A Hidden Chamber, The Sept of King's Landing.
At this moment, Grand Maester Noren spoke earnestly.
"No matter how skilled Prince Aemond is in battle, he is still your younger brother. You are his elder brother, the eldest son of the late King, and the crowned King of the Realm. You have the status, the right, and the..."
"And the ability?" Aegon interrupted him.
"You want me to use my status as the elder brother to suppress him? How? He has two dragons, he has military power, and he controls the entire Small Council. What do I have? Sunfyre? The Kingsguard? The support of Queen Mother Alicent? Even the secret passages where I live, he knows them all. How do you expect me to contend with him?"
Noren was not intimidated; instead, he nodded.
"Your Grace is correct. In a direct confrontation, you cannot win."
"Then what do you want from me?"
"To borrow strength."
Aegon's brow furrowed. Grand Maester Noren took a step forward, lowering his voice:
"Your Grace, House Hightower is your mother's House. You must realize that Lord Ormund Hightower is currently leading an army of twenty thousand toward King's Landing. Furthermore, Prince Daeron is also your full brother... with the added support of the Citadel and the Faith, why should you be afraid?"
Beside them, Queen Aelyn's large blue eyes sparkled. It was true: the Hightowers had twenty thousand men and Prince Daeron.
If these forces were loyal to Aegon, his power would no longer be sidelined.
Aegon II thought it over carefully. His mother's House, the Hightowers, would certainly stand by him.
As for his brother Daeron's stance... Finally, Aegon II made up his mind: after the war, he would reclaim the power that belonged to him and place his brother, Prince Aemond, under house arrest.
He did not want to be a disposable puppet, nor did he want to live in constant worry about what his ambitious, inscrutable younger brother was thinking.
Aegon II nodded. "I want to try..."
Everyone breathed a sigh of relief. Immediately, Grand Maester Noren spoke again.
"Your Grace, do you know how much grain the Iron Throne sends to the North every long winter?"
Aegon II looked confused.
"I know... I've heard it's... quite a lot."
"Quite a lot?" Noren smiled.
"Your Grace, it is not just 'a lot'; it is a massive amount. Enough to keep the entire North alive through a long winter. Enough to keep Lord Cregan Stark sitting peacefully in Winterfell without the need to march south."
Aegon sensed something was wrong. "Grand Maester, what do you mean?"
"This batch of grain," Noren said, emphasizing every word, "is currently held in Prince Aemond's hands, piled in the granaries of Rook's Rest. In about six months, it is supposed to be sent to the North."
Aegon nodded, asking in confusion: "I know. This was a rule established by our ancestor, Aegon the Conqueror. Whenever a long winter approaches and the North's reserves are insufficient, the Iron Throne provides relief. What of it?"
"And who does Your Grace think the North will support now?"
Aegon faltered. "The North... they haven't declared yet. They've been staying their hand."
"And why have they stayed their hand?"
Aegon thought deeply. "Because... because the long winter is coming, and they don't dare move recklessly?"
Grand Maester Noren smiled, his tone full of approval.
"Your Grace is brilliant. Why does the North not move? Because they are waiting for this grain. Once they have it, they will have the confidence to march south and support the Blacks. Without it, they will have to huddle in Winterfell and starve."
Aegon's expression changed.
"Think about it," Noren continued.
"What kind of man is Cregan Stark? The Northerners claim to be loyal to the Iron Throne, yet now that war has broken out, the North hesitates to take a stand. They are waiting, waiting for this grain to arrive so they can march south without worries for their homes."
"This..."
"Your Grace," Septon Ewen chimed in.
"This isn't just a guess. We have eyes in the North. In the halls of the Starks, his vassals have already been arguing. Those who want war say they'll fight once the grain arrives; those who want peace say they won't move an inch until it does. If this grain is actually sent, who do you think it benefits?"
Aegon fell silent. He remembered his father, Viserys I, saying that Northerners were a straightforward people who valued honor and kept their word.
But now, it seemed the Starks were wavering, maintaining an ambiguous stance despite a superficial recognition of the Iron Throne.
Even if the Baratheons of the Stormlands were acting similarly, Aegon II wasn't worried about them; the Baratheons were a branch of the Targaryens, kin, and natural Royalists.
The Targaryens had shown House Baratheon immense favor. If every Great House rebelled, the Baratheons would surely be the last to betray the blood.
Seeing them waiting for his answer, Aegon asked tentatively, "Then... we shouldn't send it?"
"Your Grace is wise," Noren said.
"This grain cannot be sent. Furthermore, we must let the North know they will not receive it. If the North does not march south to attack the rebels, then the southern Kingdoms of the Realm shall not allow a single drop of grain to enter the North."
Aegon hesitated.
"But this is a rule set by our ancestors..."
"The rule set by Aegon the Conqueror was so that the people of the North could live," Ewen said softly.
"But now, the Northerners are being ambiguous and staying neutral. This grain need not be sent."
Aegon opened his mouth but found no rebuttal.
Aelyn said softly beside him: "Your Grace, I believe His Holiness is right. We cannot give this grain; giving it is merely supplying the enemy."
Noren and Ewen exchanged a look; Queen Aelyn was indeed sensible.
Aegon looked at her; her eyes held a spark he recognized, was it excitement? Ambition?
Suddenly, he felt a pang of longing for his eldest daughter, Jaehaera.
That two-month-old little thing understood nothing and only knew how to cry, but looking at her always made his heart feel steady.
"But," Aegon II took a breath, "what if people in the North starve?"
Noren was silent for a moment.
"Your Grace," he said in a heavy voice, "winter is coming; people will starve in the North regardless. This grain only ensures that fewer die. But if they use this grain to wage war against you, it won't just be Northerners dying."
