The bastard was enjoying this. I didn't even need to see his face to know he was smirking. He always had this smug little way of teasing, like he knew exactly how to push my buttons without lifting a damn finger.
I used to hate it.
Now? I didn't know. It felt... different. Familiar. Safe, in a way I didn't trust yet.
And maybe that scared me more than the dream did.
...
Third Person POV
Daenerys still had drool stuck to her cheek, half-dried and warm, when her mouth opened. "W-What are you doing?"
Her voice cracked — tired, confused — the kind that comes from being ripped out of sleep too fast. Her face was caught somewhere between shock and disbelief, her brow scrunched, lips parted. Her body bounced slightly with each of Viserys' steps.
Her eyes didn't want to stay open. They twitched and blinked against the flickering torchlight lining the road. She looked up at him through a blur, fingers tightening in the fabric of his shirt like she was trying to convince herself this wasn't some weird leftover dream.
This didn't make sense.
Viserys Targaryen — the same brother who once left her behind with Ser Willem just because a drunk sailor shouted too loud — was now hauling her through the back alleys of Braavos like she weighed nothing. Forget piggyback rides — he'd barely let her ride behind him on a horse without complaining.
Why now?
She didn't even get to finish the thought.
His grip on her thighs loosened suddenly. She slipped half an inch — just enough for panic to kick in — before he caught her again.
"As you can see," Viserys said, deadpan, not even glancing back, "I'm carrying a potato."
A beat passed.
He added, "If you ask one more useless question, I'll drop you. Barbarus."
She stared at him, jaw slack. That wasn't even a real word. Was it? Her hands trembled slightly, pressing harder against his back, though not from fear, more from confusion. Her heartbeat shot up for a second like something was wrong. Then it settled. Fast. Too fast.
The silence between them stretched.
She wanted to say a lot. Ask a lot. What the hell "barbarus" even meant. Where they were going. Why he wasn't acting like the same bratty little tyrant she remembered.
But more than anything…
What happened to Ser Willem?
She saw it. The blade. The blood. The sound of his body hitting stone.
Still, the back of her mind kept whispering: Maybe he's alive. Maybe it wasn't as bad as it looked. Maybe...
It was pathetic. But hope didn't care.
Hope never asked permission.
Neither do the Caesar.
Long before they reached their house, the streets had already started to shift. This island was not part of Braavos' wealthier districts. It was rough, patched with broken stones and crooked walls, but it was a step above the worst corners of the city.
There were fewer rats, fewer open gutters. It still smelled like salt, fish guts, and damp wood, but at least you could walk without stepping in something that moved.
They stopped at the entrance.
Without a word, Viserys loosened his grip.
Daenerys dropped straight onto the cobblestone, landing hard on her rear. The hit knocked the wind out of her chest. The stone was jagged and cold, and it sent a jolt of pain up her spine. She stayed there for a second, dazed, eyes watering.
Then she pushed herself up, wincing. Her hand rubbed at her backside while she hissed under her breath.
"What was that for?" she snapped, pointing a finger at him like she was about to drag him in front of a magistrate.
Viserys didn't respond right away.
His eyes were locked on their house.
It stood out like a bleeding wound in the quiet street. Every window burned with candlelight. Torches flickered on either side of the door, casting long shadows across the cracked stone.
From inside came the sound of music. Not the quiet hum of a tavern, but something louder. A lute, or maybe a fiddle, played fast and cheerful. There were voices too. Laughter. Movement.
"Wait here," Viserys said, his voice low and smug, like some greasy street rat pretending to be a king. He turned slightly, shot her a look over his shoulder, then added with a crooked grin, "Or… come with me."
He stooped down, grabbing a jagged stone from the side of the path. It was just lying there, half-covered in dirt, sharp enough to make a point. Literally.
He took a step toward the house, legs wobbling like a drunk noble on his third bottle of Arbor Gold.
But it wasn't fear making him shake. Not panic.
No.
His body was humming with the sheer excitement of violence. The kind of twitchy, cold-sweat thrill only lunatics get right before doing something unforgivable.
He wasn't brave. He wasn't even stable.
He was just in the mood.
A psychopath, sure. But at least he was upfront about it. He'd kill you, smile, then ask if you wanted tea afterward.
Daenerys stood there, arms crossed, watching her older brother shuffle forward like a murder-happy toddler.
Her face shifted through about five different expressions in ten seconds: confusion, concern, disgust, mild interest, and finally that numb acceptance you get after being around crazy people long enough.
"What the hell is happening," she muttered.
Then came the scream.
"MY BALLS! AHHHHHH!"
Sharp. Real. Panicked.
It echoed through the quiet street like a dying cat tossed into a fireplace.
Daenerys blinked. "Huh." She didn't smile, but the corner of her mouth twitched.
Some minutes earlier…
"Father..."
The boy's voice barely rose above the music. He lay sprawled on a velvet couch like a painting someone gave up halfway through—fifteen, pampered, and already on the path to becoming a massive disappointment.
The house was lavish. Targaryen gold hadn't just lined the walls—it practically bled from them. Women danced in silk and nothing else. Musicians plucked strings and blew into flutes like they were auditioning for some perverse royal court.
In the center of it all stood Castratus. Naked. Proud. Sweaty.
Not a shred of dignity in sight.
"D'you think we did the right thing?" Aren asked. His voice cracked slightly, not from age, but the weight of guilt pressing on it. "Sending assassins after Ser Willem… and the Targaryen siblings? I mean, they saved us. We were their servants."
Castratus didn't stop dancing. He just grabbed a handful of someone's ass and twirled.
"What in the seven fucks are you on about?"
Wine sloshed over his belly as he laughed.
"I did what any sane man would do," he said, now thrusting his hips to the rhythm of a drumbeat only he could hear. "Ensured our future. Yours. Your brats'. Their brats. That's how families survive, boy, on blood and betrayal."
The boy flinched. Castratus kept going.
"And servants? That's past tense, son. We were their servants. But the moment they got too soft to protect themselves?" He waved a hand, dismissive. "Now they're corpses. We're free men with coin, women, and a house that doesn't smell like dragon shit."
He drank again, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
"My only regret?" He grinned wide, teeth yellow and proud. "Not getting the chance to turn that silver-haired bitch into my personal cumdumpster."
"Look what we have here… Barbari," a voice cooed from the shadows like a cat playing with a half-dead rat. Sweet. Mocking. Cruel. "You've got some bold ambitions… for someone about to be turned into a bottom."
The voice didn't come alone.
Neither did the stone.
It came fast—no warning, no time to flinch. A jagged shard of rock, half the size of a clenched fist, spinning through the smoke-thick air like it had a grudge.
Then—impact.
A wet, horrible smack.
The room froze. The dancers gasped. One of the musicians dropped her flute.
Castratus didn't scream immediately. His body just seized up, like someone had yanked the strings out of a puppet. His eyes bulged. His jaw opened, but no sound came out.
Then he dropped.
Hard.
He curled into himself, hands clutching where his balls used to be, now just a ruin of blood and shredded skin. A puddle spread beneath him. He wailed. Loud. High-pitched. Less "wounded man" and more "butchered pig."
Somewhere in the corner, a glowing message flickered into existence like a twisted joke from the gods:
{Ding! Hidden Mission Completed: "Make Traitor Barbari Ball-less"}
"MY BALLS!!!!!!!! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH"