Ch.5

Maegor

A few strands of light leaked through the damp deck above. The sun had appeared out of the clouds and shined bright as the ship traveled Northeast. With moist, heated air, clumps of men stuck next to one another, and how tight the gambeson clung to his body, the stay below deck was quite unpleasant for Maegor. But he mustn't moan, groan, or grunt in displeasure, for the element of surprise was of utmost importance.

His grand plan was simple, defeat the nine penny kings, kill Maelys the Monstrous, and reclaim Blackfyre. Then my followers will flock to their rightful king… Father guide these men to my cause. Maegor was by no means religious, he could count the number of times he visited The Great Sept of Baelor with his two hands. But now he prayed to Seven Above, May they favor me in the wars to come, May they favor the line of Brightflame…

The wet wood above creaked, footsteps of the pirates that had just boarded the ship. Through the gaps, Maegor could make out some of their shapes. Compared to the fully-clad warriors of Westeros, these men dressed in light tunics. Doublets, and shirts. Sharpened blades will make quick work of their unprotected flesh. He now heard voices speaking, though the words were muffled, one of Ser Doran, the other, a Lyseni accent.

Saan, The last true Valyrian. That much can be heard clearly enough.

Deep breaths.

To be livid before a fight is to be reckless during one, Darklyn had taught him that much at the very least. With each breath, he felt calmer, the beat of his heart slowing into a gentle pace. His mind drifted, away from the hot and humid cabin, to another place, where the chilled winds flowed.

…

The sweet chirpings of courting magpies, the majestic wild horses that wandered the Dornish marches. Summerhall was indeed a beautiful sight before its doom. He had resided there before his squireship in Duskendale.

Life had been simple then. The Young Maester Corbyn regaled him with tales of Conquest and dragons. The ferocious and serpentine Caraxes, the gargantuan and menacing Balerion, the ever mysterious Cannibal with the blackest of reputations.

He would run with the sons of knights and stewards, playing the part of Daeron the good against Daemon the Usurper. Maegor wondered where the boys would be now. Dead, most likely. The green flames that robbed Summerhall of its beauty also robbed the lives of all those who lived within. It robbed the life of false King Aegon as well… For that, he was thankful for it. Maegor knew it was a sign, a sign told in Fire and Blood. If now is not the time then when? He had suffered enough, losing his nameday tourney to Stevron the Weasel, being sat next to Garth the Gross on the wedding of Aerys and Rhaella, or the time when Aegon's sons insulted him to his face…

He was seven or eight. It had been close to the end of a summer, and Aegon's families had come for their vacation. Jaehaerys and his younger brother, Daeron, older boys who freshly became squires, took a leisurely walk outside of the large castle on a quiet trail. A trail that led to a mud pond. A pond where Maegor would spend his afternoons sculpting mud dragons. He recalled that his rendition of Vermithor was particularly impressive.

Jaehaerys was a pale and bookish boy, while his brother was sturdy and hot-headed. Maegor had met them a few times before, but none found a liking for each other. The two boys were locked in conversation, of what kind Maegor couldn't remember, but they appeared engaged and failed to notice him. It was then the naive child decided to play a prank on them.

Maegor grabbed some wet mud and formed them into balls. He appeared out of the yellowed weeds and stood in front of the boys. The bronze fury against his lesser kin!

" Kneel! To the rightful king of the seven kingdoms!" He declared.

The two looked at him, surprised by his presence. Daeron shouted back. " Get out of here! Jaehaerys and I are discussing something important."

Now! He thought. Maegor threw a ball of mud, and it hit squarely on Daeron's ugly mug. His well-groomed silver hair was now splattered with brown.

" You little squirt, come here." He ran toward Maegor with his teeth snarled and muddied.

He was able to score another mud ball on Daeron's chest before the bigger boy tackled him to the ground. Maegor struggled with his restrained arms, but he found himself powerless. He shut his eyes and scrunched up his face, ready for the beating to come. But there was none. Maegor opened his eyes again and saw a hand on Daeron's shoulder.

" C'mon, Daeron, Mother is expecting us for supper. You need to be cleaned up before then.." The high and mighty Jaehaerys said, ever the proper Princeling. Daeron's expression was unchanged, his fist still raised high, his brows twisted in anger, his cheeks puffed red, what wasn't dirtied by the mud anyway.

" He's not worth it, Daeron.." Jaehaerys said again.

