The sun hung low in the sky, casting an amber glow over the bustling streets of Jinqi. Moira dismounted her horse with a practiced grace, the leather of her riding boots creaking softly as she landed on the cobblestone. The air was thick with the scents of spices and something sweet, a reminder of the vibrant life that pulsed through Yi-Ti. She tied her horse to a sturdy post outside a weathered tavern, the wooden sign creaking gently in the breeze, emblazoned with a faded image of a dragon.

Taking a deep breath, she pushed through the heavy door, the warm air inside wrapping around her like a familiar cloak. The tavern was alive with laughter and the clinking of mugs, patrons gathered around tables sharing tales of distant lands and grand adventures. Moira's gaze swept across the room, her heart pounding with anticipation. She was searching for the man Khal Varro had described—a man who looked like her.

Her eyes flitted from one face to another, searching for the telltale signs. And then she spotted him. At the far end of the bar, a figure sat hunched over a tankard of ale. He had long, platinum blonde hair cascading down his back, catching the light in a way that made it shimmer. As she approached, she could see the unmistakable features that mirrored her own—sharp cheekbones, a strong jawline—but it was his eyes that held her gaze.

One eye was a striking violet, vibrant and full of life, while the other was obscured by an eye patch. Something stirred within her, a mix of curiosity and apprehension. She approached cautiously, her heart racing with each step.

"Excuse me," she said, her voice steady despite the fluttering in her chest. "Are you... are you known as Maegor?"

He looked up, his expression unreadable as he studied her. For a moment, silence hung between them, the noise of the tavern fading into the background. Recognition flickered in his violet eye, and a slow smile spread across his face, revealing a warmth that made her own heart leap.

"Aye," he replied, his voice deep and smooth, laced with the slightest hint of a foreign accent. "And you must be Moira."

Relief washed over her as she nodded, taking a seat beside him.

"You're searching for my mother?" Maegor asked, his gaze sweeping over Moira's features. It was uncanny how similar they looked, though the years had carved different paths into their lives. At four-and-twenty, he was a man shaped by experience, while she was still on the precipice of adulthood.

Moira nodded, feeling a nervous pit in her stomach. She absentmindedly adjusted the eyepatch that concealed her sapphire eye, a secret she had carried with her like a shadow.

"What has your father told you?" Maegor's voice was calm, but there was an edge of curiosity as he took a long pull from his tankard of ale.

"Not much, only the deal they've made," she replied, shrugging her shoulders in a gesture of resignation. The weight of her father's silence pressed heavily upon her, and she hated how it left her feeling unmoored in her search.

Maegor leaned back slightly, his violet eye narrowing as he studied her. "And what of his other children?" he asked, a hint of tension in his voice.

Moira frowned, confusion knitting her brow. "Other children? He told me he never had any," she said, the disbelief evident in her tone. "He always said my siblings and I were the only ones."

Maegor's expression shifted, a flicker of something—perhaps sympathy—crossing his features. "That's not entirely true. I... I'm one of those bastards," he confessed, his voice low but steady. "There are two more—my brother, Daemion, and my sister, Helaena."

Shock washed over Moira, her heart racing as she tried to process his words. "You're telling me my father has three children outside of my mother's children?" she asked, incredulity lacing her voice. "How could he keep this from me?"

Maegor sighed, the weight of his own history evident in his expression. "Some truths are easier to bury than face. Father is a good man, he still sent coin to us once every couple of moons."

Moira shook her head, her mind reeling. "What do you know about them? Where can I find them?"

Maegor leaned in closer, his violet eye intense. "I've been searching for them myself. Daemion and Helaena were raised far from here, but I believe they're still in Yi-Ti. If we can find them, we can find my mother, she's the only one that can break the deal."

—————

The council chambers was still, the air thick with the remnants of heated debate. The council had adjourned,  the Lords filtering out, their faces a mix of relief and tension. Maekar, seated at the head of the long wooden table, ran a hand through his beard, the weight of the kingdom resting heavily on his shoulders.

