1 Chapter 1- All hail Prince Viserys I

283 AC

Living under a madman's boot is never easy. Much less living under a mad king's crown. My name is Viserys Targaryen, now the crown prince of Westeros, if the news of my brother Rheagar's death is to be believed. Of course I believed them, from the very moment destiny's fool dragged of Lyanna Stark to be engaged, despite his already previous engagement to the princess of Dorne.

But alas, what could I do to stay fate's hand? I was merely a small lad of seven years. What on earth could I possibly say without stirring up rumors of an early onset of the famous Targaryen madness? Perhaps I could have lied, said I saw it in a dream, and become Daenys the Dreamer come again, only this time without teats. Perhaps it would have worked; Targaryens were known to be a bit...more.

It mattered not, at least not anymore. War had come, and now the time of the dragons was coming to an end.

"My Prince," called Ser Willem Darry, bowing as was proper. It must have made for a hilarious sight, a man full-grown in a set of armor bowing to a brat who had yet to reach his tenth name-day. But no one laughed.

"How many ships does our fleet have?" I asked, staring at the largest of the ships. Named, of course, after the dreaded dragon of Aegon the Conqueror, because gods know my family refuse to move on.

"No more than a hundred, my prince," Ser Willem replied. "Estimates about ninety. Though about two-thirds are galleys."

He points to the smaller ships. They were not the massive behemoths that were the caracks of the royal fleet. Short, though long for their height, they were made for warfare, not deep sea voyages. 

A sailor lowers a ladder for us to climb. I grabbed onto the rope and obliged. At the top, I was greeted by burly, shirtless sailors and their captain.

"Welcome aboard the Balerion, My prince." He was a tall man, though really at this age, everyone was tall to me. With broad shoulders, no doubt from the constant work that was required of him, and balding brown hair with a thick beard.

He knelt before me in the Westerosi fashion. "You may rise, dear captain," I told him, gesturing for him to stand. Behind me, Ser Willem had climbed on deck.

"What is your name, Ser?" I inquired, uncertain if he had been knighted or not. It was best to ask rather than assume.

"Jon, My Prince. The name's Captain Jon. I'm afraid I'm no knight myself, too much time spent trying to become captain," he replied with a respectful nod.

"Ah, Captain Jon it is then," I acknowledged with a small smile. He seemed like an amiable enough man, but that didn't mean much in a world of treachery.

Further down, a rowboat was being hoisted up the ship, bearing my pregnant mother Queen Rhaella and my teary-eyed niece, Princess Rheanys.

They landed safely on the deck of the ship, and the captain bowed respectfully, repeating his words of welcome from before.

At my mother's command, he rose. I addressed him, "Captain," I said, "Will you have someone escort the Queen and my niece to their cabins?"

"Yes, of course my prince." The captain turns to one of his men, a handsome blond man with blue eyes. "Show the Queen and the princess to their cabins Rewan."

The man nods, and motions for the two to follow him. My mother glances back at me worriedly, but follows all the same.

I stand near Ser Willem as we begin to set sail. King's Landing shrinks before us, I know this will be the last time we see it in a long time if at all. Oddly enough I felt sad, I suppose it was expected, it had been my home for the past seven years and now I was leaving it.

"Are you alright my prince?" Ser Willem asks.

I blink up at him with my pale lilac eyes, "Of course, why wouldn't I be?" I lie.

No doubt he saw through it, as his next words were, "Do not worry, your father will be sure to take care of the traitor's rebellion. In a few months—no, weeks, you'll be back."

If only, Ser Willem. If only.

....

We arrive two weeks later. And I couldn't be more than happy to see dry land again.

"Dragonstone." I mutter, "The seat of every crown prince since the days of Aegon the Conqueror."

"Yes my prince." Ser Willem nods, "And now its your seat."

"Yes. Mine, not Rhaegar's. Mine."

"If only the prince had survived." Ser Willem speaks, mistaking my tone for grief, or perhaps he didn't, I wasn't sure, Rhaegar and I didn't have much of a relationship, I was too busy, preparing myself for the days to come and Rhaegar was too busy being Rhaegar.

