Chapter 11: | Chapter 11: Council Of 126 AC |

| Author's Note: Sorry for the delay, had three full days without any second to breathe, and so I could obviously not upload anything until now. Please enjoy the small chapter, I shall have more coming out soon. |

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| With Aegon Targaryen, After The Beginning Of The Small Council - 126 AC |

I sat at the head of the council table, the weight of the crown still settling upon my brow. The air was thick with tension, the lords and knights before me steeped in uncertainty. Yet, within me, a new resolve had taken root. My father was gone, but the realm remained,— and with it, my duty as its new King.

The murmur of voices around the table was still growing louder, but I paid them little heed, my thoughts already far ahead. This was no time for mourning. I had grieved my father, and I had lamented the circumstances that had brought me here, but the hour for sorrow had passed. Now was the time for action, for proving to all of Westeros that the crown belonged on my head, and no other,— ever.

And as they argued and deliberated, I found my gaze drawn to my grandfather, Otto Hightower. As his voice cut through the noise, sharp and unyielding. "This is our best chance to strike!" he declared, his eyes burning with the same fire that had propelled him through years of scheming. "We have the advantage now, with the crown upon your head, Aegon. We must not hesitate. We must move against Dragonstone, eliminate Rhaenyra, and end this threat before it festers."

I narrowed my eyes at him, feeling a familiar anger coil within me. My father was scarcely in his grave, yet here was Otto, already urging me to spill my sister's blood.

I felt my jaw clench as I tried to temper the rising tide of fury within me. My grandfather was ever the opportunist, quick to call for blood when it suited his plans, of that I knew well enough. But this was not the time for rashness, not when the realm hung so delicately in the balance. "We will act," I said, my voice measured, "but you seem to forget that Rhaenyra is my sister." I told him through narrowed eyes, and though his gaze remained steady, I saw the flicker of annoyance in his eyes.

He would not admit it, but he had already written her off as a traitor, a threat to be extinguished.

But I was not him. I was a now supposed to be a king, and a king does not needlessly slaughter his own blood on the whims of his grandfather.

"Your Grace," Grand Maester Orwyle interjected, his tone cautious but earnest. "There is wisdom in caution. The realm is divided, and any rash action can drive more lords into Princess Rhaenyra's camp. We must secure our position first, build our alliances,—"

His words rang true, and I inclined my head slightly, acknowledging his counsel. The grand maester was right; we could not afford to push too hard, too soon. The lords of Westeros were not pieces on a cyvasse board to be moved at will. They were proud, stubborn men, bound by oaths and honor. We needed to win them, not force them into rebellion.

And yet, Orwyle words were cut off by Criston Cole, the ever loyal knight, who spoke next. "Or we could be decisive." he said, his voice cutting through the maester's caution. "Your Grace has the dragons, the crown, and the will of the people. If we act swiftly, we can overwhelm Princess Rhaenyra before she has time to gather strength. The longer we wait, the more time she has to rally the discontented."

I could not deny the truth in his words.

Strength was what would keep the realm together, but it had to be tempered with wisdom,— I knew that much from my father.

Too much force, too soon, and we risked shattering the very kingdom I sought to rule. "Strength and wisdom must go hand in hand." I said, my gaze shifting from my sworn shield, to my grandfather. "We will not turn the realm against us, by making martyrs of our enemies, especially not of my sister."

There was a murmur of agreement around the table, though I could sense the reluctance in Otto's silence. He wanted to press the advantage, to crush any dissent before it had a chance to grow. But I would not let him push me into a war that would leave the realm in ashes.

"We need to secure our position," I continued, leaning foward in my seat, my mind already working through the possibilities. "I will write to my brother Daeron, he will go to Storm's End. The Baratheons are proud and stubborn, but they understand power. If I offer Lord Borros a marriage alliance with my brother, I will surely have his backing."

And I saw Criston nod his head approvingly, a flicker of pride passing in his eyes. "A strong move, Your Grace. The Stormlands are a crucial piece."

"And so will be Harrenhal, the castle you will be fortifying, Ser Criston." I said, and my loyal kingsguard bowed his head in sudden understanding.

Then, I turned my attention to Ser Harrold Westerling. "Ser Harrold, do tell me how many war-ready men do we have in Kingslanding?" And I saw him hesitate for a moment, most certainly calculating the numbers in his own mind. "Around four to five thousand if we count your household guards and the Goldcloaks, Your Grace. Possibly up to six or seven thousand if we include the minor houses near King's Landing."

As Harrold finished speaking, I was now the one to remain silent for a few moments, while considering his answer.

My thoughts then turned to the loyalty of those who would be asked to fight in my name. The Goldcloaks had always been a pridefull and arrogant group of soldiers, ever since Daemon turned them into what they are now. Would these type of men be loyal to me, or to Daemon?

"And are these Goldcloaks trustworthy enough for us to make use of them? Everyone here surely knows who was the person that created and led them in the past."

At my words, many nods of agreement were seen from both sides of the council table, and surprisingly, it was Otto that leaned forward, his voice carrying a note of reassurance. Though I could sense the underlying tension in it. "They are not the best there is, in terms of trust, but I made sure that once Daemon stopped being their commander, that they would turn loyal to our cause, and to your leadership, Your Grace."

I raised an eyebrow at his sudden words, skeptical since I knew it was a Goldcloak that had helped Daemon enact Blood and Cheese. But perhaps in this timeline, Otto meddled in their ranks and gained their loyalty. "And you believe it to have worked?" Grandfather's answer was vague, and it unsatisfied me a lot. "Only time will tell, I presume." And I sighed, feeling the weight of uncertainty pressing down on me.

