The Lost Prince
The wood crackled in the hearth as the fire burning it blazed brighter and brighter, its light colouring the whole room. Winters might be mild in Lys, far south of in the world as it was, but the heat of the fires still provided comfort. It always had. Even without knowledge of how winter would have ravaged home, for this was the first of his lifetime, he knew the flames did much and more to rid the world of cold.
The Lost Prince sat cross-legged right by the hearth, his gaze at the flames unbroken. The egg was only visible to him, for he was the one to set it there before the flames were lit. From Syrax's latest clutch, right before the war began, he had chosen one whose shell quite closely resembled fire. Swirls of orange and yellow and red it was, and it had been pulsing with life then.
Now, that light seemed to have dimmed, the life inside the egg no longer pulsing. It could as well been a rock. Even with his vast knowledge of dragonlore, Viserys Targaryen thought he could will his egg to hatch. He could not, he knew. A dragon would emerge from that egg on the day the sun rose in the west and pigs learned to fly.
What was wrong with him? All his siblings had hatched eggs of their own. Jace, Luke and Joff were born with their dragons. Aegon and Baela had been bound to Stormcloud and Moondancer for years before they hatched, their nights filled with dreams of them flying atop their dragons, laying waste to everything beneath them. Even Rhaena, with the sickly thing that lived for only a few hours, had known what it felt like to be bound to a dragon of her own.
Like this one, every dragon's egg Viserys had been given over the years had turned to stone in short order. It was as if they were mocking him. Mother would try and comfort him, promising him another egg once her dragon laid a new clutch. Father would try and assuage his worries, telling him of how he'd claimed Caraxes shortly before the Great Council, when he was already a man-grown of twenty years.
"You can claim either Vermithor or Silverwing when you are old enough," he'd always say, "More of your life will be spent with a dragon than without. There will come a time when you will not remember not having one."
Vermithor and Silverwing were most likely dead. He'd left Dragonstone with Aegon just as Jace was calling for common folk to claim the unbound dragons that lived on the island. Viserys had come forward, wanting to fly and fight alongside him, but Jace had refused.
"Your father will have my head if I let you join the war," he said, with an exasperated smile, "Go with your brother to safety. Do this, and I promise you, I will get you a dragon when the war ends and Mother has her throne."
Like the naive ninny he was, he had believed his brother. The scream he let out as an arrow stuck itself in his side and the wail of his dragon as a scorpion found purchase in his eye haunted Viserys' waking dreams, even now. Why did you have to fly so low? He'd asked himself, more than once. He knew the answer. To save you.
There were tears in his eyes. They were from the heat of the fire in the hearth, he tried to convince himself. Jace was dead, and likely so were all the dragons he had promised him. They were as good as dead anyway, with him a world away from home. His tears could not change that, nor could his will, or his wishing. Tears and wishes were for children. Nine years old had he turned three moons ago, yet he still cried as if a babe.
Resolute, he wiped his pitiful tears. How many Targaryens had lived without being dragonlords? The Viserys he had been named for, his grandfather, had been king of the Seven Kingdoms for close to three decades without ever needing a dragon to enforce his will. Grandfather had been the last rider of the Great Black Dread, he remembered morosely. Last time he'd measured himself against the skull of the conqueror's dragon, he was many times smaller than one of his black teeth.
The Viserys Targaryen that lived and died without being bonded to a dragon was tortured and slain by Maegor the Cruel, nearly a century ago, his remains hung on the gates of the Red Keep as retribution for the treason his mother had set in motion. Even he had dragons to choose from, should he have set himself free. There was Vhagar, left riderless after Queen Visenya's death. Cannibal and Sheepstealer were younger and smaller, easily mastered in those days.
Aye, even the Viserys tortured by his uncle was more fortunate than he. Thousands of miles from home, he was a captive in a foreign land, his family with no knowledge of his where he was, else they would have come for him already. Before thoughts of dragons and home, he had to find a way out of his captivity, gentle as it was.
Escaping by his own efforts was not a choice. There was a sentinel always watching him. He followed Viserys wherever he went, save for the privy, whose windows were too small for him to fit through, even with his small frame. The only other duty the sentinel had was teaching him skill at arms.
