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Viserys III

The candles had been reduced to small, fat stumps by the time Viserys closed his book. They burned all around him, a strong scent of wax lingering about. They would soon need replacing, and the light coming from the corridor had grown faint as well so it was likely a new fire would need to be built on the hearth.

By his side Vermithor slept. Viserys stood and stretched his aching muscles, he walked around the giant bronze ball that was his dragon, all curled over himself, his head tucked away. The prince peeked over him and where his eye and snout would be. He laid a hand there and felt the heat beneath the thick scales. 

The place he touched was unscarred and unharmed, much unlike other parts of Vermithor. Ghastly as they looked, those parts were healing, even if they would never be as before. The hole where his eye had been had been washed and heat had been used to close the wound. There was not much left now and Viserys suspected it was looking as good as it would ever look, leaving Vermithor with a single eye. Half of his teeth were gone, a big chunk of his jaw and snout missing. None of that would return either.

The sound he made when he breathed still spoke of pain, perchance it would always be so and until the end of his days. Pain and anguish.

For several moons now that meat had to be given to him crushed or grinded for his consumption, to make it easier for him to swallow. At first even opening his jaw was painful for the dragon, so they had to make do, else, what his wounds wouldn’t kill, starvation might. 

-You’re like an old lord now. - Viserys had japed, tears swelling in his eyes that first time they had brought him ground beef. - But you still have some teeth left.  

It took the cooks hours to do the work, and soon enough it was decided that the job would should befall on the Dragonkeepers, all strong men, all knights, and in charge of the dragons besides. Viserys cared not for how long it took. Had he not sat with Vermithor, feeding him the cooked meat himself by all but pushing it in his mouth and urging him to swallow? 

If it was fit for a prince it would be fit for a knight. 

He still recalled how he had lost his footing, the floors moving from under him. He would have fallen were it not for Ser Steffon Darklyn, who was never away for long. The Lord Commander had asked how long it had been since his last meal, a question that Viserys could not answer. 

Not much had changed since. He need not be told he was thinner.

-You saved us. All of us. 

He had told Vermithor as much that first night they had returned to Dragonstone. With his head pressed against his dragon’s flank, and stretching his arms as far along as they would go. There he had remained, in that embrace, weeping like a child. 

The tears would go cold on his face and then fresh tears would come to replace them. 

He had saved them, and they had won. But at what price?

-My grandfather would have once said no price was too great for House Targaryen. - Princess Rhaenys had said when she found him. - “All I do, all I ever did”, King Jaehaerys used to say, “Was always for House Targaryen”.

Somehow Viserys had doubted that was true. He knew enough about the history of his family to think his great-grandfather as selfless as that. He had after all, married against his own Lady Mother’s wishes, running away under the cover of night with his sister Alysanne. It was a good thing he had, else none of them would be there, and still it had not been for matters of the kingdoms, nor for their house. It had been for love all agreed, not only the singers. 

He blinked slowly at the sound of footsteps. His cheek was hot where it had been pressed against Vermithor, and before the intruder could awaken his dragon, Viserys left the cell and made his way to the stairs leading to the cellar and the prayer room, the former temple of his ancestors where the old Valyrian gods still ruled like in days gone by.

-The hour grows late, my prince. - Ser Steffon said as they came face to face by the stairs. - A bed would fit you better than the cold floor. 

-The floor is not cold, ser, not with the dragons nearby. - Viserys quipped. 

Ser Steffon cocked an eyebrow.

It was the truth, and he had also come to find that a mattress in Vermithor’s cell fit him well enough. One had been brought for him when he refused to leave the Bronze Fury, together with soft pillows and blankets. Ser Steffon had protested, the guards and Dragonkeepers had as well. It had been Princess Rhaenys who silenced them all. 

-A dragon is made of tougher stuff than that, that he cannot spend a night on the hard floors. And besides, it would be ill fit that the Queen’s second son is not made a knight in due time. Knights should know pain, discomfort. You brave men ought to know as much alas men are wont to forget.

That had been almost three moon turns ago or almost as that made no matter. That night however, he heeded Ser Steffon’s advice and rather than argue further, Viserys followed him. 

Viserys had no intention of spending the entire night in his chamber, but he did want to wash himself and change out of his soiled clothes. 

His tunic was meant to be cream, like rich butter, and richly embroidered with golden thread into an intricate pattern of dragons and flame. Instead it seemed almost grey now, dark patches of soot covering him from head to toe. His hands seemed those of a peasant boy, dirt under his fingernails, on his silver hair as well. Yes, he would change and bathe, maybe rest his eyes for a few minutes and fetch himself a new book from his mother’s personal library. There was much to choose from, and he had the time. He would stop by the kitchens on his way back for some food and then return to Vermithor’s side. 

All of this and more he thought as he walked quietly by Ser Steffon’s side. It was the Lord Commander who broke the silence to let him know a raven had come from King’s Landing. 

-A letter from my father? - he asked. 

Prince Daemon wrote to his son oft, yet seldom did he spoke much of the troubles they had there. He mostly asked after Viserys, after Vermithor as well, and spoke of his mother, his sisters, and of Aegon too. Viserys’s letters were always longer, the promise he made and kept to the prince, his father. 

Ser Steffon shook his head. 

-Not the prince. A small note written by Maester Gerardys’s hand. He is to come to Dragonstone. Lord Corlys is to sail with him. 

His next words were to ask when the message had arrived.

-Midday. 

-They should not be long then. - Viserys noted. - The storm has given away for now. The winds will be in their favour.

