Warning: Because of the age difference, it is very squick-y. Dark fic. Incest, graphic sex, non-con (including questionable consent, hints at non-con during sleep, minor), underage, voyeurism.

Pairing: Dany/Viserys

A/N: Multiverse and slightly A/U (due to including some head canon). Mostly bookverse, though. Written with characterizations from A Song of Ice and Fire in mind. Viserys' POV. Written while listening to copious amounts of Led Zeppelin and The Organ.

She only dreams of dragons

…

Daenerys wears a curled, blissful smile as the Khal runs his hands through her moon-white silk locks, twisting his large hands so nimbly it is as if he is embroidering her hair instead of stroking it. They are intertwined, bathed in the shadow of a large rock near their tent, carrying on as if they are not in the middle of the entire camp. It is embarrassing. Dany used to have a fair amount of shame. Her timidity was attractive. There was great gorgeousness in her shivering shoulders and her trembling voice. Dany's submission was once her strongest suit.

Bravery looks ugly on her and happiness worse, Viserys thinks, his violet gaze darkening. Though at least it seems she is pleasing him. This afterthought does not cheer him up like he thought it would. He pulls his arms in and folds them tightly over his chest. His long, slender fingers tuck under, and he grips his sleeves as hard as possible. He glares, wonders if his sister could possibly sit any closer to her new husband and he wills himself to look away from them. Unfortunately, there is nothing else to gaze upon beyond half-dressed savages and horses. I'll be happy for the day I never have to see, smell, or eat a horse again. In due time, I'll have my crown. There's a dull panging deep inside him as he continues to stare at the horse lord and his sister.

The Khal grasps a wooden box from the ground beside Dany's leg and withdraws a golden pendant bearing a glittering jewel. Another gift? Hasn't she been given enough? The black and purple stone flickers in the piercing light of the sun and Dany smiles wider, wider than Viserys has ever seen in the thirteen years he has known her. What does she have to grin about? I have given her far more than he has. I kept her alive. I found us shelter, made sure we had food to eat. I made us proper living arrangements where she was clothed in the finest gowns and she had everything she could ever want. Yet now this halfwit horse lover throws stones at her and she melts before him so easily?

Viserys' thoughts spin sideways, making nervous loops as he watches lowers her head as the Khal fastens the pendant around her neck and the jewel drops to her chest. It swings gently before settling there between her breasts. Apparently sensing his gaze upon her, Dany looks up and her amethyst eyes connect with her brother's matching set. She has the audacity to bestow him with a smile. Viserys sneers at her and rises, deciding he needs to take a short walk to free his mind. When he unfolds his arms, he still feels where his nails have cut in through the fluttering fabric.

He decides that the injustice, only the injustice, is what has begun to drive him mad. It has been weeks and still, the Khal has not kept his end of the bargain. Viserys has not received armies, nor is he being treated like the king he is. Instead, Dany has become the prize of the Dothraki. She is their queen, their Khaleesi, and they treat her like a goddess. As if the rarest insights in the world dwell inside her daft, naïve little brain.

On the contrary, they treat Viserys like some commoner. No matter how many times he tells them, loudly and firmly, they do not seem to grasp that not only is he the chosen ruler, he was the one who raised their precious Khaleesi. He should be given credit for the success of this marital union. He is the sole reason she has blossomed so beautifully. He taught her strength and poise. He helped her to survive, kept her fed, told her how to dress herself. And the Khal should be down on one knee, kissing the rings on my fingers. After all, it is I who taught Dany what it is men desire and how to satiate that desire. Without me, she is nothing.

As he walks, he kicks pebbles out of his way and wrings his hands. With great ambition comes great disappointment, but it is all part of the end result, he thinks, trying to put Dany's peaceful expression out of his mind. The Khal must be pleasing her, too, though Viserys is doubtful this ridiculous happiness between his sister and her new husband will last long. They have only been married four weeks. Their happiness will fade.

Likely Dany is temporarily blinded by her newfound position next to the Khal and has lost all sense. Perhaps she will realize she is being an idiot and that Drogo is a stranger to her. Viserys very much wants to see disappointment on his sister's face. He wants to see her gloomily clutching her horse lord's arm, wants to see her resisting him. He wishes for tears to spill down her face. That would be so much more satisfactory than all this.

He knows he should not care about such details. If she keeps the man happy, the quicker the Targaryens will gain control of the Iron Throne once more. Sometimes he can even feel the weight of the crown and his back against the throne. He imagines how it will feel to be warmed by the love of his people rather than the scorching sun above his head. He practices a kingly smile, perfects the snap of his fingers, and he knows he is ready to return to his rightful home. He is tired of waiting.

When he traded Dany to the Dothraki, Viserys assumed he'd get what he was promised and be free to continue to Westeros to reclaim King's Landing as soon as possible. Giving his sister away would free him of his responsibilities and finally, finally, he would be able to focus on himself.

Viserys is still waiting, though, watching Daenerys as he always has done except she is no longer his. She is a woman now, and she has a lord husband.

