Ceryse and the Sons of the Dragon
"I'm bored," Maegor declares flatly, peeking out of the carriage from Ceryse's shoulders. "Perhaps I should have convinced Father to hold the wedding at Dragonstone instead."
"Too late for that," Ceryse replies through gritted teeth, resisting the urge to toss Maegor out the window. He's been sitting on her shoulders for over an hour, and maintaining a 'good posture' for his sake is wearing her out. "Why didn't you bring your dragon? If you had, you could've returned to the capital with the king and queen instead of being stuck here with me."
"I don't have one," Maegor says, and Ceryse's eyebrows lift. Don't all Targaryens live with their own dragon companion?
Seeing her expression, Maegor explains, "I plan to take Balerion once my father dies. I'll be looking after Dragonstone while Aenys inherits Westeros, after all. It's fair that I take the oldest dragon, which can also cast the strongest magic."
Ceryse has no idea what Maegor is talking about. Taking Balerion? Oldest dragon and strongest magic? What?
Confused, Ceryse tilts her head to the right, prompting Maegor to stand up using her face as support. "Hey!" she yells, trying to push him back with her head, but he's somehow stronger than she is, managing to hold her chin and turn her towards him.
Maegor's expression is bland, his eyes bored and annoyed. "Might as well talk about it before we get home," he mutters, then louder, "Tell me, wife, what do you know about us Valyrians… no, us Targaryens and our dragons?"
"You… are supposed to look adorable," Ceryse blurts out, her mind briefly blanking from Maegor's actions. She doesn't want to look into his face, not so close. "And, well… you live with your dragons, they fly you everywhere and assist you in performing your miracles… your magic."
"It's not them assisting us, but us directing them," Maegor corrects her. "Valyrians aren't more magical than you humans. We're better at manipulating our expression, tone, and body language, but that's hardly magic. Everything else? It's the dragon's work."
"Everything?" Ceryse is genuinely surprised.
She remembers her parents taking her to Highgarden when the Targaryens visited to heal her infertility. Queen Visenya's dragon, Vhagar, breathed blue fire on her body. It didn't hurt, but it didn't help her conceive either. She always thought it was the queen working her magic through the dragon. It was actually all the dragon's work?
"Yes, everything." Maegor gives a firm, sharp nod. "With this in mind, you can see how a dragon's age affects the strength and scale of the magic it can cast. Balerion is the oldest and largest dragon alive, so he can perform the strongest magic and cast more spells without exhausting himself."
"But I've heard that the king rarely performs miracles. When I sought help for my infertility, it was the queen who tried to heal me."
Maegor raises an eyebrow. "Infertility? So that's why you became a Septa… and why you were chosen to marry me."
Ceryse feels her cheeks heat up in shame. Stupid, stupid mouth blurting out secrets without thinking! "It was indeed why I was sent to the Faith… but I was chosen to be your bride because I'm a Hightower. We're sworn to the Seven anyway; being fertile or not makes no difference."
"Ah, yes, I have heard that the Hightowers are highly influential in the Reach, rivalling the Gardeners, and the influence they hold on the Faith is unmatched." Maegor shakes his head slightly. "Distasteful politics. Well, it doesn't matter to me. This marriage is to tie the Faith closer to us, so here's what we'll do: I'll tell you all about us Valyrians, and in return, you'll tell me about the Faith of the Seven."
"…I thought you were unhappy with the match?" From Maegor's attitude before and during the wedding, Ceryse is certain he holds only disdain for her, even if he wore a friendly facade in public.
Maegor snorts. "Of course I'm unhappy. Who would be happy to marry someone of a different species? Are you happy, woman?"
"Frankly, no." It would be incredibly fake to proclaim otherwise now, when Ceryse has displayed no affection towards him.
"As I thought. We'll never be a 'happy couple' the way my father wants. But this marriage is done, and we can't change it, so we might as well do what's expected."
"And that is…" Ceryse recalls what her uncle told her. Observe how the Faith and the Valyrians coexist in harmony… unity of the Faith and House Targaryen…
As long as you stay by the prince's side as his wife, you have fulfilled your duty.
