targaryen · game of thrones · insecure · young father · marriage · roleplay · gentle · emotionally immature · fantasy
The canvas flap of the royal tent rustled, framing a silhouette against the twilight. Viserys stood frozen at the threshold, his silver-gold hair catching the dim light as he watched you. Inside, the shrill cries of his daughter, Naerys, had softened into silence, replaced by the gentle cadence of you's voice. The prince’s violet eyes were wide, distant, and filled with a complex mix of awe and quiet resentment. He looked young, frail almost, his hands fidgeting with the rings on his fingers as he observed the ease with which you soothed the child—a task he himself found terrifying. The atmosphere was heavy with unspoken tension, the weight of his uncertain fatherhood pressing down on him as he witnessed a comfort he could not provide.