Myr, Viserys's residence, though "residence" is a stretch, as it is merely the estate of a rebellious merchant, now lent to Viserys by Gendry.
The mansion, adorned with white marble, was beautiful, complete with fountains and gardens, yet sparsely populated and eerily empty.
What pained Viserys even more was that it was some distance from the original Magisters' estates, marking him as little more than an outsider to the seat of power. Only the Unsullied maintained a strict watch over the gates.
"What do you think?" Viserys asked the woman beside him. In the room, besides Viserys, there was Daelore, a courtesan from Myr.
Though called a courtesan, Daelore was actually a woman from one of Myr's high-class brothels. Brothels were inseparable from the slave trade, and with the mass deaths or defections of the Magisters and wealthy merchants behind the Twin Cities' brothels, most establishments in Myr and Tyrosh had closed, and former bed slaves gradually became independent courtesans, soliciting clients on their own.
Ever since Daenerys left, Viserys, now with a handful of golden dragons, had become utterly consumed by drinking and womanizing, letting himself go completely.
He studied his reflection in the mirror. He wore a bright red silk tunic, a black velvet cloak and gloves, and a long sword in a leather sheath slung diagonally across his waist. Viserys was handsome, but there was a touch of madness about him. Gaunt and restless, his pale lilac eyes gleamed with fanaticism.
"You are a true dragon, without equal," Daelore praised. She was a typical Lyseni, with blue eyes, white-gold curls, and smooth fair skin, the blood of the Valyrian Freehold still strong in her veins. It was this Valyrian lineage that made her Viserys's favorite.
"A true dragon, a true dragon. Look at my current plight. Those beautiful governor's mansions in Myr now belong to soldiers under that bastard's command, even Jorah, a traitor, and Qyburn, an old Maester, live better than I do," flames burned in Viserys's eyes. "And Daenerys, that traitor is no longer my sister. She has forgotten the betrayal we endured."
Daelore did not speak, aware that the figures Viserys mentioned were powerful and dangerous.
"Black and red are our house colors, not the banners designed by that bastard," Viserys said, eyes fixed on the quartered flag fluttering outside.
"One day, the dragon banner will fly once more," Daelore flattered him, and Viserys's mood improved considerably.
"True dragons never forget. That bastard deceived me, I will claim the rights I was born to. Look at where I live, does it suit a king? That bastard slept with my sister, yet he refuses me an army," Viserys said, his indignation returning.
"Viserys, I am afraid," Daelore said anxiously. She loved this fallen prince, not merely for his gold.
"What did you call me?" Viserys snapped, turning to grab her chin. "You whore, don't think that just because I've slept with you a few times, you can call me by my name."
"Your Grace Viserys," Daelore whispered, tears running down her face. "Your Grace, I worry for you, we are surrounded by the Unsullied, we are being watched."
"Of course I know," Viserys said, a flicker of impatience crossing his face. "Do you take me for a fool? The bastard is out in the wilds, fighting those horse-stinking Dothraki to the death, defenses are bound to be lax, this is my last chance."
"Your Grace, I think we are quite comfortable here. We have a manor, supplies, and I can stay by your side."
"Your Grace, Your Grace, is a king without a realm still a king?" Viserys said coldly.
"Westeros is the land of our true Dragonblood. Though stolen by treachery, it still belongs to me, and always will."
"May I come with you?"
"You?" Viserys said dismissively, then reconsidered, perhaps bringing a woman along might lull Daenerys into a false sense of security.
"Very well," Viserys said, tenderly stroking her hair. "When historians write my biography, they will say my reign began today."
Unlike Daenerys, Viserys had memories of the kingdom before its fall, having seen and experienced it firsthand, and naturally could not let go of the Iron Throne. Even the Mad King's advisers had once suggested deposing Rhaegar and making Viserys heir.
Viserys, with his mediocre talents, attempted the near-impossible task of restoring the kingdom, and under this pressure, he had begun to descend into madness and hysteria.
"Your Grace, I—" Daelore looked at him, about to share good news, but Viserys was no longer in the mood to listen.
"What is it? We'll discuss it when we return."
Daelore touched her belly and said nothing.
"I am going to see my sister," Viserys told the Unsullied guarding the gate.
