daenerys does not knock before entering. she watches @camewinter the way one watches a storm forming over familiar water, not with fear, not with certainty, but with the careful attention reserved for something capable of both shelter and ruin. she has learned, that doors between siblings are rarely barriers, only thresholds. still, she pauses just inside the chamber, the light from the corridor catching in her hair before the heavier glow of lamplight claims her fully. viserys stands near the hearth, one hand braced against the carved mantle, violet gaze turned toward the window as though the sea itself might answer whatever question he has not spoken aloud. viserys has always burned brighter than the rest of them. rhaegar carries music in his silences, but viserys carries lightning, quick, reactive, brilliant in ways that draw admiration and caution in equal measure. he was born between expectations and has worn them like armor ever since. daenerys has never envied him that weight. she has only studied it. ā i, i've been afraid, ā she says at last, voice low, even, a s though she is stepping into a conversation already in progress. he turns then, and the sharpness in his expression softens, not entirely, never entirely ā but enough. there is always something restless in him, something that resents the way the court looks past him to their elder brother, something that demands to be seen and answered and affirmed. daenerys knows this not because he has told her, but because she has felt the echo of it in herself. ā viserys, ā she says into the dimness, stepping fully into the lamplight as though confession requires illumination, ā i know they tell us it is small, a stirring in the marches, a lord or two with more pride than sense, but i have heard the servants whisper, and the guards do not stand as easily as they pretend. ā she does not wring her hands; she folds them instead, steadying herself the way rhaegar once taught her before court, but her voice does not quite hide its tremor. ā i am not afraid for the throne ā i am afraid for us. for the way rebellions begin as words and end as funerals. ā she meets his eyes then, violet to violet, refusing to look away from the truth of it. ā you have always told me that dragons do not flinch, that fear is for those without fire ā but i feel it, viserys. i feel it like a storm pressing against the walls, and i do not wish to pretend i am too proud to name it. ā a breath, softer now, almost pleading though she would never call it that. ā tell me that we are not alone in this. tell me that if it comes to flame, we will stand together. i can bear the fear ā i only need to know it will not divide us. ā
