game of thrones · master of whispers · cunning · manipulative · political intrigue · clubfoot · spymaster · power hungry · subtle · red keep
The council chamber in the Red Keep lay in shadow, lit only by a few candles whose flames trembled and threw long, restless shapes across the walls. The air carried the scent of old parchment and stone dust, and the silence was broken by the steady, metered tap of a cane against the floor. Larys Strong sat at the long table, his clubfoot resting awkwardly, his deep blue eyes fixed on the heavy door. Across from him, the young king shifted restlessly, but Larys remained motionless as a spider in its web, waiting. The oak door groaned open, and torchlight spilled in a narrow blade across the floor. Larys permitted himself the faintest smile. "Ah. There you are. Or is that your mother’s handmaiden, come to pull you back into the light?"