'Lord Commander'

| Author's Note: Guess who got the job? That's right,— I did! Thanks for your patience, and now, enjoy the chapter.

.

. .

. . .

"I always thought the name Cannibal had a nice ring to it. Sure, I could have renamed him, as tradition demands,— but, truth be told, I don't much care for tradition."

— Prince and Heir Aenys Targaryen, penned at the insistence of yours truly, "The Author".

. . .

. .

.

| A while later, Aenys Pov:

The training grounds of the Red Keep were alive with activity, as the clang of swords echoed through the air, interspersed with the heavy thuds of practice shields absorbing blows.

He stood at the edge of the yard, his violet eyes sharp, surveying the grounds with a practiced calm, his mind, however, was elsewhere, pondering the responsibilities now laid upon him.

The Goldcloaks were his to command, and the Kingsguard now bore a man of his choosing.

Power usually carried its weight, and Aenys now knew better than most that missteps in King's Landing rippled far beyond the city walls.

It was then, that a familiar voice broke his reverie. "Forgive us if we made you wait, my prince." Ser Harrold Westerling called out as he approached, white cloak trailing behind him. Beside him, another white cloaked knight,— newly bestowed,— moved with steady confidence.

Ser Criston Cole.

He turned toward them, gaze flickering with interest as he took in the duo.

The juxtaposition was striking... Harrold's seasoned gait, tempered by years of service, contrasted with Criston's youthful vigor.

Together, they cut quite the imposing figures, their capes swaying gently as they walked.

A faint smirk tugged at his lips then, "Don't worry about it, Ser." he replied evenly, his tone betraying no irritation at the delay. His attention shifted briefly to the golden cloaked man standing by his side,— a broad-shouldered man exuding quiet strength.

Ser Harrold's gaze followed his to the unfamiliar figure. "And this is?" The veteran asked, his tone laced with curiosity, yet, before he could answer, the golden cloaked man stepped forward, his voice crisp yet affable. "My name's Harwin Strong, Ser. It is an honor to meet someone of your caliber."

Harwin extended his hand, which Harrold clasped with a respectful smile. "Ah, the son of Lord Lyonel Strong?" Harrold queried, and Harwin nodded, his broad grin infectious.

"The very same." As the two men exchanged pleasantries, Aenys allowed himself a moment of quiet amusement, his violet eyes glinting. He noted the interplay between the men,— the mutual respect between Harrold's steadfast professionalism and Harwin's easy confidence.

Unnoticed by the others however, Aenys's left eye flickered with a faint blackish hue, a subtle consequence of the Valyrian magic coursing through the ring on his finger,— the ancient artifact that bound him to Vhagar, a connection both powerful and private.

He blinked then, banishing the trace of shadow, and refocused on the conversation.

Harrold stepped back, giving Harwin an appraising look. "Well, it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, young Lord. You wear gold now, so I take it his grace made you a captain?" Harwin inclined his head, but Aenys answered for him now, his voice smooth and measured. "Indeed, he did. Harwin Strong here oversees the Goldcloaks stationed at the Red Keep's barracks. He's proven himself capable, and I thought it prudent to have him accompany us today."

Harrold nodded, approval flickering across his weathered face. "Very well. Welcome aboard, Ser Harwin."

"Thank you," Harwin replied, his tone earnest. "I hope not to disappoint."

And he allowed himself a faint chuckle. "I certainly hope not as well, that would reflect purely on me." he said, his tone laced with quiet humor. His attention then shifted to Criston, his sharp gaze appraising the newly minted Kingsguard. "It suits you,— the color white, I mean."

Criston's eyes widened slightly, before bowing slightly, his voice brimming with gratitude. "Thank you, my prince! You honor me." He hummed in acknowledgment, though his focus had already shifted back to Harrold. "I take it everything went smoothly with my brother?"

"It did." Harrold confirmed. "The lad here made a fine impression, and his grace was most pleased with the choice." Criston's expression turned slightly sheepish, a faint flush creeping into his cheeks. And he chuckled at the sight. "That's good to hear. Now, gentlemen, we've work to do, so stick close."

"We are at your disposal, my prince." Harwin said, his tone laced with quiet authority.

"What the lad said." Harrold added with a faint smile, his humor lightening the moment.

