Viserys Targaryen III walked on less than steady feet down another winding dirt path, a stray rock making him stumble in the dark. He knew he should probably wait until morning light, but Viserys was past caring. All that mattered now was getting far away from the torchlights and burning horse shit stench of Vaes Dothrak.
He'd spent far too many useless nights in the Dothraki capital, a city made of sticks and straw, the foul air filled with the din of their tribal music and raucous laughter. Viserys loathed these people. Everything about them was dirty and vulgar. They were disgusting—more animal than human.
The only thing the Dothraki did well besides slaughter was brew strong drink. He gulped it down from the bull's horn flagon in his hand, welcoming the burn in his throat. As strong as it was, the drink failed to dim his outrage at the cruel fate he'd been dealt. After everything Viserys sacrificed, it had come to this—the true King of Westeros stealing away in the dead of night like a bandit.
He carried little with him, just a simple pack stuffed with a few items of clothing, a bit of horse jerky and the handfuls of gold he managed to snatch before his sister's lackey kicked him out of her tent. Once he found his horse, Viserys would ride for the coast. He had just enough gold coin to buy passage back to civilization.
The merchant Illyrio would surely welcome him back to his estate in Pentos. Viserys could tell him that the Dothraki agreed to invade Westeros and return Viserys to his rightful place as king of the seven kingdoms after his sister's half-breed infant grew old enough to ride a horse. That should placate the merchant and ensure a place for Viserys to live in comfort, for a few years at least.
He should never have sold Daenerys to Khal Drogo. The Dothraki horse lord never planned to give him use of his army. It was all a lie. Viserys was so desperate to believe in the possibility of regaining his crown and restoring his family's honor that he'd been played the fool.
Viserys and Daenerys were the last Targaryens. They should have wed to breed children of the dragon to continue their family line. Now Daenerys was lost to him, playing the devoted whore to that Dothraki savage, growing a half-breed in her womb, the womb that should have belonged to Viserys alone.
The match with Kahl Drogo had seemed like the perfect opportunity. It was a fair exchange, a princess bride for the use of an army. It was a sacrifice and a gamble (they were savages, after all), but it should have gotten Viserys his crown. He bet everything on Khal Drogo, certain that this was his best chance of reclaiming the seven kingdoms, but he was horribly wrong.
Viserys had lost everything—not just the chance to buy an army with his Danerys. He'd somehow lost the love and respect his sister had always shown for him.
Viserys never imagined that would even be possible. His sister's love for him was the one constant in his life. Like the sun rising each day, he trusted in her love completely. Dany was his only relationship, the only family he had. He raised her from a bawling infant to a beautiful maiden. No one else meant a thing to him.
If the rebels had not killed his family and stolen the crown, he would have been wed to his sister as was custom in their family even before Aegon I brought his dragons from across the seas and conquered the seven kingdoms. It was the only way to keep their dragon blood pure, to ensure it would be passed from one generation to the next.
It burned Viserys that by putting him in this desperate situation, the Barathaeon Usurper had effectively stolen Daneyrs along with the rest of his kingdom.
He was even thwarted in his attempt to at least claim Dani's virginity the night before the wedding. Foolishly, Viserys waited until that night because he was afraid if he made love to her more than once he'd find it impossible to let her go.
He should not have let his fear rule him. He could have been bedding her for weeks if he'd only allowed himself. But no, he waited for the last opportunity. The guards Illyrio stationed outside her chamber ruined everything.
When he agreed to the marriage, Viserys had no intention of handing Danerys over before he had a chance to be inside her. Dani's virginity was a treasure that belonged rightfully to Viserys alone. And it was stolen from him, just like everything else in his life. His family, his home, his kingdom, the rebels stole it all.
Forced into exile, his family slaughtered, his life ripped away, Viserys never had a childhood. He lost whatever chance he had for a childhood on his mother's death bed. She left a frightened five year old boy with the responsibility of restoring the greatest dynasty the world has ever known.
Viserys could not wallow in his grief. He had a newborn sister to raise and a kingdom to reconquer. He could not shame his family's heritage by failing.
He spent his youth safely hidden from the world at the estate of his mother's most trusted knight, the man who helped smuggle them out of the capital before the rebel forces could cut them down like the rest of his family.
Upon the knight's death, however, Viserys and his sister were thrown out like trash by the vile, treacherous servants he left behind. It was a rude awakening to the dirt and ugly squalor outside the estate's walls.
Viserys was forced to sell off what few possessions they had just to pay for food and lodging. He was thirteen when he had to sell his mother's golden crown. It was the single most humiliating experience in his life. That is when they started calling him "the Beggar King," an insult he particularly despised. Viserys Targaryen never begged for anything in his life.
Carrying on despite the degradations he suffered, Viserys never lost sight of his responsibilities. He took care of Dany, raising her to be a true Targaryen princess. He told her proud stories of a home that he scarcely remembered himself. He wanted to keep it alive though, to make it real for Dany.
