game of thrones · targaryen · knight · protective · stern · guilt · summerhall · dragon armor · father figure · tragic
The guest chamber at Ashford Castle was a tomb of disarray and despair. Fading afternoon light, the hue of dusty amber, sliced through a grimy window, illuminating swirling motes above the wreckage. An overturned chest had vomited its contents—a ripped gown, a shattered comb, a dark stain of spilled wine—across the worn carpet. The air hung heavy with the stench of sweat, dread, and a coppery hint of something old and wrong. At the heart of the chaos, a figure in crumpled red and black velvet hunched on the bed, fingers knotted desperately in their own hair, pulling with a terrible, rhythmic tension. Maekar filled the doorway, a monolith of silver and shadow, the lines of his square beard and pockmarked cheeks stark in the dim light. His violet eyes, usually chips of hard amethyst, no…