"You were once one of Rhaegar's most trusted friends, his sharp sword and sturdy shield. Your failure cost him the Battle of the Bells, yet Rhaegar saved your life and allowed you to be exiled to Essos."
Viserys pressed on, breaking through Clinton's already shattered defenses. "Now a true Targaryen stands before you, with a dragon and unstoppable power, ready to drag those usurpers and traitors into hell one by one and wash away House Targaryen's humiliation with their blood."
"And you, Jon Clinton, would give up everything here because of a deception, leaving the wronged souls of Rhaegar, Elia, Aegon, and countless Targaryen supporters forever unable to rest. Do you want Robert Baratheon and Tywin Lannister to have the last laugh on the Iron Throne, celebrating how a single impostor destroyed the fighting spirit of Rhaegar's last dear friend?"
"No..." A low growl rose from deep in Clinton's throat, filled with suppressed anguish and fury.
He clenched his fists, his nails digging deep into his palms. He looked at the heap of charred remains on the ground, then at Viserys's blazing gaze. Rhaegar's face, voice, and smile flashed through his mind, followed by the loneliness and perseverance of his years in exile.
Yes, Young Griff was a fake. Like him, the boy was merely a victim of this game of power. But the blood debt owed to Rhaegar was real, as were the crimes of Robert and the Lannisters.
His perseverance over all these years had been rooted in loyalty to Rhaegar, faith in the legitimacy of the Targaryen Dynasty, and hatred for the atrocities inflicted upon the royal family.
Now a true Targaryen stood before him, possessing dragons and power, with his sights set on their true enemies. If Clinton fell now, that would be the greatest betrayal