The Fresh Prince of King's Landing pt.1

He was flying again, soaring high above a vast expanse of grassy plains that stretched endlessly in every direction. The ground below was a sea of undulating green, with no trees to break the monotony. The sky was a clear, brilliant blue, and the sun bathed the land in warm, golden light. The breeze whipped around him, cool and invigorating, as he glided effortlessly through the air.

A sudden, intense hunger gripped him, gnawing at his insides. He looked down, searching for prey, and his keen eyes spotted what at first seemed like ants scattered across the plains. Instinct took over, and he lunged downward, unable to control his actions.

As he neared the ground, the tiny figures grew larger, and he realized they were not ants but men on horseback. They wore crude leather armor, their dusky skin glistening with sweat in the midday sun. Their voices carried up to him, a cacophony of a language he did not understand. But one thing was clear: the fear in their voices was palpable, a raw, unbridled terror.

He opened his mouth, and a torrent of fire erupted, engulfing the horsemen. Their screams were cut short as they were turned to ash in an instant. The smell of charred flesh filled his nostrils, acrid and overwhelming.

He woke up gagging from the lingering scent of burnt flesh.

His heart raced. "What the fuck are these dreams?" he thought. He knew he would not get much sleep after that.

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Maekar

Red Keep

As the sun rose, he got dressed and left his chambers in Maegor's Holdfast, wanting to take a walk to clear his mind of the dream.

"You look tired, my prince," Ser Barristan said as he walked beside him.

"Didn't get much sleep last night," he replied.

"Perhaps it's the hot weather."

"Perhaps," he muttered.

"When did my father ask me to meet him again?" he asked, remembering how he had parted with his father yesterday.

"He is expecting you this morning. The king has been looking forward to spending time with you," Barristan said.

'Ah, Barristan is loyal, so blind to my father's madness,' he thought.

He wanted to find out why Rhaegar had called him back. According to Arthur and Barristan, it was Rhaegar's decision to bring him back; there were no outside forces involved hence it intrigued him.

Some whispered he was brought to replace Aegon as the crown prince. Considering the mystery surrounding Aegon's health in court, some believed it.

'That would make things easier for me' he thought with a smile.

He had an understanding of the factions in court that had formed after the rebellion, from Dany's handmaidens and some friendly lords in Dragonstone. He could easily tell which was which from how they reacted to him.

The so-called royalist faction in court hated his guts. He could easily point them out from their veiled insults and sometimes even scornful looks.

The faction consisting of old rebel lords greeted him like a returning hero, someone who would avenge their loss.

There were others as well, with mixed reactions or no reaction to his return.

He walked through the dimly lit corridors of Maegor's Holdfast. The air was cool, and it was morning. He stopped many times during his walk to look at the intricately woven tapestries depicting the history of House Targaryen that adorned the walls. He wondered if there were any hidden pathways here; he would need to prioritize finding them, as he knew many in the keep who knew of them used them to spy on people.

Finally, they reached the entrance to the king's chambers. Arthur Dayne stood guard outside the door, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

"Prince Maekar," Arthur greeted, inclining his head slightly.

"Ser Arthur," he replied. "May I enter?"

Arthur nodded and stepped inside to announce his arrival. After a brief moment, he returned and held the door open.

"You may enter, my prince."

He stepped into his father's chambers, taking in the sight. The room was spacious but sparsely furnished. The walls were lined with shelves filled with ancient tomes and scrolls. A large, ornately carved wooden table occupied the center of the room, covered in maps, letters, and various documents. The floor was covered with a thick, crimson carpet that muffled his footsteps as he approached.

Rhaegar sat in a high-backed chair near the window, gazing out at the city below. The light from the rising sun bathed the room in a warm glow.

"Father," he acknowledged with a bow.

Rhaegar turned to look at him, his eyes hollow and distant. "Maekar, my son," he said softly, pointing to a chair opposite him. "Sit."

