As the warm, golden rays of the sun began to fade, a gentle breeze carried the sweet scent of blooming flowers through the corridors of the Red Keep. Five-year-old Maekar Targaryen skipped eagerly alongside his father, King Viserys, his small hand tightly clutching onto his father's royal robe. The young boy's eyes sparkled with adoration as he absorbed every word that spilled from his father's lips.

They had just finished an afternoon of lessons, where Maekar had been introduced to the complex world of politics and governance. His young mind drank in the knowledge like a sponge, his curiosity and thirst for understanding never-ending. His father had always encouraged his inquisitive nature, and today was no exception.

As they strolled through the opulent halls of the Red Keep, King Viserys brought his son into the throne room where the Iron Throne stood, a symbol of power and authority. With a proud smile, the King gently lifted Maekar and placed him upon the imposing seat, the cold touch of the iron sending shivers down the young boy's spine.

Maekar's heart swelled with a mixture of excitement and awe as he surveyed the vastness of the room from his newfound throne.

Viserys knelt before his son, his eyes brimming with pride and love. "You see, my son," he began, his voice resonating with warmth and wisdom. "This throne represents more than just power. It symbolises the duty we bear to our people, the weight of our choices, and the legacy we leave behind."

Maekar's wide eyes locked onto his father's, hanging onto every word. The young boy nodded solemnly, fully aware of the significance bestowed upon him in this moment. He understood that his father was entrusting him with a future filled with challenges and expectations, yet he felt nothing but determination and an unwavering desire to make his father proud.

With a tender touch, Viserys placed his hand on Maekar's shoulder, a silent promise passing between them. "Remember, my son, knowledge and wisdom are your greatest weapons. Use them wisely, and may the legacy of House Targaryen continue to flourish through you."

As Maekar sat on the Iron Throne, he could feel its weight both physically and symbolically. The cold touch of the iron sent a shiver down his spine, but he straightened his back, trying to emulate the regal posture his father always displayed.

Viserys knelt before his son, his eyes filled with a mixture of pride and affection. "You look every bit the future ruler, Maekar," he said, his voice brimming with warmth. "But remember, true power lies not in the throne itself, but in the hearts of the people you serve."

Maekar nodded earnestly, his young face serious with the weight of his father's words. "I will make them proud, Father," he replied with determination. "I will listen to their needs and lead with compassion."

Viserys smiled, a glimmer of pride shining in his eyes. "That is exactly what I expect of you, my son. The people of the Seven Kingdoms are our greatest asset, and it is our duty to protect and uplift them."

Maekar's gaze shifted to the stained glass windows lining the grand hall, casting colorful patterns of light across the room. "Father, will I be as great a King as you?" he asked, his voice filled with a mix of hope and uncertainty.

Viserys placed a gentle hand on Maekar's shoulder, his touch reassuring. "Maekar, greatness is not solely measured by the accomplishments of the past, but by the choices we make in the present," he explained. "You have the potential to be a wise and just ruler, my son. But remember, true greatness lies in humility and a willingness to learn from both triumphs and mistakes."

Maekar absorbed his father's words, a sense of purpose and responsibility settling deep within his young heart. "I will strive to be the best I can be, Father," he promised, his voice filled with determination. "I will honor our family's legacy."

Viserys stood up, his hand still resting on Maekar's shoulder. "I have no doubt that you will, my son," he said, his voice filled with genuine belief. "You possess wisdom beyond your years, and with time, experience will only enhance your understanding."

With a final embrace, Viserys whispered words of encouragement into Maekar's ear, their significance etching deep into his memory. "Remember, Maekar, the strength of our family lies in unity and love. Together, we can forge a future worthy of the Targaryen name."

As the dream faded into the depths of Maekar's subconscious, he carried his father's teachings and the weight of the Iron Throne with him. The young prince vowed to honor his father's legacy, to become a leader who would inspire and protect his people, and to create a realm where compassion and justice reigned supreme.

The bells awoke Maekar from his slumber. The bells that only meant one thing. King Viserys the Peaceful was dead. Alicent's was already awake, stood on the balcony of their room, staring at the Sept with her tears running freely down her face.

Maekar joined her, his own tears welling up in his eyes, but he wouldn't let them fall. He was the King now. He needed to be strong. For his family and for the realm. He wrapped his arms around his wife's shoulders, pulling her into his chest.

"I'm so sorry, my love," Alicent's voice cracked as she sobbed into her husband's chest.

"My father was old, and he was dying," Maekar spoke softly into her hair. At that moment, Ser Criston entered the room.

"Your Grace," he bowed his head out of respect. "Princess Rhaenyra has called a Small Council meeting, she intends to usurp your throne," Maekar's fist clenched in anger.

"Then let us remind her who the rightful ruler is," he seethed. Alicent helped Maekar dress into Targaryen colours and helped him strap Blackfyre around his waist, placing a gentle kiss to his stubbled cheek.

"My King," Ser Criston bowed his head, following Maekar out of the room. Maekar was joined by Aegon and Baelon, their hands on the hilt of their own swords. It was silent between the three Targaryen's and as they arrived at the Small Council chambers, they saw Otto and a group consisting of ten members of Maekar's Dothraki and Ser Arryk Cargyll and Ser Willis Fell of the Kingsguard stood outside of the chamber doors, two Targaryen foot soldiers dead at their feet with their necks slashed.