Thinking about it now, there was truly only one thing the Lost Prince could do. Wait. Until he was larger, and could defend himself from all those that guarded his captor. Until he was older, and would not end up a bed slave the moment he stepped onto the streets of Lys, for that was the fate awaiting him if he managed to make an escape now.
If only I had a dragon, a voice whispered in his head, and his attention returned to the hearth and its blazing fires. With one, he would destroy this entire manse and everything within it, before soaring on home with the sun at his back. Mayhaps even set the whole city aflame, for they had killed his brother. Myr and Tyrosh too, for that matter. The Three Whores had vexed Father and his sisters' grandfather for decades before they killed Jace. They all deserved to be reduced to ash, erased from the face of the earth.
Fantasies were of no use to him. There was no dragon and no escaping his captors. He could not even try to get a message out to his remaining family; the sentinel constantly in his company was no friend to him, and would not become one. All he would do was play the silent and compliant little prince, as he had been this past year, and pray to gods he rather doubted existed these days to give him a way out of this prison in due course.
The prince gave the fires one last glance. He'd seen Baela retrieve Moondancer's egg from a blazing brazier with her bare hands, coming away unburnt, with only the sleeves of her tunic singed at the seams. He thought of trying that, but he was not Baela. Targaryen as he was, there seemed to be no dragonfire in his blood. It was no use crying over it as if a little boy. The world was filled with stories and songs of men who had done great deeds with only sword or lance, or even a book. He would just have to forge himself into such a man.
But for now, he would sleep. The prince got into the bedchamber of the suite given to him. The sun had long since set. There had been no evening meal brought to him, it seemed. He let out a sigh. Serena would ask for his company as she dined tonight. He'd never hated anyone the way he hated Serena, save for, perhaps, his usurping uncles, who started the war that took everything from him.
A yawn escaped him as he got into his luxurious bed. The guard watching him stood on the opposite side of the room, vigilant as ever. Did he ever sleep? Or were they different men at different times. There was no telling for sure. A helm always covered his face. It made no difference. The man was to watch him, and watch him he did. And train him, too. Mayhaps one day, when he was older and stronger, he would overpower him, cut him down, and find his freedom once more.
The lost prince was asleep soon after, his slumber fitful, filled with dreams of death and destruction; tragedies he had only been told about but had refused to believe. No, his family could not be dead. Father could not have possibly fought against Vhagar alone. Joffrey could not have climbed upon Mother's dragon. Mother sat her rightful throne. Serena always lied; there was no way she had been fed to a dragon.
A knock startled him out of his sleep. The slave assigned as his maidservant came, summoning him to dine in the main hall of the manse. Viserys did as he was bid, ensuring he was dressed in the foreign fashions of the Lyseni. Where were the clothes he'd been wearing on the night he'd been captured, the night he'd seen his brother die? Those had been raiments of a prince, the son of a queen, something he could not claim to be any longer.
"Prince Viserys," the voice of his captor's wife sounded when he was ushered into the main hall of the Bazanne manse. It dripped like poisoned honey.
Of Serena's beauty, there was no doubt. Her light blonde hair and sea-blue eyes clearly bespoke her Valyrian heritage, her features fine. Her body was lithe and lissome, despite having birthed six children. In a queer way, she resembled mother, though her beauty paled in comparison to hers.
"Come, sit, young prince. Eat with me," the smile on her face was well-practiced, but Viserys could see through its artifice easily enough. It was always like this before she told her some lies about some tragedy befalling his family in the war. There was always a smile dancing beneath the feigned sympathy she appeared to give him.
Keeping his face impassive, Viserys took his seat opposite the lady. He ate in silence, aware of the lady's leering eyes on him through the whole meal.
"I know this last year has been tragic. So much loss suffered in a war between kin," she began, when their meal was done and their table was cleared, "But alas, for the first time, I have good news."
Viserys did not dare look up.
"Your brother Aegon is the king now. The other Aegon, gods, why does your family like that name so much? Anyhow, that Aegon was poisoned by his own advisors."
Serena always lies, he told himself, again and again. Mother was queen. All the tripe concerning her being fed to a dragon was nothing but falsehood.
