Aegon was silent for a time, fingers folded together as he weighed the matter. At last he looked up, his expression composed, almost too calm for a boy of his years.
"Then I must trouble Lady Jeyne to bear the burden of caring for my mother," he said evenly.
No one laughed at the phrasing. A shattered realm lay before them, its crown won at a ruinous cost. A child prince stood poised to act as regent. Nothing about the road ahead would be easy, yet it was not without direction.
With the Cannibal beneath him, even the long leagues between Gulltown and King's Landing meant little. Distance itself had ceased to matter.
Aegon had already resolved to step into the chaos of the capital. The Iron Throne could not be ruled by absence. And the first thing that demanded order was people.
"These matters cannot wait," he said, his tone turning hard. "The body of the usurper king must be dealt with. And there are four figures whose fates require judgment. Queen Dowager Alicent of the Greens. Princess Jaehaera. Lord Corlys Velaryon, who presently oversees affairs in King's Landing. And Larys Strong, called the Clubfoot."
He did not glance at his mother as he spoke, but his jaw tightened slightly. He already knew what he meant to do with each of them. Even so, this was not a decision to unveil without warning.
"Too much blood has already soaked the ground," Rhaena said softly. She clasped her hands before her, her knuckles pale. "I beg you to show mercy where you can."
Queen Rhaenyra drew a slow breath. Her shoulders rose and fell before she spoke, and when she did, her voice carried a weary gravity.
"I cannot absolve my brother of his crimes," she said. "He was a traitor. He usurped the Iron Throne, though he was misled by those who whispered in his ear. But he is dead now." Her gaze drifted, unfocused, as if she were counting ghosts. "Too much Targaryen blood has been spilled. We will follow the old customs of our house. Burn his body. Lay his ashes to rest on Dragonstone."
There was no triumph in her words. Victory had brought her nothing but ashes. The great family her father once presided over, thick with branches and children and promise, now felt hollow, stripped to bone.
She and her siblings had been fire and water, locked in mortal struggle. She had prevailed. The Greens no longer possessed an acknowledged male heir. There was no need for further cruelty.
Lady Jeyne inclined her head, approval clear in her eyes. "Your Grace shows the restraint of a true victor."
"Alicent shall be spared as well," Rhaenyra continued after a moment. Her fingers curled against the arm of her chair. "My father once loved her."
She had won the Dance of the Dragons. There was no reason to take pleasure in tormenting a defeated dowager queen or a helpless child. When Alicent had been her prisoner before, she had not ordered her death then either.
"As for the girl," Rhaenyra went on, her voice softening. "She is my sister Helaena's daughter. This war was not of her making. I will take her as my adopted daughter and keep her in King's Landing for now. It may soothe some of the bitterness between Black and Green."
More than mercy, there was prudence. Since Queen Helaena's sudden death, the smallfolk had already named Rhaenyra a kinslayer. To execute a powerless dowager queen would only feed the whispers that followed her like flies.
"Lord Corlys remains useful," Rhaenyra said, straightening. "We need the strength of Driftmark and its fleet. As for Clubfoot…" Her teeth ground together. "…he must die."
The hatred in her eyes was unmistakable.
Rhaenyra's temper had always burned hot, and at times it had blinded her. Yet after so many losses, she had learned, if imperfectly, to tell venom from necessity. Larys Strong had long been infamous for serving himself alone. Even Lady Jeyne had warned her of him, more than once. Time had cooled her rage, though it still smoldered.
"That is exactly my intention, Mother," Aegon said. He met her gaze without flinching.
Larys Strong had to die.
That snake had sent Aegon the Elder to Dragonstone. He had poisoned King's Landing with lies, claiming Helaena had been murdered by her own sister. And now there was the poisoning of a king. None of it could endure the light of truth. Larys stood alone, the last of House Strong, friendless and exposed. His death would raise no banners.
"Remember what we learned," Rhaenyra said quietly. Her voice dropped, and with it came old fear. "When we fled King's Landing in disgrace, we saw the smallfolk for what they are. They are like water. Stir them, and they become a flood. Watch their hunger. Watch the rumors. Watch their temper."
She did not know if she loved the people. She knew she feared them. Their madness had carved scars that would never fade.
"Listen to your mother, my prince," Lady Jeyne said earnestly. "You escaped that city together. You know how difficult it is to rule, especially with winter so close."
"I will be cautious," Aegon replied. He inclined his head. "Conciliation will be our policy."
"I will help him," Rhaena said at once, lifting her chin.
"There is one man I intend to pardon," Aegon said. His fingers tightened briefly before he relaxed them. "I wished to tell you first."
Rhaenyra frowned. "One man? You are the regent. You need not seek leave to grant a pardon."
"This one is… unusual," Aegon said. "Ser Tyland Lannister. He is presently under my control on Dragonstone."
