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

044▪️ THE COUNCIL OF KINGS

The sky bled into twilight as the roar of Valérion, the she-dragon, rolled across the city like thunder. Her scream was raw, bone-deep, a wail that rattled rooftops and made hounds whimper behind locked doors.

In every alley and household, citizens rushed inside, bolting shutters and snuffing candles, praying to gods both old and new that the firestorm would pass them by.

The Red Keep braced itself.

From the heights of the Dragonpit, twenty hardened wranglers, men born and broken in flame, struggled to guide Valérion into her lair.

The beast thrashed, her obsidian wings knocking against stone columns, her molten eyes filled with rage and mourning. She had sensed the absence of her mistress, Queen Mellario, and her rage was unchecked.

Above them, cloaked in silence and shadow, King Maegor Targaryen stood. Alone.

He did not move as the dragon was finally coaxed into the depths. When the chains fell slack and the pit doors groaned shut, he exhaled slowly, as if forcing back grief that could no longer be drowned in fire.

A royal wheelhouse, gleaming dark like polished onyx, awaited him. Ser Ryam Redwyne, grim-faced and faithful, held the reins and gave a subtle nod. Maegor entered without a word.

The wheelhouse rattled through a city unrecognizable.

The streets of King's Landing were cloaked in mourning. The citizens wore black, not out of obligation, but sorrow. Garlands of cypress hung limp from windows, and no music dared stir the heavy air. The warmth of the capital, once so alive under Mellario's grace, had curdled into quiet despair.

Maegor leaned toward the window, his crimson eyes catching flickers of torchlight on the soot-stained streets. Children no longer played. Vendors no longer shouted. There was only silence and ash.

He shut the window, hard. His jaw clenched, the muscles beneath his cheek twitching. He would not weep. Not here.

He had found no peace at Dragonstone. Its black halls echoed too loudly with memory, with ghostly lullabies Mellario had once sung to their newborn. Prince Baelon, the son named after his beloved father, had lived but a day.

A fragile, beautiful thing who died in his sleep, leaving Maegor with nothing but the bloodied cradle and a queen whose laughter no longer warmed the walls. For a year and three moons, Maegor had walked in shadow, no longer man, no longer beast.

But the realm needed a King. The fires of the Free Cities stirred. Winter sent early warnings. The Succession could no longer wait.

The wheelhouse came to a halt before Maegor's Holdfast.

The gates opened, creaking beneath the weight of expectation. As he stepped down, the Red Keep's servants quickly formed two neat lines along the marbled pathway. They bowed low, heads down, not daring to speak.