Viserys Targaryen woke slowly, unwilling to open his eyes.
For a long moment, he simply lay still, wrapped in warmth that felt almost unnatural. It was the kind of warmth that did not press down on him, did not suffocate or cling—it simply was, surrounding him in quiet comfort.
The bed beneath him was softer than anything he had ever known.
The blankets were thick yet light, draping over him without weight. The mattress supported his body in a way that made it feel as though it understood where to yield and where to hold firm. And the pillow…
He shifted slightly, pressing his cheek deeper into it, almost suspicious.
How can something be this comfortable?
This was not like the Red Keep.
There, everything had been grand. His chambers had been adorned with silks, carved wood, and rich tapestries meant to impress. The bed had been large—imposing, even—but it had never been… this.
There, comfort had always been secondary to display.
This felt like it had been made for sleep.
He exhaled slowly, sinking deeper into the mattress.
I don't want to get up.
The thought came suddenly, firmly, with a weight that surprised him.
He could stay here.
Just a little longer.
There were no lessons waiting for him. No maesters. No court to attend. No nobles whispering behind their hands. No expectations pressing against him from all sides.
No—
A knock sounded against the door.
Viserys groaned softly, pulling the blanket up over his head in quiet protest.
Perhaps if he did not answer, they would leave.
The door opened anyway.
"Prince Viserys ," came a calm female voice, composed but not stiff, "breakfast will not be served after the second bell."
Viserys slowly pulled the blanket down just enough to peer out.
A maid stood just inside the doorway.
She was neatly dressed, her posture straight—but not rigid. She did not bow deeply, nor did she avert her gaze in exaggerated deference. She simply stood there, waiting, as though speaking to him were the most natural thing in the world.
Viserys blinked at her.
"In the Red Keep," he muttered, his voice still thick with sleep, "they would bring breakfast to my chambers."
The maid's lips curved into a faint, almost amused smile.
"In Narnia," she replied gently, "we prefer people to walk to the food themselves, my prince."
Viserys frowned.
There was something about her tone—respectful, but not subservient—that made it difficult to argue.
He let out a long, dramatic sigh.
"Fine."
The walk to the dining hall was brief.
Or at least, it should have been.
But Viserys found himself slowing at every turn, his gaze drawn to the world around him.
The corridors were wide, but not unnecessarily so. Sunlight poured in through tall windows, casting warm light across polished stone floors. The walls were decorated, but not with excessive gold or ostentatious displays of wealth.
Instead, there were life like paintings—intricate and deliberate. Banners hung in measured intervals, each one telling a story or marking a history he did not yet understand. Every detail felt… intentional.
Servants moved through the halls, but there was no frantic rushing, no panicked scrambling to avoid being seen. They walked with purpose, speaking quietly among themselves, carrying out their duties with a calm efficiency that Viserys had never witnessed before.
When they saw him, they greeted him politely.
Some even smiled.
He did not know what to do with that.
This is not how a castle behaves.
The dining hall greeted him with a low hum of activity.
And immediately, his eyes found them.
Sirius and Daenerys.
They sat side by side at one of the long tables, leaning toward one another in conversation. Daenerys was animated, her hands moving as she spoke, her face bright with excitement. Sirius watched her with an amused grin, occasionally adding a comment that made her laugh even more.
But that wasn't what held Viserys' attention.
It was what they were wearing.
Simple garments.
Matching garments.
Viserys slowed, his eyes narrowing slightly.
They were well-made—of that, there was no doubt—but they lacked the elaborate embroidery and rich fabrics of noble attire. The colors were coordinated, the design practical.
What kind of place gives princes uniforms?
He approached the table and took the seat beside Daenerys.
She turned instantly, her entire face lighting up.
"Viserys!" she exclaimed. "You're finally awake!"
"I was comfortable," he replied, attempting stiffness, though it softened despite his efforts.
Daenerys leaned closer, her excitement practically radiating.
"I'm going to school today."
Viserys blinked.
"You're going to… what?"
Sirius leaned back in his chair, grinning.
"School."
Viserys frowned.
"That doesn't explain anything."
Sirius chuckled.
"It's a place where boys and girls go to learn. Reading, writing, history, basic maths, practical skills—everything."
Viserys stared at him.
"That's what maesters are for."
"Not here," Sirius said easily.
Daenerys nodded enthusiastically.
"And everyone goes together. Not just nobles."
Viserys turned to her slowly.
"What do you mean… everyone?"
"Everyone," Sirius repeated.
Viserys blinked again.
"That makes no sense."
"It makes perfect sense," Sirius replied. "Why should only nobles learn?"
Viserys opened his mouth—
—and then stopped.
Because for the first time, he did not have an answer that did not sound… hollow.
The food was already set before them.
Viserys glanced down at the table.
