Fatebringer | Viserys Targaryen

Chapter 10

They left Qohor within the month.

Bidding Magister Ñuhno farewell, Ysira guided them out with the Stormcrows trailing behind, their course set for Meereen. With five hundred men guarding them, it was safer to let the dragons fly overhead. They would be a little over half a year old by the time they reached Meereen, and Ysira was proud to see how well they'd done with Qohorik meat. Several caravans of livestock had been brought along so the dragons might share two goats each day and gradually transition to more as needed.

Viserys rode up beside her, silent and staring ahead at the desert that would lead them into Slaver's Bay, a desolate place where they'd need to be careful about remaining tightly pressed to the border of Vaes Khadokh and Bhorash to avoid the khalasars within the Dothraki Sea. Ysira was finding it difficult to remain focused on the road, her idiotic little mind continuing to flicker back to the strange thoughts she kept having about Viserys.

She couldn't afford to start imagining things about him, no matter how small. The legitimacy of their movement would fracture instantly if word were to get out with rumors that the intended King of Westeros was involved with his Hand. So, she held herself back.

What she worried about the most was that soon they would not be rumors. They would be terrible truths. She would see Viserys and grow eager to talk to him, knowing he would now cheer her up instead of inciting rage. She'd find herself looking at him every time she spoke to the group, she'd find herself looking forward to when he came to say good night before taking his watch while they camped.

Given the fact she had yet to figure out who among them– if at all– was the mole (and she hated that she didn't want to even consider it, because it would mean something slipped past her), she grew anxious knowing that Quentyn had seen the way she'd been looking at Viserys. If the mole was to be anyone at all, she doubted it would be Quentyn. But if her shy could-hardly-speak-to-girls brother was able to notice that as of late, Viserys was the one who brought her the greatest comfort, then it meant that if there was a mole in their group, that person might notice it, too. That person might inform Tywin Lannister that Viserys could be used against her. Could weaken her.

She hated having weaknesses.

"You're not asleep yet," noticed Quentyn, arriving in her tent and finding her seated upright with a slab of wood beneath her pile of parchment, writing more letters. "Always writing. I don't know how you do it."

"With my hand," said Ysira with a playful, cheeky smile. "I am a Hand, after all, it's one of our talents."

He sat beside her, crossing his legs. "You need your rest. Otherwise, we'll arrive to Meereen and you'll fall asleep in front of the Masters."

"I'll be fine. Only a little longer, and we'll only be speaking to one of them. How fare the dragons? Has Dany caged them for the night?"

"Yes. Daario and Jorah are guarding them. They hardly fit in these cages now, and those were remade in Qohor. We'll need new ones in Meereen. Viserys is designing them already, he wants them to have some sort of flap that would let the dragons burst out of them if there were to be a sudden attack."

She raised her brows. "That... is smart."

"He's clever, yes. And he's noticed that you're no longer observing practices, not since we left Qohor. He's going to start asking questions."

She scowled, "Well, if he asks you or me, the answer is the same. It's too hot outside and I'd rather work in the tent if I'm not using my spear. You all, enjoy yourselves. I don't need to hear Ser William and Ser Gerris argue nor do I need to have Ser Cletus joke about how easily he can pin people down in a fight when it's hardly true."