Viserys was in his bathtub, relaxing for the first time in what seemed four years, when the servant walked in on him. Her deep brown hair was pinned up tightly, making her shoulders broad under the simple brown dress she wore. He sat up abruptly, water splashing out the sides of the bathtub. He inhaled sharply, surprised, as the maid turned and her hands framed her face in exasperation.

"Oh, my prince!" she cried, "My apologies, I—!" she then ran out, letting the door slam shut behind her without finishing her thought. He shut his eyes tightly, letting out a sigh of annoyance.

"It's King," Viserys mumbled, the words dying on his lips. He frowned, closing his eyes and leaning back against the bath. "I'm your King." He was too tired to try and correct her.

Viserys and his sister had finally taken up residence at Illyrio Mopatis's home, and after a month without a decent bathing, a bath was the first thing he asked for. For now, Daenerys was in the adjoining room to his, sleeping off their journey. Viserys gently closed his eyes and sank roughly back into the tub, the hot, scalding water welcoming his dirty skin. He thought of sleep, of the rest that awaited him if he could fall asleep here… All the other things he had to do slowly dissipated, leaving him exhausted to the point a king should never be. He sank slowly into the water, feeling the steam engulf his body.

He sank too deep. Breathing in, he inhaled water from the tub, immediately coughing and spluttering, pushing himself out of the water with such force he almost hurled himself out of the bath. He choked on the water, spitting everywhere, until it had been pushed from his lungs. He breathed in deeply, allowing his rapid heartbeat to relax. He was just panicking, too much so, and he needed to rest.

Maybe the bath wasn't the best thing for him after all.

Slowly, Viserys stood, lifting a leg over the tub, still shaking. He frowned as he stepped onto the cold marble floor under him, steadying himself. Kings don't tremble, he reminded himself, and walked forward. Illyrio had claimed to have clothes, at least a few, waiting for them when they arrived. He would see if the fat man, however gracious, was telling the truth.

But before he could, Viserys was stopped in the middle of the room by a glare of a large, full length mirror. Its surface was the clearest glass he had ever seen, and surrounding the glass were beautiful ivory carvings of something Viserys couldn't make out. It matched the room, and it was beautiful.

But it was not beauty that made him stop and stare—it was himself. Hunched shoulders, hipbones jutting out of his torso, and he could nearly count his own ribs. He drew back, covering himself, if that creature in the mirror even was him. Dark ringed, sunken eyes stared back at him, surrounded with sharp cheekbones and pale lips. This wasn't him, was it? This starved creature, who should be draped in king's robes and jewels—the man in front of him looked like no king.

Ashamed, Viserys drew back from the mirror, a flush creeping up his neck. How dare they let this happen to him, their king, and the rightful heir to the throne. He pushed through a pale amethyst colored curtain, revealing a large bed with white sheets right in front of a small balcony outcropping, looking out on the backyard of Illyrio. He fell upon the bed, wrapping himself deep into the sheets despite the warmth of the room, and laid there, too tired to fall asleep.

Viserys had had his share of waiting—he would be king. No matter what, he would be king.

It was dark when he awoke.

The thin curtain that separated his room from the outside was fluttering, a soft breeze floating into his room. He moved his arm over the covers to wake Daenerys, but when his hand reached nothing but linen and pillows, he remembered they had their own separate rooms now, even if they were connected. Viserys felt a surge of loneliness, but pushed it to the back of his mind, determined to keep his feelings at bay.

He carefully swung his feet out of the bed, his legs sore. He closed his eyes before getting out of bed, breathing in the smell of this mansion. Breathing in the taste of riches once more, the raw feeling of being there, trying to imagine it as a castle.

But when his eyes opened, there was nothing but darkness.

He stood up and made his way carefully to the wardrobe, carefully avoiding the sight of his stark body in the mirror. Illyrio was right—he had many clothes, which vaguely looked as if they would fit him—it was hard to tell in the dark.

A startling growl from his stomach reminded him of how hungry he was, and he quickly slipped into what was hopefully a dark blue jacket and trousers, praying they matched in some way. But as the growling in his stomach grew louder, he found he truly didn't mind if they matched or not, and rushed down the stairs that originally had led him to his room.

