At that moment, in King's Landing, candles were lit in the dark vestibule of the Great Sept.
Aegon the Second sat on a chair, feeling more tattered than his Iron Throne.
"Your Grace need not be nervous," High Septon Owen said with a kindly smile. "There are none of the prince's eyes here. Rest assured, I promise."
Aegon the Second did not answer, only glanced at Aelinor beside him. Queen Aelinor held her husband's hand; her palm was warm, which eased His Grace Aegon's anxiety somewhat.
"Your Holiness," Queen Aelinor spoke for her husband. "We came out in the name of praying to the Seven. We have little time."
"Understood, understood," High Septon Owen nodded and turned to Grand Maester Norren beside him.
Maester Norren bowed slightly.
"Your Grace," Norren's voice was low and even. "It is an honor to meet with you."
Aegon the Second, seated in his place, uttered a perfunctory "Hmm" and said nothing further. Since his leg injury had healed, he still habitually straightened it and pretended to have difficulty moving. Only his wife, Queen Aelinor, knew of this—even Aemond... at least, he hoped not.
"Your Grace," said High Septon Owen, "I asked you to come here secretly today to discuss something."
"What?"
"About your throne."
Aegon the Second's fingers twitched, pointing at the two men across from him.
"Do not speak in circles. If you have something to say, say it quickly."
High Septon Owen sighed, and the kindness on his face gave way to a faint gravity.
"The Seven Above, Your Grace. You are the heir named by the late king. I crowned you on Visenya's Hill. You are the acknowledged king of the Seven Kingdoms."
"And now?"
Aegon said nothing.
"The Small Council," High Septon Owen continued. "The Hand is Tyland Lannister—Prince Aemond's man. The Master of Coin is Will Simmons—a dog Prince Aemond picked up from Flea Bottom. The Master of Whisperers is Larys Strong—though he is close with you? But does he dare say no to Aemond?"
"Your Holiness," said Aegon the Second. "What exactly are you trying to say?"
High Septon Owen and Maester Norren exchanged glances. Norren stepped forward, lowering his voice.
"Your Grace, the Citadel and the Faith are prepared to support you. Not to support a puppet... but to support you—Aegon the Second Targaryen, the rightful monarch of the Seven Kingdoms."
Hearing this, Aegon the Second tensed in his seat, his violet eyes fixed nervously on them.
"Why would you support me?"
"To reclaim your power."
Silence fell for a time.
The candlelight in the crypt flickered.
The hand holding Queen Aelinor's was gently squeezed in Aegon the Second's palm. Aegon understood what the queen meant—say yes. But he did not.
"Aemond is my brother," he said.
"We know," Maester Norren and High Septon Owen nodded.
"I saved him, and he saved me."
"We are brothers, blood thicker than water..."
"We know that too," Norren nodded again. "Your Grace values family and righteousness. That is a virtue."
"Then you ask me to take power from my brother?"
Grand Maester Norren was silent a moment, then suddenly smiled.
"Your Grace, you misunderstand. We only wish to help you reclaim your rightful power. Power belongs to the king. We do not want you to harm Prince Aemond. We only hope that the king of the Seven Kingdoms may truly act as king. You do not want to be kept by your brother all your life, do you?"
Aegon the Second fell silent, his expression complex.
Beside him, High Septon Owen noticed Aegon's hesitation and quickly spoke.
"Your Grace, consider this: your younger brother, Prince Aemond, is only sixteen years old this year, yet he is already the true controller of Moonspire, with command of twin dragons and the Small Council. The prince is highly capable and diligent—we all acknowledge that. But..."
He paused, a faint worry in his voice.
"He is so capable that it is frightening."
Aegon the Second frowned.
"What are you afraid of?"
"I fear a repeat of Maegor..."
Those words were like a needle piercing Aegon's heart.
Maegor. Maegor the Cruel. He had killed his nephew Aegon and seized the throne from his late brother Aenys's heir.
"My brother is not Maegor," Aegon the Second drew a deep breath and said.
"Not yet, perhaps," Norren nodded. "But, Your Grace, he has killed his kin. You must know that Jacaerys, Lucerys, and Joffrey were your nephews..."
"Enough," Aegon interrupted him.
Norren and High Septon Owen fell silent, but their gaze did not leave Aegon.
Aegon took the queen's hand and rose from his seat. He wanted to leave, but suddenly stopped again.
"I know what you have said," he said, his back to them, his voice low. "But... Jacaerys... they were our enemies. They stole dragons... He only killed traitors..."
"Your Grace," High Septon Owen said quietly. "There is another man exactly the same."
"Who?"
"Prince Daemon."
Aegon's back stiffened for a moment.
Owen continued. "Prince Daemon, the late king's younger brother, Rhaenyra's husband. He too is a good fighter—rides dragons, fights, kills. How many has he killed? The number is unclear. How ruthless is he? Everyone in Flea Bottom knows his name; they use it to stop children crying at night."
He stepped forward and lowered his voice. "Your Grace, consider this. When this war ends, no matter who wins, who will remain?"
Aegon did not speak.
"Either Aemond, or Daemon," Owen said, word by word. "These two—one more ruthless than the other, the other more mad than the next. Then who will rule the Seven Kingdoms?"
Hearing this, Queen Aelinor went pale and gripped Aegon's hand tightly.
Aegon turned to look at them.
"We support you, Your Grace," said Grand Maester Norren. "Not because you are more capable than Prince Aemond. To be honest, you may not be as capable as he. We support you because you are the rightful king of the Seven Kingdoms, because you follow the teachings of the Seven. Because you will let maesters teach well, bishops preach well, lords govern their lands well, and commoners live well."
Aegon was silent a long time. He spoke slowly.
"Aemond treats me as a puppet. Do you treat me as a puppet too?"
High Septon Owen was momentarily stunned, then laughed.
"Your Grace, that is exactly what you said. Would a puppet ask such a question? Your Grace, in our view, you are a good man."
Aegon did not laugh.
Norren replied. "Your Grace, we only need you to do one thing."
"What?"
"Please let us help you."
Aegon looked at him.
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