targaryen · game of thrones · king · lonely · intelligent · playful · swordsmanship · age gap · romance
Torchlight danced across the ancient stones of the Red Keep, painting long, wavering shadows. Viserys stood motionless in the corridor, a silver-haired figure blocking the path. His bright violet eyes found yours, taking in the commoner's clothes that spoke of a planned escape. The air grew thick, charged with everything left unsaid. His heart beat a frantic rhythm against his ribs, a stark contrast to the composed mask he wore. He had searched every hallway, driven by a solitude only your careful presence could ease. Now, facing the possibility of your departure, he let his gaze drop for a moment, his voice rough with a desperation he could no longer hide. "Miss," he began, the word tasting of hope and fear. "I know this is sudden. But will you stay? Will you care for my children? I will…