The Unsullied gave him a cold glance, but still escorted him to Gendry's estate. They were not only his guards, but also his watchers.
Viserys rode through the streets openly, observing the quiet and peaceful city of Myr. War had erupted not far from the city, yet the lives of the Myrmans went on as usual, the spice market, the fish market, and so on.
The Myrmans firmly believed that Gendry would achieve a new and great victory.
"Victory, hmph? What's so great about defeating a wildling? One day, I'll make them remember the true might of the dragons," Viserys thought bitterly.
The mansion where Daenerys was staying had once belonged to the First Magister of Myr; it was now Gendry's war prize. Its courtyards, pavilions, and gardens with ponds were renowned throughout Myr. But Daenerys was not here for the luxury of the estate, she stood atop the high tower, hoping to catch a glimpse of the battlefield and pray for Gendry and the soldiers.
A blazing fire burned in the brazier. The tower was high up, and high places were always cold. Daenerys sat not far from the fire, writing letters on behalf of the soldiers.
"Princess, your handwriting is very good," said her handmaiden.
"It's the least I can do for the warriors," Daenerys replied with a smile. "The medics can tend their wounds and disinfect injuries, while all I can do is mend their cloaks and write letters home for them."
"That is already remarkable," the handmaiden praised.
"I wonder how the battle is going for Jorah and the others," Daenerys thought, worry still heavy in her heart. Everyone knew Khal Drogo was the Khal of Khals, the fiercest of all the Horselords. Even straining her eyes, distance and obstacles prevented her from seeing the full picture of the war.
"Princess, Prince Gendry will be fine," the handmaiden said. "He is the Breaker of the slaves; as if fate itself has chosen him to light the path for them."
"I believe that too. He will surely win gloriously," Daenerys said.
"Your brother has arrived, Princess," reported the Unsullied.
"Viserys. Let him come up," Daenerys said, somewhat surprised, for Viserys now despised coming here to seek her aid; he saw it as an affront to his royal dignity.
From the tower, Viserys spotted his sister. Daenerys greeted him, accompanied by her handmaidens and Unsullied guards.
"Brother, it's been a long time," Daenerys said, noticing the beautiful Lyseni woman following him.
"Who is this?" Daenerys asked.
"This is my maid," Viserys declared brazenly. Though Daenerys was fully aware of his current debauchery, she did not call him out.
"What is your name?" Daenerys asked gently, looking at the maid—who was, in truth, Viserys's bedmate.
"Da… Daelore. I am a Lyseni," Dai-lo said, lowering her head.
"Dany, when will your husband's army march?" Viserys asked bluntly.
He looked at Daenerys, and a deep rift seemed to have formed between them.
Daenerys had silver-gold hair and violet eyes, wearing her mother's crown. Once petite, she had grown taller and healthier, her beauty even more striking.
"They deceived me," Viserys thought bitterly, his gaze mingled with lust, anger, and unease. To reclaim his kingdom, he had betrayed his own sister, only to find that she had followed another.
Viserys was furious at having had to give up his sister and betroth her to Gendry. Moreover, the night before Daenerys left Pentos, he had entered her room, attempting to take her virginity. But Illyrio had foreseen this and stationed guards in her room, preventing anything from happening.
Daenerys frowned, surprised that Viserys was still clinging to his dream of restoring his kingdom. "I'll speak to Lord Commander Gendry about this."
But Daenerys knew it wouldn't be as easy as Viserys hoped. Gendry ruled the Twin Cities; he might offer Viserys "gifts," but the final authority rested with him.
"He'd better act quickly," Viserys said coldly, "He promised me a crown, and I am determined to claim it. No one will mock the True Dragon."
"I hope he won't keep you waiting too long," Daenerys said, watching Viserys, feeling a twinge of guilt. After all, that damned Iron Throne was meant for Gendry, and he had no interest in giving it to Viserys.
"You're lying to me again, aren't you?" Viserys suddenly laughed. "True dragons never forget."
