The Son of Ice and Fire (Jon Snow SI)

Maekar rode through the bustling streets of King's Landing, mounted on a magnificent white steed, his posture regal as he acknowledged the roaring crowd. The cobblestones beneath his horse's hooves echoed with each step, while men, women, and children lined the streets, waving and cheering his name. "Prince Maekar!" they shouted, their voices filled with adoration. "Princess Daenerys!" echoed soon after.

Riding beside him, Daenerys was the picture of grace and beauty. Her silver-gold hair flowed down her shoulders, shimmering like moonlight against her dark, embroidered cloak. The people gazed upon her in awe, struck by her ethereal beauty, her mere presence captivating the hearts of onlookers.

This display wasn't spontaneous—it had been orchestrated by Maekar himself, a plan meticulously executed by Basil. The city had been prepared for his arrival, and everything was set to make it seem as though the people adored him, cheering his name with genuine passion.

Lords and ladies from all over the kingdoms had begun arriving for the tourney.. He wanted them to witness this, to know that the rumors they might have heard about him—about his generosity, strength, and righteousness—were true. His agents and bards had ensured these stories reached the far corners of the realm.

He wanted to subtly remind everyone of the changes he had brought to the city. They would notice how the streets were cleaner, the markets more prosperous, and how the people appeared more content since his arrival to the city a year and a half ago.

Maekar knew this tourney would be a turning point, where the pieces on the board in the game of thrones between him and Aegon would be finalized.

He was also aware that Rhaenys was playing her own game, plotting her own rise. But he had plans for her as well—soon enough, he would deal with her little company of lords.

And then there was his father, who had become increasingly unpredictable. From what he had heard recently, his father's plans for Aegon, Rhaenys, and even Daenerys suggested he wouldn't be long for this world. It would either be Aegon who carried out the deed, or hehimself.

As they rode through the gates of the Red Keep, the cheers of the crowd slowly faded behind them.

The courtyard was alive with lords, ladies, knights, and servants, all pausing to catch a glimpse of the arriving prince and princess. Maekar swiftly dismounted and turned to help Daenerys down, offering his hand as she gracefully slid from her horse. He caught a glimpse of Basil standing at the far end of the courtyard, waiting for him. Beside Basil, to Maekar's surprise, stood Jon Arryn, his face grave. Several new faces among the gathered lords and ladies watched them with curious eyes.

As they walked toward Jon Arryn, Lyonel followed behind them with his usual stoic expression. Maekar noticed Jon Arryn's eyes flick to Lyonel, lingering for a moment. 'He must have seen Robert in him,' Maekar thought.

Basil was the first to approach, bowing deeply. "My prince, my princess," he greeted them. "Welcome back to King's Landing."

Jon Arryn turned his attention away from Lyonel at the sound of Basil's voice. He stepped forward, his gaze steady as he greeted them both. "Prince Maekar, Princess Daenerys," he said with a formal bow. His voice was calm, but Maekar detected an undercurrent of urgency beneath the surface.

"Has Robin arrived at the Eyrie?" Maekar asked, knowing Jon had sent his son—and Maekar's page—away to the Vale just before he left for Dragonstone, as things in King's Landing had been growing tense by the day. Robin was his only heir, after all.

Jon Arryn gave a curt nod. "He has, my prince."

Maekar was about to turn to Daenerys when Jon added, "There are urgent matters we must discuss."

Maekar hesitated, glancing at Daenerys for a moment. "Can't this wait?" he asked, his voice edged with impatience.

"No, my prince," Basil interjected. "This is important."

Jon stepped closer, his voice low but firm. "It's about Stannis."

At that, Maekar's demeanor shifted instantly. The mention of Stannis Baratheon commanded his full attention.

He turned to Daenerys, giving her a small nod. "I'll see you in the evening, Dany."

Daenerys returned his gaze with a soft smile. "Of course," she said before walking away with her handmaidens and Brienne in tow.

Ghost, who had been almost inseparable from her, surprisingly stayed with Maekar, padding quietly at his side as if sensing the seriousness of the matter.

Maekar looked at Jon and Basil with a sharp gaze. "Well, what is this all about?" he asked, his voice low and focused as they walked further away from the crowd, heading toward his private chambers to discuss the matter.

