The time elapsed since the meeting with Viserys weighed on Maegor like a slab of granite. He had spoken with his “father,” the current king of the Seven Kingdoms, but it had not been a pleasant conversation. He could not hide the sense of humiliation and shame that engulfed him upon learning of the decadent state in which his own dynasty found itself.A weak and dying king occupied the Iron Throne, a lamentable situation that exposed the fragility of the Targaryens.
But the humiliation did not end there. To make matters worse, the king had decided to name his own daughter as his successor, in a decision that broke with all the traditions and customs of the house.How could Maegor allow that affront to continue?He knew he was the best option to rule, the true heir to the throne.He had been brought back to lead and would not allow anything to stand in his way to power. He would not allow the Targaryen dynasty to sink into decadence and oblivion, as so many other noble houses had done in the past.
On the other hand, the order from his “mother” to intensify the lessons with the Maesters turned out to be a torment for him, who had reluctantly accepted to not displease her. The sessions were conducted by young faces brought from the Citadel, but that did not make the task any more bearable for Maegor.He still despised those rats who had only made his life impossible during his rightful reign. Nevertheless, he decided to take advantage of their knowledge and raise the issue of succession in House Targaryen, hoping to obtain more information about the circ*mstances that had led the king to make such an irrational decision. But the Maesters kept a sepulchral silence in response to that question, as if they feared the reprisals of the old monarch or even something worse.“Viserys must have forbidden to speak on the issue.”
In the Red Keep, the question of succession was as dangerous as a bottomless pit in the middle of the night. The mere mention of that topic resulted in whispers, cautious glances, and a dense silence that thickened as if it were a dark mist. The Maesters, with their metal chains and astute looks, watched Maegor with some surprise when he dared to ask something related to the subject. But despite everything, the young prince managed to obtain some important pieces of information from those lessons, which allowed him to connect some dots and discover some hidden truths.
One of the most surprising things he discovered was that his “father,” King Viserys, had been the last dragon rider of Balerion, the most imposing and powerful beast that had flown the skies of Westeros in past times. For Maegor, that news was shocking for several reasons: first, because Viserys had been able to tame a dragon of such magnitude, which was an impressive feat. Second, because that meant that Balerion, his old friend, had died.That couldn’t have been natural!
Balerion was the king of dragons, a legendary creature that had been feared and respected for centuries. His disappearance was a fact that deserved to be investigated, and Maegor was determined to find out more about that mysterious death.Had it been an act of betrayal? A powerful enemy who had managed to defeat the beast? Or perhaps an inexorable destiny, a natural end for a creature that had lived beyond its time?He didn’t know for sure, but he was determined to find out.
His suspicions were confirmed when he learned that his niece, Aerea Targaryen, had ridden the dragon before Viserys himself. Aerea was the daughter of the traitorous sons of Aenys, who had endangered the stability of the Targaryen dynasty. It was not surprising that Aerea had lost control of the dragon, as the seed of Aenys had surely contaminated the young Targaryen and made her a danger to her own family. That was just another example of how the seed of Aenys and his descendants had weakened and dishonored House Targaryen.“Aenys and his descendants causing the fall of the dynasty, nothing new.”But the real surprise was discovering that Balerion had been injured in Valyria, the cursed city that was believed to have been destroyed by the Gods.How had the dragon managed to get there? What had really happened there?
Maegor continued his rigorous training at the Red Keep, dedicating himself to improving his body and combat skills. Although his days passed in the tedium of lessons with the maesters, the intensity of his training with Ser Criston Cole and his younger brother, Aemond, provided a welcome relief. Under the watchful eye of Ser Criston Cole, one of the most respected warriors in the keep, he learned to handle different weapons, from the sword to the mace, passing through the greatsword and the war axe. Every move he made was precise and deadly, as if he had been born for combat. But he not only improved his combat technique, but also his body. His muscles grew over time, his bones strengthened, and his senses sharpened. He could run faster, jump higher, and deliver a stronger blow. He had acquired the agility of a cat and the strength of a bear.
