Maegor was not the man he once had been. He was cold and calculated; cruel as they called him, biding his time in Pentos for the moment to finally come.

His exile for taking more than one wife had been just over two years. His first wife, you, his sister-wife, he left behind on Dragonstone, taking his second Cersye and his third, Alys with him on the back of Balerion. Maegor's reason for polygamy?

He stated you were barren. Married when he was but ten and six and you ten and four, after nearly eight years...you still had not produced an heir.

Maegor often found himself sat in contemplative silence in his exile, his world facing no challenge or push back from the women he claimed, not in the way you had.

Fierce and chaotic, the blood of the dragon ran swiftly through your veins, making you a force to be reckoned with; a force that Maegor tried with his might to deny he missed.

But the moment he saw Vhagar in the sky, his mother Visenya announcing the death of his half-brother King Aenys, Maegor knew it was his time.

He mounted his Black Dread and crossed the narrow sea to claim the Iron Throne in the name of his House, usurping it from his young nephews.

But now he stood, Blackfyre gripped in his hand, dripping with the blood of the Grand Maester, his father’s crown upon his brow, staring at nothing but you.

Your gaze was distant and calculating, sizing his appearance after two years and the large man did what he could not to bristle under it. You were the only other than Visenya who ever made Maegor question himself.

The tension that rose in the chamber was unlike anything any had felt, even when Maegor had beheaded the Grand Maester just moments ago.

Visenya ushered those onlookers out, leaving her children to decide their own fates. And as much as he would deny it, Maegor was anxious to be in your presence once more.

“Time has not changed you, sister…” He spoke gruffly, not moving an inch.