King Viserys Targaryen, the Second of His Name

  As he had expected, Daemon arrived faster than one should have expected an answer to the raven sent by Mellos; Ser Viselor had performed his duty as casteln of Dragonstone precisely, but this brought no relief—Viserys pusilnimously wished to gain himself a little more time, though his mind understood that a few hours or half a day would certainly not have saved him. The King shrugged his shoulders, and the golden chain upon them cnked like shackles on a prisoner. He monstrously did not want to begin a difficult, unpleasant conversation with an unpredictable outcome but quite expected consequences, yet there was no way to postpone it.

  His head ached unbearably from insomnia, his eyes were sticking together, but as soon as his eyelids closed, he was left alone again with a panic-stricken thought galloping wildly in circles in his head: whatever happened, today he would have one less brother. He could not reconcile himself to this, but Viserys had put himself in a situation where he had to choose between a bloody-fiery storm in the Seven Kingdoms after his death and an almost inevitable rupture of retions with Daemon.

  The thought of what he would say, what he would think of him, cut sharper than Valyrian steel. Viserys undoubtedly deserved these yet unspoken words, but gods witness, with every year this disgusting situation, in which he felt like a triarch being torn alive by elephants, grew worse and worse. If he did not want to turn his funeral pyre into the fire of war, from which the entire continent would bze from the Narrow Sea to the Sunset Sea, he needed to cut at least one of the ropes tangling him; Aegon was right in this, of course, only each of these ropes was his blood retive...

  A brother, a father, and a sovereign struggled within Viserys. The brother reminded him of those distant and now half-forgotten days when Daemon was his comrade first in games, then in training, and then in politics. The father demanded not to leave his own children with nothing after his death, and moreover dependent on the mercy of a willful and hard-hearted man who hardly considered them kin. The sovereign commanded, stamped his feet, threatened with Balerion's wrath so that Viserys would finally stop suffering from foolishness and womanish nonsense and make a decision that would ensure peace, stability, and prosperity for his kingdoms not only during his life but also after his death. The father conspired with the sovereign and cited a thousand and seven arguments in favor of the fact that such a decision could only be the change of heir from brother to son in accordance with the ws and traditions of the Seven Kingdoms and his own house, confirmed by the decrees of the Great Council.

  When Viserys, having lost his peace, arrived at a decision which, though not fwless or unconditionally correct, remained the only possible one, it turned out that making it was only half the trouble, or perhaps even less. The real problem y in announcing it to his brothers.

  His first thought was to hold the conversation with them in the Throne Room, sitting on the Iron Throne, with Bckfyre in one hand and the coal-bck Dragon Scepter in the other. However, such formality would inevitably have attracted the court's attention, and this was precisely what he wanted to avoid: family disputes should never be brought out for public amusement, especially if it concerns the royal house. having gone over several chambers in Maegor's Holdfast, the Tower of the Hand, and even the White Sword Tower, Viserys decided to settle on the Small Council chamber. In the end, what was so strange about the King deciding to speak with the Hand and the Master of Dragons? What did it matter that two of his Kingsguard would stand behind the King?

  With Aegon, praise the gods, he had managed to speak the day before, and now he sat in an armchair like a sullen raven, a harbinger of winter, wrapped in his white-silver tunics and restlessly smoothing the end of a long blood-red sash on his knee. His brother was out of sorts and yesterday had not minced words, but basically, they agreed with him.

  Daemon sat in his pce, as befitted the Hand at the King's right hand, lounging in the chair with a ziness that could have deceived anyone, but not his brothers: only a line much thinner than a hair and the bde of Dark Sister separated them from a fsh of dragon wrath. Viserys expected him to start immediately with accusations and threats, but the ruler of Tyrosh was silent as a Valyrian sphinx. The silence in the hall was broken only by the creaking of Ser Criston's armor, and the King was tempted to suggest to his Lord Commander to oil it better. Instead, he gathered his strength and said:

  "I suppose we all agree that the state of affairs has somewhat... changed."

  A chuckle was heard from the direction of the Master of Dragons' chair. Understandably, he would have preferred other phrasing, but Viserys looked only at Daemon, but he, as before, was silent, and not a single muscle twitched on his face—only the amethyst in his Tyroshi crown fshed unkindly, as if speaking for its master.

  "Now that everything has already happened, we have no opportunity to repy anything. Aemond has become the rider of Vhagar, and nothing can be done about it, but we can still correct much else."