As the last council member departed, the heavy doors creaked open once more, and Lord Larys stepped inside. His figure was cloaked in shadows, his eyes glinting with a knowing sharpness that unsettled Maekar.

"My liege," he began, bowing slightly, though the gesture felt perfunctory. "I trust the council has left you in good spirits?"

"Spirits?" Maekar echoed, a frown forming on his brow. "Spirits are not what concern me, Larys. We stand on the brink of war, and our nobles bicker like children over gold and lands."

"Indeed, but there are matters more personal that require your attention." Larys stepped closer, lowering his voice as he leaned in, the flickering torchlight casting eerie shadows on his face. "I have received... troubling news regarding the Queen."

Maekar's heart quickened, a sense of foreboding washing over him. "What do you mean? Is she well?"

"Whispers in the dark, Your Grace," Larys replied, his tone conspiratorial. "It is said that she has been seen in the company of the Lord Commander of your Kingsguard. Their encounters have been frequent, and not all of them innocent."

The words hung in the air, heavy with implication. Maekar's jaw clenched, his mind racing.

"Are you certain of this?" Maekar demanded, his voice low but edged with steel. "These are dangerous accusations, Larys. I will not have my Queen's honor sullied without proof."

"Proof can be elusive," Larys replied smoothly, "but I have eyes everywhere. The whispers grow louder, my King. It would be wise to tread carefully. A scandal such as this could unravel not just your marriage, but the very fabric of your reign."

Maekar rose from his seat, the weight of decision pressing down on him like armor. "What would you have me do? Confront her? Confront him?"

"Patience is a virtue, my liege. Observe, gather more information. The truth often reveals itself when least expected." Larys' smile was thin, almost predatory. "But be prepared. If these rumors hold weight, you may need to act decisively. The loyalty of a king's guard is as fragile as the heart of a Queen."

As Larys turned to leave, Maekar felt the chill of betrayal creeping in, threatening to consume him. The court was a web of intrigue, and he had become ensnared in its grasp. He watched as Larys slipped into the shadows, the spymaster's warning echoing in his ears.

The hall was silent once more, but Maekar's thoughts roared like a tempest. Trust was a luxury he could no longer afford, and in the game of thrones, even the most sacred bonds could become weapons.

"Bring me Ser Criston," Maekar's head snapped towards four of his Dothraki warriors. There was a mad glint in his eyes.

The command hung in the air, sharp and resolute. Maekar's voice cut through the remnants of uncertainty, a deep determination resonating within him. The four Dothraki warriors, tall and formidable, exchanged glances, their expressions a blend of understanding and eagerness.

"As you command, my King," one of them replied, a hint of a grin playing on his lips. The Dothraki were known for their loyalty to those who showed power, and Maekar's word was law.

"Make it clear that I do not take kindly to disobedience," Maekar continued, his tone unwavering. "And if Ser Criston attempts to resist, remind him of the weight of his position. Loyalty must be earned, and I will not allow treachery to fester within my ranks."

The warriors nodded, their eyes gleaming with the thrill of the task. They bowed their heads in respect before turning sharply, boots thudding against the stone floor as they strode from the hall. Maekar watched them go, a storm brewing within him.

The thought of confronting Ser Criston sent a surge of adrenaline through his veins. The knight had been a trusted ally, a man he had fought beside, yet now he felt a sense of betrayal clawing at his insides. The idea of his wife's infidelity stoked the flames of anger; it was not just the act itself, but what it would mean for the kingdom, for his rule.

He paced the length of the hall, the echoes of his steps mingling with the flickering shadows cast by the torches. His mind raced with possibilities, questions swirling like dark clouds. If the rumors were true, how deeply had their bond entwined? And what would it mean for Alicent?

Moments later, the heavy doors swung open, and the Dothraki returned, dragging Ser Criston behind them. The knight struggled, his expression a mixture of confusion and indignation. One of the Dothraki had a firm grip on his shoulder, while another held him by the arm, ensuring he could not break free.

"My King," Criston said, his voice steady despite the circumstances. "You summoned me?"

