Far from Crackclaw Point, across the Narrow Sea in the hot land of Essos, a strange chill filled the halls of a small stone house. Torches hung on the walls, their flames flickering softly as a cold breeze drifted through the old stone. The silence of the night was only broken by the soft crackling of the fire and the quiet footsteps of servants moving around.
Viserys Targaryen sat near the fire, wearing a robe of fine silk, though his face looked far from calm. His silver hair was messy, and his violet eyes showed the tiredness of being woken up early and a mix of irritation.
A servant had woken him an hour before dawn with a simple message: a visitor was asking for him. Not just any visitor, but Kinvara, a High Priestess of the Lord of Light. Viserys had almost ignored the request. But the importance of her title made him pause.
Now, she stood before him, wearing crimson robes that shimmered like burning coals. A ruby glowed at her throat, pulsing gently as if it were alive. She looked calm and confident, almost like she had control over the room.
"You asked for an audience," Viserys said flatly, motioning to the chair in front of him. "Speak quickly. I don't have patience for prophecies or speeches, especially not tonight."
Kinvara sat down gracefully, her voice soft but confident. "Thank you for seeing me, Prince Viserys. The Lord of Light brought me here for a reason, not to waste your time."
"Then get to the point," he replied sharply. "Tomorrow is important. I need sleep more than I need prophecies."
Kinvara folded her hands in her lap. "You think tomorrow starts your return to Westeros. You believe that your path to the throne is through a Dothraki warlord and using your sister as a pawn."
Viserys frowned. He hadn't shared the details of his plans with anyone—not even the men who arranged the meeting. "How do you know that?"
"The flames tell many things," Kinvara said calmly, her ruby glowing brighter for a moment. "But you need no magic to see the desperation in your heart. You plan to buy loyalty with blood that isn't yours to trade."
Viserys stiffened. "What do you know of loyalty? Or what it takes to reclaim a kingdom stolen from me before I could even swing a sword?"
"I know that kings do not rise by crawling to those who do not understand the throne," Kinvara said, her voice steady. "You want to rule Westeros, yet you offer your sister like a payment to men who care nothing for your crown, your name, or your blood."
"They will follow strength," Viserys said sharply. "The Dothraki respect power."
"And they will see none in you," Kinvara answered. "You are not one of them. You don't ride, you don't fight, you don't speak their language. You think you are a dragon, but to them, you are just a stranger in expensive clothes, talking about a lost glory."
"I am Viserys Targaryen!" he shouted, rising from his seat. "The rightful King of Westeros. The dragon's heir!"
Kinvara tilted her head slightly. "Then why do you beg for scraps from a khal? Why offer your sister instead of commanding armies of your own? A dragon does not trade his kin for favors. A dragon inspires fire, it doesn't beg for it."
He turned away, pacing angrily. "Easy for you to say. You don't have a throne to claim. I need allies. The Dothraki are strong enough to take Westeros."
"They are strong," Kinvara agreed, "but not for you. Khal Drogo will take your sister, enjoy her, and forget you. When she bears his child, your place will be gone. They will listen to her, not you. And when you try to speak out, they will silence you with steel."
Viserys clenched his fists, his jaw tight. "So, what should I do, priestess? Sit here and wait? Hide while my enemies sit on my throne?"
"I would have you open your eyes," Kinvara said. "There are other paths. There are allies across Essos who understand bloodlines, history, and prophecy. Not savages who kill for fun."
"Like who?" he challenged.
Kinvara leaned in slightly. "Lords in Volantis, scholars in Qarth, fire-mages in Asshai. They look to the stars and the signs. Some are already whispering about a Targaryen queen, reborn in fire. You are blind to what is already growing around your sister."
Viserys sat down again, his anger easing a bit by doubt. "And you would have me believe she is the one meant to rule? She's just a girl. Quiet, obedient—"
"Because you made her that way," Kinvara interrupted. "But inside her, burns something even you fear. The true fire of your bloodline. She will rise, with or without you. But only one of you will survive the storm."
He looked away, his mind racing. "Why are you telling me this? What do you want from me?"
"I serve the Lord of Light," Kinvara said. "I follow His flame wherever it leads, and right now, it burns brightly around Daenerys Stormborn. You may still have a place in her rise, but only if you abandon this doomed path."
"And become what?" he asked bitterly. "Her servant? Her herald?"
"Her brother," Kinvara replied simply. "Stand by her, not behind her. Help her rise, and you may rise with her. But try to control her, and you will fall."
Viserys exhaled sharply, unsure whether to scoff or scream. "You speak in riddles."
"I speak truth," she said calmly. "The question is whether your pride will let you hear it."
They both sat in silence. The fire crackled in the hearth, casting moving shadows across the room. Kinvara stood slowly.
"I've said what I needed to. What you choose now will decide not only your fate, but hers—and the fate of kingdoms yet to rise."
She bowed slightly, the ruby at her throat glowing dimly in the firelight.
"May the Lord of Light guide your path, Prince Viserys. Even if it takes you away from fire and into shadow, He will watch."
Without waiting for a response, she turned and walked out of the room, her robes trailing like flowing silk behind her.
Viserys sat alone, staring into the fire, its flames dancing like dragons devouring old wood. Doubt gnawed at him, deeper than he cared to admit. Was she mad? Or worse—was she right?
For the first time in months, the future didn't feel like destiny.
It felt like a choice.
And he wasn't sure if he had already made the right one.
He didn't sleep that night.
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