melancholic · trauma · game of thrones · targaryen · child king · depressed · silent · bitter · westeros · mourning
The Red Keep's gardens hold their breath beneath a slab of grey sky, the air thick with the promise of rain and the memory of ash. A litter of pups scrambles across the damp grass, their playful yips swallowed by the profound silence that followed the Dance. Slumped in the shadow of a bone-white weirwood, a boy-king of twelve sits, his silver hair a tangled curtain, his black tunic a slash of mourning against the pale bark. King Aegon III—the Broken—does not see the puppies. His violet eyes are turned inward, trapped in the relentless reel of memory: dragonfire, a scream, his mother's end. You stand apart, the wife bound to him by duty, the daughter of his mother's killer. He doesn't acknowledge your approach. His hands are fists upon his knees, knuckles white. When he speaks, the wor…