𝗕𝗟𝗢𝗢𝗗𝗕𝗢𝗨𝗡𝗗 || Cregan Stark

02 | Velaryon

CHAPTER TWO
V E L A R Y O N

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Viserra observes the cool waters resting along the busy port. Endless amounts of shipments and goods scurry along the busy sea-line, the relentless motion bringing silks and wines and spices from the Free Cities of the East. The thin horizon bleeds into the sky, creating a startling blend of blue and orange.

She inhales with a slight sigh, savouring the salty tang of the ocean air that fills her lungs. The rhythmic sounds of waves crashing against the docks mingle with the shouts of sailors and merchants, creating a coarse symphony of life and labour. Viserra's gaze shifts to the ships anchored nearby, their sails billowing gently in the breeze.

The Shivering sea remains a foreign concept to her; hidden far away from any lands familiar to her, a vast expanse of water that beckons to the lands of always-winter. The cool wind freezing her skin is a strange sensation. Sharp and sterile. Still, she savours it.

For now, she stands alone, pulling the thin, red cloak closer around herself.

She is not as cold as one might expect. Perhaps it is the dragon's blood, she imagines mirthfully to herself, despite it seeming rather excessive.

Her mind drifts to her family and their ventures down south. Surely, Jace must have reached the Vale by now, and Lady Jeyne Arryn. It will not take long before his word reaches Dragonstone. Soon after that, hers will follow.

She knows her travels won't last forever. In the midst of everything— it is only a slight excursion, encouraged in the hopes that it might secure the future that has yet to arrive upon them.

Soon, she will have to fly further, to meet with the true Warden of the North.

'He is closer to your age than mine,' Mother had assured her.

And yet the Lord of Winterfell is said to be a man aged long before his years.

Perhaps it is that way with all northerners.

"I hope the chill of our harbour is not too harsh for you."

A startled breath escapes her lips, and Viserra quickly turns her head towards the voice.

Not far behind her stands young Medrick Manderly, observing her through heavy eyes. Viserra looks away, biting the inside of her cheek. Still, she feels his gaze booting into her.

"Did I frighten you?" he asks, with slight amusement in his tone.

She lets her hands fall on each side of her, brushing the slight creases along her dress.

"Mayhaps my brothers unnerved me with too many tales of pirates and sea serpents before I arrived here," she replies, coyly.

A small smile pulls at his lips.

"I doubt that any of those things could frighten someone who rides a dragon," he tells her, bringing his arms behind his back and taking a few steps forward.

She hums, her eyes flickering towards the sea once more.

"I think it's different," she begins. "They are not beasts. At least not to us."

There is a weight to her words. Not to us.

It thrums with a secular motion.

Us.

"Of course," he muses. "You must owe much to them."

Viserra tilts her head slightly. "The same way the sea sustains your house, the dragons sustain mine," she tells him, earnestly.