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[b]King's Landing
King Aegon Targaryen, et. al
Coronation Day/Evening[/b]

Despite protests, he wore black. Aegon took mild joy in the surprise from the septons and maesters when he announced the decision, despite doing his best to conceal such small joys from the wisemen. Princesses Rhaena and Baela both approved, Rhaena going so far as saying so aloud, and smiling at him, giving his cheek a playful little squeeze. If Aegon had smiled, it was to be blamed on the butterflies fluttering his belly this way and that. The High Septon frowned, and much of his "temporary" Small Council reflected the emotional output of the High Septon. 

They were all Maesters, led by the "temporary" Hand of the King, Grand Maester Munkun. Maester Benedict was Master of Laws, and had some level of control over the City Watch, while Maester Bruthor acted as Master of Coin, more book keeper than true Master of Coin (or so Rhaena had said; and Aegon had little reason to doubt her). Their lord whisperer was no Maester, Munkun instead picking Willem Morningwood over; former assistant to Master of Coin. Rhaena didn't seem to like that selection, either, but the voice didn't seem to mind that one. 

In any case, they went on as planned. Rhaena and Baela gave him sweet words and little hugs, before releasing him into the custody of the white knights of the Kingsguard. They were snow white towers of chain and plate and wool all about him, obscuring his view of the interior of the grand sept upon Visenya's High Hill. And those filling the grand sept, though he was still able to make out Lord Kermit and Lord Benjicot Blackwood. The Starks may have left, but Kermit and Benji staying had been some relief to the new King--there was something about the boys he liked. Something more than that they had fought for his mother, he liked to believe. 

Besides, the voice liked them, too. 

[i]"Good lads,"[/i] she called them, in the darkness underneath the Red Keep. No one, not even Rhaena, knew that Aegon had a way to sneak into the shadows underneath the floors and inbetween the walls. There he'd slip away to return to the voice that held the only wisdom he often trusted. Aegon found the voice in shadows; there in the isolated blackness of the dungeon he was thrown into. The little hole they threw him, leaving him to rot, unless some twist of fate made him important once more to the victorious King Aegon II. But nothing survived of King Aegon II's reign; even his mother had died in the morning hours of Aegon III's coronation. 

As that voice in the shadows promised him; he would out last them. He would see the sky once more. When Aegon II died, Corlys Velaryon immediately, and himself, pulled young Aegon from the cell. No one mentioned his ghastly state; bone thin, hands and cheeks bloodied from the vicious teeth of the rats. Many questioned how a man could stick a child into such a dark place, but the young Aegon never remembered any of those who said such things do anything to help him when he was lost in that darkness. Only the voice had been there for him, then. 

[i]Was she watching?[/i] His collar of black velvet tightened as his bright eyes danced around immediately upon being seated upon the tall throne of gold and ruby and smoky black onyx in the center of the grand sept. The High Septon and his band of crystal wearers proceeded around him in circles, chanting this, waving that incense, always left to right, always moving, chanting, waving. But his lilac eyes moved past their distractions, the thought of her out there making his body stir in the throne nervously. 

Instead Aegon saw only a nobility curious about the boy they were helping raise to kinghood. His back was sore and his knees wobbly after he had to stand once more, and recite from the Seven Pointed Star. His reading was low and quiet, doubtful any beyond the procession of white nights and crystalline septons able to hear a word Aegon uttered that day. But, amazingly to the boy king, it didn't matter. Though the sea of faces staring at him would eventually just blur into a background from the soreness inflicting him from the heavy crown, the unwieldy scepter, and the constant standing. 

The final prayers of the Coronation were a blessing, if only because they meant he could sit upon that stiff gold throne once more. Strange as it might have sound to any who looked upon it, Aegon almost certainly found himself preferring the Iron Throne to this showpiece. When the High Septon was finished, Rhaena and Baela were there for him, asking him if he was ready for a feast even as the march out of the grand sept began, the white cloaked sentries surrounding him once more...once more cutting off the majority of his view of the world. It was something Aegon didn't like; enough of the world had been taken from him when he'd been put in that hole. He didn't need any more stolen from him. 

Munkun met them before the carriage, Ser Joffrey Staunton of the Kingsguard holding open the door and assisting each of them up and in, the crowds of smallfolk lining the road upon Visenya's hill just more curious faces staring, their cheers and jeers lost to the overpowering sounds of the grand sept's bells. They rung freely, a deafening clap and wave of brass thunder leaving the young King's ears barely able to hear the Grand Maester, let alone anything any of the common folk shouted out to him.