  "Such as?" Daemon stirred sluggishly. "Change our agreement?"

  "Improve it."

  "What interesting expressions... Your words, valonqar? Although, one need not ask—yours, it is clear as day. Or perhaps your sweet little wife's?"

  "Our brother has nothing to do with this," Viserys cut him off. "This concerns you and me."

  "Then why is he here?"

  "To prevent you from making mistakes," Aegon spoke, continuing to fold and unfold the wide ribbon of his sash.

  Viserys seized upon his words not to answer Daemon's question, but to get to the point:

  "When I named you my heir, we were in a fundamentally different situation. I was a widower with an only daughter who could never sit on the Iron Throne, and you were next in the line of succession. I was not even sure that I could have sons!"

  "Who would have thought that if you fuck a woman, she might bear you bastards," the Hand threw out venomously. "And now one of them has saddled our father's dragon."

  That his brother was not accustomed to choosing his words was nothing new, but it still stung as if for the first time. However, the King, summoning the gods to his aid, did not stoop to trifles and, suppressing the irritation fring in his chest, did not let himself be led astray.

  "Yes, now I have sons," he pronounced with all possible calm and dignity. "And two of them have dragons. Therefore, it is appropriate to ask the question: what inheritance shall I leave them?"

  A tense silence hung in the chamber. Daemon stared at him unblinkingly, muscles working in his jaw, and his gaze darkened with anger when he realized what Viserys was driving at.

  "You decred me your heir," he finally spoke. "The lords of the Seven Kingdoms swore to me. Is that not how one becomes an heir, valonqar?"

  "It is," Aegon nodded. "But, as you said, the choice of heir is the King's prerogative."

  "You gave your word, Viserys, that I would remain your heir henceforth, regardless of whether you had sons or not. So how do you now wish to 'improve' our agreement? Will you take back your promise, break your own oath? Will you take Dragonstone from me, the badge of the Hand? Perhaps you will take the Stepstones and Tyrosh from me as well, which I conquered for your sake?!"

  Towards the end, the Prince's voice trembled with barely restrained emotion. Gods, was power and his pride truly all he cared about? Was the fear of losing them the only thing that troubled him? Neither wife, nor children, nor family, nor even their house as a whole... Was everything worthy of Prince Daemon's concern truly his ambition, vanity, and dreams of taking his own brother's pce? Did he truly want this?.. At any cost?

  If he fears so much that he might be deprived of something, does it mean... Does it mean that Alicent was right in her suspicions, that Otto was right warning about this even during the Old King's lifetime? That his brother is so greedy that he will stop at nothing, that any baseness and any viliny can be expected from him? So all these comparisons with Maegor did not arise from nowhere?.. Truly, every rumor is only partly a lie.

  "The glitter of the crown always beckoned you, Daemon," Viserys sighed. "I am ready to wager, even at the Great Council you fought for my rights only because they ensured your own. You even conquered your own kingdom with my help, forged your own crown, so what more do you need? You are my Hand and rule the Seven Kingdoms in my name; in Tyrosh, they call you King. Is this truly not enough for you?"

  "I want to receive my own," Daemon hissed. "The Iron Throne for myself and my descendants."

  "It is unlikely Vhagar will now allow our old agreement to be fulfilled," Aegon spoke calmly, finally tearing himself away from his sash.

  "Does Vhagar make decisions in this room?!"

  "No, but she cannot be ignored. Let us be frank, lekia. If you ascend the throne, our nephews will rise against you in rebellion, as my Uncrowned namesake rose against Maegor, and unlike him, on their side will be one of the dragons of the Conquest and at least the entire Reach. What can be opposed to this force?"

  "Caraxes is strong and fierce enough to fight Vhagar."

  "Yes, of course. But can he defeat her?"

  "What nonsense?! Of course! Caraxes will overcome Vhagar, and I will overcome a snotty boy."

  At this phrase, Viserys broke into a cold sweat. For Daemon, this was just another duel, another accursed tournament, another rival to defeat! How easily he sent to the Stranger both Vhagar, the she-dragon of Visenya and their father, and Aemond, his nephew!

  "As you wish. But what of your wife, your children? Are you prepared for them to perish in this war?" Aegon continued to ask questions as if nothing had happened. Here was another dispassionate monster! On the pages of chronicles, any deaths look dry and almost innocent, but we are speaking of his kin, of his nephews!

  "Their blood will be on the hands of those who unleashed this war," Daemon jerked as if pricked, but his tone did not diminish in resolve.