He is worried. He admits he is impatient, and he is also overprotective of his sister. He wants her to succeed, yet he wants her to keep true to herself. Stay true to her roots. Already, it seems Drogo is soiling her. This is not the Dany who Viserys has watched grow up. This is not the Dany who Viserys once adored. This girl, this woman, is some odd creature and Viserys blames Drogo. Their intimate life, for one thing, vexes Viserys greatly.

He was not impressed by their first bedding, not in the least. During Dany's wedding, he grew more restless with each cup of rose-colored wine. He was confident she was going to disappoint him, that she would finally ruin his designs and foil his chance for the crown. He couldn't have Dany crumbling all that they'd lived for like the fragile porcelain vase she'd stupidly dropped in their Pentos mansion. Illyrio had taken it in stride, had laughed and jovially said he could purchase a thousand more, but Viserys had been sick with embarrassment. Imagine if she did something similar, something brainless, on her most important of nights.

For that reason and that reason alone, Viserys had trailed Dany and Drogo when the gifting ceremony was complete. He watched, light-headed, from behind a hollowed log as the Khal unclothed his sister slowly, with no drive or excitement. His sister used her pretty, clean fingers to unfasten Drogo's greasy braid and Viserys suddenly felt ill. His little Daenerys was being ruined and he'd been the one to hand her over.

Dany seemed vapid at first, much like she has been when Viserys used to touch her and Viserys felt his skin prickle, expecting the Khal would grow angry as he had when she got this way. He watched intently, assuming the horse lord was going to strike his sister for her resistance.

However, the Khal seemed unperturbed as he kissed her for what seemed like hours. At this Viserys had to hold back laughter. What man kisses a woman for so long? For such a great warrior, the Khal seemed like a lamb. And when Dany finally got the light back in her eyes, the Khal only took his great paws and began to mash at one of Dany's small, firm breasts.

Viserys felt his lip curl, though he could not tear his eyes away from this barbarian fiddling with his little sister. From where he had been sitting, he couldn't see Drogo's face, only Dany's. Her eyes were wide and her jaw slack, and it went on too long, much too long. There was no urgency; there was no raw passion or hunger in the mouth-on-mouth or tedious caressing. It was slow and saccharine sweet, and although it was uncomfortable to see Dany carrying on in such a pathetic way, Viserys continued looking until she took the Khal's hand and directed it knowingly between her legs.

It had been too much then and Viserys had felt too drunk and not drunk enough all at once. He had to screw his eyes shut and breathe. Don't wake the dragon, he had thought, hoping that Dany would hear his pleading thoughts though he was not certain what he was pleading for.

He raised his head up again briefly only to make certain his sister did her marital duty and shockingly, little Dany had come through for once. She spread her long legs wide and took the muscular, dark man between her perfect thighs. Dany moaned sharply at first, then fell quiet. They rocked back and forth there in the open air, her legs wrapping around his back and her hands embracing him. Unlike with Viserys, she hardly cried out at all. She took him without resisting. Good little Dany. You did not fail me.

There was eagerness and tenderness in their fucking. Viserys thought this was what he'd wanted but for some strange reason, this sparked a rage inside his core and he'd crawled away as quickly as he could. It should have been him inside her. It should have been his cock coated with her maiden's blood. If I had taken her first, I would have had her squalling. I would have had her from above and underneath and behind and back again. A chorus of screeching. His eyebrows furrowed and he frowned, head down.

He'd tried to block out Dany's cooing bleats of passion as he hurried toward his tent on stinging palms and tender feet. He had trashed his tent and screamed. He had cracked open his fist. He had cursed her for waking the dragon, for giving her blood to a complete stranger. He had cursed her for everything, even the success he had prayed so viciously for.

A hot wind blows in, pulling him out of the sour memory. His eyes flicker upon a small pale flower growing out of a crack in the sandy ground. It is the first of its kind Viserys has seen and so he stomps it, gritting his teeth hard within his mouth until the plant is bent over and drooping, its petals ripped apart.

It is all part of the goal, the greatness, he thinks, and hustles past a group of gaping Dothraki men. Sometimes, one must forsake what he loves for the sake of gaining even more power.

Viserys clenches his fists. The dull panging grows and he remembers. He remembers his Dany.

. . .

"Viserys," Daenerys says softly. She is awake. Her tone carries the murkiness of sleep still, and Viserys continues to cradle her, rubbing his face against her hair. He presses his lips to the back of her neck, his hardening groin stiff against his sister's backside through her thin, silk nightdress. She trembles against him and he raises one hand to her forehead, touching her lightly.

He begins to explain: "You were having—"

"A nightmare," Dany breathes, and carefully she twists in his arms and faces him. Her violet eyes strain to see him in the darkness as he adjusts his hold on her, limbs loosening and then joining around her neck. He scoops her hair up, enjoying the soft sensation on his fingertips. "Yes, it is still fresh in my mind," she whispers. "As if it were real."

Viserys tugs her closer; these days she is never close enough to him it seems. Never as close as when they stumbled, hungry, from town to town, Dany clinging to his shoulders with her head buried in his neck.

