'Show me a man without malice and I'll find you a dragon in snow.'
-Taken from 'The Early Musings of Prince Rhaenar' by Brien Flowers
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In the King's royal chambers, bathed in the golden light streaming from the balcony, bells tolled in the distance while seagulls cawed from the shore.
There, King Viserys sat gazing outwards, his shirt half-off as the maesters inspected his back.
Maester Mickon prodded a festering wound on the King's back as Grand Maester Mellos oversaw.
"Is it healing?" asked Viserys.
"It has grown slightly, Your Grace," said Grand Maester Mellos.
Ser Otto Hightower stood nearby, watching with concern. "Can you say yet what it is?"
"We've sent inquiries to the Citadel," said Maester Mickon, "They are searching the texts for similar cases."
Viserys resented all the bother, "It's a small cut from sitting the throne. It's nothing."
Ser Otto took the Grand Maester aside for a status report.
"The King has been under heavy stresses," said Mellos, "preparing for the birth. Bad humors on the mind can adversely affect the body."
"Whatever it is," said Ser Otto, almost in a whisper, "It needs to be kept quiet."
All this time, Brien Flowers was in the corner with his nose in a book. Ink forever stained the edges of his fingernails. A dark, messy mop of hair whose fringe often covered his green eyes. He yawned. How many hundreds of texts had he personally read in search for answers?
'The illness matches some descriptions,' Brien thought, 'But all too often, it's a dead end. I suspect it's a new ailment or, rather, something with long-term symptoms. If this persisted for years, would it match an illness that had been observed over a long period of time?'
That was the only comforting thought. Either way, it didn't sit well with Brien Flowers. Nor did it for Rhaenar.
Brien closed the book. 'To think I missed a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to watch a dragon battle for this. I hope the prince won't be too distraught over my mute findings.'
Mellos walked to Mickon and said, "We should leech it again, maester."
Brien peered at the Grandmaester, 'Leeching again. Is that all he has? The older Mellos gets, the less brazen he becomes. As is the way of our conclave. A bunch of old fools in the Citadel set in their ways.'
"It's a wound that refuses to heal, Grand Maester. Might I suggest cauterization?"
That was satisfactory. "Cauterization would be a wise course of treatment, Your Grace," Grand Maester Mellos said, "It will be painful—"
King Viserys stood with an annoyed grunt "Fine."
Brien Flowers watched as the King left the room in a tizzy.
'Cauterization is a prudent course for the moment. Still… I can't shake this feeling. The King received the wound on the Iron Throne. A bad omen. We ought consider cutting off the infected area entirely. In the meantime, we must prevent further damage. The King should be wrapped in thick garments and well-armored when he sits the throne as an added precaution.'
With that business done, King Viserys went to the chambers where his wife was bathing. The room was dimly lit, a meek fire and candlelight providing the only illumination.
Queen Aemma sat in the murky bathwater with her eyes closed and a pained expression.
Viserys smiled, "You spend more time in that bath than I do on the throne."
Aemma sighed, "This is the only place I can find comfort these days."
Viserys felt the water, "It's tepid."
"It's as warm as the other maesters will allow."
"Don't they know dragons prefer heat?"
Aemma smiled at that, "Hm. Brien seems to think so."
"I do not doubt it," Viserys said, "He's spent so long beside our son he may as well be a dragon."
"After this miserable pregnancy, I wouldn't be surprised if I hatched an actual dragon."
A soft laugh escaped Viserys' lips, "Then he will be loved and cherished."
"Rhaenyra has already declared that she is to have a sister."
"Really?"
The Queen nodded, "She even named her."
Viserys raised an amused brow, "Dare I ask?"
"Visenya. She chose a dragon's egg for the cradle that she said reminded her of Vhagar."
Viserys chuckled, "And Rhaenar?
Aemma's eyes flickered, "He dares not choose. 'The wildlings consider it bad luck to name a babe before the second year', he says."
"Probably just as well," Viserys said, "This family already has its Visenya."
"Has there been any word from your dear brother?"
"Briefly. Daemon has taken to his new post as Commander of the City Watch. I'm sure he will reemerge for the tourney. He can never stay away from the lists."
"The tourney," Aemma said, "To celebrate the second-born son we presently do not have. You do understand it cannot grow a cock if it does not already possess one?"
"This child is a boy, Aemma."
The queen scoffed.
"I'm certain of it," Viserys insisted, "I've never been more certain of anything. The dream. It's clearer than a memory. Our son was born wearing Aegon's iron crown. And I heard the sound of thundering hooves, splintering shields, and ringing swords. And I placed our son on the iron throne as the bells of the Grand Sept tolled and all the dragons roared as one."
Aemma tired of this same old story. "We have a son, Viserys. Thank the gods he had no crown. Birth is unpleasant enough as it is."
Viserys flinched. The whole dream was so clear and tangible, but for one thing: The face of his son was shrouded in darkness, and though he recognized his spawn, all he could feel was the indifference of a stranger. Cold as a god's scorn.
And suddenly, the fear returned. All the fallen sons of King Jaehaerys before they could ascend the Iron Throne. His father, Baelon, included.
Then as if trying to pull him from the darkness, the voice of the old king spoke the words he told Viserys years ago on that fateful day~
'You could give me Seven Kingdoms and all the silks and gems the world had to offer. I'd trade it all for more time with those I loved.'
Dragon dreams and waking themes clashed in his mind. Confusion followed. He didn't know if he was doing the right thing anymore.
Only when Aemma squeezed his hand did he return from his daze.
Viserys kissed her hand and gazed lovingly, and he knew the words that she would say. He was ready to accept them this time.
"This is the last time, Viserys. I've had two stillbirths and two pregnancies ended well before their time. That's five in twice as many years. I have done my duty and provided you an heir. And I'm sorry I failed you in providing a spare. I am. But I've mourned all the dead children I can."
Tears swelled in Viserys' eyes. He recognized that grieved look on his wife's face from the end days of Queen Alysanne. A wave of clarity washed over him, suddenly sober.
At that moment, he knew he'd do everything in his power to ensure her days from thenceforth were filled with happiness and ease. Aemma wasn't just the Queen; she was his Queen. The mother of his children. The love of his life.
"I know, my love. This is the last time. You have my word."
For the first time in her blasted pregnancy, Aemma felt like she was heard, and that her man backed her. Her, not the babe of some redundant prophesy. Her.
That alone was enough to lift some discomfort.