Maegor The Terrible

The morning sun spilled through the curtains of the royal bed-chamber, casting a soft glow on the rich silks and velvets that adorned the room. Aenys Targaryen stirred in the grand bed, his lilac eyes fluttering open as he felt the warmth of his wife, Alyssa Velaryon, beside him. Her head rested lightly on his chest, her silvery hair spilling like a waterfall across the sheets.

Aenys smiled faintly, brushing a strand of hair from her face. She stirred, her own eyes opening to meet his. "Good morning, my love," Alyssa murmured, her voice still heavy with sleep.

"And to you," Aenys replied softly. They lay in silence for a moment of peace before the demands of the day called them to duty.

But the Red Keep never truly slept. The distant sounds of servants bustling through the halls soon reached their ears, and Aenys sighed, kissing Alyssa's forehead before slipping from the bed.

"I'll see to the children," he said, wearing a light robe embroidered with subtle dragon motifs.

Alyssa smiled. "They'll be waiting for you in the gardens, as always."

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In the gardens, the scent of blooming roses and jasmine filled the air, and the soft murmur of a fountain provided a soothing backdrop. Aenys found his children where he always did, chasing each other among the neatly trimmed hedges.

"Father!" cried little Aegon, his silver-golden curls bouncing as he ran toward Aenys. The boy's bright smile was a mirror of his own, and Aenys swept him into his arms, spinning him around as the child squealed with delight.

"Careful, Aegon," came the soft admonishment of Rhaena, Aenys' eldest, who approached with more measured steps. Her violet eyes, so much like her grandmother's, shone with quiet intelligence. "Father might drop you."

"Never," Aenys said with mock offense, setting Aegon down and crouching to meet Rhaena's gaze. "How is my little princess this morning?"

"I'm not little," she replied, crossing her arms in a way that was almost regal. "I'm seven now, remember?"

Aenys chuckled, ruffling her hair. "Of course, how could I forget? Soon enough, you'll be ruling the gardens, just like your mother rules my heart."

Raena rolled her eyes, but a faint smile tugged at her lips.

The three of them spent the next hour playing among the flowers, Aenys indulging his children's whims with a patience and warmth that made the servants passing by stop and smile.

As Aenys escorted his children back to the care of their septa, he made his way through the castle halls. Servants carrying trays of food and armfuls of laundry paused to bow or curtsy, their faces lighting up as he greeted them by name.

"Good morning, Sara. How is your son? Has his cough improved?"

"Yes, my prince," the maid replied with a grateful smile. "Thanks to the maester's potions."

"Good. Let me know if he needs more," Aenys said warmly before continuing on.

In the courtyard, a minor lord awaited him—a young man with a nervous expression and a poorly fitted doublet. Aenys approached with his usual smile, putting the man at ease.

"Lord Rowan, isn't it?" Aenys asked.

"Yes, Prince Aenys," the man stammered, bowing deeply. "I… I've come to speak of a matter troubling my lands. Bandits along the river have grown bolder, and my knights are stretched thin. If… if the king could spare even a few men—"

"I understand your concerns, my lord," Aenys interrupted gently, placing a reassuring hand on the man's shoulder. "My brother will hear of this. I will make sure of it. The safety of your lands is the crown's responsibility, and it will not be ignored."

Lord Rowan's face flooded with relief. "Thank you, my prince. Truly."

Aenys watched the man depart, a flicker of unease crossing his features. It was not the first time he'd heard such a plea, nor would it be the last. He only hoped Maegor would listen.

By the time Aenys entered the Great Hall, the space was already alive with the hum of courtly life. Lords and ladies mingled, their voices weaving a tapestry of intrigue and ambition. Aenys smiled as he stepped into the throng, his presence instantly drawing eyes and softening tense conversations. He was dressed in pale silks embroidered with subtle dragon motifs, Aenys looked every bit the charming prince.

"Prince Aenys," a knight greeted, bowing low. "You bring light to this hall."

"It is the least I can do," Aenys replied with a laugh.

As he moved through the crowd, he felt the weight of their expectations pressing down on him. The lords sought his kindness, the smallfolk his protection. Even now, as he exchanged pleasantries and offered gentle reassurances, he knew that the realm saw in him something he wasn't sure he possessed.