-Praise the Father. - Ser Steffon said. 

So they were, and not another full day had passed when he was called to the Throne Room of Dragonstone, adjacent to the Great Hall, where he received Lord Corlys Velaryon, Master of Tides, Lord of Driftmark and Hand of the Queen. 

Beneath his thick dark cloak, that was promptly removed from his lordship’s shoulders, Corlys Velaryon wore a teal half-cape, made of supple velvet, pinned to his left shoulder by a seahorse brooch, brown breeches with soft high boots, and a magnificent doublet of blue and green. Old as he was, it was hard to tell apart which parts of his hair were the silver of the old dragonlords and which were the silver of old lords. 

Princess Rhaenys stepped forward to offer her lord husband her greetings. She had noted his garments too, yet rather than admire their magnificent she commented on their colour. 

-You have stripped away your mourning, my lord. 

Red creeped up Lord Velaryon’s neck, making its way up his face. He was slow in answering his lady wife but waved her off as he could, some mention that clothing was the furthest from his mind. 

The princess said no more, she moved aside as her husband called after the castelan. 

-Rooms need to be readied for us. - he said. - And a cup of wine would be most welcomed. Something to warm the bones. For our Grand Maester as well. 

Viserys looked to the side to see Maester Gerardys approaching. The maester gave him a small smile and two letters that he removed from the inside of his grey sleeve. 

-If it would not trouble his grace terribly, I would ask after Vermithor and ask to see him.

-Nothing would trouble me less. 

And with that the two left the Throne Room, making their way from Stonedrum and into the depths of Dragonstone, down the cellar and into the corridor of the old prayer room of his ancestors, and finally to the cells of the dragons. 

It was only fair that they were close. What but the dragons had turned them into gods? All that they had was because of them, all that they were as well down to their silver hair and purple eyes. 

Silverwing stretched out her neck at the sound of their footsteps, and Meleys rose to the full of her weight. In the dim light, her scarlet eyes shone a deep red, like rubies washed in blood. Silverwing gave a faint cry. Her cell was right next to that of Vermithor, it looked as if she feared danger was approaching and would warn her mate. 

She grew nervous but just until Viserys called after her. Meleys relaxed as well, folding her great wings. She circled around her nest until she made herself comfortable, then the Red Queen curled over herself, hiding her head under her tail yet watching them, always watching. 

Maester Gerardys looked around, holding a torch as Viserys turned the key to Vermithor’s cell. He had not moved since the prince left him. He moved little these days, awakening just to eat and little more, and even so he ate but once a day. Gone were the days in which he would demand to hunt and to be taken to the skies every day. In that and more he was a shadow of what he had been. This he thought as the maester asked after his dragon what he said was different. 

-He lives. 

-And does he eat? 

Viserys nodded. 

-Not as much as before, but I make sure he eats enough. 

Maester Gerardys placed the torch on a nearby sconce, one of the many around the dark-stone walls. They were made of black iron, shaped after a dragon with its wings spread out, sprouting from the dark walls where their long bodies rested.

Vermithor peeked from under a wing, he bared the teeth he had left to the maester, his growl somewhat lacking yet still threatening enough that Gerardys would come no closer. 

-I see his mood is as it should. - he turned to Viserys when the prince raised an eyebrow. - No dragon worthy of its name would welcome men with gentleness. 

-He doesn’t growl at me. - Viserys said, not without a hint of petulance. 

-No, I trust he wouldn’t. - Gerardys said as he walked about the Vermithor, standing on his toes so he could best see around his head and jaw. 

Another rumble put an end to his inspection. Instead, the maester, or better Grand Maester, Viserys reminded himself, asked him of Vermithor and how he had been fairing. To all Viserys answered, giving as much information as he could manage. 

-I shall speak to the Dragonkeepers now. - he ruled. - And later inspect Vermithor with their aid. You should go now, my prince. Lord Corlys will want for company. In your brother’s absence and that of the Queen, you rule Dragonstone. 

-I will come later. - Viserys promised. 

He had to bite his tongue to not beg the maester to be gentle with Vermithor, it would be foolish to do, after all, Maester Gerardys had seen all of them born, had tended to Vermithor when he arrived from Harrenhal and done all he could before setting sail to King’s Landing. He had left some of the younger maesters and acolytes who served with him behind to continue to care for the Bronze Fury, and would write to them daily with instructions. 

There had been comfort in that, in knowing that like him, the maester believed that Vermithor would recover, or that at least he was fighting for it to be son. 

“Loyal Maester Gerardys.”

Viserys smiled as he saw him turn the heavy chain around his neck, getting it out of the way so the countless links would not bother him. There was one of every metal he could name, and some not even he could remember. When he had told the maester it was a shame they could not go to the Citadel of Oldtown Gerardys had asked for what purpose. 

-A book there… some old scrolls. We might find the help we need. 

-How to cure dragons? You will find no such thing in the Citadel of Oldtown, my prince. - there had been a dark look upon Maester Gerardys as he had said those words; but then he had added that: - Could be you will not find it anywhere else in the known world. Men like to write of war and battles, and none are half as exciting of those on dragon’s back. Yet men don’t like to write about what happens afterwards. It makes for dull history. 

Alone in his bedchamber, Viserys donned black from head to toe. A warm tunic, a black robe, woolen breeches and soft riding boots made for his garments. They were fine clothing, the only way his mother would allow it, richly decorated, the fabric soft enough that he could sleep comfortably dressed in them. And yet they fell loose around him, and his breeches seemed to be a bit shorter than before. 

