There was another knock at the door.
This time, it was a Kingsguard who entered, saying, "Queen Regent, Crown Prince, Prince—the High Septon has arrived. Shall I..."
"Admit him," Aemond said.
Soon after, the High Septon entered the chamber. The High Septon of the Faith of the Seven, near sixty years of age, entered and offered a salute to the king's body. Then he turned to Alicent and Aegon.
"Queen Mother, Prince, Princess—my condolences. May the Father judge His Grace's soul justly, and may the Mother grant you comfort. May the Stranger guide His Grace to his rest."
Aemond regarded the High Septon, his feelings complex.
"Your Holiness, High Septon Owen. Thank you for coming at this late hour. His Grace should have a solemn farewell, but the situation is exceptional."
"I understand," the High Septon said with a compassionate nod. "The Red Keep is under martial law, the whole city is being searched... I hear someone has conspired to murder His Grace?"
"Indeed," said Aemond. "Grand Maester Orwyle—you know him, the Grand Maester who served His Grace less than two years—conspired with Princess Rhaenyra. He was wroth that His Grace named Aegon his heir, and so poisoned the king. Now he has stolen the king's crown and forged a testament, intending to incite rebellion."
Aemond spoke without hesitation, as if he had witnessed it himself.
Shock crossed the High Septon's face. "The Seven Above... how could such evil be? Maester Orwyle... I can scarcely believe it..."
"I have witnesses and physical evidence," Aemond said, his face unchanging.
Aemond glanced at Talya, who gave a slight nod—the so-called witnesses were already prepared.
"His Grace was poisoned with a fast-acting toxin, and residue remains in the Grand Maester's chambers. Moreover, Orwyle vanished tonight. The Four Kingdoms' representatives vanished at the same time—clearly they conspired together and have fled with the forged testament and crown to slander the Crown and provoke war."
Aemond paused, meeting the High Septon's eyes. "What is the Faith's position on this matter?"
The High Septon did not hesitate. "The Faith firmly supports the lawful succession. Prince Aegon is the heir proclaimed by His Grace himself, witnessed by all the realm. Any attempt to undermine this decision is a challenge to the Faith and a breach of the realm's peace."
The High Septon's words pleased Princess Helaena; she looked at him with gratitude. Aegon's face was expressionless, still gazing at his father Viserys's body, his thoughts complex.
Aemond smiled inwardly, but gratitude showed on his face.
"With the High Septon's words, we are reassured. Then, will the Faith be prepared to publicly support Aegon's succession?"
The High Septon hesitated—ordinarily, a king's coronation required seven days' preparation, the attendance of lords from across the realm, and an elaborate ceremony.
Aemond continued, "We are grateful that the Faith continues to support the Targaryen succession in these troubled times. The Crown is prepared to dedicate the vestibule on Visenya's Hill as a cathedral, to be gifted to the Faith. What say you?"
The High Septon heard the desired answer and smiled.
"My thanks to the Prince, to the Queen Regent, to the Crown Prince. Glory to the Seven."
Aemond said, "Then let the coronation be the day after tomorrow. Time presses; we cannot wait. We must complete the transfer of power before..."
"The day after tomorrow?" Queen Alicent exclaimed in surprise. "That is too soon. His Grace's body has not yet..."
"Mother, we have no time for grief," Aemond said calmly. "Every day we delay gives Rhaenyra and Daemon another day to prepare, another day to spread their lies. Aegon must be seated on the Iron Throne before them, so the lords of the Seven Kingdoms see that the Iron Throne has a new master."
He turned to the High Septon. "The coronation ceremony must be simple, but formal. Visenya's Hill. At noon."
"Agreed," the High Septon finally nodded. "The vestibule on Visenya's Hill, the morning after tomorrow. Our Faith will hold a mass, pray for His Grace, and formally proclaim before all King's Landing that the Faith of the Seven recognizes Aegon Targaryen as the lawful monarch of the Seven Kingdoms."
Aemond exhaled inwardly. It was done. Aemond had offered enough that the High Septon was compelled to overlook the usual protocols.
"At that time, on behalf of the Faith of the Seven, I shall personally anoint and crown Prince Aegon. This will be a coronation modeled after Aegon the First's. Your Grace, have you any other concerns?"
All present looked silently at Aemond. Aemond paused a moment, then nodded.
The High Septon was satisfied.
The Targaryens had compromised in this coronation arrangement. Only under Maegor the Cruel had the Faith been forced to bow and accept that the High Septon's appointment required the Targaryen king's approval. The Targaryen heir inheriting the realm had always been crowned by the Faith—a delicate balance between the two powers. But now that balance was broken. Aemond's secret emissary had offered concessions in exchange for the Faith's immediate support of Aegon.
In the future, the High Septon would no longer require the king's approval, and the king would be crowned by the Faith. If this continued, the Faith's power would overbalance Targaryen authority.
But Aemond had not compromised on the other condition—the Faith's rearmament. If the Faith were to take up arms again, it would mean another war with the Faith. For now, Aemond tolerated this in exchange for the Faith and the Citadel personally supporting Aegon the Second's reign. Military power remained in his hands...
After he had dealt with the Blacks, he would return to cleanse the Faith and the Citadel.
The High Septon looked at the queen and said softly, "Queen Regent, the silent sisters sent by our Faith have arrived. They may prepare His Grace's body at any time."
Queen Alicent said gratefully, "Thank you, Your Holiness."
