"Ahm... And so-" the High Septon's voice rang through the vast hall "Maegor of House Targaryen, first of his name, is crowned King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, protector of the realm. May he rule wisely, justly, and under the light of the Seven."
The silence that followed was thick, almost suffocating. The great lords and ladies of Westeros bowed, some with reverence, others with reluctance. The crown, set with rubies, gleamed upon Maegor's brow, a symbol of power. He exhaled slowly, taking in the sight before him—the assembled nobility, their faces a mixture of awe, fear, and barely concealed dissent.
Visenya Targaryen was the first to rise. Her gaze swept across the hall like a blade, daring any to challenge what had transpired. The doors groaned open, and Maegor descended from the Iron Throne, his black cloak billowing as he strode forth, his council trailing behind him.
Ser Corlys Velaryon walked to his right, his grip firm on the pommel of his sword. On his left, Queen Visenya matched his stride, her bearing regal and victorious. Lords and ladies stepped aside as he passed, some bowing their heads, others stealing wary glances at their new ruler.
Lord Aethan Velaryon was the first to approach, stepping forth with a deep bow. "Your Grace," he said with a meaningful look, steady but measured voice. "Driftmark is yours to command, now and always."
Maegor met his gaze and gave a slight nod. "Thank you, Lord Aethan. Come to me at a later date, we have much to discuss."
As they moved deeper into the hall, Lady Jeyne Westerling, now Tarbeck, hesitated before stepping forward. A woman of courtly grace, she curtsied low, her movements deliberate, her eyes lingering on Maegor's. "Your Grace, my husband, Lord Alyn, could not come in person, but he has sent word of his fealty. House Tarbeck remains loyal and at your service."
He stopped before her, his gaze flickered to her, taking in the subtle arch of her brow, the demure way she lowered her lashes. "Your loyalty and service are appriciated my Lady,"
Without ceremony, he took her hand in his own, his grip firm but warm, and lifted it to his lips. His kiss was not gentle—it was possessive, the brush of his lips against her knuckles slow, deliberate.
"Perhaps one day, I shall find a way to reward such loyalty." he murmured, his voice deep, edged with something dark. His fingers lingered a moment longer than propriety allowed before releasing her.
Jeyne's cheeks flushed, but she held his gaze, her breath uneven. "It is not reward we seek, Your Grace, only to do our duty."
A ghost of a smirk touched his lips. "A dutiful woman is a rare thing. And rare things are precious."
As he passed, she did not step back immediately, her scent—a blend of myrrh and Dornish spice—trailing after her. The brief flicker of amusement in his gaze was quickly masked by his usual impassivity as he moved forward.
Whispers trailed behind him as they passed a gathering of Reach lords. Paxter Redwyne, his orange hair catching the candlelight, stepped forward. "A daring move, Your Grace," he said, his voice careful. "You have set a new course for the realm today."
Maegor turned his head slightly. "He who dares wins, Lord Redwyne."
Redwyne smiled, though there was wariness behind his eyes. "Only if it comes with wisdom, your grace. May the Seven bless your reign with both."
After him, Lord Martyn Hightower stepped forward, flanked by a pair of his household knights. His expression was carefully guarded, but Ceryse Hightower's presence at Maegor's side softened his stance. "Your Grace, if I may-" he said, bowing with more ease than before. "The Faith has long been one of the pillars of Westeros, and you are the protector of the Faith. That comes with a responsibility. The words spoken today will not be easily forgotten."
"Oldtown is, of course its house, and House Hightower have-"
Maegor met his gaze with cold anger. "Get to your point, Martyn."
"I believe that theres no need for animosity between the crown and the Faith."
Maegor let a few moments go by in scilens, watching as Martyn grew uncomfortable, and then said, "I hold no anymosity to anyone, except traitors like Dorne. But I'm sure there will be no need for any of it in this case." "I am, after all, the defender of the Faith, am I not?" He ended with a wolfish smile.
Hightower hesitated but then forced a smile. "Of corse you are your grace... I trust my sister is well cared for?"
Maegor turned his head slightly, looking upon Ceryse. "She is queen," he said simply.
Martyn nodded, choosing to say nothing further, and stepped aside. The murmurs swelled again as Maegor pressed on, his path clear once more.
As they neared the council chamber, Queen Visenya's voice cut through the air, quiet yet firm. "They alredy fear you, Maegor."
He smirked, the faintest glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes. "As they should."
The doors to the council chamber loomed ahead, and Maegor did not hesitate. The ceremony had ended. Now, it was time to rule, and there was much work to be done.
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The first council meeting under King Maegor was convened in the Red Keep, with his advisors gathered around the grand table. Lord Aethan Velaryon, Master of Ships, Lord Alyn Stokeworth, Hand of the King, Lord Triston Massey, Master of Laws, Lord Crispian Celtigar, Master of Coin, and Ser Corlys Velaryon, Lord Commander of the Kings-guard, all offered their congratulations.
Maegor inwardly basked in their words, revelling in the authority he now wielded. Outwardly, he was all business, eager to set his rule into motion. He had an image to maintain, he wasn't his father nor Aenys. He was better, above flattery and sweat words, and now came the time to show them all.
