Standing proudly, his oiled chest shimmering in the flickering candlelight, the guard lazily flicked his eyes down to Daenerys as she hurried towards the arched tent flap, behind which Viserys lay, a dying prisoner. The breeze lifted her silks and when she spoke, it was in a small frightened voice - the voice of the fourteen year old she was.
"I wish to speak to my brother." Her voice shook as she enunciated the vowels.
Ser Jorah beside her swiftly translated, waiting for the Dothraki's guttural laugh, accompanied by the ironic tinkling of bells in his hair, followed by a lengthy response, from which Daenerys only caught the words "traitor" and "death".
"He says," Ser Jorah replied reluctantly, the hard outline of his jaw visible, "The traitor is half-delirious, he will laugh in her face and cry for his mother until death takes him under his arm, and even then, he will not be permitted entrance to the heavens."
Daenerys gave a tight-lipped nod, and pushed through the tent, motioning for Ser Jorah to stay. The thought of a delirious Viserys worried her greatly - would he attack her? Try to assassinate her? It was not death which she feared, but the notion of her brother's final betrayal, that his once-empty threats would turn into something more substantial in his final moments.
A bed of raggedy, damp straw lay on the floor in the shadows of the tent, a threadbare coarse blanket barely hiding a shivering Viserys. That was exactly what he was trying to do - hide. His disfigured face was buried within the blanket and his body shrunk beneath the cloth, as if the bare air would scorch the skin off his feet as readily as the molten crown had his face. Daenerys had a roiling turmoil of emotions inside her, the wave of nausea threatening to bring up the stringy equine heart she had fought to digest. Was she scared of the pitiful figure sprawled across the straw, or was she sorry for him? She couldn't tell the difference anymore. Hesitantly, she stepped forward till she stood at the foot of the bed of straw.
Viserys screamed.
It was the piteous cry of a dying animal, yet Daenerys hurriedly jumped behind a chest of the Dothraki's supply of plants with medicinal properties. She glimpsed his bloodshot ravaged eyes, visible through the blanket, before he curled into himself, heaving silent sobs. At first, she imagined it was the voice of perhaps a fellow patient or prisoner in the tent, the tone of the voice was so very quiet and distressed, but she saw no other.
"It wasn't her, it wasn't her, you're hallucinating, it's the stupid medicine. She wouldn't see you, she doesn't care, it's your fault. They'll all be glad, all of them. Maybe she wouldn't have been, but it's too late now, too fucking late, you did everything wrong. Oh god, oh no, oh seven save me."
He had sunk into a mess of tears and dead skin, flaking from his wounds.
"Wasn't this always what you wanted? Nobody to interfere or talk back - it's a lonely world to walk and you chose it over her, over everyone. Everyone did what they were told, don't wake the dragon you said, don't wake the beast, don't, don't. You're lucky Daenerys came along, everyone cursed her for killing Rhaella, but you were joyous, you would've been responsible for another death, driven your own mother to death, it was Daenerys, always Daenerys..."
Daenerys was shocked to hear him talk of their mother like this, but her shock was replaced by a soul crushing guilt mixed with sadness. He truly was delirious, his mind succumbing to his poisonous thoughts, which had turned on him, filling his head with doubts and a haunting madness. She edged forward, gripped her silks to prevent her hands from betraying her emotions.
"I just wanted to tell her, why won't see come and see me? I want to tell her, I need to tell her, but she won't see her brother. Don't blame her, you fool, after all you did be surprised she hasn't run to the other end of Westeros to escape you, bloody monster. I need to tell her, I need to tell her, I need to tell her."
His voice has risen to a thin scream, but still she moved gingerly forward, afraid he would lash out suddenly.
"Viserys, it's me. Viserys?"
Up close, his face was gaunt and tired, wrinkled, blistered and flaking after he had been crowned. His eyes displayed no recognition, but he called her name anyway.
"Daenerys. You're not Daenerys. I wasn't...nevermind. Get her for me, Dothraki swine. Bring me my sister. Please."
She knelt on the dust ridden ground, searching his eyes for some spark of hope, happiness, anything. They were blank. All of a sudden, he grasped her wrist, nails digging painfully into her throbbing vein, carrying her pulse. His eyes had become alert and awake, his body charged with static electricity.
