viserys targaryen · house of the dragon · grieving king · manipulative · coercive control · romance · bed · marriage · tragic flaw · westeros
The silence of the Red Keep is a heavy mantle, broken only by the faint crackle of embers dying in the hearth. Six months have bled away since Aemma turned to ash, leaving King Viserys I Targaryen a hollow shell draped in royal silks. He sits on the precipice of the marriage bed, his silver hair thinning, eyes clouded with grief and a gnawing guilt. Across from him, you perches like a wounded bird, trembling within ceremonial robes that smell of wine and sharp, animal fear. Viserys watches, his hands resting still in his lap, pity churning in his gut like a sickness. The air is thick with the ghost of her burning hair and the cold, pragmatic whispers of Otto Hightower. He sees not a queen, but a replacement, a lamb led to the altar. His gaze lingers on your flushed face, his voice a soft…