maskormenacelogs | you'll no longer fear when your heart's turned to gold

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you'll no longer fear when your heart's turned to gold

WHO: Viserys Targaryen and YOU
WHERE: All over
WHEN: Month of February
WHAT: Stuff and things - first meetings, reunions, you name it
WARNINGS: Well his canon is what it is and Viserys is harsh to women, especially verbally...will update if there needs to be more here!

NONAH 006;

So. He's definitely dead. He's also not quite sure what sort of beyond this entire set up is. It's...nothing he'd ever been told, or been hinted it, or even imagined. The world was completely different. His ancestors were not sitting atop bejeweled thrones waiting to welcome him into their arms and tell him the future of their name. No comfort for his end, for his sister becoming a kinslayer. No reassurance. No horses, either, no sun, no dirt, no savages...something far more confusing and stranger and awaited, and for once in recent years? Viserys was rather cooperative and quiet. A magical feat to be sure, for when he was taken to his new "home" (ha-ha-ha) and began to find his footing, even a little bit, that shock slid down into his belly to join the rest of his nicely marinated bitterness. He'd be back in regular form sooner rather than later. He wasn't about to change out of his rotting clothes, which would help, tattered once-black top with a three-headed red dragon being the most notable thing on him.

He had managed to find the place while empty. That won't last forever. And his new roommates can come across him in a variety of ways. Perhaps he's turned the water faucet off and on in the kitchen, staring at it in an angry sort of confusion. Perhaps he's doing the same...in a bathroom that is not his. Or more invasive still: opening, inspecting, and trying to make sense of hygienic products most men would flee from. Perhaps he's standing in front of the TV with nothing but static on, or a really terrible infomercial about Tupperware, confused but amazed. He may be in the hallway, turning the lights off and on, seemingly offended by their mere existence. Or something else. Anything is possible.

PICK A CITY ANY CITY;

He is...trying. A little. There is some effort happening here that does not at all involve taking off the symbol of his family. So the clothes are a bit tattered and worn, and perhaps a little musty, so what! They are far, far better than anything this world has to offer. But. He is still trying. Trying to make sense of vehicles, and the many people, and places, of dogs and cats, of ice cream and other sweets, of hamburgers and foods he'd never have in the lands he was meant to rule, of the tall buildings, of just about everything there was or was not. So he can be found in quite literally any given situation, either looking grumpy and confused and standing out due to his whole everything, or perhaps causing a scene by nearly getting hit by a car. By offhandedly telling a hot dog vendor his food tastes better than horse meat, and getting some looks for it. Or worse than horse meat! Sky's the limit here, have a ball.

THE MESSIAH IS MY SISTER AIN'T NO KING MAN SHE'S MY QUEEN; CLOSED

And then, in this world of impossibility, he sees an impossibility that is familiar. A shadow hits the ground that he has seen in his dreams only. Looking up, he knows, despite knowing there are no more dragons—not those sort, anyway. From the reactions of those nearby, he also knows he isn't the only one who saw that. Who saw a dragon.

He followed. Like he'd heard the cry of his own child, Viserys kept an eye on wings and one ahead, and ran. Past any city he may have been near, into longer grasses, through shallow waters, it didn't matter. Suddenly he had all the energy and stamina in the world. Who can know the heart of a dragon, if not another dragon?

He worried he'd lost him, until he reached a steep slope. At the bottom of it was, yes, a dragon. A real dragon. So very dark in color, reminding him of a smaller Black Dread, stories and paintings running through his mind more than real fear. He was a Targaryen, he had nothing to fear. He knew. The dragon would know, too. That's how they were in days long past, anyway — surely that would be the same now?

His feet moved slowly, his heart beating just the opposite. Only when the dragon turned and noticed him did Viserys stop. Dead in his tracks, open-mouthed, in awe, hair and eyes a very very familiar shade...but the man himself, perhaps not familiar at all. Perhaps not having made the best decision here but still taking another step forward, for once looking every bit as humbled and submissive as he'd demanded of his sister.

