Viserys stops, Drogon's wing blocking the sun from his face. Her brother, overshadowed like always. But does he dare even hope dragons were born from his funeral pyre? To hope that not only was he mourned after the fact, after Daenerys surely realized her huge mistake, but that dragons crawled from the ashes of his corpse? The thought flashes, his hands shake, and all hope demands to be swallowed down. His sister grew with those savages. She became someone, something else, and that new Daenerys stands before him now. Someone who no longer cared for her brother as she was meant to. His corpse likely received no attention past being tossed aside.
He frowns. More actual sadness than the usual sneer; let her take that as judgment upon naming a dragon, the first in ages, after her warrior savage husband. Let her not see past to the truth of matters to his insecure, crippled marrow.
"His kin. The eggs Magister Illyrio gave you." His frown deepens. Has she showed the world what a dragon could do? Has she taken back their home? Her home, anyway; a dead man does not sit atop a throne except to be made an example of. "Who's funeral pyre?"
He steps forward again, this time with no intention of stopping until he stands just before her...unless a dragon intervenes, anyway.
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Viserys stops, Drogon's wing blocking the sun from his face. Her brother, overshadowed like always. But does he dare even hope dragons were born from his funeral pyre? To hope that not only was he mourned after the fact, after Daenerys surely realized her huge mistake, but that dragons crawled from the ashes of his corpse? The thought flashes, his hands shake, and all hope demands to be swallowed down. His sister grew with those savages. She became someone, something else, and that new Daenerys stands before him now. Someone who no longer cared for her brother as she was meant to. His corpse likely received no attention past being tossed aside.
He frowns. More actual sadness than the usual sneer; let her take that as judgment upon naming a dragon, the first in ages, after her warrior savage husband. Let her not see past to the truth of matters to his insecure, crippled marrow.
"His kin. The eggs Magister Illyrio gave you." His frown deepens. Has she showed the world what a dragon could do? Has she taken back their home? Her home, anyway; a dead man does not sit atop a throne except to be made an example of. "Who's funeral pyre?"
He steps forward again, this time with no intention of stopping until he stands just before her...unless a dragon intervenes, anyway.