King Viserys III Targaryen

His crown weighed atop his head. The crown of his great-great-grandfather, King Maekar first of his name, the crown his mother had crowned him with, the day news had come of the sack. Viserys remembered that day, remembered the fear and pain he had felt but not quite understood. He remembered his mother's tears as she had placed the crown atop his head, he remembered promising her to restore them to the throne, he remembered her kisses. He remembered her hands, cold and clammy as she had slipped from this world. Viserys had loved his mother, more than anything in the world, and she had died, delivering two babes into the world, a girl named Daenerys-born too late to make a difference- and a boy Aemon, for the dragonknight. Viserys had sworn to protect them, and protect them he had, every time word had come of the usurper's knives, he had taken them and they had been saved. But did they care for him? Did they thank him? No! no they did not, they plotted and schemed, they were fools.

The wedding ceremony had been going on for hours, Khal Drogo was a great beast of man, someone Viserys both admired and feared-he hated himself for fearing a brute, he was blood of the dragon, and the dragon was not scared of anything- still the man had promised him one hundred thousand swords, and so he would sit through the brutish ceremonies. Turning to Illyrio Mopatis, he says. "Now that these two are wed, when might we proceed toward Westeros?"

Mopatis, a fat man who had once been a man of greater stature, clapped his hands over his belly and jovially replies. "Your Grace, the wedding is done, but there are many festivities that still need to be observed. There is of course the bedding that shall take place this eve, but then after that, the Khal must take his wife, the Princess, to Vaes Dothrak, to ensure that she is fit for purpose."

Viserys bristles at the man's words. "Daenerys is a dragon; she is more than fit for purpose. Drogo should be honoured."

"He is most assuredly is my King." The magister simpers, Viserys thinks to himself that if he did not need the magister, he would gut him for his simpering alone. "But surely you understand the need for ceremony? Once she has been declared fit for purpose by the crones in Vaes Dothrak, then there will be plundering and looting, then the Dothraki will advance forward."

Before Viserys can reply, his brother Aemon speaks, his voice harsh. "And so they will waste more time? How will they cross the sea that they so fear?"

Viserys glowers at his younger brother. "They will do as their King commands, brother. They are being paid, and Drogo has a bride now, they will do what I tell them to." He looks to Mopatis for confirmation of this, and then man duly gives it.

"Yes Your Graces. They shall perform their rituals, and then move out. Ships shall be waiting for them in Pentos, for when they return." Mopatis responds.

Viserys sees his brother squint at the Magister, as if he is about to call him out, and Viserys instead says. "Thank you Magister." He takes a sip of his wine, glaring pointedly at his brother, who scowls but turns back to scowling at the bride and her husband. Relieved at the peace now between them, Viserys turns to Ser Jorah Mormont and asks. "Tell me Ser Jorah, what do you know about the situation within Westeros?" He knows Mormont comes from the north, but he also knows Mormont was exiled by Stark for something that is a laughable offence, and so he is counting on the anger Mormont no doubt harbours towards the Wolves, to be of use.

Mormont, a great burly man does not disappoint. "The last thing I had heard, was that the Lannisters were growing steadily more powerful within King's Landing, so much so that they are beginning to isolate various members of the court, such as the King's own brother, Renly Baratheon, Lord of Storm's End." That catches Viserys interest, he remembers Renly Baratheon, a boy he shared many firsts with once long ago. Mormont continues. "Secondly, the crown is deeply in debt, but from what I have heard, the Iron Bank is now looking for others to replace the crown."

Viserys leans forward intently at that. "The Iron Bank could be considering lending aid to the rightful ruler of the throne then?" though the thought is repugnant to him, he supposes it is better than nothing.

Mormont hesitates, and seemingly looks at the magister, before speaking. "I think so yes, Your Grace."

Before Viserys can press this point home, Aemon speaks. "If you think the Iron Bank will want to have any sort of dealings with you and a Dothraki horde, you are sadly mistaken."

Viserys looks at his brother with such anger, he feels as though his face is heating up. "Watch your tongue brother. I am still your King."

His brother snorts. "You wear a crown brother, that does not make you a King. No more than this sword makes me a warrior."

Viserys stands up then and spits out. "You will remember who and what you are brother. I am your King, and I am the head of our house. Remember that, and do not wake the dragon."

His brother laughs then, and Viserys feels his face heat with anger, but before he can say anything, the drums and music stop, and the Khal stands, leading Daenerys away from the table where they had been sat, he leads her away and toward her horse. Viserys watches and glowers, his anger still not sated, he looks at his brother, and wishes the boy was still young, young enough that the threat of a beating would make him scared and silence him. But the boy is not a boy anymore, and so Viserys merely sits there, glowering at his brother, before getting up off of his seat, and moving toward his sister, where he whispers into her ear. "Fuck him properly sister, and do not forget, what I told you." He sees his sister nod before disappearing with the savage, when he sits back down, he orders a cup of wine and looks at his brother. "You will remember your place brother. Or I will remind you of it." With that he pours the cup of wine over his brother's head and stands and walks out of the ceremony, laughing as he does so.