No dragon and far less collected calm. Jon's words, the last of them, have his face screwing up immediately, a mix of disbelief and disgust, as though Jon had said something wholly obscene.
"Right?"
The throne was his, by right. Rights came by blood, or by taking. He had once had an idea of morality, of what was Good and what was Bad, though the difference was confusing at best. At worst, what was Good was whatever his father wanted to be done and what was Bad was anything that stood in his way. Right only became more of a twisted thing in exile.
Viserys shakes his head and stares at Jon as though he's grown horns.
"Who taught you? This right."
He squint as he asks it; he'd just imagined that any of Stark's offspring would have had the Usurper involved in their life enough that he'd never be hearing anything like this. Was he sick? Or perhaps he'd been hit by that metal beast and was imagining this.
no subject
"Right?"
The throne was his, by right. Rights came by blood, or by taking. He had once had an idea of morality, of what was Good and what was Bad, though the difference was confusing at best. At worst, what was Good was whatever his father wanted to be done and what was Bad was anything that stood in his way. Right only became more of a twisted thing in exile.
Viserys shakes his head and stares at Jon as though he's grown horns.
"Who taught you? This right."
He squint as he asks it; he'd just imagined that any of Stark's offspring would have had the Usurper involved in their life enough that he'd never be hearing anything like this. Was he sick? Or perhaps he'd been hit by that metal beast and was imagining this.