...

EPILOGUE / VISERYS V

"The seagulls were still cawing and laughing above his head high up in the still blue sky, a sky as blue as lavendel as Viserys Targaryen stood on the green hill with his glass of purple dreamwine in his hand.

He had done his best to try and relax himself of his madness ever since the red witch's trick, now some two or three moons before.

She had made him toss the leech onto the fire and speak the old trout's name. Lord Hoster Tully.

He still remembered it all, even though Maldaena had told him to do his best and try and forget the entire business.

You were not yourself, she had told him, she had a spell over you. You must promise me to never let her do something like that again. Do not let her tempt you, Viserys.

So far at least, he had been able to hold his promise and keep away from the lady Melisandre ever since that episode on the beach, to the slowly lessening fear of his wife and himself. Meanwhile she and her followers continued with their nightfires and the incessant red hollering of a night, ensnaring the vile old Florent shrew and her hypnotized flock more and more for every passing night and day.

If he had been a braver man, he might have banished her, but he dared not, for fear of her powers. His brother surely would have. Rhaegar would have known what to do. Always.

At least Stannis still kept away from the allure of red R'hllor. A man as dour as he had no place inside his heart for gods nor magic. Viserys was thankful for that much, at least. But besides that, he still did not know for certain how he felt about it all. The gods alone would see if she was truly to fear. Meanwhile he would continue his suspicion of her, no matter what powers she seemed to held, and keep waiting.

The sudden and unexpected visit from the king had not made it easier, either. He had bowed down and sworn fealty to him. He had had no other option, of course. But he hoped that it would be the last time he would have to do so in front of his people.

He had promised the king to be faithful and loyal to him. And he had meant it, he thought, somewhere inside his heart, even though the thought made him angry as well.

If King Eddard had known what mission had already been sent off with the Onion knight, however, he might not have been as happy as to leave the island and return to the capital.

But Viserys had done what needed to be done, and now that was in the hands of the gods, and in the chopped hands of the Onion knight that he still wore in a small leather pouch around his neck. He was already well on his way, and Viserys's orders with him.

Their plans were set into play, even though they seemed to still take far longer than he at first had hoped.

The Onion knight had taken sail a fortnight before and was like to have reached well into the trident by now, surely, but still they had not heard from him. No raven from Maidenpool, no word, nothing.

Perhaps he has deserted us and joined with the Tullys, Viserys had thought once, when he lay awake molling over it inside his mind, but he knew somewhere deep down that such was most likely not the case. The lowborn man, however loyal to Stannis he was, could be trusted, he felt it to be. A man did not keep his fingerbones around his neck for the fun of it. He was loyal to his headsman, he served us well with the singer, and he will continue to be loyal to me, for however long this all will take, Viserys told himself.

"My love", Maldaena interrupted his thoughts where he sat drinking, her voice as innocent and beautiful as a silk shawl, her eyes as blue as the sky. "What troubles you?" She asked him.

"It's nothing, my dear", he said, raising himself up from his chair and kissing her on her forehead.

Her skin was soft and supple, so sweet, so pale, so beautiful. He loved her with all his heart.

"I wish you would come down and take a walk with me. You spend too much time indoors stuck with your own thoughts."

"What's wrong about my thoughts?" Viserys asked glumly, though he knew the answer himself.

"You seem to be worrying about things that have either already gone by, or things that will come. If you would issue a command you should do so. But otherwise it seems you are brooding just like Stannis."

"Don't speak his name", Viserys mumbled. "The iron fool..."

"He helped you against the king", she said. "He always only wants to help. Ever since you were a boy, my sweet."

"What he did was save his own skin. If he truly wanted to help, he would tell his egregious wife to get that red bitch off my island."

"What is done is done, my love. Let us try and not think of it anymore. She cannot hurt us in here."

He looked out ove the courtyard and the walls down below the windows.

"Perhaps she can walk through walls...", he suggested, in a tone just as dour as the grey stone walls of the castle.