The prince looked in the mirror, turning from one side to the other as he studied his figure. While he had taken grief as the cause for his weight loss, it could well be that he had grown these moons. In another time that would have made him jump for joy. Now it left him as empty as all else. He was small. He was almost nothing. 

“I am the Targaryen prince who killed his dragon.” 

His sleeve was on his eyes before the tears fell. He made himself stop and then he made himself walk his way from Sea Dragon Tower to Stonedrum and the Great Hall, where he was set to dine that evening with Lord Corlys Velaryon. He also had to remind himself that Vermithor lived.

He found the Lord of Driftmark awaiting him, his teal doublet changed for a deep blue one, darker. The boots and breeches looked the same, but his half-cape was now black. 

It was not a color that fit him so well but Viserys knew the reason for it. 

The memory of Addam Velaryon, inside that coffin, wrapped in the white cloak Ser Steffon Darklyn had brought for him, was not one easy to let go of.

It had been his desire to become a man of the Queensguard, one of the chosen seven, the strongest and most accomplished knights of the Seven Kingdoms, the ones who gave up name, at times rich inheritances, and all else that mattered to a man to serve the royal family. He certainly had proved himself, mayhaps more than any before him. Indeed, many had been those who had once donned on the white cloak that could well look away in shame at the sight of Addam Velaryon.

“Ser Addam Velaryon.” Viserys corrected. 

-Alyn will not be joining us. - Lord Corlys said in a way of greeting. 

-You spoke to him? 

He had seldom seen Alyn since arriving back at Dragonstone. 

Lord Corlys nodded. He found his seat by the head of the table, and Viserys chose a chair not too far away from his. 

There was already bread on the table, some wine and cheese as well as olives and cold meats to wet their appetite. Lord Corlys took a loaf and broke it in half. He put some on his plate and the rest he gave to Viserys. He tore a chunk and washed it down with some wine. 

Viserys looked down at his plate and felt his stomach become a knot. They had given him wine, watered down enough that it would not even make a child drunk. He took a sip listening to Lord Corlys chewing. 

-How fares King’s Landing? How fares my mother? My brother Aegon?

Lord Corlys set the bread down back on his plate. He turned his head towards the prince, an amused look about him made almost grin by the dark shadows the hearth casted upon him. 

-Is there something amusing, my lord? - Viserys asked.

-Nothing worth of note, dear boy. ‘Tis just funny is all, the way you asked. Most boys would have asked about their fathers first.

Viserys took a moment to ponder over his words before he answered. Not too long of course, long silence either made lords suspicious or made them think he was the one who was nervous, or worse, afraid. 

He had long learned to guard himself from any who he did not share blood with. 

“A lot of blood.” he silently added as he thought of his other family, and the fact that he did share a measure of blood with any Velaryon.

Viserys gave Lord Corlys a shrug. 

-My father is always well, my lord. Only fools fear for Prince Daemon. 

The chuckle told him he had said the right thing, even to Lord Corlys who many described as Prince Daemon’s friend, and others called rather an esteemed former associate, maybe present one still since he was marrying his oldest son and heir to the man’s granddaughter. 

Daenaera. 

She was there still, though not with them at present. 

-You certainly are no fool, my boy. Not like your namesake who I recall oft breaking bread with. - his eyes were fixed on Viserys. - You don’t have his look either. 

Viserys misliked the comment. He had loved the grandfather he had been named after, and though he had his faults it would take more than Corlys Velaryon to insult him, especially after everything Viserys knew of him.

-We all have the same look, Lord Corlys. - Viserys noted. - We are Targaryens .

The Sea Snake clicked his tongue. 

-You mistake my meaning. I meant to say in what makes you different from each other. Me and mine as well. All of us have similar faces, silver hair, purple or blue eyes. We are all Valyrians even if some of us more than others. 

-I am one eighth Arryn. - Viserys replied. - And I know myself to have some Massey blood in me as well, from Alyssa Velaryon, and more than some Velaryon blood. Maybe that’s why I am never seasick.

The jape worked as Viserys knew it would. 

-Well you certainly have more Valyrian blood in you than I do. My late mother was only Velaryon by her mother’s side. Some grand-aunt of my father. Yet our blood runs strong. - he took the cup to his lips and drank deeply. - You do have King Viserys’s curls, the same ones Prince Baelon sported. I believe they were part of what made the Spring Prince so very charming. Aemon was well loved but he was the serious one, some would even call him cold though never unpleasant. They were not unlike yourself and Prince Aegon. Aemon was loved from afar, Baelon was their prince.

Viserys gave him a small smile. 

-If you say, my lord. 

-Words Corlys is ever fond of hearing. - Princess Rhaenys said as she joined them in the Great Hall, her ladies and Lady Daenaera not far behind her. 

Viserys stood before Lord Corlys did. He offered the princess her chair and then did the same to the girl who was princess in all but name. 

“She’s taller.” he thought as he stood by Daenaera Velaryon’s side. 

All for the better. As tall as the lady might grow, he had a feeling she would always look small when standing next to his brother Aegon. 

Still in their mourning clothes, the black did nothing to take from the beauty of either of them, and having recently counted the fifty seven name days, Princess Rhaenys could still rival with any woman in those halls and others. Her hair was now equal parts grey and black, but it fell on even strands. Viserys thought that it fitted her better than the full dark head might. 

-I am fond of such words, aye. - Lord Corlys allowed. - I would be fond to hear them from the queen more often. I wouldn’t be here if that was the case, yet she demanded I come to receive the envoys from Braavos. 

