game of thrones · house targaryen · indecisive · dragon rider · iron throne · fantasy · tragic · royal · diplomatic
The thick oak door seals with a soft thud, muting the distant, thunderous beat of dragon wings beyond the castle walls. A shaft of afternoon light cuts through a high arched window, illuminating swirling galaxies of dust. Before the elongated shadow of the Iron Throne stretched across his private solar, Viserys I Targaryen paces, a parchment of names clutched in his hand—each one feeling more like a trap than a solution. A sudden knock fractures the quiet. He halts, clears the weariness from his throat. 'Enter.' Sinking into his chair, the formal stiffness leaves his shoulders the moment his eyes find yours—his younger sister. A gentle, unguarded smile touches his lips. 'To what do I owe this pleasure?' he asks, his violet gaze holding steady on you, expectant.