Dany has these so-called nightmares often, nearly every night. He thought they would clear up, especially after finding such pristine lodgings here in the city of Pentos, but he wakes nightly now to Dany's startled gasps. He has an ear for the sounds she makes and a sharp eye for the movements she makes. They have hardly been apart for the past twelve years and so responding to her needs is second nature. He has taken care of Dany ever since she was an infant and they know everything about each other, including what the other does while deep in slumber.

As far as Viserys knows, he does not dream. His sleep is a blank, black thing, and although he sometimes wakes unsettled he can never remember the pictures he saw behind his eyes, if any.

Dany says she wishes she could not remember. Her so-called nightmares tire her, she says. They leave her frightened and unprepared for the day ahead. In Viserys' opinion, his sister does not have nightmares. They sound more like fantastical ideas, like adventures. Dany dreams of dragons often, too, and though Viserys would never say it, he is jealous. He wishes deeply he would dream of dragons. They are both born of flame, yes, but it is he who is the dragon king. The dreams should come to him.

Still, he enjoys hearing her speak about what she sees while she rests. She does not usually like to speak of dragons and this allows him more opportunities to educate her on their history, their legacy. And it is true, knowing that Daenerys dreams of dragons thrills Viserys, for it means he has instilled Targaryen pride into his little sister. She only dreams of dragons because he has raised her to do so.

"It is never real," Viserys breathes into Dany's ear and she sucks in air through her teeth, eyes fluttering shut for a moment. "But tell me anyway."

"Flames," she answers, a waver in her low voice, her voice that is like touching silk finer than the garb upon IIlyrio, their new warden. "And darkness. You were there," she says, and she places a careful hand on his chest. "But I reached for your hand and you only stared at me. I heard the dragons calling, and you disappeared into the fire."

"You don't know what a dragon sounds like," Viserys chides her, moving one hand to her hips. She is growing fast. Jagged hipbones morphing into shapely thighs, and small red berry nipples atop delicate mounds springing forth like a slowly built sandcastle—not the most impressive. Just right. He brings his attention back to her eyes and smiles, internally proud of her development. Her brother, her surrogate father, her only friend, and her lover: he is all of these. "No one really does, it can only be read about," he says with authority, stroking where buttocks meets her back. "And I have read every account I can get my hands on. More than you have. Yet I do not hear the sound in sleep."

"I know," Dany says, casting her gaze beyond his head.

"What did you hear when the dragons called, sister? Do dragons speak the common tongue? Or a call like that of birds?" He is smiling, enjoying jesting with Dany. She is always too serious for jokes, which usually makes it more fun. When Viserys is angry, though, this only aggravates him.

She lowers her head, her silver hair quivering over one mauve eye. "No," she says, as solemn as he knew she would be. "It was like an infant's shriek. Like a scream, a scream from deep down inside the earth. A chorus of screeching." She shudders. "I did not care for it. That was what woke me—"

Viserys feels a spark of excitement move throughout him as he imagines the sound his sister must have heard. Dream or not, he wants the sound to pulse through his ears. I want to hear the dragons calling, too, he thinks, but as he moves his lips to her mouth she pulls back just a bit. His eyes flash black. "What are you doing?" he snorts, and grasps her face in his hands. "Come back here."

"You disappeared," Dany says, clenching her teeth and closing her eyes again. "Why would you leave me?"

"Don't be stupid. It was a dream," Viserys scoffs, and he jerks her toward him and kisses her closed mouth.

Yet when he releases her, Daenerys looks unconvinced. Her lips are pursed and her eyes quizzical. "Why are we here?" she asks, and Viserys looks away, uncomfortable. "How can we stay in this house? It is far too grand. It makes me nervous. He says he wants nothing, but you speak to him when I am not there. I've heard your voices…" At Viserys' sharp look, Dany's voice grows higher. "I wasn't listening in. I swear. I only heard echoes down the hallway. Why are we here, Viserys? Why?"

"For the Iron Throne, sweet sister. You know that as much as I do," he says with a short laugh. Inside, he is made a bit anxious for there have been conversations, dealings afoot. He did not expect Daenerys would ask questions until the plans solidified which could be months still, maybe even a year. He cannot tell her now, nor can he think much about it himself. It is too difficult.

"You won't leave me," Dany says, her voice full of dubiousness.

"I have kept you by my side this long," Viserys says, and he kisses her temple, then the tip of her nose. He works his lips down hurriedly to her cheek, her ear, and then grazes her neck with his teeth. "You will always be by my side," he says, and grabs a fistful of her hair. Even if she does marry that savage Dothraki swine, I'll make certain she is never far from me. This is not an untruth.

She utters a sharp moan and wraps her hands around his back. "I thought you would come to me after my blood," she says quietly, a tiny shred of embarrassment in her tone. He wishes she wouldn't act so bashful. They have shared everything these past twelve years.

When she bled for the first time it was he who inspected the dark stains upon her dress and dried her tears when she sobbed she was afraid he would beat her for making a mess. 'You may have made a little mess,' he'd told her, flicking her cheek faintly, genially, with his fingernail. 'I care not, because you have also made yourself useful.' He had wrapped her in his arms and kissed her on each cheek.

