Chapter 1: (1) The Last Dragon: The Memoirs of Viserys Targaryen
Year 283 after the Conquest.
I always imagined Rhaegar as immortal.
He was the sun, and I, merely a shadow in his path. When his name was spoken at court, musicians composed songs, soldiers bowed their heads, and maesters whispered tales of prophecies and greatness. And what did I do? I dreamed of being like him. But dreams are cruel when they turn to ashes.
The news came like a storm. A letter stained with blood and fear, delivered by a messenger with a pale face. The Battle of the Trident had ended. Rhaegar, my brother, my idol, had fallen. A warhammer, wielded by Robert Baratheon, had shattered his chest, and the ruby of his armor, that ruby that shone like an eternal fire, now lay scattered in the red waters.
I didn't cry. How could I, when all I felt was a devouring void, a hole where pride and hope once lived? In the room where I hid with Mother and the few loyal to our name, words became knives. My father, the Mad King, did not mourn the loss. "The dragon cannot die," he said. His madness echoed off the walls, a constant that crushed all solace.
But I knew the truth. The dragon had died. And with him, the songs, the prophecies, and any chance for our family to be looked upon with anything but scorn.
That night, I didn't sleep. I sat before the fire, watching the flames as if I could find a trace of him there, his voice or his smile. But the fire didn't speak. It only consumed, like wars and men. "I am the last dragon," I whispered, as if those words could wrest destiny from the world's grasp. But even then, I felt destiny had already decided: we were a doomed dynasty.
---
The news reached Dragonstone in the dead of night. A ship had escaped King's Landing, carrying tales of horror the sailors could barely bring themselves to tell. The Red Keep had fallen. My father, the Mad King, had been slain by Jaime Lannister. My sister-in-law, Elia Martell, and my nephews, Rhaenys and Aegon, had been butchered.
I remember the trembling hands of the man who told me. "Elia was..." he began, but he couldn't continue. His voice broke like a dry branch. I forced him to go on. I wanted to hear every detail, as if knowing the depth of our misfortune might offer some reason, some explanation. But there were no reasons. Only blood.
Mother tried to console me, but her words were hollow. How could she comfort me when everything we knew was being reduced to ashes? Father was dead, but I couldn't feel sorrow for him. All I felt was a growing hatred for those who had destroyed our family. The Lannisters, the Baratheons, the Starks, the Arryns... they were all guilty. They had all conspired to steal what was rightfully ours.
That night, as the storm battered the walls of Dragonstone, I swore that the Iron Throne would be ours again. I didn't care how long it would take. I didn't care how much I would have to sacrifice. The world had betrayed us, but I would make it burn.
---
The roar of the storm was deafening.
We were in Dragonstone, Mother and I. The war had reduced our numbers to a handful of loyalists, and the arrival of Stannis Baratheon threatened to finish what Robert had started. When my mother went into labor, the wind pounded the windows with fury. "The last dragon will be born amidst storms," they had said, and I, desperate to believe in something, thought those words were a sign.
But it was not a sign of glory, but of tragedy. Mother died giving birth to Daenerys, my little sister. Her face was pale, her eyes closed, and though I held her in my arms, I felt as though I were already alone in the world.
There was no time for mourning. Stannis's fleet was closing in, and our loyalists urged us to flee. I boarded a ship with Daenerys in my arms, as the roar of the sea and thunder surrounded us. But the storm was no friend. The waves struck with force, and amidst the chaos, I lost consciousness.
When I awoke, I was in a damp cell. My sister... Daenerys... was gone. I tried to scream her name, but all that came from my throat was a sob. A man with a cruel smile informed me that I had been captured by pirates and would soon be sold as a slave in Meereen.
The dragon that had survived the storm was now chained. Inside me, pain and fury swirled, forming a storm that threatened to consume everything. "I will not break," I told myself, but even as I thought it, I felt the chains of hatred and despair tightening around me. If I ever escaped, I swore I would make the world pay for every blow, every humiliation, every loss.
I am the last dragon, and the world will learn to fear me.
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