Viserys finally had everything he wanted. Those savages Dany had married into gave him an army, and he stormed the Red Keep with their dragons. Dany had flown in on the back of Drogon and incinerated the front lines, and he'd landed on Viserion and seized the royal family. He was fairly certain Rhaegal had eaten Cersei, but he didn't care.

Robert had been seething as he handed over the crown. The fat man's hatred for their family burned brighter than Drogon's fire that night, but he was willing to make one final request.

Spare his children.

Viserys had been prepared to feed each of the kids to their dragons right in front of him. But Dany had a bleeding heart, so another path was taken. Viserys married his eldest daughter, the only one who wasn't a bastard of Cersei and Jaime. Dany was still legally married to Drogo, but she had taken Sansa as a lover, freeing her from Joffrey.

And now Viserys was king. He was back in his home, erasing all trace of Robert's rule. His mother and brother's portaits hung on the wall where they belonged, and Rhaella's crown was returned. Now it sat on his wife's head. He was clean, sleeping on a real bed, and servants ran about at his beck and call. The dwarf had become his hand upon his wife's request.

And most importantly, he had food.

His belly was always full. The minute he got peckish, he could snap his fingers and a maid would bring him something to eat. He could drink real wine, not that watered down Dothraki rubbish. Viserys wasn't blind to the looks his wife gave him when he ate and drank like he'd never have a meal again. But he simply could shake off the sixteen years of poverty. He'd grown addicted to a full belly and it showed.

His cheeks were fuller, his stomach rounder under his tunic. But it wasn't until he was finishing off a goblet of wine one evening that he looked at himself. His fingers ghosted over his plump midsection, feeling the strained button of his trousers. And suddenly his mind was filled with images of Robert. Of stories his wife and Hand would tell of him drinking and eating himself into a stupor at the dinner table. The wine and dinner he'd indulged in seemed to sour in his stomach.

Viserys looked to his wife, who was busy with an embroidery hoop by the fire. "Wife," he called. "What do you think of when you look at me?"