Daemon looked at him, and looked at him for a very long time.
Then he rose, walked back to his chair, and sat down heavily.
Daemon shook his head. Weariness laced with helplessness, he let out a short laugh.
"You truly are shameless, Viserys."
"You are my brother. You should… you should at least be honest with me."
Viserys lowered his head. He had nothing to say.
Silence fell over the cavern once more.
At last, Daemon spoke first.
"But later, I came to understand."
"You are not a fit king. The gods know you are not."
"You are indecisive. You always try to please everyone, and in the end you offend them all."
"But you are my brother, Viserys."
"My only brother."
Viserys looked at Daemon in shame.
"These past years, I have watched you," Daemon continued.
"Watched you struggle in agony upon the Iron Throne, watched you tear yourself apart between your daughter and your realm."
"Watched you try to be a good father, yet wound each of your children in turn."
"I watched you fall ill, watched you suffer, watched you little by little become what you are now."
He turned back to look at Viserys.
"I am still angry."
"I still think you owe me—owe me an apology, owe me an explanation, owe me my entire life."
Viserys had nothing to say.
"So…" Daemon drew in a deep breath.
"If this is your wish—if it will let you close your eyes in peace before you die—"
"Then I agree."
"Agree to what?" Viserys asked, trembling.
"I agree to renounce the Iron Throne," Daemon said.
"I agree that Rhaenyra will not contend with Aegon."
"I agree to take Rhaenyra away from Westeros."
"I agree to let your Aegon rule the Seven Kingdoms in peace and without strife."
Viserys could scarcely believe it.
"This…"
"It is true," Daemon said. "But there is a condition."
"What condition?" Viserys asked.
"Dragonstone? Driftmark? I can grant you both."
Daemon shook his head.
"What I want, you cannot give."
The king frowned in confusion.
"I want the eastern continent."
Viserys froze. He thought he had misheard.
"The east… what?"
"A division between east and west." Daemon leaned forward, bracing both hands upon the stone table, looking down at Viserys.
"Your eldest son, Aegon, shall rule Westeros—the Seven Kingdoms, the Iron Throne, all of it."
"And I shall take Rhaenyra and the Blacks to the eastern continent."
"Not in flight. Not in exile. We go to conquer."
Viserys's mind went blank. He tried to make sense of his brother's words.
"You are mad," Viserys said at last.
"The eastern continent holds the Nine Free Cities—Volantis, Braavos, Pentos…"
"There are dozens of city-states, hundreds of tribes, tens of thousands of soldiers. By what right do you—"
"Because I have dragons," Daemon cut in, and in his voice the familiar, near-arrogant confidence flared anew.
"Because I am Daemon Targaryen, King of the Stepstones, rider of 'Blood Wyrm' Caraxes."
"With dragons… we can raise an empire anew."
Empire. The word echoed through the cavern.
Viserys struggled to take it in.
"Even with dragons," he said with difficulty, "the eastern continent is too far, too strange."
"The city-states there are rich. They have fleets. They have sellswords—"
"And they have strife," Daemon cut in again.
"Volantis has sought to restore the Valyrian Empire for hundreds of years."
"Braavos seeks to preserve the present order, binding the other cities through coin and credit."
"The Triarchy—Lys, Tyrosh, Myr—they are no single iron block."
"Pentos wanes, Norvos is rigid, Qohor cares only for itself."
He spoke as though reciting from memory; plainly he had studied this long and well.
"These Free Cities—what do they fear?" Daemon went on.
"They fear our return."
At last, Viserys understood.
This was no sudden impulse. It was a plan long laid.
Daemon had no wish to bleed himself dry in a civil war in Westeros. He meant to carry the flames elsewhere.
"Was it Volantis that reached out to you?" Viserys asked.
Daemon nodded. "Within the Black Wall, one of the three Archons of the Blood Council—Eluna Lanser."
"Volantis needs our strength. Without Targaryen dragons, they cannot found a new empire."
"They will betray you," Viserys warned. "These cities know no honor—only profit."
"I know," Daemon said with a smile.
"That is why I shall not trust them. We are allies only for a time."
"Once the Triarchy is brought low, we shall see what comes next."
Viserys listened, and the longer he listened, the more astonished he became.
For this would resolve everything.
Rhaenyra and her children need not spill blood in Westeros; they could found a realm of their own in the east.
Aegon could inherit the Iron Throne in peace, with no shadow of civil war looming over him.
The Targaryens would simply… expand outward.
As the Conqueror once did—only in a different direction.
"But how can you be certain?" Viserys returned to himself and asked.
"Is this not the sundering of our House?"
"Viserys, do not delude yourself!"
"In truth, it is already sundered!"
"Two Targaryens now."
"One in King's Landing. One on Dragonstone."
"As for why swords have not yet been drawn…" Daemon did not finish. He merely looked at Viserys.
Then he lifted his ceramic cup, took a long draught, and set it down.
"This is the best course I can devise."
At last, Viserys nodded.
"And Corlys Velaryon?" Viserys asked again. "Will the Sea Snake consent to forgo the Iron Throne?"
"Corlys has already agreed," Daemon said.
"And Jacaerys and the others?"
"They remain Velaryon," Daemon replied, his tone cold. "Corlys has already declared that they renounce the Targaryen name. So be it."
"In the eastern continent, none will care whether they were born base, nor will any man trouble over the color of their hair."
"They may wed noblewomen of Volantis and beget children with silver hair and purple eyes."
"After a few generations, who will remember Strong?"
Long silence followed.
He rose, walked to Viserys, and knelt once more before him, extending his hand.
"This serves all, brother."
"Rhaenyra and her children shall live—and have a kingdom of their own."
"Your eldest son, Aegon, shall inherit the Iron Throne, and the Seven Kingdoms shall be spared civil war."
Viserys said nothing. He only clasped Daemon's hand tightly.
"Very well."
"I shall support you."
In the end, it was Viserys who released his grip first. He was too weary.
"I must return."
Daemon stood and helped him to his feet.
"I will see you to the gate," Daemon said.
They walked slowly toward the mouth of the Dragonpit.
Daemon matched his pace to his brother's faltering steps.
The road had seemed long when they entered; now it felt far too short.
The stone doors opened. Night wind rushed in. The Kingsguard waited without; at the sight of the king, they stepped forward at once to steady him.
Daemon stood at the threshold, watching as his brother was led away, surrounded by white cloaks.
"Viserys," Daemon called suddenly.
Viserys turned back.
"Farewell," Daemon said, looking at him.
Viserys knew this might be the last parting between them as brothers.
His gaze was distant. He gave a faint nod.
"Farewell."
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