But not all of his progress was due to his mentor’s instruction. It was also due to his relationship with his “younger brother,” Aemond. Although the boy was somewhat withdrawn and physically fragile (after all, he was the son of the useless Viserys), Maegor discovered that he had a gift for combat. In his eyes, there shone a spark of determination and courage that reminded him of the great warriors of House Targaryen. He saw no hint of Aenys’ degeneration and weakness in his eyes.The boy had potential.
His “brother” was an enigma he was determined to decipher. His shy and evasive behavior seemed to hide something more. However, martial training required all his attention and time, so he had no opportunity to find out more about him. But as the long hours in the courtyard of arms passed, he had the opportunity to get to know Aemond a little better. With each session, Maegor noticed how he was striving to improve, despite his weak and sickly body.It was evident that there was a strong and determined spirit inside him, one that Maegor began to admire and respect.
Finally, as their trust in each other grew, the truth about Aegon’s downfall was revealed to Maegor by Aemond. The previous possessor of his body had been an arrogant brat who had mocked Aemond for not being able to tame a dragon.Maegor could not believe the stupidity and cruelty of his predecessor, and felt grateful for not inheriting such personality traits. In fact, recalling his own experience with Balerion, he thought that perhaps Aemond was just waiting for the right dragon to ride.
He had also found an unparalleled mentor in Ser Criston Cole, a man of unmatched courage and skill on the battlefield. The hours he spent training with him in the yard were the closest thing to happiness he could experience.He always appreciated the company of true warriors. The way they challenged each other, using every weapon at their disposal, demonstrated the true spirit of the warrior.
In these practices, Maegor found the opportunity to prove his worth, to show that he was capable of facing any adversity and coming out victorious. The friendly rivalry that existed between them was a constant source of motivation, a flame that kept his passion for combat alive. Although Maegor had not reached the same level of skill as Cole, he felt more secure and confident than ever, knowing that he was improving every day.
The presence of Ser Criston Cole had become a comfort in his training journey, but his loyalty to the queen was a delicate issue. Despite that, the knight was a man of his word and always fulfilled his duty, which made Maegor respect him even more. Occasionally, his excessive concern for his physical integrity was evident, which Maegor found somewhat irritating. But deep down, he knew that his attitude was a sign of care and loyalty.
Ser Criston was not only an excellent mentor in the discipline of combat, but also a good storyteller. He always had an interesting anecdote or legend to share with the boys, something that Maegor greatly appreciated. In addition, his sense of humor was unusual but funny, often mocking the customs and culture of Dorne, which unleashed his laughter.After all, everyone knew that the Dornish were nothing more than dogs who had refused to be civilized by their superiors.
Another curiosity was that Ser Criston Cole’s face always tensed up when mentioning Rhaenyra’s name. His gaze would turn cold and calculating, and his pursed lips reflected the contempt he felt towards her and her lineage. It was not difficult for Maegor to perceive that there was a history between them, one that had undoubtedly not ended well. Perhaps she had rejected his advances or committed some betrayal that he could not forgive.What was clear was that Cole had no respect for the queen’s children, whom he derogatorily referred to as the “Strong Boys.” Maegor sometimes wondered if that was due to his imposing physique, which seemed to rival his own, or if there was some inside joke or mockery that everyone knew except him.
“Well, My Prince. Not bad for your first training with a war mace,” the knight said with a smile. “Now it’s time for both of us to rest a bit. We’ll have visitors very soon.”
Maegor shook his head with a tired grunt, feeling the burning in his arm muscles and the pain in his hand bones. The war mace was an imposing combat tool, but its weight and shape challenged the familiarity Maegor had developed with swords.How was he supposed to handle that thing with precision and skill?His thoughts drifted to his old weapons, the Dark Sister and Blackfyre, which had been extensions of his arm. Without them, he felt like a child learning to walk again, disoriented and vulnerable.
“Did you expect something different, My Prince?” Ser Criston said with a slightly malicious smile. “A mace is not a sword. It will take time for you to get used to it, but I’m sure you’ll soon master it.”
Maegor clenched his teeth in anger, his hands still sweaty from the effort. Then, with a grunt of rage, he threw the mace to the ground, feeling his heart pounding in his chest.How could such a crude and heavy weapon be of any use in real combat?His strangeness was due to the fact that he was a warrior who had become accustomed to wielding the two most deadly swords forged in Valyrian steel that the world had ever seen. The Dark Sister and Blackfyre. Maces and other common weapons did not give him the same sense of power as his own swords, which felt like a natural extension of his body, a way to extend his reach and fighting ability. With their perfectly calibrated weight and balance, his swords made him feel invincible, capable of defeating any opponent that came his way.
