At this moment, within King's Landing, candles had already been lit in a hidden chamber inside the Great Sept of the Seven.
King Aegon II sat in a chair, feeling that this seat dug into him even more than the Iron Throne.
"Your Grace need not be nervous." Septon Owen smiled kindly.
"There are no spies of the prince here. Rest assured—I guarantee it."
Aegon did not respond. He only glanced at Queen Alyn beside him.
Alyn held her husband's hand, her palm warm, easing Aegon's nerves slightly.
"Your Reverence," Queen Alyn spoke in place of her husband,
"We came out under the pretext of offering prayers to the Seven. We don't have much time."
"Of course, of course." Septon Owen nodded, then turned toward Grand Maester Norren at his side.
Maester Norren bowed slightly.
"Your Grace." Norren's voice was low and steady.
"For the two of us to be granted an audience with you is our honor."
Seated where he was, Aegon gave a perfunctory "Mm," and said nothing more.
Even though his leg had already healed, he still habitually kept it stretched out, feigning difficulty in movement.
Only his wife, Queen Alyn, knew of this. Even Aemond did not…
At least, he hoped he did not.
"Your Grace," Septon Owen said, "we invited you here in secret today to discuss a matter."
"What matter?"
"Your throne."
Aegon's fingers twitched. He pointed at the two men opposite him.
"Drop the mysticism. Say what you mean."
Septon Owen sighed. Beneath his kindly expression, a trace of gravity surfaced.
"By the Seven, Your Grace, you are the heir personally named by the late king. I crowned you upon Visenya's Hill—you are the king acknowledged throughout the Seven Kingdoms."
"But now?"
Aegon did not answer.
"The Small Council," Septon Owen continued, "the Hand is Tyland Lannister—Aemond's man."
"The Master of Coin is Will Simmons—a cur Aemond picked up from Flea Bottom."
"The Master of Whisperers is Larys Strong. Though he appears close to you—"
"But would he dare say 'no' to Aemond?"
"Your Reverence," Aegon said, "What exactly are you trying to say?"
Septon Owen and Grand Maester Norren exchanged a glance.
Norren stepped forward, lowering his voice even further.
"Your Grace, the Citadel and the Faith are both willing to support you."
"Not support a puppet—"
"But support you—Aegon Targaryen the Second, the rightful ruler of the Seven Kingdoms."
At these words, Aegon, seated in place, tensed up, his violet eyes fixed on them with unease.
"Support me to do what?"
"To take back your power."
Silence fell.
The candlelight in the cellar flickered.
The hand clasping Queen Alyn's tightened slightly. She pinched his palm gently.
Aegon understood what his queen meant—Agree. Quickly, agree.
But he did not.
"Aemond is my younger brother," he said.
"We know," Norren and Septon Owen both nodded.
"I saved him. He saved me."
"We are brothers bound by blood…"
"We know that as well," Norren nodded again. "Your Grace is a man of loyalty and sentiment. That is a virtue."
"Then you want me to seize power from my own brother?"
Grand Maester Norren fell silent for a moment, then suddenly smiled.
"Your Grace, you misunderstand."
"We are merely helping you reclaim what is rightfully yours."
"The power that belongs to a king."
"We are not asking you to harm Prince Aemond."
"We only hope that the king of the Seven Kingdoms can truly sit in the king's seat."
"You wouldn't want to spend your entire life being suppressed by your own younger brother, would you?"
Aegon fell into silence, his expression turning complicated.
At the side, seeing Aegon hesitate, Septon Owen immediately picked up the thread.
"Your Grace, think about it. Your brother, Prince Aemond, is only sixteen this year, yet he is already Prince of Dragon's Roost, rider of two dragons, and the true master of the Small Council."
"The prince is capable. He works hard. We all acknowledge that."
"But…"
He paused, a trace of worry seeping into his voice.
"He is too capable—so capable that it frightens people."
Aegon frowned.
"What are you afraid of?"
"That Maegor's past may repeat itself…"
Those words were like a needle, stabbing into Aegon's heart.
"Maegor—the Cruel Maegor."
"He killed his own nephew Aegon and seized the throne that belonged to the children of his dead brother, Aenys."
"My brother is not Maegor." Aegon drew a breath as he spoke.
"Not yet, perhaps." Norren nodded. "But Your Grace, he has already slain his kin."
"You must know—Jacaerys, Lucerys, Joffrey—they were your nephews…"
"Enough." Aegon cut him off.
Norren and Septon Owen fell silent, but their eyes remained fixed on him.
Aegon took Queen Alyn's hand and rose from his seat. He meant to leave, but suddenly stopped.
"I know all that you've said," he said, his voice lowering as he stood with his back to them.
"But… Jacaerys… they were our enemies…"
"Dragonriders who burned and stole…"
"Those he killed were traitors…"
"Your Grace," Septon Owen spoke softly.
"There is another man, exactly the same."
"Who?"
"Prince Daemon."
Aegon's back stiffened.
Owen continued, "Prince Daemon, the late king's brother, Rhaenyra's husband."
"He is just as formidable—dragonrider, warrior, killer, skilled in all."
"How many has he killed? No one can count."
"And how ruthless is he?"
"In Flea Bottom, even his name can stop a child's crying at night."
He stepped forward, lowering his voice. "Your Grace, think carefully."
"When this war reaches its end, no matter who wins—who will be left standing?"
Aegon said nothing.
"Either Aemond, or Daemon," Owen said, word by word.
"These two—each more ruthless than the other, each more mad than the other."
"When that time comes, who will be the master of the Seven Kingdoms?"
At those words, Queen Alyn's face turned pale. Her hand tightened fiercely around Aegon's.
Aegon turned to face them.
"We support you, Your Grace," Grand Maester Norren urged.
"Not because you are more capable than Prince Aemond."
"To be honest, you may not be as capable as he is."
"We support you because you are the rightful king of the Seven Kingdoms, because you follow the teachings of the Seven."
"Because you will let the maesters teach properly, let the septons preach properly, let the nobles govern their lands properly, and let the smallfolk live their lives."
Aegon remained silent for a long time. Then he slowly spoke.
"Aemond treats me as a puppet. You treat me as a puppet as well?"
Septon Owen froze for a moment, then smiled.
"Your Grace, what a thing to say."
"Would a puppet ask such a question?"
"In our eyes, Your Grace, you are a good man."
Aegon did not smile.
Norren continued, "Your Grace, we only need you to do one thing."
"What?"
"Allow us to help you."
Aegon looked at him.
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