that may result if Jacaerys and Isen were by one another any longer—Vyselyra quickly excused herself from both, vehemently against the proposition. Her hair of silver fixed with braids, carrying the velocity of her valiant stride—bouncing upon every step she took.
Jacaerys rushed pass the confused guard—trying to reach for her arm, " Vyselyra please." He pleaded softly but the princess turned rather harshly, merely catching him in a flitch, " My father must know," she urged, " What Vaemond has done, he has over stepped." Exasperation riding upon her tone; with fists clenched. Vyselyra watched for a moment more, waiting for any emotion to flicker across his features.
Jacaerys, being aware of his friend's daring nature, noticed her subtle scoff as she made her way towards the exit. Concerned for her well-being, he called out to her, "Vyselyra, your father is not well at the moment." His voice trembled with worry, hoping his words would sway her decision.
However, Vyselyra seemed unfazed as she continued to walk away. Her steps became quicker, as if trying to outrun the fragmented pleas. Frustrated, Jacaerys let out a small groan, quickening his pace to catch up with her.
In a final attempt to get her attention, he gently but firmly grabbed her shoulders, causing her to twirl towards him. Face to face, he pleaded with her, "Let it wait till tomorrow, bring it up before your father and the others. They will surely help and guide you."
Vyselyra paused for a moment, her eyes locking with Jacaerys'. It was as if time stood still, and the weight of her responsibilities crept into her thoughts. Was it quite out of line for her to act in such a manner? Acting quite the opposite of young lady of noble birth. It was true she was quite stubborn, strong willed be it. She came by it honestly, as for her grandmother Viserra Targaryen was much the same. A girl defiant in her youth.
It was true to her knowledge and most, that her father was quite unwell. The last thing she did not want was to further his pain. Perhaps there was some reason behind Jace's words.
Then, as her eyes flicked back, trailing up the Velaryon clothing—eyes locked upon having the chance stare into another. A love that was like a flame daring not be kindled.
And there, as he gazed upon her lips, the ancestors above knew how greatly he wanted to embrace the princess—-to hold her from her fears. With a bated breath, Jacaerys summoned all his courage, wondering if he should ask the question that had haunted the minds of countless souls before him—one that would seal the fate of both. To see her to a home upon dragonstone where she could live out her days care free, without the incursions of the greens nor of Vaemond.
To be at his side, teaching much needed Valyrian, to be called his and no one else's. Where he could steadily provide the protection she so needed. The mere thought brought a smile to his lips, lighting up his face with a mixture of both hope and trepidation. Never to part ways again as they did when they were younger, he didn't think he could bare it anymore if she were to be barred from him.
His heart buzzed warmly, but a pit of anxiety swarmed itself within. As asking her and thinking of it were two very different things. Could he then have the courage to speak, as he was just moments ago? To pursue his lips into the words he needed to set it right? But the longing question came upon like thick fog on mild day—would she accept his plea, his offer? Surely it wasn't much off from what Vaemond offered, but his would be genuine.
And even if she refused, he would still stay and as with others before, he would not leave her side just as he promised the day he set his sight upon her.
As hazel eyes radiating of brown warmed of gold flickered across his features, the Velaryon prince felt his mouth suddenly dry —as if the words would not word properly. " Vyselyra..." was all one could muster—with a gaze that never wavered.
Much to his displeasure, the white Harbor's divine merely
pulled away, only then letting Jacaerys see the vulnerability in her eyes. She could see his confusion, his worry. And she understood that silence would only further fuel his anxiety.
To her credit however, Vyselyra could not let Isen, whom was standing meters away eying them both, see these moments between. Or one may whisper along the wind of certain desires.
" I think the princess shall go to her chambers now." Isen's voice boomed from behind the young prince. Jacaerys's sight fell upon the guard as he stood there with arms folded across his chest. " I can guide her to her room." Jacaerys says, making a slight nod to him. The guard of zero and three eyed the prince—a low, rough grunt escapes quietly from his lips. The rather husky but small framed man then slowly nobs, extending his hand with a small wave—-excusing them off.
Instead of waiting for the proud prince, Vyselyra boasts forth a scoff between clenched teeth, marching off—rather discontent at the whole given situation. How could her heart put forth such pressure upon her mind to a prince who's mother had wronged them. It was merely childhood crushes, nothing more she pleaded with herself.
