I own nothing.
Four nights, no sleep. He lies awake at night, eyes pried open, buzzing with unyielding energy from head to toe, yet thoughts have never been clearer as they dance in fragments. He begs his brain to freeze long enough to admire his genius before everything fogs up and he loses the window of opportunity.
This time he refuses to lose.
Soon the Usurper's head will be his. Every Lannister, every Stark, whether they wronged him or not, will bleed, and when he finally reclaims his kingdom, he'll mount the traitors' pelts along the castle walls to strike fear in the hearts of dissenters. If he conquers nothing more, he'll die a beloved hero.
But he needs an army. For an hour, he's wandered the Western Market, scouting out soldiers … downing wine … scouting out soldiers. His search is fruitless and the wine as rancid as his acrid breath, yet he carries himself as high as a king. He is a king, after all, a true king much unlike the imposter. Men should line up in hoards to sacrifice themselves in his name for no reason other than—
All eyes violate him. He whirls around, glaring at the crowd of pestilent onlookers. "One day you will bow to me as your king," he slurs. "If any one of you would care to join my army, I may be so kind as to forget your blatant disrespect."
"Beggar king," a voice shouts and soon chants to the clatter of a drum. Beggar king. Beggar king. Beggar king. Beggar king.
The words and world swirl around him. Colors meld into blinding hues, and the winds tastes as bitter as the wine pumping through his veins. He reaches for the familiar poison, a means to silence the nonsense. Swallow by swallow until it quiets the beast inside him, the dragon.
Your fault.
No, never his fault. Not his fault that Dany was a parasite. He never asked to be her brother. Never asked to be her father.
Keep drinking—watch your kingdom fade to a speck of dust.
Wine goes down easy. Wine never asks who he is or was. Wine reminds him that his faults are infinitesimal compared to the stain of humanity. Perhaps he is a poor excuse for a brother, but he has only ever done what he needed to do. He'd kept her alive—clothed her, fed her, protectedher. He's the sole reason she breathes, which commands a little gratitude, but oh poor, miserable Dany has never once thanked them for his sacrifices. Oh, no, not Dany. Never a simple thank you from the parasite, and she's sucked the life out of him as she had their mother.
You love her.
Perhaps once, but she's nothing but a bargaining chip now.
You never could stand the wails in the middle of her night, her horrid nightmares.
Or the unanswerable questions, more of a nuisance than anything else. And the lies he tells over and over again.
Why, it all rips at your puny little heart.
He can't shelter her forever; she's no longer a child.
She is only but a child.
No, Dany is a woman, a fine lady married to the great Khal Drogo.
She was miserable her wedding night. She is miserable now.
Her misery is rather unimportant. She has no right to complain after his sacrifices, the very deeds that'd earned him his scornful title.
Beggar king.
Survival trumps possessions.
Beggar king.
Survival over his mother's crown. No choice.
Beggar king.
Survival, their very way of life, but he will reclaim his losses. The impending triumph rattles his bones.
Beggar king, but they were generous, you see. You're no king, just a beggar.
The plan will work. The arrangement is temporary, after all. Why, he would never allow her to stay married to such a beastly man. The Dragon associates with the lowest of scum for one reason and one reason only; Khal Drogo has a tremendous army. Once he recovers his crown, the animal can kiss the marriage goodbye, and miserable little Dany will call him her savior.
Only she plays her part too well, thinks it's cute to join the pack of bloody dogs, embracing them as though they're her own flesh and blood.
You're losing her.
He is. The army hasn't done a damn thing for him, but Drogo has wasted no time fucking his sister, eroding their lineage with tainted blood.
Cut you losses and save what you can before you lose her for good. She's all you have left.
"Take her back?" he demands. "Take what's mine? Is that what you want?"
He lurches forward, quietly stumbling into rage. He knows his duty, and somewhere beneath the superficial lust, Dany knows hers.
How dare Khal touch what belongs to him. Dany, his last prized possession, bartered away like a slave for an imaginary army. His blood, his one chance for a pure heir, in the hands of a savage.
He must act now before the razor-sharp focus escapes him.
Dany and that silly feast on his mind, he guzzles back enough wine to kill a horse but not a dragon.
I've always liked Viserys for some reason. Might be Harry Lloyd's portrayal in the TV series, but then again I tend to sympathize with unlikely characters. I'm considering making it a two-shot ... The inevitable end would be part two, but I kinda like it as is, so I'm conflicted.
Either way, thank you for reading! Any feedback would be much appreciated. :)