c15: Nightmare and Disaster
Kevan's true cause of death spread through King's Landing with alarming speed, helped along by certain shadowy individuals who made sure the whispers reached every wine shop, alleyway, and market square.
Because of the recent looting that followed the fall of the city, many of the smallfolk in King's Landing already harbored deep resentment toward the Lannisters. The memory of Lannister soldiers storming the gates during the sack of the city still lingered vividly in their minds.
Furthermore, many nobles among the rebel faction were secretly envious of the immense wealth and rewards House Lannister had secured after arriving late to Robert's Rebellion yet claiming the richest spoils. Through this quiet, unspoken cooperation, the Lannisters' infamy spread like wildfire throughout the capital.
Rumors grew with every passing day.
Countless commoners celebrated Kevan's death in taverns and flea markets, raising cheap cups of ale while whispering that the blood of the dragon had not yet vanished from the world. Many believed the Targaryens would one day return from exile and make the Lannisters answer for the sack of King's Landing and the deaths of Princess Rhaenys and Prince Aegon.
Despite the fall of the Mad King, the Targaryen name still held a strange loyalty among parts of the population.
Meanwhile, Lord Tywin Lannister himself became the target of open hostility.
While leaving the Red Keep one morning under heavy guard, a rotten egg suddenly struck the side of his golden cloak and burst against his shoulder. The smell spread instantly.
Tywin's face turned cold and pale as carved marble; anyone who saw him could feel the suffocating fury radiating from him.
The Gold Cloaks the City Watch of King's Landing launched a frantic search through nearby streets and alleys, dragging beggars from corners and questioning merchants. Yet the true culprit vanished into the tangled maze of Flea Bottom.
Instead of calming the situation, the incident only made things worse.
Stories twisted and multiplied, portraying Tywin as a cruel tyrant who had butchered a city for power.
Even worse, several Lannister patrols moving through the poorer districts were suddenly surrounded by mobs. Stones, clubs, and kitchen knives appeared from nowhere. By the time reinforcements arrived, several red-cloaked soldiers had already been beaten to death in the narrow streets.
The unrest continued to grow.
Yet many within the usurper's camp watched the chaos with thinly veiled satisfaction. Certain lords whispered behind closed doors, quietly spreading blame toward House Lannister whenever possible.
After all, the fewer powerful families there were to divide the rewards of victory, the greater everyone else's share would become.
…
Meanwhile, far across the waters of Blackwater Bay, on the ancient island fortress of Dragonstone, time drifted by silently.
No one knew how many hours or days had passed.
Viserys lay unmoving in his chamber, his body trapped in a deep coma while his mind wandered through a storm of chaotic dreams.
He dreamt of both his past life and the strange new life he now lived.
He dreamt of dragons.
A massive dragon soared above him, its wings blotting out the sky before unleashing a torrent of blazing dragonfire that rushed toward him like a living sun, threatening to burn him to ash.
Then the dream shifted.
He saw a world collapsing.
Volcanoes erupted across a blackened landscape, their fury reminding him of the ancient doom that had once destroyed Valyria. Rivers of molten fire poured down shattered mountains while ash filled the sky until day became night.
The cracked earth swallowed towering temples, magnificent palaces, and once-bustling cities carved from dark stone.
"Where… is this?"
Viserys did not understand why such visions filled his mind, yet he could feel the trembling ground beneath his feet as though he truly stood there.
Fear gripped him.
The sensation felt painfully real like the moment he had once been nearly trampled on a road when a terrified warhorse charged wildly through a crowd.
It was also like a fish thrown onto dry land, its mouth opening again and again in desperate search of air, praying for salvation from an unstoppable force.
"Why is there such a terrible disaster here?"
But the dream offered no answer.
Images of destruction continued to flood Viserys's mind. He felt as though he were living through the catastrophe again and again, experiencing it through countless eyes kings, soldiers, priests, children, and fleeing civilians.
Each life ended the same way.
Fire. Ash. Darkness.
The cycle repeated endlessly.
At last, however, the apocalyptic vision began to fade.
The burning world dissolved into drifting shadows before condensing into a swirling cloud of black mist that slowly vanished into an endless sea of smoke.
Only then did the torment inside Viserys's dream finally come to an uneasy end.
Everything vanished like smoke, just as the fires of the ruined halls of Harrenhal once vanished into cold ashes, and darkness gradually enveloped everything. Then the boy lying on the bed slowly began to return to reality, drifting out of the strange visions that had haunted him since the fall of King's Landing. Around him he heard a series of indistinct sounds: hushed conversations between servants and maesters, the rustle of robes, and the soft sobs of a girl trying desperately to keep quiet.
Dragonstone itself seemed unusually silent that morning. Outside the chamber, the wind from Blackwater Bay struck the ancient volcanic walls of the Targaryen fortress, the same fortress where Aegon the Conqueror had once planned his invasion of Westeros centuries ago.
Finally, Viserys felt something warm and soft brush against his cheek.
A small tongue gently licked his face, as if trying to wake him from his long sleep.
Viserys slowly opened his eyes.
