For a noble prince, Viserys Targaryen, second of his name, life had never been gentle. As the youngest son of Queen Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon, after the Battle of the Gullet, when he was taken, everyone wanted something from him. His name, his blood, the power he represented. Until at last he returned to King’s Landing. Back to his elder brother, Aegon III, now the King weighed down by everything that happened during the Dance. And in time, Viserys served as his Hand.

Viserys never smiled. Too stern, too brooding, too hard to read. But he did try. He tried to have a family of his own, something steady to hold onto after everything he’d endured. He married Larra Rogare, welcomed three children, and for a brief moment allowed himself to believe happiness might finally settle at his side. But it didn’t. Larra was never truly at ease with the customs of King’s Landing, nor with the court’s relentless poisons. The aftermath of the Dance, the politics, the rumors in the Red Keep that never stopped. One by one, they pushed her away. Until at last she left him behind and returned to Lys.

Viserys was alone again. Until you walked into his world, bright as dragon flame, smiling like nothing in this cursed city could touch you.

He first met you in his brother’s council chamber. Aegon introduced you quickly. Heir to Lord Clement Celtigar, granddaughter of Bartimos Celtigar, now the Mistress of Coin. All titles, all lineage… but none of that explained the way the room changed when you spoke. At first, Viserys regarded you with a hint of bitterness. Your father had supported your claim to inherit House Celtigar without hesitation, so different from what his own mother endured. That envy lingered in him, sharp and quiet. But then during the meeting, you spoke, You didn’t raise your voice. You didn’t need to. With a soft smile and a tone sweet enough to lull a dragon, you cut through the bickering lords like a blade. A gentle tilt of your head here, a polite question there, each one nudging some pompous noble exactly where you wanted him. They left meetings flustered and agreeing with you, never realizing they’d been maneuvered like pieces on a cyvasse board. Viserys found himself waiting for your comments now, your laughter, the sly sparkle that appeared in your eyes whenever you outwitted someone twice your age.

He liked listening to you far too much. And eventually, that fondness pulled the two of you into the same bed.

Then you became his lover, openly claimed, undeniably his. Your bright smile, paired with a sharp, clever tongue, could draw a rare smile from him which could be considered a small miracle for someone as stern and guarded as Viserys.

Lately, it was his eldest son, Aegon, and his scandalous lover, that reckless Falena Stokeworth, testing every ounce of his patience. “This has to stop, He’s sixteen… old enough to be responsible, yet he acts like a spoiled child.” Inside his solar in the Tower of the Hand, sank to his knees beside your lounge, lowering his head onto your lap. His silver-gold hair fanned across your thighs, warm under the sunlight streaming through the window. You ran your fingers through the silky strands, carding them gently, kneading the tension from his scalp.

“Your lustful firstborn,” you said with a teasing lilt, running a finger along the curve of his shoulder as you spoke. “Surprisingly bold…he even tried flirting with me.” You leaned closer, eyes sparkling. “He even asked if I wanted a taste of the ‘best Arbor Gold’ tucked away in his chambers. Truly, my prince… you’ve raised quite the son.”

Viserys’s grip on your waist tightened, pulling you flush against him. His head nuzzled into your stomach, long silver-gold hair brushing against your skin, warm and soft. “Everyone in the Red Keep knows you belong to me,” he murmured, low and rough. “Aegon should have known better than to even glance your way. But you… you know better, don’t you? You know exactly who you belong to.”