Still, "Do I get to go home?" He asked.
When he had first been sold to the Bazanne's, there had been a furious debate between Bambarro and his wife on what to do with him. Serena, a mid-level courtesan in this city he so reviled, proposed to have him turned into a bedslave, for a prince of the Seven Kingdoms would fetch a tidy profit in her establishments. The backhanded slap her husband had given her was quite satisfying. Bambarro unequivocally stated that he was only here until the fate of the war was decided, and then either his head, or his person would be ransomed back to the Iron Throne.
"Not yet," came the reply from the direction of the door to the main hall. Bambarro walked in, one of his bedslaves beside him, naked as the day he was born. With much flourish, and with his dressing robe open at the front, he took his seat, gesturing to the bedslave, a boy of no more than thirteen years, to continue his ministrations on his cock.
Viserys was well-used to this. His captor was a man of immense lust, though, it seemed, never for his wife, beautiful as she was. Thinking back, he could not recall a single moment seeing Bambarro without some boy or the other. A shudder passed through him at the thought of his body being used like that for the pleasure of others.
"There is a war brewing between the Three Daughters. If Lys is to win, we might need the Iron Throne as an ally," he then turned to him, grunting in pleasure, "now that your side of the family has won the war and your brother is the king, your continued survival would ensure his… cooperation, with our lovely city."
"Come here!" Bambarro turned his attention back to the boy whose mouth was on his member all the while, lifting him by his hair and situating him atop his lap, sheathing himself within him. Viserys did not stay to see him rutting into the slave, instead heading for his suite with tears in his eyes once more, the sentinel watching him falling into step behind him. In the distance, his captor reached his release, letting out a loud groan that echoed throughout the expansive manse.
The prince's mind was filled with questions as he went to bed that night. Would Mother believe the word of a foreign magister? The battle where Jace died had been a chaotic one, with dragonflame spreading to friend and foe alike. The inferno had been so huge that the sea itself had come ablaze. It was by the skin of his teeth that he had been whisked away to one of the Lyseni ships in reserve, the only ones to survive the battle and limp home to safety. His supposed death was not something to be questioned easily. A sigh left him. He would not be going home any time soon.
The hearth was cold when he returned to his chambers, the last embers of the flames within dying out, the egg within remaining unchanged. Viserys reached for it. It was warm to the touch, but the way a stone would be warm if placed near the fire. Nothing stirred within it. The veins of its scales did not glow as Moondancer's and Stormcloud's had. It was dead, nothing more than a stone.
Why hadn't his captors seized it for themselves, he wondered? Even petrified, a dragon's egg was one of the most valuable items in the world. Elissa Farman had used three to fund a voyage around the entire world, living on the gold provided by their sale for her entire life. Bambarro Bazanne, and Sharako Lohar before him, would know the immense value even a dead egg held.
Mayhaps he could buy his freedom. Offer his captor the egg in exchange for safe passage back home, back to his family. Mother would understand, and despite being angry, Father would too. They had more dragons than the Lyseni could ever have if the egg hatched. It would be easy to dispatch any hatchlings. Viserys took the egg and clutched it to his person. No, he would not sell the egg. It was the last piece of home, and he was not even sure that his captor would honour his end of their agreement if he parted with it.
That night, the lost prince went to sleep with the egg clutched to his belly, dreaming of a home he had lost hope of ever returning to. He awoke well into the morning, his sentinel waiting for him for their training at arms. Intently, Viserys whacked at the straw man setup for him with determination, keeping to the quiet corrections given by the man that seemed to always be with him.
He returned to the manse a sweaty and heaving mess to the sounds of coupling. In the main hall, Serena lay sprawled on the couch, the same boy Bambarro was with the previous night lapping at her cunt and squeezing her breasts in his hands.
"Care to join me?" she moaned the question when she spotted him, before yelling a string of yeses as her whole body seemed to shake and spasm of its own accord. Viserys did not deign to reply, only increasing his pace as the yeses turned to screams.
