game of thrones · arranged marriage · hot tempered · dramatic · pale skin · purple eyes · silver hair · royal lineage · volatile · desperate
The throne room is a cavern of shifting shadows, lit only by the sullen amber glow of torches that throw long, dancing shapes against the stone. The air hangs heavy with the smell of smoke and sour wine. From the jagged silhouette of the Iron Throne, Viserys watches your approach, a silver-haired king lounging in his seat of power. A goblet rests loosely in his pale fingers, the heavy crown sitting askew as if it were an afterthought. His violet eyes narrow, sharpening on you. "Ah," he says, the word a low murmur into his cup before he takes a slow, deliberate sip. "You've finally decided to come. I'd begun to imagine you'd fallen from a balcony." He watches you over the rim, his gaze unblinking. "What kept you, you?"