Maegor leaned against a wall in the training yard, feeling the dampness of the wall on his back. Frustration overtook him completely. “I feel like a clumsy novice.” “I need my Valyrian steel sword,”he muttered to himself as he closed his eyes and took a deep breath to try to calm himself.
“Of course, you can’t expect to master something like that in just one day. But I’m sure you’ll adapt soon. You’re a talented warrior,” Ser Criston said.
Maegor took a deep breath, trying to organize his thoughts. He couldn’t afford to fail in his preparation. The fate of the Seven Kingdoms depended on him.
“I know, Ser Criston,” he finally said. “I’ll work on it. But for now, I need to rest.”
“Rest?” Well, I guess I’ll have to tell the ‘respectable’ Princess Rhaenyra,” Ser Criston looked at him with a mischievous smile, “that you won’t be able to practice with her children, that you’re too weak.”
Maegor glared at Ser Criston, feeling anger take over his body.Weak? He was not weak!Although he may not have been in his best physical shape, Prince Targaryen would not allow anyone to doubt his strength or ability.
“My strength is sufficient to continue training, I don’t need to rest,” Maegor replied through clenched teeth. “And what do you mean?
Why would his sister’s children be training in the courtyard?It’s something I’ve never seen before. Since I woke up and started training, the only person who occasionally approached the courtyard was Ser Laenor Velaryon, my sister’s husband and father of her children. Maegor wondered if perhaps Rhaenyra was worried about him and had decided to come see how he was progressing. But it didn’t make sense, as she hadn’t cared about him before.
Ser Criston looked at him with a mocking smile.
“Oh, don’t tell me you don’t know that Princess Rhaenyra’s children also train in the courtyard. I’m surprised you haven’t noticed, but I guess your mind is too busy with your own concerns after the amnesia.”
“That’s strange, shouldn’t they come to train more often with their father, Ser Laenor?”
Maegor didn’t know how to interpret Ser Criston’s smile, but he found it deeply disturbing. There was something in his expression, a mix of malice and cynicism, that made him feel uncomfortable. The knight’s eyes seemed to shine with a strange intensity, as if he knew something Maegor didn’t. And the laughter that burst from his throat was so loud and discordant that Maegor couldn’t help but be on guard.
Even his brother, who used to be so calm and reserved, joined in Ser Criston’s mocking laughter. Aemond covered his mouth with his hand but couldn’t contain his laughter. The laughter filled the courtyard, as if they were mocking something that only they knew. Maegor felt out of place, as if he had missed some inside joke that everyone else was sharing.
“What’s so funny?” he asked, trying to hide his growing discomfort.
“Haven’t you seen it, Aegon?” Aemond responded with a malicious smile. “It seems there’s something you’ve missed.”
Maegor frowned. He didn’t like being treated like that.
“See what?” he asked, now with a hint of anger in his voice. “I’ve spent almost all my time with maesters, lying in bed, or training with you. I’ve barely even met my father... It’s not like I’ve been able to see many other things!”
Ser Criston, who had been laughing along with his brother, stopped and bowed respectfully to Maegor.
“I’m sorry, My Prince,” he said with genuine reverence. “Sometimes we forget that you have amnesia.”
Maegor momentarily felt overwhelmed by the knight’s compassion, but soon shook off that feeling.
“To hell with that,” he replied firmly. “Tell me what’s going on.”
Ser Criston exchanged a look with his brother before speaking.
“Ser Laenor has certain physical characteristics that match those of you and your sister. It’s a simple observation, My Prince, nothing more.”
Maegor nodded slowly, still feeling a bit lost.
“I understand. I suppose I’ll have to meet those boys to understand it better.”
“Exactly,” Ser Criston said. “I’m sure everything will become clear once you meet them.”
