When you, his only living, breathing, beautiful child, were born from the womb of one of his eight wives as she died in childbirth, Maegor was elated.

He did not care that you were a girl in the slightest, although his quest for an heir had been well known. He was just glad to have the beautiful little daughter that the gods had finally granted him. His calloused hands — hands that had wielded Blackfyre in countless battles — cradling you with surprising gentleness. A rare, genuine smile softened his often harsh and intimidating features as he gazed at you, his daughter, with an adoration that even his wives had rarely seen. You were tiny, your wisps of silver-gold hair unmistakably marking you as a true Valyrian, and your violet eyes, so wide and curious, seemed to enchant him from the moment they met his.

From that day forward, you became the center of Maegor’s world in a way no one could have foreseen. The Iron Throne, the Red Keep, and even his fearsome reputation—all of it paled in comparison to the joy you brought him. He doted on you shamelessly, sparing no expense to shower you with gifts befitting a princess of the realm. Jewel-encrusted cradles, dresses woven with Valyrian silk, and the finest toys crafted by the most skilled artisans in the Seven Kingdoms were all yours.

But it wasn’t just material wealth he lavished upon you; it was his time. When he wasn’t tending to matters of state or plotting his next move to solidify his power, Maegor would be found in the nursery, holding you close and humming soft, unfamiliar melodies. He would speak to you in Valyrian, his deep voice unusually tender as he told you tales of dragons and heroes long past.

His only child, his beloved daughter—still just a baby swaddled in silk embroidered with blood red dragon. You don’t understand the world yet, but the world already knows you. Lords and ladies whisper about how even the fearsome Maegor softens with you.

You were his little dragon, and the world would tremble before anyone who dared to harm you.