VISERYS II

"The day was a warm and sunny one at Dragonstone. The hills outside the castle were green and beautiful with the light of day. Just now, however, Viserys could only stare and observe it from the windows, as they had important work to do, if the rumours were indeed true. They would find out.

They all went into the Great Hall, where dinner was to be served, and the entertainment or dread of the song along with it. Viserys had sent out a dozen of his best and most discreet men in two small boats, one for six each, to row ashore to King's Landing and capture the man who had sung the songs about his sister and the attack on Riverrun, and all else which the sailors down at the village had spoken of some days back. Marillion was the singer's name, apparently, and he was already well-known all across the Riverlands and the Crownlands, but seldom stayed in one place for too long, as he neither did now in the capital. Viserys smiled contentedly to himself as he walked into the hall, sitting down at his dragon-shaped black stone throne at the table. The plan had worked out perfectly, as he knew it would.

It had only taken them a single day to locate the man, who was singing loudly standing on a table in one of the capital's largest alehouses, scrollering with his high notes for silver stags and even many a golden dragon indeed, thrown by rich captains and merchants eager for a laugh at the behest of House Tully, Targaryen and all the rest of it.

They had gone up, grabbed him as he started to panic and scream, bound rope around him, put him in a great bag of sackweave and stinking pickled fish and then rowed him all the way back to Dragonstone. When the guards of the docks had asked them what fools they were transporting fish in a sackweave, they had said that the catch was larger than they had anticipated, and that their barrels all had broken by crashing against hard stone cliffs. It was not a very good lie, and so when the guard had begun casting doubts, they had tried bribing him instead. That had not worked, but since they were six and he only one, they had smacked him down and rowed off before his colleagues could make it over, screaming and shouting as well as loosing arrows from the docks as they rowed away. Lie, bribe, fight back... Third time's the charm.

All for a sackweave of singer, Viserys thought, but this singer just now sung the most important songs of the Seven Kingdoms, and for that, he needed to be held accountable by the man whom it primarily – or perhaps secondarily – concerned.

He could not stand some idle singer spreading gossip of how House Tully's or House Targaryen's castle guards and spies had not been prepared, not heard or known about the attack on the castle before it happened, or else other people might get the same idea. The smallfolk could not be led to believe they stood a chance with similar schemes. That was a terrifying thought for any lord, and so their failure in protecting their lands and castle had to be covered up. Besides, the singer Marillion was apparently not well liked by Lord Hoster either, having deflowered or otherwise disturbed one of Dany's ladies-in-waiting some years back, even though he was a good ten years her elder. Viserys thought to himself that he would kill the man if he ever found him. Dany had never told him of the incident in her letters, though, and so he wondered how much of it was true. But regardless, the singer did not seem particularly well-liked anywhere except by the empty-headed smallfolk herds and petty lords of the land, who had not met a singer before and were taken aback by his charm and good looks.

Marillion's locks and curles were long and beautiful, the very best kind to make young maidens fall in love with him. His voice was high and beautiful, though certainy somewhat strangely howling, clamouring/malauding/wailing, like the haunting echo of summer winds.

Stannis looked over the singer with his usual judgmental stare, scrutinising him with the keen eyes of a goshawk from over across the table.

"Sing your song", he commanded, "and sing it just so as you did in King's Landing."

The singer gulped, but prepared to do as bid, knowing full well that he must surely not back away from the truth now, if he wished to have any mercy towards the people whose honour he had besmutted with the song. His captors beside him poked at him with a stick, as Stannis and Viserys sat watching, from each side of the table, Viserys at the back, by the short side, and Stannis in the middle along the right long side. Around them sat Lady Selyse, Maldaena, Ser Richard Horpe, Cressen and Pylos and most of the others. It was certainly a great congregation, but the scope was necessary.

Marillion harkled his mouth, plucked at his lyre and began singing. It was an exceedingly beautiful song, although its contents were all so mocking when one listened to them for true, Viserys thought.

