c1: Daenerys
"I saw it! I saw it! I am the true dragon!" Over the roaring thunder, Daenerys Targaryen could barely make out the shrill cry of her brother, Viserys. His voice, charged with terror and an eerie fervor, echoed through the cabin. "Three dragons! Huge! The dragon has three heads! I've woken the dragon!"
Dany opened her eyes groggily to see Viserys, already up, staggering toward the narrow porthole. He fumbled with the latch like a man possessed, throwing it open despite the lashing storm outside. Rain slashed through the opening, soaking the cabin and hammering her skin like shards of ice.
The merchant ship pitched violently on the narrow sea, and lightning split the darkness again and again. For a heartbeat, the cabin was bathed in light and in it, the wild-eyed Viserys seemed less a man and more a creature caught in a fevered dream.
Dany rubbed her eyes, trying to clear the confusion.
A flash of lightning turned the world white, followed by a crack of thunder so loud it drowned her breath. Then came another sound less natural, more grotesque the raw ripping of flesh, and Viserys's cry, sharp and sudden, cut short.
The ringing in Dany's ears blurred everything, even her fear.
Her eyes brimmed with tears, stung by the afterimage of the light. When she blinked again, the cabin was gone.
She stood on a platform of cloud, high above the world. Great arcs of gold and red light blazed around her, and the skies wept fire and ice together. Above her, coiled within the storm, hovered an immense shadow: a three-headed dragon, each head bearing a single eye glowing like molten steel.
The beast pulsed with power, with prophecy. As it turned toward her, its three searing eyes locked onto hers, as if it recognized her soul.
Dany gasped.
The world shattered around her.
She blinked, and the clouds vanished. She was back in the cramped cabin of the Magister's Grace. The porthole still yawned open. Rain soaked the floorboards. Viserys lay crumpled near the window, limbs twitching unnaturally.
Reality or what passed for it rushed back. Dany felt the cold water slap her skin and knew this was no dream.
She bolted from the bed, stumbling on the heaving floor. The ship rocked beneath her, throwing her down. She crawled to Viserys, soaked to the bone, and brushed aside the wet strands of hair clinging to his forehead. Her fingers trembled as she reached for his nose, searching for breath.
He was alive. Barely.
From his lips came a hoarse, guttural whisper.
Startled, Dany recoiled, dragging herself back into the corner of the cabin. She pressed her back to the wall, heart thudding in her ears. Viserys's mouth moved, but his eyes remained shut. He murmured in a strange tongue rough, foreign. Not the Common Tongue, nor the dialects of Pentos, nor even High Valyrian.
It was ancient. Raw. The language of dragons.
Footsteps thudded outside the door, and it burst open with a creak.
"Is there danger? An assassin?" barked a strong man with a shaved face and curved blade drawn. His wary eyes swept the cabin.
The sounds of chaos rose from the decks above.
Dany tried to speak but the words failed her. She curled into herself, trembling beside her brother.
After a moment, the guard lowered his sword. Order was being restored above. Soon after, the heavy steps of Illyrio Mopatis echoed down the corridor. He waddled in, robes trailing, his yellowed beard forked and damp.
"Lady Daenerys," he said gently, though his beady eyes flickered over the room with unease. "What happened here?"
Dany lowered her gaze, unable to meet his. The first time she met Illyrio, the way he looked at her with wealth and want glinting in his eyes had chilled her to the bone. She shrank beneath his gaze now and whispered, "My brother... I don't know."
The truth tasted strange on her tongue.
Illyrio's smile faded. He crouched slightly, trying to read her expression. "Tell me."
"I was asleep," she murmured. Her voice broke. "The thunder woke me. My brother he was at the window, shouting. Then the lightning... I don't know what happened."
She began to sob, softly, her tears mingling with the rain still dripping from the porthole.
Dany had always possessed a sensitive heart.tender, perceptive, and wary of deception. Though Illyrio Mopatis masked his emotions well, speaking with the velvet voice of a practiced diplomat, she still noticed a flicker of impatience between the folds of his brow.
