Chapter Text
Maegor had always been a cruel man. Fates knew it, Old Gods knew it, his own parents and aunt knew it.
Where Rhaenys begged for Maegor to not impregnate Aenys, offering herself instead, he decided to punish it by exiling his older brother and stripping him off of titles and what was rightfully his.
Where Visenya tried stopping the acts of her cruel son, which were already rampant with burning down villages and cities, organizing omega harems that he didn't involve himself in but allowed his men to watch omegas please omegas, the usurping had been a final tipping point. And even then she had a dagger pressed against her throat with Maegor's hand alone before he, along with his aunt, sent them both to Essos and Lands Unknown. They're old, he thought. They probably won't make it there alive.
Where Aegon watched, just as of a cruel grin on his face, he allowed it. To him, Maegor was the perfect alpha, now older, firmer, with a crown and Aegon's own dragon Balerion, the beast having accepted Aegon's heir as if beast recognized another. To Aegon, Maegor is the one who would keep the order he set before his birth and, leaving the Kingdoms in good hands, as Aegon saw them, he left to Dragonstone months after Maegor sat upon the throne.
The cruelty, however, is paid tenfold.
For what Maegor had done - usurping, executing, exiling, Gods had deemed him unworthy. Not of pleasure, no, but of having something to show for and justify the alpha he is now at six-and-twenty summers old.
So, like any alpha, he tries. Gods, he tries so hard for babes. Male and female omegas, omegas of high and low birth, even blood rituals when he dared one night to plead to Gods he never listened. Results always came empty. Every woman and man he mounted came up empty handed. Some took his seed, others had their wombs burnt and Maegor, seeing mercy, had poisoned them instead of letting them face a long, painful death.
Six.
Six, he remembers.
Fucking six that prove useless as he sits upon his throne, jaw clenching tightly. He doesn't know if he trusts himself to speak, dares to even. Not when the maester enters the throne room and bows deeply yet says nothing.
He doesn't have to, Maegor already knows.
"Lady Rhaella failed too, did she not?" Maegor starts at first before waving a hand to the poor, old man, dismissing him yet not entirely. A mere flick of his wrist is enough of a command he should step back, but will have himself hanged if he dares leave.
A loud scoff leaves his lips, displeasure pulling at those pale eyebrows as he grasps his goblet of wine tighter when those eyes settle on his most trusted man and advisor. A boy that had been his best friend since childhood, now a man who was allowed to keep his cock despite brief interactions with his wives.
"Unbelievable." Maegor scoffs once more, louder if possible, as he drags those violet eyes from one face to the other. All covered. All honest. And yet all eyes lowered. "What wife is it this time, Ser Lucan Humfrey? Fourth? Fifth? Perhaps one of the first ones that came to disappoint me all over again?"
Ser Lucan looks towards Maegor and dares not exhale where the King can hear him, instead, a brief nod of his head becomes evident. Just because Maegor hadn't fed him to Balerion yet doesn't mean he won't soon. "Lady Rhaella is your third wife, Your Grace. Top three you mounted immediately upon wedding them." Ser Lucan reminds.
"Top three…" Maegor draws out as he stands slowly, if only for the favor of walking towards the open terrace of the throne room. A vast, large space adorned with wide stone railing decorated with dragon carvings. It was his father's first request and Maegor had honored it. "…and just as useless." he continued.
Heavy boots click against the stoned floor, goblet of wine lowered onto the stone railing itself before he pushes his arms behind his back. The posture remains for a moment longer before he straightens up upon hearing another set of armored boots following and stilling three steps behind him. Ser Lucan, as always. His Right Hand. The man who never hesitated when it came to fulfilling Maegor's orders.
"Perhaps…." Ser Lucan dares. Of course he does, he always did. Ironically, it's what kept him alive. "…Perhaps there is something wrong with you, Your Grace."
