At this moment, Grand Maester Norren spoke to King Aegon with earnest sincerity.
"Prince Aemond may be a formidable fighter, but he is still your younger brother."
"You are his elder brother, the firstborn son of the late king, the crowned king."
"You have that status, that legitimacy, that—"
"That power," Aegon cut him off. "You want me to use my status as the elder brother to press him?"
"How do I press him? He has two dragons, command of the army, and control of the entire Small Council."
"What do I have? Sunfyre? The Kingsguard? Queen Mother Alicent's support?"
"The place I live in—he knows every secret passage."
"How do you expect me to contend with him?"
Norren was not intimidated. Instead, he nodded.
"Your Grace is correct. A direct clash—indeed, you cannot win."
"Then what do you propose?"
"Leverage."
Aegon frowned.
Norren stepped forward and lowered his voice. "Your Grace, House Hightower is your mother's kin."
"You must know—Lord Ormund Hightower is leading twenty thousand men toward King's Landing."
"And Prince Daeron is also your younger brother…"
"And there is the support of the Citadel and the Faith."
"Why should you be afraid?"
At the side, Queen Alyn listened, her blue eyes bright and shining.
That's right—House Hightower had twenty thousand troops, and Prince Daeron as well.
If these people were loyal to Aegon, Aegon's authority would no longer be hollow.
Aegon thought it over.
His mother's house—House Hightower would surely stand with him.
As for his younger brother, Daeron's stance…
In the end, Aegon made up his mind: after the war, he would reclaim the authority that rightfully belonged to him and place Aemond under house arrest.
He did not want to remain a dispensable puppet, nor did he wish to live in constant fear, trying to guess what ambitions lurked in that unfathomable younger brother's mind.
Aegon nodded.
"I want to try…"
Everyone let out a breath of relief.
Then Grand Maester Norren spoke again.
"Your Grace, do you know how much grain the Iron Throne sends to the North during every Long Winter?"
Aegon looked slightly puzzled.
"I know."
He thought for a moment.
"I've heard… quite a lot."
"Quite a lot?" Norren smiled.
"Your Grace, not quite a lot—an enormous amount."
"Enough to keep the entire North alive through the Long Winter."
"Enough to allow Lord Cregan Stark to sit secure in Winterfell without needing to march south."
Aegon sensed something was off.
"Grand Maester, what are you implying?"
"That grain," Norren said, enunciating each word, "is currently in Prince Aemond's hands, stacked in the granaries of Dragon's Roost."
"In about half a year, it is meant to be sent north."
Aegon nodded, then asked in confusion, "I know. That was a rule set by our ancestor, Aegon the Conqueror."
"Whenever a Long Winter approaches and the North lacks provisions, the Iron Throne provides relief."
"Then, Your Grace, who do you think the North will support now?"
Aegon froze for a moment. "The North… they haven't declared themselves. They've remained inactive."
"And why have they remained inactive?"
Aegon thought carefully.
"Because… because the Long Winter is approaching, and they don't dare move rashly?"
Norren smiled, his tone full of approval.
"Your Grace is wise."
"Why does the North not move? Because they are waiting for that grain."
"Once they receive it, they will have the confidence to march south and support the Blacks."
"Without grain, they will have no choice but to huddle in Winterfell and starve."
Aegon's expression changed.
"Think about it," Norren continued. "What kind of man is Cregan Stark?"
"The North claims loyalty to the Iron Throne, yet now that war has broken out, why have they delayed declaring their stance?"
"They are waiting—waiting for that grain. Once they have it, they can act without worry and march south."
"Th-this…"
"Your Grace," Septon Owen quickly added, "This is not mere speculation."
"We have informants in the North. In House Stark's hall, their bannermen have already been arguing fiercely."
"The faction in favor of war says they will fight as soon as the grain arrives; the faction for peace says they won't move an inch without it."
"Tell me—if that grain is delivered, who will benefit?"
Aegon fell silent.
He remembered what his father, Viserys, had told him in his childhood—the Northerners valued honor above all, and House Stark were straightforward people who kept their word.
