Outside the Throne Room, those gathered to receive them had already formed themselves into careful ranks. Cloaks were straightened, banners stilled, and voices lowered as Prince Aegon approached.
He let his gaze travel across the assembly with measured calm.
At the fore stood the three great councillors. Lord Corlys Velaryon, the Sea Snake, upright despite his years, his weathered face carved from patience and salt. Beside him lingered Larys Strong, Clubfoot, hands folded within his sleeves, his pale eyes alert and unreadable. The third was Lord Kermit Tully, standing too stiffly, excitement barely contained behind the solemn mask he attempted to wear. The young lord had never seen the Red Keep so crowded nor power gathered so tightly in one place.
Kermit lacked the ease of seasoned courtiers and leaned unconsciously toward stronger wills. In times like these, such men were easily steered.
Behind the councillors waited the remnants of King Aegon the Second's court and those who had bent the knee when the tide turned. Grand Maester Orwyle stood with his chain gleaming dully. Ser Perkin the Flea shifted from foot to foot, restless as ever. Mushroom lingered near the back, eyes sharp beneath his motley. Septon Eustace clutched his crystal, lips moving in silent prayer. Five knights of the Kingsguard stood rigid in white, while riverlords and their sworn swords gathered behind them. Ser Oscar Tully, Bloody Ben Blackwood with his grim stare, Black Aly Rivers with her bow slung loose at her shoulder, and others whose faces bore the marks of war. Lesser lords of the crownlands filled the remaining space, whispering behind cupped hands.
The Sea Snake stepped forward, planting his staff against the stone.
"Loyal King's Landing welcomes your return," Corlys said, his voice steady and carrying. "Prince Aegon. Princess Rhaena."
Aegon inclined his head in acknowledgment. When he spoke, he did not raise his voice, yet the hall fell silent all the same.
"My mother, Queen Rhaenyra, and Lady Jeyne Arryn of the Vale will arrive shortly," he said. "Until then, by her sealed command, I have been invested as Prince Regent, with full authority to rule in her name."
He lifted the parchment bearing Rhaenyra's sigil. Red wax caught the torchlight. As her eldest surviving son, there was no one present who dared contest him.
Corlys turned and gestured. "Bring them forward."
Servants advanced, burdened with objects that drew every eye.
First came the Conqueror's crown. A simple circlet of Valyrian steel, dark as smoke, heavy with history, set with square-cut rubies the size of a man's thumb. After it followed Blackfyre, the Valyrian steel blade borne on a velvet cushion. Its hilt took the shape of twin dragon heads, jaws parted around a blazing red gem.
Aegon reached out and accepted them both, his hands steady. He felt the weight of centuries settle into his grasp.
"Let us proceed," he said quietly.
Surrounded by lords and guards, he entered the Throne Room.
The Iron Throne loomed above all, jagged and merciless. Beneath it rested the bier of King Aegon the Second. Blocks of ice from the royal icehouses were stacked around the coffin, yet the sickly sweetness of decay still clung to the air.
Queen Dowager Alicent stood alone beside it. Her hands clutched the wood as though it might drift away. Her shoulders shook with soundless sobs.
Aegon halted a few paces from the bier. For a long moment, he said nothing.
His uncle's face was scarcely recognizable. Once handsome features were swollen and distorted. Burn scars marred his flesh, and the milk of the poppy had left its final mark even in death.
"He was born a Targaryen," Aegon said at last, his voice low but firm, "and so he shall die as one. He will be burned by dragonflame, and his ashes laid to rest on Dragonstone."
Murmurs rippled through the hall, then stilled. There would be no titles spoken, no praises sung, no curses hurled. In death, the former king was stripped to blood and name alone.
A breath was released, as if the hall itself had been holding it.
Aegon did not look at Alicent, though he felt her glare like a blade at his back. This was the nature of power. Had the Greens triumphed, his own end would not have been so restrained.
"Yes," Corlys said, inclining his head.
"Yes," echoed others, subdued and eager to see the matter concluded.
"I'll kill you!" Alicent shrieked suddenly, her voice cracking. She turned, eyes wild, nails digging into her palms. "I swear it."
Aegon met her gaze at last. His expression did not change.
"Take up a weapon, Alicent," he replied evenly. "If you have the strength left."
Her hatred was old, fed by loss and failure. It could not be soothed by mercy.
"Think of your granddaughter," Larys Strong said, stepping closer, his tone soft but edged. "Princess Jaehaera still lives. Think of House Hightower."
Alicent's breath hitched. Her defiance faltered, replaced by raw grief.
