Chapter Text
Daenerys had grown up knowing that she would have to bear the weight of others' lives on her shoulders. Before the madness had begun to take hold of him, long ago, Viserys would tell her how their family had ruled over all the realms. The Targaryens had dragons, and so they had the world, he would recite to her. But even back then, Daenerys didn’t quite know how to feel about that. The world was such a very large thing to have, she recalls thinking to herself, however, could one possibly maintain it? The thought of millions of people relying on her to stay alive made her more apprehensive than anything. She wanted to take back the iron throne, wanted to restore her family’s rightful place. But she didn’t know how- they were destitute and weary for 11 long years, living everywhere from forest floors to tavern alleys.
Over that time, Viserys had begun to grow more and more detached from reality. Dany remembered clear as day the first time she noticed something was wrong. Her brother had always made sure they were taken care of and was obsessively insistent about disguising themselves when they were in crowds. He never wanted their signature features to draw attention to them, and had always told her that being spotted by one of the usurper's supporters meant certain death. So, they would always be sure to don hooded cloaks, scarves, or hats when they went to beg on the streets. Usually the dirty, ragged woolen cloths they dressed in hid them well. The roads of Essos were lined with beggars everywhere, and it was highly unlikely that anyone would’ve paid them any mind. Nevertheless, young Dany would always dutifully tie a kerchief around her head and tuck in any strands of hair when she stepped out into the light.
One day, though, when she walked out onto the street, she was horrified to see Viserys sitting relaxed on the stone curb, his silver hair flowing freely in the breeze.
Flashback:
Dany rushed over to Viserys, her brows drawn together in worry and confusion. “Brother!” she whispered fiercely, not wanting to raise her voice to draw attention, “Brother, you forgot your cap!”
Viserys turned to her, not concerned in the slightest, and tilted his head in mild amusement. “Why on earth would I wear a cap today, Dany, it's quite hot out. Aren’t you stuffy in that old scarf?”
Daenerys was entirely dumbstruck. What was happening? Had something changed, were they now allowed to show themselves? Why was Viserys acting like he didn’t know what she was talking about?
She swallowed thickly, shaking her head. “What are you saying?” She asked, gripping his shoulder, “You always tell us to cover our hair! What if someone sees you?!”
The lost, distant glaze in her brother's eyes would haunt her forever. Her stomach dropped as she practically watched the brother she knew to leave his own body, a horrible monster taking his place. A mad snarl overtook his soft lilac eyes, and he struck her across the face.
“I am the king!” He roared, “You’ll not make me ashamed of that! Who do you think you are, awaking the dragon?!”
Dany held her stinging cheek, her eyes were wide with fear and pain. Then, before she could even open her mouth to reply, Viserys’s eyes rolled back in his head and he fell to the ground, convulsing.
“Viserys!” She cried, falling to her knees next to him. She could do nothing but weep in terror as her only living relative continued to writhe, never once responding to her pleas for him to stop. She thought he was dying, or maybe he was already dead. She prayed to the gods, old and new until she couldn’t distinguish between her sobs and her words.
Viserys did not die, though, and after a few minutes that seemed like hours, he stilled and drew breath. Daenerys continued to cry, unable to do anything else, and held her brother's head in her lap. The amount of relief she felt when she saw him begin to stir awake was dizzying.
Viserys blinked slowly, looking like he’d just woken from a very long sleep. He focused on his sister, then frowned in confusion.
“Dany?” He asked, voice hoarse and very much not the hateful one who’d scolded her, “What happened? Why am I on the ground?”
Daenerys tried to calm down enough to explain to him, but she was too frightened to say anything. She simply cried and wrapped her arms around him, glad he was alive.
End of Flashback
Her brother had lost almost all of his confidence in his ability to provide for them after this. Daenerys had debated on telling him the full story of what happened, not wanting to upset her seemingly fragile brother even further. But in the end, she was too consumed by guilt and spared him no details- he deserved to know the truth, even if it wasn’t pretty.
His ‘episodes’ had puzzled them both, neither had ever seen nor heard of such a thing. Viserys tried to remember for days after that, told her that maybe he had simply been out in the heat too long that day, maybe the memory would come to him and all would be fine.
It wasn’t.
