Another knock sounded at the door.
This time, it was a member of the Royal Guard stationed outside. He asked, "Regent, the Crown Prince, the Prince, and the High Septon have arrived. Shall they—"
"Let them in," Aemond said.
Soon, the High Septon entered the room.
This High Septon of King's Landing's Faith of the Seven was around sixty years old. Upon entering, he first paid his respects to the king's body.
Then he turned to Alicent and Aegon. "Your Grace, Your Highness, Prince—my condolences."
"May the Father judge His Grace's soul. May the Mother grant you comfort."
"May the Stranger grant His Grace peace."
Aemond looked at this High Septon, his thoughts complicated.
"High Septon."
"Thank you for coming at such a late hour. His Grace has passed—this should have been a grand funeral, but the circumstances are… special."
"I understand." The High Septon nodded, his face bearing compassion. "The Red Keep is under lockdown, the entire city is being searched…"
"I have heard someone murdered His Grace?"
"Indeed," Aemond said.
"Grand Maester Orwyle—you should know him. He had served His Grace for less than two years. He colluded with Princess Rhaenyra, dissatisfied with His Grace naming Aegon as heir, and thus poisoned the king."
"He has now stolen the crown, forged a will, and intends to incite rebellion."
Aemond spoke without hesitation, his tone resolute, as if he had witnessed it himself.
Shock appeared on the High Septon's face.
"By the Seven…"
"Such a vile act? Maester Orwyle…"
"I can hardly believe it…"
"I have witnesses, and I have evidence," Aemond said, expression unchanged.
Aemond glanced at Tella. She gave a slight nod—those so-called witnesses had already been prepared.
"His Grace was struck by a fast-acting poison. Residual traces of that poison were found in the Grand Maester's chambers."
"Moreover, Orwyle has vanished tonight. Along with him, representatives from the Four Regions have also disappeared. Clearly, they had long conspired together, taking forged documents and the crown to flee across the realm, intending to slander the royal family and stir war."
Aemond paused, then looked straight into the High Septon's eyes. "The Faith… what is its stance on this matter?"
The High Septon did not hesitate. "The Faith firmly supports the lawful succession to the throne."
"Prince Aegon is the heir personally proclaimed by His Grace, witnessed by the entire realm."
"Any attempt to overturn this decision is a challenge to the Faith—and a threat to the stability of the realm."
The High Septon's words filled Princess Alyn, standing nearby, with delight.
Alyn looked at him with approval—go on, say more.
Aegon's face remained expressionless. He still stared at his father Viserys's corpse, his thoughts in turmoil.
Aemond sneered inwardly, though his face showed gratitude.
"With Your Eminence's words, we are reassured."
"Then, the day after tomorrow—would the Faith be willing to make a public declaration in support of Aegon's coronation?"
The High Septon hesitated. Ordinarily, a king's coronation required seven days of preparation—lords from across the realm must attend, and the rites were complex.
Aemond immediately continued, "We are deeply grateful that the Faith, even in such difficult times, still supports the legitimacy of House Targaryen."
"The Crown is also willing to convert the great hall on Visenya's Hill into a grand sept, to be dedicated to the Faith."
"What do you say?"
Hearing what he wanted, the High Septon smiled.
"Our thanks to the Prince, to the Regent, to the Crown Prince. Praise be to the Seven."
Aemond said, "Then the coronation will be the day after tomorrow."
"Time is short. We cannot wait."
"We must complete the transfer of power before then."
"The day after tomorrow?" Queen Alicent was startled. "That is too soon. His Grace's body has not yet—"
"Mother, we have no time to grieve." Aemond remained calm.
"Every day we delay gives Rhaenyra and Daemon another day to prepare, another day to spread their lies."
"We must seat Aegon upon the Iron Throne before them—let the lords of the Seven Kingdoms see that the throne has a new king."
He turned to the High Septon. "The ceremony may be simplified, but it must be formal."
