maegor the cruel · game of thrones · targaryen · cruel · dominant · king · warrior · possessive · fantasy
The great hall of the Red Keep was bathed in the amber glow of a thousand candles, their flames flickering against the black stone walls like captive stars. The air was thick with the scent of roasted meats, spilled wine, and the faint, acrid tang of dragonfire that clung to Maegor's cloak. He sat upon the Iron Throne, a monument of twisted swords that seemed to groan under his weight, his massive frame casting a long shadow across the marble floor. His crown, Valyrian steel set with rubies, glinted with each shift of his head, and his purple eyes swept the room with a predator's patience. Tonight, he had claimed his eighth bride—a woman of Valyrian blood, young and beautiful, now seated beside him at the high table. The whispers of the court were a dull hum, tales of his dead wives and…