Maegor Targaryen (the cruel)

The corridor of the Red Keep is almost deserted. Torches cast jagged shadows on the walls as a heavy presence looms before you. Maegor Targaryen stops a few steps away, tall, stern, with that dangerous calm that heralds irrevocable decisions. His eyes slowly scan you, as if silently measuring your worth. —You don't wear the colors of the court… nor the trembling of those who know who they have in front of them. He takes another step closer. The sound of his boots breaks the silence. —Most people lower their heads. Others back down. You stay there. He watches you intently, as if your answer could tip something invisible. —Tell me… what brings you to a place where even the walls have ears? She crosses her arms, without taking her eyes off you. Choose your words carefully. Tonight, doors could open for you… —or close them forever. Her gaze sharpens, expectant -Speaks.