Maekar stood before his family, his presence heavy in the chamber. He inclined his head toward his siblings in greeting before turning to his mother, offering her a brief nod of acknowledgment. Then his eyes shifted to the king.
"Thank you, Father, for putting your trust in me," he said evenly. "I will carry this responsibility with care."
Viserys, hunched even while seated, his body weakened by sickness and his teeth black and rotting, managed a thin smile. "Maekar, this responsibility is yours because you deserve it. Otto has told me of the great things you've done with the City Watch these past years."
Maekar gave a respectful nod, though his thoughts were colder.
'I wonder what great things Otto told you, Viserys.'
Without another word, he moved to the end of the table, an unusual place for him, as he normally sat beside his brothers. But today, as the center of attention, it was different.
Otto, silent until now, finally spoke, his measured tone filling the hall. "The king has decided you will be knighted before the nobles and the people in the throne room. And then, you shall be named Lord Commander of the City Watch."
Maekar merely nodded, his expression unchanged.
Some time later, the family left for the throne room after a quick meal over some small talk to begin the knighting ceremony. Maekar thought the private breakfast unnecessary—after all, he was soon to be knighted and granted command of the City Watch—but Alicent had insisted. 'A family's moment alone to mark my achievement,' he mused.
'becoming one of the youngest knights in the realm and entrusted with two thousand men.'
He rose to follow them. Aemond, seizing his chance, walked beside his brother just behind the king, queen, and Otto. Helaena's hand was clasped firmly in Alicent's, while Aegon trailed lazily at the rear.
"Brother," Aemond whispered, his voice tight with excitement, "now that you are Lord Commander, do you think you could have me join the City Watch?"
Maekar glanced at him, his tone calm but not unkind. "I don't mind—as long as Mother approves. After all, I was your age when I joined."
Aemond nodded with a thoughtful look, no doubt wondering how he could convince his mother to agree.
Soon, the royal family entered the throne room. Within were gathered many of King's Landing's nobles, their silks and jewels catching the torchlight. Free maids, guards, and servants lined the edges of the hall, watching with keen interest.
Viserys ascended the throne slowly, the steady thunk of his cane echoing with each step. At last, he sank into the Iron Throne with a weary sigh. Otto took his place one step below, hands clasped before him, the image of solemn authority. The rest of the royal family stood just beneath the dais.
Otto's voice carried across the hall. "Today, we are gathered to knight Prince Maekar of House Targaryen, rider of the great dragon Morghul. On this auspicious day, he shall be honored for his great achievements—chief among them, rooting out the cruel gangs of the city, and in so doing protecting King's Landing, its nobles, and its people."
When his words ended, a ripple of polite applause spread through the gathered lords.
The king then stirred, his frail body straining as he rose. "Maekar of House Targaryen," he said, voice rough but steady, "come forward."
Maekar stepped out from the line of his family and advanced until he stood at the foot of the throne. He dropped to one knee, fist pressed firmly to the ground, head bowed in solemn readiness.
Viserys descended, painfully slow, each step deliberate and ceremonial. At last, he reached Maekar. With his one good hand, he drew forth Blackfyre. The ancient Valyrian blade gleamed in the torchlight as he lowered it, resting its weight upon Maekar's right shoulder.
Maekar felt the slight tremble of the sword against his shoulder. 'Had this been an ordinary blade, I doubt Viserys could even lift it,' he thought. 'And he will only grow weaker from here on.'
The king's voice rang out, thin but carrying across the hall:
"In the name of the Warrior, I charge you to be brave.
In the name of the Father, I charge you to be just.
In the name of the Mother, I charge you to defend the young and innocent.
In the name of the Maid, I charge you to protect all women…"
With each invocation, Viserys shifted the blade from one shoulder to the other, his motions slow yet deliberate. By the end, his chest heaved, his breath rasping with effort. Still, he summoned a final reserve of strength.
"Arise, Maekar Targaryen," he declared, his voice suddenly booming with authority, "a knight of the Seven Kingdoms!"
Maekar rose smoothly, his great frame unfolding to its full height. His head dipped slightly in acknowledgment of his father.
The hall erupted into applause once more, louder and steadier than before. The sound of hands striking echoed off the stone walls, rolling like waves through the throne room. When the clamor settled into silence, Viserys lifted his hand, his sickly frame trembling but his voice clear.
"Now that my son has been knighted," the king declared, "there is another matter to address. As you all know, Prince Maekar served beside Lord Dickon, the late Lord Commander of the City Watch, for the past two years. He aided in the administration of the Watch, oversaw patrols, brought in new recruits, ensured fair wages for its men, and fought tirelessly to rid our streets of gangs for the betterment of this city."
The murmurs began at once, lords shifting in their seats and exchanging uneasy glances. They had come expecting a knighting, not the naming of a new Lord Commander.
Viserys pressed on, his tone firm. "A week passed, Lord Dickon fell to an unknown illness, and the Watch now stands in desperate need of leadership. For his service and his accomplishments, I have thus decided to name Maekar Targaryen as the new Lord Commander of the City Watch."
The whispers swelled into low conversation—surprise, doubt, calculation. A boy just grown into his manhood and now handed command of two thousand men. Still, none dared openly question the king.
Maekar inclined his head slightly. "Thank you, Father."
Viserys managed a weary smile, his rotting teeth showing as he patted his son's shoulder with his frail hand. "You deserve it, son."
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