"The Riverlands, the Crownlands, King's Landing, there will be corpses everywhere. You carry the Seven Kingdoms on your shoulders, Your Grace. You must make a choice."
Aegon fell silent. "Your Grace?" Queen Aelyn called softly.
Aegon II returned to his senses. Noren and Ewen were watching him, waiting for him to speak.
"Besides cutting the grain," he said slowly, "what else must I do?"
Grand Maester Noren's eyes lit up.
"Your Grace is wise. Besides the grain, you must do one more thing."
"What?"
"Lead the army personally."
Aegon's brow furrowed. Before he could speak, Noren continued rapidly.
"Your Grace, the Battle of Rook's Rest is at hand. House Staunton has rebelled, and Prince Aemond has gathered his forces at Antlers; he will soon attack the peninsula. This is a battle to establish prestige. But whose prestige will be established?"
Aegon understood.
"The Prince's," Noren said, speaking Aegon's thoughts aloud.
"If he takes Rook's Rest and pacifies the rebels in the Crownlands, his prestige will reach a new peak. The Small Council and the Crownland vassals will all believe that following the Prince is the only way."
"Then what of you, Your Grace? You will still be recovering in Maegor's Holdfast. When he returns in triumph, will you even be able to hold your head high before your brother?"
Aegon's expression stiffened.
Noren softened his tone. "But what if you were there as well?"
"Me?"
"Yes, you," Noren nodded. "Sunfyre's wounds are nearly healed; he can fly without issue. Mount Sunfyre and personally join the Battle of Rook's Rest. Your vassals will think: 'The King himself has gone to battle, he truly has courage.'"
"Furthermore, no matter how formidable Prince Aemond is, he is only a Prince. You are the King recognized by the world. On the battlefield, as long as the King is present, the Prince must follow the King."
Aegon's heart skipped a beat. He had never considered this perspective. But then he remembered something else. He shook his head.
"But Aemond told me this battle would be dangerous; he told me to stay in King's Landing and let him handle the rebellion personally."
Grand Maester Noren smiled. "Your Grace, that is exactly the point."
There was a trace of something indiscernible in his smile.
"He tells you to stay, and you stay? Are you his brother, or his son?"
Aegon was stunned, then his chest heaved with fury.
"Who is whose son?!"
Noren immediately bowed his head in a humble gesture.
"Pray forgive my insolence, Your Grace."
Queen Aelyn added softly:
"Your Grace, I believe Grand Maester Noren is right. You cannot listen to Aemond on everything. You are the King."
Aegon looked at her, hesitating.
"But... Sunfyre has only just recovered. What if...?"
"Your Grace," Noren said.
"Are you afraid of death?"
Aegon said nothing. Noren watched him with a strange earnestness.
"It is human nature to fear death. But you are a King. The Lords of the Seven Kingdoms built their Houses on martial valor; they will not respect a King who fears death. They can tolerate a mediocre King, a lazy King, or even a foolish King, but they will never like a coward."
Aegon's face turned bright red.
"Who are you calling a coward?!"
Aelyn gripped his hand: "Your Grace, you are no coward. You risked your life to save Aemond at Dragonstone. You don't fear death; what you fear is..."
The Queen paused, leaving the rest unsaid.
Aegon knew what she meant. He feared how Aemond would look at him. Would Aemond think he was trying to steal the glory?
Would he think he was just getting in the way? He suddenly remembered Aemond's look at Dragonstone.
In that moment, there were no conflicts between them; they were just two brothers. But that was on the battlefield.
Once off the field and back in the Red Keep, Aemond returned to being that cold Prince.
"Your Grace," Aelyn's voice pulled him back.
"I am pregnant again."
Aegon was stunned. "Truly?"
Aelyn nodded, her eyes rimmed with red.
"I only found out last night. I haven't had the chance to tell you yet."
Aegon held her hand, at a loss for words. He was happy, of course, but at this critical juncture, the news made him even more anxious.
What if something happened at Rook's Rest? What would happen to the child in Aelyn's womb? What about Jaehaera?
"Your Grace," Noren's voice rose again.
"Rest assured, this is merely a simple pacification of a rebellion. Besides, you are fighting for your children, for your future sons, your daughters, and your descendants."
Aegon looked up and stared at him in silence.
Grand Maester Noren continued:
"Think on it. If Prince Aemond fights this battle alone, all the prestige goes to him. When the war ends, Aemond's sycophants will spread rumors that the King is a coward who didn't even dare to join the field..."
Aegon remained silent.
"Your Grace," Septon Ewen spoke.
"As long as you lead the army and win this battle, the Faith will promote your deeds to the world. You will regain your prestige, rather than being viewed as a puppet."
A long silence followed. Only the crackling of the candles filled the cellar. Aelyn held his hand, her palm wet with sweat. Finally, he took a breath.
"The grain for the North," he said, looking at them intently, "can we truly not send it?"
Noren replied: "We cannot."
"Rook's Rest," he asked again, "should I really go?"
Noren replied: "You must."
Aegon looked at him, then at Septon Ewen. Both men looked back with earnest expressions, like old ministers weary with concern for him.
"Very well." He gritted his teeth and nodded firmly.
"I agree."
Aelyn's hand tightened, a look of unsuppressable joy in her eyes. Noren and Ewen bowed in unison.
"Your Grace is wise."
Aegon didn't speak. He took his wife's hand and walked toward the door.
Septon Ewen stood quickly and opened the cellar door personally.
"Your Grace, Your Majesty, may the Seven protect you both."
Aegon stared at him for a few seconds before leaving without another word. Aelyn took his arm as they stepped out of the cellar together.
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