"Well, we will not be able to defend ourselves against her if we only sit here, if that is the case. We would be well to take a walk and think of other things, better things. Autumn will come soon enough, and bright summer days like this shall be the rarer for it."

He looked up at her, surprised by her sudden candour and energy.

"Come, my love. Come and walk with me. Take my hand, and kiss me, and make me happy."

He sighed and got up from his chair, put the glass away on the table and took her hand to hold her.

...

They took a long and leisurely promenade around their favorite parts of the island, seeing the sheep hages where the sheep grazed like white fluffy clouds, their lambs – most like the last to be born before autumn and winter – baah-ing, headbutting and scuffling about to suckle at their mothers' teats. Their prodding was aggressive, as they headbutted their mothers' teats just as fiercely as they jousted with their brothers.

The shepherd bowed before them as they came walking, an old man with his muttonchops greying and as woolly as the pelt of his sheep, whom Viserys constantly forgot to ask the name of. He promised himself to do so next time he came here, as he kissed his lady wife's hand softly.

"My prince. M'lady", the shepherd nodded dutifully. "Seven blessings to you, my prince!"

"Good man", Viserys only said. "Seven blessings to you."

They watched the man as he walked with a small flock of sheep heading to the other hage with fresh pasture across the hills. His grey shape herding the sheep from the old yellowed remains to the few greener plains that remained on the island served as another reminder that autunmn would soon be on its way.

"The Starks have it right, and damn them for it", he mumbled. "Winter is coming..."

"But not before a nice and plentiful autumn", his love promised. "There will be lots of bounty of a great autumn's harvest before. You will see, my dear."

When they got back, Maldaena retreated to the castle to take a bath while Viserys promised to be with her soon, right after he had taken to work with the affairs of the castle for the day.

...


The next few days went by as usual, as he went down to the docks to keep a look on the construction of the ships, albeit still mostly from afar. Stannis was heading the work, and he did not wish to get drawn into hour-long discussions about which type of tar was the best to ward off barnacles. He had his captains for that.

He prayed and hoped that the king would not disturb them again, and that the small fleet would be able to grow in peace. He would need it, he knew. For his own safety, and for the safety of the island.

He was a Targaryen. His forebearers had lost the dragons long ago, his father had lost the iron throne, and he himself had lost both his baby sister and the sovereignty of his island in the eyes of his people when the King had come to shame him, but by all the fires of the seven hells, noone would take his ships away from him.

He knew that he could count at least on his good-father to join him in this, along with Stannis of course. Lord Monford Velaryon had told him many times and with the zealousy of one anointed by a septon of the greatness that the Dragonstone fleet held in times past, before the great storms that had ravaged it during the war of stag and wolf, and he remembered the sight of it as well. Great sails swelling with pride to a dying dynasty, as it was in the last days of his father, and perhaps so even now...

But no, it must not be. He would see to it that it was not made so, no matter how many goldcloaks or Baratheons or unwashed northmen the wolf king would send his way. This is my island. this is my home, and you will not take away that final power from me, or it will be the last thing you do while sitting upon my father's and brother's throne.

...

The day was a fine one, one of the few and final ones they would see before autumn would be here in full, he felt it, as he stood by the castle gates watching the green hills, and the dark smoke of the Dragonmont on the mountain to the west.

Some time later, Maester Cressen gave him the latest news from the rookery. A raven had come with a message from somewhere he did not immediately recognize. The wax of the sigil was not the icy grey and white of the king, nor of the teal blue Velaryon or red Celtigar, or Massey or Bar Emmon, nor any else of his own vassals. Instead it was yellow and black.

"It is signed to be read for Lord Stannis", Cressen said.

"Let me read it", he demanded, as Cressen relented and gave the message to his prince to inspect.

"Is this a jest?" he asked, as he saw the sigil more clearly.

"I wish it were so, my prince", Cressen said in an apologetic tone.

The little wax sigil showed a black stag on a yellow background, the one Viserys Targaryen hated to see most of any other in Westeros. Lord Robert Baratheon of Storm's End.

