"Those do not belong to you."

Viserys was growing weary of hearing that voice. He had heard it so many times now as a whisper through his mind, 'that does not belong to you, you do not belong here'.

"To whom do they belong," he asked without turning. He no longer cared about what would happen in the end. Softly and so very affectionately he stroked the dragon eggs. They held colours almost impossible to describe, fearsome despite their dormancy. Each time he was near them he could almost feel Rhaegar beside him, like he once had been in the crypts with the dragon bones. Where once they had stood side by side and faced the extinction of dragon blood that was soon to turn their way. Viserys had asked him once if they were to meet the same fate. Rhaegar replied that 'fire cannot kill a dragon but madness can find a Targaereyn'.

"They were a gift to the Khaleesi."

"And is not what is hers also mine?"

Jorah simply stood in silence, his hand resting on the blade at his hip. Viserys knew Mormont's skill. He could be sliced to ribbons with one foul cut. He did not intend to die today and so he backed away from the eggs, his head bowed in supplication.

"Your sister has bought you an army at the cost of her dignity. Surely she ought to have something you cannot touch."

Viserys recoiled.

"Dignity? What about my dignity? She only has to spread her legs for one Dothraki, the King of the Dothraki no less! Where would we be if she had not? Continuing to run and hide, begging for every morsel!"

Jorah looked at him with a hardened expression. One that comes with years of never saying what you truly wish to say.

"The eggs remain with her."

"Fine! She can keep her damned eggs! She can have her savage husband and her barbarian servants. It's all I ever wanted for her, in a way," he laughed. "All I did so that she would have a home, people who adored her, who would die for her! Now she has a husband and slaves to comb her hair, what more could she need of me, Jorah? Why should she care," he shook his head in mock disbelief.

"You shame yourself, Viserys."

"I have no shame," he replied simply. "All of my pride is gone. My family are dead. Don't you see? She was all I had and she hates me. And I am the one who made it so! Do you think I could have handed her over to Khal Drogo if there had been love in her eyes for me? She is my sister, my lifeblood. She would have been my wife," he said with a sadness Ser Jorah could not have imagined him to possess.

"Do not speak of dignity to me. I know what I sent her to. We would not be alive if I had not accepted my duty and done the same myself."

Jorah looked at him for a long moment before asking.

"You sold yourself?"

"Of course I did," he snapped angrily, turning away from him. "Food does not come free and I wanted to keep both hands. She was a child! What else could I do? We could not eat rats forever."

"She knows?"

"No. And she will never know," he threatened though he was in no position to expect promises. "Let me pass. I will leave tonight."

"I do not advise such a thing."

"Your job is to advise my sister. I am beyond the help of your measly words. Now let me pass."

"She needs you here, Viserys."

"No," he replied, his eyes shining. "She is a Khaleesi. What use has a Khaleesi for a beggar lest a Beggar King."

With that, he stepped around Ser Jorah and left. He may have just imagined it but Jorah was almost sure one of the eggs had moved.