Chapter 2- All hail Prince Viserys II

It was weird, knowing you were a product of incest. It wasn't something I really thought about all too much. But when I did, I couldn't help but feel a shiver of disgust pass through me anyways.

I duck under the slash of Ser Willem strike. The wooden sword sails past where my head had previously been. Had I been a second to late, and had it been a real sword, I would've lost my head, or at least the top half.

I mean, no one ever really talks about it, in all the fanfictions I've read about some Targaryen self-insert, but it was something I couldn't help but think.

I strike back, my swing aiming for his gut. 

'Disembowelment, one of the worst ways to die, yet one of the easiest.'

It was odd knowing you only had one set of grandparents, and that your parents in turn were also brother and sister.

Ser Willem's sword re-drew just as fast, if not faster, to block my strike. Old though the man may be, he was still stronger, faster, and more experienced than me.

You'd think at some point one of them would have been tired of the whole arrangement, especially after the death of the dragons. But nooo, fuck your sister you will(read in medieval cockney accent). Why? To keep the bloodline pure of course, goodman. Posh haughty laugh ensues.

My heart hammered with exhaustion, and not for the first time this week, I debated with myself, whether or not to just forever hire protection. I wave those thoughts away as mere mindless chatter.

I stepped back, trying to regain some energy for another attack, but Ser Willem didn't let me. He surged forward, faster than I could react, and the wooden sword struck me hard on the side. I stumbled backward, clutching my 'injured' side.

"You'll need to be faster next time." He instructed, "More light on your feet. You're small, use that to your advantage."

I nod, letting go of my side, though it still pained me something fierce. I lowered my stance, focusing on being light on my feet, just as he said.

He doesn't give me time to adjust, he moves aiming to land me on my shoulder, I dodge the first hit, more instinct than planned reaction. Already I feel it, the surge of adrenaline that comes from this.

Another hit comes. Dodge. I think. But this time, my mind is faster. His weapon strike the wrist of my arm. His blow rips the sword clean from my grip and quite painfully so. Had the blade been metal it would have severed my sword hand instantly, any thought of retribution would remain that. A thought.

"Dead, again." He says with a smile, "Without a sword arm this time."

I roll my eyes at him, "You needn't mock."

"On the contrary I do." He replied with a smirk, "Mocking builds good character, so I'm told."

I stood, wincing at the pain. It would take me years of this to become good at it. Truly, all swordsmen must, at some level, be masochists.

From the sidelines, Rhaenys laughed her shrill toddler laugh.

"Viz die again." she giggled, clapping her hands.

I pretended to be hurt, placing my hand dramatically above my heart. "Is that what you'd want, you little rascal?"

I made to chase her, but before she even noticed it was simply a bluff, she ran off, still filled with the boundless energy only a toddler could have.

Ser Willem shakes his head at the pair of us, "You had better go see the maester. We'll start again soon enough, you're getting better but we still have a lot to cover"

I nod at him. We'd been here for almost four months, and in that time, war raged far away from us. Sometimes it was hard to remember we were at war. But I knew I could afford no such luxury. Soon, my father, Aerys, would die, murdered at the hand of his sworn shield, and then Stannis would come for us.

It was hard, trying to establish myself as some sort of authority to be listened to. I was only a boy of seven, nearing eight if you wanted to be exact, and men were not accustomed to listening to children, crown prince or not.

It took me a while to reach the maester's study. My young body was wracked with aches as I climbed up the steps of the Sea Dragon Tower. I pushed open the door of Maester Gerrad's room, Dragonstone's personal maester.

He was old, though not so old as to be bent and crooked of back. Grey locks formed most of his hair, and his eyes were a warm, muddy brown color. Around his neck hung the great links of chain meant to remind the maesters of the realm they served.

'Or maybe it's meant to remind them of their loyalty to the Citadel.'

"My lord, Prince Viserys," Maester Gerrad greeted with a warm smile. Maester Gerrad was a well-learned man, having stayed at the Citadel for longer than most would have done. He had taken the chance to lengthen his chains. The colors gold, silver, black iron, copper, bronze, and tin hung around his neck, bright metal markers of his well-roundedness. "Are you here for your treatments again?"

"Yes, Maester Gerrad," I replied, settling into the now-familiar chair and pulling off my shirt. Bruises covered me like spots on a leopard. Okay, perhaps that was a bit of an exaggeration, but you get the idea.

The maester shakes his head at the sight, "Honestly, the things we men do to ourselves, just so we can wave a sharp piece of metal around the right way." he tuts, "You'd be much better of dedicating yourself to the disciplines of the mind."

He dabs at one of the larger bruises with the ointment. I wince at the burn, trying to hold back tears. Damn my uncontrollable pre-teen tear ducts.

