King Viserys Targaryen, Second of His Name
"Congratulations, lekia (brother), of all the mistakes one could possibly make, you have not missed a single one."
Aegon's sarcasm cut sharper than a Valyrian blade and struck truer than a weirwood arrow. Viserys grimaced in annoyance and rubbed the bridge of his nose wearily; he expected it would be difficult, but problems began even where he hoped to avoid them. The youngest of his brothers flew in as soon as he received the letter, and scarce had the doors of the royal chambers closed behind them, cutting them off from court gossips, when Aegon attacked him with reproaches.
"And wherein did I err?" the King cast out irritably. "In that after several years of grief I decided to be happy beside the woman I love?"
"Viserys, you understand perfectly well yourself that it is not about the woman, but about who her father is."
"Otto Hightower has served our House faithfully for many years. He is a reliable advisor whom I can call my friend."
"Lord Lyman Beesbury has served our House almost longer than Lord Otto, but you paid no attention to his daughters and nieces. They, by the by, are also in Rhaenyra's retinue, if you decided to go through the skirts of your daughter's ladies-in-waiting."
"How can you?!" Viserys was indignant. "How can I act so with a noble maiden?! Deprive her... of maidenhood and keep her at court like... like..."
"Like a favorite," finished his brother calmly. "That would be the best outcome. You would love your Alicent, and Otto would still swell with pride. After all, his daughter is the King's mistress!"
"What you say is dishonorable, vile, and base. I shall be called a libertine, and Lady Alicent... a whore. I cannot insult her so."
"Therefore you decided to insult the Velaryons, who were already preparing to betroth Lady Laena to you, your own daughter, whose friend you are about to marry, and Daemon, your brother and heir, because your father-in-law will be his enemy. But the honor of the Hightower maiden will not be put at risk," Aegon snorted and ostentatiously sat by the window overlooking Blackwater Bay.
Despite the fact that it was summer outside, beyond the window it was autumnally overcast: southern winds brought bad weather from the Stormlands, and Mellos promised that rains would start any day. The King looked silently at his younger brother, waiting for what else he would say, but the Prince, crossing his legs, methodically straightened the hem of his black gown.
"What did you write to Daemon?" asked Aegon after a prolonged silence.
"The truth," answered Viserys honestly. "That I intend to marry."
"And did you specify to whom?"
"Yes."
"Well, you are a fool. If he does not fly in today, expect news of a burnt Oldtown."
"Come now, he is not so bloodthirsty," said Viserys as carelessly as possible; however, his confidence was feigned. "Neither the Conqueror nor the Usurper burned Oldtown."
"The greater the temptation for Daemon to become the first."
"So... will you speak with him?"
"We shall speak together if you give me the opportunity to think."
With these words, Aegon turned away to the window and fell silent. His face became detached, and his fingers of their own accord fingered the edge of the gown, gathering and smoothing folds. Viserys watched him for some time, expecting his brother to voice some sensible thought or simply begin to reason aloud, but the other seemed to have swallowed his tongue. The King walked about the room, aimlessly moved a stack of written papers from place to place, straightened a book standing unevenly on the shelf, twisted a recently carved dragon figurine in his hands (the wings came out too flat, the metacarpal bones should have been marked more clearly), to ultimately sit at the table himself. Sitting simply so was foolish, but there was no mood to read reports.
After some time, Aegon finally stirred and warned:
"Caraxes is here."
A moment later the panes trembled from a furious roar, and then a red lightning flashed past the windows.
"What does he allow himself?!" Viserys was indignant.
"And did you expect him to come and politely knock at the door?" chuckled his brother joylessly. "In vain."
"Caraxes is already too big to fit in the inner yard!"
"But there is enough space under the hill."
"Oh, Gods..." groaned the King, sinking into the chair again. Time flowed too slowly and at the same time galloped. It began to seem to him that he heard Daemon's steps thundering on granite slabs, but that was only his own heartbeat. Soon the door opened and Ser Harrold Westerling announced:
"Prince Daemon, Your Grace."
Viserys felt as if on a tourney field: here he rides out to the lists on a horse with a lance at the ready, and from the other end of the barrier an opponent awaits him, in exactly the same black armor, on exactly the same raven stallion, with the same dragon on the shield. The King sighed and, rising, said:
"Ask him in."
Contrary to his expectations, Daemon did not rampage, did not start tearing and throwing immediately, did not spew accusations and hurl furniture along with insults. His brother entered calmly, almost imposingly, as if nothing had happened, only his hand firmly gripped the hilt of Dark Sister, and his lips were pressed so tightly together that they were almost invisible—this alone betrayed his tension, and that the conversation would be far from simple.
"Aegon," nodded Daemon to the younger brother.
"Lekia (Brother)," waved the other, barely turning.
"Greetings, Daemon," Viserys greeted the Prince calmly, not allowing himself to fall for the undoubtedly conscious provocation by neglect. "I am glad you found time to talk."
"I obey the King," the Prince of Dragonstone offered a stiff bow.
"Come now, Daemon, we gathered here as a family."