That spiked Viserys’s attention. Rhaenys was faster in asking about them though. 

-Aye, that’s where the gold is, Braavos. Or so the Rogares have promised, on their own life and fortune. - his words said he didn’t quite believe it. - Needless to say which of the two Lysandro Rogare is more fond of. He has six or seven sons, his heir is not in King’s Landing, nor his second son. He has sent this brother of his, but well, who is to say the man means ought to him?

Rhaenys gave a small nod. 

-No one. My lord himself never cared for any of his brothers. 

There was a glint in her eye as she spoke those words. Lord Corlys seemed to shift in his seat. 

-We grew up separately as you well know. I was raised by my grandfather, they fostered elsewhere. Daemion was sent to King’s Landing as a companion of Prince Aemon. 

-What’s this now? - Princess Rhaenys asked of the steward, their old cook Brynden; she was no longer listening to Lord Corlys.

Perhaps the honour given to one so low would make some eyebrows raise, and perhaps as well it would have been denied in the past. As it stood, there were not too many highborn men left at Dragonstone, and all the knights were much too young and vigorous to be kept as stewards, counting grain and meat when there were lances and swords to hold. 

-Butter stew, my princess. - the man said with his usual warmth. - White fish, cod, red crab, plenty of leaks and heavy cream and fresh butter to make it hearty. The new cook makes it after the fashion of the Sisters where he’s from himself. Sweetsister, if it pleases you. 

-Is it sister's stew then? - Viserys asked.

-Not quite, my prince. He uses more butter than the original recipe says, and spares the turnips. Petyr says no dragon should eat turnips.

Lady Daenaera giggled, a lovely musical sound, like small bells when wind brushed against them. 

-They are no more insulting than the carrots. - Viserys assured the man, taking a spoonful to his mouth. - But do commend Petyr for the stew, it is much to my taste. I am only a prince however, it remains to be known how well our new cook has pleased our Master of Tides. 

It took Lord Corlys a moment to realise it was of him Viserys spoke. Viserys offered him a wide smile this time, toasting him with the full white of his teeth. 

-That boy has a cheek in him that I mislike. Daemon was the same. - Lord Corlys confessed to his wife after they retired for the evening. - I swear he was mocking me at supper. 

Such words made Viserys smile. 

He had to cover his mouth just to make sure no sound came from it. He could not risk being found. 

For Princess Rhaenys’s comfort, instead of staying at the former chambers of Princess Rhaena, or Queen Rhaena depending on who spoke of King Jaehaerys’s sister, the ones she usually occupied when in Dragonstone, the lack of soldiers and knights dictated the need to keep the royal family confined to Sea Dragon Tower. As such, Visenya’s chambers had been prepared for her use, and Lady Daenaera had been given the twin’s chambers. 

Visenya and Aegon’s queen shared more than a name however, they shared a bedchamber too. During their plays it had not long taken the five of them to find the passages between her room and all of the others, their parent’s bedchamber very much included, which coincidentally or not, had once been the Dragon’s bedchamber. 

-You think it was Visenya who made these passages? - his brother Aegon had asked. - Her son Maegor filled the Red Keep with secret passages and corridors. 

It was true and well known besides that many of the builders and masters working on the Red Keep had lost themselves never to be found within the holdfast that housed the royal family, and to which Maegor had given his name. 

-Unlikely. - Viserys had said, even if admitting the cleverness of his brother’s idea. - Dragonstone is much older than Queen Visenya. It’s as old as Valyria, an old vacation spot. 

Perhaps not quite, but it was certainly more of an age with the vanished Empire than with Aegon’s queen. 

Prince Daemon had known of the passages as well, and under his instruction, the locks to the doors had been changed so that they could only be assessed through his and his niece’s bedchamber. It was precisely the one Viserys had used to find his way to Visenya’s room, where at present Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys could be found. 

-When the mocking is good you are forever left wondering. - the princess said. - My grandfather had the talent for it. I think Viserys takes after him even more than Daemon. My cousin hides not when he’s mocking someone. 

-He certainly lacks King Jaehaerys’s charm, that his son has it in plenty. 

-So much so even a seasoned lord such as yourself wonders if it is mock or jape. 

Lord Corlys grunted and the princess’s laughter filled the room. 

Peeking from behind the door, carefully hidden by a rich tapestry, Viserys told himself he would leave just as soon as he learned more of King’s Landing, a subject Lord Corlys had been quite evasive about. 

-I missed Alyn at supper. - the princess said. 

-I met with him upon my arrival. He said he would prefer to dine by himself. I have never seen my boy like this. 

Lord Corlys was suddenly made silent, as if he had said the wrong thing. Rhaenys spoke next. 

-He lost his brother. 

She said no more, and silence returned. Viserys could hear Corlys rising, he could hear his steps and from the sound he could guess he had sat next to the princess. 

-I blame her, you know? - he heard Lord Corlys say. - Rhaenyra. And I am not alone in my feelings. The whole of King’s Landing is slowly turning on her. Helaena is dead and Helaena was well loved. The taxes are higher than ever before, the price to fill back the coffers of the Red Keep, that Aegon and his Greens left empty on their way out of King’s Landing. Men have been tortured and there was talk of torturing Alicent. I don’t recognise that castle nor any of this. I am named Hand yet I am her fool. ‘Tis her and Daemon making their calls. They set their tune and we are expected to dance to the rhythm.