There goes a wind o'er the beds of meadow, it fladders to in a Tully guard, and I shall write me a summer's song, with sun and flowers in melody, I wished to sing of the Lady Catheryn, to tree clang flutes and ar' cymbales, but tones of meadows grow songs of summer, I only listen in birch leaves' halls...

There goes a find o'er the beds of meadow, it matters hard to the Tully guard, and I shall thank me a summer's saviour, with grell and rye in the melodye, I wished to sing of the Lady Daena, to flutes of tree clang and arr' cymbale, but music wanes and then you there dye them, a colour reddish, far from green halls...

There goes a girl in the aspen garden, I have a yellowed old parchment, see, with time she grew to a dream of fairies, a lonesome wanderer's sympathy, I wished to write me a little song then, where moment blinks came eternity, but words grow mute and the tones so deaf now, the thought of song becomes secrecy... It becomes... a secrecy... "

Stannis took one look at Viserys, who nodded and gave a whisk of his hand, and then Stannis made a similar nod to the captain of guards. Now you have done it, Marillion, thought Viserys. Farewell...

The singer screamed as the guards dragged him away into the corridor and down towards the dungeons. He did not have a very nice flowery voice then. Some others at the table looked shocked.

"Well then. That is certainly taken care of", Viserys said, clapping his hands together up and down to brush off the situation. "Do we have some more wine?"

"Taken care of? Are we to understand that we shall kill him?" said Stannis, in his usual dourness.

"Kill him, hold him in the dungeons for a year or two... We can decide later." Viserys smiled.

Stannis did not smile back, but he supposed that he accepted the postponement of Marillion's final judgement for the moment. With that, Paldyn came up to him with a large pouring of red wine into his goblet and he drank deep and satisfied clunks from it.

"Aaaaah! Wonderful."

Stannis had begun grinding his teeth again.

"Come now, please. You must admit that it was a perfectly executed plan, Stannis."

"Must I, my prince? You took them to King's Landing, where the most gossip is spread in all the Seven Kingdoms, knocked down the guards at the docks, and then carried him in a sackweave across the sea like he was some pig. It is a miracle that they were not found out."

"And yet they were not. The guards in King's Landing are not as sharp or fierce as one thinks, as it seems."

"It was a fine enough trick this time, I will grant you, but it will not work many a time more."

"Nor does it need to", Viserys proclaimed contentedly. "We have quelled the song at its source."

"And you do not think that there are others, who would remember such a song and spread it further even though this one is taken?"

"I know not. I have not the power over them. I dare say not even King Eddard or Petyr Baelish could know such things. But we have done what we can to ensure the honour is intact of our houses. Something which would not have been necessary if the king had not given my sister to Lord Trout all those years ago and had him turn into a besotten old sickling rotting in his bed with his eyes closed, but... all the same... here we are."

Stannis said nothing, as the third course of supper was being served. Wheat dumplings with chicken, honey and green herbs, rosemary and chives as well as a red wine sauce. Lady Selyse looked content at having the singer removed, he saw, but his own Lady Maldaena was somewhat shocked.

I am sorry, my love, the thought. Perhaps you did not need to see that. But I had to, for the safety of our house. Both of our houses. I will try and do it somewhere else, and without your presence next time, my sweet, he promised her inside his mind.

…

The next day he met Stannis down by the sloping green hills of the island, looking out towards the small fisherman's cottages along the northeastern coast, though still some ways away from the village. Stannis stood staring at the horizon, as he most often did, planted in his steely [boots/[ ]] as immoveable as a statue out of the thousands that adorned the crenellations of Dragonstone. If only he caused as little problems as they did, and held his tongue just as well, Viserys thought to himself. Though just now theirs was an opposite problem; the fact that Stannis had indeed held his tongue and hand silent, and not written a word to the king ever since he made way for Winterfell after the Hand's hasty passing and funeral. With that purpose to his mind, Viserys now approached his old lord castellan.

