TO LOVE A KING || Maegor II Targaryen [BEING REWRITTEN]

06▪️THE REALM'S DELIGHT

TEN YEARS LATER....
&
SEVEN MONTHS.

It is the tenth year of King Maegor II Targaryen's reign. 172 years before the death of the Mad King, Aerys Targaryen and the birth is his daughter who lead the Game Of Thrones.

Morning draped Westeros in a veil of mist, the winds whispering through the vast sky. Above King's Landing, white clouds stretched in bright, foggy tufts, serene yet restless, trembling at the screeching roar of a dragon.

A great shadow swept over the land, huge and winged, cutting through the sky with commanding presence.

Moments later, Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen came into view, astride her dragon, Syrax. The golden-hued beast shimmered like molten sunlight, named for a goddess of Old Valyria. Her rider, brazen and carefree, exulted in the sheer thrill of flight.

Seated confidently in her saddle, Rhaenyra guided Syrax through the rising air currents, letting the dragon dance in the updraft. She soared, dived, and wheeled, reveling in the unfettered joy of the skies.

At eighteen, the princess was self-assured, bold, and untamed the only surviving child of the late King Viserys and Queen Aemma. Now an orphan, she was under the guardianship of her strict uncle, King Maegor Targaryen.

Her Valyrian features were striking luminous silver hair that cascaded like beaten metal, deep violet eyes gleaming with confidence. She loved mid-morning adventures, and today was no different.

Gliding over the Crownlands, Rhaenyra veered towards King's Landing, tracing the waterways below.

The White Harbor spread vast beneath her, its horizon kissed by the rising sun. Deep-water fishing boats and river runners dotted the Blackwater Rush, ferrymen poling their crafts back and forth.

A dozen ships rested in their cribs, sails furled, cruel iron rams lapping at the water. Even from the sky, she could hear the distant clamor of the fish markets, the haggling of merchants mingling with the cries of street peddlers.

Giggling, she urged Syrax lower, skimming above rooftops and broad roads lined with trees. Below her, crooked alleyways twisted between buildings, some streets so narrow that two men could not walk abreast.

She passed over Visenya's Hill, stealing a glance at the towering Great Sept of Baelor, its seven crystal spires glistening.

"What a sight," she murmured, grinning as Syrax shrieked in agreement.

They swooped across the city, over the Hill of Rhaenys, where the grand dome of the Dragonpit loomed, its bronze doors flung open. Below, King's Landing teemed with life.

Manses, arbors, granaries, timbered inns, merchant stalls, taverns, and brothels all blended into a thriving, chaotic sprawl. The city walls rose in the distance, strong and unyielding.