Chapter Text
Dragons. Dying dragons, dragons feeding on scraps from rich men's tables, dragons wounded, dying, yet alive with an almost foolish certainty. Viserys often spoke of dragons; he dreamed of dragons. Daenerys thought it was hunger, but Viserys was never truly hungry, not until she was, at least.
"Daenerys, Dany." That was all she heard amidst the market's distant clamor, audible even several alleyways away. She couldn't go there, though she wished she could, to see the food, the monkeys, the colorful birds, the clothes. Viserys used to say their mother had a wardrobe the size of a palace room. Dany didn't know what a palace looked like, or a palace room. Viserys seemed to like them: he liked palaces, expensive fabrics, their queen mother, wooden dragons, the gardens of Dragonstone. Dany didn't know what Dragonstone was like either; she knew it existed, but it still felt distant. She should feel pain remembering it; it was her birthplace, after all. The place of her mother's death. She only knew about her from her brother—that she was kind, somewhat quiet but very sweet, and apparently, Dany resembled her. Dany didn't know what to say about that. She knew little of her family beyond High Valyrian, and that her elder brother Rhaegar was like a whore.
Dany wondered what they were celebrating in the market. Perhaps a new ship full of beautiful and rare things, or slaves. A shiver like a whip lashed down Daenerys's spine. Dany wasn't stupid; she saw how men looked at her silver hair and lilac eyes with terrifying self-interest. Viserys always told her to ignore it, that nothing would happen if she just kept walking behind him. Dany wished she could believe him on that, though she believed him in everything else. Neither she nor he had many options. If Viserys held hope amidst filth and decay, who was she to judge him?
"Walk faster, Dany," Viserys mumbled.
Daenerys blinked slowly. "Yes, Viserys," Dany said with learned swiftness.
It was curious; she used to say that every time Viserys spoke. Her brother had the strange ability to shift from anxious to angry, from happy to a sadness as deep as the Essos Sea. Dany couldn't understand him; truthfully, she had grown tired of trying. She preferred to keep her distance from his outbursts and heal his self-inflicted wounds afterward, rather than stepping between Viserys and his madness.
There were glances from the alleys—young mothers carrying their children, sitting on the ground amidst the rich people's refuse. There weren't many differences between them and the poor of Essos, though she was a maiden who couldn't weave or spin, and Viserys was a young man who couldn't use a sword or a bow. Yet, there was always a difference between their poverty and the others', between their peace and his. There was truly no way for them to be at peace with the Usurper; merely by being born, by staying alive, they were a threat. How weak must the Usurper and his dogs be to fear Viserys? Her brother, who barely walked faster than her despite always eating and drinking less, and who cried in his sleep when she wasn't near. Robert Baratheon was a small thing then.
Viserys stopped, almost hyperventilating and sweating. He needed to eat, but as always, he insisted he was fine.
"Viserys?" Daenerys said softly.
"I'm fine."
"You're hungry," Dany concluded.
"Nonsense," Viserys muttered, his cold forehead slick with sweat.
*It's foolish to believe you don't need food,* Daenerys wanted to say.
"Maybe we can steal something at the market," Dany said, a hint of shame in her voice.
Viserys looked at her harshly, his eyes clouded with thirst. He blinked a couple of times, trying to find something foolish in Daenerys's words, but in the end, he just frowned and squeezed his eyes shut. "Later," Viserys growled.
"When you're dead?" Daenerys muttered with anger.
"I'd rather die than go near that market!" Viserys spat, enraged. Daenerys received the shout by lowering her gaze. He would regret it later; then he'd want to braid her hair or mend her dress. Contradictory to his aggressive outbursts, Viserys did know how to sew.
"Just shut up and walk," Viserys said.
He squeezed Daenerys's hand, and they turned down the alley. Dany supposed they were heading to the back of a shop; sometimes, they threw out entire, or just bitten, things. She thought it would be better to go to a stall herself; she could distract the merchant while Viserys stole a fruit or two. But he was determined to avoid the market. Dany saw fireworks in the sky and realized the celebration was for the arrival of a slave merchant. Well, that made sense now.
"Viserys."
"What?"
"I want to eat grapefruits," Daenerys said.
Her brother looked at her as if she were crazy. "And you think I have grapefruits?"
"Grapes, then."
Viserys's frown deepened.
"Daenerys…"
"We can go to the market, brother."
"I'm not going anywhere near there. Not even for gold dragons."
"Maybe I can put some cloth over my hair…"
"And will you cover your hands and eyes too? Daenerys, you are pale from the top of your head to the soles of your feet."
Daenerys pursed her lips slightly. Dragon's Blood – Viserys's favorite thing.
"We'll check the boxes from the crooked-nosed idiot."