The wind whips at my hair, and the ship rumbles beneath my feet. In the distance, dawn peeks up behind the foggy curtain.

Dragonstone loomed before us. It was a rocky volcanic island, formed from the volcano Dragonmont. It rose like a black stone in the midst of the sea, more fit for long dead dragons than human habitation. Though as the old saying goes 'were there's a will, there's a way'. Somehow there was life here, though not enough to provide any great number of troops, though I suppose that hadn't been a problem for my dragon-riding ancestors.

Near Four-hundred years ago, a man known as Aenar the Exile along with a small army settled on this practically barren rock after the warnings of his daughter Daenys the Dreamer. And then a hundred years passed and Aegon the Conqueror did what he did best. Conquered.

And now here I am. Running towards instead of away. 

'Enough feeling sorry for yourself.' I said to myself, 'You've got a job to do.'

"I'm going to tell the others we're here." I said to Ser Willem.

He nods. I make my way downstairs, the level below had been occupied by our party, I weave in and out the crowd in the tight space.

"Mother." I call, knocking on the familiar cabin door.

The door opens, revealing the my niece and princess Rhaenys. She stares at me with purple eyes so dark, it could be mistaken for black in a certain light.

'That's going to serve her well.' I can't help but think.

"Viz." She says, unable to properly pronounce my full name with her clumsy toddler tongue.

"Rhaenys." I return, patting her on the head.

I walk past her and into the cabin. My mother, Rhaella was waiting. Like me she had lilac eyes, though hers were a bit darker than my pale ones. She sat on her bed motioning for me to join her.

"Mother. Dragonstone is in sight, it will be a few minutes before we dock."

"Good." She smiles at me, while running her hand through my hair much to my discomfort, "I'm tired of this ship and its rocking floors."

She places a hand on her belly, where no doubt Daenerys was gestating. I assumed it was Daenarys, though I seem to remember that she was supposed to be born later than the maesters say now. Perhaps a simple change due to my presence? I just hoped she'd make it out alive this time. Daenerys will need her mother and Rhaenys will need a mother figure soon.

I smile back at her and move my head out of the way. "Have you eaten yet?"

She sighs at the question, "No. I'm not hungry."

I give her a look that do doubt seems ill-suited on an eight year old. "Yes you are. You just don't have the appetite."

Rhaella inclines her head back, "Sometimes doesn't feel like the two are any different."

"But they are." I say, "One is good, for you and the baby, the other is bad."

"Viserys-" She starts.

"Mother." I cut her off. "You need to build your strength for this delivery."

"C'mon." I said, pulling at her arm. With some difficulty she stands, though more due to her own effort than my weak eight-year-old limbs.

"You to Rhaenys." I say to the three year old.

The three- no, the four of us ate together in relative silence. Rhaella picked at her food, though with my encouragement, she eventually finished it all.

After eating, I returned to the deck, where Dragonstone loomed even larger than before. As far as most islands go, Dragonstone was not a particularly inviting one. It smelled constantly of sulfur and brimstone, with volcanic rocks instead of soil making it ill-suited for raising livestock. Farming was difficult as well, as all the grains had to be imported. The only locally sourced resource was fish, fortunately plentiful due to the low heat of the volcano drawing them closer.

"Here we are." the captain said beside me.

Dragonstone was built with techniques long lost in the annals of history. Some said it was constructed by magic, others attributed it to simple superior stone carving. The two towers of the keep stood tall in the wailing wind that plagued the island. One was named the Stone Drum for the booming and rumbling sounds that could be heard during storms. The other was the Sea Dragon Tower, named for its shape resembling a dragon gazing serenely out across the sea.

Soon enough we sail into the waiting docks. The other ships as well find spots among the many waiting docks of Dragonstone.

"Come Ser Willem." I say, "Its time to unpack our things."

"Yes, my prince." He replies, he bows and heads down below.

I stood alone on the deck, staring up at the castle before me. This was just a step up the ladder, one of many. Let's hope I don't eventually fall.