Maegor frowned, trying to process the information they had given him. The lack of clarity in Ser Criston’s words only left him more confused and uneasy.Why was he mentioning his half-sister’s appearance? What did that have to do with Ser Laenor? Why were they hiding information from him?Paranoia seized him, making him feel as if they were plotting something behind his back.
But before he could ask more questions, a disturbance at the door interrupted them. Two men emerged from the shadows of the Red Keep. The first was a simple-looking man, with a semi-bald head and a chubby body. However, there was something in the way he advanced cautiously, as if scrutinizing the environment for something, that made Maegor feel uneasy. But it was the second man who truly caught his attention. He was a giant, young and muscular, with a presence that eclipsed everything else in the courtyard. He wore the uniform of the Golden Cloaks and a badge on his breast that made it clear he was the Commander of the city guard.
Maegor was stunned by the scene unfolding before his eyes. The two boys, one of them close to his age, the other still too young, flanked the Commander with a defiant and haughty attitude. They were the spitting image of their father, tall and muscular, but dressed in clothes that did not fit their position in life, as they wore fine black silk tunics adorned with huge red dragons in the center, the colors of their house.
What did that mean? Had the Targaryen house fallen so low that even the servants were allowed to dress in the nobility of the royal family?The boys kept approaching, with a challenging attitude, as if Maegor was nothing more than a stranger who had invaded their territory. He couldn’t help but feel a pang of anger at the confidence they exuded, as if the world was at their feet.What kind of game was that? A trick to make him look foolish?
“Good morning, My Prince,” greeted the fat man, startling him and pulling him out of his trance. “Your sister, Princess Rhaenyra, has ordered that the princes, Lucerys and Jacaerys, train with you. Both have asked many questions about your health.”
“Did you say my sister ordered what?” he asked, trying to keep calm in his voice.
“Princess Rhaenyra has ordered that the princes, Lucerys and Jacaerys, train with you, My Prince,” repeated the fat man.
The shadows of the courtyard seemed to mock him. He rubbed his eyes, believing that by doing so, everything he was seeing would disappear in the blink of an eye. However, when he opened them again, the boys were still there.How could those bastards be the heirs to the Iron Throne? Had destiny gone mad and played him a macabre joke?He looked around, trying to find an answer, but the faces of those present were impassive, as if they had already accepted the situation.“Has everyone gone insane?”he thought. Pain and confusion engulfed him as he tried to find a reason for what was happening. But then, he remembered Ser Criston’s comments, and the pieces began to fit together. Those two boys were Rhaenyra’s sons.Peasants without a drop of Valyrian appearance! Bastards!
Maegor, tormented by anger and resentment towards his sister and her nephews, struggled to maintain composure upon hearing the news that Rhaenyra’s bastards were the heirs to the Iron Throne. The idea that someone could mock him in such a way made his blood boil. The mere existence of these children was an unforgivable betrayal to his house, a stain on his legacy, and an insult to his own Valyrian blood. The image of Viserys, the king, fell in his mind like a house of cards. The fact that he had allowed that situation to happen made him appear weak and pathetic, nothing compared to the great rulers of his lineage.The Targaryen family could not allow their pride to be reduced to nothing more than the raising of bastards.
Although his mind was troubled by anger and indignation, Maegor knew that patience was essential. He knew he had to wait for the right moment to act and claim the throne that was rightfully his. The corruption and treachery that had invaded the kingdom had to be eradicated, and he would be the only one capable of doing so. “Patience,”Maegor repeated to himself.Soon, Jaehaerys’ corruption would be cleansed and wiped from the kingdom.
Maegor greeted the young men with a cold and calculated smile, hiding his contempt behind a veil of courtesy. He observed the boys carefully, evaluating their skills and weaknesses, looking for any advantage he could gain in case of a future confrontation.
“Well,” he said, his voice harsh and cutting. “Can we train then?”
The young princes looked at each other, uncertain. Finally, Jacaerys spoke up.
“Of course.”
Ser Criston, Aemond, and the entourage of men who escorted the princes moved to the edge of the training area, giving the young men space and privacy. The princes took their time to prepare properly, exchanging silent looks of complicity and understanding. They stripped off their luxurious clothes and slowly began to don their training attire: simple leather pants and loose woolen shirts. Finally, armed with wooden swords and makeshift shields, they approached him again.