Daenerys felt a surge of rage in her chest. Viserys needed to eat, to truly eat fruit, not old bread scraps. No matter how much he claimed to be fine, Daenerys didn't believe in that lasting prevalence; they couldn't stay on the streets forever, nor could Viserys go without food indefinitely. Viserys looked ill; she hoped she was wrong. Daenerys should be terrified. Perhaps she was, but that feeling of vulnerability had become so constant that it was hard to tell when it was present and when it wasn't.
"Viserys."
Her brother looked at her again with that almost daily harshness.
"What do you want, Dany?" he asked softly.
"You're not going to die, are you?"
Viserys blinked slowly. If he had anything certain in this life, one was Daenerys's innocence, and the second was bad luck, surely. He had known nothing but misfortune, and as was his duty, he dragged Dany along with him. If the nobility of Essos believed he would leave without her, they were as idiotic as they seemed. As it should be, and as was his custom, she would be with him. Sister, Wife, Mother, Queen. It was the only way to keep her pretty head on her pale neck.
"I don't think so," Viserys replied.
Daenerys looked at him with her distressed lilac eyes, eyes just like his own. Dragon's Blood.
"You look like you're going to die."
"I won't die, at least I don't think so." Daenerys didn't seem satisfied, but as was her custom, she fell silent and lowered her gaze. The world was terrifying with Viserys; Dany didn't want to know what it would be like without him. They continued walking until they reached the back of the hooked-nosed man's shop – the man who had given her sandals and a dress for being pretty. Dany felt a little bad about stealing his trash, but Viserys needed to eat.
By good or bad luck, besides the piles of garbage bags, there were wooden barrels neither she nor Viserys had seen here before. Without wasting time, Viserys opened some, telling Dany to stay hidden behind the other pile.
"Is there anything, Viserys?" Daenerys whispered.
"Maybe," Viserys mumbled, his voice tense. For now, there was only cloth; who knew why on earth there were fabrics in barrels. Their lids were half-open, but nothing seemed to be missing. In fact, there was no commotion from the poor and beggars; everyone seemed apathetic and scared, mothers hugging their babies tightly, and fathers firmly keeping their children seated. No one wanted to move or be too visible; a slave merchant was the greatest misfortune of their lives. Essos was well-known for its exotic brothels, and Pentos, being a maritime city, even more so. Any foreman who saw a strong poor man would take him without a second thought. It wouldn't be long before they heard mothers' screams as their daughters were taken; he wouldn't be there to listen.
"There doesn't seem to be anything," Daenerys said.
Viserys frowned, brusquely closing the barrel lid to move to another. To their surprise, it seemed to be a barrel of leftovers. There were slightly bruised apples, half-eaten bunches of grapes, green tangerines, and a tied cloth. Viserys called Dany, who, without thinking, began to take out the best food she saw, using the skirts of her dress as a makeshift basket. He pulled out his knife and cut the large knot of the cloth, then began to unwrap it. His chest lurched, and his breath caught when he saw filleted meat, a small bottle of oil, and a salt stone.
"Viserys!" Daenerys exclaimed, her eyes shining.
Viserys swallowed hard; it was impossible. The meat could be poisoned, or the oil. Though it smelled good and didn't seem to have any mold or anything of the sort.
"It looks like we're going to eat well," Viserys said, looking directly at the innocent happiness on his sister's face, allowing himself to smile.
And suddenly, he heard footsteps. His heart stopped, and a dull sound clouded his ears.
"Lift your skirt and open your legs!" he snapped suddenly.
The happiness on Dany's face evaporated, leaving a grimace of horror; her pale face suddenly turned red, and she shook her head rapidly.
The footsteps grew louder.
"Do it, Dany, now!" Viserys snarled. Daenerys moved away toward the wall as Viserys approached. And just as the voices became audible, Viserys pushed Dany's body against the wall, lifting her legs, leaving her seated on Viserys's lap as he knelt on the ground, doing the impossible to hide them behind the poorly stacked pile.
"I told you! There's no need to buy slaves here, you're just wasting money like an idiot!" a mocking voice said.
"You're exaggerating, Maelo," another voice said skeptically.
"I am a man of my word!" Maelo boasted. "You said you wanted a brothel, didn't you? Look, there are good women here. You just have to look in the alleys; you'll find some young girl willing to sell herself. If not, nothing a few good blows can't fix."
Viserys felt the sweat trickle down the back of his neck. He didn't move and barely breathed. Dany's mouth was covered by Viserys's hand, and she just stared up and down at him with lilac eyes wide with fear.
"For dark-haired and black- or brown-haired women, I see no advantage. I need beautiful women. Do you want men to lie with a pig?"
Maelo shook his head. "No, my good friend!" the man exclaimed. "This is a paradise of choices. You'll find blondes, brunettes, black women with cotton hair, redheads with freckled skin! And even women with white hair!"
Daenerys's eyes were tearful.
