A song of Fire and Blood

Chapter 33 – The Gifts of Fire and Blood

---

POV: Viserys Targaryen – Vaes Dothrak

Viserys Targaryen stood beneath the blazing sun, sweat dripping from his brow as he watched the wedding of his sister to the barbarian warlord.

Dothraki warriors roared, cheering as men and women coupled in the open, blood spilled on the sands as duels ended in death. It was savage. It was beneath him. But Viserys endured it, because soon, he would have his army.

Daenerys, his little sister, sat beside Khal Drogo, her silver hair braided in the Dothraki fashion, her violet eyes wide with uncertainty.

She is afraid, Viserys thought, as she should be.

The gifts were many—horses, blades, gold—but one gift stood above all.

Illyrio Mopatis, the fat magister of Pentos, approached with a large chest, its gold inlaid with Valyrian glyphs.

"A gift fit for a king… and a queen," Illyrio declared.

The chest was opened.

Inside, nestled on black velvet, lay three dragon eggs.

One was as black as midnight, veins of red fire running through it like molten rivers.

One was deep green, shining like emeralds, streaked with silver lightning.

One was a pale tan, almost white, with a shimmer like pearls and sunlit sand.

Gasps filled the air. Even the Dothraki, who cared little for trinkets, murmured at the sight.

Viserys smiled coldly and stepped forward before his sister could react.

"These belong to me."

He reached down and **seized the two largest eggs—the black and the green—**without hesitation.

He barely glanced at Daenerys as he shoved the last egg toward her.

"This is the only gift you will ever get from me," he said.

Daenerys said nothing, but something flickered in her eyes.

It angered him.

He turned away. The Khalasar roared as the feast continued.

Viserys did not care. He had what he came for.

---

POV: Jorah Mormont – The Great Grass Sea

For months, they rode east, deeper into the Dothraki Sea.

Viserys was impatient. He badgered Drogo constantly, demanding to know when they would sail for Westeros.

Each time, the Khal gave the same answer:

"The Stallion who Mounts the World does not run at the whim of boys."

Jorah Mormont, now a sworn sword to the exiled prince and princess, watched as Viserys's rage grew.

"They mock me, Ser Jorah," Viserys snarled one night. "They do not fear me, but they will. My dragons will burn them all."

Jorah said nothing.

In the following days, Viserys made his decision.

One night, as the Khalasar feasted, Viserys took his dragon eggs, mounted a stolen horse, and rode west—back to Pentos.

"You are a fool," Jorah had told him when he heard of his plan.

"Then stay here and rot," Viserys had sneered.

Jorah did not follow.

His place was with Daenerys now.

---

POV: Viserys Targaryen – Pentos

The towers of Pentos loomed as Viserys rode through its streets, the dragon eggs wrapped in silk upon his lap.

"I will hatch them. I will command them. And then I will take what is mine."

As he entered Illyrio's manse, a figure awaited him.

A dornishman, clad in loose silks, his dark eyes gleaming with something dangerous.

Viserys scowled. "Who are you?"

The man smirked.

"My name is Oberyn Martell," he said. "And I have been waiting for you."

---

End of Chapter.