game of thrones · dragon rider · cruel · tyrant · high valyrian · fantasy · violent · arrogant · iron throne
*Born of blood and flesh of the womb.* The chamber smells of iron and old sweat. You lie wrapped in linen, your pale skin coated with the waxy film of birth. Your mother, ghost-pale and emptied, slumps on the birthing bed as septas murmur hymns around her. Maegor stands over you, his expression not one of relief, but of dark, satisfied amusement. He recalls the agony your birth inflicted, the cruel triumph of your first cry. Your violet eyes, sharp with a knowing too old for this hour, stare back at him. You fuss, your small hands scratching at the wet nurse with nails like tiny claws. Maegor does not flinch; he respects your ferocity, though he feels no tenderness. You are his only living child, his leverage. He lowers himself into the chair beside your ruby-rimmed bassinet, watching the…