"Wasn't that just gossip? You said so yourself, Maelo!"
"You've misunderstood me, my friend," Maelo began solemnly. "It's no rumor! They're a bit hard to find in the streets, they hide like rats. But here there are indeed pale women with platinum blonde hair, even with strange light-colored eyes."
"I've only seen scrawny women with blemished skin," the man retorted.
"Because you don't know the city! One must have great charisma and impeccable tact, besides some persuasion and contacts. I am willing to help you and receive your gratitude."
Viserys heard the man sigh. "I'd like to know what I'm doing in a shop."
"My good friend. We won't find beauties in the great houses; it's in the cracks. Besides, this man has a madness for the dead Dragon Gods. He'll surely know something about some girl."
"Yes, and you'd deliver the Faceless Goddess to a merchant."
"Of course not. I would make her my wife, but he can do neither. Nor does he need to know what will happen; everything can be sweetened with gold!" Maelo said cheerfully.
The men opened the door as if it were their own home. Viserys needed no more; as soon as they entered, he bolted, pulling Dany by the hand.
---
They had moved to the city's outskirts; at this point, the boundary between the marginalized houses and the forest was almost blurred. Not long ago, there were many families and crowded houses, but after an outbreak of bears in the area and a few deaths, most moved to the city's nauseating alleys, even if it meant sleeping on the ground or among sacks. Viserys had also left with Daenerys, but he soon realized that between the Essos lords' search and the city men, Daenerys wouldn't be maidenly enough, nor would he be able to protect her. In an act of cowardice, he moved away from the city to sleep, living in the ruins of a mud house. For Viserys, it should have been a shame—he, the Dragon's Blood, of ancient Valyria, finding happiness in the misery of scraps from the poorest among the poor. But when he realized the house was habitable and safe, he couldn't help but smile. In the end, Viserys searched among the ruins and repaired the mud hut as best he could, putting in a door, patching the roof, and managing to assemble a table, a chair, and a stool. He also found two bowls, two cups, a spoon, a fork, and a glass, all made of wood. Eventually, the house became bearable. After Viserys stole sacks and stuffed them with pieces of cloth, Daenerys had managed to sleep peacefully and without cold, unlike her first weeks on the streets.
Viserys usually had to hold Daenerys tightly as they walked through the undergrowth; the path was uneven, but she seemed particularly scared and clumsy that day. Much of the food had fallen, but enough remained for a few days before they had to risk going into the city again. The birds sang their annoying chirps, and the smell of dampness was constant. Viserys avoided the path to the village and went deeper into the forest until they reached a clearing. Daenerys hurried to the door, tired of having to use her skirt as a bag. As soon as she opened it, Daenerys put the fruit and some slices of bread on the table, shook out her skirts, and went to drink water from the jar. Viserys was starting to feel the weakness of hunger; he hadn't noticed it while running and fleeing. In an almost instinctive attack, he quickly chewed a bruised apple, sitting in the chair, trying to stabilize his gaze.
Daenerys, with hands trembling slightly with worry, passed him a wooden cup full of water. Viserys drank it in one gulp, hyperventilating for a while, but after a moment and a deep sigh, Viserys's vision stabilized and fixed on Daenerys.
Gods, he really was a terrible brother, wasn't he?* Viserys would have preferred a clouded vision to seeing Daenerys, his Dany. The Princess of Dragonstone, there with her face stained with dust and sweat, her hair tangled, and a cotton dress so lumpy it looked like sackcloth. Viserys tried, he swore it, but it seemed the harder he tried, the worse things got. Now he had slave merchants breathing down his neck, wanting to ignore his sister's innocence and drag her into a brothel. It was not so different from their previous situation.
Daenerys still talked about the red door and the grapefruit tree. Viserys didn't understand what men saw when they looked at his sister's face; he didn't think he wanted to know. Appearance could be improved; he could clean Daenerys's face, untangle her hair, and mend her dress. Viserys could try harder; he had to.
"Viserys, are you better now?" Daenerys asked softly.
Viserys nodded and, with a gesture, asked for more water in a bowl. He stood up and lifted a board from the floor, pulling a leather pouch from a hole. He took out a silver comb and a silk handkerchief. He struggled to ignore the jewels, wishing he didn't have to put his house's legacy in the hands of usurpers. Daenerys placed the bowl of water on the table. Viserys wet the handkerchief and began to clean Daenerys's face.
She didn't know the value of the handkerchief, or the significance of the food she had eaten, or the clothes she had worn. She would surely get angry like a baby dragon, puffing smoke from her ears. His sister had many qualities; innocence and a bad temper were among the main ones.
Viserys wiped Daenerys's face, neck, and hands.
Maybe they could go bathe in the river later. Dany turned around and smoothed her hair, and her brother began to comb it, wetting her frizzy hair.