Her timorous voice brings him back. "It has been six months, Viserys. I counted. I'm confused. Did I do something wrong?"

"Not lately," he responds, and snickers softly at the fear in her large eyes. He parts her hair with his fingers and then the real untruths must spill from his tongue. It is easy enough to fib to her. He is her world. "No- I would tell you," he says. "We cannot be wed until I have the throne, Dany. You know that. It does not work that way. Crown first, and then queen. The queen cannot be impure, Daenerys. We are going to do everything right—"

"Yes, but you always said we could be betrothed as soon as I become a woman," she mutters, reciting his words from years earlier, the words he told her as soon as she could understand.

He moves his hand to her mouth. "Stop," he commands with a fleck of annoyance. "You are talking too much, and no man wants to hear it, least of all me. Even from your sweet lips. This you know, my love."

"I'm sorry," Dany chokes out, and her body begins to quake again.

Viserys sighs. She can be such a baby, even now. "I'd never disappear in the flames without you, Daenerys. We are Targaryens. I will grab your hand and we will meet the dragons together," he says into her mouth and when she sighs and puts a hand to his face, her grips her by the shoulders and rolls on top of her. She curls her body upward to meet him as he presses his fingers together and rubs her hard through her nightclothes.

"Please," she shudders and he grins, knowing exactly what she means him to do. He does not comply. Patience is good for her.

As her thin gown dampens against his hand, Viserys can no longer ignore his cock, pulsing stronger through his smallclothes and he finally sighs, releasing it. He pulls his long, thin member in his hand and Dany gingerly reaches forth to touch it, looking as curious as she was the first time. He loves that look on her face, like she is dumb to the world and he can teach her everything in it, everything that will please him. Telling himself firmly to be vigilant, Viserys hitches up his sister's silk gown.

All he wants is to finally plunge into her and break her maidenhead, take it for himself and ride her until they both feel the same flame inside of them. Logically, he knows why he cannot. It would ruin everything. Imagine if she did not bleed for the Khal. Viserys would be ruined. A laughingstock. Worse than "The Beggar King". No, he must stop himself. They waited this long, and it does not mean Viserys can never be fully inside Daenerys. He simply won't be first.

Never first at anything, he thinks begrudgingly. However, I will be the last one standing when I conquer over that blasted usurper and reclaim the throne. This ambitious thought makes his hardness swell and he painstakingly directs the tip to the very, very start of her opening. They pant for air at the same time, and he smiles down at her, his eyes contented slits. He can feel her wetness from here, though he wishes he could shove it all inside and really feel how he's made her crave him.

"You make me proud," he says in an urgent whisper. "You're becoming such a woman, Dany. You're going to be a great asset to me." With precision, he moves himself back and then teases her virgin cunt with himself again, gripping the sheets on either side of her body.

He dips in and out of her meticulously, rubbing, always only rubbing, irritated he cannot yet show her how far he can drive his cock, how hard and fast he can thrust, how good he is. He's fucked women now, many women, whenever and however he pleases. The fates play a joke, though, for all the whores in the world aren't worth Daenerys. It is cruel they shouldn't be together though if it wins him the crown quicker, he will make do. When he rubs the length of her privates harder, she lets out a trilling little shriek.

"Please!"she says again. Viserys laughs and finally he pulls back and lets his fingers fly, playing wildly with the swelling bud that hovers above her cunt.

Dany leans back and arches herself against him, a warbling cry emitting from her throat. He claps his hand hard over her mouth and she screams against it as he grips her skin with his nails. Illyrio is no stranger to the Targaryen ways, but he does not need to be an audience for them. Viserys strums her clit and then rubs her again with his shaft and Dany's pitch rises, always teetering between pleasure and pain.

'I heard the dragons calling.'

He feels his orgasm coming and he pulls his cock from her entrance expertly, holding it firmly in his hand and stifling a shout as threads of hot white shoot forth. Streams flow over his fingers and others spatter downward to paint opal streaks on Dany's stomach. He settles back on the pile of velvet pillows and draws her to his chest, his breathing ragged.

"Viserys," she says, interrupting the heavenly silence, her voice now an exasperating chirp against his shoulder. "When we are married, it will be different, won't it? You'll keep it inside me when the thick water comes out. And then, I'll be a mother. A mother to our sons. Like you said, right?"

"Yes," he grunts and rolls his violet eyes, "you know that."

"I'm scared of that, too," she responds, voice so quiet he almost misses it. Her trembling hands clutch his shirt.

Of course she is scared. She is scared of everything. The Khal won't accept this fear, as far as I have heard. Not many men are as accepting as I. She must be fearless for him. For me.

"When you are my queen," Viserys finally says, "you will give me the children I desire to forward our line of ancestors. You will not be scared when it happens, because it is your purpose. Because I will be your king and your husband and you will do everything you can to please me."

Thankfully, Daenerys stops asking questions and buries her face into his neck. Viserys lies when he has to, and usually thinks nothing of it. But that lie stung him worse than any other.

. . .

