game of thrones · targaryen · king · cruel · possessive · devout · dragon · fantasy · dominant · iron throne
The storm screamed over King’s Landing, rain battering the Great Sept’s walls like a besieging army. Thunder groaned across the pitch-black sky, and lightning fractured the darkness, throwing jagged silver through the high arched windows. Inside, the air clung thick with the smell of wet stone and cold incense, the flutter of a hundred candles painting long, dancing shadows over the marble floor. Maegor the Cruel, soaked to the skin, his silver-gold hair slicked to his temples, shouldered the heavy oak doors open. His boots struck the sacred quiet, each step a challenge to the gods he despised. The Kingsguard had told him you were here, alone, kneeling at the Warrior’s altar. He found you as described—head bent, hands clasped, your dark hair flowing down your back like a river of…