The Painted Table chamber of Dragonstone was bare, save for the massive war table carved from a single slab of wood, etched with a rough depiction of Westeros.
Viserys slumped in his chair behind the table, his frailty making him lean forward just to grasp its edge. Across from him, Helaena and Baelon stood side by side, dodging his gaze.
Seeing this, he could only be grateful he was not alone: Alicent flanked his right, while Rhaenyra leaned against the wall to his left, her eyes glinting with curiosity.
Viserys's gaze fell on Baelon first. The boy looked as if he had clawed his way out of a grave: hair dulled of its silver shine, clothes streaked with dirt, eyes bloodshot.
His frustration only mounted seeing this.
"Baelon, have you gone mad?" He growled. "Claiming a dragon before your tenth nameday? And by sneaking out? The dragonkeepers already informed me of the disruption last night. I hardly believed it, but—"
"Didn't Sister Rhaenyra claim Syrax by her seventh?" Baelon muttered carelessly.
Viserys felt Baelon's words might have struck harder, had the boy dared to look him in the eye
"As you said, you damned fool! Syrax! Not something the size of Vermithor!" Viserys's hands clenched the edge of the table, knuckles whitening. "The dragonkeepers were fortunate to inform me of Vermithor's den. They said the ground was scorched, loose stone melted into the soil."
As his words fell, Helaena's hand found Baelon's, and she squeezed gently, her worried gaze meeting her brothers.
Viserys's brow lifted as he noticed the gesture, instantly reminded of the other troublemaker before him.
"Pray tell, sweet Helaena, what possessed you to join your brother on such a farce?" he asked. "I can understand Baelon's impulses, but you… You are not so reckless."
"I-it wasn't his fault!" Helaena stammered, eyes glued to the floor.
Viserys frowned, slightly baffled. Her avoidance should have hinted at guilt, yet he could not shake the feeling that something was off.
"Last night, I had a troubled dream. A nightmare…" Helaena's voice trembled. "Brother thought I would feel better if he found a way to comfort me."
"So he… tried to claim a dragon?" Viserys blinked. "But how did he know you had a bad dream?"
Helaena froze, stepping subtly behind Baelon, shrinking under the gaze of both parents.
"You need not hide. I've asked the maids," Viserys said, voice softer than before, tinged with exasperation. "Your bed seemed remarkably well-kept, considering you left in such haste this morning."
A hush fell over the chamber as everyone realised what he was hinting at.
"Helaena!" Alicent's voice cut through the silence. She rose, exasperation evident. "How many times have I told you to stop bothering your brother? You are no longer a child. You cannot share a room!"
"And you, Baelon!" Alicent's finger jabbed toward her son. "What possessed you to agree to your sister's request?"
Viserys narrowed his eyes at Helaena, who lowered her gaze at her mother's words, though her hand still lingered against Baelon's.
"Enough, Alicent," Viserys said, leaning back, exhaustion in his posture. "I'll handle this." He straightened slightly, voice stern. "You are no longer children. You ought not to share the same room."
"We've barely met our ninth nameday," Baelon said, stepping forward, chin raised. "I feel rather comfortable being labelled a child."
"Damn your comfort, Baelon!" Viserys snapped. "When your brother was your age, he was already…" He paused, searching for a pleasant way to describe Aegon, then faltered.
Rhaenyra snickered, quickly hiding her face with her hands. "Sorry, Your Grace," she said, trying to suppress a grin. "I happened upon a pleasant memory."
Viserys's eyes flicked toward her, helpless. If she was to lie, at least spare the effort to come up with a good excuse.
Pleasant memory? Who was she kidding?
He turned to glance at Alicent, whose gaze bore into Rhaenyra. The queen's lips pressed into a tight line, eyes flashing with annoyance, though after a few breaths, she calmed, allowing for Viserys to relax.
At least the scene did not descend into chaos. For now.
Turning his attention back to his children, he continued his admonition.
"But you must sleep separately, children," Viserys said. "What am I to do in the future regarding your marriages? We cannot allow you to jeopardise your futures."