"How dare he?!" Viserys screamed as loud as he dared, not to burst the old and feeble maester's ear drums. "He dares to write to me? That fat oaf, the bastard of a bastard's house, the drunken wretch, I'll kill him! I'll slice his fat belly up with my own blade, I'll-..."

"He does not write to you, my prince", Cressen quickly reminded him, trembling in his old hoarse voice. "He writes to his brother. To Lord Stannis."

"He writes to my castle!", Viserys said. "Mine! I'll see what he has to say before I burn this letter on Melisandre's bloody nightpyres, the witch! Perhaps she can get me rid of him as well, just as she did with old Tully. My soul is already taken by her red god, so say they all in their whispering...-"

"My prince, please", urged Cressen, "let us not be hasty with our sentiments. She is not someone you should turn to. Not even for the hatred you may feel towards Lord Baratheon. Turn to your father's and mother's gods instead. Pray to them. Not to this evil red one... The more you speak about her, think about her, the more power she is like to get."

"My father's and mother's gods... " Viserys gave a dry, hoarse scorning laugh. "My mother's gods could not save her from the death that took her life in childbed." He became sad all of a sudden, before the anger came back, at the old maester for having reminded him of those old griefs. "And my father's god... was fire."

"Please, my prince... The red woman... She is not...-"

"Enough! I will read it, and then see what I am to make of all this."

He waved a hand of dismissal towards the decrepit old maester, and the old man had the sense to at least oblige. He nodded, bowed down and became silent, as he turned on his old weary bones and walked away.

Robert Baratheon... Lord Robert... Lord Baratheon... I'll have you burnt like the traitor and rebel you are, once and for all, and then give Storm's End to Stannis. That way I'll finally be free of him, the thought, tying his fists together so hard that he thought they might bleed or catch fire.

He opened the letter, shaking all the while, as Cressen watched him from afar, no doubt ready to soon call on Pylos or one of the helpers or servants to fetch him another cup of dreamwine, as before, or some milk of the poppy, perhaps... Gods how he would need it soon...

"Summon him here!" He shot out, "tell him that his vile traitor brother has utterly lost his wits, along with his formerly flat stomach."

Cressen merely nodded, beginning what would no doubt be a long and arduous walk towards wherever Stannis was hiding away. Cressen would know where to find him, at least.

That was one of the few things the old crippled maester was good for. He had grown up with Stannis at Storm's End, and as such knew him well enough to handle him, if anyone could. Perhaps he would also know some weaknesses of the older brother, the fat greasy drunken bastard of a stag, that could come in handy to punish him for his grave insolence.

Viserys swore to his own heart that he would not abide by the sight of the man, that the next time he had word of his presence alongside the king in the capital, he would take a ship at once and challenge him to a duel. The ugly brute would accept at first glance, no doubt, and expect not much of it. But if he could only come up with some way to win over him, some way, some secret trick... Whatever it would be, he was prepared to do it. He had acted to save his sister. That much was still necessary. And now he was also prepared to finally avenge his brother.

He spent the rest of the evening sour, as Stannis made his way to read the letter as well. The only thing which could calm him down somewhat was the look he saw on his lord castellan's face, confirming that he indeed thought and felt much the same disgust towards his older brother.

"My older brother is a fool", Stannis confirmed. "I have known it since we were young, and he did not return to Storm's End after the death of our mother and father. Now he opposes me, and believes me to be working towards him when it is his banners who have been the cause of this. So will they all deny. My post is not worth much in the eyes of the kingdoms, it seems. Only Robert, for his deeds in the rebellion. I was the one who kept Storm's End for him against Tyrell and Redwyne, I was the one who starved for a year to keep hold of our parents' castle, our but it suits him well to forget about it when he hears other word from that little mockingbird."

His jaw soured in distaste.

"Here", he told Cressen, handing him the letter.

"Shall I put it among the others?" the old decrepit maester asked Stannis, his wrinkled hands and ancient voice both trembling.

There had only ever been less than a handful letters sent from the lord of Storm's End to his brother over all the years, as far as Viserys knew, and most of them very lavishly uncaring or curt in their tone, but Stannis had saved them nonetheless, as he did with all of his correspondence.

