Throne Room

"The terminology for describing the act is as diverse as the riders themselves; tame, bond, break, befriend...what you choose to call it matters not." Maegor explained, with uncharacteristic patience.

"I am certain we will find use for you." Maegor replied, in a tone that bordered between magnanimous and licentious. "On what matters did you advise Lord Manderly?"

Maegor had been called many things during his reign, but never a fool.

"We are certain a private discussion would yield numerous uses for such talents." he replied, using the royal we as he skirted the issue aside.

Maegor waved her off with the hand not dancing between the blades, indicating Yana was dismissed.

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The morning after his arrival in King's Landing, Maekar entered the throne room dressed finely for court. He wore a slashed velvet doublet in green and gold with long dagged sleeves, trimmed in vair, and his finest black lambswool breeches. His black cloak was lined with ermine trimmed with crimson thread, and he wore a heavy gold signet ring on his smallest finger, with his sigil of a dragon on a mountaintop carved engraved into the face. His eyepatch was black, with a tiny dragon embroidered in the center in crimson thread. Vigilance was buckled at his hip, and his left sleeve was pinned back over his stump.

Since she had claimed the Regency in the wake of the King's death, Queen Rhaella had been holding court ostensibly in the name of her son King Aegon, sitting in the Iron Throne with a pair of Kingsguard stationed at its base. The King's court was normally a somewhat chaotic affair, with petitioners with all kinds of requests approaching the throne. It was a great honor for a town to be chartered by the King himself, or even someone acting in the King's name, so goodmen from all across the crown lands would often bring their petitions to the throne to be considered. The relatives of condemned criminals also sometimes petitioned the throne for clemency, and Maekar remembered a boar that had been brought in one afternoon when he was a boy; every man present that day agreed it was the largest boar they had ever seen, and the hunters who had felled it presented it as a gift to the King. He stood for a time, watching the petitioners, taking note of the positions of the City Watch around the edge of the room; he had ordered the new Commander to see that the throne room was guarded by loyal men this morning.

Maekar stepped into the throng of petitioners, though most of them parted before them when they saw his appearance; he towered over most of them and was unmistakably a Targaryen.

"I have a petition to lay before the Iron Throne, a grievous miscarriage of justice which must be addressed," the Lord of Darkheart called out in a strong and clear voice. "The Queen's actions have dishonored the House of Targaryen and the Throne upon which she sits. The rude and uncouth treatment of a woman of rank, a dragon rider with the blood of the Conqueror in her veins, a woman with child, thrown into the Black Cells which are reserved for prisoners who have been already condemned to death, having denied her the trial to which she is entitled by the King's own law. The King of Westeros could not be overpowered by any woman, unable to even make a sound to alert the puissant Knights of the Kingsguard, and you know this full well. I challenge you to single combat on foot or on dragon back as you choose, if you are no coward, to defend the honor of a pregnant woman who you have jealously framed for a murder she could not physically have committed."

"Face me on the field, or in the sky, your grace," he said with a cruel sneer, "unless you fear that the Gods will prove your accusation false."

The Lord of Darkheart stood, proudly sneering up at the woman farcically seated on the Iron Throne, and from his bearing none could forget that he was the eldest born child of the deceased King Maegor II, by the eldest grandchild of King Aenys' line. There were fewer petitioners in the Great Hall than usual, there being no King to petition, but there were many more noblemen present who had come to the capital in the wake of the King's death. At least fifty prominent knights, both landed and not, and at least two dozen lords were among those gathered. Maekar could see the Lord of Storm's End was standing with Lord Roland of Griffin's Roost and Ser Harwood Fell, both of whom were married to his sisters. He also recognized the Lord of Bronzegate standing with the Ser Robert Morrigen, who was heir to Crow's Nest and had won great acclaim on the battlefield in Oldtown.

Prior to his flight to Winterfell, Maekar had been at his father's court for several months and knew the faces of many of the other courtiers who were present; most of them were the younger brothers, or uncles and nephews, of prominent lords. Men who did not have titles of their own, but had incomes sufficient to maintain manses in the capital and who spent most of their time at court, most of them hoping to profit by gaining the favor of the King. There were women also, most of them either widows who were accorded more freedoms than most, or younger unmarried ladies whose fathers had brought them to court in the hope of making a profitable marriage.

"How is it that Lady Vira, at this very moment, starves in the Black Cells, if your grace accepted her demand of a Trial by Combat? Is your grace too afraid to face a pregnant woman in battle that she must be starved and beaten before your grace will represent the Crown in her trial?" Maekar replied, lapsing into a politer tone that in no way disguised the venom in his voice. He spoke to Rhaella formally, though he managed to make the style sound more like a slur than anything else.

Maekar stared at her, dumbfounded that a woman who seemed to expect people to obey her authority could be so oblivious and foolish in the exercise of it. Nobody in Westeros would respect someone who was publicly named a coward yet did nothing to answer the accusation, and few would obey another man that they did not respect, much less a woman.