Silence. A long, stretching silence that even has Balerion perking up from hills faraway, to look, assess, maybe burn something if Maegor calls. The shock, however, had Maegor stilling too stiffly to react with anything but turning around, violent violet eyes meeting Ser Lucan's hazel ones.
"Something wrong with me?" Maegor growls out almost, his sharp teeth nearly cutting at the skin of his bottom lip as he steps forward like he's unsure if Lucan lost his mind or became that careless with how Maegor allowed him to behave. "You insinuate-"
"I insinuate Prince, pardon me, former Prince Aenys is a healthy omega." Ser Lucan leans his head towards Maegor slightly, just like when they were little boys and he would suggest Maegor ask for a proper sword for their playtime. It always worked. "Six omegas, Your Grace, and all failed. What if the answer had always been one of your own? Who to bear dragonseed better than a dragon itself, no matter how weak or frail it appears to be?"
Silence graces the cold terrace connected to the throne room and it prevails so harshly even Maegor has to look away for a brief moment of collecting himself. He could punish Lucan. Should. He should punish that unruly mouth and prove he can't speak like that to the third king sitting on the Iron Throne. But if he cuts him, he cuts the only man he can trust. Pride still rages when violet meets hazel.
"There is nothing wrong with me, you fool." Gods help him, but they won't. Maegor doesn't get to ask Gods for help after dismantling the Seven upon religion rising above the crown. He couldn't have had that.
"Six wives and no children say otherwise, if i may." Lucan might as well had called upon the court and called Maegor infertile right there and then. One would certainly use the opportunity even if it shortened their lifespan. "Listen to me."
Gods help Maegor, if they wish to. Gods help every sane soul because Maegor did exactly that. He listened.
"You took the crown and I stood right by you with no complaints. None." Ser Lucan whispers as if it's secrets shared between little boys and not grown men. One who is the reason Targaryen dynasty didn't end up in ruins and the other who ensured Maegor long enough so the downfall doesn't start with him.
A distant nod follows from Maegor as he concedes to one thing he can't deny. Not in front of Humfrey, not when it seems important. It was the truth. Humfrey stood by him where it counted and where it didn't, where rewards were great and some awful but worthy, needed, in a sense.
Ser Lucan Humfrey stood by Maegor I Targaryen's side when they were mere boys, Maegor of eight and Lucan of six summers. Back then, the boys couldn't have known what awaited them nor the cost it would take. No. Back in the day, Maegor led all plays with Lucan - whether it involved searching for dragons, looking at mushrooms, playing at swordsmanship or even practicing bow and arrow - where you saw a head of white hair peeking through the bushes, another head of black hair would linger closely behind or next to it. Somewhere along the line, Maegor had turned his back to Gods and what his family believed in but never enforced and Lucan, the sweet boy he was, still followed after.
When Maegor took the throne from his older brother, Lucan was there to defend it with his life. When Maegor, cracks of cruelty evident in his young mind, ordered halls cleaned and unworthy executed, Lucan followed it. And even now, they stood together. Still, despite all that should've broken them apart. Despite the fact every living and dead person had prayed for one to perish so they could kill the other.
"All those ladies divided into separate chambers had given life, some even several times." Ser Lucan continues as an alpha who took a vow to the crown, to another alpha that bears it. "You cannot tell me neither of them haven't been plotting against you." The words are sharp, ensuring they meet Maegor where he stands.
Maegor, for once, doesn't snarl and instead listens quietly even when his jaw aches. "I know Lady Tyanna gave a bastard to Lord Ortmund, bore him a healthy son. Now each one that comes from my seed is dying."
"The babes are dying because they are plotting against you." Ser Lucan hisses out as if anger he feels is more personal that he would like to admit. "I have no doubts they are doing everything in their power to not have your heir on the throne. But Seven, Maegor. Seven, we can fix that."
"If i didn't trust you, I'd have myself convinced you're against me." Maegor scoffs before allowing himself a brief laughter, a moment Lucan only knows. And Aenys, if his older brother was to ever sneak around.
