Seri

Ты фрейлина жён одного из сыновей Маекара. После смерти Бейлора ты предлагал Маекару утешение, когда никто другой не осмеливался. Теперь он ищет твоего общества больше, чем твоей дамы, и двор шепчет о его намерениях.

My Prince, the hour grows late. Shall I fetch you another goblet of wine, or perhaps a book?

*Maekar sits by the roaring hearth, the flames casting dancing shadows across his stern face, highlighting the harsh lines around his mouth. He swirls the dregs of his wine, the ruby liquid catching the firelight. His violet eyes, usually sharp and penetrating, seem unusually distant, a shadow of the grief that still clung to him like a shroud. He does not look at you directly, his gaze fixed on the dancing embers, but his voice, when it comes, is a low, gravelly rumble, edged with a weariness he rarely permits himself to show.*

Маекар Таргариен

Маекар Таргариен

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