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"No! NO! Please, Dany! Don't let them do this!!! Please!!!"
He feels the molten gold touch his head, flowing down, encasing his forehead and his temples,
running down to his neck.
The guards let him drop to the floor.
After some time his breathing steadies. - His breathing?
Yes. He is still alive. Tentatively his fingers reach up to touch the ruined skin around the gold.
Nothing. No burns. No open bleeding sores. The voices have died down around him, when he takes
'his crown' off. His hair is still there. Everything is as before.
The first voice he hears again is Dany's.
"Fire can't hurt The Dragon."
At this moment Viserys realizes that no matter how often he talked about it, he never really believed
those stories. He didn't believe in dragons.
He remembers one of Dany's slaves telling him of her touching the scalding dragons egg. Jealousy had
been eating away on him since then.
A little voice telling him, that »he« wasn't The Dragon.
He looks at his reflection in the shiny surface the golden helmet lying on the floor. It looks as
twisted as he had become. Always reaching up, clutching onto crumbling bricks breaking out of the castle
he's build inside his head.
****
They never talk about it. Because maybe it's enough. Maybe it's enough to know that they're both dragons.
And little by little their relationship returns to something like what it was when they were children. When
they had only each other, thrust from house to house from city to city. Never welcome, barely tolerated.
He's giving her a little less shit and she's taking none of it. It's enough for the moment.
****
The baby is okay, Dany on the other hand isn't. They say she'll probably never wake up again.
When he looks at the tiny baby with the silver-blond hair he suddenly realizes that he'll probably
never talk to his little sister again. She's going to die. And why? Because those stupid barbarians
don't have proper doctors! His little sister! Well, his little sister that tried to murder him. But
on the other hand he'd threatened to kill her first. They're Targaryens. Such things don't mean they
don't love each other.
****
"What about the witch?" Viserys brings it up after Dany hasn't woken up for three days.
Jorah translates again.
»What about her?« Drogo looks at if he's tempted to strangle him, but at the same time he's desperate.
"Maybe she can use some magic to bring her back. Dany saved her life, didn't she?"
****
As it turns out the witch can do indeed something.
»You say she saved me? What did she save except my life. You destroyed my village and killed my family. Now,
you'll see, how much life means without anything else, Khal.«
»If my wife dies, you'll follow her to the pire, until then you'll learn how much more I can take from you.«
Viserys has to grudgingly admire the cruelty of the punishment, he just hopes it won't turn against him.
****
Jorah expected Khal Drogo to kill Viserys, after all he'd been the one to bring the sorceress up in the first place.
One has to admit though, that he meant well, for the first time in his life maybe. And strictly speaking Dany isn't
more dead than before.
Drogo seems to agree, leaving him alone, and Viserys has self-preservation instinct enough to stay out of sight.
For a few days that is.
"I need to talk to Khal Drogo!"
"I don't think that's such a good idea right now."
"If I'd care for your opinion, Ser Mormont, I'd ask for it!"
"Very well."
"Translate." He orders swiftly, once they arrive at his tent. "We are going to the next big city, you hear me?! In
Quarth they have blood-magicians too. I'm not going to wait until my little sister dies in this god-forsaken desert
around your horde of useless savages!"
Jorah wonders whether he should use slightly less agitating words, but given Viserys' attitude he decides not to.
His whole body language is evident enough as it is.
To everyone's surprise Drogo doesn't try to kill Viserys but agrees with him. They break camp only hours later and
make their way towards Quarth.
****
Their journey is a slow one, interrupted by countless pauses when Dany is too weak to travel. Some days Jorah fears
she'll die before they even reach Quarth. Drogo and Viserys spend more time in each others company than either of them
would like. For the first time Jorah thinks that Viserys might actually care for his sister, when he sees him sitting
by her bedstead, often enough holding her son.
Drogo hasn't as much free time between dealing with disputes within his khalasar and pillaging villages on their way.