Not Worth it…

Daeron had left him then, and the boys returned to the castle.

Those words had stung Maegor more than any punch Daeron could have struck. Not Worth it…

A light clank was heard below his feet. His sword, he had dropped it without realizing. The soldiers next to him looked worried. He gently picked it up.

The hatch swung open, and before Maegor could come up with any warcry, the men behind him pushed forward with fervor, shoving him up the stairs through pure momentum. Once he made it up, the annoyingly bright sunlight pierced into the narrow view of his visor, forcing him to blink.

On the deck, Ser Doran was engaged with two, while Maegor's squire dueled with another. The men at the very front had already cut down the few unsuspecting pirate scum who stood by the hatch, but the ones further away have recuperated and drawn their arms in retaliation.

Maegor rushed at a pirate who was already crossing blades with a Hayford man. He raised his long sword with his right and kicked the pirate's knee hard with his steel boot. The knee buckled and snapped like a twig. A broken white bone protruded from it. The pirate screamed, but the scream stopped when Maegor's sword was shoved through his throat. He gurgled and fell onto the deck, the twitching ceased. He turned to look for his next fight.

Ser Doran had fended off the two, The squire was still struggling against his foe. And there, by the center mast, the false Valyrian stood. He faced a man-at-arm with Rosby colors, wielding a thin silver cutlass with his right, and a short axe with his left.

The soldier swung at the pirate with his falchion. His opponent dodged to the right and caught the blade with the beard of his axe. He then thrusted his cutlass through the opening of the helmet with precision. Red spilled onto the deck.

This is it, this is the time! The beginning of Maegor the Magnificent's conquest! The infamous duel of the Dragon against the serpent. All hail the Saga of the Brightflames!

Maegor charged, the hot dragon's blood rushing to his veins. He swung downward at the pirate with all his might. Before the sword could connect though, Saan jerked to the left and parried his sword away with the cutlass.

In return, he swung the axe in an upward arc, but the reach of the short axe was not far enough. They both stepped back a few paces. Saan took in Maegor's armor-clad form. A smirk donned on his face.

" Was just fishing for some gold, but ended up finding a dragon, eh?" He tapped his cutlass playfully on Maegor's sword, "I've got a question… Which one are ya?"

He lunged a step forward with his right foot, thrusting with the tip of the blade. Maegor parried the strike, but before he could return the favor, the pirate pulled back.

He's fast. Maegor slashed with his sword, he kept his left gauntlet free and open, wary of the pirate's axe. Low cunning is all this creature has. Saan slid past the swings like a snake, again and again. Each time, he would fling the incoming strike away from him, forcing Maegor to spend more effort behind each strike.

" Not many of ya left now… Maybe I can take one more off the list!" Salazaar San laughed an ugly laugh. He was going to cut that smile in half, Maegor swore to himself.

He aimed the tip of his sword at his opponent and jabbed, once, miss, twice, miss, thrice, the tip slid past the back of the pirate's sword hand. It was a shallow cut, not enough to disarm him, but maybe it will loosen his grip. The sweat within his helm itched, his breaths slightly out of pace.

Maegor had hoped the cut would force the pirate to lose his temper and go on the attack. Gods knew that he had lost many spars as a squire because of it. Unfortunately, the man seemed unfazed, the ever annoying smirk still on his face.

A dance between them commenced, a deadly dance, a brutish dance, and for some moments, a dance where blood spilled. Maegor had scored another shallow hit on the side of the pirate's left shin. But now he wore a light gash near his elbow, another wound toward his knee where the poleyn had fallen from his armor, and countless more scratches around the gaps of his plates.

He knew his body had begun to tire, and soon would have no more strength to swing his sword. Each strike from Maegor would narrowly miss, and each strike from Salazaar would score a hit that turned Maegor's mood darker.

He's playing with me, He is playing with me! He's… " Fight me like a man! You coward!" Maegor shouted. Out of rage, or out of desperation, he did not know.

Saan seemed to be savoring the moment, he taunted again. " I can't hear you over your helmet, little dragon."

" Stop fucking yammering!" Maegor swung in a wide arc, but the aim was too high, and the pirate simply leaned his body back to avoid it.

Huff, huff, Maegor gasped for air.