Viserys silently regretted refusing the tour of Illyrio's mansion, and drug his fingers along the right wall, hoping to end up somewhere. Thankfully, he came into some sort of common room, with about a dozen cots and that many girls crowded in front of a mirror. He had reached the servants commons, he realized with a sneer.

At first, he was somewhat taken aback by all the girls in one room, some taking their dresses off, their naked bodies white in the dimness of the room. He stared at them all, as they laughed together and seemed not to notice him. Quickly, he cleared his throat, and the girls quickly looked to him for in surprise. Noticing who he was, to his pleasure, each of them lined up smoothly.

"Your Grace," one of the girls said, with deep brown hair and large eyes, and dropped into a low curtsey. She looked similar to the girl who had barged in on him earlier, but so did many of the other girls, so he didn't throw around accusations. The other girls followed suit, making Viserys smile. "Is there something we can assist you with?"

"The dining room," he stated, staring at the women. They were all pretty, no doubt handpicked by Illyrio, the clever bastard. When the girls did nothing but stare at him blankly, he made an impatient gesture with his hand. "Someone show me to the dining room!"

"Yes, of course, Your Grace," said the girl that had first spoke, and stepped forward. Her wispy brown servants dress hit her leg at mid calf, unlike anything Viserys had ever seen before. The dresses his sister wore were always floor length, even when they had been scrounging for clothes to wear. He cringed at the thought.

Without looking him in the eye, the girl walked forward briskly, almost leaving Viserys behind. He rushed to catch up with her then, matching her stride and walking forward, his nose in the air. In a path that seemed simple enough, she led him around a corner and to the left, and they walked straight into a large, grand dining room.

Viserys inhaled sharply at the sight. The room was furnished with white marble and dark, wooden furniture that contrasted greatly with the light walls and floors. The ceiling was domed, and a large stained glass window nearly filled the top of the room. Tripods holding bowls of fire stood around the room and hung from the ceiling, giving the room an orange glow. The huge wooden table was still set with food, meats and cheeses and breads, and he suppressed the urge of his mouth to water at the sight.

"That'll be all, girl." He spoke quietly to her, still taking in the scene, and barely noticed as she left the room. Through his excitement, though, sadness opened in his heart. He had remembered rooms like this, of course—almost every house he stayed in had a beautiful dining room. Yet he had not seen one in years, not seen beauty this fine in so long, and that was what tore at his heart. A king should never feel this way—be amazed by riches. He should always be surrounded by this; he shouldn't want to hold this sight close to himself in case he ever lost it again. These were thoughts of a beggar, but not of a king.

Did he truly know what thoughts of a king were like?

"Viserys?" The thought left his head immediately as he heard the slightly familiar call from behind him. He turned, and laid eyes on a fat man with a forked beard—Illyrio.

"Illyrio." Viserys nodded his head. The yellow haired man smiled at him.

"Your grace, if I may ask, what are you doing out this late?" Viserys's dark eyebrows narrowed at the man, still fully clothed though it was well past dark.

"I might ask you the same," Viserys responded darkly. He was suspicious of the man, who held his hands in front of him and suddenly looked too calm to Viserys's suspicious eyes.

"My king, if you desire food, simply help yourself," Illyrio stated, gesturing at the feast that still lay at the table. Viserys's hunger panged in his stomach, but he ignored it as he stared at Illyrio.

"Illyrio, are you hiding something from me?"

"Viserys—"

"Illyrio!" Viserys snapped, taking a step forward, his height overpowering the fat man in front of him, esteeming the young king. "Are you keeping something from me?" Viserys's face flushed with anger, and Illyrio's smooth composure cracked, leaving Illyrio to slowly exhale.

"It was assumed to be a surprise." Viserys clenched his teeth and balled his fists, but stepped back nonetheless.

"What surprise." His response was more of a statement than a question, his teeth still tight against each other. His vision began swimming in front of him, and he took a deep breath, closing his eyes and willing it to go away. Not now, he thought, not ever.

