A/N: SPOILERS FOR GAME OF THRONES AHOY!

You have been warned!

Also foul language and other choice bits, but that's to be expected.

Trying a different writing stile for this one, since its the last new story for awhile. Don't mind the self-depreciating humor.

Believe it or not, I had written this before THAT episode. Wasn't keen of publishing it...until now. Uggggggh that episode! Why why why?! Why you gotta hit me in the feels like that?! I don't want to go into detail for the sake of spoilers but HOT DAMN I wasn't expecting this.

...

...

...

As I said, I won't spoil anymore. Go ahead, watch it if you want but if the finale ends the way I think it does...I'll be sad. A lot of people are...divided to say the least. Which brings us to this tale. Not only is this a self-insert story, but its told from an...unusual perspective. Please don't kill me.

On another note I'm still not wholly sure why I answered this challenge/request; though in hindsight, I don't regret it. I'm a sucker for a good story and a sound premise. It was so out of the ordinary and the one who asked was so persuasive that I agreed to take a break from the norm and try it. While I usually write Naruto stories, I HAVE taken stabs at other genres such as Bloodborne, Dragon Age, and Mass Effect. Haven't written a pure Game of Thrones story yet, so...

...here we go.

This is either going to be a rousing success or an abysmal failure.

I'll be blunt, if people don't like this, I'll understand. This is...different. Unconventional.

But if you're patient, and want to see where this goes, then you're more than welcome to join me on this journey~!

"I will be better than him. I have to be better...

~?

Fall

Fire and Blood.

Strange words to wake to, but there they were.

It was with these words that my recalcitrant body finally stirred; to a pounding migraine, dappled sunlight, and the vague feeling that someone-or something-much greater than myself was laughing at me. Fire and Blood. Where had I heard those words before? Why did they sound so familiar? And why were my temples pounding like a pair of great drums?

"Ach, my head. Did anybody get the number of that truck...?"

When I tried to rise my body responded stiffly; tingling limbs pricking like a thousand needles as I clutched at my head. Every fiber of my being protested. Violently. Sitting up, I wrinkled my nose and squeezed my eyes shut against it. Had I slept wrong, somehow? No, that didn't make any sense; if I'd slept on an arm I'd expect it to still be asleep, not my entire body. It was all I could do to move, let alone try to stand.

What the devil had I been doing last night?

I remembered Game of Thrones; watching THAT episode with my roommates and a copious amount of vodka. The stunned silence after the episode. Sleeping. Not angry. Not sad. Just...stunned. Yeah, that's the word. The dreams that followed had been...unpleasant to say the least. The screams. The scent of scorched flesh. And the flames, everywhere, the smoke rising to choke me as surely as if I were burning in my bed. I had never been there, I could never physically be there, but it felt as though I truly were. Fire and Blood. Once more those ghastly words reared their heads like a three-headed dragon and my back holted violently against the mattress-

Wait.

This wasn't mine.

It didn't even feel like a proper bed for that matter.

Still muddied from the murky mire of sleep, my mind didn't wholly comprehend the crude cot I was looking at when I looked down-not initially, at any rate. How could it? I was still possessed of the unpleasant notion I'd had a bad dream. Yes, that I was I was still dreaming at that...

...wasn't I?"

"Very funny, guys!" I croaked out into the silence. "You can come out now!"

No one answered, beyond a distant bird call.

"C'mon, this isn't funny!"

Flailing upright, I stumbled forward on unsteady legs, only to trip and tumble to the floor in a mad tangle of limbs. My skull struck the floor in a way no self-respecting person desires, and blood rose up in my mouth as I bit deep into my cheek. I won't say I jumped right back up; boldly sallying forth in the face my confusion. That I felt no fear in the face of this unusual turn of events. Those would be lies.

The truth is, I lay there for quite some time; I'd nearly knocked myself out.

When I finally attempted to stand my bare foot caught on something and I took a moment to survey my surroundings, such as they were.

Worn yet well-made, a hide-bound tent with a dirt floor, faint afternoon light trickling through the entrance. The faintest breeze rustled a string of faint cloth that served as inpromptu flap, and beyond it...people. That thin brown cloth did precious little to conceal the sights and sounds that lay beyond, moreover, those walking past...

...including several individual with disturbingly familiar curved swords.

Curved! Swords!

My heart leaped into my throat at the sight. "No. Nonono...

And there, near my feet. A tub of water? What was this, a prank or something?

Belatedly I realized it was a basin of sorts, meant for washing. Who would put something like that in here? My head was still killing me, which likely meant I had a nasty bruise of sorts. If I wasn't dreaming-then I must be hallucinating. That, or this was all some elaborate trick. My mind failed to see the truth glaring right back at it; no, it refused to.

Without thinking, I peered into its depths.

"Well, best see...the damage...

Words failed me.

The face that stared back at me was every inch that of another man; bright hair, brighter eyes, and a beardless jawline. Thinner, frailer, lacking the muscle I'd knew all my life. Downright lanky even, as if the owner of this body had never wholly recovered from a life spent on the run. Panicking, frail hands flitted over my thin form and the stranger staring back at me mirrored my every move, right down to the muscle jumping in my jaw, the veins pulsing in my temples.

I knew this strange, beardless face. It wasn't mine.

A faint memory stirred.

Now, I'll say it plain; I love Game of Thrones. I'd devoured both the books and the show alike and while I might not be as knowledgeable as some, or even remember all the details from the last novel way back in 2011-that's right, I'm looking at you Martin!-I knew the show well enough to recognize a Dothraki camp when I saw one. Least of all the face staring back at me in this makeshift mirror. And while the Targaryens were far from my favorite house given how much more I favored the Baratheons and the Starks, I still recognized the vicious visage glaring into mine with the incredulous fury of a thousand suns.

Viserys Targaryen.

In an instant of blind realization I jerked back like a struck viper and kicked the bucket over. Pain shot up my toes as cold water sluiced over my feet but I scarcely felt any of it. Denying reality while evading its truth was one thing; to have that bitter pill flung in your face and crammed down your throat was another matter entirely. Of all the people! Of all the places! Of all the times! Why me?! Why here?! Why now?!

I'm proud to say I didn't faint. This time.

I did, however, start cursing.

"Why me?!"

Under any other circumstances I might've been impressed by the volume of my shout; it would've put a dragon's roar to shame. As it stood I couldn't bring myself to care. Instead, I screamed. I shouted and shrieked and swore and spat at whatever deity I could until I was absolutely hoarse, till my voice became little more than a whisper.

"Fucking hell!" I croaked, wincing at the voice-not mine!-that emerged from mine lungs, "Why do I look like him?! Why do I sound like him?! Even sodding Joffrey would be better than this?! Who in blazes did I piss off to land this gig-

"Viserys?" a soft, painfully familiar voice plucked at my ears. Not a heartbeat later, someone entered the tent behind me in response to my mad raving. "Brother? Are you alright?"

My back went rigid as rock. My heart leaped into my throat and nearly tumbled past my lips. I planted a hand over my mouth in the vain hope that I might keep it there. My very feet betrayed me, seeming to sprout roots where they stood. It was just a question, a simple inquiry, gentle and kind. Yet it-and its owner-drove a spike of fear deep through my chest and turned my blood to ice in my veins. I could not run, I couldn't flee, couldn't even bring myself to speak for fear of making a bad situation even worse.

I didn't need the basin to know how I must've looked; the shock plastered over my face, the fear like drying, caked mud.

I didn't want to face her; I really, truly didn't.

My body had other plans.

With long pale hair gently braided and body clad in humble Dothraki leathers, she veritably glowed with the promise of new life to come. Indeed, Daenerys Targaryen looked almost...serene. Peaceful. Happy. Happier by far since I'd last seen her on screen. Not harmless by any means or measure-but guileless and content with her life. A touch confused perhaps-and I was like to blame for that!-but otherwise quite content with her lot in life. Her bright eyes regarded me with faint concern laced by a shadow of fear.

Her hand rose regardless, cupping my cheek.

"You've gone pale."

I nearly jerked back; but then I remembered Viserys. Who he was. What he was. What he'd done. What he tried to do. How could anyone forget someone like him? He'd been hated nearly as much as Joffrey. A weak and selfish fool, with all his faults and flaws laid bare for the world to see. Loud. Petty. Quick to take offense at the merest perceived slight. Yes, I knew him. Everyone did. Just as everyone knew how he died.

"A crown for a king."

Those fateful words slipped past my lips before I could think to hold them back and my shoulders shook. A dry cracked murmur of despair, of an end I knew would be soon in coming. My body-no! Not mine!-convulsed anew at the thought as much as the image, already imagining the molten metal pouring down on my head like rain. Khal Drogo's fierce expression as he upturned the cauldron and its contents over me. Seething liquid gold, liquid fire, scalding every inch of my skull as I screamed. Would it be a quick death? A slow one? Neither?

The soon-to-be Mother of Dragons tilted her head. "I'm sorry? I didn't catch that."

Kill her, a nasty little voice hissed furiously in the back of my head and deafened me as I gazed at her. Dream or not, you know who she is. What she'll become, given the chance. What she'll do to the world. Do it. Wrap your hands around her throat and squeeze. Your bigger than her. Stronger. Without the Mother of Dragons, everything falls apart. You'll be doing the world a favor. My hands twitched traitorously at my sides. Fool! What are you waiting for?! A written invitation?! Do it! Do it now! A chance like this will never come again!

If she died, here and now...what then? What would change? Only everything.

Even without Daenerys Targaryen and her dragons, he might still find a way through the Wall. He would march down to King's Landing and kill everyone. Everything. And then what? Who was to say he couldn't find a way across the Narrow Sea and wreak the same havoc on Essos, then the world? All if of, doomed by my hand. Spirits, I couldn't countenance the idea of strangling an innocent, much less her as she was now.

"I'm...fine. Thank you." My mouth opened and clicked shut just as quickly on that remark. "For your concern, I mean."

'Idiot!' I cursed myself immediately.

Something flickered in those bright orbs. Surprise? Scorn? I had no way of knowing.

I'll say it plain; it might've been easier if put up an act. If I were to pretend, play the part. But I wasn't raised that way. For as long as I could remember I'd been told I was a shit actor. I can write circles and scripts to be sure, but the stage-fright always gets me when I'm in front of others. Perhaps that made me a coward. Perhaps that contributed to what followed. Perhaps not. Who can say? Regardless, I couldn't bring myself to do it. I was man things, a writer, an idiot, a smartass with a penchant for putting my foot in my mouth...but cruel? Me? Never.

I couldn't be...him.

"I had thought to send a messenger and invite you to supper," Daenerys began slowly, drawing my attention once more as she shifted her weight onto her right foot, "Then I heard your shouting." there it was again, her eyes straying back toward the bed. Concern. She thought I was going mad. Perhaps I was. "A bit of rest might do you some good-

My mind revolted against this idea and my tongue turned on me. "I'd prefer food, frankly."

Surprise gave way to awe, quickly smothered by hesitant joy. "Truly?"

There was just something so hopeful about that word and a part of me recoiled from it in mute silence with averted eyes, unable to respond. If memory served Viserys had been kind to Daenerys...in the past. Those times were long behind him and as such this brief flare of hope served only reaffirm my opinions of the so-called dragon and his lofty ambitions. A sister should not flinch in the face of her brother, least of all that he might strike her. To see such a thing on screen was one thing, but to witness it in the flesh...

...Viserys truly was a shitty human being.

Was it wrong that I wanted to give the poor girl a hug?

Somehow, I managed to muster up a response. "I said yes-HEY! Not so hard!"

In short order she seized me by the wrist and soon enough, I found myself being led along like a dog on a leash. Hmm. Not a bad comparison. A switch flipped in the back of my mind and once again that small, vicious voice mocked me tirelessly. You'll follow anyone for...what was it Walder Frey once said? Firm tits and a tight fit? Or are you simply a fool for a lost cause?

Inwardly, I blanched. 'Shut up, you!'

Make me!

Numb, I allowed myself to stumble after the Khaleesi.

Right. I steeled myself, forcing my legs to follow as she led the way. You can do this. Breathe. In. Out. In. Ouuuuut. Daenerys probably won't mind if "Viserys" starts being nice to her. She'll be too happy to care. This is probably just a bad dream anyway. That's right. Its all in your head. This, the voice, everything. Just some figment of your imagination. You've clearly been writing too much, old boy. You've got Game of Thrones on the brain! You'll wake up and have a good laugh about this someday...unless you get your "crown" first.

This was a dream.

Yes, it had to be a dream.

Because if it wasn't...I was utterly screwed.

A/N: Reincarnated as Viserys. Of all people.

I have the worst sodding luck, don't I?

And thus, I dub this story:

I Am Not a Dragon.

Title seemed ironic enough and the request-giver was alright with it.

So lets clarify.

This takes place in "THAT" scene, the one where Daenerys finally snaps and tells Viserys off. "The next time you raise a hand to me, will be the last time you have hands." The difference ought to be obvious and of course, I own no such lines, material, or references within.

Aaaaaaaaaaaand there we go. A different tone indeed! As I said before, you'll either love this or hate it. Once more, as a disclaimer: I own nothing. I don't get paid for any of this. I'm just a simple author who does this sort of thing as a hobby; one with a penchant for taking on unusual requests. The challenger of this story has requested to remain anonymous for this very reason, and thus I'll respect her privacy to prevent any blowback on their part. If you don't like it, take it out on ME.

Then again, if you do like it...

So, in the immortal words of Atlas...

...review, would you kindly? And of course, enjoy the previews!

(Preview)

"If you have an ounce of sense you'll kill that witch. Now."

"I'm so sorry. For me. For everything. I don't want the throne. Its yours."

"You've been acting...strange as of late, brother. What have you done to your poor hair?"

Pitiful eyes turned to greet her and despite herself, Daenerys flinched. She'd never seen Viserys wear such a look.

"Teach me...please."

"Do you even know how to use a sword?"

"I'm willing to learn. Surely that counts for something?"

...very well, then." Jorah's admission actually surprised me. "Pick up your weapon."

I tried to put up a fight. What?! Really, I did. Needless to say, I was a bruised mess inside of an hour.

R&R! =D