"No, Your Highness, and Your Grace the Regent—we only wish to confirm His Majesty's condition and hear His Majesty's own stance," he replied.
Aemond stepped forward again, pressing him without pause.
"So you still doubt us?"
"Or is it that…"
He took another step closer, staring straight at him.
"You intend to take advantage of the king's grave illness and unconscious state… and rebel?"
That word carried weight—rebel.
At once, the guards lining both sides of the hall placed their hands on their sword hilts.
Criston Cole led the Kingsguard as they fanned out.
William Royce immediately spoke, trying to ease the tension. "Your Highness, you misunderstand. That is not our intention."
"As vassals, with so many major upheavals occurring, not seeing the king nor hearing his voice—it is only natural that we would have… doubts."
"Doubts?" Aemond turned to him. "Lord William."
"When the 'Old King' was gravely ill, did the lords of the realm also gather in groups and march into King's Landing like this?"
"Did they insist on forcing their way into the king's bedchamber to confirm it?"
William's expression stiffened.
"The situation is different," he said, forcing himself to remain composed. "There were no signs of civil war back then."
"There is no civil war now," Aemond said, his voice turning cold.
"Unless someone intends to start one."
At that moment, Benjicot Blackwood spoke.
The young man's voice was tight, but clear. "Your Highness, we did not come to cause trouble."
"But some matters must be made clear."
"The Riverlands are now filled with rumors."
"Some say His Majesty has already passed away, and his death is being concealed."
"Some say you have placed the ailing king under house arrest and are ruling in his name with forged decrees."
"And others say…" He glanced at Alicent, hesitated, "…that the queen poisoned His Majesty for the sake of her sons' claim to the throne."
"Insolence!" Gwayne Hightower roared, stepping forward with his hand on his sword.
Queen Alicent's face turned deathly pale.
She opened her mouth to speak, but Aemond raised a hand to stop her.
He stared at Benjicot for a long moment before speaking.
"Interesting," he said. "As the rumors claim, the Blackwoods do speak plainly."
He turned and walked slowly back toward the Iron Throne, his gaze sweeping over those below.
"My lords."
"What happened today—I will not pursue it."
"Some are easily misled by rumors. I understand that."
"But I will tell you one fact."
"My father, King Viserys Targaryen I, is indeed alive."
"But he is also gravely ill—so ill that he cannot manage affairs of state."
"That is why His Majesty appointed my mother as Regent. It is lawful, with written decree, bearing the king's seal, witnessed by the Small Council and the lords of the Crownlands."
Lord Tyland, together with the members of the Small Council and Grand Maester Orwyle, nodded at the proper moment.
"As for Driftmark and Dragonstone…" Aemond paused. "The heirs of Corlys Velaryon—Jacaerys and his brothers—committed treason first, attempting to steal Targaryen dragons."
"They have already been executed on the spot by me."
Aemond spoke coldly.
"So, my lords—return to where you came from."
"Tell your liege lords not to be misled by those who seek to sow discord and damage the peace of the realm."
"Remain loyal to the Iron Throne. Remain loyal to the rightful heir, Aegon Targaryen. All shall remain as before."
"But if any harbor divided loyalties…"
He did not finish the sentence, but the meaning was clear.
The expressions of the four envoys darkened.
"Prince Aemond," Medrick spoke again.
"I will deliver your words to the North."
"But I must also deliver the words of Lord Stark."
He took a deep breath, as if gathering courage.
"Lord Cregan Stark says: the North serves only the true king."
"We recognize Aegon Targaryen as heir, but the king is still Viserys I."
"Until the king himself confirms his stance on matters such as Dragonstone… the North will reserve its right to choose."
"Right to choose?" Aemond repeated.
"Lord Manderly, are you implying that the North may choose… not to be loyal?"
"I am saying," Medrick met his gaze, "the North is loyal to the king upon the Iron Throne—but not to those who hollow out the king's authority."
"We do not accept unlawful commands."
The air in the hall seemed to freeze.
Aemond fell silent for a moment, then spoke.
"Do you know…"
He walked down the steps this time, stopping only when he stood before the four envoys.
"…about law and succession?"
"In extraordinary times, when the king cannot govern and the realm faces crisis, the Regent has the authority to take all necessary measures to maintain stability."
He looked at them.
"I did not start these matters. Jacaerys and his brothers did."
"What are dragons?"
"For the Velaryons to steal Targaryen dragons—is treason."
Silence fell. No one answered.
Aemond suddenly turned, his back to them, his voice rising sharply.
"Ser Gwayne."
"Yes." The captain of the Red Keep guard answered in a deep voice.
"How many guards are in the corridors on either side of the throne room?"
"Fifty on each side—one hundred in total, fully armed."
"And within the Red Keep?"
"Over four hundred, all at their posts."
"In the city?"
"With the newly formed Royal Guard and the watch—over three thousand."
"Outside the city?"
"Five thousand troops."
Aemond turned back to face the envoys.
"You have heard," he said. "Now answer me—do you still insist on seeing the king today, right now?"
Medrick opened his mouth, but this time William stepped forward first.
The older knight moved ahead, placing himself in front of Medrick.
"Your Highness," William said steadily.
"We… are only carrying out our liege lord's orders."
"Your liege lord's orders? You should know—the Targaryens are your liege lords," Aemond replied.
Without waiting for an answer, he raised his right hand and made a simple gesture.
From the corridors on both sides of the throne room came the sound of synchronized footsteps.
Not running—but slow, heavy, rhythmic.
From the shadows, two columns of soldiers emerged in formation. They wore full plate armor, visors lowered, their faces unseen.
Their swords were drawn, points angled toward the ground—but ready to rise at any moment.
The faces of the four envoys instantly lost all color.
Only Sebaston Estermont, the envoy from the Stormlands… seemed to relax instead.
He even shifted half a step aside, distancing himself from the others, making it clear he had nothing to do with this.
"Aemond!" Alicent rose abruptly from the Iron Throne, her voice sharp.
"Stop!"
Aemond did not turn. He merely raised his hand slightly, signaling his mother to be silent.
His hand hung in the air, and the soldiers halted as well, forming two lines near the envoys like a wall of steel.
"Mother," Aemond said, still with his back to the throne, "please sit down."
"This is the throne room—the place where affairs of the realm are decided. You are the Regent, but this matter… will be handled by me."
Alicent stood frozen, her face pale as paper. She looked at her son's back, then at the tense, blade-drawn scene below. In the end, she slowly sat back down upon the Iron Throne.
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