So she softened her tone, her voice barely more than a whisper: "...I saw... I saw my brother walking to the window, and then there was a loud thunder. Then he fainted."
She didn't speak of the cryptic words Viserys had screamed, nor the blinding white lightning that had poured in like dragonflame through the porthole. She made no mention of the vision she saw above the clouds a three-headed dragon, wreathed in storm and fire.
Whether Illyrio believed her account, she couldn't tell.
Luckily, he did not press her further. With a grunt, he moved to Viserys's side and placed a fleshy hand over his mouth and nose, checking for breath. "He's only fainted," he announced at last. "Get him back to bed and summon the ship's healer."
Then he turned toward the doorway, his voice booming with annoyance. "What are you all gawking at? Out! The lot of you!"
The cabin emptied in haste.
Moments later, the ship's doctor arrived, reeking of camphor and cloves. He bent over Viserys and examined him methodically. There were no marks on his body, no evidence of burns or wounds. The diagnosis was vague temporary unconsciousness, likely brought on by fever or stress. As was custom in the Free Cities, the doctor let a small amount of blood to relieve the humors, then administered a draught of milk of the poppy, thick with crushed nightshade petals. Viserys sank into a deep sleep.
"How is he?" Illyrio asked, arms folded.
"He... should recover, Magister," the doctor replied, fidgeting with his vials.
Illyrio's brow creased. "Should?"
The man swallowed. "Yes, Magister. He should recover."
Illyrio exhaled through his nose and gave a dismissive wave. "Go."
The healer bowed and fled, clearly relieved.
Throughout the exchange, Daenerys remained silent, standing like a statue in the corner of the cabin. Her silver-blonde hair clung to her neck, still damp from the storm. She watched it all with wide violet eyes but said nothing.
Illyrio, already irritable, made no attempt to linger. He simply gave her a rehearsed smile and said, "Just a fever, sweet child. Don't trouble yourself. Rest well." With that, he swept from the cabin in a rustle of silks and perfume.
At last, silence returned. The only sounds were the creaking of the hull and the soft rhythm of Viserys's breath.
Only then did fear find her.
In her mind, a memory surfaced of Ser Willem Darry's death in Braavos, and how everything had fallen apart after. The red door slammed shut, the house abandoned. She and Viserys had lived like beggars after that always fleeing, always hungry, cold, chased through the alleys of Myr and Tyrosh, never staying long, always afraid.
For a brief moment, she had feared Viserys would die just like Ser Willem quietly, in his sleep, with no one to care.
Madness had been creeping into Viserys for years. He had sold their mother's crown, shouted at Dany for the smallest mistake, struck her when his temper flared. But he was still her brother. Still blood.
The flood of emotion left her hollow. She collapsed onto the cot, her limbs heavy. Thoughts swirled in her mind like a storm at sea half memories, half nightmares. Without realizing it, she drifted into a light, uneasy sleep.
"Hiss~"
The sharp sting in her finger jolted Dany awake. Instinctively, she tried to pull her hand away.
But a firm grip held her. Large, strong fingers Viserys's.
"Don't move," he said, his voice low, but commanding.
Daenerys froze.
Then she felt it a wetness, warm and deliberate. He was licking her finger. Her eyes flew open in shock.
Viserys sat upright now, his posture rigid, lips parted slightly. A trace of blood clung to his mouth. Her blood.
He released her hand and turned away, as if ashamed.
Dany stared, confused. His face, usually twisted with pride or anger, now seemed distant touched with something she didn't recognize. Sadness? Or shame?
She lowered her gaze quickly, uncertain how to speak. "What's wrong? Are you... alright?"
"I'm fine," he said curtly, voice flat. He rose to his feet, adjusting the folds of his sleeping robe. "You should rest. I need air."
Without another word, he left the cabin, the door creaking shut behind him.
Dany remained sitting, heart pounding. Viserys's sudden quiet, his evasive eyes, unnerved her. He had never looked away from her before.
Something was changing.
She glanced down at the finger he had taken into his mouth. There, on the tip, was a small fresh cut, and a bead of blood rising again. Bright red, like dragonfire.
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