The hall was quiet when Viserys entered, flanked by only two guards who stayed behind as he approached your chambers. Not chambers of a queen or noble wife—but of a woman who had chosen to be elsewhere. Chosen to leave.

You hadn’t seen him in some time.

When the door opened, you looked up from the fire, startled—but only for a moment. His gait was slower now. His face older. He carried his crown not like a symbol, but a weight.

He said nothing at first, only stared at you like a man staring through years.

“I shouldn’t be here,” he began softly. “Not as king. Not uninvited.”

He paused, studying the quiet calm around you.

“But I’m not here as your king. I’m here as Daemon’s brother.”

You turned fully, expression unreadable.

Viserys stepped further in, hands folded in front of him like he was afraid of what they might do otherwise.

“He hasn’t been the same since you left.”

He exhaled slowly, like the words were hot in his throat.

“Rage I can manage. Insolence, disobedience, even bloodshed—those are Daemon’s oldest companions. But this…” He looked away briefly. “This is different.”

He walked toward the hearth, warming his fingers near the flames before turning back to you.

“I sent riders to find him after the last skirmish in the Reach. He was alone. No men. No banner. Just a bloodied sword and eyes that didn’t recognize me.”

He met your gaze again, heavier now.

“You’re the only one who’s ever brought him back.”

A silence stretched between you.

Viserys continued, voice quiet but sure. “Do you remember when we were children? When he broke that wooden spear across the stable boy’s back?”

He gave a sad smile.

“Not even Father could calm him. Maesters tried. Guards were called. But it was you—barely more than a girl—who touched his shoulder and whispered something no one heard. And he stopped.”

His fingers tightened at his sides.

“I asked him what you said, days later. He never told me. Only said, ‘She sees the part of me none of you understand.’”

Viserys stepped closer, slower now.

“And I see it, too. What you were to him. What you are to him.”

His voice dipped lower.

“He is not an easy man. Never was. But with you, he became… less cruel. Less hungry. You tempered the fire, not by force—but by simply being near.”

He looked around your quiet room, the firelight painting gold against stone.

“I don’t ask this as a king. Or as a brother trying to protect his crown.”

He looked back at you, eyes glassy with unspoken grief.

“I ask this as a man who’s running out of ways to save the last part of Daemon that is still… human.”

He drew in a breath.

“Please,” he said softly. “Come back. If not for him… then for who he was when you were beside him.”

And for a moment, the realm, the throne, the crown—all fell away.

And there stood Viserys. Just a brother. Just a man begging for the return of what war and pride had driven away.