The Princess of White Harbor, clever, undaunted, and usually composed, was an aberration on this day. A storm was brewing within her, powerful enough to make the calm harbors of her usual persona violent with tempestuous waves. Vyselyra Manderly was as troubled as the frothy sea she watched from her tower, her panic echoed in the crashing waves far below. Hardly a common sight, her unrest sent puzzlement through the castle's seemingly immutable stonework.
Shadows danced as flickering torches lit her path, her footsteps echoing through cold and hollow corridor. Behind her, a looming presence shadowed her in a chase as relentless as the one between the moon and the sun. Jacaerys Velaryon, driven but cautious, pursued her as fiercely as a bull charges a bullfighting matador.
Seeing her determined strides, he halted suddenly before delivering a resounding stomp into the stone-cold heart of the corridor. His footsteps ricocheting off the walls served as the message Vyselyra understood too well. Acquiescing to his silent demand, the princess halted but stood erect, a statue carved in defiance.
"Vyselyra," the Velaryon prince uttered gently—his syllables a thread of caution weaving its way towards her, a universal gesture of comfort aimed at a deer startled by a twig's snap.
"No!" Her fierce rebuttal echoed around them, bouncing off the stone walls. Vyselyra pivoted on the spot to meet his gaze, a squall of emotions – fear and indomitable defiance – playing a dirge in her teary eyes.
"You do not understand," she accused, voice trembling with barely suppressed fury, "...what it's like to be a woman in a man's world." Her voice echoed throughout the adorned hallways, a declaration of defiance against the generations-old, unspoken rules. She stormed towards him— declaring her verdict defiantly, jabbing an accusatory finger against the Velaryon clothing.
"All I have left is my father's protection. My name? It means nothing. My mother's help? Gone. It's all about how far a marriage alliance will take you as a woman." Jacaerys' heart tightened as though bound by chains. The accusations, though not aimed at him specifically, bore his seal. He reached out, taking the furious princess's hand into his in an attempt to pacify the tempest within her—a valiant knight volunteering himself as a ransom.
"I never ignore the difficulties you, all women, are faced with," he confessed, "In a world so disproportionately our own." His honey eyes searched her face, looking for any sign of forgiveness, acceptance, or perhaps, understanding. "I've watched my mother bear the brunt of it all," he confessed, his tone barely more than whisper. "I've seen her strength, her grit, her defiance—very much like yours."
Vyselyra softened slightly, her rage flickering like the last embers of a once-raging bonfire. Jacaerys spoke about his mother, a woman who bore the brunt of humiliation jest by jest. His voice trembled with the severity of every memory, the pain that prickled their shared past too fresh.
Vyselyra remained still, her vibrant eyes filled with a strange, unsaid mixture of emotions. She listened to Jacaerys's persuasions, his plea to see the world through his mother's eyes. She swallowed, her tongue heavy with unspoken words, biting back the urge to argue, to defend her position.
Vyselyra adjusts her jaw from side to side, still heaving in from the fueled flame that burned deeply within from Lord Vaemond. Jacaerys still holds onto her hand even as she struggles to pry away, instead moving closer to the defiant princess. "Vyselyra, just breathe," he instructed, his voice tinged with an unusual softness. He began to inhale and exhale in a patient rhythm, eyes never leaving Vyselyra's. "We both know how your father will react. It would put him in more risk."
At first, the stubborn dragoness struggled—albeit, a swan striving against the rapids. But slowly, her arrogance faded with the cadence of Jacaerys's breathing—a delicate hum of comforting words, guiding her. With each breath, Vyselyra's trembling began to subside, her eyes showing glimmers of her usual-evil bound self. There was some truth in the words he spoke, her father would flip if he knew what Vaemond tried.
The prince, then started weaving tales of Laenor's heroic endeavors into their shared silence, of dragons and their victorious battles, of the strength in their shared bloodline—once Vyselyra hadn't heard. A tear dare to escape, Vyselyra had harbored a fierce hatred for Rhaenrya. She didn't have the proof that Rhae did it, but atlas, it had uncolored Vyselyra's feelings for 8 years, turning them invaluable. It hadn't been the prince's fault, but the residue of anger had inevitably splashed onto him in its raw, unadulterated form.