The bath was steaming when he sunk into it, and he allowed himself to glory in the heat. One of the various slaves in the household washed the grime off his skin, before she oiled it and dressed him in fresh clothes. After, he had his first meal of the day, a haunch of roasted goat, basted in honey and accompanied by bread, to be washed down with pineapple juice that had been sourced all the way from the Summer Isles, at least according to the gloating of Serena Bazanne.
The lessons with his tutors would not begin for another hour, and thus the prince got into his bed, clutching the egg to his side, and was soon asleep. This time, his dreams were filled with dragons. Not the ones he thought would be his, but all the ones he'd lived with on Dragonstone. Caraxes lived on the yard right outside the castle, free to fly and hunt where he would. Syrax remained chained in the dragon pens when not carrying his mother, together with her get: Vermax, Arrax and Tyraxes.
Vermithor and Silverwing coiled with each other in the caverns of the Dragonmont. They would fly together on occasion to go hunting in the seas around the island, with Father there to ensure that no one tried to steal them. On occasion, as he flew in Father's and Mother's saddle around the island, he would get a glimpse of two of the three wild dragons, the Cannibal and the Sheepstealer. The Grey Ghost he had never seen.
The prince was standing on the beach at sunset, staring into the sea, clutching his egg, dead as it was. In the distance above him, he could see the many dragons flying. He could even make out the tiny specs that were the riders atop them, his parents and brothers. The dragons of the Old King and the Good Queen joined them, and so did the two wild ones.
Tears flowed down his cheeks. Father and Mother had offered to take them in their saddles, but the prince had refused. He'd had enough of flying in the saddles of others.
Suddenly, one of the wild dragons broke off from the formation he flew with the others, and swooped downwards, flying towards him at incredible speeds. It was the Cannibal. Sheer terror rose within him. He tried to run back to the castle, but his legs would not move. They felt like stones stuck to the ground.
The Cannibal was a demon out of the seven hells, Father had always said, urging his excited brothers never to stray to the back of the dragonmont as they flew, for that was where he dwelt. Born in early in King Aenys' reign, he had hatched from clutches laid by Vhagar and sired by Balerion. He was the only living dragon that could boast of such lofty origins. In his youth, he had proven a trial to tame, and had eventually turned against his kin, hunting and devouring them wherever they made their lairs.
The earth shook as the black dragon landed right by where he was, sending his hair aflutter. His body could as well be made of marble. His heart was pounding in his chest. The dragon raised his head, his eyes shining like green emeralds, studying him with something that passed close to curiosity.
So captivating was the dragon's sight that the prince forgot to be afraid. Viserys took a breath, then another, shut his eyes, and reached out with his palm to touch the black beast on his snout. Then, just as his hand was to reach the dragon, it opened its maw, and verdant flames spewed forth, turning him into ash.
Even as he burned, he could hear the dragon's roar with the flames. That was not the roar of the Cannibal. He'd lived on Dragonstone his whole life. He could tell which dragon was which by the sound of their roars. Caraxes' high shrills, Syrax's melodies and Vermax's growl. The roar he heard was close to a scream, not the thunderous bellows of the dragon whose flames consumed his flesh.
Silverwing.
The prince awoke in the darkness, gasping, beads of cold sweat trickling down his brow. It was all a dream, a bizarre one, but only a dream nonetheless. He was in captivity, on another side of the world, in a place he could not escape. The sentinel guarding him stood with his back ramrod straight. Through his visor, he could tell that his eyes were on him, watching, ready to intervene should Viserys be anything less than compliant and well-behaved.
The screaming roar resounded once more, this time much closer, seemingly shaking everything in the manse. That was most certainly Silverwing. It took an embarrassing long moment for the realisation to truly dawn on him.
Silverwing was here!
Had Rhaena claimed her?
He was up and out of his bed as the day darkened all around them. Without looking back at the guard, he flung open the door to his bedchamber and then the main chamber of his suite only a moment later. Instead of trying to stop him, the sentinel followed. Mayhaps he'd grown wise to the danger of a dragon right outside the manse. Silverwing was on the ground now. He could see her glittering silver scales shimmering in the daylight. Rhaena's silver-white hair shone as well. He was right, his sister had claimed the Good Queen's dragon.