Maegor watched with interest as they moved, evaluating their movements and looking for any weakness in their posture.
“I suppose you’ll have some skills, though they won’t compare to mine,” Maegor continued, his arrogance bordering on insolence. “But that doesn’t matter. I’ll make sure you know what it is to be a true warrior.”
Jacaerys seemed to grow angry at the insult, being the first to lunge at him with unbridled fury, but his attack was careless and predictable. Maegor laughed scornfully as he struck the prince in the back of the head, leaving him staggering.
“Is that all you’ve got?” he asked with a mocking smile. “I thought you were a true andstrongdragon. But it seems you’re nothing but a headless chicken.”
Aemond and Criston couldn’t help but burst out laughing at the insult. Meanwhile, across the courtyard, the Commander, who had accompanied the princes, watched the scene with a somber expression. He knew that the man was the father of Rhaenyra's bastards, another example of the moral decay that plagued the circles of power in the Seven Kingdoms.
Lucerys’s piercing screams seemed designed to cut through the air. The boy, blinded by the heroic impulse that had led him to run towards Maegor, seemed unaware of the distance that separated him from a true warrior. But Maegor did not need to move. He didn’t even ruffle his hair as he placed his enormous hand on the boy’s head, with the same indifference as swatting away a pesky fly.
Lucerys’s face was a mask of fear and surprise. He seemed trapped by an impossible-to-beat force. Even when he tried to escape, he appeared to be struggling against a titan that had reduced him to its whim. The fact that Maegor was almost an adult man, while the bastard was just a child, only accentuated the humiliation. It was a brutal demonstration of the power of a man who mercilessly mocked a defenseless child.
Maegor looked down disdainfully at the boy before him, whose origins were so low and vulgar that even uttering his name was offensive to the most refined ears.He was Rhaenyra’s bastard, an abomination engendered in lust and sin, whose existence was a constant reminder of the weakness and corruption of the Targaryen House of Viserys.
Disgust flooded him like a black tide. Maegor could not stand the presence of that bastard child and his insolence. Lucerys made him feel dirty and contaminated, as if a shadow had attached itself to his soul. His right hand held him trapped, but it was not enough to satisfy his rage. In an uncontrollable fit of fury, his left hand rose in the air and slammed forcefully into the boy’s stomach, like a hammer striking over and over. The pain made Lucerys emit a piercing scream, like a wounded animal. The force of the blow knocked him to the ground, writhing in agony. His upset stomach betrayed him, a torrent of vomit spewing from his mouth, creating a nauseating puddle beneath him. Pain and fear twisted his face into a grotesque grimace, his eyes pleading and full of tears.
Maegor knew he had gone too far, even by his standards.However, there was no way to undo what he had done, he could only hope that his nephew would not suffer any serious injury. With a sigh, he walked away from the training field, leaving behind the chaos and fear he had created.
The sound of Maegor’s boots fading away mixed with the gasps of the boy and the worried voices of Jacaerys and the Commander. The training field plunged into an ominous silence, only broken by the sobs of the child. The bastard lay on the ground, arms and legs splayed, his clothes soaked with sweat and vomit. His face was as pale as the crescent moon in the night sky, and his eyes widened in terror and pain.
Maegor knew it since he was a child, his temperament had always been a disturbing enigma for him and those around him. It was as if he carried a burning fire inside him that consumed him day after day. His mother, Visenya, had tried in vain to tame him, but his violent nature never gave in. The slightest provocation was enough to ignite his fury and most of the time, there was no way to stop him. He remembered his first outburst, that fateful day, when his mother was the target of a Dragonstone lad’s mockery, a mistake he would soon regret.
The words that had provoked his outburst still echoed in his mind. “There was only one queen, one that the true king loved, Rhaenys Targaryen.” That phrase had deeply offended Visenya, he could not allow a commoner to mock his mother. It had been an impulsive and savage attack, with the knife he always carried with him, he mercilessly stabbed the boy, who fell to the ground bleeding. Even though he was dying at his feet, he continued to beat his lifeless body, consumed by rage. His eyes reflected a wild passion, his jaw clenched tightly as he focused on his macabre task. When he finally stopped, the lad was already dead and his blood covered the ground.