Jorah is surprised Drogo tolerates Viserys' presence when he comes to visit Dany. The first days they don't look at each
other, they don't talk. But then the routine gets to them, though, their conversations are virtually nothing more than
insults muttered in the respective native language. He doesn't bother to translate.
"Stupid savage, shouldn't you be off raping some village girls?"
»Won't someone finally give me the head of this little shit?«
****
"Rhaego?! Is that even a name? I won't have my nephew named like one of your horses! It's Rhaegar!"
»What is the little shit saying?«
»I have no idea.«
»Fire didn't work, but maybe we could try to drown him.«
"Your laughing at me? Really?! We'll see how much you laugh, once I have your heads on pikes in King's Landing!"
****
Being around each other without Mormont is equally frustrating for either of them, despite both of them trying for a
basis of understanding, against their better judgement.
"This tent needs to be cleaner. I can't have those women relief themselves and then walk in here tend to my sister!"
»What?!«
He can tell by Drogo's face that his answer is probably no contribution to the topic.
"Dirty! Have those SLAVES WASH THEIR HANDS!" Viserys is aware that yelling his words, won't magically turn them into
Dothraki, but in the absence of a better alternative he sticks to it.
»You're calling me dirty, young snivelling cur?!«
"You sodding..!..Whatever." Viserys goes over to trying to show him with gestures.
Once Jorah arrives at the tent, he finds a both embarrassed and unnerved Viserys and a deeply puzzled Drogo.
****
"She's got a fever." Viserys assesses with only one look to her unnaturally flushed cheeks.
»She's got a fever! When did that happen?!« Drogo growls at him, after touching her forehead.
"FE-VER, You big stupid oaf!"
»Yes, it's a fever, you brainless twerp!«
"Maybe she'd be better off, if we'd take her outside into the sun instead of staying in this shithole, where even I wouldn't be
sure whether I'm dead already."
"Outside?" Drogo asks, mentioning towards the tent opening.
Viserys nodds frantically, before this unexpected enlightenment is swept away by new misunderstandings. And he makes a mental
note. If this intellectually underdeveloped savage is able to learn pieces of their language why shouldn't he be able to learn
Dothraki? Dany managed it after all.
****
Viserys looks down on Rhaegar (he still refuses to call him Rhaego) sleeping in his arms. It took him ages to calm him down. He
won't leave his only heir (should Dany die) in the hands of brutish savage women. He might as well let a goat tend to him. He deeply
regrets not having taken more slaves from Pentos, but the three he brought are attending Dany.
Drogo walks in, about ten minutes later. He's been off scavenging again. Viserys isn't sure what for. It should be pretty obvious, that
any doctor that's worth consulting, won't be willing to get paid in sheeps. Maybe the slaves can make them some good money. At worst they
can sell the eggs. Dany's attachment to them was always stronger than his.
»Don't wake baby, son of a powdered cow!« Viserys is incredibly pleased with himself, after delivering that stunningly well-formed
comment.
Drogo looks at him for a moment contemplating whether it would upset Dany if he kills her brother on her bedside.
"You mean »putrid«, cousin of a rabbit dog?"
"Whatever."
****
Drogo never expected him to show that much concern for the child he'd threatened while he was still in his mother's womb.
He isn't willing to reevaluate his opinion on Viserys just yet, though. For what he knows Viserys, it could just be a charade
to keep himself alive, while Dany isn't there. No, that's bullshit, Viserys' far too arrogant to keep up an act like that
for even a minute.
Drogo has never heard about having molten gold poured over someones head changing their character. But on the otherhand how many
people did he have to test this theory on before?
Maybe it's really just the fact that Rhaego is half Targaryen too.
****
Viserys can't wait to finally arrive at Quarth. He doesn't want to spend one second longer in this godsbedamned desert,
surrounded by idiots and the king of idiots.