"Good day", he said, trying his best not to sound wroth or impolite at the very beginning of their conversation at least.

"My prince", Stannis responded dryly, not turning around.

"I had... given a particular thought to an issue regarding the King..." Viserys tried.

"And what is that?" Stannis said.

"A small thing, though with great consequence if it should ever be omitted. It would most certainly be best if you were to send a raven to him, after your deflection, simply informing him of your continuing loyalty to the Crown."

"I have not deflected. I have returned home. As is my right."

"And surely the King has a right to know that he can trust you?"

"The King knows where my loyalties lie", Stannis said dismissively. "And if he does not, or if he should suddenly start to doubt it because I want to be rid of that schemeing snake pile of a city, then that is his own concern, My Prince, and not mine."

Viserys already felt his red blood beginning to flush hot. He's twisting the dragon's tail again... Not a very wise choice, my lord. You will taste my fury some day. And it is greater than your puny petty qualms about the wolf king... His thoughts turned to posion inside him, loving it, savouring every moment of the sensation. I wonder where your head would make the best spike adornation, my dear Lord Baratheon. At the entrance, of course, though I would also like to avoid having to stare at it when I return from my fair green walks along the grass... Your lantern jaw would be a distraction.

"It would certainly be wise to write to him, regardless of how certain you are." He mouthed his words with the best patience he could bring himself towards. But Stannis only scoffed again.

"The King is riding to Winterfell as we speak. I suspect he shall stay there for some time. What does it matter if I should write to him now or not? He will not be back until a moon's time or more."

"It is called diplomacy.", Viserys said, tying his left fist together and getting ready to punch at some unsuspecting pig in the pigsty or other. Perhaps one of the stupid servant boys, the next time they spilled something or spoke out of line. It happened unacceptably often, as was his luck.

"As I said. The King trusts me. And I trust him. I have been his loyal man ever since you were waddling around in smallclothes under Ser Willem Darry.

I do not waddle, you stupid old goat, Viserys thought. I have not waddled since the age of three, well before Ser Willem ever took me under his protection at Dragonstone. My mind was sharper than yours the first time I saw you, and when I had stayed my first fear and aggravation, I thought to myself, 'What a miserable, ugly gargoyle of a man. He is the only one I know who must surely be more miserable than I am myself.'

Stannis said nothing still, only looking out across the horizon without so much as another word.

"What are you even doing?"

"Thinking, My Prince. Thinking on a great manner of things."

"Anything which you might share with me, your lord and prince?"

"I shall be glad to share it when I have thought through. Half-baked thoughts are just as bad as half-baked cake. I'd rather prefer one burnt black to that."

'I shall be glad'... Glad... Viserys scoffed at the word. Do you even know the meaning of the word glad? Have you ever done so? Stannis did not see his wife Selyse more than once every three days since coming back, even though he was home again. She, in turn, only sat with her embroidery and drew mediocre flower paintings of her family's castle at Brightwater Keep, and prayed to her strange red god alone in her chambers. Though lately she had begun making fires on the island as well, down by the beach. Viserys did not particulary like it, but neither had he forbidden it as of yet. He waited patiently to see what would come of it, something that Stannis had taught him long ago.

The red woman, Lady Melisandre of Asshai, was a foreigner if Viserys had ever seen one, her speech thick with the strange accent of the east, her hair and eyes as red as pure rubies or fire, and though at the same time there was something strangely alluring about the woman. She adored the fire, she prayed to the fire, she lived, breathed and drank from the fire, all making her clean and alive with the truth of its light, or so she claimed, and recited old poems in High Valyrian and Qaathi which Viserys at times strained his ear to try and interpret. He knew that she would want to sway him, but so far she had not dared to. She could see the scepticism in his gaze when he looked at her. All the same, he had heard out of the servants how she had had visions of him, and wished to confront him with the dreams. He counted the days for when he would tell her of all the things she thought she knew about him and his family, and how much and in what way exactly she was wrong.

