Maekar Targaryen

## Crown Prince of Meereen

**Maekar Targaryen**, also known as **The Black Dragon**,is the second son of Aenys Targaryen and his wife, Trianna Maegyr. He is Prince of Meereen, Rhaegar 's Heir Presumptive, and the Captain of the Company of the Cat .

## Appearance

Silver hair means less in Essos than it does in Westeros, but in far off Meereen, it is a badge of honor. Of dominance. Maekar wears his long, spilling over toned shoulders and chiseled features alike. He will, at most, adopt a light stubble, but is usually clean-shaven; he may be a mercenary, but he prides himself on appearances. High cheekbones and a sharp jaw draw attention to pale violet eyes, which oft seem to barely contain whatever fire burns beneath. In his youth, it was said that he and his younger brother Aerys looked alike. One can see slight similarities between them now--indeed, with their backs turned, one could hardly tell them apart. That ends quickly when he turns: a single streak of black runs down the front left side of his hair--a gift from his mother's genes. Maekar's journeys have been hard on him, though; his body is covered in scars of all sort. Mementos, each of a battle won (for if he had lost them, he would have far worse than a scar). He is tall, measuring six feet and one inch.

## History

Maekar Targaryen, the second born son of Prince Aenys Targaryen and his wife, Trianna Maegyr, came into the world screaming bloody murder. He was not the only one--about him, fire. It didn’t matter how it started--maybe a candle had tipped over, or perhaps it was an attempt on the Prince’s life. The specifics were not important; The Dragon’s Breath had gone up in flames, and though it was a month early, his mother’s body saw fit to birth him then and there, that he might have a better chance of survival even if she should perish.

As luck would have it, they both made their escape. A Prince’s vessel never traveled alone, and it was brave men from its accompanying vessels, Viserys’s Valor and Drogon’s Dread, that saw the Prince and his wife whisked away to safety, Maekar swaddled in the arms of a proud father. He had taken a blow during the escape. Splinters from a collapsing support dug across his face, and blood flew freely. Who’s to say that a little of that didn’t land on the seven-pointed star he wore about his neck, strung tenuously over the soot-covered babe?

Even then, one could see that Maekar was not like his kin. Silver hair, no more than wisps at the time, were already stained by strands of black. Wet nurses claimed that the fire never really left him; they could see it there behind his eyes. Flickering glimpses of the raging inferno that ran rampant in his mind.Two heads had fought free of the shell, their maws now gaping and spitting the lightest of flames. Two years later, the third would join them: Aerys Targaryen, for the dragon must always have three heads.

Maekar grew quickly, though not quick enough to outpace his older brother--that would come later in life. Even with his size, he would use his brains more than his brawns. After all, he grew up around a living, breathing dragon; Viserion had lived some fifty years by now, and his hulking mass made it apparent. What point was there in growing strong, when you could never hope to match such a creature? No, better to grow smart, that you might use it to the best of your abilities.

Even when he was young, he dreamed of a day when he could ride Viserion. The dragon accepted no riders other than Daenerys herself, though--he would not bear the weight of those other than his mother. Meereen was to go to Rhaegar one day, that much was certain. Maekar always hoped that the same would not be true for Viserion. The dragon could choose his own destiny. He was too young to understand grief, but if one was to ask him his first memory of it, he would speak of the death of his grandfather, Jaeherys. Cut down by Dothraki dogs mere miles from Meereen. It seemed scarce comprehensible: he was the blood of the dragon. Destined to be King. Rightful heir to Westeros. His death weighed heavy on the shoulders of his son, and by extension, on the shoulders of his sons.

Three years after Aerys, in 351 AC, came the final member of their brood. This one, a girl. Jaenara. Daenerys made no secret of her plan for her: she was to be wed to Rhaegar. A sister-wife, like the Targaryens of old. Maekar was too young to have any sort of an opinion on the matter, but as she grew, she seemed the spitting image of their mother, only with snow-white hair instead of her raven locks. Maekar slowly grew into a man. Rhaegar was bred to rule. He would be King some day, when Daenerys finally passed, and his father after her. A King had to know how a city functioned. How to keep a Kingdom running smoothly. Maekar needed no such thing. He was taught to lead men, for even the greatest of Kings need their generals.

