TO LOVE A KING || Maegor II Targaryen [SLOW UPDATES]

08▪️ THE SMALL COUNCIL

At the end of the table, facing the King, sat Lord Corlys Velaryon, Master of Ships, the famed Sea Snake. Dark-skinned, still imposing in his late fifties, Corlys had not inherited his wealth, he had built it.

While many in this room had known only courtly life, he had braved the tempests of the Narrow Sea, sailed beyond the Jade Gates, and forged an empire of trade.

And yet, for all his wealth and status, he remained a man scorned his wife, Princess Rhaenys, the "Queen Who Never Was," denied the throne twice over. A slight he had never forgotten.

Seated near him was Lord Lyman Beesbury, Master of Coin, a man in his sixties and the longest-serving member of the Small Council. He had advised both Jaehaerys and Viserys before Maegor, and though he was respected, he was notoriously tight-fisted. His grasp on the realm’s treasury was unyielding, his reluctance to part with coin legendary.

Lord Varys, Master of Whispers, a shadow among men. His presence in the council chamber was both seen and unseen. Where others ruled through swords and laws, Varys wielded whispers, secrets, and silent knives in the dark.

A eunuch of unknown origins, he carried himself with the grace of a courtier but the cunning of a spider, his smooth voice and unreadable expression making him impossible to trust fully.

He knew things before others spoke them. He moved pieces before others knew they were in play. And while Maegor trusted few, he kept Varys close for knowledge was power, and Varys knew everything.

Ser Orys II Baratheon, Master of Trade and Agriculture, a man cut from the same cloth as the King. At thirty-three, the same age as Maegor, he had been his closest friend since childhood.

Tall, broad, and with the unmistakable strength of his House, Orys was more than a warrior, he was a man of vision. He had once known happiness, until the pox took his wife and son six years ago. Since then, he had never sought to remarry, carrying his grief in silence.

Yet despite the sorrow etched into his soul, under his oversight, the realm’s economy flourished, its farmlands thrived, and its markets bustled with goods from Essos and beyond. Unlike the calculating lords around him, Orys spoke plainly, acted decisively, and remained loyal above all else. If Maegor ever had a brother in spirit, it was him.

As the council deliberated, the weight of governance filled the chamber. Laws were upheld, wars were prevented, alliances were made and broken all within these walls. Maegor II Targaryen reigned with precision, his rule one of control, order, and power.

And in this chamber, surrounded by those who served him, he meant to keep it that way.

The laughter echoed through the council chamber as King Maegor, amused by his own jest, reveled in the moment. Lords chuckled, some dutifully, others sincerely, all except the Sea Snake, whose expression remained unreadable.