But now, thinking about it again, the Starks had been wavering, outwardly acknowledging the Iron Throne while maintaining an ambiguous stance.
Though the Stormlands, under House Baratheon, were much the same.
However, Aegon was not worried about House Baratheon. The Baratheons were a branch of House Targaryen—kin by blood, natural royalists.
House Targaryen had bestowed great favor upon them.
Even if the great houses of the realm were to rebel, House Baratheon would never betray the Targaryens.
Seeing everyone awaiting his answer, "Then… then we don't send it?" Aegon asked cautiously.
"Your Grace is wise," Norren said. "This grain cannot be sent."
"Not only must it not be sent—we must also let the North know they will not receive it."
"If the North does not march south against the rebels, then the southern realms of the Seven Kingdoms must not allow a single grain of food to flow into the North."
Aegon hesitated. "But this was a rule set by our ancestor…"
"The rule set by King Aegon I was to ensure the North could survive," Owen said softly.
"But now, with the North maintaining an ambiguous neutrality, there is no need to send them grain."
Aegon opened his mouth, unable to respond.
Alyn spoke gently at his side, "Your Grace, I believe the Septon is right."
"This grain cannot be given. If it is, we would be aiding the enemy."
Norren and Owen exchanged a glance. Queen Alyn truly understood the greater good.
Aegon glanced at her.
There was a light in her eyes he recognized—was it excitement? Ambition?
Suddenly, he thought of his eldest daughter, Jaehaera.
That little thing, only two months old, understood nothing—she only knew how to cry. Yet when he looked at her, his heart felt at ease.
"Then," Aegon drew a breath, "what if the North starves to death?"
Norren fell silent for a moment.
"Your Grace," his voice lowered, "the Long Winter is coming. The North was always going to starve."
"The grain will only make fewer of them die."
"But if they use that grain to fight you, it won't be only Northerners who die."
"The Riverlands, the Crownlands, King's Landing—there will be corpses everywhere."
He continued in a heavy tone.
"What rests on your shoulders is the Seven Kingdoms, Your Grace."
"You must make a choice, Your Grace."
Aegon fell silent.
"Your Grace?" Queen Alyn called softly.
Aegon came back to himself.
Norren and Owen were both watching him, waiting for him to speak.
"Besides cutting off the grain," he said slowly, "what else must I do?"
Grand Maester Norren's eyes lit up.
"Your Grace is wise."
"Besides cutting off the grain…"
"Your Grace, there is one more thing you must do."
"What is it?"
"Lead the campaign in person."
Aegon's brows drew together.
Norren did not wait for him to speak and went on quickly.
"Your Grace, the battle of Rook's Rest is imminent."
"House Staunton has rebelled. Prince Aemond has already massed troops at Antlers and will soon move against Crackclaw Point."
"This battle is one to establish authority."
"But whose authority will it establish?"
Aegon understood.
"It will be the prince's authority," Norren said, giving voice to his thoughts.
"If he takes Rook's Rest and suppresses the rebels in the Crownlands, his prestige will rise to another level."
"When that happens, the Small Council and the Crownlands lords will all believe that following the prince is the right choice."
He paused, staring into Aegon's eyes.
"And you, Your Grace? You are still in Maegor's Holdfast, recovering from your wounds."
"When he returns in triumph, will you still be able to hold your head high before this younger brother of yours?"
Aegon's expression stiffened.
Norren softened his tone. "But if you go as well, Your Grace?"
"Me?"
"Yes, you." Norren nodded. "Sunfyre's wounds have mostly healed. Flying will not be a problem."
"You mount Sunfyre and take part in the battle of Rook's Rest in person."
"Your lords will think—the king himself rides to war; he truly has courage."
The Grand Maester added, "And no matter how capable Prince Aemond is, he is still only a prince. You are the king acknowledged by all."
"On the battlefield, so long as the king is present, the prince must obey the king."
Aegon's heart skipped a beat.
He had never thought of it that way.
But then another thought came to him.
