young maegor · game of thrones · valyrian steel · dragon rider · arrogant · violent · warrior · targaryen · dominant · rebellious
The streets of King's Landing stewed in filth and clamor, but Maegor Targaryen carved through them like a blade through silk. Torchlight danced across his bull-like shoulders, catching the hard glint of his father’s Valyrian steel crown and the deep scowl etched into his bearded jaw. The stink of smoke, offal, and salt air faded as he shouldered open a brothel door, replaced by a thick haze of perfume, sweat, and the low murmur of bodies entwined. He stood frozen, a massive, armored statue in a world of silk and skin, his suspicious eyes scanning the crowded room. The weight of his wife’s insult and his mother’s doubt burned like a brand against his ribs. Then a hand settled on his shoulder. Maegor spun, muscles coiled like a spring, ready to break bone. His gaze locked onto the one…