[ At first, Viserys was going to draw his blade and cut this usurper down for the sake of his family's honor. However, once the Dire Wolf chose to make its presence known, the young Targaryen steps down. There's no way he could possibly win, not against a trained swordsman who possesses such a foul beast by his side.

Humiliated once again by his own shortcomings, Viserys realizes that his sword hand has become too shaky to wield a blade. ]

...Curse you.

[ A low growl escapes him but it's hardly as threatening as the wolf's. ]

Curse you and the Baratheons both! For years, my sister and I lived in terror of the assassins let loose by your Fake King. All of Targaryen was lost, even our pride. For years I dreamed of reclaiming the glory that was stolen from me, in hopes of one day returning to Westeros to rule as my ancestors did before me. Yet, even now such glory shan't be mine as long as despots claim falsehood over the Iron Throne. Your father wins no love from me, Stark. As loyal as you state him to be, I remember hearing him to be nothing more than butcher. No better than Robert Baratheon himself!

[ Feeling his courage escaping him now, Viserys falls to his knees. ]

Curse you all...!