  Viserys could stand it no longer and smmed his hand on the table so that the stone spheres jumped on their stands.

  "You both discuss disgusting, monstrous things! It is sinful even to discuss war between kin, yet you speak of it as if it were a decided matter! As if you are already sending dragons and your children into battle! My children!"

  "Such is the situation in which we now find ourselves," Aegon shrugged.

  "And this situation is your handiwork," the Prince Hand pointed a finger at him. "All these compromises and half-measures were proposed by you!"

  "And what was I to do? Allow you to turn the capital into the Seven Hells? Cut our brother's throat? Kill the Queen and the newborn Prince? As I recall, that is what you proposed to me under the walls of Tyrosh."

  What?! Kill the Queen?.. Did he truly propose that? And they discussed it?! Gods, and these are his brothers!..

  "I said no such thing, but even if I had! There would be neither this problem nor this accursed conversation!"

  "How much that sounds like treason, lekia..."

  Enough, he had had enough!

  "Silence!" Viserys roared, jumping up from his chair.

  The unfortunate chair fell with a crash, its back striking the armor of Cargyll standing behind it. Both his brothers finally remembered they were not alone and turned: Daemon with fury in his gaze, Aegon with a crooked smirk on his face. The King inhaled heavily and released the air through his teeth, calming himself.

  "I shall pretend I did not hear your st words," he spoke slowly, almost sylble by sylble. "And return to where I began. To the improved agreement."

  "I still fail to understand wherein it is more perfect," Daemon remarked with hostility.

  "The current situation threatens war after my death: either you or my sons will rise against whoever sits on the Iron Throne, and the Seven Kingdoms will be plunged into fire and blood, from which our grandfather protected them for so many years and I have protected them for almost twenty years. Therefore, I propose the following solution. You, Daemon, wanted your blood to be on the Iron Throne? So it shall be if we betroth my Aegon and your Alyssa. You have power, you have a royal crown, and this way your descendants will rule Westeros."

  His brother's smirk could be compared to a snarling dragon.

  "You propose I give my daughter to Alicent's son?" he drawled, and his tone spoke clearer than all words that Daemon would sooner give her to an illiterate hedge knight than to the son of Alicent Hightower.

  "To my son!" Viserys raised his voice and immediately regretted it—it betrayed offense and showed weakness, and showing weakness before Daemon now was dangerous, mortally dangerous. "In the end, I gave you my daughter as a wife. It will be fair and even logical."

  "And you truly think I will agree to this?"

  "It is a good offer," Aegon interjected. "One might even say it is the best possible."

  "And what prevents me from sending you both to the Seven Hells (Peklo) with this offer up your arses?"

  "Oh, gods!" the King implored. "Who else in this world would reject an outstretched hand?"

  "Anyone, if that hand gives in order to take away with the other."

  "And what do you intend to do, lekia?" the youngest brother inquired.

  "Caraxes and I will think of something."

  "Just do not be surprised then if something comes into Vhagar and Aemond's heads too," Viserys threw out angrily. The endless bickering of his brothers had bored him to death. Yes, he did not expect it to be easy, but the ease with which Daemon discussed treason horrified him.

  "And what can a nine-year-old boy do against me?" he ughed. "Even if he could do something—am I the only rider in the family?"

  "And do you count on someone helping you?" the King inquired coldly. "Perhaps Aegon? Or Cousin Rhaenys?"

  Daemon shifted his gaze to his younger brother.

  "Well, what say you, valonqar?" he drawled.

  Aegon measured him with a long look and finally answered:

  "I obey the will of the King on the Iron Throne. I will not support one who has raised a sword against his own blood."

  Viserys thought he heard his Hand grinding his teeth. Daemon's fingers gripped the edge of the stone tabletop until they turned white; if he could kill with a look, the King would already have to look for a new Master of Dragons for his Council.

  "Truly, a foolish question I asked," Daemon smirked. "Everything was clear with you back when we took Tyrosh."

  "My position has not changed, lekia. Simply someone preferred to be deceived and take wishful thinking for reality."

  "Usually in this family, they trust brothers. As is evident, in vain. Where is this realm heading if the word of its sovereign and his brother is worth less than dust?"

  "I have heard enough treasonous speeches today," Viserys, smming his palm on the table, interrupted the pathetic passages. "Enough to strip you of everything, including your life. Plots against the Queen, against the King's children, pnning war and vioting the King's peace!.. And from whom do I hear this?! From the man I entrusted to be my Hand! Who would have thought that a traitor rules in my name, and my own brother at that!"