Bambarro and his wife stood near the expansive door to his manse, fear of the dragon clear on their faces. Viserys did not care as he shoved past them, running into his sister's arms. Of course, they had known. They had known he was alive. They had known he had been taken. They had even known where he was, and Rhaena had come to save him. None dared to stop him as he bowled into his sister, sending them both tumbling to the ground.
"'Tis good to see you as well, valonqar," Baela's voice, filled with delight, resounded as she pat his back. Viserys had tears flowing down his face.
"You came for me!" he said, his face beet-red with embarrassment at confusing the twins, a mistake he'd never made before.
"That I did," he said, tears shining in her own eyes as she embraced him tighter.
"Your hair is long. I almost mistook you for Rhaena," Viserys admitted.
Baela giggled, before her face turned serious when Bambarro spoke.
"Welcome to Lys, princess," he began, shaking as the Silver Queen turned her steely gaze at them, fires dancing at the back of her throat, "The prince is safe and unharmed."
There was no reply Baela offered. Viserys watched with utter satisfaction as swirls of silver and yellow flames suddenly erupted from Silverwing's maw, turning his captors to ash. The brief dying screams of man and wife and guard were glorious, though too short-lived.
"I left my dragon's egg," Viserys exclaimed sheepishly, as the fires of the burning husks that were Bambarro and Serena raged.
"They let you keep it?" Baela asked.
"Aye," he replied as he went to take a step back into the manse to fetch it.
"Wait," Baela stopped him with a hand to his shoulder, "You are not going back in there."
From the windows, he could see some of the slaves that worked in the household peering curiously at them. They had doubtless seen the immolation of their masters.
"No harm will come to you!" Viserys called out in the Lyseni dialect of Valyrian that he had been tutored in during his captivity, "All I require is my dragon's egg, and you shall be left in peace!"
After long moments of waiting, his egg was brought by the same boy he'd seen with both his captors yesterday. His surprise turned to joy as he passed the now unrecognisable corpses of his masters.
Baela spoke, "How many of you are in there?"
"Two dozen," the boy replied, his demeanour turning shy once more.
"Tell them to assemble outside the manse," Baela commanded.
It took only a moment for the two dozen slaves to assemble at the courtyard, most of them shaking at the sight of the dragon, laid down and coiled into herself as she was. The rest gazed at the smouldering remains of their captors, a mix of surprise, satisfaction and even outright joy plain on their faces.
"Your masters are dead. You have two choices," Baela explained in High Valyrian, "You may come to Westeros, live as free men, for there is no slavery in our realm, or you may remain here, claim the riches of your former captors as yours. It is for you to choose. Those who chose the former, there is a ship with a dragon painted on its mast waiting at the docks on the Western side of the island. Your passage to King's Landing has been paid for. Find your way there, and you shall be free, forever."
Baela said nothing more, motioning for him to climb Silverwing's saddle, she right behind him. The dragon lept into the air, and with a final roar upon circling the city of Lys one last time, headed home.
In the flight, Viserys had the most peaceful sleep he had for a year. There were no nightmares of dragons and tragedies of his family dying, no hopeless dreams of making an escape, no visions of him being made a whore to satisfy the lusts of the Bazannes. He shut his eyes and was dead to the world a moment after, only waking when he felt Silverwing begin her descent from the sky.
Durran's Defiance stood amidst the gathering storm like a spiked fist thrusting into the night sky. The Silver Queen touched down on the courtyard inside the castle walls. The guardsmen on the battlements clutched their spears when Silverwing announced herself to the sleeping inhabitants of the castle with a roar.
"We shall stay here for the night and go on home in the morn," Baela announced as they dismounted the she-dragon.
There was a lady at the entrance of the castle to welcome the two of them. Surprise flashed across her face at the sight of him and the dragon behind them, "My prince, my princess. Welcome to Storm's End."
Baela's tone was conciliatory as she responded, "Thank you for your warm welcome, my lady. My apologies for arriving unannounced and at such a late hour. My brother and I only wish to spend the night."
The lady's smile was bright in the darkness, "Of course. The hospitality of Storm's End is yours for however long you need it, my prince, my princess." She gave them a curtsy.
"You have my gratitude."
