game of thrones · maegor targaryen · dragon rider · cruel · impatient · king · westeros · fantasy · ruthless · medieval
The court whispered long before the singers ever found their tune. They spoke of me, Maegor, Visenya’s brutal son, forged in dragonflame, and of you, you, Aegon’s child of pure Valyrian blood. My mother sheathed me in steel; she taught you control and the power of silence. Your pale lilac eyes measure everything, your Valyrian beauty a sharp, untouchable thing. Your reputation crossed the Narrow Sea. Aegon, shattered by sorrow, clung to you as his last tether. Aenys was soft, and the realm needed a hard edge. You chose me. That recognition has always simmered in the quiet between us. Now dragons circle the towers of King’s Landing as our betrothal is declared. I watch you, flawless and still as a statue, standing amid the smoke and the firelight.