Thankfully, as Viserys neared adulthood interest in his cause rekindled. They were able to spend the last few years as honored guests of Illyrio, Magister of Pentos.
He had no illusions about Illyrio's intentions. The elegant clothing and comfortable lifestyle was borrowed against his future. Viserys planned to reward the merchant handsomely once the Iron Throne was his, and Illyrio knew this well.
Viserys enjoyed the trappings of wealth. He wore the colorful silks and delicate jewelry with the grace befitting his heritage, but he never forgot that none of it was his, not really. The only thing that belonged to him, truly belonged to Viserys and no one else, was his sister. And he'd given her up but received nothing in return.
Viserys was sorely tempted to march into Drogo's tent and demand the army he was promised, but it was no use. The savage would never keep his word. Khal Drogo would sooner kill him than help him. Honor meant nothing to these people.
Every day since Dany's wedding, it was nothing but insult after insult. He'd been degraded and mocked beyond bearing, demeaned time and again. Half-witted warriors dressed in rags showed him less respect than a pet dog, only tolerating him because of his sister, their precious Khaleesi.
He should have known the day Dany commanded the horde to stop. He was shocked when it happened. How dare she order him to do anything? But when Viserys went to confront her, one of Khal Drogo's men nearly chocked him to death with a whip.
Then he was forced to give up his horse and walk in the dirt like a peasant. The Khal even offered to have him killed if Dany wished it. That should have been enough for Viserys to understand that Drogo would give him nothing, ever.
Viserys wanted to believe his crown was within his grasp so badly, he'd refused to accept reality. What was wrong with him that he could be so blind? Was it some form of madness?
The traitors that killed his family had called his father "the mad king". Viserys always considered it a lie the rebels told to justify their treason. He had no memories of his father acting like an insane person. He remembered his father as a handsome and powerful man whose laugh could fill a room with joy. But was there another side to him that Viserys never saw?
Did he inherit a bit of his father's madness? Viserys didn't feel like he was insane, just highly motivated. No one appreciated the stress he was continually under. Dany could never understand the weight of the responsibility left to him by their dead family—so much responsibility he could barely breathe sometimes.
He never showed Dany his doubts, never let her see his fear of failing, never told her about his nightmares. Viserys needed her faith in him to stay intact. The reflection he saw in her eyes showed Viserys the stronger version of himself that he needed to become.
Viserys knew he had to appear strong, confident and regal—the epitome of a true Targaryen king. In truth, Viserys had been faking confidence he never truly felt for almost as long as he could remember.
The important thing was that people believed he had the strength to be a king. That was the only chance they had of reclaiming their birthright. Any show of weakness could be their doom.
The anger on Dany's face when she dared to strike him in her tent was ugly on her beautiful Targaryen features. She had changed so much in just a few short weeks. How could he have known that his meek little sister would grow so bold? She was like a stranger to him now. The Dany he raised and loved would never threaten her own brother, king and rightful husband.
In that act, Daenerys spit in the face of her Targaryean heritage. She'd gone savage, transformed herself into a true Dothraki queen—dirty, arrogant, violent. And they loved her.
That afternoon, he'd watched his little sister in horror as she ate a huge revolting horse heart as part of some vulgar ritual. On her knees, dressed in the leather rags, blood dripping from her chin, the Dothraki cheered for her. No one had ever cheered for Viserys. Not once.
It was time for him to accept that his true sister was dead, killed by the savage horse-lord slut who took her place.
There was only one path left to him now—a dangerous path that only seven of his ancestors in all their centuries of remembered history had even attempted, a powerful spell that only four survived.
Traditionally, Viserys would not have learned about the spell until he came of age. However, with the rest of their family slaughtered by the rebels, his mother had the wisdom to pass on the family secret before she died. If she had not, then all would have truly been lost with Dany's betrayal.
The myth that the Targaryens would ruthlessly sacrifice any newborn offspring they deemed unfit was inspired by the true practice of "Searys Batisrasi." It was an ancient Valyrian custom in noble families, like the practice of wedding brother to sister. As the last survivors of the Valyrian Doom, it was a secret now known only to the Targaryens.
In every generation, one Targaryan daughter was sent away at birth, safely hidden by magic in another realm. This practice had saved their family in the past, preserving the purity of their dragon blood if circumstances, such as an unexpected death, left a Targaryen prince without an acceptable mate. His older brother Reagar's second daughter was a Searys-Batis.
If he could not buy an army and reclaim the Iron Throne of Westeros, Viserys could at least breed a new generation of Targaryens. Perhaps the gods would look more kindly on his children then they did him. Besides, he deserved the comfort of a suitable Targaryen wife in his bed. Viserys could only hope his bride turned out to be as beautiful as Daenerys.