"They swore fealty to "Queen" Rhaenyra, Your Grace," Ser Otto explained, looking down at his bloodstained boots. "Ser Arryk and Ser Willas cut them down in an easy fight.

"You and your families will be rewarded for your loyalty," Maekar nodded, thanking the two men who bowed their heads in respect for their new King. The two members of the Kingsguard pulled open the doors to the Small Council chamber, allowing the group to flood through.

"I see a council meeting was arranged that I wasn't aware of," Maekar's voice carried as he entered the chambers. The bells of the Sept still rang for his father's death. Rhaenyra glared at her brother from her seat at the rulers chair. Daemon stood behind her, smirking smugly.

"You forget your place, Rhaenyra," Maekar growled. He was flanked by his sons, Aegon and Baelon, his father-in-law, Ser Otto, Ser Criston, Ser Arryk and Ser Willis and the soldiers of his Dothraki tribe. "Ser Harrold, Ser Criston, see my sister and her husband the cells, if needed you may use force."

"Your Grace?" Ser Harrold hesitated from his place behind Rhaenyra.

"That's an order, Ser Harrold, not a request," Maekar narrowed his eyes at the Lord Commander.

The two men nodded, and joined by Maekar's Dothraki, Rhaenyra and Daemon were dragged from the Small Council chambers, kicking and screaming at the new King. Maekar watched in cruel satisfaction as two soldiers of the Dothraki snapped Daemon's arm, the sound of the crack reverberating off the walls.

"Now," Maekar wore his cruel smirk as he stood at the head of the table, Ser Otto taking his place on the King's right as Aegon and Baelon flanked their father. "Shall we begin?"

Before any of the council could express their thoughts, Lord Beesbury spoke his betrayal. Lord Beesbury, his face twisted with conviction, rose from his seat, his voice filled with venomous determination.

"Rhaenyra should be Queen! You are a madman!" Lord Beesbury's words reverberated through the room, causing a stir among the council members. Gasps of shock and disbelief filled the air as those present exchanged startled glances.

Maekar's eyes narrowed, his features hardening as he stood from his chair. He approached Lord Beesbury, his voice seething with anger. "You dare defy the rightful ruler? You dare question my claim to the throne?" Maekar's hand instinctively reached for the hilt of his sword, Blackfyre, as his rage grew.

Without warning, Ser Arryk Cargyll, the loyal Kingsguard, swiftly moved forward. In a swift and brutal motion, his blade sliced through the air, finding its mark on Lord Beesbury's throat. Lord Beesbury's eyes widened in shock, blood gushing forth from the mortal wound. He slumped forward, collapsing to the ground, his blood staining the floor crimson.

A collective gasp echoed through the chamber as the council members recoiled in horror at the sight before them. The room fell into a chilling silence, broken only by the sound of Lord Beesbury's choking. Maekar's expression remained stoic, as did Ser Otto's, Aegon's and Baelon's, their resolve unyielding, as Maekar surveyed the aftermath of this act of betrayal.

The gravity of the moment hung heavy in the air as the council members processed the shocking turn of events. Whispers of disbelief and fear filled the room, intermingling with the somber atmosphere. It was a stark reminder that the path to the throne was treacherous and unforgiving.

As the council members struggled to find their composure, Maekar's voice cut through the silence. "Remove his body from the chamber," he commanded, his tone firm and commanding. "Let his memory serve as a warning to all who dare challenge the rightful rule of House Targaryen."

With a firm nod, the Ser Arryk and Ser Willis carried out Maekar's orders, lifting Lord Beesbury's lifeless form and bearing it away from the Small Council chambers. The remnants of Beesbury's betrayal remained, staining the floor and etching a lasting memory of the consequences of treachery.

Maekar's gaze swept across the room, his expression hardened with determination. He had dealt swiftly with Lord Beesbury's treachery, but now it was time to address the consequences and move forward. Lord Tyland Lannister, the Master of Ships, stepped forward, offering his condolences to the King.

"Your Grace, I am deeply sorry for the loss of Lord Beesbury," Lord Tyland began. Maekar's violet eyes narrowed on him and he quickly added, "His betrayal was a shock to us all. However, I stand ready to serve as the Master of Coin in his place, if you deem me worthy."

Maekar nodded, acknowledging Lord Tyland's loyalty and competence. "Lord Tyland, your dedication to the realm is commendable. I appoint you as the new Master of Coin. May you bring stability and prosperity to our kingdom."

The council members exchanged glances, silently acknowledging the change in leadership. With the matter of Lord Beesbury settled, they turned their attention to finding a suitable replacement for the vacant position. Ideas and suggestions were thrown around the table, each member considering the qualities and skills required for such an important role.

As the discussion continued, the topic shifted to the upcoming coronations. Maekar's own coronation as the new King and Alicent's coronation as Queen Consort were moments of great significance for the realm. The council members shared their thoughts and plans for the upcoming events, ensuring that everything would be carried out with the appropriate pomp and ceremony.

Amidst the discussions, Maekar couldn't help but feel a mix of emotions. The weight of his new responsibilities as King, the loss of his father, and the challenges that lay ahead were overwhelming. Yet, he remained resolute in his determination to bring stability and justice to the Seven Kingdoms.

With the council meeting adjourned, Maekar and his advisors dispersed, each returning to their respective duties.