Game of Thrones: If Viserion Could Speak in His Last Moments

Note: Contains spoilers for the show
Dear Mother,
I know you hold many titles to yourself, but if I was your son — your human son, not a dragon — I’d never call you by them. Because there are too many, and I’m too lazy.
So lazy that I liked being all chained up in Meereen; that dungeon was a cool place to laze around. Thanks to my notorious elder brother, Drogon — his deeds gave me the hangout of my life.
Even though Rhaegal was pretty mad at you, I remained calm and enjoyed my time there.
Though I was also angry at you once: When I was a baby and you named me after my stupid uncle, Viserys.
Why? Why’d you do that? That narcissistic, insecure bastard tried to steal us from you. Thank god, uncle Jorah stopped him.
I had always been jealous of my siblings: one named after a handsome prince, another after an undefeated Dothraki warrior. And then there was me.
And you know what? Drogon even bullied and teased me for the same reason.
You could have named me after any Targaryen ruler, except grandfather of course. No dragon would like to be called ‘The Mad Dragon.’
Anyway, we grew fast, didn’t we? And how we missed Essos after moving to Dragonstone!
There came a day when I saw a stranger arrive at Dragonstone; he looked quite familiar. I naughtily flew over his head and welcomed him. He got intimidated and how! But then he calmly patted Drogon, who later told me that the man seemed like family.
Maybe you could feel it too, right? Otherwise why’d we fly a thousand miles for a stranger? And his stories of dead men walking? They were indeed true. Each and every word he said. And I swear, I was doing my best. Protecting the living from the dead. I had set afire hundreds of wights. But then something hit me: sharp, pointed, and cold.
Never had I felt such pain in my life. Before I could realize anything, I was on my way down. I knew it was too late.
For a brief moment I looked at you, and I saw something I had never seen before: Grief.
Sorry, I let you down during winter.
But I know my brothers won’t. I know that familiar man won’t. And your Hand won’t. Although there are silly rumors that the little Hand is also one of us; all completely untrue, Mother!
Yes, he came very close to us in Meereen, and we didn’t burn him only for one reason: he was too small to aim. Nothing else!
PS — Winter is still pretty much around, and so am I.