When he turned eleven, tragedy saw fit to repeat itself. His parents were always fond of the sea, though he couldn’t tell you why. They felt as comfortable on the deck of a shifting ship as they did in the depths of The Great Pyramid, even after their near deaths eleven years earlier, in the flaming cabins of The Dragon’s Breath. This time, it was not fire that claimed the dragon, but a twisting tempest. Their vessel was torn asunder, a million different pieces floating listlessly in tumultuous, black seas.. Their bodies were never recovered.

Their death shattered their children. Rhaegar was the first to recover; Daenerys took him under her wing, teaching the to-be King about Meereen and its inhabitants. About Fire and Blood. The two were inseparable--a mother, in a time where Rhaegar had none. Jaenara and Aerys were the closest in age, with three years between them, and so they turned to each other, locked in their own little world.

Maekar was left alone. He picked up his pieces on his own. Sometimes, others would help. They would meander by and spot some part of him in the way, and they were courteous enough to return it. But they never went out of their way to find them.

Even with his distinctive features, he found it easy to melt away into the press of Meereen. To see, but never be seen. He would fight. Small scuffles, mostly. Rarely more than a few punches with some street kid, but it felt good.
There are two days he remembers with perfect clarity. He killed his first man (though to call him--no more than thirteen, with not a hair on his face--a man was... generous) at fifteen. Unintentional, of course. He had been pinned against the ground, hands on his throat, spying the black setting in at the edges when the rage hit him. Hand scrabbling for purchase, he found a loose cobble, and that cobble found his head.
The rest of the kids left him well enough alone after that; he was more trouble than he was worth. They had woken the Dragon.

He went out less often then. Daenerys kept a tighter leash on him. That’s not to say that she cared any more than she did before--that was reserved for Rhaegar and his bride-to-be. Locked up in his chambers, he took to his studies. Maps, charts, reports of all sorts. He became obsessed with the parts of the world he could never explore. With the home he could never return to--that land of knights and nobles a million miles away. He became closer to Jaenara, too, though he couldn’t tell you why. Maybe she had finally finished piecing herself and Aerys back together, and finally had time to help find those few shards that lay hidden from sight… or maybe she just took pity on her brother. He didn’t much care. The company was welcome.

With Jaenara came Aerys. Stronger, more martially talented than Maekar could ever hope to be, even in his youth. A friendly competition of sorts ensued between the two; it was with him that Maekar refined his taste for combat. No longer was he a child playing at a game he couldn’t understand. He was a warrior.

Jaenara continued to grow, seeming more and more like their mother each day. He found himself hanging on her every word. Even when they were apart, those silver locks twisted through his mind in a way he couldn’t quite understand. Daenerys spoke of marriages, of ways that Maekar could serve the House, but he never heard a single word. In one ear, and out the other.

He became obsessed with Jaenara. Every little move, every little word, dissected. Trying to understand her. To find out how best to make her happy. To the outside world, they seemed no more than close siblings. In his mind, though, he knew the truth. Jaenara had always prided herself on obtaining what she wanted. “Ownership” had never meant much to her--whatever bauble last caught her eye was to be hers. She had done the same with his heart, though it had likely never been her plan. Or maybe that was just what he told himself to justify it.

There are two days he remembers with perfect clarity. The smell of jasmine clung tightly to silver locks as she sat close, eyes alight as she spoke endlessly about subject-verb order in High Valyrian. Daenerys had required that all her grandchildren learn it, but the lessons had never stuck with Maekar. It was the way that the light had hit them that drew him close, they way that her breath caught that led his hand to brush back the hair that had fallen past her ear, and he kissed her. From the jaws of the Dragon, he stole a kiss. Though her lessons on Valyrian were always quickly forgotten, those on stealing seemed to last longer.