There were no endless rows of dishes. No servants rushing back and forth with trays meant to impress rather than satisfy.
Instead—
Three dishes.
But the portions were generous, and the aroma that rose from them was—
He hesitated only briefly before taking a bite.
And then he froze.
"That's—"
Sirius smirked. "Good?"
Viserys swallowed slowly.
"It's… better than the Red Keep."
Daenerys laughed, delighted.
"I told you!"
The flavors were rich but balanced, each bite deliberate, crafted with care rather than excess. It was food meant to be eaten, not admired.
Viserys found himself reaching for more before he realized it.
After the meal, Sirius pushed his chair back.
"We should go."
Daenerys stood immediately, practically bouncing with energy.
Viserys followed them, curiosity pulling him along despite himself.
They stepped outside the castle gates.
And there—
A Wagon.
Filled with children.
Viserys stopped.
They wore the same uniforms. They laughed openly, spoke freely, leaned out of the wagons without fear or restraint. There was no careful separation, no rigid structure of rank.
One of the children spotted Sirius and waved.
"Hey! You're late!"
Sirius grinned and waved back.
"Blame the dragon ride!"
Laughter rippled through the group.
Viserys stared.
"You… ride with them?"
"Yes," Sirius said simply.
Daenerys climbed into the wagon without hesitation, immediately drawn into conversation.
"Is it true your family had dragon?" a girl asked her.
Daenerys beamed. "Yes!"
Excited chatter erupted instantly.
Viserys remained where he stood.
Princesses do not laugh with commoners.
This is—
"This is wrong," he muttered.
"No," came Lyanna's voice beside him, calm and steady. "It is different."
He turned sharply.
"She's a princess."
"And she's a child," Lyanna replied.
"She should have guards."
"She doesn't need them."
Viserys frowned.
"What if something happens?"
Lyanna met his gaze without hesitation.
"As long as she stays in Telmar, no one will harm her."
There was no arrogance in her voice.
Viserys hesitated.
He looked back at Daenerys.
She was laughing.
Not politely.
But freely.
He could not remember the last time he had seen her like that.
Perhaps…
Perhaps he never had.
His shoulders eased, just slightly.
"…I'll stay," he said quietly.
Lyanna inclined her head.
"That would be wise."
The wagons began to move.
Sirius leaned out, grinning.
"See you later!"
Daenerys waved enthusiastically.
Viserys gave a small nod.
And then they were gone.
The road curved, and the wagons disappeared from sight, carrying with them laughter that lingered in the air.
Silence followed.
Viserys stood still, uncertain.
For the first time in his life, there was no clear expectation waiting for him.
No schedule.
No duty pressing down on his shoulders.
No defined role to step into.
He turned to Lyanna.
"What am I supposed to do here?"
She smiled faintly.
"That," she said, "is something you'll have to figure out."
Viserys frowned.
"I'm a prince."
"Yes," she said simply.
"And?"
He had no answer.
He turned his gaze outward, toward the city below.
Children's laughter carried faintly on the breeze. People moved through their lives without fear. A kingdom functioned—not through rigid control, but through something else.
Where power did not seem to demand fear.
Viserys Targaryen stood at the edge of it all and felt—
completely out of place.
And strangely…
interested.
Viserys Targaryen did not return to his chambers.
Instead, he walked.
At first, it had no purpose. No destination. Just movement—down the winding paths that led from the castle into the city below.
Telmar.
It was larger than he had expected.
From the castle, it had seemed orderly, almost calm. But within its streets, it lived and breathed in ways he had never witnessed before. The roads were wide and clean, lined with stone buildings that rose in careful harmony rather than chaotic ambition. There was no sense of overcrowding, no suffocating press of bodies.
Everything felt… balanced.
Voices filled the air—laughter, conversation, merchants calling out their wares. The scent of food drifted through the streets, rich and inviting, pulling his attention in every direction at once.
Viserys slowed.
Then stopped.
Street vendors lined the road, their stalls filled with dishes he could not immediately name. Bowls of steaming stew, skewers of grilled meat, baskets of bread, fruits glazed with honey, and—
He frowned slightly.
"Is that… crab?"
"It is, my boy," the vendor replied with a grin. "Fresh this morning."
Viserys hesitated only briefly before reaching into the small pouch at his side.
Gold dragons.
He had taken them from the Red Keep before boarding the dragon. A habit, more than anything else. A prince never traveled without coin.
He placed one carefully on the counter.
The vendor examined it for a moment, then nodded.
"A gold coin is a gold coin," the man said with a shrug. "Different stamp, same weight."
Viserys said nothing more.
He took the bowl.
The stew was rich, thick with flavor, the meat tender and fresh. He found himself eating as he walked, sampling one stall after another—lobster, spiced fish, roasted meats, pastries he could not name but quickly decided he liked.
There was no hesitation from the merchants.
