"Monster, Tyrant, Cruel and Ruthless, they whisper behind my back, but when I say 'I love you', it's not because I want you or because I can't have you. It has nothing to do with me. I love what you are, what you do, how you try. I've seen your kind...
Balerion’s skull sits on display surrounded by candles. Viserys stands in front, holding his hand above some candles. Ryam enters with Maegor, the latter of whom comes to finds his brother within, absently thumbing the dragonbone hilt of the Valyrian steel dagger on his belt, though Viserys is a peacetime king, this weapon never leaves his side.
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Maegor walks into a Valyrian altar room deep within the torch-lit bowels of the Red Keep, delivered by Lord Commander Ryam Redwyne. His red orbs skeptically staring at his elder brother.
The king stares into the enormous iron-black skull of Balerion, the black dread. Aegon the Conqueror’s dragon.
The dragon’s skull is large enough for a mounted knight to ride into its mouth, and the dragon’s teeth are as long as daggers. An eternal flame burns beneath the plinth the skull rests on. This is a reverential place; a Valyrian temple.
"Brother" Maegor approaches him.
"When you look at the dragons, what do you see?" Viserys asked.
"What?" Maegor seemed confused and scoffs. "You haven’t spoken a proper word to me since grandmother’s funeral, and then you send your Kingsguard to collect me?"
Viserys ignores him, ruminating on some other thought. "Answer me. It’s important. What do you see?"
Irritated but curious, Maegor considers the question, looking into the hollow eyes of Balerion, the Black Dread.
"I suppose... I see us." Maegor replies.
"Tell me."
Drawn in, Maegor now considers the point more fully. "Everyone says Targaryens are closer to gods than to men. But they say that because of our dragons; without them, we’re just like everyone else." He says looking at the skull.
Viserys exhales softly. "Balerion was the last living creature to have seen Old Valyria before the Doom... Its greatness and its flaws...
Maegor remains charged, but Viserys is contemplative. He is impressed by his daughter’s grasp of this nuance.
"The idea that we control the dragons is an illusion. They are a power that man should never have trifled with -- one that brought Valyria its doom. And, if we don’t mind our own history, it will do the same to us. " Viserys looks directly at his brother.
"A Targaryen must understand this to be king." Viserys declares as Maegor stares at him, confused.
"I’m sorry, Maegor. I’ve wasted the years since you've been by my side, wanting for a son. But... You are the very best of our parents."
Maegor interjects. "That's not true Viserys...."
Viserys coughs heavily, spitting out a lump of blood. Maegor gives him his handkerchief.
"I thought the maester's said your leprocy would heal." Maegor questioned.
Viserys cleans his mouth. "I don't have much time brother, listen carefully." He ignores the question thrown at him.
