A song of Fire and Blood

Chapter 59: The Green Dragon Rises

Viserys Targaryen at Sunspear

The great halls of Sunspear were filled with laughter, music, and the clinking of golden goblets as the wedding of Viserys Targaryen and Arianne Martell was celebrated in full splendor. The Sand Snakes watched with intrigue, each of them draped in Dornish silk, while the noble Martells sat in quiet judgment. Doran Martell, ever the patient schemer, observed from his seat, his expression unreadable.

Viserys, clad in deep Targaryen crimson, basked in the attention, but his thoughts were elsewhere. He wanted war. He wanted the banners raised and the spears marching. As the wine flowed, he leaned close to Doran, his voice edged with frustration.

"Enough feasting. Enough waiting. We should be gathering the troops and striking now."

Doran swirled his wine. "All things in time, Your Grace."

Nearby, Gerold Dayne—the infamous Darkstar—lounged lazily, his sharp violet eyes scanning the room. He toyed with the curls of a handmaiden, boasting loudly.

"I am the finest sword in Westeros," he declared, smirking. "When I take Starfall, it will be under my rule, as it was always meant to be."

Viserys barely acknowledged him. He was already irritated enough. The Golden Company, despite their history of aiding exiled Targaryens, had refused to come to his side. A betrayal he would not forget.

Midas Drahar, the Myrish prince and Viserys' ally, arrived late, bringing a fleet of ships and fresh troops as a wedding gift. He bowed before Viserys and Arianne with a flourish.

"Even a lesser Valyrian can do what a Martell cannot," Viserys muttered bitterly to Doran, his patience wearing thin.

Doran merely smiled that same knowing smile. "The troops will gather at the Marches. We must be careful. Not reckless."

The night dragged on, but Viserys' thoughts remained ablaze with conquest. After his wedding night, shared between Arianne and the enticing Teyene Sand, he returned to his solar, his mind swimming between pleasure and war.

It was then that Daemon Sand entered. A knight of Starfall, sworn to House Martell. And a man foolishly in love with Arianne.

"You do not deserve her," Daemon spat, his fists clenched.

Viserys' lips curled into a cruel smile. "Oh? Then you would hate to hear what I just did to her."

Rage consumed Daemon. He lunged. Viserys barely dodged the attack, but the momentum sent him crashing into a nearby table, toppling a candle. Wax spilled. A tapestry ignited. Within seconds, flames licked the stone walls.

Viserys scrambled to his feet, fury in his eyes. "You fool!"

Daemon charged again, but this time, Viserys was faster. He kicked the knight back, seized the heavy wooden door, and slammed it shut. The fire spread, consuming everything inside.

Through the door, Daemon Sand screamed.

Viserys held it closed. He could feel the heat against his palms, scorching him. Yet he did not let go. Not until the screams stopped.

Then, silence.

Viserys exhaled, his chest rising and falling. But then—a sound. A faint screech, like the cry of a newborn.

He turned.

From the shadows of the room, a small creature crawled forward. Its scales shimmered in the firelight, a brilliant green, its eyes burning with intelligence beyond its age. A dragon.

It slithered toward him, curling around his leg.

Viserys stared down at it, his burnt hands trembling, and at that moment, he knew.

He was the dragon.

And the world would burn.