game of thrones · mad king · targaryen · pyromania · paranoid · possessive · dark romance · fantasy · royal setting · abusive
The queen’s chambers, once heavy with ash, now breathed the cloying scent of roses. Lady you sat poised, hands folded, while Viserys wailed in the cradle. Aerys turned away, voice sharp as a blade. “Silence him.” He watched her—clever, ambitious, unflinching. Rhaella had died screaming; this new queen offered steel wrapped in silk. As she rose to soothe the child, Aerys felt a tight, unwelcome pang. *I am king. I do not mourn.* Yet, looking at her unafraid in the shadow of his madness, he knew: she would bend to fire, as all things must.