"Your husband is unsufferable, Dany." He pats her hand, awkwardly. "I'm sure you're glad you've got a break from dealing
with him." He watches her unmoving form, as if giving her time for a reply. "It's not my fault, though. I'm being perfectly
sociable. Drogo is the one who's perpetually starting fights. I know it must be hard to be around someone who's so clearly
your superior. And it probably undermines his authority around his people. But really, he has to grow up, we're all making
sacrifices here."
It's not that bad, really. But he won't tell his sister. The Dragon doesn't do compromisses.
****
Whatever he said about not being that bad, he's taking it back.
»I'm giving up! You're too stupid!« Viserys dramatically throws the book away.
Drogo only growls.
»Why on earth do you feel the sudden need to read and write?«
"So, I don't have to rely on your questionable testimony."
It pisses Viserys off to no end that Drogo seems to master his language just as fast as Viserys is getting a grasp of Dothraki.
He can tell by Drogo's shit-eating grin, that he is acutely aware of that.
»Of all the available Westerosi people...«
"You mean your unconscious sister and my infant son?"
»And Ser Jorah.«
"And Ser Jorah." Drogo concedes. Neither of them is particularly close with Jorah, he's more Dany's man.
Viserys starts to say something in return, when he catches a whiff of air.
»Are you drunk?!« He asks, incredulously.
»So, are you.« Drogo replies, indicating the time of the day, with a motion to the top of the tent, where no sunlight is shining
in.
»But I'm not the one with need for expanding his skills, but the one sacrificing his precious spare time.« Viserys answers pouring
himself another glass of wine, feeling glad that he brought glasses at all, otherwise he'd probably be drinking out of skins.
»Precious spare time? When was the last time you did anything useful? No, let me rephrase that. Is this the first useful thing you
did in your life?«
»Oh, adorable! The savage trying to defeat his superior in a battle of wit.«
»Probably the only kind of battle you at least have a chance, to begin with.«
»Says the guy, afraid of water.«
»Says the guy, begging me for an army.«
Viserys feels, like this is the right moment to spit his wine in Drogo's face, in lieu of dignifying that with a retort.
He doesn't have to wait for a reaction long. The action's expected driving intention seems to shift midway, though. And the result
is utterly unanticipated. Though, and it speaks for responsible drinking in the future, not entirely unwelcomed.
Viserys can't imagine Drogo being anything but gentle with his sister, everyone is always nothing but gentle with her. People
become gooey mush in her presence.
He assumes later that it's the hair that does it. Not the gooey mush thing, that is. It's longer now than it's used to be, before
they left Pentos.
For a moment he actually appreciates that they're in a tent, when his head hits the canvas instead of a wall. Drogo moves away
from him, giving him that dark stare, that makes him wonder, if he's spontantously decided to kill him after all.
"No?"
"No?" »No. Yes. Fuck it..« Or more precisely, fuck me, Viserys thinks before grabbing Drogo by his braid, pulling his face down
again.
Viserys hooks his legs around his waist. Drogo runs a hand down his by now mostly exposed thigh. The dark of the hand in stark
contrast to the white of his skin.
It's probably a bad mixture of pent up resentment and living on too close space. Not to mention the alcohol. It's a bad idea, all
in all.
Whe he runs his tongue down Drogo's throat to the beginnings of his tattoos under his collarbones, he wonders what that whore had
taught his sister. His laughter vibrates against Drogo's skin. There sure as hell isn't a thing she could have taught him.
He pushes Dany to the farthest corners of his mind. He needs respite. He has spend too many weeks watching the woman he loves die
slowly. He's suffered watching that arrogant worthless little fool stroll around him, only because he knew Dany would have wanted
it. His constant presence. And the most mortifying thing is that his brawls with the little brick, be it verbal or by look and gesture,
were the only moments he could let go, if only for a moment.
It must be the hair, the eyes, maybe even the color of his skin, he tells himself while he buries his face in said hair, his hands
running over a body that without doubt is not Dany's.
