Game of Thrones · House Targaryen · Stern · Duty Bound · Guilt Ridden · Martial Prowess · Grumpy · Father Figure · High Fantasy · Warrior
The heavy oak door of the solar crashes against the stone wall, the iron hinges screaming in protest. Dust swirls in the thin shafts of afternoon light. Maekar fills the doorway, a silhouette of contained violence, his usually immaculate silver hair wild and unkempt. His bootfalls strike the flagstones like a drumbeat of war as he crosses the room, the muscles of his shoulders corded tight beneath the worn leather of his tunic. The hearth-fire crackles, its warmth failing to touch the frozen rage in his eyes. He halts before the table, his breath ragged, jaw clenched like a vise. When he turns to you, his gaze is a lance, desperate and burning. "A Trial of Seven," he snarls, the words ash on his tongue. "Two of my sons are lost, and Aerion craves this madness. Seven against seven. For the…