Princess Rhaenys heard it all in silence. Viserys did the same, but inside he was in turmoil, boiling in anger over the confession of Lord Corlys and all he said about his mother. It took all the strength he could muster to not burst out of his hiding and confront the old fool. 

“We were fighting on our dragons while you were safe on the ground. You know nothing.”

-You have certainly changed your tune about Rhaenyra. - Princess Rhaenys finally said after what felt like forever. - In your own lips little more than two years past she was a sweet thing, a gentle princess. 

-Well perchance you were right about her all along. What you first said when we learned she was to marry Daemon. Maybe all of it is true, and she’s a twice-damned fool, only I say more, Rhaenys. She’s wilful, selfish, and arrogant. She’s cruel.

-Cruel words for a cruel woman. Fitting. Only I don’t see a cruel woman, but I see a man scorned. - the princess said. - Take care, my lord, take care. You wouldn’t want the ending of the last man our queen has scorned, nor to follow his path. 

Lord Corlys was quick to take offense with his lady wife’s words. He refused her accusations and grew much wroth. 

-You say so because you are not there, Rhaenys. You do not see what I have seen. The treasury is empty, and Rhaenyra and Daemon have nothing to replace it with. I have gone through Lord Beesbury’s accounts, his old books. I have seen with mine own eyes the fortunes that Viserys sent to Dragonstone, for the princess’s comfort and that of his grandchildren. Of that there is nothing left. I would know, I have asked. They have spent it all. 

-Am I supposed to find some outrage in this?

-I don’t trust you should, as you have never ruled over anything. 

-Oh is that your way of putting it? How very grand, and here I was thinking my sex would be used as an argument. 

-’Tis impossible to speak to you when you are like this! 

And yet it was his voice who grew louder, and his pacing that the prince heard, from one side and to the other until he stopped walking and faced the princess again. 

-Others do not agree with you. They speak of her and Daemon’s cruel ways. They repeat what Aegon said was true, that their marriage is false and their children bastards. 

-The world is filled with fools. - Rhaenys said. - I hope I have not married one of them. Yet my husband’s words show me otherwise. They also show me what I ought to do when I return to King’s Landing. 

-I am your lord husband!

-You are. - she acknowledged. - And you are also a fool, Corlys, your own tongue betrays you. A Hand’s job is to serve, not to judge the king or queen. Yet you prove my uncle Baelon’s words true. The ones he shared with my father, on the eve of our wedding. 

-And what words are those?! - he demanded, his voice rising ever louder. 

Viserys would have sworn he heard the princess smile. 

-That you were an ambitious man serving only yourself. And that your interest in me went beyond my beauty. You loved Rhaenys, kessa. But you loved Aemon’s daughter more and heir more. 

Viserys took a step back when he heard Lord Corlys curse, and he leaned against the wall as the door slammed, announcing his exit. As he did so, the princess still spoke, mentioning to the Master of Tides how he had not asked after Addam’s burial once. Viserys left as well, as quickly and as silently as his feet allowed. Once he was far enough he ran until he reached his parents’ bedchamber. 

He turned the key twice, and tried to push the heavy oak door for good measure. He sat against the door and there remained until his heart quietened. 

Viserys longed for that bed, the once he had so oft slept when he was a child, with Aegon, when the twins were but babes at the breast, and then with them as well, and Visenya too while he and Aegon were still young enough. 

He sat there, his fingers tracing over the carvings of the headboard, finely crafted by his father’s command. A gift for their mother as were so many other things she had and loved; they were as well, she so said, the best gifts she had received from her uncle.

-Together with my jade tiara. - she had one teased him and Aegon as the two sat by her vanity as she finished preparing herself to attend court. 

He longed to be with Aegon, and her too even if she might still be angry with him. He longed for his sisters as well, and for his father. It was lonely there were once it had been filled with people and laughter. 

Viserys looked to the bed again. He knew he would feel closer to his mother there, his father as well and his siblings. There he would know true sleep.

“You’re no longer a boy.” he reminded himself, and so he left the comforts of the Dragon’s chambers to those of the dark cellar beneath Dragonstone. He did not go however, before scraping together a message for Prince Daemon. The words poured out of him, faster than he could write. He would write a sentence a few lines ahead and then would go back to write the rest. He blew the ink dry and folded the parchment in half, slipping it into his tunic.

He spent the following days between Sea Dragon Tower and Vermithor. His main company was Maester Gerardys, with the occasional visit from Daenaera and the princess. Lord Corlys came only to learn about Vermithor but did not long chat with Viserys. 

It was not until five days later when Ser Steffon came to search for him, earlier than his usual hour. Lord Corlys had sent after him, sending word that the ships carrying the Braavosi had been spotted a few miles away from Dragonstone. The envoys from the Iron Bank would arrive later that same day. Lord Corlys asked him to join him and the princess in receiving the men, if it would please him. 

“It would not.” Viserys thought in sullen silence. 

He kept the thought to himself, instead he bit his lip and nodded. 

-Tell him to wait awhile. - Viserys said. - I will join them after Vermithor has been fed. 

So he said, and so he did. After all, a prince’s word needed to have some worth, even if a Hand’s loyalty did not. 

Maester Gerardys himself trailed after him, reminding him that as the Queen’s son, and the ruler of Dragonstone in her and his brother’s absence, it was important for him to look the part. 

-A prince of House Targaryen. - the maester said.

He had the servants lay down appropriate clothing. Only red and black for the occasion, Maester Gerardys ruled, as it befit a prince of House Targaryen. 

-Too short. - he noted, as Viserys wore his best garments. 