In other words…
"…Showing a united front?"
"You get it," Maegor says with a satisfied nod. "So tell me about yourself—but keep it brief. I have more important things to do than listen to your life story."
Ceryse's face twitches. "The first thing you should know about me is that I don't like having someone standing on my shoulders."
Maegor chuckles. "You could have said it sooner." Before Ceryse reacts, he jumps down, landing on her lap. Glancing up, he asks, "Better? I must be on your shoulders when we walk together, but in this carriage, it isn't necessary."
"…Better." Ceryse is surprised. She thought Maegor wouldn't care what she wanted.
"The thing you should know about me, wife, is that I don't like people who don't speak their thoughts. If you have a request, name it and I'll consider it."
Maegor settles down on her dress, constantly adjusting his position to look into her eyes without lifting his head, somewhat resembling a kitten. Despite her reservations, Ceryse can't help but chuckle.
Maegor instantly narrows his eyes. "The second thing you should know is that I don't allow disrespect. Don't laugh at me."
"I'm not laughing at you!" Ceryse is exasperated—King Aegon is right about one thing: Maegor has no idea how to use his natural charm. "I just thought you looked adorable for a second. Can't you relax while we talk?"
Maegor studies her expression before saying, "Fine." Sighing, he adds, "Just don't expect me to act like my father or my brother. I'm not like them at all."
"I wouldn't want you to behave like the king…" Ceryse doesn't have a good impression of the man who came up with the idea of her marriage to Maegor. "…But I know nothing about your brother."
"Aenys?" The mention of his brother brings a wry smile to Maegor's face. "Well, he's…"
—
"Welcome to Aegonfort, my newest good sister!" Aenys Targaryen bows deeply from atop his dragon, Quicksilver, almost losing his balance. "My father told me all about you, Ceryse. It's my honour to welcome you to our family."
"Be careful, Aenys," Maegor warns from his position on Ceryse's shoulder, raising a brow. "Also, I thought you were in Dorne visiting Aunt Rhaenys?"
"News travels fast. I heard of your wedding and rode straight back here. I had to be the first to congratulate you when you came home!" Aenys beams. A moment later, he blinks and adds, "Oh, right, congratulations on marrying, little brother."
"Thanks." Maegor nods, a thin smile on his lips.
Ceryse watches their exchange with amusement. The two sons of King Aegon couldn't be more different: Aenys is lean and soft, a bundle of earnest enthusiasm and joy, while Maegor is buff and harsh, cold and awkward even at his best.
If both Valyrians were animals, Aenys would be a lap dog, cuddly and eager to please, while Maegor would be a stray cat, eyeing everyone with suspicion and raising his claws at every passerby.
Yet from Maegor's demeanour, Ceryse senses he is fond of his elder brother. He isn't disinterested in Aenys as he is with her, nor is Maegor putting on a friendly mask when interacting with Aenys.
It's certainly a more affectionate relationship than what Ceryse has seen between King Aegon and Queen Visenya, or Aegon and Maegor.
"Come! Father is waiting for us," Aenys urges, and Ceryse follows Quicksilver into Aegonfort.
Aegonfort is a small, humble keep newly built after King Argilac, Aegon's first ally, proclaimed him King of Westeros. Its size is pitiful compared to the Hightower or any great castle in Westeros, but considering the size of the Valyrians and their dragons, it might already be enormous to them.
It isn't until Ceryse walks into the throne room that her eyebrows shoot up.
"You finally returned with your bride, Maegor," the king flies down to welcome them, but Ceryse can't care less about the king now. What even is the... thing he and his dragon are on before they fly down?
"Ah, you see the most prized creation in my fort," Aegon nods with satisfaction as he follows her gaze. "Behold, the Iron Throne! The most comfortable throne in all of Westeros!"
Ceryse narrows her eyes as she looks at the... Iron... Throne. Is this throne made with melted iron? That might explain its irregular shape, but not its appearance.
The Iron Throne is a 'throne' that looks like a pillow fort. Thousands of pillows of different sizes piled together, all in various shades of grey. The throne looks… fluffy and Ceryse has a hard time believing it's forged with metal.
