That night, Aemond's chambers in Maegor's Holdfast were lit by candlelight.
Helaena sat at the table, her silver-gold hair glowing softly in the candlelight. She was sewing a surcoat bearing the three golden dragons on black—nearly finished, the embroidery fine and meticulous. It was for Aemond's use on the morrow. Though the royal household had the finest tailors, she insisted on making something for her husband with her own hands.
The door opened.
Aegon entered with his crutch, his face pale. He had changed into civilian clothes, but he seemed listless. Ser Criston Cole of the Kingsguard stood guard outside and closed the door softly behind him.
"Brother," Helaena set down her needle and thread, rising to greet him with a slight bow.
Aemond looked up from his desk. "Your Grace? Why are you not yet resting?"
"Spare me the formality," Aegon limped to a chair across from Aemond and sat. "There are no outsiders here."
Helaena tactfully gathered her sewing basket. "I shall go to Mother's chambers to see Jaehaera and Jaehaerys." She said this softly and left the room.
When the door closed, the brothers looked at each other.
Aegon looked away first, fixing his gaze on the candle flame on the table. "I heard about the Crabclaw Peninsula. They will not submit to us?"
"No."
"It will cost many lives, won't it?"
"Yes. I will lead it myself."
Aegon was silent. After a long pause, he asked, "Will we... will we win?"
"Yes," Aemond answered without hesitation.
"How can you be so certain?"
"Because we must win." Aemond rose and went to Aegon, placing his hands on his brother's shoulders—heavier than necessary, so Aegon felt the pressure. "If we lose, we all die. Mother. Helaena. Daeron. Jaehaera and Jaehaerys. Your child, Jaehaera... all will perish."
Aegon smiled bitterly. "I do not want to believe it. Rhaenyra and Daemon may be our enemies... but we all share the same blood."
Aemond's expression grew complex.
He knew what was to come. In the history he had glimpsed, the Greens had lost. Lost badly. The Blacks had won a crushing victory. Aemond and Daemon had died together above the Gods Eye. Alicent had been imprisoned to her death. Aegon the Second, crippled, had been poisoned. Helaena had thrown herself from a tower. Daeron had burned to death in his tent. The Greens' children had been slaughtered one by one, tortured, dismembered... In the end, only Aegon's youngest daughter, Jaehaera, remained—forced to marry Aegon the Third of the Blacks, only to die mysteriously. The blood of the Greens was extinguished. The Targaryen dragons, too, had died out in the reign of Aegon the Third, the "Dragonbane." After that, the Targaryen dynasty began its decline.
"The war has already begun," Aemond said coldly. "Hatred will only deepen. Those who stand behind us—Hightower, Lannister—will drive us onward to the death. And those behind Rhaenyra—Stark, Arryn—will drive her just as surely to destroy us."
Aegon closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. "I understand. So... what can I do?"
"Mend your leg," Aemond said. "Then ride your dragon again. Sunfyre needs you. The war needs you. You may not be a good king, but you must be a dragonrider of House Targaryen."
"What if I am afraid?" Aegon's voice trembled slightly. "Last time, at Dragonstone, I nearly died. Every night now, I dream of being consumed by dragonfire. I feel like a coward."
Aemond looked at him a long time, then finally lowered his gaze and said, "Then think of Dragonstone. Remember the moment when you rode Sunfyre against Grey Ghost to save me. You were not afraid then. Why are you afraid now?"
"Then... I had no time to think," Aegon shook his head. "Now I have time to think, and I am afraid."
"Then do not think so much," Aemond said, clapping him on the shoulder. "Take flight. Breathe fire. Kill."
Aemond said it lightly, but Aegon knew it was not easy. The dragon battle had been like the seven hells for him. He had been exhilarated at the time, but now, thinking back, he was terrified. He had seen at Dragonstone that a dragonrider's body was no different from any mortal's—it could be pierced by arrows, burned by flames. He did not have Aemond's body, which could be bathed in dragonfire and not burn alive. Seven save them, his younger brother might be some kind of monster.
"I will try," Aegon said finally.
"It is not try," Aemond said. "It is must."
Aegon nodded and rose with his crutch. When he reached the door, he stopped, not turning around.
"Aemond... the king, our father... did it hurt?"
The question caught Aemond off guard.
He remembered that night. His father, eyes wide, blood streaming from his mouth. In those eyes had been pain, doubt, and perhaps... a trace of relief?
"It did not hurt," Aemond lied. "The poison struck quickly. Father fell asleep."
Aegon turned his head and looked at his brother.
He knew Aemond was lying, but he did not press it.
"That is good," Aegon said, limping slowly out.
After the door closed, Aemond stood there a long while.
He walked to the window and pushed it open. The night breeze carried the scent of nightingales from the Red Keep's gardens.
"Your Grace... Father..." Aemond whispered. "I hope you can forgive me..."
There was no answer.
Only the sound of the wind.
---
In the early hours of the morning, Hal stood at the entrance to the Red Keep's dungeons, frowning.
The new captain of the Red Keep garrison looked at the noble children imprisoned below, his thoughts troubled. In the past two days alone, more than a hundred young nobles and their family members had been arrested for "spreading rumors" and "slandering the Crown." Now these nobles were packed into the dungeons, weeping and wailing.
"My lord," an adjutant approached, lowering his voice. "Are we truly going to release them?"
"Let them go first," Hal said, turning toward the stairs. "Tomorrow is the coronation. So many noble children and their families locked in the dungeons—their parents will not be pleased. By Prince Aemond's order, they are pardoned."
"Yes, my lord." The adjutant hesitated. "My lord... the coronation, tomorrow? His Grace only just died..."
Hal stopped and turned his head.
That look made the adjutant fall silent at once.
"His Grace is dead," Hal said coldly. "The Seven Kingdoms cannot be without a monarch. Besides, Prince Aegon is the heir named by the late King Viserys the First. His coronation is a matter of course. Do you understand?"
"Yes, my lord. Understood."
Hal said no more and climbed the wall.
The night wind was cold, carrying the salt tang of Blackwater Bay. He looked toward the old sept on Visenya's Hill. There, tomorrow, the Crown Prince would be crowned. Workers hurried through the night, hanging the Green Party's banners—three golden dragons on black.
It was rushed. Too rushed.
But Hal understood that time was of the essence. If Crown Prince Aegon Targaryen did not take the throne first, Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen would be crowned on Dragonstone.
Suddenly, the sound of hooves echoed from below the walls.
Hal looked down and saw cavalry approaching, bearing the Green Party's Targaryen standard—three golden dragons on black. Some two hundred men, all in splendid armor with black and gold dragon patterns on white, plumes fixed in their helms. This was the newly formed Praetorian Guard, composed of sons of southern nobles who supported the Greens.
"Open the gates!" Commander Galwyn Hightower shouted from the Red Keep's gate.
Hal waved his hand.
The gates slowly rose, and the knights of the Praetorian Guard thundered inside. Horseshoes struck the cobblestones, particularly sharp in the quiet early morning hours.
These Praetorian Guards had come to ensure the coronation proceeded smoothly. They would escort Prince Aegon to the vestibule on Visenya's Hill, to see the Crown Prince successfully ascend the Iron Throne.