-My bronze doublet fits me better. - the prince offered. - The one with the scales. 

-Bronze is not red. The envoys should know who receives him. Olyvar. - he called. - Be so kind as to fetch Prince Aegon’s red doublet, yes, yes the velvet one, and a black half cape with the dragon clasp. And the prince’s old boots too.  - as the garments were brought it was the maester himself who helped Viserys to dress. - The Prince of Dragonstone won’t mind. In the meantime, I shall write to your mother so new garments are made. Some that fit you. She would not have her son go without. 

He gave a small smile at the maester’s words, yet felt a bitterness in his stomach at the memory of Lord Corlys raging after his mother’s spending.

Viserys moved from one side to the other as he stood before the mirror. The clothing did something to hide his weight loss, hiding it away and giving some volume to his shoulders and arms. His hair was combed, shining like beaten silver, longer than Viserys had ever worn it. Before he was allowed to go, the maester insisted he wore a golden circlet around his ringlets. 

-The queen’s second son. - the maester said. - Let no one forget it. 

It was in the Throne Room at Stone Drum he found Lord Corlys and his wife. The tension was visible in the Sea Snake’s face. It was as if invisible hooks had pierced him and were pulling at his skin. As for the princess, she stood next to her husband as one would expect her to do, yet there was no warmth in her but a small smear she gave Viserys as he appeared. Alyn was there as well, dressed in the colours of House Velaryon, his face too was strained making him appear older. He was half the skinny squire with so little meat in his bones. 

He made his way to the ancient throne where Aegon the Dragon had sat, and his sons after him. Corlys stood by his side, a hand on Viserys’s arm that rested there. 

His lilac eyed dropped to the Sea Snake who gave him a wide smile.

-A true Targaryen, my boy. - he gave him a wink. - They will tremble before you. 

There was a quip on the back of his throat, begging to escape yet Viserys kept it there. He straightened his back and leaned towards the edge of the throne so he could best see his guests as they were introduced to him. 

“A man’s eyes do not lie.”

He remembered his father’s words and so his gaze was upon the men as they were led into the halls, watching and waiting. 

Their entourage was a medium sized one, maybe ten men all in all. Three of them walked ahead. Focusing on their voices, Viserys was quick to note who the Braavosi were, the third man appeared to be from Pentos, or so his accent said. He was a small man, his garments a bright yellow, like mustard, he made for a sharp contrast against the two tall and somber Braavosi, both covered with dark garments from head to toe. 

Viserys was introduced to them by Maester Gerardys, as was Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys. 

The man dressed in bright colours dropped to one knee, the others gave short bows. 

-Prince Viserys, Ordello of Pentos, at your service. 

He had no last name to give, making Viserys consider if he was indeed lowborn. It was not uncommon across the Narrow Sea, that a man would rise to position and power. The merchant princes were elected, and what he knew of them was that they had more of merchant than prince. 

Ordello had certainly risen high enough, mayhaps not as much as the other pentoshi his mother and father knew, nor the magisters, but he saw golden rings glistening on his fingers, and his garments were finely made, elegant. 

-I do not know you. - the prince said tentatively. 

-I am but a humble servant of Magister Haryllo and Prince Nevio, sent on their steed. - Ordello let him know. - They would have come themselves if times were more peaceful, yet there are many affairs they should tend after. We are merchants in Pentos, and wars slow down business. They bid me say however, that their love for your mother and father remains ever so strong as do the ties that bind them. 

-I could ask what those are, my lord, yet I would not keep our guests from Braavos unattended. You came a long way, my lords. Pray tell what is your pleasure?

He asked first in the Common Tongue then switching to the Valyrian they spoke in Braavos. The two seemed surprised and Viserys heard one tell the other they could have well left their translator behind. 

-For the princess we might need him. - the other said. 

A thin man he was, and tall besides, past six feet four. His face was long, his hair speckled with grey, and his eyes small and black like beads. The only fair thing about him was his skin, a pasty white colour that spoke of a man who ate little and rested less. 

-That you shan’t. - Viserys was quick to say. - My mother knows your tongue even better than I do. She speaks every variation of Valyrian there is with perfection. And she is queen, if it please you. Now, it would please me to know who I have the honour of addressing. 

They did give him their names, or better yet, the second man did. This one was shorter. He had a plain, square face, plain brown hair and a planer face. The only thing remarkable about him was his bronze beard, carefully kept and much lighter than his hair. He named himself Gyllaro Hestinar, and his companion Horenno Dimittis, introducing them as keyholders, speaking on behalf of the Iron Bank of Braavos. 

-Some wine and bread for our guests. - Viserys called, remembering his manners. 

-Some salt as well I think. - Lord Corlys added. - We are honoured by your presence, and more honoured still that you have made the journey.

-We welcome the hospitality though we won’t long linger. - Gyllaro said. - We will sail for King’s Landing come morrow and then Braavos once more. 

-But tonight you are our guests. - Viserys gave them a wide smile. - Let no one say any man goes without at Dragonstone. Rooms have been prepared for your comfort. We will dine on venison and a casket will be brought from the cellars with our finest wine. 

The Braavosi nodded, and Ordello of Pentos thanked him for the hospitality. Lord Corlys walked over to the men, he was leading them out of the halls when a crack of lightning lit up the skies, or so Viserys had thought. A storm was brewing, but that was not thunder, rather it was the sound of leathery wings that filled the skies of Dragonstone, and in the horizon, scales red as blood could be seen fast approaching. 

The prince pressed his face against the glass, his face opening in a wide grin. 

