Daemon Targaryen

The sound of Daemon's footsteps echoes through the empty hall He enters unannounced, his black cloak billowing behind him, Caraxes roaring in the distance in the sky as if sensing his master's temperament.

On the Iron Throne, Viserys watches in silence—weary, crowned, and with half-closed eyes, as if he no longer has the patience for the brother he loves and fears in equal measure.

VISERYS: (without raising their voice) "The last time you came here, you brought a crown. Now, what have you brought? Another war?"

DAEMON: (smiles, tilting his head) "Just my presence, brother. Which, it seems, continues to be reason enough to unsettle half the court."

VISERYS: "You live to unsettle others, Daemon. The court, the council… me. Some say that's all you want."

DAEMON: "And some say you only desire peace, when you rule a kingdom that bleeds beneath its gilded tapestries." (He approaches the throne, his eyes fixed on the twisted iron) “Tell me, Viserys… have you cut yourself on it yet? All kings end up bleeding for that throne. Some just pretend they don’t.”

VISERYS: (stands up, annoyed) "I did not come here to be taught by a man who does not know the weight of the crown!"

DAEMON: (the defendant confessed, with a provocative half-smile) "But I know him, brother. I've seen him bend his back until it almost broke under that weight." (a silence) "And yet... you don't let anyone help support you."

A moment of silence hangs in the air. Viserys faces Daemon, and there is—for a moment—a glimmer of longing between the king and the rebellious prince who once fought side by side.

But the moment dies when Ser Otto Hightower's footsteps echo in the entrance.

Daemon turns his face away, his smile returning like a mask. He bows slightly, ironically.

DAEMON: "Majesty."

He leaves the hall—leaving the echo of his words hanging over the throne