"Did we? I do not see our new kin. Where is our father-in-law Hand? Where is our future Queen and her entire numerous clan?"
"My brother, do not exaggerate the scale..."
"Truly, one should not exaggerate," put in Aegon, attentively examining the toe of his boot sticking out from under the hem of the gown. "For every Targaryen there are only three Hightowers. If one thinks on it, that is not so many. Though I would not trust myself. Calculations are Uncle Vaegon's department."
Damn it, on whose side is he anyway?! Viserys invited him not to be sarcastic—Daemon is enough for him. The latter twitched his cheek and, clearly restraining emotions, asked:
"What did you want to talk about, Viserys? You decided everything."
"I wanted to talk with you and discuss how we shall live now."
"You—happily ever after with your young wife, and Aegon and I—in some mountain backwater. Where is your nesting ground there, valonqar (little brother)?"
Gods, how hard it is with them! Seemingly adult men, but touchy as Rhaenyra...
"Stop clowning, Daemon," Viserys raised his voice.
"Ah, I should stop?!" the other flew into a rage. "As you please! What the Hell are you doing, Viserys?!"
"And what did I do?"
"Oh, a mere trifle! Just going to sell our grandfather's throne to red-haired merchants! Scarce bad he let one into the Red Keep when he brought his whole brood! Otto crawled into the Council, and twists you as he wants! He set his son on me, he set his daughter on Grandfather, so she would wipe his drool while he died..."
Viserys could not listen to the stream of this shameless lie and incoherent accusations, truth turned inside out, and therefore barked:
"Because that is how faithful vassals act!"
"How, let me ask?!" Daemon, on the contrary, lowered his tone and added honey and oil to it. "Offer their daughters to Kings? Viserys, Otto is not your friend and not your faithful vassal! He thinks not even of his House and not even of his family—he thinks only of how to take even more power from you! Do you not see this? He cares not for children, he gives a shit about you yourself, as long as you continue to sit in your study, carving your little houses and not interfering with his rule!"
"Enough, I do not wish to hear this!"
"Then why did you summon us?" inquired Aegon from his chair.
In the heat of the argument—though this was no longer an argument, but a real quarrel—the King had managed to forget about his younger brother. His Master of Dragons finally deigned to look at them, and Viserys saw Uncle Vaegon before him for a couple of moments, who had decided to grow his hair: the same cold and impassive gaze, the same half-contemptuous smirk, the same weariness from problems on his face, which he considered immensely foolish.
"Let us separate sheep shit from dragon shit," he continued. "Daemon, our brother wants to take not Lord Otto as wife, but his daughter."
"It is the same thing," spat Daemon.
"I love her!" objected Viserys. "And I shall marry her!"
"And Lord Otto loves your arse on the Iron Throne!"
"If you have decided everything, lekia, then why do you need us here?" asked Aegon again.
The question sobered the King, who was ready to rush to defend his happiness again.
"I invited you to explain the reasons for my action..."
"They are obvious: because Otto wanted it so," put in Daemon venomously.
"Leave Otto alone, lekia," Aegon pulled him up, and Viserys nodded to him gratefully.
"The only reason for my decision is that I am tired of being alone, tired of grieving. You, Daemon, did not need much time to marry after the divorce..."
"I asked you for a divorce for years, but you agreed to it only when it became profitable for you!"
No, better not to answer this at all. Viserys decided that he would lay out everything he wanted, and then come what may. At least he will remain honest before his brothers and the gods, and that is the main thing. Father will judge who is right.
"...but I am made differently. I mourned Aemma and am ready to live on. I want happiness and love. Lady Alicent can give me both. Do you truly not wish me happiness?"
"I always wish you well, lekia," answered Daemon, and for the first time in the whole conversation there was neither anger nor venom in his voice—only sincerity. "All I wanted was for you and Aegon to be happy, everything I did was directed at protecting you."
"From whom, let me ask?"
"From yourselves. The Dreamer King and the Half-Maester Prince—you may not notice scoundrels and toadies around you, having buried your ink-stained noses in dusty scrolls and treatises. You need someone who will do the dirty work for you. Get rid of your enemies. Protect you."
It turns out that conducting endless squabbles in the Council and carousing on the Street of Silk is now considered protection of brothers, thought Viserys with indignation, but forced himself to remain silent. In the end, was it not Daemon who gathered an army for him in the year 101? Was it not he who strove to burn Braavos for the good of the Seven Kingdoms? Let him speak his fill, and then...
"I have been trying to open your eyes for six years, Viserys," continued Daemon. "For six years I have been trying to show you that with every month you have less power than you inherited from Grandfather. And all this thanks to this turncoat creature you call your Hand!"
"What business is he of yours?!"
"Because you have ruled for six years and in all this time have never asked me to be Hand! Neither me, nor even Aegon!"
"Well, I did not particularly want to..." he muttered.
"You made me heir, but did not seat me at your right hand," continued Daemon. "And yet Grandfather made Hand everyone whom he named Prince of Dragonstone! Even you. And now you want to deprive me of this too? Why then did you name me your heir if you decided to take it away so simply?"
"There is no talk of this..." Viserys tried to interrupt his brother, but this only angered him.