"Aye", Stannis inclined. "Perhaps His Grace would like to look at it, the next time we meet. If he should be prepared to open his eyes to what he will not see. I doubt it, however. Robert can apparently make no wrongs in his eyes."

The maester nodded, shaking as an autumn wind all the while, and put the letter with the Baratheon seal in one of his long pockets to be on his long and winding way.

"The Golden Company, or whomever it is, have done their work, I will admit it. Those few banners could mean the end of our house, if we do not handle it right", Stannis said.

"I have seen them, at the Red Keep. They are old, tattered, and not from my collection. Perhaps from one of Robert's old troops in the war. Perhaps even older than that..." He mused. "I told the king as much, and he listened, but there are others who distrust me. My own brother, it seems..."

...

They both stood watching, as the old maester trundled along away, disappearing behind a number of grey smokey columns like a little grey mouse, his back bent and his spirits low.

"Storm's End should be yours", Viserys said quietly, not long after Cressen had left them. "You deserve it far more than he ever did. It is as you said. You have fought for it. I know the stories of the siege. You told it to me a hundred times when I was a boy. If you do not press your claim for it now, then when?"

"There may be no love between us, nor is he worthy to occupy the seat he is in, that which belonged to our father before him, but he is still my older brother", Stannis said, "now with two sons of his own, and the laws of gods and men must hold. Even in such cases as this."

"The laws? By those sacred laws I am the rightful king of Westeros, not King Eddard Stark. The laws are only meant to serve as a white veil for all of the blood that truly binds together the realms of men. It was not any act of law that made Aegon conquer all the Seven Kingdoms. It was fire and blood. It was dragons. The laid-down swords of his enemies. If you were to respond to this insolent piece, as you should...-"

"Then both you and I would have been guilty of breaking the king's peace", Stannis finished for him. "We must speak to His Grace about this. I shall do so. He and Robert are not the same. It is time he saw that. Not even kings can choose which men to have for friends freely. The king will know it to be true when I tell him."

"He and that fat usurper know nothing, except for how to hold on to his power, and to humiliate us", Viserys said, his spit seething from between his teeth. "But they do not value it. They do not live up to it. He did not want the crown, not even after killing my brother for it. Instead he gave it away to Stark, who looks as miserable as all the ghosts of the cold North for the responsibility put on him. Neither of them were meant to have it. Neither deserve it. You know it to be so."

"And yet... Here we are. The king and my brother fought hard, and won. Your brother died. Mine went on to live, and to torment me. I was given my task, to watch over you, which I have done and will keep on doing. My place is here. Robert's is at Storms' End. And I will not break any oaths today, my prince."

Stannis turned away, as he walked off slowly, to retire to the Sea Dragon Tower as the sun went down, inch after inch, up on the blue-orange tablet of the sky. The waves were crashing behind.

We shall see, he thought, as he looked out west over the sea, imagining how the stout Lord Baratheon sat laughing down at his even stouter keep even now. We shall see for how long a brother's loyalty will hold, or that of a subject to his king, and how long you keep that grin on your unworthy traitor's face...

...

It was less than a moon later that he stood out in the very same spot, watching the green slopes of the island from afar as the waves crashed out at sea. Sailors and carpenters were busier than ever with the construction of the new fleet.

"Viserys", Maldaena called out to him from across the yard. "Come, my love, there is something I wish to show you."

Viserys did not need to be called twice when it came to his beloved. He came with her willingly, taking her by the hand as she led him into the castle, servants and guards bowing before them as she made her way all the way up and into the chamber where she usually bathed.

"What is it?" He asked her, trying to keep up.

"Come", she repeated, opening the door to the final little room where she had been just before coming out to greet him.

Pylos' somber and polite eyes met him, as the tall youthling of a maester bowed before his prince and lady.

"Good day, my prince. And congratulations."

He nodded his head solemnly down towards the floor, for Viserys to inspect.