Maekar stepped forward, his presence imposing. "You have much to answer for, Ser Criston. Rumors speak of you and my wife in ways that are unacceptable."

The Lord Commander's brow furrowed, disbelief crossing his features. "Your Grace, I assure you—"

"Do not insult my intelligence!" Maekar thundered, cutting him off. "You will speak the truth, or I will have no choice but to make an example of you."

Criston straightened, a flicker of defiance igniting in his eyes. "I have served you loyally, Your Grace. I would never betray you or the Queen."

"Then what explains your clandestine meetings?" Maekar pressed, his voice low and dangerous. "I will not be a fool, nor will I allow my kingdom to be undermined by deceit. Speak, or face the consequences."

For a moment, the room was silent, tension thick as a storm cloud. The Dothraki tightened their grip, ready to act on the king's command. The air was charged with anticipation, and Maekar found himself holding his breath, waiting for the truth to spill forth. The fate of his reign, and perhaps his heart, hung in the balance.

"After Aegon died, the Queen sought comfort," Ser Criston explained. The mad glint in Maekar's eyes faded, replaced by sorrow.

The weight of Ser Criston's words settled heavily in the hall, an invisible shroud cloaking Maekar in a deeper despair. The anger that had surged within him moments before began to ebb, replaced by a profound sorrow that gnawed at his insides. He felt the madness in his heart recede, leaving only the aching truth of his reality.

"Comfort?" Maekar echoed, his voice barely above a whisper. "You speak of comfort as if it were a mere balm for a wound. And you think it right for her to seek solace in the arms of another man?"

Ser Criston's gaze softened, a flicker of understanding crossing his features. "Grief affects us all differently, my king. The weight of loss can drive even the strongest hearts to desperation. I did not seek this, nor did the Queen. It was a moment of weakness, a misunderstanding... a shared sorrow."

Maekar sank into the heavy wooden chair at the head of the table, the ornate carvings of the backrest seeming to mock him with their beauty. He rested his elbows on his knees, burying his face in his hands as the realization washed over him. The curse that had plagued his family—the deaths, the betrayals, the insatiable hunger for power—had driven a wedge between him and those he loved most.

"How many times did I prioritise my crown over my family?" he murmured, his voice trembling. "The throne has become a burden, one I have carried without considering the cost to my wife, to my children. I have been so focused on the realm that I failed to see the cracks forming in my own household."

The Dothraki warriors shifted uneasily, their fierce demeanor softened in the face of their king's vulnerability. Ser Criston, too, remained silent, allowing Maekar the space to wrestle with his emotions.

"Alicent sought comfort where she could find it," Maekar continued, his voice thick with regret. "I was too blind, too consumed by the demands of ruling to notice her pain. She needed me, and I turned my back on her, believing I was protecting her by focusing on the kingdom."

—————

In the dimly lit chamber, the air hung heavy with unspoken words. The flickering candlelight cast long shadows on the stone walls, creating an atmosphere thick with tension. The handmaiden, a quiet figure in the corner, broke the silence.

"The King, Your Grace," she announced, bowing deeply.

Alicent nodded, her heart racing as she gestured for Maekar to enter. He stepped forward, a tall figure cloaked in regal authority, yet there was a vulnerability in his posture. As he settled into the chair opposite her, the silence stretched between them, taut and uncomfortable. Neither dared to meet the other's gaze, their thoughts swirling in a tempest of emotions.

Finally, Alicent broke the stillness, her voice barely above a whisper. "I heard you summoned Ser Criston."

Maekar turned his head slowly, and Alicent caught a glimpse of the sorrow that weighed heavily in his eyes. It was a look she had seen too many times before, a reflection of the turmoil within.

"I did. Don't worry, I haven't taken his head or sent him to the Wall," he replied, his tone laced with a mixture of defiance and regret.

"Why would you not take his head?" Alicent asked, her voice trembling with uncertainty. "He has betrayed you, and yet you show him mercy?"

Maekar's gaze bore into hers, a mixture of pain and understanding reflected in his expression. "Because I know what it is to be driven by grief, Alicent. I understand the choices we make when our hearts are heavy. I may not approve of what transpired, but I will not compound our suffering with bloodshed."