One of Lady Baratheon's sleepy daughters escorted them to their chambers.
"My brother will sleep here," Baela commanded when the girl moved to guide him to another chamber.
When they were left alone, Viserys had to ask, "How come you ride Silverwing now? What happened to Moondancer?"
A yawn left Baela's mouth, "I need to sleep, valonqar. I promise, I'll answer all your questions in the morn." With that, his sister got into bed, and was immediately dead to the world.
Viserys had slept the entire way from Lys, and was thus left restless. He called to be shown to the rooftop of the castle. The displeasure on Lady Baratheon's daughter face was thinly hidden when she came to escort him. The climb was up the stairs was long, but nothing he could not manage. On the way, her escort identified herself as Cassandra Baratheon.
"My brother was killed here," he stated, fresh anger welling up inside him, when they got to the top, the stars clear in the night's sky above them.
"Aye, my prince," she replied, her voice barely more than a whisper.
"Were you there? Did you see him die? Did you see how he died?"
"No, my prince. My father forbade anyone from leaving the castle once he and Prince Aemond got on their dragons."
"Your father is Borros Baratheon, I take it. Where is he? He was not there to receive Baela and I."
There were tears in her eyes as she replied, "He died in battle, my prince."
He was Luke's kin, and he had left him in the hands of that One-Eyed monster to die. Death in battle was too kind a fate for him. Still, he felt a cruel satisfaction at that piece of news. But all he said was, "Forgive me. I have been away from home for some time. I have no knowledge of what happened in the war after I left."
"Are you the Lady of Storm's End now, seeing as you are the eldest child of your late father?"
"No, my prince. My brother was born shortly after my father died. Mother will serve as regent for him until he reaches his majority."
"A shame," Viserys unintentionally voiced his true thoughts out loud, his tone filled with resentment, "had your house chosen to be loyal, Storm's End would have been yours."
Lady Cassandra said nothing in reply, her face glued to the floor. Viserys moved to the parapet facing the courtyard, watching Silverwing burn the three cows left for her to eat, before proceeding to devour them in a manner almost too graceful for a dragon.
"Your father betrayed the queen for a royal betrothal. Tell me, who between you and your sisters was given the honour of being joined to the kinslayer?"
There were tears flowing down her face, "It was me, my prince."
Viserys let out a chuckle, "Sorry for your misfortune."
After a long while of silence, dismissed her.
The prince remained, this time near a parapet facing Shipbreaker Bay and the Narrow Sea beyond. Lightning flashed, momentarily showing the waters of the sea, clear as they could be. Thunder cracked right after it. There had been a storm on the day Lucerys died. Lightning flashed again, and Viserys swore that in the distance he could see a dragon's skull. Even now, with the war over, the Baratheons had not done them the courtesy of having Arrax's skull brought to Dragonstone, its rightful resting place.
The realisation suddenly occurred to him. If Baela now rode Silverwing, that meant that Moondancer was dead. A dragon as young as she could only be killed by a well-placed scorpion bolt or from a duel with another dragon. A foreboding feeling settled deep in his gut. He needed to know the fate of the war. Was mother queen? Was she even still alive? What of Father and Joff? Serena claimed Aegon was king now. That meant Joff was dead. And all the tragedies she so enjoyed taunting him with, were they true?
They couldn't be, he tried to convince himself. Those efforts proved futile against the tide of doubt and impending danger he felt rising within him. There was no use wallowing in despair not yet confirmed. All answers would be revealed in the morn, when Baela woke.
The rain began pouring with unrelenting force and the wind picked up. He watched Silverwing coil into herself, using her vast wings to cover her head and snout, her long tail circling the rest of her body. Once sufficiently drenched, he returned to the chambers assigned to him and Baela, stripped off his wet clothes and asked for a nightshirt.
He debated whether to join Baela on the bed or lay down on the comfortable lounge chair. He was nine years old now, almost a man-grown, it would be unseemly to sleep with a grown woman that was not his wife in bed. Viserys changed his mind on that quickly enough when the first nightmare of emerald fires consuming his very being begun haunting him. He joined Baela in the bed, happy that she sleepily obliged his attempts at cuddling.