"I do understand, Vyselyra," Jacaerys's voice resounded in the tranquility of their shared space. "I understand the unseen walls, the invisible chains...". The silent battles every woman fought—his mother, even himself, tainted with the label of bastard plastered upon him at every turn.
His admittance was not a victory cry nor a defeat—it was an acknowledgment, a promise.
Upon regaining herself, it was like them being younger all over again. The long-standing, bitter poison that bled into her slowly tapering off for just a moment to see Jacaerys for the man he had truly become—the same boy she had cherished so much in her heart. Perhaps, in her stubbornness's, she could find the words to apologize to him for her unsavory behavior.
"Jacaerys," she began, her voice barely above a whisper, but before she could say any more, the sound of distressed crying curdled the air. Startled, both turned to see a young maid, eyes swollen, face flushed red, racing towards them.
Usually composed and unflappable, the young woman clung onto a small bag. The tapping of her shoes echoed in the long, quiet hallway—punctuating her sobs. She delicately dabbed her tear-streaked face with the corner of her apron, the shock of what had happened fresh in her mind.
Jacaerys let lose of her, feeling the Manderly Princess's hand fleetingly leave his, a ghost of a touch, as she turned completely. Walking to meet the young woman halfway. The young blonde found herself nearly colliding with none other than the famed Princess Vyselyra of House Manderly.
Tall and regal, with her hair cascading down her shoulders, the young princess was a youthful version of the once Queen Alysanne and of princess Viserra. Seeing her there nearly made her forget about all what had happened. Vyselyra was beautiful as all the nobles and townsfolk had said—carrying the entirety of Targaryen beauty.
"what is wrong?" Vyselyra asked, her tone full of concern.
She was undeniably compassionate, a caring deeply for the common people in this Kingdom, a stark contrast to the disdain of prince Aegon and Aemond.
Vyselyra's brows furrowing in worry, normally vibrant hazel eyes filled with concern for the maid she had only just meant..the maid had seen Vyselyra as strong-willed independent—the Dragoness of hearts.
Fumbling to find the words, " My name is Dyana. I..I" she begins to sob even more. The young maid had always looked up to the princess, though being in Kingslanding was about as far she could ever get; going to White Harbor just wasn't possible on her budget.
In her mind, she knew sharing the what had befallen her would anger the princess. After all, it was dually noted by all that Vyselyra held a fire fueled hatred towards her elder cousin Aegon and it was recuperated by him.
"The prince.. the eldest prince had harmed me," was all she could mustered out, her hands trembling upon the bag. "I really tried. I was just doing my duties." She pleaded, before lowering her head. Realization dawned upon the princess's face, a wave of mixed emotions washed in ― pain, anger, disbelief, and shock—mingling. "That bastard." Vyselyra shuttered beneath her breath—her eyes glancing up the hallway towards oak doors.
Jacaerys, with his kind heart, nurtured by his mother, attempted to offer his help, but the wounded Dyana merely flinched at his hand coming her way. It was no fault of his own, his intention was pure. But Vyselyra in her moment of boiling water under a flame, passed a demanding glare, one that spoke volumes.
The young Velaryon merely backed off, placing his hands up in defeat—expressing his sorrow. It seemed that Vyselyra's hatred for his mother had taken hold within her once more. " Fetch my guard Jacaerys. I will have word with our dear cousin." Jacaerys immediately complied, running off, calling for middle aged guard.
"I will be back." Vyselyra reassured the young maid, one not much younger than herself. Dyana, though reluctant for her leave, fearing Queen Alicent may do something, agreed with the decision.
Leaving her side was hard, but there was a mission to be accomplished. The dusky blue hues of the sky were erupting into a canvas of shimmering clouds as Princess Vyselyra, briskly sauntered towards the doors. Her hands were clenched in tight fists, while a frown bridged her aquiline features.
Vyselyra had been wishing for a moment to pursue her dear cousin, but not the lovely dovey kind one may see from a Targaryen. No, Vyselyra wanted blood, she wanted to see him burn— he'd always been awful. Almost burning him the pit years ago would have solved everything.
She was coming with talons drawn and fire burning. Pushing open the heavy double doors, Vyselyra breezed past the guards who stiffened in surprise at her unannounced presence. Vyselyra, usually the epitome of grace and elegance, had fury rumbling in her eyes. Her cloak of blue and green billowed behind her as she treaded her way into the room, the golden sconces casting deep shadows on her epitome.
