Chapter 83: Aegon the Absurd, King Aegon
"Do not take risks." Ser Otto Hightower, Hand of the King, looked at his grandson and sighed. "Dragonstone not only has Syrax and Caraxes, but also several wild dragons. When the Cannibal was hunted, four adult dragons targeted a single wild dragon, which drove the others back into hiding. Are you not concerned about drawing them out again—or Princess Rhaenys Targaryen's Red Queen?"
Prince Aemond Targaryen was momentarily stunned, then replied at once, "We still have Dreamfyre and Sunfyre."
"Queen Helaena Targaryen is no warrior," Queen Alicent Hightower said softly. "Nor is Aegon."
"My lords, we are discussing how to restore order and defend the rightful King. This is not the time to weaken our resolve," Ser Criston Cole, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, cut in sharply. "Besides… that woman may not even survive childbirth."
His voice was harsh. Once, he had shared a disgraceful affair with Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen. Spurned and embittered, the White Cloak had devoted himself wholly to the Queen, becoming one of the staunchest supporters of the Green faction.
"Without a land army and the support of the great lords, Rhaenyra cannot sit the Iron Throne," Otto said. "We must create a fait accompli. A crowned King's decree carries far more weight than that of a claimant."
Lord Tyland Lannister, acting Master of Ships, nodded. He had just finished reviewing Lord Beesbury's ledgers.
"I will begin raising funds immediately. The treasury still holds hundreds of thousands of golden dragons, and several times that in silver. I propose dividing the funds into four parts: one for Oldtown, one for the Iron Bank, one for hiring sellswords from Essos and the Three Daughters, and one for maintaining King's Landing."
He forced a smile. He had originally intended to divert a portion to Casterly Rock, but in this situation, avoiding suspicion was more important.
"How many men can the Westerlands raise?" Aemond asked.
"Eight thousand at once—seasoned and armored soldiers, including no fewer than fifteen hundred knights," Tyland replied. "Given time, more can be levied."
"Can you reach twenty-five thousand quickly?"
"In a month, yes. In three months, perhaps thirty-five to forty thousand."
"Then send the eight thousand immediately. I want your best men."
Aemond strode to the wall where a map of Westeros hung.
"Grandfather, when can the Hightower army march?"
"In a month. With ravens dispatched, Lord Ormund Hightower can gather twenty thousand men and provisions within that time," Otto said, stepping closer. "The long summer favors us."
"Have Lord Ormund send a vanguard ahead to force the southern lords to declare," Aemond said. "If the Reach is fully ours…"
"Eighty to one hundred thousand men," Otto replied. "Without even calling a full levy."
"Lord Tyland, your army must enter the Riverlands at once," Aemond continued. "Assist Lord Grover Tully in suppressing rebellious bannermen. Secure the Neck if possible—prevent the North from marching south. Then strike at Harrenhal."
His gaze fell upon Lord Larys Strong, Master of Whisperers.
Larys only spread his hands. "House Strong has never acknowledged me as its lord. Do as you will."
"The southern host must threaten Horn Hill, pinning down the borderlands army," Aemond went on. "Prince Daeron Targaryen's dragon can fight now, can it not?"
"He will die!" Alicent cried, fear in her voice. "You cannot send your brother into such danger! If House Varezes stands with Rhaenyra, Daeron will face dragons far larger than his own—two at least, and another of equal size!"
"That is his duty," Aemond said coldly, cutting her off. "If Aegon wishes to keep his crown, he must ride to war. If necessary, even Helaena must take to the skies."
"Where is Aegon?" Aemond suddenly asked, realizing the subject of all this planning was absent.
"I have already sent men to find him," Criston said, frowning. "He is not within the Red Keep."
Aemond sighed deeply, then seized a Kingsguard by the arm and strode out.
"Do you expect to find him in Helaena's bed?" he said bitterly. "Search Flea Bottom."
Flea Bottom at dawn was a cesspool—stench, filth, and chaos mingled with fleeting pleasures and quiet death.
Two fine horses stood out sharply in the squalor. The locals—whether crooked-toothed beggars or hardened laborers—scattered at the sight of armored riders.
Aemond dismounted, kicked open the rotting door of a rat pit, and stepped inside.
The scene was grotesque.
Drunken spectators howled with laughter, tossing coins and scraps into a pit where two naked boys fought savagely, biting and tearing at one another. Their teeth had been filed sharp, their backs scarred from the whip.
Beside them, Prince Aegon Targaryen—the elder—sat naked and drunk, grinning foolishly as a young boy poured him ale.
Aemond's single eye turned cold.
The pit's owner hastily cleared the crowd and fled. Aemond leapt over the filth, tossed the serving boy a handful of coins, and seized his brother.
Aegon blinked, sobering instantly.
"B-Brother… what are you doing here?"
"What are you doing?" Aemond struck him hard across the face. "We labor to place a crown upon your head, and you debase yourself like this?"
"What happened?" Aegon muttered, scrambling into his clothes.
Aemond leaned close and whispered, "The King—our father—is dead. Mother and the lords are preparing to crown you."
Aegon froze.
"The King is dead? Why are there no bells? Why—why me? Rhaenyra is the heir. I am quite content as I am."
He pouted.
"Why would I want that cursed throne? What kind of brother steals his sister's crown?"
Aemond inhaled slowly.
Ser Criston answered for him.
"As long as a trueborn Targaryen prince lives, Rhaenyra's Strong bastards will never sit securely upon the throne," Criston said coldly. "She will sacrifice anyone to secure her rule—including you, your brothers, and your children."
"That… that cannot be…" Aegon stammered.
"Power changes all," Criston continued. "Think—how will the realm see you standing beside those bastards? Their doubts will turn to certainty. The lords who honor the laws of succession will rise for the rightful King. And Rhaenyra will eliminate any threat to her claim."
Aegon trembled.
"Do not forget my eye," Aemond said quietly.
That ended the argument.
Criston lifted Aegon bodily and carried him out despite his protests, throwing him onto a horse.
"My King," Criston said, "this is for the purity of the dragon and the safety of the realm."
At dawn over Blackwater Bay, a small boat cut through the waters toward a distant island.
A silver-haired man rowed with urgency—a spy of House Varezes, reporting directly to Tigaro Dagareon.
His raven had never flown; the Gold Cloaks had sealed his tavern before he could send word.
"Larys has betrayed us," he thought grimly. "But not completely."
He rowed faster.
March 4th passed in silence.
No Silent Sisters entered the Red Keep. No bells tolled.
The King's body lay rotting where it had fallen.
No ravens flew to Dragonstone.
Only secret messages spread outward—to lords who might support Aegon.
At last, Aegon accepted the crown—though none could say why.
Perhaps it was when he looked upon his children.
On March 6th, two ravens flew from the island—one toward Dragonstone, the other toward Dragon Nest City.
That same morning—
"Am I King or not?" Aegon paced anxiously in his chamber, dressed now in black and red, his hair neatly combed.
Sober, he was undeniably handsome.
"If I am King, then crown me already, Mother. Or have you changed your mind?"
*Queen Alicent Hightower—now Dowager Queen—*stood by the window, clad in mourning black and deep green.
Outside, the bells of King's Landing began to toll.
Hundreds of ravens took flight into the sky.
Black wings. Black tidings.
"It is time, Your Grace," Alicent said at last. "The people and the lords await you in the Dragonpit."
Aegon hesitated—but desire burned in his eyes.
"I want the Conqueror's crown."
Ser Criston Cole bowed.
"As you command, Your Grace."
Otto Hightower had already departed eastward—to hire sellswords and secure alliances across the Narrow Sea.
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