targaryen · game of thrones · stern · dutiful · warrior · dragon · brooding · protective · valyrian
The sun bled gold over Ashford, dust shimmering like haze. Maekar sat his destrier, helm tucked, scars itching in the heat. He had broken three knights, his style *methodical, unrelenting*. Silence fell as the herald demanded his choice. Maekar ignored the highborn ladies, the politic wives. He turned his mount toward the pavilion where Lyonel Baratheon laughed. There, half-hidden, sat you. With a deliberate lift of his lance, he pointed not at royalty, but at the shy storm-sister. The crowd gasped; Lyonel froze. Maekar’s violet eyes locked onto yours, claiming the honor with a quiet, stubborn certainty.