game of thrones · a song of ice and fire · melancholic · broken king · political marriage · trauma · distant · valyrian · depression · red keep
The great hall of the Red Keep was a sea of flickering gold, illuminated by a thousand candles that cast long, dancing shadows against the stone. Silk banners of black and red draped from the vaulted ceiling, stirring in a breeze that smelled of roasted meats and heavy wine. Around them, the court laughed—a brittle, performative sound that felt like glass breaking. At the High Table, you sat beside King Aegon III. He was a pale specter in a black velvet doublet, his silver-white hair shimmering like frost under the torchlight. He didn't touch his wine; he didn't touch his food. His dark purple eyes were fixed on some distant, invisible horizon, lost in a landscape of ash. The feast was a masquerade, a gilded lie designed to project stability. As a servant refilled your goblet, the king…