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He kept meeting pavement, and the pavement won each time. Asphalt was truly a pain in the ass.

Viserys was all ready to start griping about how everyone else should watch where they stepped because he's the king, but he barely got a whiny half-syllable out when he spotted Jon. Jon, and the beast crossing to join him. One hand braced on the ground to push himself up, he never made it much further. Purple eyes flickered from Ghost to Jon and back again. Lips parted, Viserys had the look of a man who'd seen a...well, ghost.

"You have a direwolf."

Blunt, confusion thin, his eyes still firmly fixated on Jon. Why did he have a direwolf? Why did the symbol of Usurpers follow him when he didn't look like a Stark? Well, not fully a Stark. Viserys was struck in the gut by features he once knew, and idolized, and missed for many years, long before anything else.

It seemed for a moment that the man must have hit his head, there was no other explanation for the way he was looking at him. They had never met, but the Targaryen was staring at him as though they knew each other. Or at least...he knew Jon. To try and alleviate the strangeness of the moment, Jon pushed to his feet.

Ghost wasn't far from his side, watching curiously, but giving no sign that there was danger. It was enough to allow him to lower his guard.

"I do." It was a bit of a ridiculous statement, but that didn't matter as much as the Targaryen recognizing the creature. While he didn't doubt he was of the blood of the dragon, it was at least a relief to know his suspicions were correct. "His name is Ghost."

He offered a hand to help Viserys up.

Familiarity became overwhelming in that moment; when was the last time anyone had cared to help him up? It felt like none before the fall of their family. His brother, certainly, had given him a hand up a time or two when he fell about the castle. Who was this man to remind him of those long-buried days?

He hesitated, staring from Jon's face down to his hand like he had absolutely no idea what to make of any of this, like he came from a world where hands never touched at all. Just when it seemed like a fruitless endeavor, he reached out, Viserys' grip shaky, his skin perhaps soft by comparison. He could pull himself up without needing Jon to do much more than offer support, though. There was that.

But then he held Jon's a little longer than necessary, all the while staring him dead in the face. An odd thing to be sure, and only furthering that whole glaring recognition. But a direwolf, that reminded him of traitors. Soon enough he pulled his hand away and managed not to wipe his hand off on his top like he feared nasty treacherous cooties.

"I've never seen one before." He frowned at Ghost. Curious, to see one up close and personal, when he'd slotted them near dragons in his mind. "His name is Ghost. What is your name?"

Cordial enough. For the moment, anyway. That's only ever bound to change.

The way that Viserys stared at him was deeply disconcerting. There was a recognition in him, though Jon had never seen the man before. Was he from a future timeline that Jon had not lived yet? There was a possibility that he was Dany's son, but he couldn't imagine this man knowing him.

It was an offer meant in kindness and compassion, knowing how strange this place was. It may not be something he would often do, but he had learned from the Night's Watch to offer aid, even to those that might not wish it. They were in this together, countrymen and strangers in this world.

He looked once more to his direwolf. Ghost approached slowly, uncertain still of this stranger and the threat he might pose.

"Jon Snow." He replied, doubting that the man would know him. So few did, save that he was Ned Stark's bastard. "And you?"

A bastard and a direwolf. A bastard of the North who reminds him of his brother...no, no, he will not think about that right now, possibly ever. It's just a thing! Sometimes people share similarities without being related at all! Like eye color, and nose shape, yes. Clearly this is one of those cases.

"Viserys Targaryen, the Third of His Name." Oh no. Jon unleashed the dragon, if dragons were endless titles. Viserys even straightens up a bit, like he has a real spine in there somewhere, and it's definitely a kingly one. "King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm. The Usurper wears my crown, and it is my throne he warms."

Poor Jon.

The sudden transition from awe to imperious vanity is so rapid, Jon can only wonder whether this is a Targaryen bearing the infamous madness their house was known for.

