Morning. Under the sun.
The streets of King's Landing were already packed.
They had not come to cause trouble. Today, they had come to follow King Aegon the Second.
"Have you heard? His Grace is going to open the granaries and release grain!"
"What grain?"
"I heard it's from Moonspire!"
"Yes! It was meant to be sent north, but His Grace said we are the priority!"
"Is that true?"
"True! It couldn't be more true! Last night, Shepherd Lord himself told us! He said His Grace Aegon the Second would lead his troops to Moonspire this morning and bring that grain back to King's Landing! Shepherd Lord said that if you follow His Grace today, everyone will get a sack of grain!"
At that moment, the people of King's Landing poured out of Flea Bottom like a tide—past the Fishmarket, past the Street of Silk, gathering all the way to the South Gate. Moonspire was near King's Landing, to the south of the city.
They were dockworkers carrying sacks, washerwomen, smith's apprentices, even a few monks in threadbare robes. All were moving in one direction.
"Hurry! If we're late, we'll miss out!"
"I can share! I heard the food meant for the north could feed King's Landing for a year!"
"Why should those northerners get free food?"
"We can't buy food even when we have money, and we're supposed to starve?"
"Yes! The northmen are about to join the rebels—they're confused!"
"Enough to eat for a year? Will it be cheaper?"
"Cheaper? I heard His Grace Aegon said: sell at a fair price! No price gouging!"
Applause erupted from the crowd.
An old man, jostled in the press, muttered, "But this will take away the winter food from the northern people... The late king... the late king never did this..."
A strong man beside him lifted him up. "Old man, the late king never did it, but His Grace does! His Grace cares for all of King's Landing—he is our good king!"
The old man fell silent and followed the crowd forward. Now the people of King's Landing were half-starving. What did it matter if those northmen starved? The most important thing was to have enough for themselves.
The city gates were already in sight.
---
Moonspire. On the walls, Carter's face was darker than the stone.
"Kermit, tell me—am I dreaming?"
Kermit ignored him, staring at the black mass of people gathered below the walls, his brow furrowed into a knot.
"Is that... His Grace?"
Carter followed his gaze.
At the head of the crowd sat a young man in armor on a white horse. Behind him followed a group of guards. Long silver hair fell over his shoulders; his armor was so bright that Carter could make out every detail. The cloak behind him bore a golden dragon on a black field—it was Aegon.
But that was not the point. The point was the dragon soaring above his head.
Sunfyre.
The dragon that had been wounded on Dragonstone was now healed and flying again. Golden scales glittered in the morning light, wings spread eighty meters wide, each beat bringing a gust of wind. He flew very low, almost over the heads of the crowd, a low rumble coming from his throat—not a threat, but a boast.
"His Grace really brought a dragon," Carter muttered.
"Is His Grace mad?" Kermit cursed and looked toward the window. "Where is Will? Is Will here?"
"I just sent someone to call him. He should be—"
Before the words were finished, the sound of hooves came from below the gate. Will Simmons dismounted with his attendants, his face grim.
---
At the city gate, Aegon reined in his white horse and looked up at the banner on the wall.
The three-headed golden dragon on black—his banner.
But he knew that none of those standing on the wall were his men.
"Your Grace."
A fawning voice came from beside him. Aegon looked down and saw an officer. Lieutenant Commander Frey, wearing new armor, a sword at his belt, a smile on his face, approached the white horse.
"Your Grace has left the city in person. What is the occasion?"
Aegon the Second had no time for him. Frey was not offended; he stepped back a pace and winked at the soldiers behind him. The soldiers immediately dispersed and pressed into the crowd, shouting loudly enough that they feared not being heard:
"His Grace has come in person to ask for food! For our city of King's Landing! Whoever dares stop His Grace will have to answer to the king and everyone in King's Landing!"
Echoes erupted from the crowd.
Aegon the Second's lips moved; he said nothing, but his back straightened a little.
The Master of Coin, Will, ran toward Aegon and happened to witness this scene. His steps faltered. He looked at the cheering crowd.
This was now a problem.
He drew a deep breath, hurried forward, and bowed respectfully.
"Your Grace."
Aegon the Second, on horseback, looked at him and said nothing.
Will remained bowed and said with difficulty, "Your Grace has come here. May I ask what you wish to say to Moonspire?"
Aegon shifted on his horse to a more comfortable position.
"Will Simmons," he said, not loudly, but loud enough for those nearby to hear. "Let me ask you—is there a shipment of royal grain in Moonspire's granaries?"
Will cursed inwardly.
"Your Grace means..."
"Do not play dumb," Aegon interrupted. "The Crown's grain, meant to be sent north."
Will was silent a moment.
"Yes."
"How much?"
"A great deal..."
Aegon nodded and turned to look at the crowd behind him.
Nearly ten thousand people had come. The crowd was dark and overwhelming; he could not see its end. There were old people, children, women with infants, cripples with crutches. All eyes were fixed on Aegon the Second, shining.
Aegon the Second sighed, feeling a faint warmth in his chest.
These people were his people. He had to do something for them.
"This Crown grain," Aegon the Second turned and looked at Will, "I want to feed everyone in King's Landing."
Will's face went pale.
"Your Grace, this... this grain was ordered by the prince—"
"The prince ordered it?" Aegon's voice suddenly rose. "This grain belongs to the Crown! It is the king's! Am I the king, or is he?"
The Master of Coin, Will, could only bow his head and dare not answer.
Murmurs ran through the crowd, quickly rising into a buzzing debate.
"His Grace is right!" "He is the true dragon!" "What is a prince?"
The soldiers mingled with the crowd were the loudest. Aegon heard them clearly, a faint satisfaction on his face.
The sound of more hooves came from the city gate.
Jasper Wylde, the Master of Laws, rode out of the city with a few attendants. When he saw the scene, he nearly fell from his horse. He knew that His Grace Aegon had brought all his men.
He dismounted, stumbling as he approached Aegon. Before he could speak, Aegon spoke first.
"Lord Jasper, you have come just in time."
Jasper was stunned.
"The red mark on your face—I did that, didn't I?"
Jasper's face reddened. There was indeed a red mark on his face, five fingers clear. This morning in the Red Keep, he had advised Aegon not to act foolishly, and His Grace himself had struck him.
"Yes..."
"Then tell him," Aegon the Second pointed at Will, "am I the king?"
Jasper opened his mouth but was speechless.
Aegon waited a moment. Before Jasper could answer, his face darkened.
"What? Is my question so hard to answer?"
Jasper gritted his teeth and turned to Will, his face looking as if he had eaten a bitter gourd. He pulled Will, who was already stiff, aside and whispered.
"Lord Will, His Grace... His Grace summoned me this morning... Listen... he said he wants to take back this grain, which belongs to the Crown..."
Will stared at him. "You agreed?"
Jasper's face grew even more bitter. "What good would it do if I disagreed? His Grace said anyone who disagrees will be thrown out of the Council at once..." He pointed to the red mark on his face. "His Grace personally went to the city barracks and raised those militia. You must know—Prince Aemond is not here, the Hand Tyland has gone to the Westerlands. Now His Grace holds the greatest power in King's Landing..."
The Master of Coin, Will, drew a deep breath and turned to Aegon the Second on his horse.
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