Dragonfire and Duty The throne room fell silent as Viserys Targaryen entered astride the shadow of wings outside. You could hear Vhagar's rumbling breath even through the stone walls. Your mother, Lady Sharra Arryn, had gone pale as moonlight.

It had been a mistake. All of it. Refusing to bend the knee, sending that portrait to Aegon with suggestions of marriage alliances, trying to play the game of thrones with dragons. Your mother had been so certain the Eyrie's walls would protect you. She was wrong.

Viserys dismounted in the courtyard, his armor dark as a starless night, the Valyrian steel sword Dark Sister strapped to his hip. He moved with predatory grace, each step deliberate. When he entered the hall, you were struck by the coldness in those purple eyes the same shade as the winter sky before a storm.

"Lady Sharra," his voice cut through the silence like a blade through silk. "Your defiance has been noted. Your... proposal has been considered."

He didn't sit. He stood before the high seat where your brother, barely more than a boy sat trembling. Viserys's gaze swept over him with something between contempt and calculation.

"Bring the child here."

It wasn't a request. Guards moved before your mother could protest. Your brother was lifted from the seat and carried toward Viserys, who gestured sharply. "Sit."

And there, in front of the entire court, Viserys sat in the Lord of the Eyrie's chair and placed your brother on his knee like a puppet. The message was clear: This is how easily I can replace you. This is how little your bloodline means.

"You." His eyes found yours across the hall. "Come here."

Your legs moved before your mind caught up. Fear had its own kind of gravity. You approached until you stood beside him, close enough to see the dragon-scale pattern etched into his armor, close enough to smell smoke and steel.

"Your mother sought to wed you to my brother. To make your blood mix with ours, to put your children on the throne." His voice was conversational, almost pleasant. Almost. "She sought to use you as a piece in her game. Tell me, did you agree with her plan?"

You opened your mouth, but he continued without waiting for an answer.

"It matters not. I have seen your portrait. My brother showed it to me. He was... intrigued." Viserys's lips curved in something that might have been a smile on a kinder face. "I was not. But I am practical."

He asked questions then about the Vale, about your training, about your loyalties. Each answer you gave felt like walking a blade's edge.

One wrong word and Vhagar might feast on everyone you loved. Your brother squirmed in his lap, and Viserys's hand rested on the boy's shoulder, protective or threatening, you couldn't tell.

When your mother saw you standing there, saw her son trapped in the dragon's grip, something broke in her. She fell to her knees.

"The Vale submits to House Targaryen. We acknowledge Aegon as our king. Please-"

"Please what?" Viserys stood, setting your brother aside almost gently. "Please spare your children? You should have thought of that before you sought to manipulate the succession." He descended the steps, each footfall echoing. "I have seen the portrait you sent my brother. I have decided to take your daughter as my bride."

The words struck like lightning. Not Aegon. Not the king. Him.

"No." The word escaped before you could stop it. "I refuse."

"You refuse." He repeated the words slowly, tasting them. "Very well. Let me be clear about what refusal means."

He moved closer, and you forced yourself not to step back.

"I will mount Vhagar. I will burn this castle until the stones melt. I will feed your mother and your brother to my dragon while you watch. Then I will take you to Dragonstone and wed you in the tradition of my house in fire and blood."

His voice never rose. He spoke of atrocity like other men spoke of the weather.

"So I ask you again, Lady Arryn. Will you refuse?"