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“A vision of our futures, don’t you think?” Viserys asked, laughing, gesturing at their two dragons.
Daemon could not see the humor of the situation. “What, that you will end your days old and fat and slow?” And massive. No doubt about it: Balerion’s size made quite an impression. A pity that an impression was all it was: nothing of substance behind it.
“Old and fat and full of history,” Viserys said, as if these were good things. “You know, ever since I have claimed him, I find myself dreaming of Old Valyria. The sight of the harbor at sunrise. The way the sunlight would reflect off the towers.”
You have dreamt of Old Valyria your whole life. Daemon was willing to allow that perhaps these recent dreams did come from Balerion’s memory, but even if they did, what of it? Old Valyria was long gone. Dead and doomed to eventually be forgotten.
He said, “It sounds like the two of you are quite happy together. My felicitations.”
Viserys smiled. “And then there is Caraxes. He’s a dangerous one, isn’t he? A fearsome fighter.”
He’s a dragon. Of course he’s dangerous. And yet, viewed side by side with Balerion, Caraxes did not look all so imposing as that. Balerion might squash him simply by turning over in his sleep – a proposition made all the more likely by the fact that Balerion seemed to spend most of his time sleeping, napping or dozing. Or dreaming, as the case might be.
“He suits you,” Viserys said, as if Daemon either needed or wanted his approval. “He suits you very well.”
“I’m sure it means a great deal to him to hear you say so.”
“I’m not talking to him,” Viserys said. “I’m talking to you. You’ve done well for yourself, Daemon. Claiming a dragon like that – it’s no small thing.”
Looks pretty small to me. Daemon wondered if Viserys had spoken to the dragonkeepers, if they had told him what they had told Daemon. Dragons might grow old and fat and big, yes, and compared to humans, they lived a very long time but … ‘a very long time’ did not mean ‘forever’.
Very probably, Viserys would outlive his dragon. Which meant he had made a fool’s choice. A dreamer’s choice – except that Viserys was no Daenys.
Daemon could not imagine what it would feel like, to lose Caraxes. He suspected it might feel a lot like losing Viserys, which would mean that to Viserys, losing Balerion would feel like losing Daemon, which meant …
A fool’s choice, Daemon repeated to himself, looking at Balerion, whose tail was twitching in his sleep. Perhaps he dreamt of chasing sheep, or other dragons. Perhaps he did dream of Old Valyria, of seeing the ships go out with the tide. Useless, hopeless dream that were no good to anyone.
Oh well. Perhaps Balerion would surprise all of them by living another century. Or two.