The group moved in unison, their strides purposeful as they moved through the training yard and made their way toward the Goldcloaks' barracks near the kennels.

As they walked, the bustling sights and sounds of the Red Keep surrounded them. Guards sparred in nearby courtyards, their grunts and yells punctuated by the clash of steel. Servants scurried past, balancing trays and bundles, their eyes downcast.

Criston, now more at ease in their company, broke the silence. "So, where are we headed, my prince?" He glanced over his shoulder at the young knight, his expression calm. "I had initially planned to visit the seven gates of King's Landing, to inspect the various Goldcloak barracks and patrol areas," he began, and Criston nodded thoughtfully but pressed further. "I see. Yet I sense a 'but'?"

Aenys smirked faintly, his tone taking on a wry edge. "But Ser Harwin here brought to my attention some concerns about a few of the captains. So, I summoned them to the Red Keep barracks. I'd like to assess their worth before delving into the broader state of the Watch later on today." Criston's brow furrowed briefly before realization dawned. "I see. So we're meeting them now?"

"Indeed we are." Aenys replied evenly, his gaze sweeping ahead.

And as the group approached the barracks, the air grew heavier with anticipation.

He felt the weight of command settle more firmly on his shoulders. This would not be a mere routine inspection... it would be a test of his ability to shape the City Watch into a force worthy of the Targaryen name.

.

The air in the Red Keep's barracks was thick with the mingling scents of stale ale.

Shadows played along the stone walls, torches lined the chamber, their light illuminating the room where a group of Goldcloak captains waited in uneasy silence.

Each man bore the golden cloak of the City Watch, its heavy fabric draped over shoulders of varying width, the weight of their station both literal and figurative.

The door swung open with a loud creak, and the conversations that had been murmuring through the room died instantly.

Aenys Targaryen stepped through, his presence commanding without the need for fanfare. His violet eyes swept over the gathered captains, cold and calculating, taking in each man's face, posture, and readiness.

Behind him followed Ser Harrold Westerling, Harwin Strong and Ser Criston Cole, their own imposing forms adding to the gravity of the moment.

"Prince Aenys!" the nearest captain greeted, his voice firm but deferential as he and the others rose from their seats in unison. Each man offered a bow, their gazes averted until their prince gave permission to sit. Aenys inclined his head slightly, his tone even as he gestured toward the table. "Take a seat, captains."

The scrape of chairs against stone filled the room as the men obeyed, their movements quick but respectful. Aenys moved to the head of the table, his black-and-red cloak trailing behind him like a shadow. He remained standing, placing his hands on the back of his chair as his gaze once more swept over the gathered men.

"I have other matters to attend to..." he began, his voice calm but with an undercurrent of steel, "... but my brother has tasked me with gaining a swift understanding of the City Watch. And so, here I am, meeting the highest-ranking figures the Goldcloaks have to offer." One of the captains, a wiry man with a sharp nose and an air of easy confidence, chuckled softly at the prince's bluntness. "Ah, you give us too much credit, my prince." he remarked, his tone edging on cheeky.

Aenys's lips curved into a small smile, one that didn't reach his eyes. "Nonsense. I have heard much... interesting things about you lot, captains." The words hung in the air, their weight palpable. The smile vanished as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by a smirk that bordered on predatory.

"You have?" another captain asked, his voice betraying a hint of unease, and Aenys leaned forward slightly, his hands gripping the back of his chair with measured force.

"Mhm, I have." His gaze pinned the man who had spoken, the wildness in his smirk daring any of them to inquire further. The captains shifted in their seats, exchanging glances, their unease growing.

"Now..." Aenys continued, his voice lowering just enough to make the men lean in, "... we have much to talk about." He let the words settle, the silence stretching as he took his seat. The chair creaked faintly under his weight, but Aenys remained poised, exuding the kind of confidence that came from knowing he controlled the room.

"Your names are known to me, as are your deeds." he began, his tone casual but sharp enough to cut. "Or in some cases, your lack of them." A few of the captains stiffened at the veiled barb.

One of them, a grizzled veteran with streaks of gray in his beard, cleared his throat as if to respond, but Aenys raised a hand, silencing him without a word.