As Vyselyra stopped just short of the living area, her heartbeat hummed in her ears, harmonizing with the drip of silence. Her eyes adjusted to the room filled with sunlight. And then she saw them. A figure in an unassuming pale blue dress managed to blend into the regal surrounds, almost unnoticed. Helaena, the young princess whom rather her bugs and needle than the daily life.
She sat shoulder-to-shoulder with Queen Alicent, pausing awkwardly on the fringe of whatever her mother was asking, feeling entirely out of her depth. Helaena had long since turned more introverted it seemed, her liveliness quelled by the daunting responsibility of royalty and the associated estrangement.
Haunted by her mother's imposing presence, she held herself stiffly, ignoring the rambling monologue Alicent; meeting her biting words about "appropriate decorum" with stoic silence. Her avoidance betrayed a nervously simmering tension that filled the air like a palpable fog. As Alicent moves to touch Helaena, the princess merely sways her attempt away.
Vyselyra was keen on proudly announcing herself in the most awkward of situations. "It seems I'm missing quite a big meeting." The Manderly muttered, catching the attention of both. Helaena features brighten upon seeing a familiar face in the room—One she'd not seen in forever. Slowly, Helaena stood from where she sat, needle and thread still grasped in her hand. The most emotion she has shown in a while.
Alicent, adorned of Hightower green, a stern gaze flickering from one face to another. Her sharp eyes and sharper tongue, then settled upon Vyselyra with a derisive stare. It appeared the queen still held a certain attitude towards her after all these years.
Both princesses stared at each other, recognition seeping in through their guarded eyes. Helaena, usually reticent and withdrawn, hesitated, setting aside her usual esthetical desolation of physical contact. Shattering the icy walls of her restrained physical demeanor, she moved forward. Helaena wrapped her frail arms around Vyselyra in what could only be described as the smallest, most unnatural hug.
Vyselyra felt the harsh awkwardness of the encounter but held back her confusion. She realized that for Helaena, this was a monumental display of affection. Respecting the gesture, Vyselyra maintained a soft smile, subtly easing the discomfort wafting off Helaena like a winter frost.
However, the hug was discarded when a subtle hmm escaped Alicent. Both of the Targaryens flickered their sight at the middle aged woman. The blatant disapproval in the queens ice-cold eyes did nothing to assuage Vyselyra. She had a spirit unchained and a heart untamed. She stood tall, her golden eyes reflecting her unyielding bravado. Her voice, laced with charisma, resonated an undertone of defiance.
She could care less what the Hightower thought. In the other hand, Helaena was shy and under the scrutinizing glare of her mother, the once-gleeful princess felt increasingly dwarfed—her presence magnifying her rustic candidness against their polished sophistication. Helaena returned quickly to her seat, instantly huddling over her stitch work.
" I'm sure you are here because you want something, not because you missed us." Alicent seethed, keeping her eyes upon the young woman. Vyselyra hold a scoff beneath her breath, but in the distant corner of the opulent room, innocent giggles resonating through the grandeur of echoing arches. Eyes settled upon the twins and their youngest brother, Maelor in the corner. The eldest twins were much older now— Jaehaerys and Jaehaera. Of course, this was the first the princess set her sight upon them.
The twins, oblivious to the adults' stiff reunion, were adorning the nanny's hair with a motley of sparkling baubles and doll's garments. It was a charming tableau worthy of a classic familial portrait, yet something seemed amiss. A shiver of discomfort; a subconscious whisper that didn't quite belong. As Vyselyra walked over and reached out to pat Maelor on his head, whom sat beside the nanny unmoving, a chill seemed to gust through the room from opened windows.
Welcoming an ominous silence as the stitch-work Helaena had been occupied with, fell from her onto the stone floor. A spider of black and red adnored upon the white background. Alicent merely jumped, but Helaena felt a cold shiver creep up her spine in tandem. Something was awfully out of place, and it all started with Vyselyra's presence near the children.
As Vyselyra mingled with the children, a shadow of foreboding draped over the sunny aura of their playful interactions. The echo of their innocent giggles now sounded hollow, while their angelic faces appeared to twist into ghoulish masks in Helaena's mind.
Her heart pounded against the cage of her ribs, matching the rhythm of a horses hooves against stone. An eerie moment, struck in the annals of time, foreboding an impending storm that was yet to reveal the colors of its wind.