"And what else can be talked of if you take a seventeen-year-old wench as wife?! Her mother began to give birth at this age and spawned a whole brood! What else to expect from this Andal sheep but lambs with dragon wings?! Fear, the Bleating Dread is coming! Is this what you want to replace me with?"
"I do not..."
"Come on, say that you do not want to replace me! Come on, look me in the eye and say it!"
Daemon suddenly found himself nose to nose with Viserys. The King saw red vessels in the whites of his eyes, saw veins bulge on his tense neck, heard his teeth grinding.
"I thought you would not have the courage to disinherit me," he spoke in an icy tone and suddenly returned to dry officialdom. "To give me the title of Prince of Dragonstone only to take it away immediately is cruel, Your Grace. There is no justice in this."
Having said this, he turned and strode toward the exit with wide steps. He did not reach the door: it opened, and Rhaenyra inappropriately appeared on the threshold.
"I saw Caraxes!.." she began, but nearly collided with her uncle in the doorway. He took a step aside in surprise, letting her pass. "Uncle? Oh, so you are all here? Has something happened?"
Viserys opened his mouth to lie: "Nothing," or "Not now," but Daemon forestalled him.
"Nothing special," he answered with a crooked grin. "Just your father is marrying again. You can start calling your best friend 'mommy'."
Pushing his niece aside with his shoulder, he burst out of the study, and the rapid patter of his steps flew down the corridor. Rhaenyra stared uncomprehendingly before her, then looked after Daemon, but he had already managed to disappear.
"What?" asked Rhaenyra again. "Is this... Is this true? Papa, is this true?!"
Curse it, how untimely, he did not want her to find out about this like this! She does not deserve this, it should have been led up to softer... Should have asked Aegon in the end, she would definitely have listened to him.
"True, riña (child)," he blurted.
"Rhaenyra, my girl, listen, I want you to try to understand me," Gods, just find the words! "I loved your mother very much, but... She died, and we must continue to live. I managed to love again... I know not when this happened to me. You always walked together, I saw her as often as you. She was always kind, courteous, inquired about me. Probably, I first noticed that I missed her when you left for the Eyrie. I thought it was simply because she has been at court a long time, you know, it is as if something obvious disappeared, but which one is used to not noticing. Then I compared it to the loss of a wall or one of the castle towers..."
"Oh, Gods, Viserys," snorted Aegon. "You read Gaelar, is that how love is confessed?"
"Be silent! Ahem... And when you returned from the Vale, I, to confess, was glad of her more than you... Well, not more, but also, but differently... In short... I love her. And she will be my wife."
Silence hung in the study, not ringing, as minstrels, bards, and authors of knightly romances assure, but oppressive, thick, and heavy. Viserys looked hopefully at his daughter, who froze on the threshold. In the end, they are so friendly with Lady Alicent, nothing will change for them, no, on the contrary, they will only become closer. Is this not the best choice of a stepmother of all possible? Yes, perhaps it is not simple, especially at her age, but do not all children behave capriciously in these years? But Rhaenyra only stood clasping her hands on her stomach and nervously wringing her fingers, nothing could be read on her face, but tears already stood in her dark violet eyes.
"You decided to steal a friend from me?" spoke the daughter.
"It is not so!"
"And how then?! This... This bitch has already managed to climb into your bed? And all this behind my back?!"
"You have been friends so long, and constantly together, I thought that you and Lady Alicent..."
"Do not dare!" a girlish scream hit the ears. "Do not dare speak of her! Do not dare mention her name! Traitor, I hate you! You are all traitors!"
And, picking up her skirts, she too ran out of the study, bursting into sobs already outside the door.
"And for what Hell's sake did you tell her?" the King attacked his brother.
"And for what Hell's sake did you not tell her?" the other inquired imperturbably, rising to his feet; even clubfooted, Aegon was a couple of inches taller than Viserys, and now green eyes calmly looked down at him. "Dried bandages are best torn off at once."
"Why did you not intervene?!"
"And would you have listened to me? In my opinion, you were too busy pouring shit on each other and Lord Otto, simultaneously trying not to stain your white robes," the Prince ran his palm over his face with force and spoke angrily. "Curse it, what am I to say to those who do not know how to listen to themselves and do not want to listen to others?! What can be said to a girl whose friend becomes her stepmother?"
Viserys remained silent. This whole disgusting scene evoked nothing in him but anger and vexation. It remained only to rejoice that Lady Alicent did not see it—and yet he wanted to invite her and Otto at first so that everything could be discussed together! No, definitely good that she did not see this, she is too noble and pure for this dragon malice and greed that forces Daemon to speak such words. God forbid, she would have refused him so as not to quarrel him with his family...
Somewhere below Caraxes roared, and a few moments later his long narrow body flashed in the window opening. Well, perhaps Daemon needs to be given time to cool down; perhaps he will become more compliant and will be able to accept changes in their family. Regarding Rhaenyra, he did not even doubt: she is a smart girl, kind, well, and that she is quick-tempered—that is dragon blood boiling in her. Rhaenyra will understand him. Must understand.
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