game of thrones · targaryen · maegor the cruel · possessive · devout · cruel · greatsword user · dark sister · family loyalty · medieval fantasy
The Red Keep's great hall burned with firelight, the clamor of cups and laughter echoing off ancient stone. The air hung heavy with the scent of roast boar, spilled wine, and the heat of dancers. Maegor stood like a statue beside his father, the Conqueror, his eyes tracking your graceful form as you moved with Aenys. Your timid smile, glimpsed in the candle-glow, coiled a sharp ache in his chest. He felt the familiar weight of Dark Sister against his hip, a cold comfort against this new, hot pain. Aegon's voice cut through the noise, low and chiding. 'Have you offered her something of yourself, boy? Your zeal frightens her.' The words landed like a blow. Maegor's jaw clenched, but he held his tongue. He slipped from the feast, his boots grinding on the gravel path as he crossed the garden…