It was high noon when the both of them woke, though the day was grey and drab. At least the rain had stopped falling. From outside their window, they could see Silverwing feeding in the same graceful manner she always did.
"How did you sleep?" his sister asked.
"Better than I have in a long time," Viserys replied.
A pregnant silence followed that statement. Viserys decided to break it, "Has the war come to an end?"
"Aye," Baela answered.
"Is mother queen?" he asked next.
The heartbreak in Baela's eyes was almost too much for him to bear, "We should eat first. Hard truths should not be faced on an empty stomach," Father used to say that.
They rang for a modest meal and ate it in silence, both of their gazes pointed outside the window, watching Silverwing as she slept, her colossal body rising and falling with each breath she took, her scales glittering in the daylight, dull it was.
Once they had fed, bathed and dressed, Viserys followed her sister to the rooftop of the castle.
"Better to talk here where we are sure to have no prying ears," she said leaning against a parapet facing Shipbreaker Bay, "What have you heard of the war? I'm sure some news must have got to Lys concerning the affairs of Westeros,"
The prince recalled all the terrible, terrible news Serena had only been so happy to use to taunt him, "That Father betrayed Mother. She commanded him to return to King's Landing with the head of one of Jace's dragonseeds, but he defied that order, exiling the girl and instead going to his death battling the kinslayer and Vhagar."
There was no shock or surprise dawning on Baela's face, so Viserys continued, the stone in his stomach dropping, "There were riots in King's Landing, and in it, the rioters managed to kill the five dragons living there. Joffrey tried to fly Syrax to burn the rioters, but Mother's dragon threw him from the saddle, and he fell to his death.
There were tears gathering in his eyes at Baela's unnerving stillness as he told what he dearly still hoped were falsehoods, "Once the city fell, Mother went to Dragonstone for safety, only to find the usurper waiting there with his dragon. Mother was fed to Sunfyre as Aegon watched."
Silence followed that last bit of falsehood. Viserys asked the dreaded question, "Is it true?"
Baela only nodded, and the prince let the tears flow then, "Father, Mother and Joff are dead?" he asked, sobbing.
He had been a fool. An utter fool. He'd thought Serena a wretch that only sought to drive him insane. She had been telling him the truth. Instead of reckoning with it, he had refused to believe, still putting his faith in the delusion that his family would come out of the war unscathed and whole. How could he have been so stupid? War never left anyone unscathed.
The embrace Baela gave him was suffocatingly tight as he sobbed. She rubbed soothing circles across his back, and they stayed there silently, the prince letting the grief of his family's destruction wash over him fully. It took long, long moments for Viserys to compose himself once more, and even then, he knew he looked to be at the verge of crying once again.
"Who is left?"
"Aegon, you, Rhaena and I."
"What of the usurpers?"
"Only Jaehaera. And the Dowager Queen, I suppose, but she is of no consequence."
He felt his heart hardening, "Where is Jaehaera? She would make a decent snack for Silverwing."
"No," Baela said, "Jaehaera is to marry Aegon. That is the price of peace that all the lords supporting the usurper agreed to."
The fury coursing through him was entirely justified, "That stupid child is the blood of the usurper! Her family was responsible for almost entirely destroying ours! Father, Mother, Jace, Luke and Joff are dead because of them! I was taken into captivity because of the war they started! She does not deserve to live!"
"Calm yourself valonqar," Baela snapped, "If we kill her, the dying embers of war will reignite. Would you want to risk more of your family in the useless endeavour of putting down rebellion?"
"But, they'll all be dead! We'll be the only ones with dragons," he explained, "You ride Silverwing already. Rhaena will for sure be able to master Vermithor. Even Aegon and I can claim other dragons. The greens will have none, and us four. They will have no chance! What do you care if a simple-minded child lives or dies? You didn't seem to do so when Father ordered the usurper's heir slain!"
Her bull of a sister shook her head, "This war has proven that dragons are not invincible. The people of King's Landing killed five, one of them being the behemoth that was Dreamfyre, when they learnt that the usurper's wife and child had been murdered. They cut Joffrey to pieces once he fell off Syrax's back during those same riots. Jace, the best dragonrider amongst all of us, was shot out of the sky trying to find you."