The days are long and hot and yet somehow the nights are longer and hotter. Hunger and thirst set in, making it impossible for Viserys to sleep. Location also has much to do with it. He is slumped against a dirty old wall with only the sound of dogs howling and drunkards arguing as a lullaby, subconsciously stroking Dany's hair as she slumbers. How she is able to sleep, he has no idea, but he is grateful for it.

Finally an end to the whimpering, the chattering, the pleas for food and water that is more than scarce. At least some of the townsfolk take pity on her for her age. I feel I have grown too old for their compassion. Dany pulls on their heartstrings. I suppose it is lucky I have a sister of eight in tow, pest or not. To them, I am a joke. She earns us sad looks and crusts of bread. Better than nothing.

He tries to remind himself that he loves her though he grows more and more bitter. She is his burden, his charge, though he must remember she will be his wife someday. He must keep her alive and safe, though sometimes in truth he fantasizes about smashing in her skull with a rock as she dreams.

There's for killing our mother, our beautiful mother you will never know because you are a horrendous little bitch, he imagines himself saying and his fingers curl hard around a lock of her hair, tugging, desiring to pull out the chunk from her head. Dany's eyes flutter, and he snaps out of the unpleasant thought. Fortunately, she does not wake. He sighs, seizing sanity once more and stares up at the black and blue sky.

Unless she awakens from one of her nightmares, she is a fairly deep sleeper, this Viserys knows very well. Sometimes the night is far too lonely and he makes a V with his pointer and middle finger, drags it down, down, down where he lets it disappear between his sleeping sister's legs, pressing against the material of her tattered gown. It does not satisfy his curiosity, but does quell a bit of the hunger that grows inside of him.

Viserys has considered visiting a brothel and announcing he is the true king, the Targaryen heir, the king of fire and dragons. He imagines this will induce all of the whores to all but wilt, to chant his name, and then he'll have his pick free of cost—or have them all, if he so chooses.

This is a silly fantasy. He knows better than anyone that nothing is free, particularly pleasure. When he comes into his rightful fortune, he can pay for all the sex he wants, except the truth is he does not wish to pay. He has his destined love here by his side and she will be of age soon.

Viserys continues to stroke Dany's hair once more, relishing the feeling and wishing for more from her. Dany feels clean and familiar. Despite her transgression against their mother, he must admit she is better than the most experienced of women because she is unused and pretty. And she belongs to him. As much as he wishes to despise her for her wrongs, Viserys wants Daenerys more than anything. He wants her with the appetite of the dragon.

Tonight, the prospect of touching Dany's still body is not enough. After a few moments of consideration, Viserys grasps his sister's folded cloak from the cobblestones and carefully repositions her so that her head rests upon it instead of his lap. She stretches; she is now lying perpendicular to him. He can nearly see between her legs and already, he feels himself growing hard. A glance around them makes it clear no one is close.

Viserys puts his hand inside his breeches and tugs himself with fervor. His light, long hair drifts in front of his forehead as he pumps, shadowing his pale face. He gives a low moan, twitching his thumb over the sensitive head, and screws his eyes shut. Moments later, he feels peculiar and his eyes blaze open, hand paused. Dany is sitting up awake and she is gazing upon him with both interest and alarm. As far as Viserys can remember, Dany has not caught him in the act of pleasuring himself yet. Time for another lesson, he thinks, and when he pulls his hand from his clothes he opens his arms wide.

"Come here, sweet sister," he says in a low voice.

She hesitates and drops her head. She is sitting on her knees and he cannot help but think of her in the same position, kneeling before him as he stands. In time, all in time. "I'm sorry, but what were you—what were you doing?" Dany mumbles.

Viserys' eyebrow cocks and his mouth dips. "I said, come here!" he urges in a dangerous voice. "Do you want to wake the dragon? Do you?"

Her eyes widen, making her look all the more innocent, and she slowly moves forward on her knees. When she reaches him, he embraces her and pets her hair. "I didn't mean to watch you. I had only just woken up—" Dany begins, and Viserys cuts her off with a finger to her lips.

"You have no idea what I was doing?" he asks and his sister shakes her head. Though it is dark they are close enough now that he can see she is blushing. "It feels good," he explains. "You can help me. Do you want to make me happy?"

"Very much," she says earnestly and Viserys' frown becomes a faint smile as he grasps her hand and guides it to the front of his breeches. Her eyes are full of question and she looks slightly startled. She touches it cautiously and he removes his grip.

Viserys stifles another moan, trying to hide his immense enthusiasm. "Feel how it is stiff?" he asks her and she nods her head slowly, as if she is searching for the right answers. "It's different than when you see me bathe or get dressed, when it hangs there. When it's like this, it means I desire the touch of a woman."

He gives her the short version, not the version he coaxed out of one of their hosts in Braavos. He was a boy of ten then and he needed to know. Dany is only a girl and the therefore the things she needs to be instructed on are simply the things that will please him. He lets her inspect his shaft free of the material of his trousers next and then he allows her to take her hand away. She is quiet as usual and her eyes do not meet his.

