Fatebringer | Viserys Targaryen

Chapter 8

The road to Qohor was boring.

It would take them nearly a month to arrive. Ysira had made it so to ensure they were being vigilant while moving, noting any suspicious travelers near them and stopping often to let the dragons out and give them a chance to keep growing. Their chances of being threatening were improving quickly, given how well Daenerys took care of them and how much they'd been fed in the months they'd lived completely free in Norvos. Already, they were bigger than a normal cat, which at least seemed to instill Ysira with hope.

They changed watches often, never resting for too long and always sharing the things they noticed with the group. As frustrating as it was to deal with the beating sun overhead, it wasn't ever intolerable, given how accustomed they'd been to the Norvoshi heat. Even when they reached the Forest of Qohor, no changes in the weather could compare to the variable nature of the weather in Norvos.

Ysira did find that she missed the way they had lived in her mother's castle. She missed Byan, who had never wavered on his commitment to Mellario and had bade Ysira farewell with a simple smile and his well wishes. She missed the dinners they'd have together and how well she'd known the city whenever she needed to leave the castle. Everything that stretched out ahead of them was unfamiliar and she didn't find comfort in the Kingsguard the way she had with Byan. She had trusted him to listen to her, protect her if need be, and overall be pleasant company– these men were all different.

She supposed Ser Cletus was entertaining enough, but his flirtatious nature made it difficult for her to take him seriously. Maester Kedry was always so quiet and only really spoke when spoken to. Ser Archibald seemed to always want chaos, unable to sit still unless he tried very hard to remain focus. The sarcastic Ser William did little to ease Ysira's nerves as she guided everyone into the unknown, and Ser Gerris was always attached to Quentyn, ever defensive of him, which she didn't think helped her brother ease himself out of his shell.

He was still nervous speaking to Daenerys even though they'd been traveling together for weeks, to the point where everyone had heard each other's snores, guarded each other as they crouched down over self-made holes in the ground to be relieved, and– in an incredibly annoying moment where Ser Cletus had paid a woman from the edge of Norvos to bid the men farewell– listened to each other in throes.

That night, Ysira and Daenerys had slept in the caravan with the dragons, guarded by Ser Jorah, apparently the only one of them who didn't wish to partake in any games at all. Quentyn claimed he hadn't done more than be there, all at his friends' insistence. Funnily enough, Quentyn had claimed Viserys had joined him in being 'moral support' and had drank while the others had their fun. She didn't think she believed him.

At any rate, the rest of them got along well. Ysira simply kept her distance and supposed it better that the relationship remain strictly professional, to ensure everyone heeded her command. She hardly knew them even with their constant talks about their past adventures (most of which involved Quentyn humiliating himself in Yronwood) and despite her stress, could not find in any of them a discreet partner for the night. If she had to choose one of the Kingsguard, it would be Ser Jorah, only because she'd known him the longest. Yet, she still didn't fully trust him nor did she find him attractive enough.

Therein lay the problem. The man she knew best was Viserys. The man she thought most attractive was Viserys. The only one of them that had recently calmed her when she was stressed was Viserys. All she could think about during those nights where she felt frustration bubbling up in her belly was the way he'd hugged her back, the way he'd listened and begged her to listen to herself, too. He didn't acknowledge it, and seemed to simply go back to his promise by keeping mostly quiet and not talking back. It was an acceptable continuation, but she felt herself wanting more out of him. More banter would be a good start.