Viserys shrunk into himself at that last part.
"Forgive me, I did not mean that…" his sister apologised.
"You're right. Jace died because of me."
"You know I didn't mean that," she insisted, holding his shoulders and staring deep into his violet eyes.
When his tears continued, she brought him into an embrace once more, her hand patting his hair.
"Jace might be gone, but you are home, and that is all that matters. Father, Mother, Luke and Joff might have died terrible, terrible deaths, but you are still here. We are still here. All we can do is live for them."
It took another long while, filled with silence, for him to find a measure of relief.
"You are right, Baela," Viserys whispered, guilty, "War is a ghastly business. If there is a chance for peace, we should take it."
Baela examined his face once more, as he dried his tear-stained cheeks and wiped the snot from his nose. His head ached from all the crying. His throat felt raw from all the sobbing.
"Rhaena has been having dreams," she said, this time switching to the lost dialect of Valyrian that was spoken in the topless towers of the Old Freehold.
"Dreams, like Daenys' dreams?"
"Aye. It was how we knew where to find you," she explained, "In her dreams, this war marked the beginning of the end for our house and dragonkind as a whole. We have lost much, yes, but we have much more to lose if we do not act to save our future."
There was no questioning Rhaena's dreams. Daenys' dreams had saved her family, and thus, their bloodline, from certain doom, ensuring their future a century before Aegon thought to conquer the Seven Kingdoms. That they were in peril once more was not in doubt. The war had devastated them.
"What can I do?" Viserys asked, with a conviction he thought he was incapable of.
Baela sighed, "You were right about one thing. We do need to secure the remaining dragons to ourselves and ensure the usurpers have none of their own."
"It was why you claimed Silverwing after Moondancer died," Viserys stated. With the bond the two of them shared, he knew she could not have replaced the other half of her soul easily, unless the threat was grave.
"I needed her to come rescue you," she replied, with a smile on her face.
"Thank you, truly," he said, throwing himself onto her once more.
"Only four dragons survived the war. Rhaena is bonded to Morning, a dragon she hatched from one of the three eggs your mother entrusted in her care when she went to the Vale. As you can see, I ride Silverwing. One of Jace's dragonseeds disappeared with the Sheepstealer, though Rhaena tells me she hides in the Mountains of the Moon. That leaves the Cannibal."
The vision came back once more. Emerald fires devouring him, bright green yes peering into his very soul. Courage replaced the fear he'd felt as he dreamed.
"You wish me to claim him?"
She nodded, "Nettles showed us that wild dragons can be ridden too. She fed the Sheepstealer every morning until he got used to her. Rhaena came up with her hair-brained scheme based on that. She believes that if we do the same with the Cannibal, he will grow to accept you. With so many dragon carcasses, and Silverwing to ensure your safety, I think her plan may work. Of course, whether we even do all this is up to you. You need not needlessly put yourself in danger."
The danger would not be needless, Viserys decided, determined, "When do we start?"
Baela smiled.
The prince let a measure of excitement seep through him. Finally, he was going to be a dragonlord.
Author's Note:
If you like what you've read so far, you can read three more chapters of it by searching up 'neyra29 linktree'.
Do you think I have made Viserys act older than his age? Fire and Blood and the wiki do say that he was more mature than his brothers, even as he was the youngest. So, I leaned into that a bit, though he's still a kid at the end of the day, and some scenes do show that.
What do you think of the travel times. Baela set off from Oldtown at night, and flew through the night to land in Lys at noon. So, about 12 to 15 hours for the flight. From, there, they flew upto Storm's End, and they arrived in the middle of the night once more. I hope it's reasonable and not too fast.
Also, please do tell me what you think of the plan to claim the Cannibal that I teased in the Rhaena chapter and the Baela travelogue chapter. I know there's fics where the claiming of Cannibal happens in such an egregious way that it's unbelievable. Hopefully when I write the chapter for claiming the dragon, I shall make it truly earned.
Apart from these, do tell me your thoughts on the chapter as a whole. Join the Discord server whose link you can find by searching up 'neyra29 linktree'.