c46: Traitor
Viserys gently grasped Daenerys's tiny hand, and in that instant, an overwhelming sense of kinship surged through him.
Blood was thicker than water.
The baby girl's wrinkled little face broke into a bright, innocent smile, her soft giggles filling the quiet chamber.
Though she could not yet understand who the boy before her was, something deeper something carried in the blood of Old Valyrianseemed to bind them together. It was the same blood that had once flowed through the veins of Aegon the Conqueror and his sisters when they forged the Seven Kingdoms.
And now,
it flowed in them.
Viserys stood beside the crib, gently teasing his sister for a few moments, brushing his finger lightly against her tiny hand. But soon, a yawn escaped him.
The long journey, the storm, the battle, and the grief of losing his mother—all of it pressed heavily upon him.
His faint smile faded as he straightened.
Standing nearby, somewhat awkward and unsure of herself, was the young wet nurse.
Freckles dotted her face, and her full figure especially her chest made it clear she had ample milk to provide. She had been brought here from among the smallfolk of Dragonstone, a woman who had only recently given birth herself.
Now, she stood in the presence of nobles and knights, utterly out of place.
Behind the boy, the acting lord and armored men stood in disciplined silence, their deference to Viserys making the situation even more intimidating.
Viserys's gaze shifted to the woman.
His pale violet eyes studied her carefully, moving from head to toe.
There was something in that gaze something far too steady, too heavy for a child—that caused those who met it to feel an unspoken pressure.
The wet nurse swallowed nervously.
She had never imagined that one day she would feel intimidated… by a boy no older than eight.
The room fell into silence.
Then the boy's clear voice rang out, still soft with youth but already carrying authority.
"A reward."
Viserys reached into his robes, intending to retrieve a few silver stags the common coin of the realm, often used even after the fall of Aerys II Targaryen to reward the woman.
After all, she was feeding his sister with her own milk, sharing what little she had.
That deserved recognition.
But then his expression froze, His hand moved from one pocket to the other.
Then again.
And again.
Nothing.
He distinctly remembered having a few coins—silver stags he had idly played with before falling asleep in the cabin aboard the Black Death the previous night.
Had they fallen beneath the bed?
Lost somewhere in the chaos of the voyage?
Viserys felt a flicker of frustration.
Such carelessness.
He silently resolved to search for them later.
But now he had a far more pressing problem, The room had grown awkward.
Everyone had heard his command.
Everyone was watching.
With Viserys's declaration, several people in the room stiffened slightly. None had expected such generosity from the young king especially given their current circumstances.
Yet now, as he continued to fumble uselessly through empty pockets, their expressions subtly changed.
"This…"
Glances were exchanged.
The silence became heavier.
And yet,
Viserys's face remained calm.
Unnaturally calm.
Even as his hands continued their meaningless search, his mind raced, searching for a way out of the embarrassment.
"Your Majesty."
A voice spoke from behind him.
"Your purse seems to be with me."
It was Sir William.
The knight had been watching closely and, knowing the boy well, quickly understood the situation.
Without hesitation, he reached into his own pouch and produced a coin not silver, but gold.
A golden dragon.
The coin gleamed in the candlelight, stamped with the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen a symbol that once commanded the loyalty of all Westeros.
Viserys let out a quiet breath of relief.
He cast Sir William a brief look of gratitude.
Then, composing himself, he coughed lightly, running his fingers over the engraved surface of the coin. For a fleeting moment, reluctance flickered in his eyes this was no small sum.
But he suppressed it.
With a steady hand,
he presented the golden dragon to the nurse.
The woman's eyes widened in shock.
She was overwhelmed.
A single gold coin was worth more than she might earn in years. It was enough to change her life entirely enough, perhaps, to send her to a place like King's Landing, where even commoners could find work in establishments such as those run by Chataya.
After rewarding her,
Viserys turned slowly.
His gaze swept over the people behind him the guards, the steward, the silent watchers in the dim chamber.
Then,
without warning,
he spoke.
"Sir William."
His voice was calm, but there was something sharper beneath it now.