"Visenya's Hill. At noon."
"Of course." The High Septon finally nodded. "Then on the morning of the day after tomorrow, at the great hall on Visenya's Hill."
"The Faith will hold a mass, pray for His Grace, and formally, before all of King's Landing, declare that the Faith of the Seven recognizes Aegon Targaryen as the lawful ruler of the Seven Kingdoms."
Aemond exhaled inwardly. Finally settled.
Aemond had offered too much—so much that the High Septon could no longer cling to tradition.
"At that time, I will personally anoint Prince Aegon with holy oil and crown him on behalf of the Faith."
"It shall follow the example of Aegon the Conqueror's coronation."
"Prince, do you have any other concerns?"
All present fell silent, looking toward Aemond.
Aemond hesitated briefly, then nodded.
The High Septon looked satisfied.
After all, House Targaryen had once compromised to establish this coronation system.
But since the reign of King Maegor I, the crown had forced the Faith to bow—the appointment of the High Septon required royal approval.
And the heir to the Iron Throne would be crowned by the Faith—this mutual dependence formed a balance.
But now, that balance had been broken.
The envoys Aemond had secretly sent had made concessions, in exchange for the Faith's immediate support of Aegon.
From now on, the High Septon would no longer require royal approval—yet the king must receive coronation from the Faith.
Over time, the power of the Faith would rise above that of the Targaryens.
But Aemond had not yielded on one condition—that the Faith be allowed to rearm.
If the Faith regained arms, another Faith Militant uprising would surely follow.
For now, Aemond endured, trading concessions for the Faith and the Citadel to personally endorse Aegon II's rule.
As long as the military remained in his hands…
Once the Blacks were dealt with, he would turn back and deal with the Faith and the Citadel properly.
The High Septon then looked at the Queen and said quietly, "Regent, the Silent Sisters arranged by the Faith have arrived. They may attend to His Grace's body at any time."
Queen Alicent said gratefully, "Thank you, Your Eminence."
"May the Queen, the Crown Prince, and the Prince find solace."
"If there is nothing further, we shall take our leave."
All present offered proper courtesies to the members of the Faith.
As the servants of the Seven withdrew—
Everyone gathered around the round table in the king's chamber. The map had already been laid out.
"Now we discuss strategy." Aemond stepped up to the table. The map was already spread open.
They all drew closer.
Candlelight flickered across the map, and the outline of Westeros emerged in shifting light and shadow.
"We control King's Landing, the Crownlands, Dragon's Roost, the Reach, and the Westerlands." Aemond pointed at the map.
"The Blacks control Tyrosh, as well as Driftmark and Dragonstone, which are about to fall."
"The regions they may win over—the North, the Vale, and the Riverlands."
Tyland spoke up, "Cregan Stark of the North leans toward the Blacks. Lady Jeyne Arryn of the Vale as well."
"The Riverlands are complicated, but old Tully is dying. His heir favors the Blacks, and most of the other houses once admired Princess Rhaenyra…"
"And the Stormlands?" Tyland, as Hand, asked.
Aemond said, "Boremund is gravely ill. Borros holds power now. I have already spoken with him—he will keep the Stormlands neutral."
At that, everyone let out a breath of relief.
If the Stormlands did not join the war, the south would bear no pressure.
"Dorne may take advantage of the chaos," said Elwyn, Master of Ships. "The Westerlands and the Reach are our allies."
Aemond replied firmly, "Isn't there still the borderlands? How could Dorne simply take advantage?"
Tyland nodded. "The Marcher lords—Houses like Peake—support us, but they must guard against Dorne."
"They cannot muster troops to join the war."
Aemond said, "They have already proven their loyalty—by holding the marches for the realm."
Tyland continued, "The Reach—House Hightower firmly supports us, but House Tyrell has remained silent so far. Their stance is unclear."
"The Westerlands are loyal to the Iron Throne." As Tyland spoke for the Westerlands, it came naturally.
