Chapter Text
After two weeks of travel the Lord of Summerhall and his retinue had finally arrived in Kings Landing. The entourage was modest, as it only encompassed three nobles and their immediate attendants, and the journey to Kings Landing did not require great stores of provisions. Servants were fluttering to and fro, storing all the brought items, cleaning horses and preparing rooms for the servants and guards. And, as servants are wont to do, their prime activity was sharing gossip. At high speed rumours were exchanged between those who served the Red Keep and those of Summerhall. Indeed, the king had insisted on a highly unusual private audience - and one right away at that. He did not even grant his son the customary hours to settle in and prepare. That could only spell trouble. Perhaps Lord Maekar would be disinherited for the debacle at Ashford, when one of his sons had set loose a horse on to the other...
Away from prying eyes and pointed ears, in the wing reserved for members of the royal family, Maekar Targaryen first of his name was preparing for his imminent royal audience. his stern face was focused and grim as he focused on the task laid before him.
Aerion's face and hands were sticky and covered with crumbs and cream. Maekar was gently but hurriedly cleaning one of his hands as Aerion was sucking on the fingers of the other.
"How did he manage to get his hands on lemon cakes moments after arriving?" Maekar grumbled, not necessarily expecting an answer.
Daeron, getting his hair combed and braided by a maid, shrugged. "Perhaps all those dragon dreams belied him of his true gift - the nose of a hound."
"Don't make such japes in front of your grandparents." Maekar shot his eldest a stern look, then focused back on his little one.
Aerion seemed to be very content with himself. He was kicking his legs, seated on the edge of a table. Pleased with the treats he had found and entirely unaware he had been naughty. Rather than frustrated that Aerion was incapable of basic obedience as he otherwise would have been, Maekar was now simply relieved that his son was not yet succumbing to fatigue. The boy was undoubtedly tired from the days travel and it would not be long before his mood soured and he'd turn recalcitrant. Maekar wanted to avoid at all costs the boy throwing a screaming tantrum on the floor of the throne room, at an official audience. Thankfully his father had accomdated it and allowed for an immediate audience. Even more grateful was Maekar for his father's decision to grant him a private one, aware that Maekar wanted the court to see as little as possible of his youngest.
When the last traces of Aerion's mischief had been cleaned from his face, Maekar motioned for the maids to start dressing him in formal attire. They all had to shrug out of their travelling fatigues and into their finest outfits. Maekar already wore a doublet of rich and deep black velvet and his leather boots were polished to a shine. He held out his left arm and a dark red sash was draped over his shoulder, delicately embroidered with dragons, then bound with a cloth-of-gold waistband. Finally, a crown was placed on his head. Bar the crown his boys looked the exact same.
Maekar looked them over. Daeron looked clean and presentable; his hair neat and combed, his eyes clear. He was once again grateful for his decision to bring Aerion's close attendants with them from Summerhall to the capital; the boy had been perfectly compliant as he was dressed. Aerion was shuffling in place, but his face showed not the telltale pout and trembling lower lip that harbinged a fatigue-induced tantrum. Maekar exhaled and felt the knot of trepidation in his chest uncoil slightly. Would today truly go without further hiccups?
Only one thing left to do before their audience. Maekar lowered himself to be of eye height with Aerion. The boy met his gaze and smiled brightly as he always did when looking at his father.
"Aerion. Soon we will must do something important. I need you to be on your best behaviour." He paused, checking wether the child was still paying attention. Aerion was still looking at him, which was better than most times when Maekar explained something to him, so he continued. "You have to be a big boy, understand? Be a big boy like Daeron." Daeron snorted when he said that. Maekar ignored him. "Can you do that?"
Aerion nodded vigourously. "'m a big boy!"
"Very good. Now, as a big boy you need to help - don't pick your nose, sweetling - you need to help papa with two things: you need to be quiet and you must bow when papa and Daeron bow. That's all. Be quiet, and bow when I bow."
Aerion nodded with a determined expression, in the past reserved for when he competed in jousts. "mhm-mhm."
"Good boy."
Now it was time to make their way to the throne room. He grabbed Aerion's hand and gave Daeron a reassuring shoulder squeeze. Then they walked to the throne room, flanked by four guards.
They waited at the great, foreboding doors for the announcement. Deep groans from the iron signalled that the doors were slowly being opened. Maekar handed Aerion's hand over to Daeron, who was standing behind him. Ceremony required that the prince entered first, only then followed by his children. Aerion whimpered, undoubtedly scared by the heavy doors. Maekar felt immensely guilty for scaring his boy like this, even though he'd be back in his arms the moment all the pomp was done with.
"Maekar Targaryen, Lord of Summerhall and Prince of the Realm, seeks audience with His Grace King Daeron Targaryen, first of his name." The herald boomed.
He entered. He saw his father sit on the throne at the other side of the room, felt the alien silence of a room usually filled with people now only filled with a few guards and the king. King Daeron was a kind and jolly man, yet his face could turn unreadable and ice cold if he wanted to. He was still too far away for Maekar to properly see his face. Would he be ashamed of what his youngest son had wreaked upon the family?
Maekar could not be dragged any further into that maelstrom.
"Dede!" Barely were they halfway the throne room, when he heard Aerion yell in an excited, childish voice. The boy slipped out of Daerons grasp and ran past Maekar, overjoyed to see his grandfather.
Maekar frantically rushed forward and grabbed the boy by the back of his tunic and roped him back in, firmly holding him by his arm to prevent him from slipping out again. Inwardly he cursed himself. Of course the boy had no clue what had been asked of him, of course his sons ruined the official audience with his father.
Maekar ground his jaw, but did not say anything. Finally they arrived at the steps leading up to the throne. Maekar bowed, Daeron bowed, and Maekar felt Aerion twist impatiently in his grasp, his promise to bow all but forgotten.
"My king, I am honoured to be received by you."
King Daeron looked down at his son and grandsons. His voice was serious, but there was a twinkle in his eyes and he could not fully hide his mouth curling upward. "As I am to have you here in my halls, prince Maekar. You may rise."
And with that the formalities were done. The king stood up from the throne and descended the steps with a fluidity surprising for his age and figure. Starting at Daeron, who had taken place next to Aerion, he greeted his family.
"Daeron, my boy, you look well." Daeron gave his grandsire and namesake an embrace, short but loving. "It joys me to see you in good health, grandfather."
Maekar inclined his head minutely, relieved that his eldest had not forgotten his courtesies. The king then looked at Aerion, who was practically jumping with excitement at seeing his grandfather. He jumped into his arms and squealed. "Dede!"
The king laughed. Maekar knew it was a sincere laugh. "If only all who enter this hall were as pleased to see me as you are, little one."
Finally, Daeron focused on his son, Aerion still hanging from his shoulders.
"Son," he said, his tone conveying everything that words could not. "To have my family together now greatly eases my soul."
Maekar closed his eyes, refusing to let tears fall when his father embraced him.