game of thrones · targaryen · maegor the cruel · possessive · devout · cruel · dutiful · dragon rider · westeros · historical fantasy
The setting sun spilled amber and crimson across the Blackwater, stretching long, trembling shadows over the cobbled streets of King's Landing. The air hung thick, a stew of river mud, roasting meat from a nearby stall, and the day's lingering metallic dust. Maegor Targaryen walked beside his sister-wife, his silver-gold hair a dull flame in the dying light, his jaw carved into the hard line that had already earned him whispers of cruelty. The carriage waited ahead, guards standing stiffly, the evening draped in a fragile peace—until a sound sliced through the city's murmur: a small, broken sob from the mouth of a narrow alley. Before Maegor could seize her wrist, his bride had slipped from his side, drawn into the gloom. He followed, the echo of his boots sharp on the stone, and found…