"I can't just bind myself to one area alone," I said, trying to ignore the pain. "A king must master all, or," I winced again, "at least be proficient enough at them."

The maester's brown eyes met my lilac ones. "Is that what drives you so, my prince?" he asked, still cleaning the wounds.

Curiosity welled in his eyes, and no wonder. For the past months I'd been on Dragonstone, not a day went by that I didn't busy myself with one thing or another. Rhaenys had once even begun to cry, thinking that I was ignoring her.

"Yes," I lied. "Everyone said my brother Rhaegar was the hope of the kingdom. Everywhere in King's Landing they sang praises of him, but now Rhaegar's dead, and there's just me."

Understanding sparked in the maester's eyes. Sibling jealousy, he must think. Very common, especially when one eclipses the other as Rhaegar often did.

"I'm sure you'll make a good king Viserys." Gerrad remarks, "But remember, there's no rush, you'll still have all the time in the world."

I almost sighed.

.....

"-and then I ran, and I saw the green fish, it was huge, huger than any other fish I'd ever seen." Rhaenys, daughter of my now dead brother Rhaegar, sat at her grandmother's feet, regaling her with tales of her solo adventures around the castle.

She was not supposed to be here, at least according to canon. But despite his madness, Aerys did have a soft spot for me, as much as he could anyway. I had begged for him to allow Rhaenys to travel with us. I would have done the same for Elia and her son Aegon, but seeing how adamant he was that they'd stay, I wasn't going to push my luck and wind up with nothing in the end.

Elia had thanked me in the end, she had been hoping to come with us, and had been devastated when she heard the king's decree, but less so when she heard that I'd convinced Aerys to let her daughter come with us.

Three years old and all, Rhaenys had cried the first few days when we where on sea. Eventually Rhaella had managed to calm her down with songs from Dorne she had learned when she was a child, no doubt that reminded her of her mother, and Rhaenys had more or less begun to see Rhaella as some sort of mother figure.

"Mother." I greeted, alerting them to my presence.

"Viz." Rhaenys squealed as she ran towards me with all the speed her three-year-old legs could muster.

'Humph.'

I nearly fell over as the laughing toddler collided headfirst into my midsection.

"Ow, ow, ow," I hissed, wincing from the disturbed bruises. Rhaenys didn't even seem to notice. She stared up at me with her dark purple eyes and asked, "Is Viz here to play?"

I peeled myself off her, trying to give my bruises some breathing air. "Yes," I smiled, patting her on her white-streaked brown hair. "Viz is here to play."

As soon as those words left my mouth, she ran over to the bed where she picked up two seperate dolls dressed in the usual princesses attire. She hands one over to me and pulls me down to sit by Rhaella. She began moving hers.

I obliged, taking the doll she handed me and settling down next to Rhaella. Rhaenys was fully engrossed in her make-believe world, moving her doll with a child's innocence and imagination. I followed suit, moving my own doll according to the scenarios Rhaenys created.

Rhaella smiled down at the two of us from her wooden chair, "How was your training Viserys?"

I shrugged, maneuvering the dolls as we played. "Seems the same as always," I replied. "But Ser Willem insists I'm improving."

She nods at that, "I'm sure you are if Ser Willem says so."

Turning her attention to the window, Rhaella's hand absently caressed her belly. It was bright out,, at least for Dragonstone, the sun shone distantly in the sky, lighting the sea a good bright blue.

"How's the baby." I ask, now bashing my doll on Rhaenys', we were now fighting for some odd reason. "Has there been any irregular movements?"

Rhaella looks back at me, "No. She's been quiet all day."

I blanch and stop moving my doll, much to Rhaenys annoyance, she proceeds to remind me of this and I continue, "Shouldn't the maester be aware of this?" I ask worriedly.

Rhaella's smile remained reassuring. "She's fine, dear. I can still feel her."

I must have still looked worried, because Rhaella places my hand on her belly, but I don't feel anything. I tell her as such. 

She covered my hand with hers. "I do," she replied simply.

Rhaella's reassurance did little to ease my worry. I couldn't feel the baby's movements, and that troubled me deeply. I glanced at Rhaenys, still immersed in her play, unaware of the concern brewing between her mother and me.

"Perhaps I should fetch Maester Gerrad," I suggested, my voice betraying my anxiety.

"Viserys." She looks at me straight in the eye, "She's fine."

Her words, meant to be reassuring, didn't alleviate my concern. I knew Rhaella was trying to calm me, but the lack of movement from the baby still gnawed at me like a persistent worry.

"Are you sure, mother?" I pressed, unable to shake off my unease.

Rhaella's gaze softened, and she reached out to place a hand on my shoulder. "I am, Viserys," she replied gently. "But if it eases your mind, you can fetch Maester Gerrad. He will confirm that everything is as it should be."

Reluctantly, I shook my head and sat back down.