The Blind Knight

Viserys and Rhaenys finished discussing their plan in the room, settling on the rough outline of their operation. All that remained was to wait quietly for it to begin.

Rhaenys would use Black Cat to scout, while Viserys would look for the right opportunity to plant the poisonous mushrooms.

The servants and stewards who already regarded the gold as their own paid no attention at all to the three little ones. The only person they feared was old Ser Darry.

With conspiracies, the more said, the more likely mistakes became. The more people involved, the easier it was for the secret to leak. In the end, they simply had to act.

Rhaenys possessed great Talent for skinchanging, making her a powerful ally to Viserys.

According to the theories of Skinchangers, cats were cruel, arrogant beasts—difficult to control and only capable of being forced into submission. Dogs were relatively easier to control.

Yet Rhaenys had controlled Balerion remarkably well.

Viserys and Rhaenys naturally left Daenerys Targaryen out of their plans. Daenerys was far too young at the time; she did not truly understand what King's Landing or the Iron Throne meant.

As for Viserys and Rhaenys, they had genuinely enjoyed the treatment due to a prince and princess before the fall of their kingdom. They understood the hatred of a fallen realm and slaughtered kin all too well.

No one could forget what Princess Elia and Young Aegon had suffered—the bloody atrocity perpetrated by House Lannister.

"Gregor Clegane, Amory Lorch, Tywin Lannister..." Rhaenys raised her little notebook, its pages bearing the blood-red names of their enemies. "We will have vengeance, Viserys. For my father and mother."

Compared to Robert Baratheon, Jon Arryn, and Eddard Stark, she hated House Lannister the most.

"Yes. Because the true dragon never forgets." Viserys made Rhaenys put away the notebook. "Hatred will make you forget life itself, Princess."

Viserys looked at his niece. They were destined to be children who had lost their childhoods.

"You don't seem like a king. You seem more like a philosopher." Rhaenys smiled, then put away her notebook.

The two of them consciously avoided mentioning the Mad King's name. The Mad King was a thoroughly negative legacy.

Rhaenys still remembered how that hateful grandfather had scorned her as "a Dorne-flavored child." And because of the poor relationship between father and son, the newlywed Rhaegar and Elia had chosen to settle on Dragonstone rather than in the Red Keep.

Viserys had not fared much better. As the second healthy prince born after the queen had suffered several miscarriages and stillbirths, he had been smothered by the Mad King's protection as a child. The king had even forbidden his second son from attending his elder brother's wedding.

Queen Rhaella had done her utmost to protect her second son, Viserys, shielding him from Aerys's excessive behavior and preventing him from realizing that Aerys was gradually slipping toward the edge of madness.

Viserys had learned of the Mad King's insanity when his brother Jaehaerys died in infancy. Consumed by rage, the Mad King blamed Jaehaerys's death on his wet nurse and had her beheaded.

Yet not long afterward, the Mad King decided that Jaehaerys had been poisoned, and that the poisoner was one of the king's mistresses. In the end, that mistress and her entire family were tortured to death.

"I'll go check on Ser Willem." Viserys said. After bidding Rhaenys farewell, he headed toward Rhaenys's room.

The one-eared black cat let out an angry cry, seemingly wanting to continue tangling with Viserys.

"Quiet, Baleris." Rhaenys held down the black cat. It was a clever, cunning little thief of a cat.

Turning away, Viserys went to Ser Willem Darry's room.

The room was already steeped in the scent of death. The knight who had once wielded a battle sword was now frail beyond measure.

Ser Willem lay sick in bed, surrounded day and night by the stench of illness—a damp, hot, sickeningly sweet smell.

Yet Ser Willem's hands remained warm. He always called Daenerys "my little princess."

Daenerys stayed beside the pitiful old knight, a pitiable little girl herself.

"Brother," Daenerys called. "Will Ser Willem get better?"

"He will," Viserys said.

Viserys looked at Daenerys. Her life truly was tough; that violent storm had saved them.

In a sense, Daenerys was the most pitiable of them all. She had lost her parents the moment she was born.

