CHAPTER IV - THE FIRST DAYS OF PEACE
The war was over. It was still near two weeks before I finally entered the capital, parading down the cobbled streets towards Maegor's Holdfast. The Lannisters that remained in the capital surrendered themselves to me, no doubt in hope that my justice would be fair. It would be, as much as it pained me. I was not a Lannister, I was not a murderer, a kingslayer, a traitor. To treat them as they treated my family would make me no better than them, and I was to let them know, that I
was better than them. Jaime Lannister was immediately stripped of his white cloak and throne in a cell. His sister, Cersei, was afforded a room in the Red Keep, kept under house arrest with her daughter, the now ex-queen Myrcella, in her care. Though the Lannisters would face justice soon enough, I had many other matters to attend to.
Sat upon the Iron Throne at last, Harry Strickland was the first to seek my counsel. The Captain-General of the Golden Company had served as one of my most trusted advisers, and most staunch allies. A ceremonial guard of five hundred of his men filled the halls of the throne room, as their leader sought an audience with me. Their mission fulfilled, Strickland announced his intent to me to disband the sellsword company. With the line of the dragon restored to the through, there was naught else for them to accomplish. In thanks of his service, I granted Strickland a place in my court, should he accept it, and gave permission to the rest of the Golden Company to seek service with any lord of Westeros willing to take them in. This was the least I could do for the men who had put me on the throne.
Before departing, a man stepped out from Strickland's guard, holding in his hands what appeared to be a weapon draped in silk. The solder handed it to Strickland, who then presented it to myself.
Since the days of Aegor Bittersteel, Strickland said,
the Golden Company has held this sword, in hopes that one day it could be presented to the true and rightful king of Westeros. Today is that day, my king. Removing the silk, Strickland revealed a blade of Valyrian steel, set into a hilt of pure black, with a large ruby adorning it.
Blackfyre. The ancestral blade of my house. The blade was long-thought lost, but in truth the Golden Company had held it since the days of the Blackfyre rebellion. Now, at last, it was mine.
The matter of my new Kingsguard followed next. I had no desire to keep the Kingsguard of my enemy as my own, but there were two that I deemed worthy enough to keep their places. Sers Loras Tyrell and Balon Swann had proven themselves fine and honorable knights, worthy of the white cloak. Osney Kettleblack and Rory Valkyn however, were no such knights, and were stripped of their cloaks and allowed to return to their homes, forever shamed. That left only three. Jaime Lannister was my prisoner, leaving only Meryn Trant and Ilyn Payne. Varys had told me of these two men, men who took pride and pleasure in the beating of small girls, and the murder and torture of innocents. These men's crimes were too henious. They would be sentenced to death.
With the Kingsguard cured of it's impurities, the task now fell to me to grant the white cloak to four men of my choosing, knights worthy of such an honor. With much deliberation, I named William Wythers, Richard Horpe, Narbert Grandison and a lowborn named Megdar to the Kingsguard. These men had proven themselves as skilled warriors and battlefield commanders. They did not flee in the face of adversity, and would guard my life, even if it meant giving their own. None were more suited to wear the white cloak. I named Rolly Duck, my longtime friend and companion, as their Lord Commander, and Duck was more than honored to accept the role. I couldn't think of a man whom I would rather have standing at my side, to guard and keep safe me and my blood.
With my enemies imprisoned and awaiting justice, a newly-founded Kingsguard at my side, I had only the matter of a few titles and the establishment of a Small Council left to attend to, before my reign could truly begin. The establishment of my Small Council was a simple matter, as there were a number of clear and obvious choices before me. Jon Connington, my greatest ally, had served as my Hand since we first landed in the Stormlands, and he would keep the postion. My wife Margaery, whom I had found to be quite the shrewd diplomat, I named my Master of Laws. The role of Master-at-Arms traditionally fell to the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, and I saw no reason as to why Duck should not take up the position. Grand Maester Pycelle kept his position, though this was a decision of the Citadel, not the king; and two of my staunchest allies were granted seats on the council too. Doran Martell and Lord Varys, two of my earliest supporters, were named Masters of Coin and Whispers respectively.
With my new-found councilors, I discussed the matter of the revocation and granting of numerous titles throughout the kingdoms. The war had proven long and difficult, and had shown the true colors of many lords and ladies throughout Westeros. I gave my councilors the task of divvying out smaller lands and titles, but there were three that I would see to myself. Years earlier, Rickon Stark had been found alive and well, and was thus the natural claimant to the North. To ensure the loyalty of the Northmen in the coming years, I decreed that Lord Roose Bolton and his son Ramsay were to be imprisoned by the crown, and the title of Lord of the North was to be granted to the Stark boy. It would not be hard to convince the Northern lords to throw the Boltons at my feet, and swear fealty once more to House Stark.
Similarly, to ensure the loyalties of the Riverlands, I had the Lordship of the Riverlands revoked from Petyr Baelish, though there was no reason to have the man imprisoned. Edmure Tully, who had remained a prisoner of the Lannisters throughout the war, was returned to Riverrun and granted the Lordship of the Riverlands. With the son, daughter and granddaughter all awaiting trial, I passed on the lordship of the Westerlands to Kevan Lannister, the most logical choice. Though the Lannisters had proved disloyal, it would be folly to strip the family of the Westerlands, and Lord Kevan was tame in comparison to his brother. He would suffice. The matter of the Stormlands, the lands of the Usurping family of House Baratheon, was a more complicated matter. I could not, nor would not, return the title to the Baratheon's, and so I made the decision to grant the title to a new lord. Jon Connington was the Hand of the King, the Lord of Griffin's Roost and my oldest and greatest friend. Now too was he Lord of the Stormlands.
With pressing business settled, the time was finally right for my coronation. I sent word to the High Septon that arrangements were to be made for my coronation, and he replied with haste. Preparations took a few weeks, and it was in those weeks that I finally found the time to relax. I had not noticed that it had been well over a year since I had cut my hair, the thought of war was too pressing to notice. It was down past my shoulders, long, straight and silver.
You look like your father, Lord Jon told me one evening.
I'll keep it. With the preparations finished, the day of the coronation had finally arrived. Silks of black and red adorned the streets and walls of the capital, the bells of the Great Sept of Baelor rang, and flocks of small folk lined the city streets to celebrate the return of the dragons. It was a grand spectacle, filled with cheer, laughter and happiness. Not even the thought of the Lannister prisoners could dampen the spirit of the day.
Kneeling before the statues of the Father and the Mother in the Great Sept, the High Septon held the crown above my head and said the words:
In the sight of the Seven, I, His Holiness the High Septon, anoint you, Aegon of the House Targaryen, sixth of your name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm. Hail!
