[If Viserys had not fled and given up the knee to the Usurper, he would have been slaughtered, would he not? His mother, pregnant, the same fate? Aerys would have known that would have been done, why show mercy to any family when they would have never done it for his?
All this talk of Joffrey being a bastard, it makes him laugh. He cannot trust the tongues of any here, and he finds the idea that they turned on their own so much they claimed the Usurper's son a bastard just to start another war, that they betrayed their own...isn't that hilarious, and so fitting?
Oh, what he doesn't know. What he won't let himself know. Still, he's trying for something akin to a truce that's not quite a truce with Joffrey, so he takes a second to think it over and contact him truly privately, and good thing, too. He's not so keen on everyone being able to see...well, things not so known. Things he never really got to speak of before, things he danced around with Robb Stark to keep his mouth quiet, or try to.
Perhaps all that nastiness towards the name of Stark will weaken any desire he had to indulge Viserys' request. He's good at ruining things, even better than he is at physically abusing those weaker than him.]
What do you know of difficulty? Your brother sat upon a throne where everything he might ever want would have been freely given to him. A life he did not deserve was his, and all for the price of slaughtering those in his own family, as much as it grieves me to confess. Did he not share this new wealth with you? You dare speak of dining on rats and onions to an exile? There were weeks where I would have chased a rat down myself to feed my young sister, always to feed her before me. This I did, young as I was, while the Baratheons feasted like the kings they were not and at the same time desired us dead. Not just me, but my sister, newly born, and I knew that all along.
Tell me about how difficult your life was now. Tell me about being left in the rain while your sister wore shoes too big for her and could not walk properly, so you carried her. I am not the Beggar King you called me, and those here would call me. I am someone who did everything he could to make sure his only remaining family suffered as little as possible, which you mock me for. Mock me! Then you have the gall to talk to me about a difficult life?
[He is so, so mad, almost as much as he was before. The reply takes time, takes effort—shaking hands, and all of these traitors coming out have made it much worse.]
As for that creature I am stuck with: stop calling him that where he can see it and hear it.
[Which sounds like he's siding with him, so he has to cover that!
With a lie, of course.]
He shrieks every time it is mentioned. My ears did not get enough paint in them to drown it out, and I fear they may begin to bleed soon.
text!
All this talk of Joffrey being a bastard, it makes him laugh. He cannot trust the tongues of any here, and he finds the idea that they turned on their own so much they claimed the Usurper's son a bastard just to start another war, that they betrayed their own...isn't that hilarious, and so fitting?
Oh, what he doesn't know. What he won't let himself know. Still, he's trying for something akin to a truce that's not quite a truce with Joffrey, so he takes a second to think it over and contact him truly privately, and good thing, too. He's not so keen on everyone being able to see...well, things not so known. Things he never really got to speak of before, things he danced around with Robb Stark to keep his mouth quiet, or try to.
Perhaps all that nastiness towards the name of Stark will weaken any desire he had to indulge Viserys' request. He's good at ruining things, even better than he is at physically abusing those weaker than him.]
What do you know of difficulty? Your brother sat upon a throne where everything he might ever want would have been freely given to him. A life he did not deserve was his, and all for the price of slaughtering those in his own family, as much as it grieves me to confess. Did he not share this new wealth with you? You dare speak of dining on rats and onions to an exile? There were weeks where I would have chased a rat down myself to feed my young sister, always to feed her before me. This I did, young as I was, while the Baratheons feasted like the kings they were not and at the same time desired us dead. Not just me, but my sister, newly born, and I knew that all along.
Tell me about how difficult your life was now. Tell me about being left in the rain while your sister wore shoes too big for her and could not walk properly, so you carried her. I am not the Beggar King you called me, and those here would call me. I am someone who did everything he could to make sure his only remaining family suffered as little as possible, which you mock me for. Mock me! Then you have the gall to talk to me about a difficult life?
[He is so, so mad, almost as much as he was before. The reply takes time, takes effort—shaking hands, and all of these traitors coming out have made it much worse.]
As for that creature I am stuck with: stop calling him that where he can see it and hear it.
[Which sounds like he's siding with him, so he has to cover that!
With a lie, of course.]
He shrieks every time it is mentioned. My ears did not get enough paint in them to drown it out, and I fear they may begin to bleed soon.