"Let me make one thing clear." Aenys continued, his voice steady but carrying a weight that pressed against the room. "The Goldcloaks are not a rabble of thugs draped in golden cloth, once led by my younger brother. At least, they should not be. You are not here to fill your purses or take liberties with the people you are sworn to protect. You are here to uphold the law and the will of the king." His gaze flicked to each man in turn, lingering just long enough to make them squirm.

"And yet!" he said, his tone turning colder, "I have heard whispers. Whispers of captains who look the other way for a bribe, of patrols that disappear when they are needed most, or even of men who use their station to intimidate rather than protect." The room tensed, the captains sitting straighter in their chairs, their faces masks of neutrality, though Aenys could see the flickers of discomfort in their eyes.

"Whispers can be dangerous things." Aenys said, leaning back in his chair, his tone almost conversational now. "Sometimes they are nothing more than the jealous words of rivals. And sometimes..." He let the sentence hang, his smirk returning.

"Sometimes they reveal truths."

"Captain Drummond..." Aenys said suddenly, his gaze snapping to the wiry man who had chuckled earlier. "You led the Goldcloaks during the last riot in Flea Bottom, did you not?" Drummond straightened, his confidence faltering for a moment. "I did, my prince."

"And how would you say you handled the situation?" The captain hesitated, his brow furrowing. "We... restored order, my prince. The rioters were dispersed, and the streets were quieted by nightfall." Aenys tilted his head, studying the man as one might study a bird trapped in a cage. "Restored order, yes. By cutting down twelve unarmed men, three women, and a child."

The color drained from Drummond's face right then. "They were rioters, my prince..." he stammered. "They,—..."

"They were starving, yes, they were indeed."

Aenys interrupted, his voice sharp. "Their crime was stealing bread to keep their families alive. And you, Captain Drummond, decided the best course of action was to spill their blood in the streets." Drummond opened his mouth to respond, but Aenys silenced him with a glare.

"You are dismissed, Captain Drummond." Aenys said, his tone final. "Turn in your cloak before the day is out." The other captains watched in stunned silence as Drummond rose, his face a mask of shame and fury, and left the room without another word.

When the door closed behind Drummond, Aenys turned back to the remaining captains, his tone softening just slightly.

"Let this serve as a lesson to all of you." he said, his voice even. "The Goldcloaks are an extension of the crown. You bear the king's authority, and with that comes responsibility. Fail in that responsibility, and you will answer to me." The captains nodded, their expressions solemn.

"Now..." Aenys said, his smirk returning as he leaned forward, "Let us begin anew. Tell me what you need to do your jobs properly, be it resources, men, weapons,— name it, and I will see it done. But understand this however, I will always be watching you, every... single... day."

And as the captains began to speak, offering suggestions and requests, Aenys listened carefully, his mind already working through the changes he would bring to the City Watch. He would forge the Goldcloaks into something better, something stronger.

And in doing so, he would leave his mark on King's Landing, one step at a time.

.

The whole day passed in a blink of an eye, and by now, Aenys stood outside the door to his brother's private study, his hand poised to knock.

"Enter." came Viserys's voice, muffled but firm, and Aenys pushed the door open, stepping into the room with his usual grace.

Viserys sat behind a heavy oaken desk cluttered with scrolls, ledgers, and the remnants of his evening meal. Despite the trappings of power surrounding him, he looked weary, his face flushed from wine and the heat of the brazier.

His crown, the symbol of his rule, sat slightly askew on his table, as if forgotten in the midst of his labors. "Brother." Aenys greeted, his tone formal yet warm, and Viserys's face lit up at the sight of him. "Aenys! How was your day? Did you check on the Goldcloaks?"

Aenys raised an eyebrow at his brother's enthusiasm, his lips twitching in the barest hint of a smile. "Such enthusiasm..." he remarked dryly, before taking a seat across from Viserys. "My day was uneventful,— but yes, I did check on the Goldcloaks. An interesting bunch, their current captains."

Viserys leaned forward, his elbows resting on the desk, the tiredness in his eyes momentarily replaced by curiosity. "Good. How did it go?" Aenys leaned back in his chair, his tone measured as he recounted his experience. "Mhm, I spoke of their duty, loyalty, and my plans for the distant future for their order. Some were skeptical at first, but I easily corrected their manners and doubts afterward." He paused, his gaze sharp as it met his brother's. "So far, all I see in them is a harshly watered-down version of a small army,— which I will soon turn into House Targaryen's own personal army."

