aenys I targaryen
Aenys Targaryen is taught to rule a kingdom subdued by the Dragon, a people held in check by the Conqueror as a man is held against the earth by a boot pressing against his throat. Aenys Targaryen, the First of His Name, takes the throne to a land breathing the first sweet sigh of relief, and wanting more.
Rebellion spreads through the kingdoms like wildfire, faster and fiercer than anything he could have imagined, and led by the same faith his father had renounced the gods of his homeland for. Mother used to tell me stories though, of Balerion the dark god of war, and Meraxes, the trickster goddess that could change her shape into anything she pleased. I could take them as the gods of the Iron Throne, and have done with the Seven. The thought, the half-hearted threat, gives him comfort and a semblance of bravery when he closes his eyes at night to the sounds of the zealots screaming for his head.
The sounds grow louder and louder still, no matter how tightly he closes his eyes or how hard he presses his hands over his ears. The septons cry out for a dynasty to end before it begins. The smallfolk cry out against the enemies of their gods, blindly and unquestioningly following the words of the leaders of their faith. Maegor calls for war, his son calls for peace. Peace is what I wish for as well, my smart son. For this to end. For it all to end, and be as it was before. His father had ruled with such ease. He had made everything look so simple. All I want is for this to be simple.
The world grows harder, the crys grow louder, and King Aenys covers his eyes and ears to it all. Behind him, unseen, his brother scowls.