He took the seat, and an uncomfortable silence filled the room. Rhaegar continued to stare at him, as if seeing a ghost from the past. The silence stretched on, the weight of unspoken words hanging heavily between them.

"You look tired, son," Rhaegar noted, his voice soft.

"Yes, I didn't get much sleep last night," he answered, trying to mask his discomfort. It was more awkward than he thought it would be.

Silence hung between them once more.

"You have made a name for yourself in the North," Rhaegar said, breaking the quiet. "And during the rebellion as well. If it weren't for you, Aegon would be..." He trailed off.

"I did my duty," he replied, his tone neutral.

"Yes, yes, you did. Have you seen your brother yet? And Rhaenys too? She returned from Dorne a year ago," Rhaegar asked.

He shook his head. This conversation was painfully awkward.

Suddenly, the maids entered with plates filled with food.

"I thought we could break fast together," Rhaegar said.

He forced a smile. "I would love that."

They began eating, with Rhaegar breaking the silence with questions about his time in the North. He answered politely, recounting tales of the North and his experiences during the rebellion. As the meal was about to finish, he decided to address the question that had been on his mind since entering the city.

"Father," he began, "why?"

"Why?" Rhaegar asked, looking puzzled.

"Yes, why have you called me back?" he asked directly.

Rhaegar stared at him for a moment, the room once again filled with silence. "Because our family is in crisis, and I thought we should all be together," Rhaegar finally said.

'Wow, I could have come up with a better excuse,' he thought.

"When Viserys returns, I will have Daenerys and him back here too. They have stayed away from their duties for far too long."

"I see," he said, taking a sip of wine. "Then, Father, what should I do now? What duties shall you bestow upon me?"

"Whatever you want, Maekar. You have already proven yourself most capable," Rhaegar replied.

"Anything?" he asked.

"Yes," Rhaegar confirmed. "I see you holding the post of Hand of the King when your brother ascends to the throne. He needs you, son," Rhaegar said earnestly, his voice thick with emotion.

'No wonder his mother fell for his charm. Hell, half the kingdoms did too,' he thought. His father was charismatic even in his current state.

As he was about to speak again, Arthur entered the room, announcing, "My king, the Lord Hand is here."

"Let him in," Rhaegar replied.

Jon Connington entered. "Your Grace," he greeted, bowing to Rhaegar but ignoring him completely.

"Jon, did you not see my son?" Rhaegar prompted.

Jon feigned surprise and turned to him with a thin smile. "My apologies, Prince Maekar. It's good to see you. Your presence here, considering your... unique circumstances, is indeed noteworthy."

He caught the veiled insult about his supposed bastardy, though Rhaegar seemed oblivious to it.

"What brings you here, Jon?" Rhaegar asked.

"It's about Jon Arryn. He must be..." Jon paused, his eyes flicking to him.

"We talked about this," Rhaegar began but was cut off by the Lord Hand.

"Perhaps, Your Grace, we should discuss this in private. These are important matters of state, after all," he said, pointedly looking at him.

"Maekar is a prince of the realm, and I wish for him to..." He did not wait for his father to finish as he cut him off.

"Father, I wish to explore the castle today. We can speak later," he said, his tone polite but firm.

"Ah, yes. We shall sup tonight then. I will call for Rhaenys and Aegon as well," Rhaegar said, a touch of eagerness in his voice.

Jon looked dismissive of the idea, his disdain barely concealed.

He doubted his sibling would come but still nodded. "Until then," he said, and left the room.

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He spent the morning exploring the Red Keep, guided by Ser Barristan.

They started at Maegor's Holdfast, the very structure they were in. It was a formidable fortress within a fortress, surrounded by a deep dry moat and accessible only by a drawbridge.

He visited the gardens in the Holdfast, where he spotted one of the Sand Snakes, the bastard daughters of Prince Oberyn Martell. He did not remember her name, but she had blonde hair and moved with grace and confidence, her eyes flicking to him with curiosity and a hint of challenge. He gave her a polite nod, but she did not approach him.