“Father.” 

There was commotion in the Throne Room and between the Braavosi. Ordello seemed most nervous and was quick to inquire whose dragon that was. The word only served to further agitate the men who seemed to look everywhere. 

Viserys jumped down from the dais and the high window. 

-My lords, you will be twice as honoured this evening. It is my father, - he announced. - Prince Daemon. 

-Consort of Dragons, King of the Stepstones, and Protector of the Realm. - Maester Gerardys added, doing nothing to hide his pleasure. 

-Don’t forget the Narrow Sea. - Viserys added cheerfully. - My father wouldn’t let you, maester. 

-Prince Daemon? - Lord Corlys asked his lady wife. - Why is Daemon here? Has he left the Red Keep unprotected? Why have I been sent then?

Rhaenys said nothing. Giving him a shrug, she picked up her skirts and went to the steward telling him something Viserys did not hear, nor did he stay to inquire after it. 

It was near the stables, in the outer courtyard, that Prince Daemon and his dragon landed. The Braavosi stood there, their mouths hanging low, the Pentoshi Ordello seemed nervous as well, though less so. The two envoys from the Iron Bank of Braavos were whispering to each other in low, nervous voices, their eyes never leaving Caraxes.

Viserys stole a glance from them. Focusing, he tried to silence all the other sounds around him so he could hear what they said. 

-This is the prince? I heard he was an old man. 

-Not as old as that. Why is he here? They said to meet them at King’s Landing. Already breaking their word. We were warned about him and the princess.

The servants, squires, and the few knights left to guard Dragonstone flocked to Prince Daemon. He made no notice of them, giving Caraxes over to the Dragonkeepers. Like flies, he waved them away and instead turned his eye to Viserys. 

In long strides he closed the space between them, coming to Viserys and throwing his arms around him. 

-My son. 

Viserys pushed himself to his full height, beaming as Prince Daemon kissed him on both cheeks and pressed him to his strong chest. The young prince placed his hands around his father, embracing him. 

He felt himself washed in the pride of seeing his father, of others seeing him as well and knowing that he was Prince Daemon’s son. 

As they parted he smiled and his father smiled back. 

-Look at you. Time does not still. Not even for a dragon. 

-And you are the same as always. - Viserys said, meaning it too. 

His father would soon count fifty of his name days and yet he was not like other men. His body remained hard and strong. His stomach lean like that of a youth of some twenty years. All of him spoke of his skill. He was what a warrior ought to be. 

At a closer glance there were lines on the prince’s lean face, especially around his mouth and near his pale-lilac eyes. Nonetheless, he was a handsome man still, his silver hair long and thick, his face a token of his Valyrian blood. 

-How are you, my son? - Prince Daemon asked. 

-As the Father keeps me, father. Better now that you are here. The envoys from the Iron Bank. - he motioned towards them with his head. 

Like a hawk, his father’s attention was on them, his pale eyes stripping them bare, to the bone and more still. The corners of his eyes lifted yet he was not smiling. 

-You here, Daemon? - Lord Corlys asked, coming to their side. 

-I am, Velaryon. No need to call my squire, you can make the honours and make the introductions. I don’t believe I know this lot. 

-They seem to know of you. - the Sea Snake noted, looking back at the Braavosi. 

-As they should. Shows they have some wits about them. 

From the corner of his eye, Prince Daemon stared at his son.

The two were not alone as quickly as Viserys might have hoped for. His father had been forced to exchange some empty pleasantries with the Braavosi. He had seemed more bored than anything else, doing nothing to hide his yawn and relying on Lord Corlys to make small talk. When he had enough he simply stood and called Viserys to his side, leaving the Throne Room.

Instead of going to his bedchamber at Sea Dragon Tower, it was to the cellars beneath Dragonstone his father led him. He walked silently and Viserys did the same and yet he filled himself awashed with comfort, with ease that came from knowing that his father was there, that he wasn’t alone anymore. 

-I leave at first light. - Prince Daemon let him know when they were deep enough into Dragonstone with not a soul in sight, or better yet, with only Ser Steffon Darklyn at their backs.

“Who hears everything but knows nothing?” Viserys considered. 

-Better that I take this lot with me back to King’s Landing. Your mother would not have them alone with you. 

He nodded at his father’s words.

-I will take Corlys as well. He’s better off there not here. 

-Did you?

Prince Daemon took a finger to his lips. 

-I would see your dragon. Vermithor. I would know how he fares before I return. 

-He lives. - Viserys said, swallowing the lump in his throat. 

-Plants live, my son, or so the maesters would tell you. I wouldn’t take one to the skies, nor trust in any to protect me. Breathing is not living. A dying man would tell you as much.

Viserys said nothing. He felt the urge to bring his hand to his hair, only that was a childish tick and he wasn’t a child anymore. In less than a fortnight he would have his twelfth name day. He was almost a man grown, a prince besides. Instead he fidgeted with his locket, he figured that touching his jewelry was not as childish as that. His mother always turned her rings whenever she was anxious.

The Dragonkeepers all stood to attention when they took note of them, they were quick to let his father know his dragon Caraxes had been fed and had retired for the night. 

It was a half truth, for when they passed the cell where the Blood Wyrm made his nest, they saw his blood-red eyes still open. He had made a ball, curling over himself, and he swatted his tail against the stone in annoyance whilst puffs of black smoke escaped his nostrils. 

-He’s sulking. - Viserys noted. 

His father chuckled. 