As Alicent went to comfort her ailing daughter, Helaena muttered harshly beneath her breath, " There's a beast under the boards and snakes from the sky." The queen merely furrowed her brows at her daughters ramblings once more. But in the peculiar world of Helaena, the snakes were dread-inspiring heralds.
"These spectral vipers." the quiet princess murmured, "Threaded through the lush undergrowth, seeking the perfect moment to sink their venom-doused fangs. The once-perceived paradise was now a labyrinth of impending doom.."
Having a that motherly Intel, Alicent stood up at once—a slight huff from her nostrils. With a subtle stomp upon the floor, " I think you should leave." The queen spoke, a firmness taking hold of her voice.
Vyselyra exhaled heavily, as if the very presence of the queen had bothered her now. She immediately stood to her feet, turning away from the children—hands tightly clasped in front of her.
" I am here to speak on terms with Aegon." The depth in Vyselyra's voice was stark and clear. " Well, he is not here as you can see." the queen's icy tone echoed in the quiet room. Vyselyra could see right pass the Queen's faulty act; trying once more to protect her son.
" Oh please, you know where he is." Vyselyra retorted, closing the gap between them. Alicent, however, did not take to this maneuver. " Princess, you may think everyone owns you something. But no one does..." She paused for a moment watching as the Manderly princess's face contorted with a fierceness only seen in beasts. " Listen here," Vyselyra pointed a finger towards the queen, " Guards! Drag the princess away from here," the queen finally ordered, cutting off Vyselyra from completing her sentence.
The echo of her resounding words rang through the palace before giving way to profound silence. On her command, the guards, suited in glistening armors that mirrored of Targaryen armor, advanced towards Vyselyra. They moved synchronously, their footsteps a testament to years of rigid training and unwavering loyalty.
Vyselyra, lost in her fury to find Aegon, barely noticed the encroaching danger until they stood like a steel barricade, towering above her. The Manderly girl saw the unyielding determination in the guards' eyes but dismissed it with a scoffing laugh, "You cannot touch me!" she declared, assuming her dragon blood protected her from harm. Alas, her normally resolute bravura wavered when the first guard grabbed her unexpectedly.
Her struggle was impactful yet fruitless, the strength of two trained warriors overwhelming the desperate efforts of one determined princess. Yet her spirit remained unbowed.
"No!" She screamed, "Release me! I... I must find him!"
Queen Alicent countenance never swayed as the tormented pleas of the Targaryen echoed off the palace walls. Clear this harsh move was merely a veil of protection towards her eldest son. She knew what Vyselyra was.
In the last attempt to free herself, Vyselyra promised revenge, "This is not the end Alicent! I will find him, and he will answer." Before the queen could gather her thoughts to muster a reply, the large oak doors abruptly swung open, revealing Jacaerys. Worry fixated upon his features from the yells of Vyselyra out in the halls. The queen's eyes widened in disdain as she saw the boy stride in, his bright eyes reflecting an innocence contrasting with her stern demeanor. "Your highness," he said, bowing with a respect that his mother taught, yet it didn't quite get support.
"Jace," Vyselyra whispered, her face twisting with turmoil. But the luminosity was painfully short-lived as the queen's harsh voice sliced through the air, cutting the boy's hopeful gaze.
"How dare you enter this room? Leave this instant!" the queen commanded, her words hitting the Velaryon like cold, steel chains. She then turned her icy glare towards a restrained Vyselyra. "You too, my dear. Take your hound and retire to your chambers." It seemed his nickname was tossed around quite a bit, that only Ser Arthur called him such a name.
But the princess held her ground, and it was clear that she wouldn't move an inch even with the guards holding her back, without knowing where Aegon stay. "If you wont tell me, then I'll find him myself.." she declared with a bravery that mirrored her mother's domineering strength.
Despite the queen's scornful stare, Jacaerys held an unshaken gaze like Vyselyra, his face displaying a determined calm." Go out!" Alicent blurted, but Jace stepped in before Vyselyra his eyes filled with concern as he placed a hand against her upheaved chest—trying to stop her from advancing further. She could feel his touch, warm and steady, but it only fueled the fire burning within her.
But Jace's attempt to halt her mission didn't have the desired effect. Instead of calming her down, it unleashed a torrent of anger and frustration. The brewing storm within her threatened to unleash itself upon him. She tried to push past him, her eyes blazing with fury, but Jace stood his ground, resolute and unwavering.
