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He hears the voice of a child before he sees it, high pitched, squealing and persistent. It is a noise that grates his ears in irritation, and as the ivory stallion walks languidly through the dark woods, tree limbs hanging ominously over the top of his head, his violet eyes narrow in aggravated provocation. Children were, generally speaking, useless, mindless vessels of hot air and constant jabbering. The stallion comes to a stop, gaze sweeping through the trees that surround him, ears forward as he seeks for the owner of the voice, and perhaps its mother. Surely a small child would not be wandering so deep in these shaded woods; it would be a most unwise decision. Viserys had spent plenty of time in hiding here, safely tucked away in darkness from the dangers of the war that had raged on in the Edge, but still subject to the dangers that lingered here. The wilderness of Helovia was never safe, creatures far larger, and far more capable of harm lingered in the shadows, waiting for their opportunity to strike. It would be sheer folly and ignorance if an individual thought they could pass safely without proper guidance and attention.
He spots them both through the bars of the trees, sunlight filtering through the small gaps in the expanse of the foliage above, casting a gentle, warm light down upon the damp and mossy forest floor. Violet eyes widen, darken, and are latched onto the form of the ivory mare that walks through the emerald wonderland of plants and vegetation. Ahead of her a filly, winged and the color of a dawn fire, continues to frolic forward, blatantly ignoring her mother’s concern and advice. The sight would have been rather comical to Viserys on any other occasion, because he could see the steely glare of hatred and disgust on the filly’s face, her eyes a familiar violet uncannily similar to his own…
The mare though, he knew her instantly. Except for the gold that splashed up the entirety of her legs, lapping at her flanks and shoulders, there was no mistaking his sister. Daenerys has always been beautiful, and undeniably so, it was her right given the royalty and magnificence of the blood that ran through her veins, the same as his own. Time has hardly changed her, her lofty steps and languid stride still beheld the same regality and elegance that she always displayed, her refined features, lithe and slender, most pleasing to the eye. Viserys’ curiosity piqued at the metallic gold that now marred her once pure ivory skin, but gold was a color of kings and queens, and it fit her none the less. It was unexpected, seeing her here after so many months. Despite his vicious, vindictive nature, the pearlescent vagabond found comfort in her presence, for with her alive and well his hopes were still conceivable.
Daenerys should have conceived a son, his son, an heir to his throne and a continuation of the ancient legacy that crowned their history. Viserys again looked to the filly that was with her, and once more his eyes darkened and his mood was tarnished immediately. What was this malformed creature, this pesky, winged little brat that dared to talk with such disrespect? Infuriation, rage, and abhorrence race through him as he glares at the tiny little beast with fiery violet eyes. Daenerys has shamed herself, for if he were to guess correctly, the adorable little mutant with the horrible attitude appeared to be hers. His ivory twin has forever marked herself, her purity ruined, by consorting with such a creature that she would give birth to the ornery, malevolent little monster that stands before her. The stallion shuddered, disgust and repulsion twisting his face into an ugly sneer. Panic too, griped the stallions blackened, rotted heart, and he wondered where his own child was, if he were not here with his mother. Unable to remain hidden any longer, Viserys steps forward through the trees, breaking into the clearing where the mother and daughter stood, eyes narrowed savagely and ears flattened to his head, his movements snake like and smooth as he approaches them.
"Dearest sister," He croons, his voice soft and warmth, the opposite of the ice that settles in his eyes, reaches out from the bottomless pit of his soul. "It has been too long."
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