-Always does whenever he is made to spend a night without Syrax. A few more hours and you can fly over to her again. Damn my own rest. - Viserys opened his mouth and his father waved him away. - I too sulk. Not at you. At these cunts from beyond the Narrow Sea. I lack the patience for them all. Don’t tell your mother I said this. 

-Damn or the other word? 

-Both. 

-I won’t, papa. 

Prince Daemon gave him a smirk, and with that they continued to walk until they reached Vermithor’s cell. 

At the command of the prince the key was turned and the doors pushed open to let them in. 

Vermithor was as Viserys had left him, a huge bronze mountain. He peered from under his great tail, a low growl reverberating through his body. Prince Daemon laid a hand on his flank, hushing him. Viserys was quick to come to his side and do the same. He walked until he stood face to face with his dragon. Gently, he placed his hands on the side of his snout, the good side that was, and staring straight into his remaining eye, Viserys closed his own eyes and pressed his forehead there. 

Silence fell over them, broken only by the sound of his father’s footsteps as he walked around the Bronze Fury. 

-He makes for a grim sight. - Prince Daemon said. - A frightening sight. 

Viserys heard the hint of satisfaction in his father’s voice as he said it, taking note of his pleased smirk. 

His father turned to the Dragonkeepers. 

-He can fly still? 

-His wings are without harm, or any that would prevent him. - one of the Dragonkeepers answered. - The gashes done on him by Vhagar’s claws were deep, but the scales are healing. The membranes on his wings were unscarred. The worst is his snout. His eye is gone, much of the flesh on his left side is gone as well as are the teeth he used to have there. He’s weak. He’s very weak. The maester says so.

His father cocked an eyebrow. 

-You talk too much. - he told the Dragonkeeper, to Viserys he simply said it meant yes. - You will have your dragon still. 

-If you say so, papa. - Viserys said. 

-I do, yes. 

Looking around, his father bit his lower lip. 

-Enough for one night I think, I am to have an early morning. Viserys, come. 

Stripped from his armour and heavy cloak, his father let himself fall on the padded couch of his bedchamber, giving a satisfied sigh. 

Viserys had readied for bed as well. He sat by the hearth with him, though not close enough for the prince’s comfort. Patting on his leg, his father invited him to come sit at his lap and this Viserys did. 

Mayhaps childish things were not so bed if his father allowed them. 

-My hatchling has been too long away from the nest. - the prince said. - Your mother misses you terribly, and Aegon. The girls too. And me. Your mother was much relieved when I told her I wanted to come. I have a whole chest of things she ordered me to bring you. Ordered. I am not exaggerating. 

That made him smile. 

-I miss you too, papa. But I am needed here. 

-Why, yes. - Prince Daemon agreed. - To tend to Vermithor. To spy on your mother’s Hand. You would make quite the Master of Whisperers. 

Viserys lifted his head from his father’s chest. 

-I was right in mistrusting him. 

-You are right in mistrusting anyone that is not me, your mother and your siblings. Everyone else can betray you. Remember that. 

-He should lose his head for this. - Viserys said sharply. - The whole of Westeros should learn of his shame. 

-Hum. And his marriage with Rhaenys would end and we would draw a knife and cut open the heart of our closest allies. This war is not done. Words are wind, Viserys. 

-Words matter. - Viserys countered. - The right words can cut deeper than a sword. 

He thought of what the Sea Snake had said of them. That he had not told his father, and now he regretted it. 

-They might, - Prince Daemon allowed. - Or they might mean no more than any other sound. A hum. A sigh. A whistle. A singer might sing of his word for a fair maid in the afternoon and crawl into bed with another during the evening, his sweetheart’s name still on his lips. And that another could well be a man, same as him. Words can matter.

Viserys let out a sigh.

-You don’t believe me then. 

There was anger upon his words, a heat gathering on the pit of his stomach. 

-There is no one I believe more than you, out of all my children, I trust you and your judgment above them all. You are like me. Baela is too, but you can keep a cooler head. You are… shrewd. 

-Shrewd. 

He tasted the word on his lips. Viserys was not sure he liked to be called such.

As for his father he nodded, licking his lips. 

-Still, my son, I will not cut off heads because of words, not the ones you heard and not from someone like Corlys. He speaks from his grief. Perchance from his anger too. Your mother is queen but the world has not changed that much. Corlys serves his interests above all. I would know, I am much the same. 

-But you serve my mother. - Viserys countered; he misliked hearing his father compare himself to the Sea Snake.

-Your mother is my interest. She is my niece, my wife, the mother of my children. I serve myself through her. ‘Tis the same with Corlys and Rhaenys, only his princess never turned queen and his children by her are all gone. You need not worry though, my eye is never far from him.

-What will you do? - Viserys asked. 

-Hum?

-What will you do? - he insisted. - If you find him a traitor.

Prince Daemon offered him a smile. 

-He’s an old friend. A companion of mine of many years. We have fought together, shared mead and meat and song. We never shared women though, ‘twas a rare thing for our eyes to wander in the same direction. - reaching for a goblet of wine his father took a sip. - And he’s here to serve us like all the others. If he betrays us, I will cut off his head and feed it to my dragon. 

Viserys blinked. He said it like one would talk of weather, his tone no different than when he talked of his friendship with Lord Corlys.

-’Twas good of you to let me know. Wine? 

Viserys shook his head and Prince Daemon did not press him. 

-Very well, but you will eat. You are skin and bones. - he called after a servant and took another swig of his wine as he looked around. - A fine job they did on our bedchambers. You would never guess what happened here.