He shook his head. "But Aemond told me this battle would be dangerous. He told me to stay in King's Landing."
"He said he would deal with this rebellion himself."
Grand Maester Norren smiled.
"Your Grace, that is precisely the point." There was something faintly unreadable in his smile.
"He tells you to stay, and you stay?"
"Are you his elder brother—or his son?"
Aegon froze for a moment, then his chest heaved violently as anger surged.
"Who's whose son?!!"
Grand Maester Norren immediately lowered his head in deference.
"Your Grace, please calm your anger."
At the side, Queen Alyn spoke softly.
"Your Grace, I think Norren is right."
"You cannot obey Aemond in everything."
"You are the king."
Aegon looked at her, hesitating.
"But…"
"Sunfyre has only just recovered. What if…"
"Your Grace," Norren said, "are you afraid of death?"
Aegon said nothing.
Norren looked at him. There was no mockery in his gaze, only a strange seriousness.
"Fear of death is only natural. But you are the king."
He spoke slowly.
"The nobles of the Seven Kingdoms all built their houses upon martial valor."
"They will not respect a king who fears death."
"They can tolerate a mediocre king, a lazy king—even a foolish king."
"But they will never accept a coward."
Aegon's face flushed red.
"Who are you calling a coward?!!"
Alyn tightened her grip on his hand. "Your Grace, you are not a coward."
"You risked your life on Dragonstone to save Aemond. What you fear is not death—you fear…"
The queen paused, leaving the sentence unfinished.
Aegon knew what she meant.
What he feared was how Aemond would look at him if he went.
Would he think he was trying to steal credit? Would he think he was interfering? Would he—
He suddenly recalled the look in Aemond's eyes on Dragonstone.
At that moment, there had been no conflict between them—only two brothers.
But that was on the battlefield.
Once they left it and returned to the Red Keep, Aemond would once again be that cold prince.
"Your Grace," Alyn's voice pulled him back, "I am with child again."
Aegon froze.
"Truly?"
Alyn nodded, her eyes reddening slightly. "I only found out last night."
"I hadn't had the chance to tell you."
Aegon took her hand, unsure what to say.
Joy—of course there was joy. But at a moment like this, the news only made him more uneasy.
If something happened to him at Rook's Rest, what would become of the child in Alyn's womb?
What of Jaehaera?
"Your Grace," Norren's voice came again.
"Do not worry. This will be an easy suppression."
"And besides, you are fighting for your own children."
"For your future son, your daughter, your descendants."
Aegon raised his head and looked at him in silence.
Grand Maester Norren continued persuading him.
"Think about it—if Prince Aemond wins this battle, all the prestige will belong to him."
"When the war ends, those hounds at his side will begin spreading rumors—that the king is a coward, a man who dared not even set foot on the battlefield…"
Aegon said nothing.
"Your Grace," Septon Owen also spoke, "if you lead the campaign in person and win this battle, the Faith will proclaim your deeds to the realm."
"You will regain your prestige, instead of being seen as a puppet as you are now."
Aegon remained silent for a long time.
In the cellar, there was only the crackling of candle flames.
Alyn held his hand, her palm damp with sweat.
At last, he drew a breath.
"The grain for the North," he said, looking at them seriously, "must it truly not be sent?"
Norren answered, "It must not."
"And Rook's Rest," he asked again, "must I truly go?"
Norren answered, "You must."
Aegon looked at him, then at Septon Owen.
Both wore earnest expressions, like two old servants deeply concerned for him.
"Very well." He clenched his teeth and nodded firmly.
"I agree."
Alyn's hand tightened, joy impossible to hide in her eyes.
Norren and Owen exchanged a glance and bowed at the same time.
"Your Grace is wise."
Aegon said nothing.
He took his wife, Queen Alyn, by the hand and walked toward the door.
Septon Owen immediately rose and personally opened the cellar door.
"Your Grace, Your Grace the Queen, may the Seven bless you."
Aegon stared at him for a few seconds, then said nothing more.
Alyn looped her arm through his, and the two of them stepped out of the cellar one after the other.
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