He was different than Dany. She didn't need to list her full titles or call herself a queen. She bore that nobility in her form, exuding the very essence of royalty in everything she did. She had that quality in her nature, enough that it was no great trouble to imagine himself ceding his crown to her. So long as she offered aid in the war to come.

Viserys, however, only seemed ridiculous. However, Jon would at least be respectful, as much as he could muster. "If it is any comfort, Robert Baratheon has been dead for some time."

Ridiculous was as good a word for him as any. Ridiculed would fit as well. But all that melted away, replaced by something real. Jon's words spoke to his very soul. First, there was disbelief. Then a smile. True, honest delight. At the expense of a man's life, to be sure, but that man killed his brother, that man led (helped lead) to his father's downfall and murder. To his mother's death. Robert Baratheon bore much guilt and blood in Viserys' mind, and to find out he had passed was a great relief.

He laughed.

"How?" He managed eventually. Jon may as well have given him nameday presents to make up for all those years he never had a reason to celebrate or missed it entirely. "Betrayed by one of his own, no doubt. Was it slow? Did he suffer?"

It was disturbing to see someone take so much glee in the death of another. He did not return the smile or laugh that Viserys gave, silently judging the glib manner this "king" displayed. Inadvertently, he once again compared the man to Daenerys and her ability to show composure and proper respect, even to her enemies (which his house was counted among.)

He shifted, trying to remember the details. He had only heard indirectly and the details were sparse.

"He was killed during a hunt. A boar, I think?" That sounded about right. Honestly, Jon assumed the man would just drown in wine and choke on his own vomit.

There was insult, more than Viserys had imagined would come tumbling out of anyone's mouth about the Usurper's death. It was so...simple. So boring, so bland. So not how the man who somehow defeated his brother in combat should have died. It should have been swift and at the hands of a great warrior, or otherwise torturous. None of this nonsense with hunting accidents! Despite his crimes, Prince Rhaegar was no coward...why then did the Usurper get off so cowardly?

Valiant, beautiful Prince Rhaegar, felled by a man who could not protect himself against a boar. One last foulness against the name of Targaryen. That was what the Usurper managed.

All delight was rather slapped off Viserys' face. He looked down at Ghost to hide any real emotion from another human being, quietly amazed he had to die and come to a new world to see a direwolf. Inward disappointment surfaces as a drawn out tssk, the sort of sound that could provoke a tilted, curious look from most canines.

"Pity. Walk with me, Jon Snow." They would NOT be walking back into the road. Viserys kept a straight posture though he wrung his hands together slowly, and kept enough space between them to prevent giving Ghost any Worries. "I believe Snow is a bastard's name. Do you know your parents?"

Curious, attempting lighter conversation. There is no room for judgment on this matter when his ancestors have all those Great Bastards in their tree.

It's not really clear what Viserys wanted. Joffery, according to reports from Sansa, seemed to be insulted by the manner his father died. It wasn't something that others usually died from and seemed fitting for someone with Robert's gluttony and thirst for wine and hunting. Him dying because of a boar was oddly appropriate.

But it wasn't going to be something he asked this Targaryen. Daenerys might be more receptive to his questions and stories, but Viserys was obviously not like his sister.

He followed Viserys' command (because it couldn't be called anything else) without objection. Ghost trailed behind him, clearly not threatened by the man or feeling the need to keep a close eye on his companion. Viserys at least didn't have a dragon at his side.

Given his opinion about Robert Baratheon, it wasn't much of a leap to assume he didn't want to hear the name "Stark." Which was why he began with the easier parent and the one that caused him the most pain. "I never knew my mother, my father wouldn't even tell me her name." Who was she? Was she still alive and thinking of him? Somewhere out there, she might be waiting for him to find her.

He sighed, pushing away the thought, approaching the topic that would cause greater enmity. "My father is Lord Eddard Stark."