"After what happened before… I am concerned about Daenerys's safety."
The words hung in the air.
Unfinished.
Heavy.
As if they carried a deeper meaningone that not everyone in the room would welcome.
Viserys spoke, referring to the incident several months earlier when hired blades from across the Narrow Sea, likely sent by agents loyal to Robert Baratheon, had secretly infiltrated Dragonstone in an attempt to assassinate him.
"Why don't you remain here tonight?"
Daenerys and her nurse had been moved into what was once Queen Rhaella's chamber. The room, though still heavy with the memory of its former occupant, was one of the safest in the castle. There was ample space more than enough to accommodate Sir William as well while Viserys himself would return to his own smaller bedchamber.
He wanted his instructor close.
Close enough to protect his sister.
Sir William, the middle-aged knight with slightly curled hair and a face lined by years of service, paused when he heard the boy's request. There was a flicker of surprise in his eyes.
Then after only a brief hesitation, he inclined his head.
"Very well."
He did not question it aloud.
But something about the timing… the tone…
It suggested that Viserys's concern went beyond mere caution.
…
Night fell.
After spending a short while with his sister, Viserys finally returned to his chamber.
The castle of Dragonstone grew quiet.
The halls, carved from black volcanic stone and shaped like dragons and twisted beasts in the old Valyrian style, seemed to sink into slumber. Torches dimmed. Footsteps faded.
All seemed still.
But far below in the direction of the harbor movement stirred.
The old sergeant his weathered face hardened by years of war fastened his armor piece by piece. The faint metallic sounds were swallowed by the night.
He reached out and took a longsword from a nearby soldier, securing it at his waist.
Behind him stood a group of chosen men.
Veterans.
Strong, disciplined soldiers drawn from the fleet that had just returned victorious from the battle near Shipbreaker Bay, off the coast of Storm's End.
But now their purpose had changed.
They moved without horses.
On foot.
Silently.
Torches were extinguished one by one, plunging them into darkness.
Several dozen men followed the old sergeant, advancing like shadows across the rocky path toward the castle.
No voices.
No hesitation.
Only intent.
Meanwhile within the castle walls, Viserys lay in his chamber.
Still dressed in his leather armor, too exhausted to change, he simply pulled the covers over himself. With a soft breath, he extinguished the candle beside his bed.
Darkness swallowed the room.
And soon,
he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Time passed.
How much he did not know.
Then in the distance, bells began to toll.
Faint.
Hollow.
The sound carried through the cold morning air.
Dawn approached.
A pale light crept over the horizon, that fragile hour when night had not yet fully retreated, and day had not yet taken hold.
It was the most dangerous time when men were at their weakest.
A lone guard stationed along the corridor yawned quietly, his vigilance dulled by exhaustion after a long night's watch.
He never saw it coming.
A shadow broke from the darkness.
A hand clamped over his mouth.
The flash of steel followed swift and merciless.
Thud.
The dagger slid into his throat as though meeting no resistance at all.
"Ugh…"
His eyes widened in shock.
He stared in disbelief at the man before him a man he recognized.
A comrade.
A fellow soldier of Dragonstone.
Betrayal.
The realization came too late.
Darkness closed in, and his body collapsed soundlessly to the ground.
Standing over him,
the acting lord of Dragonstone the man known as Ser Shad, the bastard of Dorne slowly wiped the blood from his face.
His expression twisted with fury and resolve.
Behind him, several guards men sworn to House Targaryen now stood as traitors, their allegiance already turned.
The victory at sea had changed everything.
After the destruction of the Baratheon fleet near Shipbreaker Bay, they had realized one thing with terrifying clarity, if they delayed any longer,
they would be exposed.
Their fear had grown.
Their urgency had sharpened.
And now on the edge of dawn they chose to act.
There would be no turning back.
The time for hesitation had passed.
"Forward,"
Ser Shad hissed, his voice low but filled with deadly intent.
Then louder "Charge with me!"
His eyes burned with madness.
"Slay the last dragon!"
"Kill the Targaryen boy!"
.....
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