Viserys raised an eyebrow, a small grin tugging at his lips. "Ah... so you intend on advancing with your childhood dream of having our own family army then?"

"Indeed." Aenys replied without hesitation, his voice firm. "It is long past the time to always rely on our neighbors' men,— and what better way to do that if not by starting with the Goldcloaks, which is already a watered-down version of what I intend to build."

Viserys leaned back then, a thoughtful expression crossing his face as he mulled over his brother's words.

Finally, he nodded. "I see. Well, you will have all of my support in this endeavor, brother. Just don't start maiming the population of King's Landing in the streets, and I don't see a reason as to why not allow you the freedom to do as such." Aenys blinked in mild surprise, his lips curling into a genuine smile.

"I'm thankful for that,— gods, I thought you would be against it." Viserys chuckled, shaking his head. "I cannot tell you that I didn't think about refusing your idea, but I do not see a downside to it, so... why not try?"

Aenys inclined his head, his voice laced with confidence. "I will do a fine job, Your Grace."

Viserys groaned theatrically, waving a hand in mock frustration. "Bah! Stop with that, lest you turn me into a madman with all the times you tease me with my title."

Aenys chuckled, a rich sound that echoed faintly in the chamber. "Alright, I won't use it anymore. Now, I will leave you to yourself, brother." And Viserys smiled warmly, his tone softening. "Thank you for your hard work today, Aenys."

Aenys rose to his feet, brushing an invisible speck of dust from his tunic. He smirked, casting a pointed look at his younger brother.

"Tch, don't treat me as if I am the younger brother here." Viserys's grin widened. "Well, you already look the part." Aenys's smirk faltered slightly, his eyes narrowing in mock warning. "Mind yourself, little brother, for I am still the eldest of our family." He allowed a pause to stretch before continuing, his tone turning more serious. "Tomorrow morning, you and Rhaenyra will come spar with me,— it is long overdue that the Targaryen family learns to rely on themselves instead of the Kingsguard alone."

Viserys's amusement faded, replaced by incredulity. "You must be jesting, Aenys. Even if I attend this 'sparring' of yours, my daughter will be doing no such thing,—..."

"You forget yourself, Viserys." Aenys interrupted, his voice sharp and unyielding, cutting through his brother's protest like a blade. His violet eyes glinted with a fierce determination. "I wasn't asking for your permission on the matter,— I was informing you of what will happen. It is long overdue that things start to run in their rightful place once more, and I will not tolerate my family remaining as nothing more than a symbol of what it means to be a Valyrian Dragonlord. Is that understood, Viserys?"

Viserys opened his mouth, his expression torn between defiance and reluctant acquiescence, but no words came.

"I will take that as a yes." Aenys said, his tone leaving no room for argument, turning on his heel, striding toward the door with the confidence of a man who knew he had already won. "Tomorrow, we will have breakfast, and then we will train,— that is final." He then paused at the door, glancing back over his shoulder, his voice softer but no less commanding. "Have a good night, brother."

The door closed behind him with a soft thud, leaving Viserys alone in the chamber. The king exhaled heavily, leaning back in his chair as he ran a hand through his silver hair. A faint smile played on his lips, despite himself.

"Aenys..." he muttered under his breath, shaking his head. "Always the dragon, never the shadow."

.

The corridor outside Viserys's chambers was quiet, save for the faint crackle of torches burning in their sconces along the stone walls.

The air was cool, as Aenys stepped out of his brother's chambers, the faint thud of the heavy door closing behind him breaking the silence. His thoughts lingered on their conversation, a smirk tugging at his lips as he recalled Viserys's half-hearted protests about the sparring session he'd commanded.

It was then that he noticed her.

A young woman stood by the door, a slim figure wrapped in a modest but elegant gown of Hightower green. Her auburn hair glinted in the torchlight, and her hands were clasped in front of her, nervously twisting a corner of her sleeve. Standing beside her was his protector, Ser Criston Cole, the newly anointed member of the Kingsguard, who glanced between her and him with a guarded and confused expression. Aenys's sharp gaze fell upon her, and he raised an eyebrow, tilting his head slightly. "Hmm?"

