my old house, my childhood's tomb [june 21, viserys targaryen]
“I never said he was a saint,” Viserys protests in a rush, talking quickly to outrun his brother’s new-found anger. If he ignores it, talks around it, leaves it behind, Rhaegar will forget. He’s always been good at forgetting. “I know he’s not, I know—…” The sentence hangs open. Viserys mouths air, lost. He doesn’t know how to say what he knows; he’s been taught all his life to pretend it doesn’t exist. Keep your eyes down, stay quiet, stay small. He thinks of the bruises on his mother’s arms and feels sick.
“He’s hard to get along with,” Viserys says finally, setting each word out carefully. He’s sure Rhaegar can see through them; his stare is pleading. “But he’s our father.” He hazards a smile. The more he repeats old lines to himself, the stronger they feel, the more assured of them he sounds. “He’s a great man.”
He is. Aerys Targaryen, no matter what his detractors hiss, is a great man. Commanding, powerful. Men go quiet when he enters a room; Viserys desperately wants to share that effect. If he can’t have power or love, he’ll gladly take fear.
He wets his lips. “All of this is just…” His smile trembles. “A misunderstanding. I’ll apologize. If— if that’s what you want. Better than last time.”
He finds rage all consuming of him, like wearing the Targaryen mantle and in turn letting the mantle wear him. Wrapping his bones in sinew that is foreign and familiar too, at one time there was that fire in him that grew with hate and rebellion and a passiveness that watched as his father grew in the same way. (A watch that ended when it came to Viserys.)
Shrouds of pity flit in and out; watching his (only, younger, horribly misunderstood and horribly mistreated) brother try twist like a snake out of his grasp - move around what blocks him and do it in silence and silhouettes of what is really there (a poison filled fang, perhaps.)
He's a great man, the lie is almost deafening, like a scream that cuts through pauses. Rhaegar flounders for words - a great man, apologizing. He stays silent for a moment, watching, like he used to.
Just watching.
"No," he manages out, his voice sounds tired to even himself and it isn't shocking to him. "Leave."
"You're done here - you're done..." his tone raises. "You're done destroying this fucking family. Leave."












