One fateful day, a cruel decision was made to exchange him for horses. Two imposing Dothraki seized him from the comfort of his bed. He was thrust into the chaotic realm of the horse market, where he was ensconced in a cage, stripped of dignity and freedom.

The irony was almost mocking, as he was acquired by a wealthy lord—a mere gift for his daughter, reduced to the status of a plaything or a personal servant.

There, on the hard ground, Viserys found himself kneeling, his hands brutally bound by coarse ropes, a stark symbol of his helplessness. All the while, the young girl gazed upon him with a mixture of curiosity and innocence, oblivious to the gravity of his plight. Days turned into weeks as he endured the whims of the young lord’s daughter—a girl blossoming into her power, yet still naive to the world’s cruelty. She adorned him with simple tunics, treating him as a living doll. Yet beneath the fabric lay a man with a smoldering spirit, longing for freedom and the chance to reclaim his place in the world. Each laugh she gave, each command she issued, twisted like a dagger in his heart, the irony of his situation too profound to escape.

"Gods, oh no. Don't even think about doing this to me! "he unsuccessfully tried to protest on one of those days when the child decided to add makeup to his face. And no matter how mean a young man he was, he couldn't hit her and silently endured her antics.