  Daemon opened his mouth either to object or to sneer, but Viserys gave him no such opportunity.

  "No! Silence, silence! You have spoken, now listen to me. Yes, there were days when the mere shadow of Caraxes' wings made us—no, me!—jump before you, curry favor, and seek peace. You had so many opportunities to overthrow me or impose your will on me, and, gods witness, you even succeeded, but now it is too te—a bigger dragon has been found for your dragon. So do not threaten me with the punishments of the Seventh Hell; these threats are no longer relevant. Here and now I give you a choice: I forget what you said today, and you remain my Hand, you give Alyssa to Aegon, and he becomes my heir. We will intermarry our children to strengthen the bonds binding the House of the Dragon. This concerns you too, Aegon. Two marriages from each of us, to show all Seven Kingdoms, the whole world, that we are united as never before. Choose, Daemon, and may the gods help you in this."

  Daemon was silent for a long, painfully long time, shifting his gaze from Viserys to Aegon, from Aegon to Cole behind the royal chair, and back to Viserys. If he took it into his head to draw Dark Sister now, he would most likely kill someone for sure. Cole and Cargyll had received orders in case of complications to restrain the Hand long enough for their other white-cloaked brothers to rush into the Small Council chamber from the corridor and stop the sughter. Certainly, someone would already be dead by that moment. The King sat closer to the Prince Hand, but Viserys pusilnimously calcuted that Aegon's more obvious "betrayal" would sting Daemon so much that he would hurry to take revenge on him first.

  When Daemon finally spoke, his voice was colder than the Wall:

  "What big words you throw around now. What warriors: a dragonless nonentity, a clubfooted bookworm, and a snot-nosed boy! And what if I gut you now, and then sughter that whore you call your Queen, and all her bastards? Do you think your Ser Crispin or anyone else will stop me? Dark Sister opens enameled armor just as quickly as any other."

  Behind the King, the insulted Lord Commander of the Guard moved, intending, evidently, to take a step toward the Prince, but the tter only threw out in the same deadly icy tone:

  "Not a step further, Cole. Stand where you are, or no one leaves this room."

  "Return to your pce, Ser Criston," Viserys ordered briefly.

  "My Sovereign..."

  "To your pce."

  "Very well," Aegon said unexpectedly for everyone. Whatever the youngest brother felt, he hid his emotions quite skillfully behind a mask of dispassionate calm and a maesterly instructive tone. "You reject Viserys's offer. What can you offer in return?"

  "Do your fucking lives no longer suit you?"

  "Our fucking lives will not give you so much."

  "On the contrary. Without his rider, the Bronze Fury won't do much fighting."

  "This is a threat, not a proposal for compromise; negotiations are not conducted thus."

  "And these are not negotiations."

  "That is, you agree that after Viserys's death, Aegon, Aemond, and perhaps Daeron and Heena, will lift their dragons into the air and direct all their fire at you and your children? Does the future suit you? Because now everything is heading precisely towards it."

  "This future will not be if..."

  "If all Viserys's children are dead, correct? Do you truly mean to say you wish death upon your nephews in their father's presence? That you want to destroy the King's peace built by our grandfather and preserved by Viserys? To dye your royal mantle in blood?"

  Daemon's face contorted terribly, and on this ugly grimace, like the face of a demon, or perhaps the Stranger himself, anger, rage, contempt, disgust, some loathing were mixed in equal measure. His hand squeezed the hilt of Dark Sister, and the King prepared himself for brother to kill brother now, but nothing of the sort happened.

  Instead, Daemon rose from his chair, spat directly on the table, and the badge of the Hand flew onto the stone following the spit. The brooch was still bouncing, ringing, on the polished tabletop, and the Prince had already rushed out of the chamber, nearly breaking down the doors. Viserys exhaled doomedly and hid his face in his palms.

  "Where are the children?" he asked curtly.

  "In the Grand Maester's chambers," Cole answered immediately.

  "And the Queen?"

  "In the sept."

  "He will run not to them, but to C-Caraxes," Aegon remarked with a slight stammer. The King raised his eyes to him, thinking to scold him for infernal callousness, and only now saw that the Master of Dragons was almost whiter than his tunics. Well, at least it got to him in the end, otherwise Viserys was no longer sure his younger brother was human at all. "He will flee now. He always flees as soon as something is not to his liking."

  "The main thing is what he will return with ter," Viserys spoke gloomily.

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