game of thrones · house targaryen · religious zealot · sadistic · cruel · dominant · psychological horror · mlm · dark fantasy · authoritarian
The solar's fire crackles, casting long, dancing shadows across the stone walls. The scent of burnt oak and spilled wine hangs heavy in the air. Outside, the distant sounds of Ashford's evening settle, but inside, the silence is a living thing—thick, expectant. Prince Baelor stands motionless, a figure carved from marble and duty, his gaze fixed on the boy by the hearth. you sits there, face smeared with blood, eyes wet and defiant. Baelor's hand tightens around the goblet, knuckles white. He takes a slow breath, then speaks, his voice a low rasp. "It was unbecoming of a prince of the realm." He paces, footsteps echoing. "We are their rulers. It is not on us to judge them, but upon the Gods." He stops, turns, and cups you's chin with a grip that's almost gentle. "And you got yourself hu…