He turned to Stannis again, one last time.

"You will not write to him, then, I take it?"

"As I have said, my prince. Several times."

"Very well. If you will not write to the king, out of your own stubbornheadedness, then I will!" He said, storming off up along the green of the hill as the sunlight shone his path and that of Stannis's slightly annoyed blick finally trailing after him for a few seconds before turning back to the view of the dark blue open ocean once again.

"Cressen! Cressen, where are you? Find the Maester", he told a servant boy.

"Yes, my prince."

This one has the right proper type of manners, at least. Dragonstone truly was an island, just as its castle was, with all that it meant, he reflected.

Maester Cressen was for once on the same floor as one wanted him in, though that still meant that they had to ascend all of the stairs together. The old man was creaking and gnisseling in his stuffy old bones already, Viserys sensed.

"Perhaps I can write it myself? If you would prefer", he offered.

"No, no, I shall manage... The birds, they only trust me enough to stay still", Cressen said, though his voice was feeble before the challenge of ascending all of the steps.

Viserys sighed, announcing that in that case he would go up and wait for the maester there, writing the beginning of his letter all the while. Cressen nodded and bowed, his ancient wrinkled neck skin dangling loose in the sweeping wind of the castle. It was windy today as well. It was almost always windy here in the entrance hall, when not instead completely stifling. It was one of very few things Aegon the Conqueror, or rather his earlier ancestors, Lord Aenar and the likes, had not done well, he thought.

He got up all the way to the Rookery, grabbed a quill, inkpot and parchment and began writing, holding the parchment below his pale slender fingers as the feather quill pen traced the elegant lines in the yellow white.

"To His Grace, King Eddard of House Stark, First of His Name, King of the Andals, The Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm:

We were most concerned by hearing the dreadful news of the Hand, Lord Jon Arryn,'s unfortunate death. The Hand was an honourable man, and his memory and deeds for the kingdoms shall certainly live on for as long as we all have the strength and memory to uphold it.

I was also greatly shook and distraught to hear of the attempted attack on Riverrun and the safety of my dear sister, Daenerys. I trust, however, that Your Grace will see to her increased safety from now on, and conclave with Lord Tully in these matters to ensure it.

We remain as ever your loyal subjects, although Lord Stannis and I, Viserys of House Targaryen,...

He hindered himself from writing "prince", grumbling somewhat at the thought. He did not wish to gamble with the King's notions of titles, especially not in this moment. Still, it pained and shamed him in front of himself. He took another swallow of strongwine from Cressen's own storage close by. He was sure the Maester would not miss a quarter a bottle from his old dusty collection.

...although Lord Stannis and I, Viserys of House Targaryen, proclaim hereby a regrettable but necessary momentary absence from the Small Council meetings, on account of...

He scrabbled his head, letting his fingers slide along the silky soft of his long silvery hair.

...on an account of rampant disease which has struck the island.

The perfect excuse, true enough that it need not even be a lie. The sailors always brought strange bursts of diseases from afar, making the small fisher villages into quarantine zones for the better part of a fortnight most of the time.

We regret that we are unable to visit you and the royal family, as well as the rest of the court, in this hard and trying time for the kingdoms. We stand behind you, as ever, and wish you good fortune on your incoming travels to meet with Lord Stark at Winterfell.

The pact of ice and fire remains, now and always, Your Grace.

Greetings from Dragonstone

/ Lord Viserys of House Targaryen, Lord of Dragonstone

Stannis of House Baratheon, Lord Castellan of Dragonstone Castle

He put away the parchment beside him as soon as he was finished, and then stood brooding at its contents for a good quarter as he stared outside the window, much like his foster father down below all of those stairs and outside the gates. He hoped he would not see the vexation of his shadow on the grass as he let his mind wander into thoughts of possible trouble and dismay...

