Fatebringer | Viserys Targaryen

Chapter 23

Ysira was not excited to see the Vale.

When they were little, Viserys had teased that she blatantly played favorites with the Realm, even though she'd never even been to the majority of the kingdoms. She'd liked the idea of the Reach and the North, but for an inexplicable reason, even as a child, had hated the idea of living in the Vale.

In her child mind, it was a bunch of rocks and strange people. Now, it was a fortress from which they had to rescue a young girl. They expected to succeed, but she worried that there hadn't been much planning for this mission, only the assumption that the people of the Vale would behave as they had during the Conquest.

She was sad that she'd be leaving Viserys alone here. Sure, he got along fine with the Kingsguard and wouldn't really be lonely, but it wasn't until after their provisions were organized that it dawned on her how long it would be before she saw him smile again, heard his laugh, felt him poking at her ribs to tease her each time she was getting irritated with herself and needed to relax. It wasn't so long ago that she'd been hiding what she felt, yet, the explosion of feelings now made it difficult to imagine even these few weeks without him. She was too accustomed to his comfort now, and couldn't stop thinking that they'd never been apart from one another, not even for a whole day.

Daenerys, on the other hand, couldn't be more thrilled. She was recounting her histories aloud about the Lady Jeyne Arryn, a woman who firmly held her seat and had– as the historians dubbed it– a 'dear companion' named Jessamyn Redfort. She was glad to not be the one staying at Dragonstone, though she certainly would've fared perfectly fine, Missandei having come on the ship with the provisions and Quentyn still so shy that Daenerys could talk at him every day without end and he would continue the conversation unbothered.

Her happiness and the idea of saving Sansa as well as their Northern allies were all that kept Ysira from complaining even to herself about the trip away from Dragonstone. Everything was set to be so boring without Viserys and it wouldn't even be a fun getaway, rather, a journey entirely devoted to politics, planning, and these strange stirrings beyond-the-Wall. After all she'd been reading about the Long Night, she was starting to become afraid of what exactly Jon Snow would be telling her.

"What troubles you, my love?" asked Viserys. He had her close to him, the two standing in the center of the chamber beneath Stone Drum, rocking side to side in the careful dance he promised her.

"I'm going to miss you," she said, leaning her cheek against his shoulder. "I keep thinking about our trip."

"I will miss you too. But you'll have a part of me with you. Do not forget to show the men of the Vale and the North that you, too, are a dragon. Our fire burns as one."

She sighed, slowing to a stop. "It does, but I'll feel the fire so distant, as I never have before."

He tugged at her hand, guiding her out of the ballroom. "Each time you grow angry at someone, you ought to remember how you used to grow angry at me. Then, you'll feel the fire burning within."

Ysira managed a weak laugh, rolling her eyes. "Yes, well, it would be more interesting to have you to look over at each time someone makes me angry. Daenerys makes silly faces at times, but never as silly as yours."

"I take great pride in that," he said seriously, guiding her back into the throne room. Ysira dug her heels into the ground in protest, assuming what he intended, and he said, "No, no, I'm not going to do that now. Do you think me mad?"

"I think you creative," she countered, though she led him lead her to the throne. He sat, and pulled her onto his lap. "Is this meant to make me miss you less?"