Maegor had never been a holy man. His mother had raised him under the faith of the old Valyrian gods. He all but scorned the Faith of the Seven, seeing himself above the foolish notion of the peoples of Westeros.

The Faith denied him is Valyrian right to polygyny, well, Aenys had denied him at the behest of the Faith, leading to Maegor's exile while his brother reigned the Seven Kingdoms.

But upon his return, his usurping of the throne and his all but kidnapping of his nephew Viserys and his niece, you, Maegor no longer cared what the Faith had to say. He took three wives, and was already planning a fourth...you.

Though Maegor had a plan, he had to wait out as per his mother's request. As you were of his house, Visenya insisted he earn your hand for no other reason but for the sake of heirs. She had disclosed to Maegor she believe his forceful pursuit in a heir had led to the failure of production.

But you were a dragon, fertile and pure. If you accepted him willingly, they gods might favor him, you, and grant the life he so desperately needed.

So Maegor bid his time, courting you and playing protector as you were the cupbearer for his council, your twin his squire. He drove off other Lords who may vie him for your hand in marriage and ensured all of court knew you were his.

It was storming in King's Landing that night as he pushed into the Sept, the one place he hated above all others. The Kingsguard had informed him you had been here for hours now, after you had heard the news of his second wife's death, and his potential departure to the Riverlands.

He walked through the echoing chambers, candle light flickering off his drenched form with lighting striking outside. Maegor found you knelt before the Warrior, your hands clasped and head bowed.

The way your hair fell down your back, loose from its normal braids fascinated him, the scene near ethereal, making him clear his throat.

"It grows late," he said gruffly, tilting he head, "Surely you've prayed enough, sweet flame."