The young woman started, her composure faltering under his scrutiny. "A-Ah..." His voice cut through the tension, low and calm, yet carrying an edge. "Who are you?"

She straightened her back, though her hands betrayed her nervousness. "My name is Alicent Hightower, my prince." she said, her voice soft but measured. "It is an honor to make your acquaintance."

"Ah!" he said, his tone drawing out the sound. "You must be the Hand's daughter, correct?"

"That's right." she confirmed, bowing her head. "And what would you be doing here, Lady Alicent?" His question was pointed, his violet eyes narrowing slightly as they searched hers for an answer.

Her gaze flickered briefly to the door behind him before returning to his. "I came to meet his grace,— as I've done many times ever since the late queen has passed."

"Is that so?"

"It is, my prince." He studied her for a moment, the air between them taut with unspoken tension. Then he stepped forward, his tone shifting into something more commanding. "Walk with me, Lady Alicent."

She blinked, confused and startled by the sudden order. "My prince?"

"I won't say it again," he said, his tone firm, walking away from both Alicent and a confused Criston Cole. "And it was an order."

"Of course!" she stammered, hastily falling into step beside him. "Forgive my lack of manners, my prince." He nodded curtly, then glanced over his shoulder at Ser Criston, who had began following them at a polite distance. "Stay back a few steps, Ser Criston." The Kingsguard hesitated only briefly before bowing his head. "As you say, my prince."

The hall stretched before them, lit intermittently by torches that cast shifting shadows on the walls.

The silence between them was heavy, broken only by the soft rustle of Alicent's skirts and the echo of their footsteps on the stone floor. The cool evening air seeped through the windows, brushing against their faces like a phantom's breath.

Aenys spoke first, his tone calm but with a razor-sharp edge. "What do you wish to attain by visiting my brother's chambers after his wife passed, Lady Alicent?" He noted her hesitation, glancing at him sideways, her lips pressing into a thin line. "I'm afraid that I cannot follow your thoughts, my prince. I merely have been doing what I once did for King Jaehaerys himself, when on his deathbed,— read, and make company."

"Is that so?" he mused, his voice smooth, but there was an undercurrent of something darker. "And even if you did that, do you find the two situations to be identical?" Her steps faltered for the briefest moment, her composure cracking ever so slightly. "I... don't think so."

"Right." He stopped walking, turning to face her fully. The weight of his gaze bore down on her as he spoke again, his voice quieter but no less intense. "And do you know why that is, Alicent?"

She swallowed, her voice faltering. "M-... My prince?"

Aenys's lips curled into a faint, humorless smile. "Its because sometimes, fathers can be... so very much overbearing. Do you not think so?" Her reaction was instantaneous.

Her eyes widened, and her breath caught in her throat. "I-..."

"I was not born yesterday..." he interrupted smoothly, his voice dropping to a near-whisper, though the words cut like Valyrian steel. "Nor did I become dumber by being in exile. Quite the contrary, actually. I can clearly see that you are not doing this out of the goodness of your heart,— much less by your own will."

"I don't know what you speak of, my prince, you must be mistaking my situation..." she said, though her voice trembled, betraying her.

"Oh, but you do know it very well, little flower." he said, his tone soft yet menacing, like a dragon lying in wait. His sharp gaze caught the tears welling in her eyes, her composure finally breaking under the weight of his words. "You know it so well, in fact, that I simply had to mention that you are being ordered and controlled by your father, and you're already crying."

"W-what...?" she whispered, her voice cracking as a single tear slipped down her cheek. He stepped closer then, his towering presence casting a shadow over her smaller frame. "This small moment..." he murmured, his tone almost contemplative, "Was very eye-opening, my Lady." His gaze lingered on her for a beat longer before he stepped back, the faintest trace of a smirk playing on his lips.

"We shall meet again sooner than later." he said, his tone now light and almost dismissive. Without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel and strode away, his black and red cloak billowing behind him like the wings of a shadowed dragon.

Alicent stood frozen for a moment, her hands trembling as she watched him disappear into the dimly lit corridor, followed by his kingsguard.

.

. .

. . .

| Fire & Blood |

. . .

. .

.