From then on, his ‘fits’, as they called them, became a regular occurrence. Viserys’s eyes would glaze over in that horrid, lost look, he would become violent, and then he would lose consciousness. It was always in that order, and it always happened at least once a week. It was terrifying for both of them, as their lives required them to be constantly vigilant. When one of Viserys’s fits overtook him, it left both of them vulnerable and put the responsibility on Dany to keep them alive. Thankfully, none of his fits had ever lasted too long. The longest one had been in Pentos when Daenerys was 10. When Viserys became angry at first, Daenerys called it ‘the dragon’. She refused to call him very, because the bitter, rage-filled monster was most definitely not her brother. The look of that level of hatred on Viserys’s face was unnatural, so unlike him. She didn’t know where the real Viserys went when the dragon came out. But she had to deal with it until he could come back. This time Viserys had been raging for almost an hour before he lost consciousness. It was the worst hour in Danys life- she had managed to tie his wrists to the bedposts before the dragon took full control, scared of what he would do.
In that hour he’d shouted the most horrible things she could ever think of to her, told her how she was the reason their mother was dead, how she was the curse on his life that he longed to be rid of. He spoke of the things he would do when he was king, how he could burn her alive in front of the iron throne while the world watched.
Daenerys clamped her hands over her ears halfway through, tears unceasing as she watched her own brother spit words of vitriol at her. She knew it wasn’t really him, wasn’t her real brother… but those words were still coming out of his mouth, his face. And her heart shattered with every blow.
When he awoke, later on, Viserys had begged for her forgiveness, weeping at the sight of her sorrow and fear. She pushed her instinctual nervousness away and embraced him nonetheless, reassuring him over and over again that he was not to blame. He heard none of it, though. The guilt that wracked her brother only served to sadden her more, as she knew he did nothing wrong. Viserys couldn’t control what was happening to him; they didn’t even know what was happening to him.
“Maybe I have been cursed,” Viserys mumbled one night as they sat together in Illyrio Mopatis’s house, “maybe someone sent dark magic to possess me.”
Dany paused, thinking carefully about her words. “I think if it were magic, we would have seen it. You would be able to cast spells, wouldn’t you?”
Viserys looked at her with a puzzled frown, his expression knitted in confusion (something becoming more and more frequent in him). “Yes,” he agreed in a distant voice, “yes, you’re right.”
Now, as she prepared to don her wedding dress to greet the Khal, Daenerys could only pray that she was doing the right thing for her brother and his safety. The responsibility fell to her now to see them returned to their home, their rightful place in kings landing.
“Are you almost ready?” Viserys asked quietly, appearing in the doorway almost nervously. She hated how timid he’d become over the years since she turned 16. He was in his 25th year, and his episodes had only gotten worse and more frequent. The line between reality and fantasy was so heavily blurred these days that her brother spoke softly, treading quietly in every move he made. He was trying to avoid waking the dragon at all costs.
She forced a smile, not wanting him to feel bad. She’d never be ready. “Yes,” she lied, “I think this is just about everything. Illyrio has packed all our things outside with the caravan. We wait for the Khal now.”
He nodded, pausing once more before approaching her. “You don’t have to do this, Dany,” he said apprehensively, wringing his hands together in that habit of his that she was trying to break, “I can work for Illyrio in his fields, he’s agreed to house us if I do.”
The thought of the last Targaryen male heir spending his life working away in the fields made Daenerys bristle. She would rather sell herself to the lowest of brothels before that happened. At least by wedding Drogo, she was allying them with someone powerful, someone who could take them farther. For all of Illyrios riches, he was no ruler. But Daenerys knew her brother's line of disorganized thought well by now- Viserys cared only for her safety and happiness. He’d told her many times over the past couple of years now that he didn’t even care about taking the throne back anymore- he just wanted them to settle down in one place, and build a life for themselves where they could be content.
“Let the usurper and his enemies drink themselves to death in that cursed place,” he’d urged her, “I don’t care. We can have a good life, a safe life far away from them and their wars.”
The thought was a tempting one, but even at 16, Daenerys knew she could not forsake their birthright. Her entire life’s mission was to get them back to King's landing, restoring their name and giving her brother all that he deserved. She was confident that their only chance of a cure for his infliction was with the Royal maesters and healers. The red keep had the secrets of the highest healing knowledge in all 7 realms, the knowledge they kept only for the Royal family. Any chance of saving Viserys was there.
“The Targaryens were made for more than fieldwork,” she said resolutely, turning to face her brother with an air of confidence she could only pray for, “we are dragons. And I will take us home.”
Viserys smiled at her- she loved it when her brother smiled. It was one of the few things left about him that was recognizable from their better days. Before he started to… change.
“I know you will,” he said with an amount of certainty that made Daenerys feel warm, “you, my dear sister, can do all things.”
Daenerys smiled back, wishing that were true.