The cry of seagulls could be heard in the distance, sharp and long. It passed through the thick stone walls and closed windows and became weak and blurry when it reached here.
Viserys leaned on the pillow and his eyes fell on the opposite wall. There was a huge tapestry hanging on that wall, depicting Aegon the Conqueror riding a dragon, holding a sword, and stepping on Seven Kingdoms's crown under his feet.
The golden thread shimmered faintly in the candlelight, like dragon scales.
Rhaenyra was sitting on a low stool, motionless. Her hand was still holding Viserys's hand, and the temperature of that hand could be felt in her palm, which was very low, not as low as the body temperature of a living person.
She looked at Viserys's side face, his paper-pale skin, sunken eye sockets, chapped lips, and the stubble on his chin that had not been shaved off in time - she suddenly felt that this man lying on the bed, this her father, this king of Seven Kingdoms, this man who once existed like a god in her eyes, turned out to be old, sick, and scared to bed by a mummy.
She couldn't tell what she was feeling at the moment. Was it distress? Was it pity? Was it impatience? Or was it something deeper that she was unwilling to admit - such as disappointment?
Viserys was silent for a long time, so long that Rhaenyra thought he fell asleep again.
Her eyes moved away from his side face and fell on the tapestry, on the face of Aegon the Conqueror, which was woven by the loom and had sharp edges and corners, full of power and majesty.
She couldn't help but think to herself: What would Aegon the Conqueror think if he saw his descendant lying on a hospital bed, frightened by a mummy and unable to take care of himself?
Will he be angry, disappointed, or let out a helpless and deep sigh?
"Rhaenyra." Viserys's voice suddenly sounded, pulling her back from those messy thoughts.
"Father." Rhaenyra sat up slightly, his voice calm and soft, like a considerate daughter responding to her father's call.
Viserys turned his head and looked at her. In those turbid purple eyes, a complex and indescribable emotion slowly emerged - regret, self-blame, sadness, and something almost like relief, as if a heavy burden had been let go.
He opened his mouth and closed it again, as if he was considering his words or hesitating whether to say certain words.
"I'm sorry Daemon." He finally spoke, his voice hoarse and low, as if coming from a very deep place, "I've always been sorry for him."
Rhaenyra said nothing. Her hands tightened slightly, then relaxed again.
Viserys's eyes moved away from her face and fell on the tapestry again, on Aegon the Conqueror's woven, sharp-edged face.
His lips trembled slightly, as if he was talking to himself, or to the ancestors on the tapestry.
"He has been inferior to me since he was a child. He is not as lovable as me, not as stable as me, and not as good as me in knowing how to say the right thing at the right time.
He is too impulsive, too showy, and too incapable of hiding his thoughts and desires.
His father didn't like him, and his mother didn't like him either. The ministers in the court regarded him as a trouble, a thorn in the side, and a powder keg that could explode at any time."
Viserys's mouth twitched slightly, not sure whether he wanted to laugh or cry, "But he is my brother. He is my only brother."
Rhaenyra's Adam's apple rolled slightly. She remembered some past events - when she was a child, Daemon often took her to ride a dragon and fly over King's Landing. The wind whistled past their ears, the seagulls scattered under them, and the entire city was spread out under their feet like a miniature map.
Daemon At that time, he was not as gloomy, so violent, and so unpredictable.
He would laugh, and he would laugh loudly, and his laughter would echo in the sky, like a dragon's roar.
He would hold her in his arms to prevent her from falling. His arms were strong and warm, making her feel that nothing in the world could hurt her.
Later everything changed. Daemon became silent, became irritable, and preferred to use swords instead of words to solve problems.
He left King's Landing and went to Stepstones, where he became his pirate king, mercenary king, and self-proclaimed king.
He stopped laughing, at least Rhaenyra never heard him laugh again.
When he occasionally returned to King's Landing, the smile on his face was no longer the pure, heartfelt smile he had when he was a child, but a mocking, thorny smile that seemed to say, "Look what you have become."
"After he occupied Stepstones, I didn't stop him." Viserys's voice brought Rhaenyra back from his memories, "I even gave him a push secretly."
Rhaenyra's pupils shrank slightly.
Of course she knew that Daemon's occupation of Stepstones had the tacit approval of Viserys - a king's brother, who, without the king's permission, occupied an archipelago on the other side of the Narrow Sea, established a nominal kingdom, and openly cooperated with the Three Cities Alliance.
It would be a big joke to say that Viserys knew nothing about this. But "tacit approval" is one thing, and "secret push" is another.
The former is passive, inactive connivance; the latter is active, active, and conscious support.
"Why?" she asked, her voice calm, but when she asked these three words, her fingers pressed slightly on the back of Viserys's hand.
Viserys was silent for a moment, and then slowly said the words that he had hidden in his heart for a long time and had never said to anyone.
"Because Redd."
The moment this name came out of Viserys's mouth, the air in the palace seemed to freeze.
The candlelight jumped a little, and seemed to be a little unstable due to the weight of the name.
Rhaenyra's body stiffened slightly, but her expression did not change at all. She was still calm and dignified, as if she was listening to a story that had nothing to do with her.
"Redd's power and territory are all in Essos. He conquered all the way from the east, and all nine Free Cities have fallen into his hands. Do you know what that means?"
Viserys turned his head and looked at Rhaenyra. For the first time, there was something called "fear" in his turbid purple eyes, "That means that his current wealth, fleet, and army have exceeded any kingdom on Westeros.
If he wants to - if he really wants to - he can always cross Narrow Sea, take his three-headed dragon and a huge fleet, land from Dragonstone, and fight all the way to King's Landing."