Two maidservants hurried forward at a nod from Corlys. They took her gently but firmly by the arms.
"My son," Alicent cried as she was led away, her voice breaking into wails that echoed against the iron and stone. "My son."
No one answered her.
At Corlys's command, the bier was lifted and carried from the hall into the courtyard beyond. Fresh air rushed in, and with it, the unspoken hope that the hatreds of this war might burn away with the body of its last king.
Aegon descended the steps beneath the Iron Throne, Blackfyre naked in his hand. Though he stood below the seat of kings, the weight of the hall bent toward him all the same. Lords leaned forward, courtiers stilled their whispers. As regent, he might have claimed the throne for himself, if only in symbol, yet the iron chair held no temptation for him now.
"I bring further good news to King's Landing," Aegon said. His voice carried without strain. "Ser Tyland Lannister is presently a guest on Dragonstone. He will soon return to the city, pardoned, so that we may govern the realm together."
A low murmur spread through the hall. Faces shifted, surprise mingling with cautious approval. Tyland Lannister had been a keystone of the Green cause. His return would steady coin, council, and conscience alike.
Many looked at Aegon again, more carefully than before. This was no sheltered prince mouthing words fed to him by others. War had carved something sharper into him.
"Lord Kermit," Aegon said, turning his head. His eyes found the young lord at once. "I entrusted you with my goodwill. Have Highgarden, Casterly Rock, Oldtown, and Storm's End answered in kind?"
Kermit straightened, swallowing. "I carried your words as commanded, Your Grace," he said, his voice earnest but unsure. "Yet the roads are dangerous. Broken men, bandits, burned keeps. Some replies have reached us. Others have not."
Before Aegon could answer, Corlys Velaryon stepped forward, resting both hands upon the head of his staff.
"I sent letters as well," the Sea Snake said calmly. "Casterly Rock, Storm's End, and Highgarden have all replied. Each is willing to submit themselves to the judgment of the Iron Throne. Only Oldtown remains silent. They may simply be slow to move."
"Then speak plainly," Aegon said. "What do they offer?"
"Storm's End first," Corlys replied. "Lord Borros's widow has only just borne a child and cannot travel. Her father will attend your betrothal ceremony in her stead and swear fealty before the court. Three daughters will be sent as hostages. Ser Gyles Baratheon will also escort Princess Jaehaera to King's Landing."
Aegon inclined his head once, neither pleased nor displeased.
"Casterly Rock answered most swiftly," Corlys continued. "Lady Johanna will come in person for the ceremony. She offers her two daughters as companions to Princess Rhaena within the Red Keep. Upon Ser Tyland's pardon, the gold will be returned without delay. She further petitions the Iron Throne for aid. She wishes the Red Kraken driven back into the sea."
A faint tightening passed through Aegon's jaw at the mention of coin, but he did not interrupt.
"As for Highgarden," Corlys said, "they express regret for their former neutrality and are willing to pay an appropriate price to be restored to favor."
Aegon let the silence stretch before he spoke again.
"So Oldtown alone has not answered," he said coolly. "They have chosen to ignore my goodwill entirely."
Corlys hesitated, just a fraction. "Lord Lyonel is but fifteen. Youth brings caution, and sometimes stubbornness."
"And were my terms made clear?" Aegon asked. His fingers tightened slightly around Blackfyre's hilt. "Double repayment of the crown's gold. Reconciliation is not a matter for bargaining."
"These are wounded times," Corlys replied, spreading his hands. "The realm should be guided back together, not driven apart."
Another lord spoke, emboldened. "Prince, you should consider why the Greens failed. Mercy brings stability. The usurper is dead. Storm's End, Oldtown, and Casterly Rock are ruled by children. Some are scarcely out of the cradle. Grant them dignity, and they will kneel."
Aegon turned his head slowly.
"And the gold?" he asked quietly. "Will dignity fill the treasury?"
No one answered at once.
Much of House Hightower's wealth had been diverted during the war, bled away through kin and covert hands. To repay the crown twice over would be no small thing, even for Oldtown. They had the means, yes, but they would feel the wound. With the Redwynes as kin and fleets at their command, that missing quarter of the royal treasury could buy sellswords, alliances, and time.
Silence settled heavily across the Throne Room.
At last, it was clear to all that House Hightower's passage through the aftermath of the war would be neither swift nor gentle.
-------
A/N: Some reviews would be really appreciated, Thanks Guys!!
Read ahead on Patreon, 23 advance chapters available, with the first 2 free.
patreon.com/Captain_Lag