"The Great Hall is ready to receive all, Your Grace. I remained hard to find during the ceremony, so none of the Lords have gotten their chance to corner me and ask me about my intentions. Doubtless this is coming." 

Baela seemed concerned. Rhaena did not. Aegon was torn between them. "Your intentions are to establish a new small Council?"

"And a Regency council, my King, but above all else they will want to know who will be taking on the Handship on a more permanent basis. They will speak to me of it, and mayhaps they will even speak to you about it?"

"Worried I would make Kermit the Hand of the King."

Aegon said it plainly, yet still Rhaena giggled at the idea, Baela's laughter rougher yet no less amused at the idea. They all thought it silly, but Aegon quite liked the idea. It didn't matter, Kermit couldn't stay in the capital much longer, not with the reports they were getting of the Ironborn attacking the south and the riverlands and the north. Suddenly, the reavers were everywhere upon the western coast of his new Kingdom. Or, the old kingdom that he was the new king for, is how it felt to him. 

Munkun's lips twisted in pale amusements, though no real laughter followed it. "Do not be surprised if the subject is broached during the evening, all the same, Your Grace. I will try to keep you updated throughout the night, but try to enjoy yourself...it isn't every day a young man is coronated." 

Aegon tried to force himself to smile, but nothing ever came. Instead his eyes slipped past his half-sisters and the silk curtains. To the low sunshine that glimmered in and out and of his view as the horses continued along the bumpy road of the city that still loomed immensely large and unknowable to it's new King. It was both one of the most unnerving, and most exciting, things he had ever seen in the whole of his life. None of it mattered when they rolled through the gates of the Red Keep. Aegon and his mind was lost to the memories of pushing at his mother. Of yelling at her, realizing the trap. 

He didn't want to feast. Unfortunately for him, he did want to eat, already so hungry he felt light headed. And eating was all Rhaena and Baela would talk about, but they didn't head for the Grand Hall. Instead the two of them darted for the royal apartments, with Aegon and his white shadow Ser Joffrey quick behind. They were busy changing gowns when Aegon entered, ignoring the distant feeling of being a sailor on a foreign shore, closing the door behind the apartments.

It held that which remained dear to him. What little family remained to House Targeryen, besides Princess Jaehaera Targaryen. Aegon understood when she asked to stay back from the coronation. Much like his black doublet and cloak, Jaehaera staying had been a decision Aegon made himself. The Maesters weren't well liked by some in the Kingsguard, and Baela's Targaryen House guard were bound to Targaryens. These decisions made on his own and so proclaimed were gambles calculated on the intuition of a boy that had grown up with deceit and death and conflict. He was educated in it. 

He knew all of it would get more complicated with Regents.

Even Rhaena and Baela told him to try and smile more. To try to be happier. In a way it only hurt his feeling; as if he were broken in a way unappealing in Kings. And Aegon smiled so rarely, even without a hint of outward joy as he walked the bright and beautifully built royal apartments of the Holdfast. When he saw the parchment upon the table in his bedchambers, that did it. 

It was from her, the handwriting and unsigned nature of the note convincing him of that.

[i]You looked good, Your Grace.[/i]

"Ready? You're not changing, yeah?"

Rhaena leaned in through the polished doors, her gown of glittering red silk and Myrish lace, with black satin linings, her shoulders bare and beautiful. A necklace matching gold bracelets on either wrist, Aegon's bedchamber quickly filling with the sneaking scent of jasmine from Rhaena's appearance. It was only then that Aegon stopped staring at her long enough to nod, the remains of the note induced smile haunting his lips in the fading light of the day. "Not changing, no."

"Head down whenever you want, we'll be just a few minutes more if you don't want to wait--Baela's gown is being a little problematic. Alright?" Then, she added, not bothering to hide it or the accompanying grin. "Your Grace?"

"Good luck with the gown, Princess Rhaena."

She laughed at him, and disappeared beyond the door. Aegon stood blinking; it wasn't the reaction he had expected. But girls still confused him most of the time, a fact especially true of his half-sisters. A fact that he would try not to let overwhelm him as he pictured the many lords and ladies of the night ahead, servants coming about him, giving their respects as they passed, candles in their hands as darkness rose and the sun above the Red Keep sank. 

Tonight, he promised himself, he would attempt to truly enjoy at least one thing: lemon cakes. A thought that threatened to make him smile as the sound of music and a crowd met him before he ever saw the Grand Hall itself. Fancily dressed tables and tables of nobles didn't exactly sound appealing, but the lemon cakes did. Not even dungeons and dragons could purge Aegon of that joy.