Chapter 33: The Unworthy

Vlad's main tent was larger than many noble houses in Qarth, with thick carpets, silver chandeliers, and a massive map spread over an ebony table. Yet at that moment, the wealth of the place was irrelevant. A heavy silence filled the interior, broken only by the creaking of wood and the crackling of torches.

Daenerys stood with her arms crossed over her chest, her face tense and a shadow of concern in her eyes. Jorah Mormont, on the other hand, stood rigidly at her side, jaw clenched and brow furrowed.

In front of them, Vlad stared coldly at the man they had brought before him: Viserys Targaryen, the beggar king, chained and kneeling on the tent's sandy floor, his cheek still red from the slap he received when he was subdued.

The prince had tried to regain his composure, but his wounded pride would not allow him to stay silent.

—I am the rightful king of the Seven Kingdoms! I am the dragon! I demand to be treated with respect! —he spat, his voice a whirlwind of rage and desperation.

Vlad looked at him for a moment with an unreadable expression, then began to walk slowly around him, hands behind his back, his voice calm but sharp as a blade.

—Respect? You tried to rape one of my cooks.

Viserys paled.

—That bitch didn't obey me! I'm the king! I'm a Targaryen!

Vlad stopped behind him and let out a low, dangerous laugh.

—Do you think that just because you carry a name, you can do whatever you please? That the world owes you obedience just because?

The prince clenched his teeth but didn't reply. Daenerys, until then silent, spoke in a voice that wavered between anger and disappointment.

—You dishonor us all.

Viserys looked at her with fury.

—Shut up! You're the one who sold yourself to this savage! You're the one who beds a demon while I—

He couldn't finish the sentence. Vlad struck him with the force of a hammer, sending him crashing to the ground with a thud.

The silence that followed was absolute.

Vlad leaned over him, grabbing him by the hair and lifting him just enough for their eyes to meet.

—Listen closely, Viserys. You're a nuisance. You're not strong, not clever, and you're not worthy of the name you bear. Since the moment I met you, all you've done is demand, insult, and behave like a spoiled child.

Viserys gasped, blood dripping from his split lip.

—You have no right to hurt me! I am the dragon! I am your blood! —he added, turning to Daenerys.

Vlad gave him a sideways smile, revealing his fangs.

—You're nothing but a rabid dog. And rabid dogs cannot live among men.

He straightened and looked at Daenerys.

—Can you imagine what would happen if this idiot were still alive when we have children? If he tried to make some kind of ridiculous claim?

Daenerys looked away but said nothing. She knew Vlad was right.

Vlad sighed and turned to Jorah.

—Have this fool executed. Out of respect for the fact that he kept Daenerys safe when she was young, he'll have a proper burial—nothing more. Take him away.

Viserys tried to scream, but before he could, Jorah drew his sword and knocked him unconscious with the pommel. A couple of men dragged his limp body out of the tent to be beheaded.

—Stay, Ser Jorah. I want to speak with you —Vlad said with apparent calm, pouring himself a cup of wine.

A chill ran down Jorah's spine. Daenerys looking angry at him for some unknown reason didn't help.

—Sit, Ser, —Vlad said, offering him a cup.

Jorah accepted, but his posture remained tense.

—What can I do for you, my lord? —he asked cautiously.

Vlad slowly swirled the wine in his cup, as if pondering his words.

—I like you, Ser Jorah. You're not particularly clever, but you're loyal and determined. In fact, I like you enough to let you remain near my wife… despite your feelings.

Jorah stiffened but said nothing.

Vlad looked up, his tone turning icy.

—But what I will not tolerate, Ser Jorah, is you making my wife unhappy. I'd rather gut you than see her shed a tear because of you.

The knight swallowed hard.

—I understand the situation, —Vlad continued, his voice a strand of steel. —It all started as a mission, a way to earn a royal pardon for some other foolish thing you did for an ungrateful woman. I understand. I can even respect that.

Vlad set the cup down on the table and stared him straight in the eyes.

—But if you don't confess everything to Daenerys right here and now, I will impale you alive.

Jorah Mormont closed his eyes for a moment and drew a breath before speaking. When he opened them again, Daenerys was watching him with a mixture of fury and disappointment, and Vlad, though composed, hadn't taken his intense gaze off him.

—It's true, —Jorah admitted in a grave tone. —When I first met you, Khaleesi, I was working as an informant for Varys, the Spider. In exchange for a pardon, I sent reports about you… about your brother… about everything you did.

Daenerys clenched her fists so tightly her knuckles turned white.

—For how long? —she asked through gritted teeth.

—At first, I sent everything. But in time… I stopped. —Jorah lifted his gaze to her, a trace of pleading in his voice. —Varys wrote to me more than once, but I ignored his letters. I swear I stopped being his spy long ago. I follow no one but you now.

—And how the hell are we supposed to believe your word? —Daenerys snapped, stepping toward him. —You betrayed me, Jorah! You sold me out for a pardon, like I was some kind of merchandise.

Jorah didn't defend himself.

—I know there's no excuse for what I did. All I can say is that, at some point, I stopped seeing you as a way out… and started following you because I wanted to. Because I believed in you.