Noticing her reaction, Maegor leans towards her ear and whispers, "Yes, it's a pillow fort."
Ceryse feels her eyelids twitch. "Then why is it named the Iron Throne?"
Maegor shrugs. "Father thinks it's cooler."
For the love of the Smith. Ceryse squeezes out a wry smile as a headache forms.
Balerion growls towards them, and Aegon shouts, "Hey, lovebirds, save the whispering for private and listen to your king! We're having a feast tonight in your honour, before you return to Dragonstone. You must be introduced to my court, Ceryse."
"And I wish you to meet Alyssa and Rhaena, too." Aenys smiles softly, Quicksilver hovering near Ceryse to purr at her. Ceryse smiles back; the small and beautiful Quicksilver seems friendlier than the bulky and loud Balerion. Like Valyrians, like dragons, she supposes.
She briefly wonders what Maegor's dragon would be like before the man himself speaks up. "Where is mother?"
Aegon pouts. "She's back at Dragonstone. Something about needing to attend to our ancestral seat."
"...Right." Hearing that his mother isn't around, Maegor's expression darkens. "I need to return soon—"
"Oh, chill, son! Visenya can handle the work herself. It's not like you'll be much help when you don't even have a dragon," Aegon says.
Ceryse feels Maegor's heavy breath on her neck. She glances at him and sees him glaring at Aegon, but Aegon just shakes his head. "Geez, I have no idea why you're being so tight. You just got married, enjoy your new life!"
Maegor sneers.
Ceryse hates being in the middle of this family drama, especially with Maegor still on her shoulder. The Crone, please grant me the patience and wisdom to deal with those two.
She's racking her brain for what to say when Aenys interrupts. "That's not very fair, father. Maegor's marriage is much more challenging than mine or yours and mother's. He'll need more time to adjust before he can enjoy it thoroughly. And we mustn't forget Ceryse's opinion as well." He looks at Ceryse, expecting a response.
"Ah... this is a huge change from my previous life, so I'm still adjusting," Ceryse answers, not liking being put on the spot. "I wish to get to know my new husband... and his family, in the upcoming days."
"...And it doesn't matter that I don't have a dragon yet," Maegor suddenly says, startling her. "Ceryse can be my dragon from now on, carrying me wherever we go— if you're willing, of course," he adds hastily.
Ceryse slowly turns to look at him directly. Maegor beams, but however saccharine his smile, she can feel the force he applies in the hands where he holds the hem of her clothes.
He won't allow her to refuse, even when he knows she hates having him on her shoulders.
…Does she have the ability to disobey his order, though?
A thought pops into her mind. "Maegor," she says firmly, "I'll go wherever you go, and carry you as long as you don't have a dragon. But I don't like having you on my shoulders constantly— it's hard to look at you, and tiring. Perhaps there's another way?"
Annoyance flashes on Maegor's face, but he suppresses it immediately. Instead, he continues to smile softly. "If you have any suggestions, I'd love to hear them."
"Orys once transported me and Balerion with a basket," Aegon chips in, "When we met Harren Hoare. It was a fun experience."
Aenys laughs nervously. "...As in, when Balerion burned Black Harren to death?"
"Balerion must be glad to see some action after being forced to hide," Maegor comments.
Ceryse is bewildered by how fast the topic switches. As much as she wishes not to have Maegor pressuring her, she wants him off her shoulders more. So she tries to steer them back with a suggestion.
"How about using a swaddle? I can carry you in front of me." It won't look good, but it's a better alternative than keeping Maegor in his original position or having him in a basket as Aegon suggested.
Maegor frowns, struggling to keep his smile up. "That sounds... awfully restrictive, Ceryse. I would love to keep my mobility in case I need to protect you with my blade."
Protect me with your blade? You? Ceryse bites her lip to stop herself from laughing. The idea that Maegor could protect her from anything is outrageous, considering their size differences. Regardless, displeasing him further is clearly a bad idea.
"A swaddle made with leather?" Aenys questions, looking intrigued. "Can it be made so that it won't be restrictive?"