"Stop this!" Jace's voice cut through the chaos. His tone was firm, his words laced with a mix of authority and concern. "You're endangering the children here. This charade has to end." Her breath hitched, heart pounding in her chest. She half expected Jace to support her, to understand her desperate need in finding justice. But instead, he was pushing her back, forcing her to confront the reality of her situation.
Jace took a step closer, his eyes softening, "I understand why. I truly do. But what good will it do if you end up hurt or worse?" He whispered beneath his breath, raising a slight brow. His words hung heavy in the air, piercing through her anger and despair. Slowly, she began to see reason, the haze of determination lifting ever so slightly.
With a heavy sigh, she relented, her shoulders slumping as she finally admitted defeat. A characteristic of Vyselyra that no one could ever imagine. Jace was stunned himself, though holding it internally.
As the realization sank in, Vyselyra reluctantly knew that Jace was right. With a deep breath, she let go of her anger and determination, allowing Jace to guide her away from the chaos that threatened to consume her. Jacaerys knocked to both guards—trying to ease disgruntlement. Leaving a fairly upset Alicent and a concerned Helaena.
The stroll to her room was one of silence, with the occasional side glance to another. Much was left to be desired between the pair as neither could muster the courage to speak. Of course, after the events of today perhaps it were best for the silence. Vyselyra's cheeks were flushed with red, mirroring the turmoil within. Her mind raced with the worry for the young maid and hatred for what had befallen her. .
They stopped just short of her door, with her turning to face him, " Goodnight, little prince...Jacaerys." Vyselyra spoke in the strongest tone she could muster, flexing once more her fluent tongue in Valyrian. It was not hard for the young princess it seemed— she had taken quite a liking to it. She felt a need to falter off the steam within.
He cocked his head slightly at her words, his brows furrowing, " Haven't been studying have we?" She playfully scolded him, a smug expression playing at the corners of her mouth. The young Velaryon prince sighs heavily in defeat, "It seems I have not princess, you've caught me yet again." He remarks to which she merely busks in the victory—truly it was because he did not know of what she truly said. And that made it all the more better.
" That marks twice in one day that I have bested you. My new record it seems." Vyselyra boasted rather content but Jacaerys would have the last laugh, " But I haven't had the opportunity since it seems I've been following you everywhere to keep you out of trouble." He expresses with smirk, with Vyselyra merely waves him off.
Her gaze then steadies upon the prince, as the smirk seemingly leaves that of her lips—her eyes adjusting to the candle light that flexed his sharped features. Sharing a moment just as the one before. And when it appears Jacaerys may speak, to make a subtle move towards her, he instead holds his tongue and stance.
A flicker of a smile is then shared between the two before Vyselyra excuses herself to her room. " Goodnight, princess. We've got a day tomorrow." With one last longing glance upon another, she slowly closed the door. Yet leaving a rather frazzled prince once more in the dark of his own thoughts. What happened to the cold tainted dragoness that he saw at Dragonstone? Was this the same Vyselyra that held a distain for him and Rhae? The same one that wouldn't glance at him without her face twisting in grimace?
As he stood puzzled of her many mixed emotions, the words of which she spoke danced within. He knew what she said definitely had at last his name within. Did the Valyrian perhaps have a deeper meaning, of course, if he truly believed in learning the language of kings then he was surely lacking.
He find himself right back at her door—deeply curious about what had truly been said. But particularly, he was being quite lazy to look it up himself. Jacaerys straightened himself and fixed his cloak upon his shoulders. He then without much thought, moved to knock upon her door, yet hesitated. For a moment, His fingers trembled as his hand waited. Standing outside her door, uncertainty clouded his mind. The hallway remained silent, anticipating his next move.
But perhaps it were not right for him to enter her room at such an hour. So reluctantly, the prince deemed it necessary to withhold his curiosity, gently biting at his bottom lip. His hand falling just short of his side...
Vyselyra was only in her room for a mere minute before her sight settled upon a letter awaiting her upon the golden table....
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AUTHORS NOTE
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I AM SO SORRY FOR NOT
UPDATING!! 😭
Anyways, Vyselyra kinda goes on the offensive here, protecting Dyana. REMEMBER THIS. MOMENT 🫡