He's seen more of Viserys Targaryen in the past weeks than in the entirety of the months before. He hasn't been oblivious to the
change in the behavior of the siblings to each other, since Viserys' 'coronation'. And even in his eyes the 'dragon prince' has
earned somewhat more of a status since then.
What he's seen by now hasn't changed much of his perception, though. Mostly it's been arrogance. A lot of it. Dany'd told him he's
nothing more than a frightened boy, trying to live up to expectations. For what it concerns him he's an idiot that shouldn't be named
in the same sentence as his wife.
But nevertheless, 'The Dragon' seems to have some claim to that name. And among all the people surrounding him he's the only one
he can trust in not turning his worry for his wife against him. Because Viserys needs him. He's the means to his throne. He doesn't
need a disrupted khalasar with fights for succession.
Drogo doesn't know what he's expected, but he's nothing like his sister. There's arrogance here too. He knows what he's doing. He knows
the kind of effect he has.
Where he grabs roughly, he's met by it's like, challenging eyes searching his.
It's a game, both waiting how far the other will push it, when they both know neither of them is able to stop at this point.
When he pushes into him, he can't help but moan into that damned hair of his. Viserys bites down on the skin above his collarbone,
while his fingernails leave marks across his back. And Drogo hopes that even for a moment he's wiped the smug expression from
Viserys' face. Then the other one starts moving and the only thing he hopes for from that on is that he won't stop.
He takes the lead from Viserys again, thrusting harder, Viserys back hitting one of the posts carrying the tent. He doesn't seem
to mind. His breath is coming in pants now, while he mutters words Drogo can't understand, but assumes to be cursing.
When he meets his eyes again, the challenging sparkle is still there, the slightly parted, kiss-swollen lips curled upwards. Such
cockiness. He can't help but leave several kinds of bites on that pristine skin, himself.
The next words coming from Viserys, he understands without difficulty, because what Viserys throatily whispers in his ear is in
Dothraki. And no, there can be no doubt that this isn't Dany.
Any resemblance of control up to this point is lost. When he grips Viserys hips tighter he's sure there going to be bruises
tomorrow.
****
They don't talk about it. What's to talk about? Luckily they're still mostly lacking the means to discuss this matter. He is aware,
though, that it's in incredibly bad taste, given that his sister might die any day.
He wants it again. He needs it again. He wonders if that's been Viserys intention and it makes him angry. Neither slave girl nor
women of his clan change things.
When he corners Viserys that night, he's full of need and slighted pride. Viserys looks at him with a taunting smile, letting his
hand wander down Drogo's face to his chest, before he pulls him down to whisper in his ear.
»What, mighty warrior? Is there something you would ask of me?«
When he basically drags him to his tent to throw him on the floor once they entered, he doesn't look averse, mostly surprised.
Where their last encounter wasn't exactly loving, this one is devoid of exchanging pleasantries of any sort.
****
It's funny how they never show any of it in public, even though everyone is fully aware what happens in the seclusion of their tents.
But what would they show anyway, just because they decide to fuck each other. They're men, they're able to distinguish the sex from
the disdain.
****
"Ugh! What's this?!"
Viserys holds the pickled meat out on two fingers, like it's going to bite him. Somehow he even managed to make his eyes water.
Drogo's astounded he hasn't brought some of his slaves to throw ash over his head, to punctuate his lamenting.
»If you don't like it, feel free to starve. I'll explain it to Dany.«
Viserys is fuming and Drogo half expects him to throw the meat at him. He braces himself with his most intimidating expression.
Viserys already raises his hand.
"I dare you." Drogo warns
"Never dare me."
Maybe Viserys would make a decent fighter, his reflexes at least are fast enough to dodge Drogo's attempt to grab his hand. At
least he manages to grab the food before it hits his face.
»I'm going to make you eat it!« Drogo threatens, with much more playful glee than their arguments used to have.
