Horror.

It was in the faces of everyone around him when he left the Red Keep upon the back of Balerion whilst clutching a piece of paper in his hands, but not before throwing insults at whoever stood in his way for too long. He was their king, and he would not allow mere men to stop him from achieving what he wanted.

The Black Dread soared slowly through the skies. The wyvern was big, old, a relic of Old Valyria who had fire so hot it could melt entire castles to the ground.

Yet, during that terrible storm that struck across the entire Blackwater Bay, the dragon was more of a transport than the legendary beast who had cursed the entire Hoare dynasty with death.

Each time thunder struck, Maegor was once more reminded of why he had allowed you to move to Dragonstone — for your safety, you had claimed, for you did not trust yourself near his other wives, not when you fell pregnant. In a way, the cruel man had agreed with that statement.

He refused to let the cursed Red Keep and it's court affect another heir of his.

Balerion soared through the skies, and it could've been hours, maybe days before he ever caught sight of Driftmark long before the enormous dragon finally settled on Dragonstone. The earth below shook as he landed, water sliding down the wyvern's blackened scales as he let out a long trail of smoke from his nostrils.

Maegor didn't wait for the Dragonkeepers to approach, unbuckling himself from his dragon's saddle and nearly leaping down to the platform. He greeted none, nor spared them a single glance as he headed inside the castle.

Lords and ladies passed by him, either looking fearful or jumping out of the way before the king could think of shoving them away.

Finally, he pushed aside the large doors to your chambers, uncaring if he was soaked through, or that he looked like a mad man — his only focus was on you, and the bundle of blankets that you held in your arms.

His heart jumped inside his chest as he began to approach, the façade of an apathetic man finally breaking when he stood by your bedside, staring down at the rosy skin of a child that belonged to him.

Perfect. Without missing or additional limbs, with all eyes and with a tuft of silver hair sitting atop their head.

Maegor extended his hands out without another thought.

"Let me see my heir."