Viserys's screams echoed intermittently through the manor's corridors, like the wails of a beast caught in a trap.
Every syllable was soaked in agony and despair.
Daenerys sat on her soft bed, holding an old book she had found in the Good Master's study. The pages were filled with Valyrian poetry.
But she couldn't read a single word.
The screaming left her unsettled.
She knew her brother deserved his punishment. His madness and stupidity had long since ground away the last shreds of Targaryen dignity. Lynn's actions were justified.
Viserys had sold her like a slave.
And yet... he was still her brother.
Daenerys set the book down and stood up.
She knew she shouldn't go, and she certainly shouldn't plead for him. She couldn't put Lynn in a difficult position.
She simply... wanted to ease Viserys's pain, if only a little.
Though Missandei was no longer a slave, she still served with the dedication of a loyal handmaiden. Seeing Daenerys rise, the clever girl instantly understood her intent.
She followed close behind as Daenerys left the room.
Soon, they found Jorah Mormont.
"Ser Jorah, is there a healer in the city?"
Jorah Mormont looked into her conflicted violet eyes.
"Lord Lynn will be displeased if you do this."
A flicker of panic passed through Daenerys's eyes.
"But he is my brother, after all."
Jorah was silent for a moment, but finally nodded.
"You must speak to the Lord first."
"If he agrees, then it is no problem."
"There are former slaves who learned the healing arts while serving their masters. I can find one."
Missandei carried out the order faithfully.
When Lynn heard the request, he wasn't angry. He simply waved his hand, signaling that such a trifle wasn't worth his attention. As long as Viserys didn't escape, he didn't care if the man was healed or left to rot.
He had far more important things to do.
With Lynn's permission secured, a scrawny old man with a goat-like beard was brought before Daenerys.
He carried a battered wooden chest and smelled faintly of herbs. His eyes were filled with awe and fear of these new masters.
Daenerys led him to the door of the room where Viserys was confined.
Two fully armed Unsullied stood guard. Seeing Daenerys, they bowed slightly but did not bar her way.
The door was pushed open.
A nauseating stench of stale wine, sweat, and copper blood washed over them.
Viserys was curled up in the corner of the room. His face was as pale as paper, and his broken wrist hung limply, swollen like rising dough.
Seeing Daenerys, a ray of hope instantly burst from his cloudy eyes.
"Dany..."
He struggled, trying to crawl toward her.
"Let him look at your injury."
Daenerys didn't move closer. She simply stepped aside to let the old healer pass.
The healer knelt tremblingly before Viserys, opened his chest, and began to examine the broken hand.
"Dany, my sweet sister..."
Tears streamed down Viserys's face.
He looked at Daenerys and begged with a humility he had never shown in his life.
"I was wrong... I know I was wrong..."
"I shouldn't have offended Lord Lynn. I shouldn't have disrespected you... I was blinded by jealousy..."
He spoke between sharp gasps of pain as the healer worked.
"Gently!"
"You baseborn slave!"
Viserys's curse made the healer pause.
"Brother, Lynn has freed every slave in the city. We are all commoners now," Daenerys said coldly.
Hearing Lynn's name, a flash of fear crossed Viserys's eyes. He twisted his head to look at Daenerys.
"We are the last Targaryens, Dany!"
"We are the blood of the dragon! We cannot turn on each other!"
"Speak to Lord Lynn for me. Ask him to let me go!"
"I swear, I will be his most obedient dog! I will do whatever he asks!"
"I don't want the Iron Throne anymore!"
"I don't want the army!"
"I just want to live... please, Dany..."
He wept snot and tears, looking as wretched as a beggar in Flea Bottom.
Daenerys listened quietly.
Beyond the pain in her heart, she felt an unspeakable sorrow.
A true King does not wag his tail and beg for mercy like this. Even in death, a King should have dignity.
Her brother, even now, didn't understand where he had gone wrong.
He wasn't begging because he repented; he was begging because he was terrified.
"Brother," Daenerys finally spoke.
"I will not plead with Lynn on your behalf."
"If you are truly willing to give up the throne, Lynn will naturally spare you."
Viserys's sobbing stopped abruptly.
He looked at Daenerys in disbelief, as if looking at a stranger.