Alicent's heart ached at his words. She had expected fury, perhaps even violence, yet here sat the man she had once loved fiercely, stripped of his kingly armor, vulnerable and raw. "You speak as if this pain is excusable," she said softly, the hint of accusation weaving through her tone. "You act as if my actions were justified."

"I do not condone them," he replied, his voice steady but quiet, "but I know that I have contributed to this rift. I pushed you away in my obsession with the crown, in my desire to keep you safe from the chaos of the realm. I lied to you, and in my absence, you sought comfort where you could find it."

Alicent's breath hitched, the admission striking deeper than any blade. "But it was never my intention to betray you. I sought solace, yes, but not in a way that would dishonor our vows."

"I know," Maekar said, his voice softening. "And I am sorry. I have been a king, but not the husband you deserved. I took your love for granted, thinking that my duty would be enough to sustain us. I was wrong."

Alicent met his gaze, the sorrow in his eyes reflecting her own. "Maekar, I—"

"Please, let me finish," he interrupted gently. "I will not ruin your reputation. I meant what I said; I will love you to the end of my days. If you still wish to seek comfort in the company of another, I cannot stop you."

"What else have you lied to me about?" Alicent asked, thinking back to Maekar's words just moments ago.

"I have three children in Yi-Ti,"

Alicent's breath caught in her throat as she processed Maekar's revelation. The words hung heavy in the air, a stark reminder of the depths of his secrets. "Three children?" she repeated, disbelief etched across her face. "In Yi-Ti?"

Maekar nodded slowly, his expression grave. "Yes. Three children I fathered during a time when I was lost, when I believed the crown was all that mattered. They were conceived in a moment of weakness, a desperate attempt to forge alliances in a world that seemed intent on tearing us apart."

Alicent's heart raced, a whirlwind of emotions crashing over her. Anger, betrayal, and a deep-seated sorrow swirled within her. "You had a life, a family, somewhere far away, and you kept it from me?" Her voice trembled, hurt clear in every syllable.

"I thought I was protecting you," Maekar replied, his voice heavy with regret. "I believed knowledge of my past would only bring you pain. But they know about you, Alicent. They know you are their stepmother."

Alicent's eyes widened, shock mingling with an unexpected swell of emotion. "They know about me? What have you told them?"

"I told them the truth—that you are their stepmother, the queen of Westeros," Maekar explained, his gaze earnest. "I wanted them to understand their heritage, even if it meant carrying the burden of my choices. They have grown up hearing stories of you, of your strength and beauty."

Alicent's heart ached at the thought of those children, raised in a land far from her, yet connected to her by blood and circumstance. "And what do they think of me?" she asked, her voice softening. "Do they resent me for your choices?"

"No," Maekar replied firmly. "They admire you. They see you as a woman of power, a figure of grace. But they also carry the weight of our family's history. They long to know you and understand the bond they share with you."

Alicent's emotions churned, a mix of jealousy and empathy flooding her thoughts. "What do you intend to do about them? Will you bring them back to Westeros? Will you introduce them to our court?"

"I must face my past and bring them here," Maekar declared, determination filling his voice. "They deserve to know their stepmother and to be part of this family, despite the tumultuous beginnings. I can no longer hide them away."

Alicent stared at him, grappling with the implications of his words. "And what of us, Maekar? Where do we stand in all of this? Can we truly build a future together when your past looms so large?"

Maekar looked up, his gaze earnest. "I cannot change what has happened, but I can strive to be better. I will face my past for the sake of our future and theirs. If you can find it in your heart to forgive me, I will do everything in my power to make amends. We can work together to navigate this, to build a life for our children and for ourselves."

Alicent felt tears prick at her eyes, the weight of his honesty mingling with her own sorrow. The path ahead was uncertain and fraught with challenges, but perhaps there was a way forward. "I need time to process this, Maekar. Time to understand what this means for us. But I want to try—if you truly mean what you say."

"I do," he affirmed, his voice steady. "I want to fight for us, for our family."