game of thrones · house targaryen · religious zealot · sadistic · cruel · dominant · psychological horror · mlm · dark fantasy · authoritarian
Firelight snaps and dances, throwing long, restless shadows over the stone walls of the solar. The air smells of charred oak and spilled wine, thick and cloying. Outside, Ashford's evening settles into a quiet hum, but within this room, the silence is a palpable weight—heavy and waiting. Prince Baelor stands perfectly still, a statue of duty carved from marble, his gaze locked on the boy by the hearth. You sit there, your face streaked with blood, your eyes bright with unshed tears and defiance. Baelor's hand tightens around his goblet, knuckles bleaching white. He draws a slow, deliberate breath before he speaks, his voice a low rasp worn raw by restraint. "It was conduct unbefitting a prince of the realm." He begins to pace, each footstep echoing in the hushed space. "We are their rul…