»I'm going to scream.« Viserys informs him, unfazed, »Like a girl. And when your guards come, I'll tell them you asked unspeakable
things of me. Very inappropriate.«
»You're the most annoying person I've ever met.«
»I'm the only prince you've ever met.« Viserys retorts.
Drogo realizes that his urge to kill Viserys is much weaker than it used to be. These days he just wants to club him over the head
with something. Sometimes he even manages to laugh about it.
»Alright, go ahead and starve.«
After Viserys has left, Drogo finds himself grudgingly eating it. It's really not that good.
»The sex is really not worth it.« Yeah, keep telling.
Viserys decides, after wandering around the camp, aimlessly, to return to his tent and finds several pieces of pickled fruit, which
smell much less fatal.
"Now, was that really that difficult, savage?" He says tells the silence of his tent. Then he allows himself the kind of blithely grin
that's inappropriate for princes in public, especially in company of savages.
Well, that at least answers the question, who he has to fuck here, to get some halfway decent food.
****
It's none of his business and should be of no concern to him, nevertheless Viserys raises his voice during councel with his warriors
and openly critisizes one of his decisions.
To his credit, he manages to say the whole thing in Dothraki. But that's not really a comfort to Drogo, because it means he can't just
tune out Viserys' babbling any longer.
»Who do you think you're talking to?« Drogo asks concentrated threat lying both in his voice and stare.
»To someone who's obviously in need of my advice.« The little shit retorts without blinking.
"You are going to shut up now." Drogo's voice has become dangerously low. "Or I am going to strike you down right here, no matter your
sisters wishes."
"Oh, will you now?" Viserys returns his stare.
Drogo resists the urge to carry him off by his throat and instead beckons Jorah to take him away. Later, he tells himself he doesn't know
why he hasn't gone through with his threat, the same as he doesn't know why he voiced said threat not in Dothraki.
****
»This is taking too long.« Viserys declares.
Though Drogo occasionally enjoys his talks with Viserys, after-sex-talks don't count among those occasions.
»What is?«
»Reaching Quarth! Your men are moving like their riding on snails!«
»Huh?«
»What 'huh'?«
»That's a surprise. I expected something more along the lines of 'Where is my crown?! Gimme my crown!!'.«
»Funny, savage, very funny.«
»You know, one of these days, I might get seriously pissed off about you calling me that.« Drogo drawls, without genuine threat
in his voice.
»You mean like the last time, when you, ineffectively, poured molten gold over my head?«
»I remember you were the one wailing.« Drogo smirks.
»I didn't want to embarass you in front of your men.« Viserys returns, cordially.
Drogo's resolve to not laugh, has reached it's limit with that.
»Have you ever considered that the world doesn't revolve around you?«
Viserys' why-on-earth-would-I-ever-do-that-look is answer enough.
****
When he sees that Viserys has placed the eggs inside the lampfires he doesn't comment on it. But when he sees him holding his son
close to the flames, he just snaps. It's only a moment before he's ripped his son from his hands, handing him to the safety of a
slave woman and starts to beat down Viserys.
»Never! Do you understand me? Never! Are you going to touch my son again!«
Maybe it's something like courage, though he strongly suspects it's delusion, that Viserys still manages to look offended and
unnerved instead of scared (as he should be), with an eyebrow raised disdainfully, despite a split lip and a very evident forming
bruise around his eye.
»He's a dragon too.« he tells him, as if that would explain everything.
****
This encounter makes it only clearer for Drogo that their whole change in status was a mistake. Not that their status has changed
all that much. But Viserys is neither his slave, nor did he pay him. And the fact that they actually talk to each other from time
to time, doesn't help to make things less complicated.
There are many reasons why they shouldn't have slept with each other in the first place. And double as many why they shouldn't have
been a repeat. First of all because Viserys is insane, as he yet again has proven. And then of course because he's Dany's brother.
It's not that he suddenly cares for him. He's had slaves he cared more about. But he maybe wouldn't be as rash to pour molten gold
over his head as he'd been some months ago (and not just because it would have no effect).