Unexpectedly, the Voyager shook, The deck sloped to one side. Unused to the sudden change in leverage, Maegor lost his footing, and he stumbled a step backward. The pirate seized the opportunity and threw his axe at Maegor. He felt a sharp pain in his right shoulder, and his grip on the long sword loosened. Luckily, though the axe had gone through the gap between his pauldron and his breastplate, cutting through his gambeson, the axe itself did not stick to any flesh, instead, bounced off somewhere out of his view.

A subtle numbness has set in. A strange sensation, where the arm felt loose and distant even when he focused on it.

Maegor grabbed his long sword with both hands to secure the grip.

Salazaar took a step forward and said, " I changed my mind, I think I'd ransom ya, killing you wouldn't serve me no good, would it? You call yourself a dragon? you are just a little wyrm," he flourished his cutlass, "a pitiful one at that, tsk, tsk. Not Worthy to die by my blade, I'm afraid, not a single bit."

Not Worth it…

Not Worth it…

The pirate chose this time to strike. He advanced forward and swirled his cutlass playfully. When he closed enough distance, he attacked. Once, a jab from the silver blade landed on the insides of his left elbow. Twice, the silver blade struck the side of his helmet, and a nasty sound rang in his head. Thrice, the pirate batted Maegor's long sword away from him. The sword flung onto the deck, out of reach.

The ship shook again, and the deck shifted. Saan stuck his blade lightly onto the deck, as his legs adjusted for the sudden change. Maegor took a knee forward. He lept, Saan picked up his cutlass and stabbed. The strike bounced off of his breastplate, the blade sprung violently. He grabbed it with his left and tackled the man to the ground. They tumbled together, and Maegor punched the pirate's stomach, though it was a moot strike as his cuirass blocked the impact.

The pirate had forced one of his hands onto Maegor's shoulder wound. The numbness that had set in before quickly became pain. Fuck you! Maegor used his only good arm to punch Saan in the face.

Crack! His nose was broken. But he still had more fight in him. The pirate forced his fingers into Maegor's visor, jabbing at his eyes. Maegor pulled back his head and grappled his opponent's arms for dominance. He headbutted him with his dragon-crested helm. Once… twice… thrice. Saan's previous vigor ended after that. He then put all his weight toward his legs and perched himself on top of the laid-down pirate. Triumph, triumph, triumph! The dragon stands victorious against the wicked snake! A tale sung by septons and bards!

Maegor's right had a hold on Saan's neck, while he formed a fist with his left. He raised it high with effort. There is no power sweeter than the judgment of a man's life or death.

"Beg." He managed to say. The word he had always wanted to say, to him, to them. For all these years, he wanted to speak but was silenced by his own craven and cowardly mind. No longer, he thought. The pirate's bloodied face was one of confusion and bewilderment.

" Beg, and I will spare your miserable life." He said again. Instead of getting an answer, however, Salazaar San simply laughed his ugly laugh.

Maegor added more force to the choke. " Beg!" He shouted louder. Another laugh rang out, but this time Maegor struck him in the face with the steel gauntlet. Cracked teeth scattered. Blood now flowed within the pirate's mouth, but the grin was still there.

He thinks I'm a joke… He thinks I'm a fucking joke! " BEG! You silver-haired fucking cunt!" He screamed. He swung his fist, again, and then again. There was no begging though, and soon enough, no more laughter either. Speckles of brain and bone covered his gauntlet.

" BBBEEEEGGGGGG!" Maegor no longer looked to the crushed skull beneath him. His body trembled with exhaustion, near the edge of collapse. He slowly stood with the support of his good arm. The battle seemed to have been won. All the pirates who boarded the Voyager had fallen, and their ship was taken as well. His squire was still alive, and Ser Doran had just cut down the last he fought with. Maegor took off his batted helm, one of the three dragon heads seemed to have snapped off. A light cloud had formed above, and a cool sea breeze blew on his sweated and matted hair. He had won the fight, but the damned pissant refused to grant him true victory. The inner flame within him laid unquenched.

Note:

Hopefully, you enjoyed this chapter

I was trying super hard for the mental fight to match the physical fight

Also want to add that I'm not trying to bash any character. Just be mindful that all of this biasedness is coming from maegor s pov. The "the suffering" he got is kinda minor, but he's just a petty af person.

I changed up some of the details and numbers in chapter 4 so beware of the changes

Please leave a comment about anything relating to the fic, suggestions, what you liked, what you disliked, or your prediction of what's to come, anything is welcome! I would really love some engagements outside of likes/kudos/favs.

Thank you!