"Then you are not only a coward, but a usurper and a traitor as well," Maekar replied acrimoniously. Complete silence on behalf of everyone in the throne room indicated to him that despite the absurdity of her position, most people were taking the Queen's side. Having been counting on at least a modicum of popular support, Maekar knew that he would have to flee the city the instant he stepped out of the Great Hall, assuming he was not already under arrest at that point.

"You knew of my father, the King's, plans to legitimize my birth and invest me as the Prince of Dragonstone, ahead of your milksop of a son, so you had the his grace murdered and conspired with two of his Kingsguard to frame a woman whom everyone in the city knows is close to me. A trial by combat would have allowed the Gods to prove the innocence of your scapegoat, which is why you fear to face her or me in the sky. You name yourself a dragon, but are closer to a newt, I should think," he sneered.

"Answer these charges on the field or in the sky like a dragon, else everyone in Westeros will know you for the coward that you are."

Maekar laughed scornfully, derisively sneering up at the Queen who sounded more like an angry child than the ruler of a Kingdom. "I do not doubt that you wish you could have murdered the eldest son of the King when you had the chance, for if I had not survived childhood than your son would be the only successor to his grace the King, regardless of his fallacious claim that he is a true dragon. Anointed Queen of Westeros indeed; you gave my father a whale, a madwoman, and a boy with milk in his veins as his heirs; hardly the conduct of one who would name herself the consort to a King," he replied with a sneer. "I owe everything to his grace the King, and not for one minute in my life have I acted against his grace's interests. I gave my eye and my hand for the King's House and have served the interests of House Targaryen more in my twenty and five years than you have in your entire life."

Maekar's next move was outrageous; he turned his back on the Queen and the throne, in order to address the gathered lords directly. "This woman who calls herself 'Queen' would defy the wishes of his grace the King, would conspire to place her son on the throne that he might undo the life's work of my father, and my great-grandfather before him. King Maegor knew of the Prince's weakness, his disregard for the honor of his ancestors. Why else has the Queen kept his Will hidden from the court? She knows that it will prove my words the truth; I should not be surprised if she has already destroyed it, to cover the evidence of her vile schemes."

He turned back to Rhaella momentarily, his gaze filled with such rage that it was a surprise the air around him did not catch fire. "I shall await you in the sky, your grace, if you've the spine to meet me there," he said, before striding purposefully from the hall without giving her a chance to respond.

Bertram watched with shock as the Queen's dragon fell, and her not long after. He had returned to King's Landing the day previous after "running and errand for the Queen".

Dressed in his princely finery Bertram was already in the Throne Room when Maekar arrived with the crown atop his head and watched as his nephew sat upon Iron Throne, proceeding to declare himself king.

Bertram strode up to his nephew, now the king, with a new found respect. Kneeling down with his head bowed he declared loudly, "Long live the King!"

The crowd of courtiers present was evenly divided between chaotic murmurs and stunned silence as Lord Maekar ascended the throne with the Conqueror's crown upon his brow. Some whispered he was the spitting image of his father, while others recalled the last fool that had unwisely ascended those steps. None mentioned the word "bastard" for fear of their lives, but no doubt many were thinking it.

Lord Harroway was notably absent from the hall, the Hand abandoning his post when he saw Amethyst fall from the sky, fleeing the capital with his guardsmen. All of the Kingsguard, except for Ser Jon Gaunt, were absent as well.

However, Lord Borros Baratheon was present, dressed in a sage green doublet with a half-cape pinned with a golden antler broach. "Long live the King!" he asserted, no doubt going down in the history books as the first Lord Paramount to throw his support behind the Black Dragon.

Lord Redwyne, the Master of Ships, stood unobtrusively in the back in silence; observing the event as if it were a show of minstrels.

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Ser Symon Buckler of the Kingsguard, garbed in the armor of his office, is brought before the Iron throne for a public confession. Rumors suggest that the knight's testimony will acquit Lady Vira of all charges and implicate the King's sorceress in his murder. The youngest member of the proud order walks tall in his gleaming armor, yet noticeably winces in pain with each breath.

"I have been brought before you today for a confession." he said to the gathered crowd, after a deep breath. "Words whispered in my ear which I was expected to recite like a mummer; hot coals as my impetus for learning my lines well. But I am a Knight of the Kingsguard, not a member of some troupe! Only one man has turned these proud halls into a playhouse of farces, and he sits upon the throne. And as every troupe needs a dwarf, I present him before you, not deficient in stature but in honor!"

"Vira Blackwood killed our king, our true king! I will see the traitor face judgement. She demanded a trial by combat before gods and men, yet it has yet to be carried out. That is not justice! I will act as champion for the dead, the least I can do for the man I swore to and failed to protect. Send what champion she names before me and let justice be done!"

"Then I will ask you to defend my honor, Your Grace," Vira said calmly, with a curtesy to the King.

Vira watched, hiding her anxiety for the King behind a stoic face. Her heart swelled with love for him, for this was the second time he had gallantly stepped forward to defend her.