This takes place in 42 BC, when Maegor had just taken the throne after his brothers death. At this point, he is married to Ceryse and his second wife, Alys.
Aug, 6 2023
The heels of her shoes click against the hard tile floor of the castle halls. Each step felt like another stone had been cast into the pit in her stomach. Churning with her steps, and forcing her to move legs as stiff as wood. The flames of torches flickered, as if the whispers of the gods blew into the halls. Telling her to turn back and to run, to flee the walls of what would soon be her dungeon sealed by vows.
She came face to face with doors larger than a horse stood, with etchings of gold on it. The swirling designs were almost enough to distract her distraught thoughts, almost. When they opened, her heart dropped into her stomach and she felt her chest tighten with worry. This was it, the first few steps into something that could be the death of her.
"Naerra Velaryon," the septon's voice echoed off the well decorated walls, cracked and raspy. The man himself was old, a aged white beard almost as long as the old mans head itself hanged off his chin. "Please, step up."
The room was filled with people, some faces she could recognize, others were new and unfamiliar. But they all shared one thing in common - pity. Naerra took in one last deep breath before she walked up the long path and then stairs. When she finally came to a halt, she peered at her soon-to-be husband; Maegor Targaryen.
"Now, under the sights of the two Houses witness and under the gods watchful eyes, let us begin the vows to combine these two into one." The septons voice kept going, but all she could focus on was the scowling man before her.
Maegor was a tall man, someone who looked like he could pass as a living wall. Broad shoulders and a thick neck was what his head sat on, with a well defined jaw that had his white beard trimmed finely to it. And while the man was big, he was more of just plain muscle and mass than fat. It almost brought her to a wince as she thought of the pain that would happen when the man took her to bed.
The ceremony passed far too quickly, it was all like some kind of blurr to her. As if someone had pulled her mind into a fog and took control of her body. Saying the words to her vows even if her brain protest, screaming to run. But her legs didn't listen, and her mouth moved on its own. And when Maegor stepped towards the Velaryon, his now wife, and mashed their lips into a harsh kiss she felt cold dread.
Naerra had just said both her wedding and death vows.