Maegor's Holdfast, The King's Chambers.
Aemond stood behind Helaena. Having washed the black blood from his face, his gaze moved slowly across the room; every person felt the weight of his violet eye linger on them for a heartbeat.
"Offer your prayers to His Majesty, and pay your respects," Aemond said calmly.
The officials bowed in unison, save for the kneeling Helaena and the seated Alicent.
The ceremony was stripped to its barest essentials. A King's passing demanded a grand farewell, but time was a luxury they no longer possessed.
Once the ritual concluded, Aemond looked toward Tyra.
The handmaiden stood by the door, expressionless. Larys Strong caught the look and glanced back at her; he knew better than to underestimate this woman.
Tyra held the keys to the Red Keep's secret tunnels and commanded a network of "little birds" that likely rivaled his own.
She was Aemond's eyes and ears.
"Report," Aemond commanded.
"The city is sealed," Tyra said steadily.
"The army and my people are searching every quarter. Grand Maester Orwyle has vanished. Furthermore, the envoys of the Four Realms, Manderly, Royce, Blackwood, and Estermont, are gone. They left their manse this afternoon under the pretext of visiting brothels, but they are nowhere to be found."
Aemond's eye narrowed.
Tyra continued, her voice dropping a fraction.
"Also, the King's Valyrian steel crown is missing. The handmaidens say it was on the nightstand last night."
The air in the room grew heavy. The councilors fell into a grim silence.
A vanished Maester, a stolen crown, fleeing envoys, and a poisoned King, the pieces formed a story that even a fool could read.
Larys Strong cleared his throat and leaned on his cane.
"I have a theory. If Orwyle has fled with the crown and the envoys, he has probably forged a 'will' using the crown as proof of legitimacy."
Aemond stared at him, his gaze like ice.
"You guess quite accurately, Lord Larys."
"It is my duty," Larys bowed his head slightly.
"Consider the alternative: a story of a King imprisoned and poisoned, who repents on his deathbed and names Rhaenyra heir. Such a tale would incite rebellion far more effectively than the truth of a natural passing and Aegon's legitimate succession."
The words cut through the room. Alicent bolted upright, her voice a sharp cry:
"How could my son be accused of kinslaying!"
"I am merely predicting the enemy's move, My Queen," Larys said, sweating.
"I absolve you of the words," Aemond said flatly.
"Continue."
"They will claim the Prince killed the King," Larys whispered.
"They will use this to shake the loyalty of the Great Houses."
Aemond stared at him for a long moment before nodding.
"A reasonable deduction. But the narrative shall be this: Princess Rhaenyra conspired with Maester Orwyle to assassinate the King. She was bitter over the change in succession and the execution of her three sons. She poisoned her own father, stole the crown, and fled like a thief."
Aemond looked at the Council.
"Send ravens. Demand that the Citadel denounce Orwyle. Demand that the Faith declare support for Aegon. We strike first; we do not wait for them to throw the first stone."
Will Simmons asked tentatively, "Will the Citadel and the Faith cooperate?"
"They will," Aemond said.
He didn't elaborate on the price. Inwardly, Aemond felt a cold stone in his gut; he suspected the Citadel and the Faith were the ones who truly ended his father's life.
But he couldn't break with them yet.
He needed their blessing to secure the Throne. He would settle that debt after the war.
A soft knock sounded. Ser Rickard Thorne of the Kingsguard entered and knelt, presenting two scrolls.
"Urgent reports from Driftmark and Dragonstone, Your Grace."
Aemond unfurled them. Under the candlelight, his knuckles turned white.
"Read it," he handed the paper to Will.
Will cleared his throat: "To Prince Aemond: Per your orders, all dwellings on Driftmark and Dragonstone have been razed. Harbors destroyed, wells poisoned, fields scorched. Both islands are now barren. Our forces have completed the 'Scorched Earth' policy and are retreating to the capital. Additionally, scouts report an unidentified fleet appearing east of Dragonstone."
Silence followed. Alicent looked at Aemond, her voice trembling.
"You burned Dragonstone? That is the seat of our House."
"I burned the harbor," Aemond replied.
"If Rhaenyra wishes to land, I will leave her nothing but ash to stand on. The wealth of Driftmark, a century of Velaryon accumulation, is already on its way to King's Landing. It belongs to the Crown now."
"But, "
"Mother, this is war," Aemond interrupted.
"In war, it is them or us. If we are soft, they will not be."
Will Simmons spoke up cautiously.
"Your Grace, the gold from Driftmark, combined with our current holdings, totals roughly 2.3 million Gold Dragons."
2.3 million! The room gasped.
With Aemond's military spending, the treasury had been dwindling, but this changed everything.
Lord Redwyne added, "We have captured sixty Velaryon warships. Combined with the Reach fleet, we have over a hundred. But at sea, we are still outnumbered by the combined Black and Volantene forces."
"It doesn't matter," Aemond said.
"We have the gold, the grain, and the iron. Will focus the spending on shipyards and recruitment. We will outlast them."
-----
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