=====

"When will my uncles arrive?" Maekar asked, swirling the goblet of wine in his hand, watching the dark liquid twist and settle as his mind wandered.

"They'll be here in four days, my prince," Basil replied dutifully, standing beside him.

Maekar barely acknowledged him, his thoughts still consumed by the conversation he had just finished with Jon Arryn. 

The Lord of the Eyrie sat across from him, his face as grave as ever, watching him closely.

"Stannis is not unreasonable," Jon finally broke the silence, his voice measured but firm.

Maekar huffed, his frustration simmering just beneath the surface. "Well, from what you've told me, Jon, he's being quite unreasonable." 

Apparently, Stannis was angry at his supposed 'meddling' in the Stormlands; he did not like his dealings with the stormlords. And now, Stannis was planning to go to his father with his concerns. The Lord of Storm's End suspected that he was plotting something.

Jon leaned forward, his hands clasped together. "You have to understand, Maekar, the Baratheons almost lost everything after the rebellion—their title, some of their lands, their prestige. Stannis has been holding onto what little remains, but it's a delicate balance."

Maekar arched an eyebrow, setting the goblet down. "You and I both know, Jon, that Stannis is still quite powerful in the Stormlands, more powerful than Connington, the so-called Lord Paramount of the Stormlands. The lords there still respect Stannis far more."

"But you must see it from his perspective," Jon said, trying to reason with him.

Maekar frowned. "What makes him think I summoned the Stormlords to conspire? For all he knows I invited them to discuss trade, alliances…"

"Stannis is no fool. He knows what is happening in court; he can see the tides churning," Jon interrupted, his voice calm but firm.

"I've tried reaching out to him for over a year," Maekar said, frustration building in his voice. "He's ignored every letter, every message I've sent. The other lords answered, and I did what I had to do."

Jon sighed, leaning back in his chair. "It's not that simple. Stannis is proud. His pride, combined with his mistrust, makes him rigid. He sees your actions as a threat, a threat to the king's peace."

Maekar picked up his goblet again, drinking deeply before setting it aside. "Do you think there's any chance he'll join our cause?"

"Stannis won't seek out another war," Jon replied, his voice certain. "He's not like Robert. Stannis is pure iron—black, hard, and strong, yes, but brittle. The way iron gets. He'll break before he bends."

Maekar let out a long breath, the weight of Jon's words sinking in. "I want to meet with him."

Jon immediately shook his head. "Not yet. It's not the right time."

Maekar narrowed his eyes. "What do you suggest then?"

"Meet with Durran first," Jon advised. "His heir."

"Why? What good will that do?" Maekar asked, genuinely curious.

"Durran is not like his father," Jon said. "He's more like Robert—charismatic, bold, and unafraid to speak his mind. He doesn't share Stannis's rigid adherence to duty. In fact, from what I hear, he doesn't care much for how Stannis remains so… docile under your father's reign. If you win Durran over, you could sway Stannis through him."

Maekar considered Jon's words carefully, the cogs of strategy turning in his mind. "Very well. I'll meet with Durran. But make sure Stannis doesn't do anything rash in the meantime. If he runs to my father with his suspicions, it could complicate things."

.

.

.

Maekar walked through the gardens of the Red Keep, the scent of roses and freshly cut grass doing little to ease his troubled mind. His thoughts kept circling back to Stannis Baratheon, the ever-stubborn Lord of Storm's End.

"Stannis, Stannis," he muttered under his breath. This was an obstacle he hadn't fully anticipated, but like many challenges in his life, he would have to face it head-on. "I can handle it," Maekar reassured himself. "I always do."

As he continued along the winding path, he heard a sharp, irritated voice. He recognized the tone immediately, even before the next words reached him.

"How many times must I tell you, you fool? I said lavender, not jasmine! How hard can it be to follow the simplest of instructions?" The voice carried on the breeze, growing louder as Maekar approached.

'Cersei,' he thought with a wry smile. Of all the people to run into today, this might actually improve his mood.