"The feast, Your Grace." Illyrio paused, and Viserys gave him and impatient wave, signaling for him to go on. "It was simply for a fortnight." Illyrio paused, wringing his hands. "Merchant friends of mine were all it was, Your Grace. I'm waiting for one of them now. There are to be here within the hour, I've been told." Viserys stared at the man for a moment, the thoughts in his head spinning to Illyrio's conclusion.

"You… you were hosting a feast?" asked Viserys tentatively, and Illyrio nodded. "For us?"

"Yes, Your Grace." Viserys's face broke into a faltering smile, and Illyrio's posture relaxed. A feast, Viserys thought, mulling the thought over in his head. It had been so long since he'd attended something like that. And in such a grand Hall, nonetheless.

"So where are they?" he asked eagerly, his voice sounding childlike to even his own ears. Illyrio walked forward toward the table, beckoning for Viserys to follow.

"They were unable to arrive in time," Illyrio replied sadly, and Viserys frowned. "Their ship has been caught up, and so I am here, awaiting their arrival." Viserys's frown deepened.

"Where are they coming from? They are not from Pentos?"

"No, Your Grace," Illyrio said. "The merchant families I trade with are from all of the free cities." Viserys nodded slowly, taking the information in.

"How many people will there be? Lots, I expect." Illyrio nodded slowly, staring Viserys in the eye.

"Four of the most trustworthy merchants I esteem my friends," he said, and, earning scowl from Viserys on such a low number, he added, "Every member of the family will be here, Your Grace."

"There will be children here?"

"Yes, a few. Does this bother you, Your Grace? Or your sister, perhaps?" Viserys pondered the thought. In a rare bout of consideration, he realized more children in the palace, no matter how young, may be good for his kid sister, after being deprived of such luxury as a child. Children in the palace should hold no hindrance to him.

"No." Viserys cast another longing stare at the table before turning back to Illyrio. "When are they expected to be here?"

"Tonight was when the E'yreins were supposed to arrive, and so I await them here, as I was instructed to." Viserys moved to sit down, choosing the chair closest to him as his seat. He chose a thin cut of meat, of which type he did not know, and began to eat. Illyrio stood next to him, like a silent watchman as a king ate his first meal back in the riches he was born to have.

"Tell me about them."

"About whom, Your Grace?"

"The E'yreins. And the other families too, of course." Viserys looked up at Illyrio, trying his hardest not to shove the entire slab of meat into his mouth. Hunger panged inside him as he swallowed the food, and took another bite as Illyrio sighed. "Entertain me, Illyrio."

"Of course," he said softly, and began.

Viserys was fourteen, holding Dany's hand as he walked forward, his mouth in a tight line. Dany was crying next to him, silent tears that made her face shine in the sun. He cursed the sun and walked faster, tears threatening to fall from his own eyes. It was not a happy day—the sun should not be shining.

Two days—that was all the time they had before leaving the house with the red door. The servants had stripped them of all the trinkets Ser Willem had bought them and given to them in their short stay. No, it was not a happy day. He and Dany, tossed onto the streets like coming peasants. They were the rightful king and queen, not common street rats. And all Dany seemed to be sad about was the fact that her home was gone.

Home—she would never understand—it wasn't just their home, it was their everything that was gone. Their future, their honor. Dany clutched his hand tighter, and he could see her staring up at him, searching for comfort on his face. His mouth hardened more, if such a thing was possible, and let go of Dany's hand, walking paces in front of her, leaving her alone behind him. It was her fault—if his mother still lived, she would have known what to do, she would have saved them.

But Dany ruined it.

A/N: Okay, this chapter was awkward to write, I'm sorry for the super boring exposition! I've recently been grounded (excuses excuses) so that's why I haven't updated in awhile... :D So sorry for the few followers I have! I do hope you liked this chapter, if slightly boring, but the next one should be more interesting. Dany will be in the next chapter, I didn't get the opportunity to put her in this one.

*If you have any ideas or concerns about where this story may go, feel free to PM me or of course review. Thank you for reading and have an excellent day :D.