No attempt to overcharge him.
They treated him as they treated everyone else.
It was while he stood near the docks that he met the boy.
"First time in Telmar?"
Viserys turned.
The boy was close to his own age—perhaps a year older, perhaps not. His skin was sun-darkened, his hair wind-tossed, his clothes simple but sturdy. There was a confidence in the way he stood, an ease that spoke of experience far beyond his years.
Viserys straightened slightly.
"Yes," he said.
The boy grinned.
"Thought so. You look like you're trying to understand everything at once."
Viserys frowned faintly.
"And you're not?"
The boy laughed.
"No. I already did that."
Viserys studied him.
"Who are you?"
"Eric," the boy said, extending a hand without hesitation.
Viserys looked at it for a moment, then—after a brief pause—took it.
"Viserys."
Eric tilted his head slightly, as though the name meant something, but he did not press.
"You here alone?"
"For now."
Eric nodded.
"Good. Then I can show you around."
Viserys raised an eyebrow.
"And why would you do that?"
Eric shrugged.
"Because I can. And because you look like you need it."
Viserys almost took offense—
—but something in the boy's tone made it difficult.
He hesitated.
Then nodded once.
"Very well."
Eric did not walk slowly.
He moved through the city like he belonged to it.
Because he did.
"This is the harbor," Eric said, gesturing toward the vast stretch of water where ships of all sizes were docked. "Trade ships, fishing vessels, and—" he smirked slightly, "whaling ships."
Viserys glanced at him.
"You're a sailor?"
Eric nodded.
"Been on a whaling ship since I was younger than you."
Viserys frowned.
Eric laughed.
"It is here."
He pointed toward a large ship anchored at the far end of the harbor.
"That one's ours."
Viserys followed his gaze.
It was massive.
Stronger than any vessel he had seen in Westeros.
"You hunt whales?"
"For oil," Eric said. "And everything else. We're out for years sometimes. Two, three if the seas are good."
Viserys stopped walking.
"Years?"
Eric glanced back at him.
"Yeah."
"And you… leave for that long?"
Eric shrugged.
"It's work. It's life."
Viserys stared at him.
"You've seen… other lands?"
Eric grinned.
"Plenty."
And then he began to speak.
Of distant coasts and endless oceans.
Of storms that almost swallowed the entire ship and nights where the sky burned with stars brighter than anything seen from land.
Of creatures beneath the waves, of foreign ports filled with languages Viserys could not even imagine.
The more Eric spoke—
The quieter Viserys became.
Because he realized something.
Eric had seen more of the world than he had.
A prince of the Seven Kingdoms.
Outmatched… by a sailor.
It unsettled him.
Because it made him question something he had never questioned before.
What is power… if it keeps you in one place?
They walked for hours.
Eric showed him everything.
The temples came next.
Massive structures, each built with a distinct identity.
"The temple of Odin," Eric said, gesturing to a towering hall of carved stone, its pillars etched with runes that seemed to hum faintly in the air.
Then another.
"Frigga."
Another.
"Loki."
Another.
"Thor."
"Hela."
Viserys paused there.
The temple stood darker than the others, its design sharper, more severe. Yet it was not abandoned. People came and went as freely as any other place.
Eventually, Eric led him away from the grand streets and into quieter parts of the city.
"This is my home."
Viserys looked up.
It was not large.
But it was clean.
Well-kept.
Inside, it was warm.
Comfortable.
Eric's family greeted him without hesitation—and without fear. They welcomed Viserys as though he were just another guest, offering food, water, a place to sit.
No one bowed.
And yet, there was respect.
Genuine respect.
Viserys found himself… relaxing.
Later, as they stepped back outside, the sun beginning its slow descent, Viserys spoke.
"Everyone here… works."
Eric glanced at him.
"In one way or another."
Viserys frowned slightly.
Eric looked at him for a moment, then said simply,
"You'll get bored with nothing to do."
Viserys exhaled slowly.
"Yes," he admitted.
"I already am."
They passed a training ground on their way back.
And Viserys stopped.
Narnian soldiers.
They moved with precision and speed that was almost unnatural. Blades clashed, feet shifted, bodies turned with brutal efficiency. There was no wasted motion. No hesitation.
They were strong.
Fast.
Relentless.
Viserys watched, unmoving.
He had seen knights train before.
This was not the same.
Better.
He felt something stir within him.
"I want that," he said quietly.
Eric followed his gaze.
"Then join."
Viserys frowned.
"Can I?"
Eric shrugged.
"Why not? Everyone does something."
Viserys looked back at the soldiers.
Then down at his hands.
Then out toward the city.
A place where people worked.
Where they earned their place.
Where strength meant something more than birth.
Viserys Targaryen did not think about his crown.
He thought about his future.
And for once—
It was something he would have to choose.
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