And so he did. The look that came to his eyes then was a welcomed one, if ever there was.

The wheat grains that she had made her yellow water on had sprouted. After less than a day, if one could believe it. Pylos soon came in to the chamber to confirm it.

"My lady Maldaena is with child. Congratulations, my prince."

"Thankyou, Pylos", he mumbled, all the while staring at her, his beautiful treasure.

Her skin was still strangely supple from the water of the bath, as he ran a curious finger over the shape of her mostly flat belly.

Then, he felt it. A stirring, if not a little jump, a kick.

...

Viserys felt something else as well, something other than excitement. Something which he had not felt for a long long time. Peace...

Not since they took his sister away from him, all those years ago, nor perhaps since he was first forced to part with his own remnants of childhood inside his heart, the childhood that had died along with his Mother and the stag and direwolf's war. Robert's rebellion, they had called it at first, when the brutish storm lord raced against his brother to try and tear the kingdoms asunder for the petty honour of the wolf girl.

Then, after the demon of the trident, as the people called him, had killed his brother Rhaegar on the battle field, and after the Kingslayer had put his golden sword through Father's back, the whoremongering storm lord realized suddenly that he had no interest in replacing him as king.

And so, it had come to be King Eddard Stark who stole the throne instead, and the rebellious war of the traitors came after that to be known as the war of ice and fire. Ice for the Starks, fire for House Targaryen.

Viserys took another swallow of his wine before placing it on the bedside table beside them.

Maldaena was naked before him, and as beautiful as she had ever been. Her blue violet eyes were shaded by her eyelashes, looking down in a serene silence at the life that was growing inside of her.

Viserys took her hand, bent down before her, and kissed her. First on her fingers, then on her hand, then on her sweet head as he embraced her and held her there, kissing her, over and over again.

"I love you, my sweet. I love you, I love you, I love you. I love you so so much, my darling."

"I love you too", she murmured, deep into his neck and chest as they held eachother.

Viserys felt the peace inside his heart that he had longed for for so many years. The fire inside him, the stormclouds that so often brewed inside his heart, seemed to not be there anymore. He felt at ease. He felt happy, for the first time in the whole year since his sister had been stolen away from him. They would get her back as well. But in the meantime, they would have something even greater than that; their own wonderful little dragon child. Their son or daughter would bear the colours of both Targaryen and Velaryon, he vowed then and there, as he smelled his love's lavender-scented silver white hair.

The world might be against them, Stannis and the red woman might continue to vex them, even the wolf king might raise his mailed fist against them, and scold at them with his face of frozen ice, but it did not matter anymore, nothing of it, not truly. Not for as long as they had eachother.

They would create their own world. It would only take another seven moons, eight perhaps, Viserys thought as he caressed the soft pink skin of his lady wife's still as yet so smooth but at last vitified belly, blessed from his seed, and by the winds of sea and sky alike.

The gods had heard their prayers at last, and answered them. Once again, finally, for the first time in fifteen long eternal years, Dragonstone would be home to the sound of laughing children."

...

AUTHOR'S NOTE: These will most likely be the last few chapters of the first part of the story. I will most likely continue the story in another story, a sequel so to speak, both because of practical reasons (the many chapters do add up and make it hard to scroll and keep track of them all, and I myself personally prefer to not have over ca 80 - 100 chapters in the same story, as it just feels excessive.) and also to signify the framing of the story encompassing ca 298 A.C. and the equivalent of "A GAME OF THRONES". Therefore, I will most likely publish the new story, the sequel, very soon, which will have most of the same character and POVs continue their stories, as well as some new POVs, just like in GRRM's A CLASH OF KINGS.

I have asked what you guys feel about this before and I got some few responses, so thanks to those who answered, but we will see if I continue to update here in this same "document" story, or in a new story called "The Reign of the Wolves: A Clash of Kings" / "A Brawl of Brothers", which will be the sequel.)

Thankyou so much for your support, and please make sure to search for and follow the new story / part of the story, which is book 2 in the order to keep on track with the new chapters! :)

/ Adam Targaryen