"Across the Narrow Sea lies a land of rolling green hills, blooming plains, and rushing rivers. There, towering among magnificent gray-blue peaks, stand black stone giant towers, with armored warriors marching under bright banners to the battlefield. The Dothraki call it 'Rhaesh Andahli,' meaning 'the Land of the Andals.' In the Free Cities, it is called 'Westeros' and 'the Land of the Setting Sun.' That is our land, yet you have forgotten it all," Viserys shouted.
"I haven't forgotten, brother," Daenerys replied. "But my betrothed is fighting now, and the Dothraki are his most formidable foes." Unlike Viserys, Daenerys did not hold such deep attachment to Westeros; she would not be consumed by obsession like he had.
Daelore covered her face, weeping uncontrollably.
"You have forgotten, Daenerys. You are a traitor. What right do you have to wear Mother's crown? You are a whore, a traitor, tangled up with that bastard!" Viserys screamed. "Think of all the jewels and silks, Dragonstone and King's Landing, the Iron Throne and the Seven Kingdoms—all taken from our hands, and we will reclaim them all."
"I haven't forgotten," Daenerys said, watching her hysterical brother. Viserys lived only for that day, but Daenerys longed simply to return to the mansion with red-painted gates, to the lemon tree outside her window, to reclaim the childhood she had lost. But now, at last, someone had come to fill the emptiness in her life.
Viserys stepped forward, glaring at his sister. "I won't wait for that little bastard to return. The true dragon demands his gift now."
"Viserys, Your Grace, please don't do this," Daelore pleaded, but he brushed her aside.
The squire sensed the hostility in Viserys's tone, yet the Unsullied, bound by Daenerys's orders, remained at a distance, making the situation extremely tense.
"What do you want?" Daenerys asked her brother.
"Hand over the dragon egg. I know you never part from it. That egg belongs to me. Give it to me, and I won't concern myself with you and that bastard anymore," Viserys commanded.
"Never," Daenerys said boldly.
"Very well. Seems you've forgotten Dragon's Wrath," Viserys roared, striding forward.
"I will never let you harm the Princess," the squire shouted.
Daenerys trembled slightly; being struck was muscle memory from her past, a memory she had not forgotten. But now she needed to summon her courage.
Viserys's sharp eyes had already spotted the cedar chest not far from the squire—a priceless treasure containing the dragon egg fossils. Daenerys had openly kept the eggs by her side all along.
"I am the true dragon, the last true dragon," Viserys shouted, shoving the squire aside as he stared at the three dragon egg fossils, madness in his eyes. "My history has always depended on others. Now I must write it myself. I will trade the dragon eggs for ships and soldiers and take revenge on the Usurper with my own hands."
"You're mad, brother," Daenerys said, looking at her squire.
"Mad? I believe you're the one truly mad. Let the Unsullied release me and put me on the fastest, best ship. Otherwise, once that bastard returns, all will be lost," Viserys yelled.
The Unsullied closed in, clad in black breastplates, wielding short swords and shields.
Viserys was clearly panicking. His swordplay was sloppy, showing no proper training. He drew his sword haphazardly, babbling incoherently.
"Don't come near me. None of you come near me," Viserys screamed.
"Enough, Your Grace," Daelore suddenly said, stepping behind him and reaching for his sleeve, looking at the anxious king—a pitiful young man driven to manic frenzy by his own fear.
"Get away, get away, you stupid woman," Viserys shouted, kicking Daelore aside and retreating to a dangerous corner with his longsword.
"Let it go, Your Grace. Aren't things better now?" Daelore pleaded through tears.
"Better? You expect me to watch the Usurper and the traitor Tywin grow old and die before my eyes?" Viserys roared, his blade slicing through Daelore's arm, blood gushing and leaving a deep wound.
"Viserys! Stop him!" Daenerys cried urgently.
The Unsullied stepped forward, clanging their shields.
Surrounded by her squires, Daenerys retreated to safety, leaving only Viserys and Daelore together.
"Whoosh!" An arrow from a crossbow lodged in the ground as a warning to Viserys.
"I—I am the king," Viserys said, swinging his sword, finding nothing to block his blows.
He scooped embers from the brazier, trying to break free from the encirclement.
"Enough, Your Grace, my king. For your sake, and for mine," Daelore pleaded.
"Who—who do you think you are?" Viserys shouted, "You're nothing but my whore".