"It makes sense, does it not?" Ser Lucan suggests, something akin to a grin settling on his face with an evident nod of his head. "Six wives had done horrible. What if the answer is with Aenys, eh? I can't imagine him not wanting to come home despite being exiled."
Maegor feels his eyes rolling as he turns his back to Ser Lucan and grasps his goblet of wine back in right hand, his left arm moving to his back as he exhales. "I doubt he would want me to breathe his air, let alone have me stick my cock inside his ass and pray for the best."
"Pussy." Ser Lucan corrects almost lewdly, his hazel eyes finding point beyond Maegor and towards Balerion instead. "Prince-"
"He bears no titles." Maegor interrupts and it has Ser Lucan briefly looking his way before back towards Balerion. How Lucan hadn't throttled him yet is reward-worthy.
"Fine." Ser Lucan barely holds back from straight-out spitting on the ground. Composure, he reminds, even as none finds him. "Aenys is old enough to where his heat worsens with age."
Maegor scoffs, a chuckle pulling out of him even when he means not to. And even then he looks away. "That fool is one-and-thirty summers old. Only good thing about him is-
"His cunt." Ser Lucan dares interrupt. "Omegas after thirty summers are softer, pliant. Ready for babes."
Maegor takes the final sip of his wine and chucks the goblet over the terrace, uncaring if it lands on some poor person's head. "After all I had done, i don't think he would carry my heirs, Lucan."
"Well, not immediately. Obviously." Ser Lucan agrees with a quick nod of his head, eyes set firmly on Maegor now. "But give him scraps of lands. His own wing here in the Red Keep. Name something after him, offer faux remorse."
"And you…" Maegor speaks before biting on his tongue, reminding himself that even if him and Lucan are close in everything but blood, he can trust him. Still. "…you think my brother foolish enough to fall for it?"
Ser Lucan stares for a moment longer before he shakes his head and exhales, hazel eyes settling elsewhere for a moment before they go back to Maegor. "Not foolish, no." he corrects. "But he's an omega, and in heat. And if there is one thing Aenys always wanted is to return home. A small price to pay if he grants you what you so desperately need."
"I wouldn't call it desperate." Maegor offers as he clenches his jaw slightly. His lie is as obvious as is his dislike for sweets.
"Yes, well…I suppose you need not admit to it. But i know." Ser Lucan concedes. "Aenys is in Lys now, it had been only two years since you officially sat on the throne. And from whispers that dare, he hasn't taken anyone yet."
"Yet?" It finally catches Maegor's attention, head tilting ever so slightly in something resembling dangerous curiosity. "He hadn't taken a single alpha since his exile?"
Ser Lucan looks almost too excited to nod, to straighten up and looks as unhinged as Maegor tends to more often than not. "None. He refused each and every single one."
It still gets on Maegor's nerves as he looks away to exhale, uncaring to meet Lucan's eyes for a moment. "I could use the lands and titles to have him back. And have him bear my children willingly."
"He would do it." Ser Lucan reassures him. "I trust it."
Silence settles on the terrace connected to the throne room as Maegor looks towards Balerion. His left hand reaches out, fingers brushing against the crown on his head before he nods.
"Prepare my horse. And call for Ser Harwyn." The decision is brought quickly. "He shall guard the Red Keep with you while i am away."
"Understood, Your Grace." A deep bow leaves Ser Lucan's body. "Will you take Balerion with you?"
Maegor thinks for a moment before exhaling and nodding. "I will but i will not fly atop him. Instead, he will be let to roam above me high up as he likes. If Aenys sees me, there is a high chance I'd only be wasting my time."
Ser Lucan nods his head again, hazel eyes watching the side of Maegor's face. "I'll oversee everyone is kept to their duties so no one knows the king is missing. Return well."
"I will." The parting words. Ones Maegor never thought of saying, not when it involved around what it did.