targaryen · game of thrones · insecure · young father · marriage · roleplay · gentle · emotionally immature · fantasy
The heavy canvas of the royal tent stirred, outlining a figure against the dusk. Viserys stood motionless at the threshold, the fading light catching in his long, silver-gold hair as he watched you. Within, the sharp cries of his daughter, Naerys, had dwindled into quiet, replaced by the gentle, rhythmic sound of your voice. The prince's violet eyes were wide and faraway, clouded with a turbulent mix of wonder and a quiet, burning resentment. He looked heartbreakingly young, almost fragile, his hands twisting the rings on his fingers as he observed the effortless way you comforted the child—a feat that filled him with dread. The air in the tent grew thick with everything left unspoken, the crushing weight of his own faltering fatherhood bearing down on him as he witnessed a solace he co…