He found talking with her strangely amusing. He liked how she thought she had him in the palm of her hand. Cersei was an intelligent woman, but her biggest weakness was her vanity. She was a narcissist, and he knew exactly how to manipulate narcissists.

Quickening his pace, he followed the sound of her voice until he reached a secluded corner of the gardens. There she stood, radiant as ever, draped in green and gold silk, her golden hair glowing in the late afternoon sun. Her eyes were narrowed in disdain as she scolded one of her handmaidens, who looked close to tears. Ser Gregor Clegane loomed nearby, his massive form towering over the scene, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword, perhaps hoping Cersei would command him to strike the girl down.

Before Maekar could make his presence known, Cersei's sharp eyes caught sight of him. Her expression shifted instantly, the irritation melting away as a practiced smile graced her lips. She waved her hand dismissively, sending her handmaidens scurrying away, and with a nod, dismissed Ser Gregor as well. The Mountain gave Maekar a wary glance before lumbering off, leaving the two of them alone.

"Prince Maekar," Cersei greeted him with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. She took a step forward, her gaze appraising. "What a pleasant surprise."

Maekar gave a small bow, his eyes fixed on her. "Lady Cersei," he replied smoothly, his voice laced with charm. "It's always a pleasure to run into you. I couldn't help but overhear."

Cersei laughed lightly, the sound as hollow as her smile. "Ah, just a small matter with the help. It's so difficult to find good servants these days. But never mind that—what brings you here today?" She stepped closer, her eyes locking onto his.

Maekar returned her gaze with a smirk. "Clearing my head. I've been busy with my duties lately," he said, a glint of amusement in his eyes.

Cersei smiled. "How was your journey to Driftmark? It was all quite sudden."

Maekar returned her smile with practiced ease. "It was enjoyable. A good break from all my duties. After all, I am the only prince who is… whole of body."

"Yes, yes, quite gallant of you to take on so many of your brother's burdens," she replied, the faintest trace of bitterness slipping into her voice.

He gestured toward a nearby bench. "No reason to stand here, my lady. Let's sit."

Cersei accepted the offer, gracefully sitting beside him. "Prince Maekar, you should spend some time with my Joffrey. I find that the two of you are quite similar."

Internally, Maekar sighed. 'Damn, she's delusional about her children, isn't she? Then again, she's a narcissist—hardly surprising.'

Outwardly, he nodded. "Ah, I agree," he said, his voice smooth, lying through his teeth. "But unfortunately, Joffrey spends most of his time with Aegon."

He noticed Cersei's expression tighten, her smile fading slightly. "Yes... Prince Aegon." Her distaste was barely concealed.

'Ah, Aegon's already managed to piss her off,' Maekar thought. 'What in the seven hells did he do?'

Cersei continued, "I feel as though Joffrey is not being properly respected for someone of his station. Some of Prince Aegon's... lower-born companions have taken advantage of my poor son's kindness."

'So, Aegon must have humiliated Joffrey somehow.' Maekar mentally filed the information away. "I see," he said thoughtfully, pretending to empathize. "I've always felt Gerold Dayne was acting above his station."

Cersei's eyes narrowed. "So, you've noticed it too? That means the court must have as well," she said, her voice tinged with both anger and embarrassment.

Maekar leaned in slightly, fanning the flames. "I must confess, Lady Cersei, I feel my brother has been an ill friend to Joffrey. I imagine Joffrey only tolerates it because Aegon is the crown prince, but no prince should act that way toward the future Lord of Casterly Rock."

Cersei's face flushed with anger, her pride bruised. "Yes... yes, he is disrespecting him, isn't he?" She stood up abruptly, her frustration evident.

"Thank you for the conversation, Prince Maekar," Cersei said, her mood shifting again as she regained her composure.

Maekar smiled smoothly. "No, thank you, my lady. I've enjoyed every moment in the presence of the Light of the West."

Cersei smiled at the flattery, clearly pleased. "You are quite the flatterer, my prince."

"Only to those who deserve it," he replied with a charming smirk.

Cersei bowed slightly and left, her golden hair glinting in the sun as she disappeared down the path.

Maekar watched her go. 'I may have problems with Stannis and the Stormlands, but my plans with the Lannisters... they're moving along nicely.'