Helaena's lips trembled, and her violet eyes welled with tears as she looked up at him for the first time. "But… I had a nightmare," she whispered. "It was all my fault. If I am made to sleep by myself, I… I may not be able to sleep at all."
Viserys's expression softened, his hand resting on the arm of his chair. "Then you may sleep with your mother," he said gently.
Helaena shook her head, her tears falling freely. "I don't want to bother her."
Alicent, exasperated, rolled her eyes but spoke softly. "It is quite all right, Helaena. I am your mother. You may trouble me all you wish, and I shall bear it gladly."
Viserys cut through their exchange, reassured. "Regardless. I may turn a blind eye for now, but I must ask you both to sort yourselves out. Conduct yourselves properly, befitting your birth."
He leaned forward, his hands gripping the edge of the table. "For the next days, you shall remain within the castle. You are not to leave its walls."
Alicent bristled. "But why must they be punished? They did nothing wrong. Baelon, especially, he carried himself well, claiming Vermithor, staying true to his lineage."
Viserys's frown deepened as he noticed her gaze drift over to Rhaenyra beside him.
"Enough!" He said. "They did nothing wrong? My son could have thrown away his life. Had even a single thing gone amiss, we would not be here. We would be at King's Landing, holding a funeral for the boy!"
Alicent parted her lips as if to argue further, but ultimately fell silent.
Her eyes softened as they drifted to her children. Then she acquiesced, letting out a deep sigh and closing her eyes for a moment.
Viserys exhaled heavily, then gestured toward Alicent. "Take them. See them to their chambers. Attend to them. I shall speak with Rhaenyra."
Alicent nodded, picking herself up, gathering the children with a swift grace as she left the chamber.
As they left, Rhaenyra's eyes followed curiously while Viserys remained seated, staring at the open windows where the morning light fractured over the undulating blue waves surrounding Dragonstone.
Once alone, Rhaenyra tapped her finger idly against the arm of her chair. "I've heard something of interest recently, Your Grace," she said.
"Oh?" Viserys replied, feigning surprise.
"The patrols of the guards," Rhaenyra continued, "had been changed. Certain entrances, one in particular that leads near a bedroom… were left less closely watched."
Viserys said nothing, merely letting his gaze linger on the rolling sea.
"Even some dragonkeepers were absent from their duties," Rhaenyra pressed, leaning forward. "Could you explain why you interfered with all of this?"
"They are poor children, Rhaenyra," he said softly. "While others may tangle themselves with my crown, these two… they wish for nothing more than to live freely. I can do little to shield them from the world that would ensnare them, yet those dragons…"
"…were the least I could offer." Viserys leaned forward, resting his chin on the balls of his fist as he stared at the rough sketch of Westeros before him. "After all, unlike you, they have no desire to remain here, no hunger for power. I only wish them the strength to live, and the courage to endure what I cannot spare them from."
Rhaenyra's lips pursed. "So you allowed him to claim Vermithor?"
"By the Seven, no," he shook his head. "I had intended they try either Sheepstealer or Grey Ghost. That is where I weakened the presence of the dragonkeepers. But…" His eyes softened, pride flashing briefly. "…my younger son was more ambitious than expected."
Rhaenyra shook her head, chuckling softly. "Who would have guessed?"
Viserys inclined his head slightly. Despite the oddness of seeing his grandson claim the dragon of his grandsire, he could not suppress the swell of pride.
Alas, he would not, and could not show it lest they try more ridiculous stunts in the future.
Yet even as the fleeting warmth of pride reached him, the weight of the future pressed on him harder.
The storm to come, the machinations of both family and court, have made him wary of any drastic action. He feared both the mistakes of the past and the fragility of the present.
Both as a father and as king, he had failed in many ways, becoming indecisive, tentative, and often lost to his own fears.
Still, he held onto hope. Hope that this small gift he had granted his children might serve them in the years to come, shaping them into those who could survive this dangerous, fractured world.
For it was all he could give them as a king. And, most importantly, a father.