Scooping her into his arm again, Viserys puts his opposite hand back on his hardness. He gets an idea that excites him, and he places his mouth next to his sister's ear. "Dany," he whispers, "you can do it, too, you know. You can put your fingers upon yourself. Down there." He rests his head back against the wall and runs his hand up her smooth arm.

She shivers and there is a pause. Out of the corner of his eye, he watches as, little by little, her hand crawls from the stone ground toward her leg, and then creeps onward in the direction of her inner thigh. Viserys holds his breath as Dany searches beneath her gown for what she does not yet know she has. He exhales as soon as she inhales.

. . .

Viserys spends the evening sulking alone in his tent, as he often does since Daenerys wed the Khal. He's spread out on the mattress he was given, one leg over the other. He pretends to be interested in one of the books Dany has let him borrow, one of the many texts from Ser Mormont, but he is only gawping at the words as if they are twisting into a foreign script. The pages blur before his eyes and he thrusts the book to the floor, his hands flying to his hair where he grips his tresses and vows not to shout.

The dull pang has become a low boil. Whenever he feels himself losing his temper, when he imagines the dragon awakening, he envisions there is bright red fire that flares up from his toes to his temple. He fills with the strength and fury of his father, of his fallen family, and that is when the dragon spreads its wings. Viserys does not think he can control his anger when he gets like this, and he does not have any reason to try. His anger is his right, as much as the crown, and the throne.

Dany was part of my birthright, too, he thinks resentfully, but that is all through with. And for what? Apparently nothing. If the Khal does not offer an army in two day's time, I will take matters into my own hands. The horse lord can fight the dragon. I shall cut off his braid before I bite his head off with the teeth of a blade. Then I will have my army, and my queen.

And all of a sudden, as if by magic, there is a turn of fate.

"Brother," comes Daenerys' faint voice from the tent opening. "Are you awake? I mean not to disturb you—"

"Yes, I am, Khaleesi," Viserys calls out, and though his heart leaps, his tone sneers. "It is so warm even at this time, how can anyone not be awake?" He runs a hand through his unkempt hair, smoothing it quickly, and he sits up just as his sister ducks into his small quarters. They have not been alone in some time and his breath catches in his throat at her appearance. Though he still finds her new pendant irritating, the jewel brings out Dany's eyes and fair hair. The weather has slightly tanned her skin and she looks healthy. Happy.

He knows this is his doing. It is he who decided to marry her to Drogo. It is he who caused her happiness. She is likely here to offer her thanks to him.

"I am sorry, Viserys," says Dany solemnly and she slowly walks forward. "I suppose I have not noticed the heat so much. Is there anything you need to make it better?"

"I do not need your charity, Dany," sniffs Viserys and he turns away from her when she perches at the edge of the sleeping mat, only an arm's length away from him. "Why are you here?" he snaps, crossing his arms and trying not to look at her. You'll wake the dragon, he thinks acidly, you'll wake the dragon and you'll see what your happiness is costing him. He built you but he can tear you limb from limb.

He is surprised when he feels her hand on his cheek. The feel of her hand, rough with calluses from gripping reigns, is different. Not flawless as it once was. In the past, this would have disgusted him to the point of slapping and kicking her. Now, he is only relieved to feel her by his side.

"Daenerys," he mumbles deeply and turns around at once to grab her roughly around the back. He does not have the patience of the Khal, perhaps; Viserys has no time to waste gently touching mouths for hours and acting like a small child. He and Dany have done all of it. All of it except for one particular act. Now she has proven she is ready, and Viserys is so starving he wants her hard and fast and as soon as possible. No matter what.

Daenerys gives a little cry of protest, though she does not move. "Not—not here," she says, panicked.

"Not here?" Viserys demands, and he feels it, the low boil heating up like a steaming pot. It rises from his toenails to his chest in two seconds. "Where else, Dany? Where. Else?" he spits at her and he snatches her hands, gripping them as hard as he can. "Out in the blazing sun like one of those dirty savages? Do you want it where everyone can see? Do you want it right in front of your beloved Khal? This can be arranged, Khaleesi," he says, and the word is bitter on his sarcastic tongue.

"Khal Drogo is my husband now," she says and though she is whispering it is firm and Viserys despises how even under her shaking hands, she sounds strong. What have they done to you, Daenerys? "This would be wrong. You know it. This would ruin everything and I don't want that, Viserys. You've come too far!"

"I am worth ten thousand of Khal Drogo!" Viserys roars. He releases Dany from his grip and instead seizes her by the necklace, tugging the hot metal like a chain on a dog and pulling her closer to his mouth. His lip quakes and his nostrils flare. "I am Viserys Targaryen of the House Targaryen! The third of my name! The one true king of Westeros! I have the blood of the dragon!"

"You said you wouldn't leave me and you did," Daenerys says, and there's something very disconcerting about her composure. Viserys closes his lips and instead of anger, he suddenly feels anxiety. She stares at him, their matching eyes interlocking. "I wed the Khal because of you. I am helping you become who you rightfully are. You said it yourself. You gave me to him and now you will get your crown and I want that for you. I really, really do—"

The nervousness melts as Viserys feels the low boil rising, rising to his hands and elbows. He grabs her waist and digs his nails in. "You want that for me? You were supposed to be my Queen!" he says, and his voice is a malicious murmur against her ear. "Our line is dying, Daenerys, and you've married some Dothraki rubbish. How do you think that makes me feel?"