And yet, for now, he played his part. The morning had begun in warmth, and though the shadow of his brother's rule loomed ever-present, Aenys would do what he could to bring light to the day.

"Prince Aenys, your presence is like a balm to this court," said Lord Ellery Bracken, "It is good to see someone who can bring harmony in these troubled times."

Aenys smiled, inclining his head. "It is the least I can do, my lord. With Father's passing, the realm must come together. Unity is our strength."

"Wise words," chimed in Lady Maris Osgrey, her green gown shimmering as she stepped closer. "And words that many here would follow, should they come from the right ruler."

Aenys' smile faltered, if only for a moment. He glanced between the two nobles, sensing the careful trap in their words. "Luckly we alredy have one, My brother Maegor," he said carefully, though his tone lacked the fire of conviction. "The blood of the dragon flows strong in him, as it did in our father."

"Of course," Lord Ellery said smoothly. "But Maegor… his strength lies in battle. The realm needs more than fire and blood to thrive. It needs a king who can bring peace, who can inspire love."

Lady Maris leaned in, her voice dropping to a near whisper. "You have your father's grace, Prince Aenys. His light. The lords see it. The smallfolk whisper it. Perhaps the gods whisper it too."

Aenys shifted uncomfortably, his easy smile now feeling like a mask. "I appreciate your faith in me," he said, his voice measured. "But Maegor is the king. The crown is his by right."

Ellery clasped Aenys on the shoulder, his expression sympathetic. "A king's right is only as strong as the realm's belief in it. Think on that, Prince Aenys. For the good of the Seven Kingdoms."

The lords departed, leaving Aenys standing alone in the crowd. Their words lingered like a splinter beneath his skin, and he moved through the hall, seeking solace. He found himself drawn toward the Iron Throne.

The jagged metal of the throne glinted menacingly in the sunlight, its cruel edges a stark contrast to Aenys' silken finery. He stared at it, feeling the weight of generations and the burden it carried. He approached, his fingers brushing against a twisted blade near its base. It was cold to the touch.

"You shouldn't linger here, dear prince."

Aenys turned, startled, to see Visenya Targaryen standing in the shadows. Draped in black and crimson, her presence was as sharp and imposing as the throne itself. Her violet eyes bore into him, unyielding and suspicious.

"Queen Visenya," Aenys said, inclining his head. "I… I was merely reflecting on Father's legacy."

"Is that what you were doing?" she asked, stepping closer. Her voice was quiet, but it carried an edge that made Aenys stiffen. "Or were you imagining how it would feel to sit upon it?"

"I would never," Aenys said quickly, his voice rising slightly in alarm. "The throne is Maegor's. I have no desire to challenge that."

Visenya's lips curved into a faint, humorless smile. "No desire? Yet the lords flock to you. They whisper in your ear. They plant seeds of doubt and ambition. Do you think I am blind to their schemes?"

"They speak out of fear," Aenys said, trying to defend himself. "I assure you, I have done nothing to encourage them."

"And yet you do nothing to silence them," Visenya countered. She stepped closer, her gaze piercing. "Beware, nephew. The Iron Throne tolerates no weakness. Neither does my son."

Before Aenys could respond, Visenya swept past him, her presence like a storm leaving the air heavy and charged.

He stood there for a long moment, his hand still resting on the cold blade of the throne. He wasn't sure how long had passed when a soft voice broke through his thoughts.

"Aenys?"

Turning, he saw Cercy Hightower approaching, her golden hair glinting in the sunlight. Her gentle expression was a balm to the storm Visenya had left behind.

"Cercye," he said, his voice warming. "It's good to see you."

She smiled, her green eyes filled with concern. "You look troubled. Has something happened?"

Aenys hesitated, then shook his head. "It's nothing. Just… the weight of it all."

Cercye stepped closer, placing a hand on his arm. "You carry it well, Aenys. The court adores you. The smallfolk adore you. You have a gift for bringing light where there is darkness."

"I wish I could believe that," he murmured. "Sometimes it feels as though I am drowning in their expectations."

"You are stronger than you think," Cercye said softly. "And you are not alone. Whatever you face, I will stand with you. We wre family afterall."

Her words brought a flicker of comfort, but as Aenys glanced back at the Iron Throne, the shadow of doubt remained. The court might adore him, but it was Visenya's words—and the threat they carried—that echoed in his mind.