"And more importantly, it has to look regal," Aegon adds. "I can't have a son of mine travelling in what looks like a baby's swaddle."
Ceryse's gaze briefly drifts towards Aegon's 'Iron Throne'. Right, looking very regal here. "We could summon a swaddle designer. With enough gold, someone skilled can make it."
"...Fine." Maegor spits out, his mask of friendliness disappearing. "In the meantime, if you dislike me being on your shoulders so much..."
"Ouch!" Ceryse cries out as sharp pain stabs the side of her head. "What are you doing? It hurts!"
"My apologies, please bear with it for a moment." Maegor's voice comes from the top of her head. She feels his little legs stomping on her. "Right, I'm settled. Surely this must be a better place for me to stay?"
Ceryse shakes in anger as she feels the sudden weight on her neck, the constant pulling of her hair, and the uncomfortable sensation of his boots rubbing her scalp. In a sudden rush of bravery, she reaches upwards and picks him up. "Hey— What? Put me down!" Maegor screams and kicks, but he can't hurt her when she's holding his body.
Holding him at eye level, Ceryse hisses, "Prince Maegor, husband dearest, I don't like it when someone stays on my shoulders and head. I can accept carrying you with a swaddle. Take it, or travel on your own feet."
Then she puts him down on the ground. Maegor stares at her, his face twisting.
In rage, Ceryse feels invincible, but then Balerion growls and she remembers she's in front of two dragons, one known for burning someone to death. In fear, she takes a step back. "No... no disrespect meant, of course..."
Balerion flies down, landing by Maegor's side. Quicksilver too lands, nudging Balerion with her head as Aenys looks helplessly towards his father.
Finally, Aegon laughs. "Oh, we picked the right girl for you, I just know it. I'm such a genius." Self-congratulating, he smiles benevolently towards his younger son. "She isn't wrong, son. Although we Valyrians are meant to soar in the sky, some walking can still do you good. Wait a week or so, and I'll get someone to make your swaddle."
Maegor glares at his father, his face flushed red in anger; but slowly, gradually, his large violet eyes are filled with tears. "I... I understand, father." His voice is filled with sadness and regret.
When he looks back at Ceryse, he's struggling to open his swollen eyes, sniffing. It's both pathetic and heartbreaking. Despite knowing Maegor's tricks, she still can't help but kneel to look at him. "I'm sorry," she blurts out, opening her hands to him. "You can come back on if you want."
Maegor steps onto her palms, pouting. He isn't that heavy, not really. Just the weight of a kitten. And he's a decade younger than her, still a child... perhaps she should be less harsh with him, she starts to reconsider.
"...No, Ceryse, I won't trouble you further..." Maegor continues to sniff, shivering on her palms, eyeing her with the faintest hint of hope.
Ceryse is so close to giving in before Aenys speaks up.
"Maegor, how about you travel with me on Quicksilver? We should mostly be in the same place when you're in King's Landing, anyway." Aenys smiles brightly. "At least until Aunt Visenya comes back..."
Maegor glances back at Aenys, his gaze drifting between the two of them. It's a judging gaze, the look of a canny merchant deciding between two attractive offers.
Or a kitten deciding between two plates of tasty treats, carefully sniffing out possible poison.
Finally, he beams at Aenys. "I'll take your offer, brother." Then he jumps from Ceryse's palms to Quicksilver's side, swiftly pulling himself up her back. Quicksilver purrs softly.
Satisfied, Maegor quickly makes a face at her as he sits behind Aenys.
Ceryse feels like she has been hit by a cane on the head. Oh, it's Maegor. Whatever spell he has cast on her, it couldn't possibly be genuine.
...What an annoying brat!
As Ceryse rolls her eyes, Balerion flies back to her side. "My son is... quite a character," Aegon says. "But he's still a Targaryen, with the charm he inherited. Be patient with him, dear girl, and you'll find him being a tenth of the husband I am... even if he could never be as clever and charismatic as I am!"
Ceryse looks at Aegon, who is laughing proudly.
She clenches her fist.
I bet it's your fault that Maegor turned out like this!