"You wanted this. I wouldn't be here if it weren't for you, Viserys," Dany asserts, and though there is newfound courage in her delivery, her brother can hear apprehension in it, too.

"I wanted you to marry him," Viserys scoffs coldly. "I did not want you to love him." He drags his nails like knives around her back and Dany shivers against his body, the pendant between her breasts pressing hard on his chest, hot through his thin clothing.

Her cracked lips find his chin before she moves her head back and speaks in a quiet voice: "What would you have me do?"

Daenerys awakens the dragon right then and Viserys wants to teach her a lesson, he wants to punch her and cuff the confidence out of her until he has his little sister back.

Instead of beating her, Viserys finds himself wrapping his arms around her shoulders and pressing his lips against hers. Her taste is good, though not really the same as it was before. Still, he pushes his tongue in her mouth, his hands searching her body in eagerness. She fidgets, not returning the kiss and also not pulling away. He stops and stares.

For a moment, she only sits and watches him right back, her eyes wide and bright like the jewel between her breasts. He squeezes her hips and nuzzles her hair with his lips, and he kisses her neck. "You know what I would have you do," he says through his teeth and then takes a piece of her hair between his fingers and tugs it. "But you have your Khal Drogo for that now."

When Dany puts her hand on his chin, he smirks at her, expecting some foolhardy response, something meek and moral. He expects to be disappointed in her. "I am doing the best I can. Like you taught me. I am making my marriage to Khal Drogo the best it can be. I do not dislike him as I feared—" she begins.

Viserys' lip shakes and he pulls her hair harder. "You are a Targaryen! Have you forgotten so quickly?" he hisses.

"No, Viserys!" Dany bursts out, and he releases her tresses warily. "You left me. You did," she says, looking him directly in the eye. "I want to go home. I still want to go home." She trembles and her head falls to his shoulder.

"Do you wish for me to take you home?" he whispers, and he feels her nod against him. He feels his heartbeat quicken as his sister raises her head back up and takes his hand.

She deposits a short, warm kiss on his palm. He moans lightly, and Daenerys encases it in both of her smaller ones. "Please," she begs.

"Then come back to me, Dany, and I will take you," Viserys replies and he pulls her close, closer than she's been in far too long, bringing his mouth to her lips again. Her breathing grows more rapid and he feels himself harden at the familiar sound, at the feeling of her against him.

As she puts her arms around the small of his back, he has a flash of their life together: their hardships, their starvation, their plight, the long walks and the hot nights, and he knows more than ever that this is how it should have been. He could lose himself in all the memories of Daenerys. He almost does until she slips her cool palms inside his shirt.

He swoops upon her, kissing her lips and her shoulders. She sighs and leans her head back, hands now planted firmly on the mat, eyes heavily lidded. Viserys brings his mouth to her cleavage and laps his tongue on her warm, salty skin. With hasty fingers, he undoes the strings tying the back of her garment and releases her breasts from the brown rawhide prison. When the succulent flesh is out in the open, he sputters on a moan and licks her right nipple while squeezing the left. No longer does he feel dissatisfied with her curves; she is perfect again to him in every way.

"He'll kill you if he finds us," Daenerys says, and Viserys remembers suddenly that he shares her with another man now. "He'll kill me, too. He does not know the way of our family, he does not know what you've been to me, and I have not yet tried to tell him—"

"The dragon does not fear the horse," Viserys sniffs with false boldness. But if anyone saw, I cannot deny there would be trouble. "When does he return?" he asks, hoping he sounds casual.

"Within the hour," she breathes, and she turns to throw a look at the tent opening.

"Then I shall have you right away," says Viserys, with the command of a king. She gasps when he throws her back onto his mattress, holding her arms down firmly as if they are play-wrestling as they once did. He bites and sucks her neck and she squeals, struggling to move as he works his tongue between her breasts and crawls further down to kiss her stomach. When he wrenches the skirt from her legs, Daenerys sits up to help him, kicking it to the floor. As soon as she is naked and free, he pushes her back down and makes a V, driving his fingers into her cunt. His breath catches in his throat and his hardness throbs. She is soaking wet and as he begins to drive his hand inside her, she whines. He hears eagerness in the sound and passion, too.

He can tell she has been with someone else. She watches him with more knowledge now and her body moves with skill. He watches as she bends before him, raising her hips up to meet his thrusting hand, and though he is deeply envious he knows he must put that from his mind if he wants to finally fuck his sister in the short time they've been allotted. And so Viserys forgets Khal Drogo for now and his hands move to his own clothing.

He undresses in seconds and holds his shaft in his hand, leaning back over her and angling himself toward her opening. She raises her hips to meet him. "Viserys," she says. "Now."