"Let the queen, the crown prince, and the prince mourn. If there is nothing else, I shall take my leave."
All present offered their respects to the holy man of the Seven. As the clergy departed, the remaining councilors gathered around the round table in the royal chamber, where a map had already been spread.
---
"Now, let us discuss strategy," Aemond said, approaching the round table where the map was laid out.
All gathered around. Candles flickered over the map; the contours of Westeros stood out in light and shadow.
"We control King's Landing, the Crownlands, Moonspire, the Reach, and the Westerlands," Aemond said, pointing to the map. "The Blacks control Tyrosh, and soon High Tide and Dragonstone will fall. The lands they may claim are the North, the Vale, and the Riverlands."
Tyland interjected, "Cregan Stark in the North leans toward the Blacks, as does Lady Jeyne Arryn of the Vale. The Riverlands are divided—the old Lord Tully is dying, his heir favors the Blacks, and most of the other houses admire Princess Rhaenyra..."
"What of the Stormlands?" asked the Hand.
Aemond said, "Boremund is gravely ill, and Borros holds power. I have spoken with him. He will keep the Stormlands neutral."
At this, all breathed sighs of relief. If the Stormlands did not join the war, the South would face no pressure.
"Dorne may raid while the fire is hot," the Master of Ships, Erwin, said. "The Reach and the Westerlands are our allies."
Aemond said solemnly, "Is there not also the Dornish Marches? How could Dorne raid while the Marches stand?"
Tyland nodded. "Though houses like Peake support us, they must defend against Dorne. They cannot mobilize to fight."
"They have proven their loyalty, guarding the realm's borders," Aemond said.
Tyland continued, "House Hightower in the Reach firmly supports us, but House Tyrell remains silent, undecided. The Westerlands are loyal to the Iron Throne." Tyland, representing the Westerlands, took that as given.
"Good," Aemond nodded. "On land, we shall gather our forces to strike the Riverlands. At sea, we will treat with Braavos, preparing to meet them in the Gullet."
Aemond pointed to Harrenhal. "This is the main road from the Riverlands and the Vale to King's Landing. I want heavy forces holding it, fortifying there, so the armies of the North, the Riverlands, and the Vale cannot march south."
Lord Larys nodded. "Prince, I have no objection. You may send troops at any time."
At the same time, Aemond looked at Tyland. "On behalf of the Small Council, send letters to all the lords of the North. Those who swear fealty will keep all they have. Those who follow the Blacks in rebellion will be stripped of everything after the war."
Tyland nodded. "Divide and conquer."
"The North is the greatest challenge," Aemond said, looking at the top of the map. "The roads are long, the cold harsh, and House Stark commands great respect in the North. But they have a weakness: the long winter approaches, and they need food from the South. If Stark insists on rebelling for the Blacks, order the Crownlands, the Westerlands, and the Reach to halt all grain shipments north. And secretly send someone to treat with House Bolton..."
"Navy," Aemond looked at Erwin. "Do not engage them directly at this stage. Hold Blackwater Bay, lay iron chains across the harbor, and scuttle some old ships."
Erwin considered a moment. "It will take time to arm it."
"I give you two months," Aemond said. "In two months, I want to see that no fish can enter Blackwater Bay."
"Yes, Your Grace."
Aemond looked at all present. "Any other concerns?"
No one spoke. The strategy was clear, the division of labor defined; what remained was execution.
"Then let each of you prepare," Aemond began assigning tasks. "Lord Hand Tyland, contact the Westerlands and the Reach to coordinate their armies and logistics. Lord Larys, send men immediately to watch every move in the Riverlands and the Vale. Lord Jasper, draft charges of treason against Orwyle and Rhaenyra; ravens shall fly to every castle in the Seven Kingdoms tomorrow. Ser Erwin, reorganize the fleet and defend Blackwater Bay. As for Will... watch the treasury."
All accepted their orders.
"Aegon," Aemond finally looked at his brother. "When you are crowned the day after tomorrow, you shall be Aegon the Second. But matters of state and war shall still be decided by this Small Council. You are not healed—rest more."
The words were kind, but the meaning was clear: you are a puppet, and I remain in power.
Aegon's lips twitched; he wanted to speak. Helaena pinched his back. Finally, Aegon bowed his head. "I understand... thank you for your efforts, brother."
"For the family," Aemond said. Then he looked at Alicent. "Mother, you will prepare with Aegon for the coronation."
Alicent cast one last look at her husband's body on the bed, and sighed. She withdrew with Aegon and the others.
"Helaena stays," Aemond said. "The rest of you, go."
All saluted and left. The chamber emptied, leaving only Aemond, Helaena, and Viserys's body.
"Do not worry about me," Aemond said softly, taking his wife's hand.
Helaena said anxiously, "I dreamed of a flock of crows feasting... they lay upon a dead dragon..."
"No," Aemond embraced her. "I will let nothing happen. Trust me."
Helaena lifted her head, her violet eyes filled with tears.
"I trust you. But promise me... shed as little blood as you can..."
"I promise you," Aemond said, kissing her brow. "Go rest."
After Helaena left, Aemond stood alone before the bed.
In the candlelight, Viserys's face was peaceful, as if he slept.
"Father," Aemond whispered. "You said it was a curse. That whoever sits it will be devoured."
He sat on the edge of the bed and reached out to touch his father's already cold cheek.
"I am not afraid to be devoured. If someone must bear the sin... then let it be me."
He withdrew his hand. In his eye, fire seemed to burn.