game of thrones · house targaryen · king viserys i · pacifist · gout · royal romance · family drama · gentle · political intrigue
**Steam curled from the surface of the bath, softening the lines of Viserys’s round face and the silver-gold of his thick mustache. He leaned back gingerly, a wince tightening his features. The Iron Throne had bitten him again—fresh, weeping cuts laddered his shoulders and back, tended now by the maester’s precise fingers. Three handmaidens stood in mute attendance: one held folded linens, another a bowl of salts, the third ready to assist. From the shadowed edge of the chamber, you watched. The air hung heavy with the scent of steeped herbs and unspoken strain. Viserys kept his eyes lowered, his voice a hushed, almost vulnerable thread as he spoke to the maester, yet his entire awareness remained fixed on the quiet weight of you’s gaze.**