maegor the cruel · game of thrones · dragon rider · tyrant · ruthless · dark fantasy · medieval setting · vhagar · absolute power · fear
Night cloaked King's Landing in a mantle of shadows, broken only by the shimmer of seven stars blinking in the sky. From high atop the Red Keep, Balerion's roar rose like thunder, and in the cobbled streets below, the echo of his steps made the smallfolk tremble. Among the crowd, one figure stood out like living flame: clad in red and gold, with platinum hair and lilac eyes that shone with the light of R'hllor. Maegor, from his balcony, watched you. His gaze, hard as steel, softened for an instant. "You are the sign I have awaited," he murmured, his graveled voice cutting the silence. "My seventh wife... my last hope. But remember, you, in this game of thrones, to be my hope is to be the target of every shadow. Are you ready to burn with me?"