However, his body felt completely powerless, as though he had just survived a terrible illness like the winter fevers that sometimes swept through the capital during harsh years.
All the strength in his body had been drained away. He could only lie helplessly against the sheets embroidered with the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen, barely able to move his fingers.
His throat felt painfully dry, like the cracked fields of the Crownlands during a long drought. His pale lips trembled slightly before he forced out a hoarse whisper.
"Water…"
"Give me… a glass of water."
The first creature to notice Viserys had awakened was the small black cat that had stubbornly refused to leave his bedside during the entire time he was unconscious. The little animal had been licking his cheek when it saw his eyes finally open.
It tilted its head curiously.
There even seemed to be a faint trace of excitement shining in its dark green eyes.
But the first human to hear Viserys's voice was the girl sitting beside the bed.
She had been quietly crying the entire time.
"Oh, Viserys, you're awake?!"
The brown-haired girl suddenly raised her head, tears still streaming down her cheeks. She had been clutching the edge of the bed the way a frightened child might cling to the walls of the Red Keep during a storm.
Her voice, filled with shock and relief, immediately startled everyone else in the chamber.
Servants turned.
The maester looked up.
And Queen Leila rushed forward in alarm.
The experienced scholar who had been watching over Viserys quickly poured a cup of warm water, supporting the young prince carefully as he helped him sit up against the carved wooden headboard. The bed itself had once belonged to Targaryen princes who ruled Dragonstone long before Robert Baratheon had raised his banners in rebellion.
Slowly and carefully, the maester lifted the cup and allowed Viserys to drink.
The warm water eased the burning dryness in his throat.
"Child… how are you feeling now?" Queen Leila asked softly as she sat beside him.
Her voice was filled with worry.
However, Viserys was still extremely weak. His mind felt heavy and foggy, like a battlefield after the smoke of wildfire had cleared. After answering only a few simple questions, exhaustion overcame him once again and he drifted back into sleep.
This time, however, Queen Leila ordered everyone to leave the chamber and not disturb him again.
She allowed Viserys to rest quietly in the room for a long time.
In her mind, the boy had simply endured far too much for someone so young. The shock of recent events, combined with exhaustion and fear, had pushed his body beyond its limits. The fever that followed had left him unconscious for an entire day and night.
First, his beloved elder brother had died.
The tragedy forced them to flee King's Landing in haste, escaping the chaos that followed the fall of the Targaryen dynasty after Robert Baratheon seized the Iron Throne with the support of great houses like Stark, Arryn, and Lannister.
During their escape from the capital, Viserys had even been attacked on the road by enemies who wished to wipe out the last remnants of the dragon bloodline.
Despite his young age, he had bravely killed one of the attackers.
Afterward, he barely rested before riding all night toward Duskendale through the dark forests of the Crownlands.
Then came several exhausting days at sea, sailing through rough waters until they finally reached Dragonstone, the ancient seat of House Targaryen.
And the moment they arrived, there had been no time for recovery.
In accordance with tradition, the surviving loyalists hastily crowned him king in a small ceremony within the castle halls, proclaiming him the rightful ruler of the Seven Kingdoms.
But in truth, Viserys was still only a seven-year-old boy.
Queen Leila could not help but feel overwhelming guilt.
She repeatedly blamed herself for everything that had happened, believing that she had failed to protect her children.
Viserys, however, gently comforted his mother.
He told her that he was fine, that the fever had simply made him weak, and that he already felt much better now.
All he needed was rest.
Eventually, everyone left the room.
The chamber grew quiet again.
Yet only a few moments later, the boy who had supposedly fallen asleep slowly opened his eyes.
His pale violet eyes were brighter than before.
Viserys quietly sat up against the headboard and turned his head slightly toward the mirror placed on a small table beside the bed. Sunlight filtered through the heavy curtains and reflected faintly off the polished surface.
Three seconds later
Just as expected.
A cloud of black mist silently appeared in front of the mirror.
[Viserys Targaryen]
Sun Element: 5
Earth Element: 6
Water Attribute: 8
Moon Attribute: 20
The silver-haired boy reflected in the mirror still possessed the same unusually handsome face typical of Valyrian blood. However, his complexion looked somewhat pale, and the exhaustion from recent events had left him slightly gaunt.
His long silver-gold hair fell loosely over his shoulders, shining faintly in the sunlight like molten silver.
Viserys barely paid attention to his appearance.
After all, he knew that the distinctive beauty of the dragonlords was something he would carry for the rest of his life, just as figures like Daenerys Targaryen and Prince Rhaegar had once possessed the same striking features.
Instead, his attention remained fixed on the drifting black mist that only he could see.
"Moon Attribute… 20," Viserys murmured quietly.
This meant his mental strength had already surpassed that of ordinary people by a wide margin. Previously it had been eighteen, but now it had increased to twenty, already far beyond the mental resilience of most grown men.
But perhaps the calculation was not that simple.
The mysterious abilities represented by the black mist seemed to become increasingly difficult to improve as they grew stronger.
And now that his Moon Attribute had reached twenty…
Viserys could clearly feel that something inside him had changed.
It seemed that an extremely powerful new ability had quietly awakened.
.....