He doesn’t know when she told Daenerys. Sometime later in the week, no doubt. Not a fortnight after, he was called into her chambers. An uncommon affair. Something more befitting of Rhaegar than him. She scolded him mercilessly. He can scarce remember a time he had seen the woman so angry; had they not been blood, she would surely have fed him to Viserion, who glowered menacingly from the outer terrace.

A few weeks later, he was gone. “Off to Volantis to study High Valyrian and tactics,” Daenerys told the Court. He didn’t say goodbye. His time in Volantis was short-lived. He hated it. Loathed every second that he was there among the slaves and their masters. He began his escapades once more. Scampering off when no one was looking to bump elbows with the lower class. He began to consider himself rather covert. It was on one of those journeys that he met Lieutenant Kanno Madoran, otherwise known as The Red Prince. To hear him tell it, he was the bastard of the Prince of Pentos and some Westerosi woman--that was where he’d gotten the red hair. Current circumstances found him as a member of the Company of the Cat.

The two connected rather quickly, and the Company interested Maekar especially. He had always wanted to see the world, and life with them promised that. It seemed the only option that made sense, when he spilled lamb’s blood on his coverlets in the manse and slept away into the night. He dyed his hair coal-black that night, and has kept it so since--easier to deny his identity that way.

The company traveled everywhere. Pentos. Lys. Tyrosh. Astapor. New Ghis. They even wandered as far north as Braavos once, though Maekar spent more of that trip drunk than he did sober. He even managed to bump elbows with the Sealord of Braavos, Luco Antaryon, who was negotiating a deal of some sort or another with The Company. Somewhere along the line, he saw R’hllor in the light of a blazing funeral pyre. It was no stretch to him to abandon the Gods of his forebears in favor of one he had himself seen.

The Company became his family. The soldiers in it, his brothers. He was willing to lay down his life for each and every one of them, if need be. He stayed more for that camaraderie than for the gold--the income could never hope to compare to the wealth he could have if he returned to Meereen.

In battle after battle, he proved himself, becoming a valuable member of the Company’s spear line. When the Captain, a man they knew only as Suvrin, fell in battle in the Disputed Lands, his right-hand man, The Red Prince, won the election in a landslide. He named Maekar his standard-bearer--the man that carried the Company’s colors into battle and served as one of the Captain’s most trusted advisers. His knowledge of maps and lands of all sorts became invaluable; he served as an effective navigator.

The Company went to Slaver’s Bay, then, to fight off some Dothraki Khalasar that had wandered South, avoiding Meereen and Yunkai (Maekar thanked the Gods for that). In Astapor, they were greeted with a grand displays. Feasts, pit fights, the works. Whether it was part of some political machination or another, Maekar couldn’t tell, but a bear of a man was sent in to fight against a boy who could be no more than seven or eight. It would have been a slaughter.
But he didn’t raise his hand. Not once. Dropping that heavy axe upon the blood-stained sand, he left the Pit with his head held high (and more importantly, still upon his shoulders). The crowd booed and jeered, and that was enough to gather his name. Silas Storm.

Maekar saw some of himself in the older man. Thrown into a battle he had no hope of winning, destined to fight until the end of his days. Somehow, in the face of it all, he kept some semblance of honor, of dignity. That spoke of a mental fortitude that Maekar could never hope to match. In the dead of night, he freed the man and the boy both. Silas knighted him for his valor (which Maekar, having been raised on the tales of Andal knights, quickly accepted), and swore fealty. The boy, Qaknal (which Maekar quickly shortened to Quack), became a page of sorts--too young to fight, but he could be useful in other ways. The Company left the city to combat the Dothraki soon after.
When news of Daenerys’s death met him in the Second Moon of 370 AC, he wasn’t too distraught. A stand-in for a mother that had died long ago. The Red Prince died not two weeks later (The Bloody Flux, apparently), and that death affected him far more. When the election for the Company’s next Captain was held, Maekar received a narrow majority (primarily because of the untimely demise of a few minor opponents), and was thusly named Captain of the Company of the Cat. His tenure has thus far been a popular and effective one, as the Company marches to Meereen.
The prodigal son returns home, his hair washed of that stain that had tarnished it, and his banner flying high: sable, upon a pile gules, a dragon thrice headed sable, beneath the rampant tiger of the Company.