"Ser Willem." Viserys walked to his side and took Willem's broad hand. The flesh on it had now withered away.

"Your Grace," Ser Willem said, the flame of life still flickering within him. In truth, he was not that old. He had once been a burly, gray-bearded man, but now he was plagued by countless illnesses.

Though half-blind, Viserys believed Willem was a true knight.

"I am sorry, Your Grace. My eyes have failed me. Otherwise... otherwise, I should be teaching you swordsmanship and archery, morningstars and warhammers, so that you could face the usurper on the battlefield." Ser Willem said between ragged breaths. "I trained your brother well. You can become a fine knight too."

"I will become a fine knight, Ser Willem," Viserys said.

"May the Seven bless you. You will become an unparalleled knight..." Ser Willem said with a bitter smile.

Viserys now understood his own position. He was accomplished in letters but useless in arms, severely lopsided in his abilities.

Viserys and Daenerys had both received a considerable education. They were proficient in Valyrian, history, mathematics, noble etiquette, and much else, but their martial ability was abysmal.

After all, all kinds of knowledge could be learned from books, and Viserys's Talent for perfect recall had proven useful ever since he had crossed over. The fusion of two souls did have some benefits.

Knightly training, however, was far more difficult. It required an excellent instructor and years of training.

Generally, boys became pages or apprentices at six or seven, following lords and knights while receiving instruction from their tutors.

A page's work was simple, mostly serving others while learning manners, etiquette, basic knowledge, and practical skills. Only afterward would a knight teach him the important techniques: practicing swordsmanship, learning to use different weapons, defending himself with a shield, riding, and so on.

Outstanding squires could be knighted at a young age. A combat genius like Daemon Blackfyre had already defeated a whole circle of squires by the age of twelve and been made a knight.

But Viserys happened to face an exceptionally long gap. When he had been a prince, the neurotic Mad King had restricted his movements to ensure his safety.

When Viserys was born, the Mad King had ordered all the gifts sent by nobles and lords to be burned in one fire. Let alone allowing his son to wield blades and practice martial arts.

When Viserys fled to Braavos, his finest instructor, Ser Willem, had become half-blind and half-paralyzed. Ser Willem had long served as an instructor at the Red Keep, with extensive experience, and had once trained Rhaegar.

But in Braavos, he could usually only pass on his experience to Viserys through words.

So it was not simply that Viserys was overambitious or lacked patience. He truly had no foundation in training.

Still, Viserys's horsemanship was fairly good. After all, it was a required subject for nobles.

"Take the little princesses and live well. If it truly comes to it, hide your names and identities," Ser Willem said. There were no grand ambitions in his words, only simple instructions.

Ser Willem did not even mention House Darry's losses or the cause of restoring the kingdom. He only cared for their well-being.

The fall of House Targaryen had cost House Darry half its lands, most of its wealth, and nearly all its strength. Lord Raymun Darry had lost three brothers at the Battle of the Trident.

Viserys felt that Willem Darry had noticed something. Baratheon's rule was growing steadily more secure, while the Sealord and the Dornishmen who had promised assistance seemed to have gone dormant, offering only words and no further aid.

"I will," Viserys said with a nod.

Live on, in the way he wanted. But fleeing was not the only path. Only strength could support them.

"When I return to Westeros, I will take ruthless revenge on House Tully and avenge House Darry," Viserys promised.

Compared with House Tyrell, House Tully—those turncoat kneelers—was what Viserys hated to the bone.

"Go, Your Grace. Take Princess Daenerys with you. This is a sick man's room; the smell of medicine is too strong here," Ser Willem said, neither agreeing nor disagreeing.

Perhaps at this final critical moment, Ser Willem had become numb as well.

After all, the people most loyal to House Targaryen had long since died in the Riverlands and King's Landing. What could Viserys, a second son, possibly do?

"Yes, Your Grace. You should let Ser Willem rest for a while," the steward said.

Viserys looked at Ser Willem. He needed courage and strength, for all those who had sacrificed for him.

What he could not let go of was not the throne in King's Landing, but the old knight who had cared for him.