Maekar stood with his back to the door, Ser Clement and Ser Criston standing behind him.
They had rejoined him just as they’d planned.
It was still raining.
“Do you two miss King’s Landing already?” Maekar asked suddenly.
Criston shook his head, his armor rattling slightly.
“I don’t,” he answered, clutching his chest.
“The city reeks of filth and treachery, my Prince.”
Ser Clement laughed quietly.
“I wouldn’t have found my wife, had I stayed in King’s Landing,” he answered.
The knight had taken over as lord of a small territory in Crackclaw Point, a moderate piece of land with two villages and an old castle, and a wife who was a lesser noble from the area.
Then a knock echoed through the room.
“My Prince, the son of Lord Strong wishes for an audience with you,” the guard’s voice came damp through the door of his chambers.
Maekar turned, meeting Ser Criston’s and Ser Clement’s eyes for a moment.
They seemed just as surprised.
What did the son of the Lord of Harrenhal wish from him?
“Let him through,” Maekar answered after a moment.
The door opened, and a young man, perhaps still a boy, limped in with a pace that annoyed Maekar.
“My Prince.” He lowered himself, too deeply for Maekar’s taste.
“Larys, I suppose?” Maekar asked.
Larys nodded.
“It is an honour.”
Maekar did not answer.
He only studied the foot of Larys.
It seemed crooked, the man relying on a cane.
“So?” Maekar asked, growing impatient.
Larys glanced at Ser Criston and Ser Clement for a moment.
Maekar scoffed and dismissed the two knights with a gesture.
Whatever this man wanted from him, it awakened his interest.
When the door closed, Larys finally opened his mouth.
“Will you refuse your claim, Prince?” he asked.
And indeed, Maekar was intending not to participate in the vote.
He would only shame himself.
Although he had tamed the mighty Cannibal, and various dark rumours had already been circling over him, he was still an eight year old boy in the eyes of most lords.
Not ready to inherit the Iron Throne.
Of course that would change but for now he would play in the dark…
So Maekar nodded.
“I see.
A few lords would have voted for you, I am sure.
But even more so, their heirs.
If only they were ripe already…”
The heirs?
“What is it that you wish to say?
I don’t like that slippery tone of yours.”
Larys twitched for a moment, clearing his throat.
“There is a circle of young nobles that would like to meet you.
They have heard much about you and have expressed their admiration for you.”
He paused.
“They are currently dueling in the inner yard.”
Maekar raised an eyebrow.
“And you were sent to deliver the message.
I can’t fathom why…”
The tone was sarcastic, as Maekar stepped past Larys, looking at the crooked foot once more.
“Where are you going, my Prince?”
“The yard, where else?”
Laena Velaryon was running around, chasing Lisa Celtigar, daughter of the Lord of Celtigar.
They kept running, dodging servants and guards.
Soon they slipped through a half-open double door, weak rain falling from the sky.
Laena stretched out her hand, her fingertip touching Lisa’s back.
“Got you!” she shouted, as both stopped, laughing.
They stood atop one of the numerous walls of Harrenhal, Laena looking around.
Her gaze moved towards the large courtyard beside them, her playful demeanour changed.
She had to appear likeable.
Mature.
Not just because her father urged her to, but also because she herself wished for it.
It.
No, actually him.
Laena watched a young boy, long silver hair weaving through the air with every move he took.
He was dueling with another noble.
The opponent seemed older, probably around thirteen namedays, if she had to guess.
Laena clenched her fist as a heavy blow came down at Maekar, who blocked it at the last second.
Lisa had already noticed, not interrupting Laena’s focus.
But someone else did.
“Are you watching the Prince?” a delicate voice asked from behind.
Laena widened her eyes, recognising the girl.
It was the Hand’s daughter.
Alicent.
“You think the Prince would even spare a glance at you?” she asked, meeting Laena’s eyes.
They both did, though neither had ever said it aloud.
Even young as she was, Laena already understood why.
Both their fathers had told them the very same thing.
They were contenders.
Laena did not answer.
She turned around, her eyes growing slightly watery.
She looked towards the courtyard.
Maekar had won.
His opponent lay flat on the ground.
If only the Prince would notice her.
She had to do something…
Jason Lannister was proud.
He was built broadly for his age, with a good sense for the sword, but pride had made him reckless.
Maekar looked at him for a moment, then held out his hand.
“Take it.”
Jason’s face twisted.
He struck the hand away.
“I won’t forget this,” he muttered, before stalking off, no doubt toward his warm cradle.
Maekar had sparred with a few more after that.
None of them had amounted to much.
The only one worth remembering was Laenor.
Six years old, and barely able to hold a training sword.
Yet Maekar thought he might make a fine knight one day, once he grew out of that particular shyness.
“My Prince, please don’t take it to heart.
Jason can be impulsive sometimes.” It was Harwin Strong, Larys’s brother and heir to Lord Strong.
Eleven years old.
Another promising one.
“Don’t worry, Harwin.
A lion without teeth is no danger to a dragon.” Maekar laughed, clapping him on the shoulder.
He meant it as a joke.
But he underestimated none of them.
The Lannisters had always thought themselves grander than their standing.
Pride was a dangerous thing.
Maekar knew that.
A man could only afford to be proud once he held real power or he would meet real power.
And lose.
He spoke with a few more young nobles that morning.