"Enough flattery, my lords," said Maegor "My father, although a great conqueror, left me a kingdom with a great need for reforms. Times have changed, the world is different, and its due time my kingdom will have the reforms she so desperately needs".
For his first decree, Maegor outlined that all sell swords and hedge knights must either find a lord or serve the crown directly, ostensibly to maintain order and combat banditry. The room fell into a tense silence.
"This a serios change, your grace; it will bring unrest," Lord Massey cautioned. "There are many who make their living independent of lords. Forcing them into service could be seen as overreach."
"Or as necessary order," Maegor countered. "No true swordsman should be without allegiance. If they will not pledge to a lord, they are but brigands in waiting."
Murmurs filled the chamber.
"The Free Cities employ thousands of such men," Lord Crispian Celtigar noted. "And there is always work for them in Essos. Many will take their swords across the Narrow Sea rather than submit."
"Let them go if they wish. " Maegor said. " Westeros will be rid of sell-swords who place gold above fealty. The ones who stay will be true and honourable men and loyal subjects."
"And those who refuse?" Lord Aethan Velaryon asked. "A knight of no allegiance is not yet a criminal. Will you make them outlaws by decree?"
"My word is law," Maegor said. "They should thank me, really; this way, they will have a stable income and won't need to do petty jobs or resort to banditry in times of peace. To join a lord's service or mine, there are fates much worse than that."
'He means to use this to build an army,' Visenya thought while observing from her seat. 'Not just to curb banditry.' 'Surely the sharper lords see that a well.'
Silence settled over the council. Lord Stokeworth shifted uncomfortably. "This may make some houses uneasy. They will see it as a threat to their culture and way of life."
"Let them see it as they wish," Maegor declared. "They will thank me when there are no more sell swords to hire against them. Besides," Maegor added, "nothing will change for true pious warriors, the Warrior himself encourages loyalty to one's lord and people and not for money."
'Since when is he so well-learned in the Seven's teachings' thought Lord Stokeworth.
"My decision is final; we move to the next one," said Maegor.
They then moved to his second decree: defecating in the streets was now punishable by exile. The council exchanged glances, some shifting uncomfortably.
Lord Alyn hesitated before speaking. "My king, while we all agree the city must be clean, exile is a harsh punishment for a desperate act. Many in the lower districts—"
"They are not animals," Maegor interrupted. "There are no excuses for this filth in my streets."
"Many of them are poor and uneducated, your grace," Lord Massey added. "And the city also lacks enough privies for them all. Would it not be wiser to build more public latrines rather than impose exile?"
"A fine suggestion, Lord Massey; more public latrines will be built, but defecating will still lead to exile. There will not be excuses, and a lesson must be taught," Maegor said firmly.
"Flee Bottom, from his name to his very core and essence is a stain on this city. And so I want the dismantling and reconstruction of Flea Bottom."
"Flea Bottom is home to thousands," Lord Celtigar noted. "The cost of manpower alone—"
"Worry not my lord. The criminals of the city will build the city they disgrace," Maegor stated, unveiling his plan. Petty criminals such as thieves, would be sentenced to labour, reinforcing the workforce needed for his grand designs.
The tension in the room thickened.
"And will these men ever be free of their sentence?" Lord Celtigar asked. "Or is this to be a more permanent work?"
"Temporary and proportional to the crime committed," Maegor replied coldly. "They disrupt order; they shall restore it."
"Many will see it as... cruelty, your grace." Lord Alyn said carefully.
"Then let them keep their streets clean and commit no crimes, and they will have nothing to fear," Maegor said dismissively.
The council exchanged wary glances, the weight of Maegor's rule settling in.
"To conclude our meeting", Maegor declared, "While the council served under my father well, I find to small to advice me in ruling my vast kingdom effectively."
"As of today, the role of Master of Ships will be split: Lord Aethan Velaryon will be Master of Trade, while his son Daemon Velaryon will be Admiral of the King's Fleet."
"Ser Rayford Rosby is named Lord Commander of the City Watch, with Bernarr Brune as his second-in-command."
"Ser Gawen Corbray will be made Master of War and Commander of the King's Armies.
"A knight and not a lord?" Lord Stokeworth questioned. "The realm may not take kindly to such a decision."
"Ser Gawen trained me, and none are more capable," Maegor declared. "Any who question my choice question my rule. Am I clear Stokeworth?"
"Yes, my king" he answered meekly.
'A standing army, commanded by a knight of his choosing,' Lord Crispian thought. 'A force separate from the great houses. Well done your grace'.
The final decree and the most controversial was the naming of Visenya Targaryen as the Mistress of Whisperers to the king. The notion of a woman in such a role was unconventional, but none dared to challenge the King's mother.
"That will be all for the coming weeks," said Maegor "we will focus on my decrease and the Grand tourney for my coronation. I trust all is well Lord Celtigar?"
"Yes, my king, it will be the grandest ever seen in Westeros, and also the most expensive..."
"Great." Maegor rose to his feet, and the council rose with him. "I will leave the finer details to you and my wife. you're all dismissed." with that, they all bowed while Maegor left the chamber.
The meeting ended with unease lingering in the air. Maegor had shown himself as a different kind of king from his father in all manner of things, and his will was now law. And his council, though loyal, was wary of the path ahead.