A mother he never knew, what a shame. Viserys felt himself in that same boat on his poorer days. They have something in common. Imagine that! Viserys offers a sympathetic Pity under his breath, fingers worrying at each other.

Until that name hits his ears and they still. Latched together, growing white, a moment from trembling. His steps slowed as well so he could look at Jon once more. Recognition, again, this time with trace amounts of uncertainty and a dash of, yes, enmity. But he looked back at Ghost as well, as though to remind himself even if he was of strong stock (he was not), he had more than enough reason not to lash out at their heels. Bastard of the Usurper's dog, of course. Of course. Direwolf and all that dark hair. He should have known.

His hands rest against his stomach, clamped and white. His eyes aren't quite right either. Not at the moment. Anger, hatred, fear, it all passes in equal measure, as quickly as the last, until some semblance of control is won. A bit. Jon is absolutely right that Viserys is not like his sister. She makes it look so easy.

"You could have left me in the path of that metal beast."

But he didn't. Why? To gloat? To warn, to threaten? To prove, later on, some point? He isn't complaining (for once), but the idea that this bastard of Stark "saved" him possibly knowing his ancestry is more relevant, for now, than the past. They can get to that later, possibly, if Viserys doesn't come under the impression for later is exactly what Jon wants.

He had braced himself for the worst, but found only the look of contempt rather than an actual physical altercation. The man had no sword, but that never stopped Theon from using his fists or knocking Jon against the wall. He had almost expected Viserys to behave the same (~~he and Theon seemed to have arrogance and tempers in common.~~) When nothing happens, Jon relaxes his stance and pushes his hand away from the hilt of his sword, unaware that he had even been clutching it.

Ghost does nothing, sensing no imminent danger, more of a reason for Jon to relax. Unlike Dany, this Targaryen had no dragon, something that Jon could feel grateful for.

He regarded Viserys coolly. The history of the rebellion had been nothing but divided houses and kingdoms, finally united under Robert Baratheon's hammer, yet it had solved nothing. The madness of the Targaryens seemed to have extended into the Lannisters, leaving a different kind of tyranny in its wake. Jon had no place to judge Viserys or Dany, they hadn't been responsible for what happened, no more than Jon was.That was the past and a different generation. House struggles and the game of thrones wasn't his concern. His concern was fighting what was to come.

While in this world, he would be respectful to his countrymen, as much as was possible. Some harder than others. Viserys at least didn't start the war over again by ranting on Lord Stark's actions. Instead, he seemed amazed at Jon's help.

"You would have been killed." A small statement. "It wouldn't be right."

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.

It wasn't the first time someone had reacted this way to his honor. Despite the reputation Ned Stark had accumulated, he was derided more often for behaving honorably. Unsurprisingly, it was the same for Jon.

He remained calm in the face of Viserys' derision. It wasn't something that bothered him anymore, the talk of how foolish he was for doing what was right. He didn't play the game that the others did and it seemed to be his vulnerability and strength. Eventually, he had to follow his conscience and block out the rest.

"My father." As though there were any question of that. "Would your prefer to have been hit by the vehicle?"

He tried to keep a smirk from his face, but couldn't stop its appearance. It was strange that this was the reason Viserys was mad. Once again, he was left to question the man's sanity.

He blinks, seeming to need a moment of thought for this. He kinda does. Would he prefer to be hit by that metal roving thing and possibly die, or to suffer the hands on treatment of a Stark? He almost wants to say he wouldn't mind it, that nothing could be as horrible as having a molten pot of Dothraki gold poured over one's head. To whine.

He wants to whine, not to seek pity or curiosity, but to seek comfort. Something about Jon's face kicks that part of him. But he knows better. He knows, even, that at this age, his brother wouldn't react the same as he once had.

"No." But even as he says it, he does not sound convinced. Finally he tears his eyes away from Jon's face and moves to walk again, casting a look back at Ghost. Everything is so strange he has no other choice but to accept it. A constant in life and death, apparently. "He must not have raised you with the Usurper in your life for you to believe such things."