"What... what did you say?"
"I said, I will not ask Lynn for favors for you."
Daenerys repeated herself, her tone wavering not in the slightest.
"Lynn is my husband. I will not question his decisions, nor will I interfere with them."
"Everything you are suffering now is the consequence of your own choices."
"But I believe that as long as you behave, Lynn won't harm you further."
"Besides, you never treated me as a sister. You only saw me as currency to buy your throne."
"In your eyes, our Targaryen blood was just a tool to satisfy your lust for power."
"You are not fit to be a King."
"Be a commoner, Viserys. That is the most dignified ending you can hope for..."
Daenerys's words stripped away Viserys's last hope.
The pleading on his face gradually turned to shock, and then to pure, venomous spite.
"You... you bitch!"
His voice turned shrill.
The face that had been covered in tears a moment ago twisted with extreme rage.
"You think because you spread your legs for a Northern savage, you're a Queen now?"
"Have you forgotten who raised you?"
"Everything you have, I gave you!"
"Your very life belongs to me!"
"And now, for the sake of an outsider, you won't even say a word for me?"
His roar echoed around the room.
The old healer was shaking like a leaf, wishing he could shrink into a crack in the floor.
Daenerys felt no anger. Only disappointment.
A bone-deep disappointment that came from the bottom of her heart.
"Healer, please treat his wounds."
"If he insults you again, leave him be. He deserves his pain."
Daenerys didn't want to say another word to this madman. She turned to leave.
The moment she turned her back, a flash of vicious madness passed through Viserys's eyes!
He saw it!
In the old healer's open chest, there was a small, glinting knife used for cutting herbs!
Now!
Using his good hand, Viserys snatched the knife with lightning speed. Like a starving wolf, he lunged at Daenerys's back!
His face wore a hideous expression of mutual destruction.
"If you won't let me live! Then we die together!"
He would grab Daenerys and use her as a hostage!
Lynn cared about this woman!
As long as he had her, he had a chance!
The old healer screamed in terror.
Daenerys felt the malicious wind behind her. Her body froze, her mind going blank.
However, Viserys's hand never touched the hem of her dress.
A black shadow moved faster than he did!
Thud!
A dull, heavy sound.
It was the sound of a combat boot slamming into solid flesh.
The Unsullied guard who had been standing by the door had moved the instant Viserys lashed out.
He didn't draw his sword, nor did he use his spear.
Just a simple, direct kick.
Viserys flew backward like a broken sack, smashing heavily against the wall before sliding to the floor.
The small knife clattered to the ground nearby.
He curled up on the floor, clutching his chest. He couldn't even scream; like a fish out of water, he gasped for air, retching up mouthfuls of bile.
The Unsullied stepped forward, stomping on the hand Viserys had used to hold the knife. He ground his heel down hard.
Crunch!
Another crisp sound of breaking bone.
Then, he kicked Viserys over and planted the heel of his boot firmly on the back of the Prince's neck, pinning his face to the cold, filthy floor.
The movements were fluid, brutally efficient, and fast.
From start to finish, the Unsullied's face remained expressionless.
He was simply neutralizing a threat to Daenerys.
Daenerys slowly turned around.
She looked at Viserys, twitching like a dying dog under the soldier's boot.
She looked at her brother's face, smeared with dust and vomit.
She looked into his eyes, which were bulging from pain and humiliation.
There was no longer any pleading in those eyes, nor any madness.
Only a bone-deep hatred for her.
In that moment, the last ember of familial love in Daenerys's heart was extinguished.
She didn't even feel disappointment anymore.
Only a numbness, as if looking at a stranger.
She said nothing. She simply smoothed the hem of her dress, which had been ruffled by the fright.
Then, she turned and walked out of the room without looking back.
When she reached the doorway, she paused. Without turning her head, she spoke softly to the Unsullied who still had Viserys pinned.
"Watch him closely."
"It shall be done."
Daenerys walked down the long corridor, every step firmer than the last.
The sunlight at the end of the hall spilled over her, coating her moon-white dress in a layer of gold.
From this moment on, the little girl who trembled in fear was dead.
The one who survived was the wife of the Conqueror of Astapor.
And Viserys, lying in that filthy room with broken hands, meant nothing to her anymore.