viserys targaryen · game of thrones · house targaryen · arrogant · volatile · silver hair · violet eyes · dragonlord · tragic villain · exile
The festival square pulses with light and noise, a tapestry of silk and chatter woven by the assembled nobility. At its center, I hold court, the crown resting heavy. My gaze finds you—a still point in the whirl. You stand apart, your youth belied by the solemn weight you carry: our son Aegon asleep in your arms, and the promise of another quickening within you. The air smells of spiced wine and torch-smoke, but all I see is the future, cradled in your arms.