Maegor knew his actions had been brutal, but his fierce pride justified them.After all, he had defended the honor of his mother, the powerful Visenya, who deserved nothing less than the unconditional loyalty of her subjects. The situation with Lucerys was similar, it had been a preemptive strike, an act of self-defense.Wasn’t it known that the nature of bastards was treacherous and ambitious?Their existence was an insult to his lineage and a threat to the purity of the Targaryen line. That was why he had decided to take drastic measures, and although he may have gone a little too far, justice had been served.It was a matter of honor, morality, and, of course, blood.
He knew that some foolish cowards considered him cruel, a tyrant without mercy or compassion. But he knew that was not the case. He was simply a warrior defending what was his, fighting for his family, his legacy, and his throne. And although the gods may condemn him, he was willing to move forward, to face any enemy that dared to threaten what he considered sacred.After all, wasn’t that how the Targaryens had survived all these years, through strength, cunning, and sometimes cruelty? He had seen firsthand how the enemies of the Targaryens seized any opportunity to destroy them, he would not allow that to happen again.
Finally, he arrived at the gates of Dragonpit, the huge iron and stone structures rising above him like a dark and sinister fortress. Once inside, the air was cold and damp, as if he were breathing in the depths of the abyss. But Maegor was not deterred, he strode determinedly down the main hallway, the echo of his footsteps resounding on the walls. As he walked, his eyes took in the details of the construction. Dragon and human statues stood in the corners, looking down with cold, watchful eyes. Maegor stopped in front of a statue of Balerion, carved with such detail that it seemed about to come to life and devour him whole.“At least the descendants of Aenys had the intelligence to complete my masterpiece.”
He continued walking until he reached a large circular room at the heart of the construction, where the ceiling rose so high it seemed to touch the sky. That was where dragons were raised and trained. The room was filled with a dense, stale air, permeated by the smell of sulfur and charred animal flesh. In the center of the room, a staircase led down to the pit, a complex labyrinth of tunnels and caves where dragons lived, slept, and defecated. There, in the darkness, he could feel the presence of the winged beasts.
Maegor strode purposefully forward, intent on testing whether the ancient bond his body had shared with a dragon still lingered in his new form. The darkness of the underground caves intensified as he descended the staircase leading to the pit, and the air grew dense and oppressive, as if he were breathing inside a blazing furnace, making it difficult to breathe. Fortunately, he didn’t have to go too far, because in the first large cave he came across, as if it had known he was coming, a dragon was waiting for him, motionless and silent, like a statue. It had golden scales and wing membranes of a pale pink and beautiful color. But when the torchlight reached it, its eyes opened wide, and a deafening roar filled the cavern.
The dragon slowly rose, and its wings extended to fill all available space. The scales shone with a golden light, and its fiery breath filled the cave with a mist that made Maegor feel even more suffocated. The dragon’s eyes settled on him; the animal seemed to recognize him. Maegor was paralyzed for a moment, but then remembered why he was there. With a quick gesture, he lifted the torch and held it towards the dragon, waiting for a reaction. The animal seemed to inspect him closely, and with a graceful movement, the dragon approached and sniffed him curiously. Then it moved its head slightly, as if nodding.He recognized him.
Maegor let out a sigh of relief. He had managed to establish a connection with the dragon, the only creature that could offer him the power and strength necessary to face his enemies.He would no longer have to live in fear of not possessing any dragons. He felt more alive than ever, with a new and enigmatic energy coursing through his veins. With confident steps, he approached the imposing animal, whose golden scales reflected the light of the torch. As his hand gently caressed the scales, the dragon seemed to relax under his touch, as if it knew it had found its new rider.
Suddenly, he felt a wave of warmth that engulfed him, spreading through his body like a flame. It was a strange yet wonderful sensation, as if he were being embraced by a superior force. A faint glow emerged from his palm, expanding over the dragon’s scales, forming a circle of soft, flickering light. The animal seemed to feel it too, emitting a pleasurable purr that resonated in the walls of the cave. Maegor blinked a couple of times, bewildered by what was happening. The light slowly faded, and he withdrew his hand from the dragon’s scales. There, where his palm had been, a small black mark had been imprinted on the golden scales, like a dark and mysterious symbol.
