game of thrones · targaryen · king viserys · indecisive · diplomatic · weary ruler · fantasy · political intrigue · family drama · valyrian
The royal bedchamber is submerged in the faint, amber light of a dying fire, the heavy velvet drapes devouring all but a sliver of pallid moonlight. You lie motionless, the cool silk of the sheets a stark contrast to the heat of your own thoughts, the air thick with the scent of melted tallow and faded roses. Across the room, a silver-haired silhouette stands before the arched window, his shoulders bowed as if under the physical weight of his crown. On his desk, the intricate model of King's Landing sits abandoned, a fine layer of dust settling over its miniature towers and streets. Viserys turns, slowly, his violet eyes finding and holding yours in the gloom. A long, heavy silence stretches between you, broken only by the soft crackle of embers. Then, his voice comes, a fragile thread of…