Robar Bar Emmon, heir to Sharp Point, whose house had been sworn to Dragonstone for a long time.
Willam Darklyn, heir to Duskendale, who praised Maekar’s swordsmanship.
Others kept their distance instead.
Maekar remembered every one of them all the same.
In the end, they would either stand beside him or drown in the fires of the other side.
“Maekar.”
He knew the voice.
“Brother.”
Daemon smiled as he crossed the yard toward him.
“I’ve been meaning to ask.
How is the Vale?
And that wife of yours?”
Something flickered across Daemon’s face, as he sighed.
“Many sides, same coin.
The Vale is barren.
So is my wife.
So is her city.
I don’t belong there.
Perhaps my son will.”
“Your son?” Maekar tilted his head.
“You sound very certain.”
Daemon’s chest swelled slightly.
“Of course I am.”
“Grandmother convinced Rhea to stay here at Harrenhal for the birth.
I told her the same, but she wouldn’t hear it from me.”
Maekar raised an eyebrow.
“So you sought out someone that would listen to you instead.”
Daemon stopped walking.
They stood on the wall now, side by side.
“What do you mean by that?”
“The rumours are many, brother.
You know I care little for most of them.
But there is one thing I do care about.”
“Ask it, then.”
“There have been attacks in the Vale.
They say it’s the mountain clans, but tell me…”
“Do those attacks have anything to do with her?”
Daemon looked past him for a moment before he answered.
“No.”
“I see.” This story is hosted at g.com.
It was Alicent Daemon had noticed approaching.
She made a small bow, looking at Maekar.
“My Prince.
Would you walk with me?”
Before he could answer, Daemon cleared his throat.
“The Prince’s attendance is needed in the Great Hall.”
Disappointment moved across Alicent’s face.
“I understand.”
They walked on together, Daemon giving him grin.
“Have I ruined your romance?”
“I am too young for that.”
“You are.
I keep forgetting.”
Both of them laughed as they reached the doors of the Great Hall.
The days before the final council convened had not all been spent dueling in the yard.
Lord Crabb, as Ser Clement was now called had agreed to vote for Viserys before Maekar had even finished asking.
Others took more convincing…
By the time the doors of the Great Hall opened, Maekar already knew, more or less, how the vote would fall.
He had to make sure after all…
That the wedge would cut deep enough.
The days had thinned all claimants down to two lines.
Baelon’s blood: Viserys, Daemon, and Maekar.
And Aemon’s blood.
Rhaenys herself, and her children Laenor and Laena.
Daemon and Maekar would step aside for their brother.
Laenor and Laena would step aside for their mother.
What remained was only one question.
Baelon’s son, or Aemon’s daughter.
So they entered the hall together, Daemon and Maekar first.
“I, Daemon of House Targaryen, renounce my claim in this voting,” Daemon said, kneeling before Jaehaerys.
Then it was Maekar’s turn.
“I, Maekar of House Targaryen, renounce my claim in this voting,” he said.
A murmur followed them both.
Laenor and Laena knelt in their turn and renounced as well, until only Viserys and Rhaenys remained standing.
Maekar took his seat among the royal family and watched, his mind drifting.
Otto Hightower had likely done his own share of persuading and, without even realizing it, had been working toward the same goal.
Night had fallen by the time the doors opened again.
Two maesters entered, carrying a small chest between them.
Maekar could not help but laugh quietly at the sight.
A few lords glanced toward him, though most looked at the chest.
Maesters.
So all of his efforts had been unnessary.
You old fox, he thought, watching Jaehaerys.
Preaching law with such righteousness, when the answer had been decided long before the vote ever began.
He had probably colluded with them.
With Otto Hightower and, indirectly, with the Citadel, which once more dared to meddle in the game.
As for his father’s death…that had to be the work of nothing more than a rogue maester.
He shook his head.
Maekar had begun to believe that Jaehaerys knew the truth and had simply accepted it.
It seemed the price of purging the Citadel had been too high for him to pay.
So instead, he had joined hands with the very men who had poisoned Baelon, his own son and Maekar’s father.
The enemy of my enemy is my friend?
Is that it?
Maekar thought, as he watched the King.
The chest was opened.
Corlys and Rhaenys shifted slightly, while Viserys only held his wife’s hand, looking confident.
“The vote has fallen thus,” Jaehaerys said, his old voice carrying through the hall.
“Prince Viserys of House Targaryen is named heir to the Iron Throne, and Prince of Dragonstone.”
The hall broke into noise, lords clapping each other on the back and laughing.
They had already forgotten that there had been another name.
Maekar clapped along with them, his gaze moving toward Corlys and Rhaenys.
They stood a little further away from Viserys and Aemma than they had that morning.
So did their children.
He was applauding the wedge.
The wedge that he had driven quietly over these last few days, and even years, between the two powerful houses in Westeros.
Maekar remembered a conversation he had once shared with his mother.
In his mind, he heard her words once more.
“Rage…
anger.
They are powerful emotions.
They give you boundless strength and perseverance, but they also blind you.
They narrow your vision, cloud your judgment, and leave you seeing only one single thing.”
The laughter in the hall.
The happiness of the lords.
The hidden ridicule.
Those were the things that made Corlys Velaryon’s eyes narrow the most…
Sadly, I will be on vacation for the next two weeks.
I will still try to release a chapter or two during that time.
Afterward, I will try to increase the release schedule to 4-5 chapters per week.