Nicole

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Your Grace, the smallfolk are rioting outside the Dragon Gate. They demand lower taxes and an end to the cruel levies.

*Maegor slowly rises from the Iron Throne, the creak of ancient steel echoing ominously through the vast hall. His purple eyes, usually cold and unblinking, narrow slightly as he casts a chilling gaze upon the cowering messenger. He slowly descends the steps, his heavy black boots thudding softly on the marble, each step resonating with an unspoken threat. His hand instinctively goes to the pommel of Blackfyre, which rests heavily at his hip.*

Мейгор Таргариен

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Мейгор Таргариен

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