Maegor The Cruel - Tumblr Posts - Page 2
hello, may i please request some maegor the cruel x fem!martell reader? you know when aegon i receives that note from dorne? maybe it could be to arrange a marriage between maegor and martell!reader to end the war? and she's a badass who gets maegor wrapped adorns her finger in less than ten minutes?
No Meek Bride
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- Summary: Maegor meets the princess that his father promised to him, and you are not what he expected.
- Paring: martell!reader/Maegor I Targaryen
- Rating: Mild 13+
- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround
The sun beat down mercilessly on Sunspear. Maegor Targaryen, mounted on his warhorse, eyed the golden sprawl of the Martell stronghold with the same cold scrutiny he gave every potential battlefield. He had not come here for war, though that was his preference. No, Aegon, his suddenly diplomatic father, had come to the conclusion that peace with Dorne would best be achieved through a marriage contract. And so, Maegor found himself betrothed to a Dornish princess.
You.
As his entourage approached the palace gates, Maegor's expression hardened. He knew little of you, save that you were Dornish, a princess, and supposedly beautiful in the way Dornish women often were—dark of hair and skin kissed by the sun. Maegor had his own opinions about beauty, none of which involved submission or docility, but he expected you to be meek, much like the Hightower girl his mother had once insisted he wed.
But then you stepped into the sunlight, and everything he had assumed about you scattered like the sands of Dorne.
You stood there, hands on your hips, chin lifted, your expression neither demure nor shy. No veil covered your face; no hesitation clouded your eyes. You stared up at him, not as a man to be feared, but as a man who would do well to remember whose lands he stood upon. Maegor raised an eyebrow.
You raised one back.
The Dornish retinue welcomed him in the Martell fashion, with wine and citrus-scented air. You walked beside him as he was led into the inner court, rattling off a list of what he assumed were idle pleasantries about Dorne’s beauty and history. Your voice was light, teasing. But there was something in your tone that held an edge—a sharpness that Maegor wasn’t sure if he wanted to parry or let pierce through his defenses.
"Your father must think very highly of me," you said as you entered a chamber filled with vibrant tapestries and low couches. "To offer up his most fearsome dragon in marriage. Or perhaps he just wanted to get rid of you?"
The jab was subtle, playful, but Maegor narrowed his eyes, half-expecting you to falter under the weight of his gaze. You didn’t. Instead, you smiled—a slow, confident curve of your lips that seemed to suggest you had no fear of him.
Odd. He had never encountered a woman so… infuriatingly self-assured. Where was the meekness? The quiet obedience he had been told to expect? You were no Hightower maiden.
And yet, as you continued talking, pointing out some tapestry or another that Maegor couldn’t care less about, he found himself… listening. More than that, he found himself watching the way your lips moved when you spoke, the way your eyes sparked with amusement every time you threw out another veiled barb. He could not recall the last time someone had dared to speak to him so freely, much less a woman he was meant to marry.
By the time the evening feast began, Maegor was seated at the head of the table with you beside him, laughing—laughing—at something one of your cousins had said. The sound caught him off guard, warm and inviting in a way that made his blood stir. He tried to ignore it.
But then you leaned in, close enough that he could feel the heat radiating from your skin.
"I expected you to be taller," you whispered, eyes glinting with amusement.
Maegor blinked, caught completely off guard. "I expected you to be more respectful."
"And I expected a dragon, not a man made of stone," you shot back, sipping your wine with an infuriatingly pleased look on your face.
He could not believe this. Was this to be his life now? To be challenged at every turn by a woman who clearly found great delight in besting him in conversation? The idea of returning to King’s Landing with you as his wife seemed more exhausting than fighting a hundred battles. Yet, there was something… thrilling about it, too.
The next few days passed in a blur of negotiations and formalities, but you were always there, always a step ahead of him in both words and actions. You challenged him, taunted him, and somehow, in the span of a week, Maegor found himself more drawn to you than he had ever been to any woman. He would never admit it, of course, but there were moments when he caught himself thinking about you when you were not in the room, wondering what clever remark you would make next.
The final straw came when, after another particularly heated exchange—this time about where you would live after the marriage—you sauntered away with a knowing smile, leaving Maegor standing in the middle of the courtyard with the distinct feeling that you had won.
He watched you go, the sway of your hips as you moved, the confidence in every step. His jaw clenched.
"She’s got you wrapped around her little finger," one of his men muttered under his breath, thinking Maegor couldn’t hear.
The man was wrong, of course. Maegor Targaryen bowed to no one, least of all a Dornish princess with a sharp tongue.
And yet, as you glanced back over your shoulder, catching his eye with that maddening smile, Maegor realized with a start that you had, indeed, wrapped him around your little finger.
And worse still… he didn’t entirely mind it.
Though gods help anyone who tried to make him admit it.
There probably were some cases but the masters refused to acknowledge it
They were like mmmmm maegor tried to put his dragon on the throne let's not talk about
house targaryen kinda boring u telling me not a single king tried to make his dragon heir? doubt
me: i want to see the the tv show about the conquest for the plot
the plot:
art credit: @chillyravenart