Next, they visited the Great Hall, where the Iron Throne sat. The throne, forged from a thousand surrendered swords, loomed over the hall, a sharp and twisted symbol of the Targaryen reign. Courtiers filled the hall, some pausing their conversations to greet him with smiles and respectful nods, while others barely acknowledged his presence.

Eventually, he found himself in the godswood of the Red Keep. The air was cooler here, and the ancient trees provided a serene canopy of leaves. To his surprise, he saw an old man sitting alone on a bench. Ser Barristan identified him as Jon Arryn, the master of laws.

Jon Arryn looked tired, his shoulders slumped and his face etched with lines of worry. He turned to Ser Barristan and asked, "Ser Barristan, would you mind waiting for me at the entrance? I wish to speak with Lord Arryn alone."

Ser Barristan nodded. "Yes, my prince. I'll be just outside."

He approached the old falcon, his footsteps quiet on the soft ground. "Lord Arryn," he said gently, not wanting to startle him.

Jon Arryn looked up, his eyes weary but sharp. "Prince Maekar," he greeted, his voice calm but tinged with fatigue. "What brings you to the godswood?"

He settled beside Jon Arryn on the bench, a sense of curiosity in his gaze. "I am refamiliarizing myself with the Red Keep," he began. "What brings you here so early, my lord?"

Jon Arryn chuckled softly. "Oh, I find myself here a lot these days," he said, a hint of wistfulness in his voice. "It's peaceful here, a good refuge from the troubles that plague me."

"Troubles?" he asked, intrigued.

The old falcon sighed, looking at the ancient trees. "No need to worry about that, my prince," he replied. "These are burdens I must bear."

"I have been away too long, Lord Arryn," he said earnestly. "I am still learning the intricacies of the court. Perhaps you can tell me of your troubles. I would like to help if I can."

Jon sighed deeply and then studied his face, searching for sincerity. Finding it, he nodded slowly.

"For the last ten years, I have been in conflict with the royalist faction at court, especially the Lord Commander of the City Watch, Harrold Hayford."

"Harrold Hayford?" he repeated, intrigued.

"Yes," Jon continued. "He is a corrupt man, and he surrounds himself with similarly corrupt individuals. My attempts to investigate their activities have been thwarted at every step. The king does not involve himself, despite my many attempts to gain his support."

He nodded, understanding the frustration.

"The king's attempts at reconciliation have only paralyzed the administration," Jon said, his voice filled with bitterness. "The city may look fine on the surface, but underneath, it's struggling. Soon, the problems will rear their ugly heads."

He listened intently to the old man's rant. Jon Arryn looked defeated, worn down by years of conflict and frustration.

"My uncle speaks highly of you, Lord Arryn," he said after a moment. "And I would be doing him a disservice if I did not help you."

Jon looked up, a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

"I wish to work under you, Lord Arryn. My father told me I am to become the next Hand of the King, and I have no interest in working with Jon Connington. You said you have not had royal support—well, you do now."

Jon studied him, pondering his words. He stood up, and Maekar followed suit. "Ned wrote of how you were a large part in the recent rise in the North's fortunes," he said.

"Your bravery and valor during the Greyjoy Rebellion were praised by my own vassals," he added.

He extended his hand. "It would be an honor to take you into my service."

He shook his hand firmly. "Thank you, my lord. I will inform my father of this decision."

Jon nodded. "You will have many enemies in court after this, my prince. Be careful."

"I will, my lord. Thank you for your trust," he replied.

He watched the old falcon leave. 'Only a day here, and things are already getting interesting,' he thought.

He had been thinking of how to get involved in the city's administration, and now he had it. He could do most of the old man's work and also have his authority.

It was clear that Jon Arryn thought highly of him, and he would need to thank Uncle Ned for that.

Tomorrow, he will go to the city. He needed to meet with a red-headed friend of his.

'It has been too long,' he thought as a grin formed on his face.

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