The council chamber was heavy with tension.
Before Prince Aegon could speak, Ser Tyland Lannister was already on his feet.
"You damned old-"
But a single look from Aegon silenced him.
The Small Council, after all, was not a place for shouting or cursing, it was a place for reason.
"Mind your words, Lord Beesbury," Aegon said evenly.
His voice was calm, his expression mild, but there was iron beneath the courtesy. "I am merely an advisor on His Majesty's council, without power of my own. How, then, could I abuse a power I do not possess?"
He leaned back slightly, his tone growing more measured. "As for Ser Lyonel Rykker's reassignment, I see no fault in it. Not every man who avoids error must be rewarded with promotion. Ser Lyonel serves His Majesty in the dungeons, and Ser Gwayne Hightower commands the City Watch. Both are fulfilling the King's will."
Tyland blinked in surprise. Even he hadn't expected that explanation.
Across the table, Lord Lyman Beesbury's face flushed scarlet. He had seen many kinds of sophistry in his years at court, but never so blatant.
"You may call yourself a mere advisor," he retorted sharply, "yet you twist the council's decisions to your own will. If you were ever named Hand of the King, would you not fill the Red Keep with every hound of House Hightower?"
"That goes too far, Lord Beesbury," Aegon replied with a soft chuckle.
"In his wisdom, King Jaehaerys appointed both Prince Aemon and Prince Baelon as his Hands, one after the other. If His Majesty my father should ever require it, I too would serve, to bear his burdens and aid the realm. It would not be ambition, but filial duty."
A murmur passed around the table.
Lord Beesbury's face darkened further; Ser Tyland's eyes gleamed with admiration. Jasper Wylde hid his amusement behind a bowed head, and Aegon himself remained solemn.
Loyalty and filial piety, the young prince had chosen his words perfectly.
If Beesbury pressed further, Aegon could easily turn it back upon him, to question the old man's loyalty, even his respect for the crown.
Lyman seemed to realize this. His lips pressed together; after a moment's silence, he rose abruptly and departed. He would take the matter directly to King Viserys.
If Aegon continued to maneuver like this, the Black faction's influence in King's Landing would soon be entirely uprooted. Ser Lyonel Rykker was only the first to fall; others would surely follow.
When the door closed, Tyland sneered. "That decrepit fool, he'll not last another winter. A traitor, through and through."
Aegon smiled faintly, idly turning the jade council orb between his fingers.
"Everyone has their own desires," he said. "It's only natural that he would wish to free himself from Hightower influence."
The orb caught the light, green and smooth beneath his hand. It wasn't his, not truly, but as long as he sat here, it might as well be.
"Your Highness," Tyland said gravely, "we should make him pay for this insolence. Let him learn that neither your honor nor the dignity of House Hightower can be trampled upon."
House Hightower, ancient, proud, and rich beyond measure. None in the Reach could rival them: not House Costayne of Three Towers, nor House Bulwer of Blackcrown, nor House Mullendore of Uplands, nor the Cuys of Sunhouse, nor even the Beesburys of Honeyholt.
When King Viserys wed Queen Alicent, it had not been only for affection. The match had bound the Reach's most powerful family to the Iron Throne, a counterweight to the Velaryons of Driftmark. Yet time had proven Viserys's hopes naïve.
He had underestimated the hunger for power, and overestimated his own ability to master it.
Aegon exhaled softly, a smile tugging at his lips. "Of late, the Reach has been plagued by bandits. My great-grandfather has little time to trouble Honeyholt, and we wouldn't wish outsiders to laugh at our misfortunes, would we?"
Though Aegon spoke lightly, Tyland felt a chill creep down his spine.
"Enough for today," Aegon said at last, rising from his seat. "The council is adjourned."
He swept from the chamber, Tyland following close behind.
Only Jasper Wylde remained, watching the prince's departing figure.
"Seven save us," he muttered. "So the game can be played that way."
He had expected Aegon to trade barbs with Beesbury, perhaps even lose his temper. Instead, the prince had turned every attack into advantage. Shameless, yes, but astonishingly effective.
"Perhaps," Jasper mused, rubbing his chin, "I could stand to be a little more shameless myself."
The King's Chambers
"Once Harwin Strong returns to Harrenhal, you will act," King Viserys said quietly. "See to it that no trace remains. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Your Grace."
Viserys leaned back in his chair, eyes hard with resolve. He bore no ill will toward Lord Lyonel, but his son was another matter.
In Viserys's mind, it had been Ser Harwin who led Rhaenyra astray, who sullied her name and brought bastards into the world.
If not for him, Viserys thought bitterly, my daughter's honor might still be intact.
Her standing was fragile enough; he would not allow it to crumble further.
As the king's thoughts darkened, a knock came at the chamber door.
Archmaester Mellos entered, only to find himself face-to-face with Prince Daemon, who was just departing.
"Prince Daemon," Mellos greeted him evenly. "It has been some time."
Daemon inclined his head, his expression unreadable. "Archmaester."
And without another word, he was gone.
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