## Timeline

* 346 AC: Maekar Targaryen is born amidst salt and smoke, in the burning wreckage of The Dragon’s Breath. He and his parents narrowly escape the blaze.
* 348 AC: The Dragon’s third head emerges: Aerys Targaryen is born.
* 350 AC: Jaehaerys Targaryen, Maekar’s grandfather, falls in battle against the Dothraki.
* 351 AC: Jaenara Targaryen, the youngest of the dragons, is born. She is promised to Rhaegar.
* 357 AC: Only eleven, tragedy strikes again. Maekar’s parents are lost at sea, their ship torn apart by relentless waves.
* 359 AC: Maekar begins his escapades outside of The Grand Pyramid, mingling with the smallfolk.
* 361 AC: He kills his first man in a street brawl. It was unintentional--kill or be killed. But it felt good.
* 365 AC: Maekar steals a kiss from his sister, Jaenara. When Daenerys finds out, he is sent to foster in Volantis. He steals away in the night not long after, leaving his windows broken and his sheets stained with lamb’s blood. He is presumed dead. In reality, he joined The Company of the Cat.
* 367 AC: Maekar travels to Braavos, where he meets the Sealord Luco Antaryon. Sometime in the same year, he begins to worship R’hllor.
* 368 AC: Captain Suvrin dies, making The Red Prince Captain. The Red Prince makes Maekar his Standard-bearer. The Company moves to Astapor to fight against the Dothraki, where Maekar frees Silas Storm and Qaknal from their chains. Silas knights Maekar.
* 370 AC; Second Moon: Word of Daenerys’s death reaches the Company, under contract in The Disputed Lands.
* 370 AC; Third Moon: The Red Prince dies. Maekar, narrowly winning the election, becomes Captain.
* 370 AC; Fifth Moon: Envoys of King Rhaegar Targaryen reach out to the Company in Volantis, seeking to hire them. Maekar agrees to their terms (provided he receives a sit-down with Rhaegar), and begins sailing to Meereen.
* 370 AC; Seventh Moon: Maekar and his host approach Meereen.

## Family Tree

* Queen Daenerys I Targaryen (284-370)
* King Aegon VI Targaryen (Deceased)
	+ Prince Jaehaerys Targaryen (303-350)
	+ Galazza Galare (Deceased)
	+ Prince Aenys Targaryen (323-357)
	+ Trianna Maegyr (322-357)
		- King Rhaegar I Targaryen (b. 344)
		- Maekar Targaryen (b. 346)
		- Aerys Targaryen (348-370)
		- Queen Jaenara Targaryen (b. 351)

## Supporting Characters

**Qaknal** (“Quack”), his page and scribe; 10

* Gifts: Sums

**Silent**, one of his guards; 38

* Gifts: Strong, Towering
* Negative Traits: Mute

**Donnilos** (“Whiskers”), the Annalist of The Company of the Cat; 32

* Gifts: Voice

**Nakaro** (“Ser Blue”), one of Maekar’s lieutenants, 28

* Gifts: Leadership

**Gazlahr** (“Scales”) zo Gahnaz, the Quartermaster of the Company, 43

* Gifts: Administrator
* Negative Traits: Deformity (dead Greyscale)

**Siraya** “Feather” Dirrios, Maekar’s translator and bedwarmer, 19

* Gifts: Beauty

**Maraphos** “Rahloo” Bahaar, Standard-bearer of the Company, 25

* Gifts: Leadership, Voice
* Negative Traits: Eunuch

**Corbyn the Quartermaester**, Maekar’s "Maester", 28

* Gifts: Vitality
* Negative Traits: Dwarf

**Garresso Hartaris**, “The Red Dancer”, The Company’s Master-at-Arms, 41

* Gifts: Martially Adept, Leadership
* Negative Traits: Maimed (Hand)