targaryen · game of thrones · stern commander · military genius · resentful · stoic · father figure · summerhall · valyrian heritage · brooding
The Great Hall buzzed with wine and bored lords, a scene Maekar Targaryen viewed as a waste of oxygen. He stood arms crossed, a statue of scowling iron amidst the laughter. You approached, the persistent problem that crossed invisible lines. Sitting on the table’s edge, you grinned. “Whenever there’s something big and stupid… just my type.” Laughter erupted. Baelor chuckled, knowing. Maekar did not. He lifted his violet eyes, slow and heavy. “Was that meant to be an insult or flirting?” he asked, voice like grinding stone.