The name fell like a stone.
Both the Queen and Lady Jeyne went very still.
"Tyland?" Rhaenyra said sharply. She straightened in her chair, one hand tightening on the armrest. "He was tortured nearly to death in King's Landing. Half-blinded, broken in body, filled with hatred. Can such a man still be of use to us? Would raising him up not invite ridicule?"
Aegon did not answer at once. He lifted his eyes to meet hers, calm and steady, far older than his years.
"Ser Tyland Lannister was once Master of Coin," he said. "His body is ruined, but his mind remains keen. There is no man in the Seven Kingdoms who understands ledgers, debts, and royal finance better than he does. He has no wife, no children, no faction left to bind him. The usurper he served is dead. If we extend him clemency now, he will have nowhere to turn but to us."
He paused, letting the words settle.
"To employ him is to show that the Crown is not ruled by vengeance alone. It signals reconciliation. Ser Tyland is worth more alive than dead."
Lady Jeyne's eyes brightened. She inclined her head slightly, admiration plain upon her face.
"Your Grace," she said, "this is a masterstroke. Ser Tyland stands alone. He is brilliant, a former Green loyalist, and a Lannister besides. By restoring him, we soothe King's Landing, draw the remaining Greens toward submission, and offer goodwill to Casterly Rock in a single stroke."
"I have met Lord Tyland," Rhaena added quietly. She folded her hands in her lap. "His body is shattered, but his thoughts are sharp. Pain has not dulled him."
Rhaenyra hesitated. Her gaze drifted toward the window, where pale light spilled across the stone floor. At last she exhaled, the tension leaving her shoulders.
"Very well," she said. "His talent cannot be denied. Since this is the one pardon you ask of me, I will grant it. Let those old bones find new purpose."
Lady Jeyne nodded once, satisfied. "The Green supporters still remain," she said. "Chief among them are four powers: Oldtown, Casterly Rock, Storm's End, and Highgarden."
"Ravens have already been sent from King's Landing," Aegon replied. "We will see how they answer."
He continued without pause. "Highgarden kept its neutrality. Casterly Rock will soon incline toward us with Ser Tyland restored. Storm's End and Oldtown were the true architects of the war. They are the most likely to resist."
"The Hightowers and the Baratheons are unforgivable," Rhaenyra said, bitterness creeping into her voice.
"Extinction, confiscation, fines, hostages," Aegon said evenly. "Their fate will depend on their response. I have given them time to declare themselves to the Iron Throne."
"They were indeed our greatest enemies," Lady Jeyne said thoughtfully. "Highgarden and Casterly Rock may yet be spared. Even the Stormlands might be brought to heel. But Oldtown is rich, populous, and still capable of raising armies. Whether to strike now or wait will depend on how its lords answer your summons."
"The Hightowers are cautious and greedy," Aegon said. His expression did not change. "If they refuse obedience, they must be dealt with."
Dealt with. The words carried an unspoken weight. Dragonfire and the advance of the northern hosts. If Oldtown chose defiance, blood would flow again. In truth, Aegon almost hoped they would resist. The wolves were already on the march.
The chamber grew taut with unease.
The Queen's anger was expected. But it was Aegon who would give the orders now.
All of them understood the danger. House Hightower still possessed the strength to ignite the realm once more.
Lady Jeyne studied the boy before her, then spoke gently. "My prince, even if your hatred of House Hightower is justified, you must not rush to burn them to the ground. Such an act would unite too many enemies against you."
"If our actions are precise," Aegon replied, "directed at only one or two houses, the resistance will be far less."
Rhaenyra was silent for a long moment. At last she nodded. "Consult Lord Corlys and the rest of the council. And guard your own safety."
Lady Jeyne inclined her head in agreement. Punishment for the Hightowers was inevitable. If they continued to resist, annihilation would be the only end.
The greater game had been set in motion. All that remained was to see how Oldtown would answer.
When they stepped outside, the weight of King's Landing's chaos seemed to cling to Rhaenyra like a shadow. Weariness pressed deep into her bones. She dismissed the others to rest.
"My prince," Lady Jeyne said once they were alone, "I would like to introduce you to a friend."
"Oh?" Aegon allowed himself a faint smile. "The talented young man from the Vale?"
"Ser Joffrey Arryn," Lady Jeyne said, warmth in her voice. "My cousin. And my Knight of the Bloody Gate."
"Then I am honored," Aegon replied at once. He understood the gesture for what it was. Preparation. The slow weaving of future loyalties. An heir to the Iron Throne could not afford ignorance of those who would one day rule beside him.
A tall knight approached, broad-shouldered and straight-backed, with sand-gold hair, an aquiline nose, and clear blue eyes. The Blue Falcon of the Vale bowed deeply to Lady Jeyne, then to Prince Aegon and Princess Rhaena.
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