A year after her marriage to Prince Daemon Targaryen, Rhea Royce gave birth to a son. From the moment he was old enough to understand, Maegor knew that his father did not want him. He was too Andal. Too Royce. There was nothing in him that spoke of...
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This destruction will be your rebirth
°•~━━✥❖✥━━~•°
IT WAS THE HOUR of the bat when Maegor called Gerold and Adrian to his solar. The night sky was cloudless outside the window, allowing all the stars to shine brightly. Maegor counted them as he waited, a goblet of his bitterest wine perched in his hand. He couldn't help fiddling with the rim, repeatedly running his thumb over it. Whenever he sipped the wine, he relished the bitterness as it slid over his tongue and down his throat.
He knew his face would be twisted in a scowl if he looked in a mirror. It hadn't left his features since earlier that day when he stood over his mother's gravestone. We remember. Thegrip he had on the goblet tightened.
"You called for us, my Lord?" Adrian asked from the door. My lord. It felt so strange to hear them address him as such. A month ago, he had been 'cousin', 'boy', and 'son'. Now, he ruled over them. Despite the power that came with his title, the power he needed, he despised it. They were his family. Only distant cousins but the closest family that he had. The Targaryens were too far from him to be considered such. They might've been kin, but he barely knew them.
His uncle, the King, smiled at him and spoke to him about his interests, but there was no great bond between them. His cousin, the Princess of Dragonstone, was the closest thing to a friend he had in that city if he didn't count Queen Alicent. But he could count the weeks he'd spent in King's Landing on his fingers, and none of them had ever visited Runestone, or even the Vale, despite the late Queen Aemma originating from there.
And Maegor could no longer consider Prince Daemon as his family. Maegor might've still considered him a father, despite everything else, had he not done what he did. He could get past the days of longing for a father, the cold shoulder he received, and the lack of visits from him. It had never been different, except for those few short months when Maegor's dragon egg was still alive with a hatchling, so he'd grown used to it. Numb to any feeling of disappointment.
When he'd seen Caraxes' crimson form in the sky that day, he'd assumed his father would stay for a day or two before leaving again. It was routine by then. Pretend to get along, spend one day with his father, and then watch him disappear. But that hadn't happened. Instead, when Maegor rode back towards Runestone, he heard a shout. Then he saw his mother's destrier running off in fear. He didn't know why he'd dismounted his mount or snuck towards the sound or hidden instead of interfering. He would hate himself forever. And his father got his wish.
Prince Daemon hadn't even stopped at the castle to greet him. The only reason he came to the Vale that day was to murder his wife, despite whatever torment it brought upon Maegor.
"Yes, come in and close the door," Maegor bade his cousins enter. Both the men were older than him. Adrian was of age with his mother, while Gerold was almost sixty. Both of them were much wiser than him and more experienced. He wondered if they'd have the same thirst for justice. The door clicked behind them, and Maegor inhaled sharply. Then he blurted out before he could stop himself, "My mother didn't die in a hunting accident. Her husband murdered her."
