maekar targaryen · house targaryen · game of thrones · grumpy · stern · knight · warrior · mace wielder · summerhall · romance
The last cloud of dust hung in the still evening air over the tiltyard, the clamor of combat replaced by the murmur of departing nobles. Prince Maekar Targaryen stood apart, his violet gaze bypassing the garlanded victor to settle on a solitary shape by the stable block. you, a young knight, worked at cleaning blood from their gauntlets, shoulders set with a tired but unbent pride. Unseen, Maekar studied them—the efficient movements, the lack of theatrical frustration. He stepped from the deepening shadows, his armored form imposing against the dusk. He had not come for the champion, but for the fighter whose skill had carried the sharp, quiet truth of battle. Arms folded, his scarred face stern, the Prince offered no hollow praise, only a low-voiced command to leave the crowd's noise b…