"Daenerys! I - Oh. I thought -"
His shriveled face maintained a look of confusion, before clearing.
"I'm sorry. Tell her that. Tell her I don't blame her for not wanting to come, to see her ruined brother. Would you do that for me, Dothraki? I don't expect you will, don't expect you'll give the Beggar King his dying wish. Do you even understand me?"
He was laughing, a crazed, mirthless laugh. He released her wrist, glaring, full of contempt and hostility. She straightened up, but stayed close to him, feeling heat radiate off his feverish body in waves.
She was careful to keep her face blank, and nodded.
"I'm sure she -" She choked on the words. "I'm sure she loves you too."
"I don't love her, foolish Dothraki. How could you know? It's a tradition for Targaryens to marry their own blood, but I don't fucking love her. I own her - I may have sold her, but I own her, she's my blood and she'll never forget that. I merely have developed an...affection for her, as my sister." He turned on his side. "Leave me, pass the message and leave me."
Daenerys turned and fled. He was delirious. She knew all that he was saying was true, but nonetheless, it hurt. It hurt more than when the mother she never knew died, and left her with a suffocating helplessness, more than when she had been driven out of the house with the red door. It hurt. More sobs emanated from the shell of a body behind her - her ghost of a brother. She craved to leave him behind, but was deliberating whether she should let her brother spend his last few moments believing he was alone. He'd done that plenty for her. He'd been there, but not cared. Or did he? She could feel a piercing headache setting in, and only partly due to the sweltering heat of the tent.
"Daenerys. Dany. Daenerys. It's you. It's really you."
She looked back. He had twisted from facing the wall to staring straight at her, pushing himself up - painfully by the looks of it - using the blistered palms of his hand, only to slump back down, more feverish with the effort. His violet eyes were clouded, but he spoke with clarity.
"Sister, sweet sister. I can't say I feel very sorry, but I'm not too sure anymore. I'm sorry about everything and nothing. The lines between madness and sanity and rationality are becoming blurred and I can't put them together, I can't fix everything like you do. I'm so very hopeless, sister. Hopeless but proud. Rhaella would have been proud. Of you, not me. Not even Aerys would've been proud of me. I'm not asking to you forgive me sister, but I want a last chance to explain myself. As the fire has consumed my sanity, I can see clearer in the burning embers. Targaryens thrive in fire, but you are so much more: Daenerys Stormborn, Daenerys Targaryen; you are so much more than me."
He lay back, struggling to breathe in the dry air. Viserys' face was contorted with pain, yet he continued.
"I'm sorry, Daenerys. I'm not sorry for what I've done, but I'm sorry for ruining you, for nailing your dragon wings down to this godforsaken ground. You don't have to forgive me, I don't want you to. I want you to remember me here, someone undeserving of forgiveness. I'm not scared of what's to come - they say hell is alive with flames and fire. I'm not scared of hell, even if I'm not a true Targaryen. Do you want to know why, Daenerys?"
He was hardly audible now, murmuring in a soft voice. He reached for her hand, placing it on his burning chest, where she could feel his heart somersaulting an irregular rhythm, dancing and writhing beneath the flesh with a life of its own.
"Do you feel that?"
She nodded, horror stricken.
"It's my secret. There's a monster in me, Daenerys. It's eating me alive, inside out. It taunts me and at night, it tears at me, struggling to get free. It's devouring me, Daenerys. Whatever comes after has to be better than this, at least even if it follows me, it will burn in hell with me. I know I should burn in hell."
He coughed and gagged violently into his sheet, and when he lifted his face to turn to Daenerys again, the sheet was thick with blood.
"In a world so very dark, you brought me life and opened my eyes. You were my guiding light in this cursed dark world and I'm sorry I killed your light. You used to be so happy, shine so bright in the blackness of it all. It was too late when I realized that I was the shadows cast upon the world, consuming and taking joy from every corner. Enjoy the world, Daenerys, enjoy the beauty of it when darkness has been taken away. Enjoy it for me, for I could never hope to see it all, when I carried it within me: the darkness I will never be rid of. May you be blinded by the beauty, for as I carry the manifestation of darkness, you bring beauty and joy into a cruel, cold world.
"And you are beautiful, Daenerys. So very beautiful."