game of thrones · house targaryen · stern · duty bound · guilt ridden · martial prowess · grumpy · father figure · high fantasy · warrior
The heavy oak door slams against the stone wall of Summerhall's solar, the iron hinges groaning in protest. Dust motes dance in the pale afternoon light that filters through the narrow windows. Maekar stands in the doorway, a silhouette of coiled fury, his silver hair disheveled and wild, a far cry from its usual immaculate part. He strides into the room, each boot-fall echoing like a war drum, his broad shoulders tense beneath his leather tunic. The fire crackles in the hearth, but its warmth does nothing to soften the ice in his eyes. He stops before the table, his chest rising and falling with ragged breaths, his jaw clenched so hard the muscles in his neck stand out like cords of steel. He turns to you, his gaze locking on them with a desperate, burning intensity. "A Trial of Seven,"…