Daemon looked at him for a very long time.
Then he rose, returned to his chair, and dropped into it heavily. He shook his head, exhausted and helpless, and laughed under his breath.
"You truly are shameless, Viserys," he said.
"You are my brother. You ought to be honest with me—at the very least."
Viserys lowered his head. There was nothing he could say.
Silence settled over the cavern once more.
At last, Daemon spoke again.
"But I understood it later.
You were never suited to be king—and the gods know it."
"You hesitate. You try to please everyone, and in doing so, you wound them all."
"But you are still my brother, Viserys.
My only brother."
Viserys looked at Daemon in shame.
"I have watched you all these years," Daemon continued.
"Watched you struggle and suffer upon the Iron Throne. Watched you tear yourself apart between your daughter and the realm."
"I watched you try to be a good father—and hurt every one of your children in the process."
"I saw you grow ill. I saw you suffer. I watched you become who you are, piece by piece."
He turned his head and looked directly at Viserys.
"I am still angry.
I still believe you owe me an apology—an explanation that would last a lifetime."
Viserys had no answer.
"So…" Daemon drew a deep breath.
"If this is your wish—if it will allow you to close your eyes in peace when death comes—"
"Then I promise you."
"What do you promise?" Viserys asked, his voice trembling.
"I promise to renounce the Iron Throne," Daemon said.
"I promised Rhaenyra I would not fight Aegon."
"I promised to take Rhaenyra out of Westeros."
"I promise to allow your Aegon to rule the Seven Kingdoms in peace."
Viserys stared at him in disbelief.
"That is…"
"True," Daemon said. "But there is a condition."
"What condition?" Viserys asked quickly.
"Dragonstone? Driftmark? I can grant you—"
Daemon shook his head.
"You cannot give me what I want."
The king frowned, confused.
"I want the eastern continent."
Viserys froze, certain he had misheard.
"The east… what?"
"East and west are divided by the Narrow Sea," Daemon said, leaning forward and placing his hands on the stone table.
"Your elder son, Aegon, will rule Westeros—the Seven Kingdoms, the Iron Throne, all of it."
"And I—together with Rhaenyra and the Blacks—will go east."
"Not as exiles. Not as fugitives."
"As conquerors."
Viserys's mind went blank as he tried to grasp his brother's words.
"You are mad," he said at last.
"The eastern continent holds the Free Cities—Volantis, Braavos, Pentos—"
"There are dozens of city-states, hundreds of peoples, countless armies. Why would you—"
"I have a dragon," Daemon cut in, his voice alight with the old, dangerous confidence.
"And I am Daemon Targaryen—King of the Stepstones, rider of Caraxes, the Blood Wyrm."
"There are dragons there… and with them, we can rebuild an empire."
Empire.
The word echoed through the cavern.
Viserys struggled to think.
"Even with dragons," he protested, "the east is vast and alien.
The Free Cities have coin, fleets, sellswords—"
"And divisions," Daemon interrupted calmly.
"Volantis dreams of restoring the Valyrian Freehold and has done so for centuries.
Braavos clings to the status quo, guarding its fleets and its Iron Bank."
"The so-called Triarchy—Tyrosh, Lys, and Myr—is no true unity.
Pentos refuses to commit. Norvos is inward and rigid. Qohor cares only for itself."
He spoke as if reciting something long studied.
"What do the Free Cities truly fear?" Daemon went on.
"They fear that we will return."
At last, Viserys understood.
This was not a sudden fancy. It was a carefully laid design. Daemon had no intention of devouring Westeros in civil war—he meant to set the fire elsewhere.
"Has Volantis contacted you?" Viserys asked quietly.
Daemon nodded. "The Black Wall. One of the three Triarchs of the Old Blood—Eleon of Valyria."
"Volantis wants our strength. Without Targaryen dragons, they can never build a new empire."
"They will betray you," Viserys warned. "The Free Cities have no honor—only interests."
"I know," Daemon said with a thin smile.
"That is why I do not trust them. I only use them."
"Once the Triarchy is broken, we shall see what comes next."
The more Viserys listened, the more shaken he became.
Because it solved everything.
Rhaenyra and her children would not need to shed blood in Westeros—they could build a realm of their own in the east.
Aegon could inherit the Iron Throne without civil war.
House Targaryen would not fracture—it would expand.
Just as the Conquerors once had—only in another direction.
"But how can you be certain?" Viserys asked, forcing himself back to reason.
"Does this not divide our house?"
"Do not deceive yourself, Viserys," Daemon said flatly.
"It is already divided."
"There are already two Targaryens.
One in King's Landing. One on Dragonstone."
"And yet we have not drawn swords," he finished quietly.
Daemon lifted his cup, drank deeply, and set it down.
"This is the best solution I can offer."
At last, Viserys nodded.
"And Corlys Velaryon?" he asked. "Will the Sea Snake accept abandoning the Iron Throne?"
"Corlys has agreed," Daemon said.
"And Jacaerys and the others?"
"They will return to Valyrian custom," Daemon replied coldly.
"Corlys has declared that if they must abandon the name Targaryen, so be it."
"In the east, no one cares whether they were born bastards—or the color of their hair."
"They can wed noblewomen of Volantis and sire children with silver hair and violet eyes."
"After a few generations—who will remember the stain?"
A long silence followed.
Daemon rose, approached Viserys, then knelt once more and extended his hand.
"This is best for everyone, brother.
Rhaenyra and her children live—and rule their own kingdom.
Your son Aegon inherits the Iron Throne—and the Seven Kingdoms know peace."
At last, Viserys clasped Daemon's hand.
"Very well," he said.
"I will do all I can to support you."
In the end, Viserys released him first—he was too weary to hold on.
"I must return."
Daemon rose and helped him stand.
"I will see you to the door," he said.
They walked slowly toward the mouth of the dragon's lair, Daemon matching his brother's faltering steps. The journey had once seemed long—now it felt far too short.
The stone doors opened. Night wind poured in. Outside waited the Kingsguard, who stepped forward at once to aid their king.
Daemon remained in the doorway, watching as his brother was led away, surrounded by white cloaks and steel.
"Viserys," Daemon called suddenly.
Viserys turned.
"Take care of yourself."
Viserys looked at him, knowing this might be their final farewell. He nodded slowly.
"You too."