"Good." Aemond nodded. "On land, we will mass our forces and strike the Riverlands. At sea, we contact Braavos and prepare for a decisive battle in the Gullet."
Aemond's finger tapped Harrenhal. "This is the key point. It controls the road from the Riverlands and the Vale to King's Landing."
"I will station heavy forces here—nail it down—so that armies from the North, the Riverlands, and the Vale cannot march south."
Larys nodded. "Prince, I have no objections. You may deploy troops at any time."
"At the same time," Aemond looked at Tyland, "in the name of the Small Council, send letters to all the northern lords."
"Those who swear loyalty will keep everything. Those who follow the Blacks into rebellion will be settled with after the war."
Tyland nodded. "Divide and dismantle."
"The North is the most troublesome." Aemond looked at the upper part of the map. "It is far, it is cold, and House Stark holds great authority there."
"But they have a weakness—the Long Winter is coming. They need grain from the south."
"If Stark insists on following the Blacks in rebellion—"
"Then order the Crownlands, the Westerlands, and the Reach to halt all grain shipments north."
"And secretly send people to make contact with House Bolton…"
"The fleet." Aemond turned to Elwyn. "For now, no direct engagement."
"Hold Blackwater Bay. Lay chains across the harbor, and sink old ships."
Elwyn thought for a moment. "We will need time to set the defenses."
"I'll give you two months," Aemond said. "In two months, I want Blackwater Bay sealed so tight not even a fish can swim in."
"Yes."
Aemond swept his gaze across the room. "Any other questions?"
No one spoke.
The strategy was clear, the roles assigned. What remained was execution.
"Then make your preparations." Aemond began assigning tasks.
"Tyland, as Hand—coordinate with the Westerlands and the Reach. Align their forces and logistics."
"Lord Larys—send men at once to monitor every movement in the Riverlands and the Vale."
"Lord Jasper—draft charges of patricide and regicide against Orwyle and Rhaenyra. By tomorrow, ravens must carry them to every castle in the Seven Kingdoms."
"Ser Elwyn—reorganize the fleet and fortify Blackwater Bay."
"As for Will… mind the purse."
All accepted their orders.
"Aegon." Aemond finally looked at his brother. "The day after tomorrow, you will be crowned—you will be Aegon II."
"But affairs of state and war will still be handled by the Small Council. Your wounds have not healed—rest well."
It sounded gracious, but the meaning was clear: you will be king in name, and I will hold power.
Aegon's lips moved, as if he wanted to say something.
Alyn pinched him from behind.
In the end, Aegon lowered his head. "Understood… You have all worked hard. Thank you—thank you, brother."
"For the family," Aemond said. Then he turned to Alicent. "Mother, accompany Aegon and prepare for the coronation."
Alicent cast one last look at her husband's body upon the bed and let out a sigh.
She led Aegon and the others out.
"Helaena stays," Aemond said. "The rest of you, leave."
They all bowed and withdrew. The room emptied, leaving only Aemond, Helaena, and Viserys's body.
"Do not worry about me," Aemond said softly, taking his wife's hand.
Helaena said with concern, "I saw crows at a feast…"
"They were crouched upon the corpse of a dead dragon."
"That will not happen." Aemond drew her into his arms. "I will not allow such a thing."
"Trust me."
Helaena raised her head, her violet eyes filled with tears.
"I trust you."
"But promise me… try to shed as little blood as possible…"
"I promise." Aemond kissed her forehead. "Go and rest."
After Helaena left, Aemond stood alone before the bed.
In the candlelight, Viserys's face looked peaceful, as if he were merely asleep.
"Father," Aemond said softly, "you once said it was a curse—that whoever sits upon it will be devoured."
He sat at the bedside and reached out, touching his father's now cold cheek.
"I am not afraid of being devoured."
"If someone must bear the sins…"
"Then let it be me."
He withdrew his hand, and in his eyes, it was as if flames were burning.
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