He wants to tell her to shut up, to be patient and a good girl and to wait, yet he cannot. He wants this too much and so he listens, pulling up both her legs so that they cascade over his shoulders and he grips her thighs hard. He momentarily flicks his fingers over her clit and she muffles a moan in his coverlet. Then, he tugs her toward him and for a second, delves back into memory as the sensation starts, the vexing feeling of his cock barely pushing against her. Finally, he shoves himself inside her with one solid punch. Her shapely mouth delivers a sharp, high note and he pretends that he is her first.

It's as good inside as he always knew it would be and with each pound, Viserys feels more alive, as though he has been missing the one thing that inspires him to succeed. He twists her nipples as he fucks her and she is humming out a moan as he goes farther and farther, deeper and deeper.

He decides to alter the speed and works his pace down to a slow beat. He shoves it inside her as hard and as methodically as he can and then waits a few seconds before doing it again. Dany cries out with the three first thrusts until she grows accustomed to the rhythm and bucks him back at the fourth thrust. He gives a strangled grunt of pleasure and waits, watching her with intensity. His eyes are full of the affection of a brother, the madness of a lover. He pumps her again and then his eyes darken.

"Turn over," he says sternly as if he is disciplining her instead of making love, "turn over right now, I want to take you from the back—"

Daenerys' watchful look grows a bit hesitant, although she does not argue. When he pulls from her and she begins to turn her body, Viserys grasps her hard at the waist and flips her over on her stomach. He admires her shapely behind and delivers a hard slap to both firm sides of it. She grips the edge of the mattress, bracing herself, and she whimpers as he grips her buttocks and drives himself inside her again, pounding and slapping all at once.

He goes fast; his movements become violent and rough. His nails are claws that dig into her and his teeth are razor sharp on her shoulders as she bites back screams. This is for leaving me. This is for making a fool of me. He moves with anger, with desperation, in and on and in and out of her cunt. He has punished whores for Dany's shortcomings and so this is the fulfillment of a fantasy; this is an itch he has been waiting to scratch.

When he feels himself close to the brink he leaves her core again. He shoves her aside, holding his hard cock. He sprawls out and looks up at her. Her silver hair is all over and she is studying him deeply as she leans over him, her big eyes blinking.

"Ride me," he says, breathless, his own flowing hair warming his shoulders and spilling over the hard cot. "Ride me, Daenerys."

Her tentative look tells him this is something she may not have tried yet and this makes him all the more desirous of her. He lets out a gusty breath when she perches over his cock and angles herself on him. He meets her with a series of rapid thrusts while grabbing her breasts, moving his hands to her clit, then gripping her arse viciously with both hands.

Viserys feels his release coming and so he scrambles up, fucking her while she sits in his lap. Their breathing matches, like their eyes and hair, and he moves his lips to her ear again, his hands gently placed on the back of her head.

"You are home," he pants as she bounces and moans, "you are home." He comes right then, holding her close and kissing her cheek before groaning with relief. The feeling expels from him and his seed flows into Dany, joining them. He comes for what seems like a long time. The feeling pulses through his veins just like the low boil and he wishes she could dwell but knows she can't, knows they must part ways now for the sake of his crown.

She unwinds from his body like a flower and he reaches for her hand as he catches his breath. They say nothing more as he lowers himself down to recollect. After Dany dresses, she kneels next to Viserys and gives him a short kiss. Through a tired haze, he admires her form as she rises up and drifts from the tent on swift feet to meet her Dothraki husband. He smiles faintly as he drifts off to sleep, still poised as if clutching his sister's small, gentle hand.

. . .

That night, for the first time and the last time, something happens.

Viserys finally dreams.

It is vivid and clear, though he does not dream of dragons. Viserys dreams of Daenerys and when he wakes, he will be able to remember it exactly, as if it were real.

He dreams she is standing on a cliff top and she is beckoning to him. There are flames all around them and he wants to walk out to join her, except he is frightened. He hovers back where it is dark and cool. The flames are a burning crimson and he can feel the scorch even from where he cowers.

His sister is the opposite of afraid and she calls for him. "Viserys," she says, "you must come. You must come quickly or else we will forget where we are from."

He takes one step and then backtracks, relishing the cool breeze behind him. Daenerys steps through the fire and continues to call his name. He musters the courage to step forth but the flames are hot, too hot.

"Viserys," she says sadly, "you have to do it. Don't leave me. Take me home. Please take me home."

He cannot move forward and he cannot move back. He wants very much to take her hand and show her the way but he is lost. He knows, secretly, he cannot help her. He cannot do anything for her, not anymore.

The flames ignite her then, and her features are bright, smoking and yellow-gold. He tries to holler at her but there is no sound coming from his throat. He looks away, knowing she will sear, char up and die.

When he finally wills himself to look again, his mouth falls open. Strangely, her skin did not crisp and burn. She smiles calmly and continues to call his name. Viserys watches her, disturbed.

He does not know who or what she is. She is too much for him. She is being careless and stupid in that fire, and yet he longs to go to her, even now. Still, though, he cannot go forward and he cannot go back.

Viserys stands numbly between cool and hot and stares in wonder at his little Dany, hating and fearing and wanting her far too much.

Fin