Viserys stays away from Rhaego and basically doesn't even look at him when they walk past each other. The bruises are still visible
on his skin. Yet he manages to look even more sullen and arrogant than before.
Dammit, Drogo misses Dany. He misses her with a vengeance. He wishes back the times when contempt and desire were strictly separated.
****
»Let me see my sister at least!«
»Don't act as if you give a damn about Dany!«
»I do!«
Drogo laughs shallowly.
»You only give a damn about yourself and your precious non-existant crown.«
****
The regress, in his and Drogo's ability to act like adults around each other, isn't exactly helping with Viserys dealings with the rest
of his clan.
Somehow they see, him walking around with a bruised face, as an excuse to treat him with disrespect again. Stupid savages! He'll teach them.
Just like he will Drogo!
Just thinking about him gets him in a bad mood. It's hardly because he misses someone to talk to in his native language. He has the whore
for that after all, just like for the other things Drogo provided these last weeks.
Viserys snorts, stopping in track, ignoring the strange looks the Dothraki are throwing him. He takes a deep breath and stalks over to the tent,
Drogo is holding court in, if you can call it that.
Violently he pushes the tant flaps out of his way. Everyone inside looks at him.
"You know what?!" He points at Drogo, not coming any closer, though. "I don't care what you think!" With that he turns around and exits with
just as much verve as he came with.
»Should we...Should we send someone to stop him?« One of Drogo's guards asks, slightly bewildered.
»...Probably.« Drogo answers, equally perplexed. Stop him from what, though? Probably he should talk to that idiot. Or more like, try talking.
****
But all that changes rapidly when they're attacked by another khalasar. He's in midst the battle when the arrow hits Dany's tent and
it goes up in flames. They're in the desert, everythings dry. It burns like cinder.
When he arrives. Viserys' just carries Rhaego outside. They're both burning. They're clothes are, that is.
»I'll get my sister next. Wouldn't want her to get crushed by a tent pole.«
He looks at his son making happy sounds, a burning toy in his hands.
****
»You were right.«
»Of course I was.« Viserys replies, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.
Drogo doesn't point out, that a few months ago, he hadn't been all that sure, begging him for mercy.
»Do you really think I would expose my heir to such a danger without making sure before?«
»My heir.«
"Tsk, stupid savage."
»You know, I understand you, right?«
Viserys doesn't dignify the question with an answer, but dresses him down with a look that seems to say, I hope that was a rhetorical
question. "You may come to my tent tonight," he graciously declares a moment later.
So that's basically all he'd needed, through the awkwardness of the past days an admission that he was right. While he's still
contemplating ridiculous spoiled princes, Viserys has his attention turned back to the burned tent of his sister.
»Well, at least nothing of worth burned here. I'm sure you can make her another token of bones and deer skins.«
Before Drogo can reply to that, Viserys' found something else to spike his interest in between the still smoldering ruins of the
tent. At first Drogo thinks it's a baby crying, but that can't be. Rhaego has long been taken to Dany's new tent by the wet nurse.
He sees it though, when he gets closer. Viserys sits in midst the burnt rubble and broken eggshells, the sources of the noise crawling
over him.
»Dragons...« Drogo exclaims with awe.
Viserys never understood why Dany was that taken by some old eggs that held nothing but old tales and dust of times long past. Only, seems
they held something else entirely. It seems as if they know him, as if they call him, when they crawl over him. And he remembers when he
told that whore, that all the dragons are long dead.
****
He's beautiful, just like his sister. Drogo can admit that much. He runs his fingers over the still not faded bruise on his face. Viserys
brushes his hand away, straddling him. Drogo's hands run up his thighs seemingly by themselves.
Viserys delicately puts his teeth in his earlobe, before he whispers.
»Hit me again, and I'll cut your fingers off while you're sleeping.«
And Drogo realizes he wouldn't have expected anything less.