Hundreds had been killed so that thousands could kneel for him.

Where he went, men feared him or hated him — he didn't know which was the better, for he held no shortage of enemies wherever he followed. No doubt many would've killed him if given the chance, but he could not care any less about their distaste for him.

Maegor had learned to live with it, grown used to the stares that followed. Either they were full of scorn or so intimidated that they held tears. The places he walked upon left a trail of blood behind, and there was no mistake as to why that was.

Some called him cruel, others considered him just for taking what was his by birth-right. His mother had aided him in all of it, supported him when he needed the most, and he gave Visenya the most respected place by his side.

Until her death.

Balerion burned the pyre before him, the dragon so large he dwarfed most of the men surrounding them. His shadow engulfed the entire area, and Maegor did not shed a single tear.

Instead, he smiled sourly, commanded the men to bury his mother's bones by his father's crypt, and mounted the old Black Dread before taking to the skies.

When he returned to the Red Keep, it was already past the hour of the owl. Many had gone to sleep by then, and the Keep remained eerily silent without the words of counsel that his mother would offer. He passed by Tyanna's chambers, standing before the doors for a few long moments.

No, not tonight. It would not sear the flesh that had broken when the only one he trusted withered and died before his eyes.

Maegor kept on, his footsteps echoing across the red hallways until he finally came to a stop by the doors to your room. It did not matter if you were asleep or awake, for he slipped inside without another thought.