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

090▪️A BANQUET OF ROYALTY, SILK, THORNS

The bells of the Red Keep tolled as the sun bled into the sea, casting King’s Landing in a molten hue of gold and crimson. Evening fell like a silken shroud, and the Great Hall of the Red Keep came alive with light and sound.

Every pillar bore the Targaryen sigil woven in crimson and black silk, the floors polished until they shimmered like obsidian. Musicians played softly in the galleries, their lutes and harps weaving an elegant prelude into the night’s celebration.

The wedding reception of King Maegor Targaryen and Lady Alicent Hightower had drawn nearly every powerful house in Westeros and beyond.

The hall thrummed with nobility dignitaries, lords, ladies, maesters, and envoys packed into every corner, all dressed in their house colors, their voices a mingling of clinking goblets and whispered ambitions.

At one end of the hall, a long, ornate table stood groaning under the weight of gifts: gold-chased chalices, silks from Myr, rare jewels from Braavos, and an ivory harp from Lys. Nearby, royal servants moved in droves carrying trays laden with roasted boar, honeyed fowl, blood oranges, and golden arbor wine.

Queen Alicent, in her first act of rule, had already commanded that no food be wasted, that all remnants be sent to the city’s orphanages and the poorest streets of Flea Bottom.

“It is with great pleasure that His Grace, King Maegor Targaryen, declares the feast begun,” Ser Harrold announced in his firm voice, rising at the front.

The introductions began.

“House Lannister, Lord Jason Lannister of Casterly Rock, Shield of Lannisport, Warden of the West.”

Jason Lannister entered with proud swagger, his golden hair gleaming beneath the chandeliers, flanked by his twin, Ser Tyland, and their kin. Jason smirked at the crowd as if it had gathered for his honor. Tyland walked with quieter confidence, his sharp eyes always assessing, always calculating.

“House Hightower, Lord Horbert Hightower of Oldtown, Beacon of the South, Defender of the Citadel.”

Horbert led his household in sober grace. His son Ormund, tall and composed, stood at his side. Their sea-green and grey garb shimmered subtly, the tower-with-flame insignia stitched with silver thread. The pride in their eyes, watching Alicent at the high table, was unmistakable.

“House Tully, Lord Grover Tully of Riverrun.”

The aging Lord Grover entered slowly, leaning on his cane, surrounded by sons and grandsons. They were garbed in the silver and blue of their riverlands, faces solemn and observing.

“House Stark. House Baratheon. House Greyjoy. House Martell…”

One by one, the great houses filed in. Every house save Velaryon. Their absence hung in the air like a quiet insult.

Finally, Ser Harrold turned, voice lifting above the music:

“And now, to honor the stars of this celebration, His Grace, King Maegor Targaryen, and his noble bride, Queen Alicent Hightower!”