Maegor's Holdfast, The Small Banquet Hall.
The clamor in the hall receded like a retreating tide, and the last attendant bowed and exited.
The heavy oak doors slowly closed behind them, sealing off all sound from the outside world.
Viserys I sat alone in the high seat. The magnificent chair now felt like a torture rack, making every bone in his body ache.
The long table was a wreckage of cups and plates, and the flames on the candelabra had burned down to sputtering wicks.
The King's hand trembled as he reached for the silver pitcher at the corner of the table.
The pitcher was cold, and a bit of milky residue had congealed at the spout; it was the milk of the poppy prepared for him by the new Grand Maester, Orwyle.
The former Grand Maester Mellos had passed away peacefully in his sleep one month ago at the age of seventy-four, or so the court announcement said.
The milk of the poppy could numb the gnawing pain in his bones and make the world before him soft, blurry, and easier to endure.
He had already drunk three cups, or perhaps four, he couldn't remember.
He only remembered that with every sip, the biting pain would recede.
After a moment, the noisy voices in his mind fell silent as well.
"I'm sorry..."
"I'm so sorry..."
Viserys murmured to himself, his voice stirring a slight echo in the empty hall.
He blinked his dim eyes; his late father Baelon and mother Alyssa seemed to stand at the other end of the long table, quietly watching him from the gloom.
The King's voice choked up slightly.
"Father... Mother... I still can't do it... I've disappointed you..."
"Tomorrow... Tomorrow I will announce... young Aegon's succession... and Helaena's betrothal..."
"Once everything is settled... once it's settled, it will be fine..."
"Brother?"
A voice pulled him back from his vision.
A dazed Viserys turned his head and saw Daemon Targaryen emerge from the shadows in the corner of the hall.
The Prince had not left; he had been there all along, like a lurking shadow, silently watching this royal feast turn into a farce.
Daemon walked to his brother's side with silent footsteps. He gazed at the exquisite golden mask on the King's face.
The mask covered the increasingly festering wound on the left side of Viserys's face, but it could not hide the pus and the scent of rotting flesh seeping from the edges.
Daemon reached out with a rare gentleness and removed the heavy mask.
The sight beneath made Daemon's breath catch.
Viserys's left face was wrapped in bandages, but it was already beyond recognition.
From the cheekbone to the jaw, the skin showed a bizarre color of interwoven blue-black and dark red, with several ulcerated wounds deep enough to show bone.
"By the Seven... Viserys," Daemon said, gazing at the horror.
Viserys blinked blankly, as if only just realizing the mask had been removed. He instinctively tried to raise his hand to cover it.
"Daemon...?" the King's voice was as weak as a thread.
"How long has it been, brother?" Daemon asked, suppressing his grief.
Viserys answered slowly.
"A few years... it started with a rash, then ulcers, and it spread very quickly. The new Maester Orwyle said... there is no cure, only ways to delay it."
Daemon's gaze fell on the pitcher of poppy milk on the table.
"How much has this quack given you? This dosage is enough to fell a horse!"
"Don't blame him..." Viserys shook his head, his movements as slow as an octogenarian. "I requested it. Without this, I couldn't even last a day."
Daemon suppressed the pain in his heart and put the mask back on Viserys.
Viserys forced a smile. "He said I still have a few years to live. That's long enough, enough..."
Before he could finish, a fit of coughing struck him. Viserys hunched over, hacking violently.
Daemon supported Viserys and gently patted his back.
Through the heavy robes, he could clearly feel the gauntness of Viserys's spine, feeling how this body was withering away before his eyes.
The coughing subsided, and Viserys slumped in his chair, gasping for breath.
"Brother," Daemon's voice lowered.
"Have you not considered it carefully?"
"Consider... what?" Viserys's mind was becoming hazy again, and his vision began to wander.
Daemon pressed down on Viserys's shoulders, forcing him to focus.
"I want you to be clear-headed."
"I am clear-headed..." Viserys weakly retorted.
"No. Now, even your most basic judgment is failing."
Viserys looked at him with some confusion.
"Let's talk about the betrothal." Daemon pulled over a chair and sat down opposite his brother.
"Regarding that matter between Helaena and Jacaerys."
"This... is a good arrangement..." Viserys repeated the rhetoric from the feast.
"A marriage between Velaryon and Targaryen... will strengthen the alliance..."
"The Velaryons are swallowing the Targaryen bloodline!" Daemon interrupted him sharply.
Viserys shuddered, and his wandering eyes found focus.
Daemon leaned forward, elbows propped on the table, looking Viserys in the eye.
"Have you thought about it carefully, brother? Corlys Velaryon. Why is he suddenly so generous? Why is he willing to accept children the whole Seven Kingdoms know are bastards? Why is he willing to let them take the name Velaryon and inherit the thousand-year legacy of Driftmark?"
Noticing Viserys was listening, he continued.
"Let me tell you why."
"Because this way, House Velaryon will have four Dragonriders. Jacaerys and Vermax, Lucerys and Arrax, Joffrey and Tyraxes, plus Rhaenys's Meleys."
"Four dragons, brother. If you marry Helaena into it as well, with her Dreamfyre... that's five."
Daemon's fingers tapped on the table, a rhythmic warning.
"Outside of the Targaryens, no House in the history of the Seven Kingdoms has ever possessed so many dragons."
"Now, these five Dragonriders all bear the name Velaryon. Their future children will be Velaryons, and their grandchildren will be Velaryons."
Viserys's expression changed; his brother's words were like ice water poured over his head, bringing a moment of clarity to his dazed mind.
Daemon looked straight into Viserys's eyes, a cold light glinting in his purple gaze.
"They are performing a slow blood replacement. Using marriage to dilute the Targaryen bloodline. Using our bloodline to seize our dragons. Generation after generation of betrothals..."
Viserys opened his mouth, his Adam's apple bobbing.
"No..." Viserys finally squeezed out a word.
"Then..."
He looked at Daemon with bloodshot eyes.
"Then what... what do you think should be done?"
Daemon leaned back in his chair and spoke decisively.
"Cancel this betrothal. Immediately, thoroughly, and without reservation."
He paused for a moment and continued.
"As for a marriage alliance... I have a better proposal."
Viserys looked up, waiting for the rest.
"Let Young Aegon marry Helaena," Daemon said slowly.
"Your grandson marrying your daughter."
"Two pure Targaryens, keeping the thickest blood of the dragon within the family. This way, Helaena won't have to marry Jacaerys, and the Greens will have no reason to object."
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