Chapter 12: The Iron Fist of Maegor II
King's Landing, 91 AC – 95 AC (Early Reign Montage)
The ascension of King Maegor II Targaryen marked not a rupture in the realm's fabric, but a tightening of its weave. Where Aenys had ruled with divine subtlety—innovation, indoctrination, and quiet conquest—Maegor brought the hammer. At fifty, he was a colossus: broad as two men, silver hair cropped to steel-gray stubble, violet eyes like chips of amethyst set in a face scarred from a hundred border skirmishes. His monstrous endowment was legend among the court whispers, but it was his axe—Blackfyre's brutal cousin, forged in Dragonstone's fires—that defined him. He sat the Iron Throne like a man born to it, crown heavy on his brow, Dark Sister at his side.
The early years of his reign were a storm contained—peace enforced with unyielding force, prosperity deepened through calculated mercy.
91 AC: The Coronation and Consolidation
Maegor wasted no time. The day after Aenys's pyre cooled, he summoned the Small Council to the throne room. Alyssa—his sister-wife, now queen consort—stood at his right, her silver hair unbound, hand on the swell of her belly (Baelon, the newest prince, already toddling at her skirts). Visenya the Younger flanked his left, sword drawn in silent vigil. The council—Academy loyalists one and all—knelt as Maegor declared: "The dragon does not sleep. It hunts."
His first edict expanded the Bloody Dragons. Numbers swelled from 100,000 to 150,000—recruits drawn from every kingdom, orphans and bastards prioritized, indoctrinated in cloisters chanting "Father Maegor, eternal guardian." Garrisons doubled in the annexed Riverlands and Reach; patrols rode the Kingsroad like crimson veins pumping royal blood. Dissent, even whispered, met swift ends: a Vale knight's grumble about taxes ended in a public trial, his head on the Traitor's Walk before dawn.
Yet Maegor tempered iron with gold. The Dragon Bank issued low-interest loans to lords rebuilding after minor floods—binding them tighter with debt disguised as benevolence. Printed broadsheets flooded the realm: "King Maegor II, Protector of Peace—grain to the North, justice to the South." Smallfolk prospered; Flea Bottom's sewers, already organized under Aenys, now gleamed with pure glass lanterns, crime vanishing under Bloody Dragon watch.
92 AC: The Essosi Entanglements
Whispers from across the Narrow Sea tested the new king. Braavos, envious of the Dragon Bank's dominance, sponsored pirate raids on Velaryon ships. Maegor responded not with dragons—at first—but with cunning. He dispatched Rhaegar, his nephew (and secret grandson), on Stormwing to Pentos. The Silver Prince negotiated alliances, his harp and charm winning magisters' favor. Visenya the Younger followed with Emberwing and a Bloody Dragon vanguard—raiding pirate coves in the Stepstones, axe cleaving through sellswords like butter.
Maegor himself flew to Braavos on Vhagar's Shadow—ancient now, but terrifying. He landed in the Titan's shadow, demanding audience with the Sealord. "Your gold funds chaos," he growled, axe resting on his knee. "Mine buys peace—or war." The Sealord yielded: reparations paid in ironborn longships, trade pacts signed favoring Westeros. The Narrow Sea quieted; Dragon Bank branches opened in Lorath and Norvos, gold flowing west like a river reversed.
At home, Alyssa gave birth again—a daughter, silver-haired and fierce, named Daera. Maegor held her in the throne room, declaring her "a flame for the future." The event sparked feasts; common folk received soap rations and printed tales of "Queen Alyssa's divine brood."
93 AC: The Northern Accord and Internal Reforms
The North, ever grateful for Aenys's grain, sent envoys south with furs and ironwood. Lord Stark—now old, his "son" Eddard (violet-flecked eyes hidden under dark hair) at his side—pledged deeper fealty. Maegor hosted them in the Red Keep, sharing venison and Arbor gold. "The Wall holds because dragons fly," he said. In return, he dispatched Academy engineers north—building heated granaries with pure glass roofs, ensuring no future famines.
Internally, Maegor reformed the court. He purged Aenys-era holdovers suspected of soft loyalties—replacing them with Bloody Dragon veterans. The Royal Academy's curriculum hardened: more sword drills, history lessons emphasizing "Maegor's Might" alongside Aenys's wisdom. Printing presses churned military manuals; every levy trained with system-forged precision (though Maegor knew not the ancient mechanics behind it).
A minor rebellion in the Iron Islands—reaving lords chafing at peace—tested him. Maegor flew west on Vhagar's Shadow, Balerion's successor in terror. He landed on Pyke, axe in hand, dueling the ringleader in single combat. One swing cleaved the man in two; the rest knelt. "Reave for the dragon, or drown," he commanded. The Ironborn became royal privateers, raiding Slaver's Bay under Targaryen banners.
94 AC: The Dornish Integration and Family Expansions
Dorne, once conquered by Aenys's brilliance, simmered with old resentments. Prince Mors Martell petitioned for tax relief after sandstorms ruined crops. Maegor granted it—but with strings: Dornish sons sent to the Academy, Bloody Dragons garrisoned in Sunspear. He visited personally, riding Emberwing beside Visenya the Younger. At a feast in the Water Gardens, he dueled Dornish champions—axe against spear—winning without blood, earning grudging respect. "Sand bows to fire," he declared. Integration deepened; Dornish spices filled Dragon Bank trades.
Family grew. Rhaegar and Visenya the Younger welcomed twins—boys named Jaehaerys and Aemon, silver-haired prodigies claiming hatchlings at five. Maegor's own brood expanded: another son by Alyssa, Viserys, born amid celebrations. The High Tower echoed with children's laughter; the line branched wider, purity unassailable.
95 AC: The Pinnacle of Early Peace
By the fifth year, Maegor's early reign stood as a monument to stability. Trade boomed—pure glass illuminating Yi Ti palaces, soap cleansing Volantis streets. The Bloody Dragons numbered 200,000, a standing army unmatched. Rebellions were whispers crushed before sparks; the Seven Kingdoms—North to Dorne—chanted "Fire and Blood" in unison.
Maegor sat the Throne, axe across his knees, Alyssa at his side. "Father's flame lights the way," he said to his council. "Mine forges the path."
The dragon endured—stronger, fiercer, eternal.
(Word count: 1004)