At night, the air deep within the dragon's lair was scorching.
Torchlight beat against the stone walls as Daemon Targaryen sat inside, quietly awaiting the king's arrival. He had not gone to the Red Keep—Daemon knew Aemond's spies were there. So he had chosen this place instead and summoned Viserys to come to him.
The stone doors swung open. Daemon smiled at the visitor and spoke softly.
"Brother."
After a moment, studying Daemon—the brother he had not seen in so long—King Viserys I Targaryen removed the golden mask from his face. In the firelight, a raw ulcer was visible along the left side of his cheek.
Daemon looked at him and caught his breath for an instant. The words stuck in his throat. He wanted to say you look much better, but the lie was so clumsy that even he could not force it out.
In the end, he only said, "You should sit."
He reached out and took Viserys by the arm. Viserys allowed himself to be helped onto a plain wooden chair beside a rough stone table. It had been set up in haste by the Dragonkeepers, a strip of red cloth laid across the floor.
When he sat, Viserys let out a muffled groan.
Daemon saw the pain etched into his brother's face, the cold sweat beading on his brow and glimmering in the firelight. He frowned.
"You need milk of the poppy."
Viserys gasped. "Order someone—"
"No," Viserys cut him off. "Not tonight… no."
Daemon sat opposite him. Between them stood the coarse stone table, holding nothing but a clay jug of wine and two ceramic cups. No cutlery, no crystal decanters, none of the luxury expected of royalty.
This was the depths of the Dragonpit, beneath Rhaenys's Hill, in King's Landing.
"You look," Daemon finally said, "close to death."
Viserys smiled crookedly, half his face tightening. "The maesters say I still have a few years…"
He raised his trembling right hand and pointed at the wine, seeking something to dull the pain.
Daemon poured for them both. It was a harsh northern red, sharp on the tongue and strong enough to burn on the way down. He slid a cup toward his brother.
"What else is there for you to worry about?" Daemon asked.
"Isn't it better to wait quietly for death?"
"I'll wait," Daemon went on coldly, "until you've settled all your troubles beyond it."
It was cruel—Daemon knew that—but he could not stop himself.
Viserys did not grow angry. He lifted the cup with difficulty and took a small sip, his throat rasping as he swallowed. He set it down and looked at Daemon.
"I fear that after my death…"
"I fear that when I close my eyes…"
"I fear my children will kill one another."
His right eye—the only one still whole—fixed on Daemon. In it was a look Daemon had not seen in many years: resolve.
Suddenly Viserys's voice grew clear and strong, as if the pain had retreated for a moment.
"So I ask you, Daemon.
Are you still unwilling to yield?"
The cavern fell silent.
Daemon said nothing. He lowered his head and turned the ceramic cup in his hand, the rough clay scraping against his palm. The coarse texture carried his thoughts to the Stepstones—the salt air, the sea winds, steel and blood.
He had fought there for years. For what?
At first, to prove himself. Later, to carve out a kingdom of his own. In the end… simply to have something to do.
Because Viserys had no use for him.
Viserys had Princess Rhaenyra—an heir, a court that functioned perfectly well without Prince Daemon.
Daemon lifted his head and asked quietly, "And if I do not yield?"
"Will you kill me, Viserys?"
Viserys tightened his grip on the wine cup and growled, "The Kingsguard are outside.
If I cry out, they will storm in."
He said it all in one breath, then exhaled sharply.
Daemon looked at him—and laughed softly, without humor.
"You want me dead?"
"Here? Now?"
He rose and spread his arms wide.
"Then do it, brother.
I will not resist.
Call in the Kingsguard—or do it yourself.
I swear, I will not hide."
Viserys did not move.
He only stared at his brother, standing bare-chested in the firelight. Then suddenly tears welled in his good eye and spilled down his cheek. He did not wipe them away.
"Why…"
"Daemon, why must you do this?"
"Why can you not step back—for me, for our family, for the realm founded by my father and our forebears?"
Daemon lowered his arms. Instead of sitting, he stepped closer and looked down at Viserys.
His voice was calm.
"Because you were the one who placed a hand on my shoulder and told me the king's brother would be the last brother standing."
Viserys said nothing.
"After the Great Council of 101," Daemon continued.
"The man I brought with me stood at your side with a sword.
We were in your chambers again—just the two of us. You poured two cups of wine, far better than this. A summer red from the Arbor."
"You clapped me on the shoulder. Your hands were heavy—I remember that.
You said, Brother, thank you. The Iron Throne will be yours one day. I promise."
He fell silent.
"I believed you. I truly believed you," Daemon said, laughing bitterly.
"I thought my brother would never lie to me."
"So I waited. One year. Two. Five. Ten.
I crushed rebellions for you. I cowed lords for you. I did all the dirty work."
"I waited for the day you would keep your promise."
Then Daemon's voice began to tremble, shaking with restrained fury.
"And then you named Rhaenyra your heir."
The words struck Viserys like a hammer. He closed his eyes as tears streamed freely down his face, a choked sound breaking from his throat.
"I hate you," Daemon said.
"Not because you denied me the throne. Damn the Iron Throne—is it truly so comfortable to sit upon?"
"What I hate is that you lied to me."
"You are my brother, Viserys.
We grew up together—explored the Dragonpit, ran through the halls of the Red Keep, trained with blades side by side."
"When our mother died, you held me because I cried so hard I could not stand.
When our father died, I stood beside you, because I knew we were all that remained to one another."
He crouched, bringing his eyes level with the seated king.
"But you betrayed me.
You cared only for yourself.
Not for the throne—
but you never cared for me."
"You stabbed me through the one thing I valued most—my trust in you."
"And still you ask me why I will not yield?"
"How could I?
Yield what—years of waiting?
My entire life?"
"And you forbade me to marry Rhaenyra. I know why.
Even after you became king—you never trusted me."
Viserys opened his eyes and nodded.
At last, he confessed.
"I was afraid of you," Viserys said softly.
"I was afraid you would take revenge—through Rhaenyra."
"Daemon, I understand you.
When one loves, one can burn oneself to warm what is loved—and burn the whole world when one hates."
"I do not know what you feel for Rhaenyra.
Do you truly love her…
or do you still seek to reclaim what you believe is yours through her—
or to take vengeance?"
"I was terrified then…"