The letter was far from perfect, but it was something. That was most important. If he could only send it away now, as soon as possible, then perhaps the court at King's Landing would get the letter on to the King in time before he reached Winterfell, or indeed the Neck, which was said to be quite impassable, even for ravens, due to its mists and shifting islands in the swamps. He was not even sure if Greywater Watch, the keep of the Reeds, held a rookery at all, now that he thought about it.

…

He had waited seven days for an answer when finally they got a raven. It was not from the King, however; rather, it was from Hoster Tully, who wrote a very curt message indicating that the Lady Daenerys was safe and that the attackers had been dealt with. So now you tell me, you old trout. Hoster Tully had never quite warmed to him, and neither did Viserys feel particularly grateful towards him for having his sister as his hostage and only allowing him to visit once every two years. But I shall deal with you later on this issue... He thought to himself.

He found that he almost had to pity a man who could not defend his own castle, but at the same time it made him furiously mad. Such weakness was dangerous, and not befitting someone who was lord over anything, least of all someone who was charged with keeping his own sister and blood safe. The more he thought about it, the more he realized that. He was as mad as the Fourteen Flames, walking back and forth in rage and fret along the parapets of the castle, and he should have been more so, in truth, when he thought about it, but it was all over now at least, it had been over even before he had learned of it, the attackars already dealt with, most of them executed, only some of them remaining alive, held in the Tully's cells at Riverrun and some adjoining castles close by. The Golden Company. Or so they said... Hired by someone from across the Narrow Sea, most like. That hindered his rage at least slightly, for it was all simply so strange, and in truth he could not have foreseen such an attack himself, but still... The curtness of the message, the tone coming from old Lord Hoster, as if it was not necessary to inform him, but that he had felt forced to do so, for what he guessed was close to the last time. Her own brother, her blood, a kingdom away... And you don't even write to me straight away.

He tried calming himself down, though, remembering that the old trout was always a quarrelsome man according to Stannis, and that he was old and sick now, laying in his sickbed for most part, most like to be dead within a couple of years at any rate. But he could at least have had his son Edmure write a letter instead...

Finally, after close to ten days, they received a raven from Castle Darry, confirming that the King had indeed gotten their letter and was pleased for it. It was the King himself, in his own handwriting and words. Viserys kissed the ground beneath him when he read it, and then kissed the hands of his sweet, wonderful, endearing lady wife who stood beside him on the green of the hill just outside the castle.

The King had replied; he was not wroth, or so it seemed. All the worries were gone. Thank the Gods, Viserys thought, Thank all of the sweet gods, as they walked back in towards the castle and all the way up the stairs to their bedchamber and quarters. The guards nodded, bowing down deeply, as they went past. He held her hand all the way up to their bedchamber, and his heart beat fast.

Now they would sleep easier of a night, he though, as he carefully embraced her, stroking her hair, but all the while thinking somewhere in his mind that perhaps it was he who needed someone to stroke him by he hair, to soothe his fret and worries, and not the other way around."

As soon as he had thought it, however, she seemed to sense his heart's troubles, as she pulled him down beneath her, walking and leading him away to the bed and laying him down with his face nuzzled between her warm breasts.

"Are you going to lay with me now, my prince?" She said, smiling down at him with her beautiful eyes nearly gently closed.

"Yes, my darling", he said, almost giggling from excitement, as he kissed her breasts and her hand and then her breasts again, jucking himself in to her warm embrace. "I love you so much. Thankyou for staying with me throughout my troubles these past days. I'm so sorry. I love you. I love you."

"I love you", she replied, already beginning to moan, her eyes closed in anticipating pleasure as he stroked her body gently, kissing her everywhere that he could.

Now we are safe, at least for the time being, and I have nothing more to do until tomorrow noon. I will stay with you here forever, my love. My darling. I love you so much. I love you..."

"

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