Equal parts confusion and quiet surprise; had something changed after the Targaryens were no longer welcome in King's Landing? Had the Usurper kicked his dogs? He'd always imagined...well, he'd imagined a lot of things. A lot of angry, paranoia-driven things.

The way Viserys looks at Jon unsettles him, as though he knows him somehow. There was something in his gaze, it seemed to assess him, reading his every feature and finding what he was searching for. Some sort of question that Jon wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer to.

He frowns, turning his face away, trying to ignore the disquieted feeling. Still, Ghost gave no indication of trouble or danger. No matter how strange the situation was, he was at least safe.

He didn't like the implication or the fact that it was somewhat true. "Robert Baratheon remained in King's Landing while Lord Stark preferred to stay in the north." At least until Robert demanded that Ned act as his Hand. "He visited Winterfell along with the court, but I wasn't introduced to them."

Being a bastard spared him that much.

"You are a better man for it."

Perhaps surprisingly, his voice sounds close to approval. Whether Jon wants it or not, he's got a once-mad Targaryen giving him near-approval even as he turns his unsettling look elsewhere. A cold day in all seven hells. There is oodles of history between families, and that was all Viserys ever had at one point to keep him moderately sane. He'd obsessed and recalled everything he'd been told until it was as much a part of him as his name. So when he says this, it is with certainty.

Jon Snow is a better person simply because he never was introduced to the Usurper. Just that easy.

He doesn't know how to respond to that. It was a compliment, but the meaning behind it was unclear. There was no reason for the Targaryens to think well of him or the way his father raised him. It was a well meaning statement, but he couldn't shake the concern that there was a dagger pressed to his back. Dany had at least been direct with her wariness about him. Viserys, he had come across before as unhinged. Now...he wasn't sure what to think.

"I learned as well at the Wall." However it might have ended there, he couldn't deny that the Watch had changed him. "Maester Aemon and Jeor Mormont were good men and offered wisdom to the new recruits." Their counsel was what helped him survive for as long as he had.

He'd been content to go back to a stroll, finding standing about and stillness uncomfortable. Nervous energy was much more obvious when a body was not in motion and shaking hands weren't very kingly.

He stops, though, briefly, double-taking at Jon like he couldn't believe what just came out of his mouth. Names he hadn't heard or thought about he was shocked, mostly, to have them there again. His jaw goes slack, even.

"Maester — Aemon Targaryen? He must have been..." Internal math comes up old. Old as balls. Hitched aside a Mormont, though, must have been a theme. "And he taught you?"

Well now he had real reason to think Jon was something better than average, if a Targaryen invested time into him on any level, enough that Jon could say he learned from him. Curious, really, what that meant. He was the last of his house — had been, at one time, then he was gone as well — of course he retained interest in those he assumed gone as well.

It was a different response than Dany had given, but for Dany, this revelation was had been bittersweet. The last of her House had spoken of her and wanted to follow her path back to Westeros, perhaps even to be at her side. Yet he had been too old and too ill, that opportunity for family now lost to her. It had moved Jon, even as he tried to offer her warmth with the knowledge that she hadn't been alone in the world.

He couldn't imagine it holding the same weight with Viserys, as his circumstances were different than his sister's. For one, he was dead and the other, he had always had Dany. There was something about her that made her seem more alone, more solitary, even as she was surrounded by others. Jon could relate and understand her, while Viserys was an enigma to him, down to his madness.

"He was once," Jon responded softly. "Maester Aemon of the Night's Watch as he preferred." The Wall had no place for House loyalty. "He offered his wisdom when it was needed. When my father died, he told me who he was and how his vows had been tested as well." The choices they had to make, it was unequal to anything else.

"He was a good man who put his trust in me," even if Jon felt it wasn't deserved. "Because of him, I was made Lord Commander."

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you'll no longer fear when your heart's turned to gold

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