I had unexpectedly inherited a kingdom rife with division, and a council full of conflicting desires as well.

But this was my burden to bear, and I would not shirk from it. "That will have to do for now. Ser Criston will lead a force of fifteen hundred men consisting of Goldcloaks, household guards, and some men you may be able to recruit outside of kingslanding. Have them help you to fortify Harrenhal and defend it. Ser Harrold will take fifteen hundred men as well, and rally the riverlands to our cause. You are to meet with Cole afterwards."

A moment passed as the council seemed to process my words, and I saw Harrold hesitate at my orders, his brow furrowing before he replied. "Harrenhal is a vast fortress, Your Grace, but it's also a cursed one. The men might hesitate to garrison there for long."

"Cursed or not, the strategic importance of Harrenhal outweighs any superstitions," I replied firmly. "We need that stronghold. Do whatever is necessary, Ser Harrold. If any lord proves obstinate, they shall face the appropriate consequences."

"As you command, Your Grace," Harrold said, though I could see the unease in his eyes. He would do his duty nevertheless, but the burden of it weighed heavily on him.

I turned to Criston once more. "After you prepare yourself to march to Harrenhal, speak with Aemond. He is to fly to the Vale and secure Lady Arryn's allegiance. Diplomacy must be his first approach. The Vale must be brought into the fold."

Criston bowed his head. "Very well, Your Grace."

"And I," I declared, feeling the resolve within me harden, "will deal with two matters myself. First, I will fly to the Twins. The Freys are a proud lot, and their loyalty is not easily won. But they are of great importance if a war breaks out, and I will have to deal with them personally."

There was a murmur of surprise at that, and Ser Tyland Lannister, who had been silent until now, spoke up. "Your Grace? Wouldn't that be too dangerous?"

"For whom, Lord Tyland?" I asked, a faint and rare smile touching my lips. "I shall have Sunfyre with me. Also, to anyone concerned, I do not intend to be a king who hides behind his walls while others fight his battles."

"And the second matter?" my mother, Queen Alicent, asked, her voice calm but laced with motherly concern.

"I shall reach out to Dorne," I said, and the room fell silent.

"Dorne?" Otto's voice was incredulous. "That's madness, the Dornish are no friends to us."

"Precisely why we must reach out to them," I replied, meeting his gaze steadily, while ignoring his previous insult. "If we secure the rest of Westeros, where do you think Rhaenyra and Daemon will turn? Dorne will be then be her last hope of an alliance, along with some reach lords. If we win them to our side first, we close off that path to her. Aemond will be offered to one of their princesses,— if they show their support to our cause, that is."

The room buzzed with unease, but I stood firm. "I know it is risky," I continued, addressing the council as a whole. "But Daemon is not a fool. He will see Dorne as an opportunity, just as we do. If we act swiftly, we can outmaneuver him. I will deal with the Dornish before he even leaves Dragonstone."

"Then, doesn't that mean,—" Maester Orwyle started, piecing together the implications of my plan.

I nodded, satisfied that he was beginning to understand. "Indeed. Besides dealing with Dorne, I might have to deal with Daemon. But since we are acting swiftly and decisively, I will be dealing with the Dornish before Daemon leaves Dragonstone. That will give me time enough to bring them to our side,— or to try and make them bow to it, anyway."

The room was silent as they digested my words, the enormity of the situation settling over them like a heavy shroud. But this was the course I had chosen, and I would see it through.

"So that's the plan," I said, letting my gaze sweep over the assembled lords and knights. "We will spread our forces, securing the realm, while Rhaenyra scrambles to gather hers. But we shall not provoke an open war until we are ready. Let her understand that she cannot win this conflict and that she must sue for peace,— or let her make the first move if she dares. We will be prepared, and when the time comes, we will either deal with her surrender or crush her rebellion."

There was a moment of silence as my words sank in, and then, one by one, the members of the council nodded in agreement. They had their orders, and I had mine. The pieces were moving, and soon, the game would begin in earnest.

But for now, I had to believe in the course I had set. The crown was mine, and I would not let it slip through my fingers. Not through treachery, not through bloodshed,— only through strength and strategy. This was my war to win, and I would win it my way, be it with the knowledge I had gathered ever since reincarnating here, or with the faint knowledge of the future that I carried with me.

... After a few moments:

The tension in the council chamber had eased somewhat, with many of the lords having departed to carry out their orders. Yet, a few matters still lingered,— matters that could tip the scales in our favor if handled with precision. I turned my attention to the remaining members: my mother, Maester Orwyle, and my grandfather, Otto Hightower.

I straightened in my seat, letting my gaze settle on Orwyle first. "Grand Maester." I began, my voice firm and commanding.

"Send a raven to Winterfell. Inform Lord Cregan Stark that I count on his loyalty should war break out. I also want him to notify me immediately if any of Rhaenyra's emissaries arrive in his city. I need to know if my sister's camp attempts to sway my friend to their side,— and whether he requires any assistance in dealing with them."

Orwyle nodded, his eyes flickering with a mix of duty and anxiety. "Of course, Your Grace. I shall see to it at once."

"You may go." I allowed, dismissing him with a nod. Orwyle bowed low and hurried from the room, his robes rustling behind him as he left.

I turned back to my mother and grandfather. Both were silent, lost in their own thoughts,— whether planning the next move in this game of thrones or perhaps reminiscing about a time when the realm was not teetering on the brink of war. My mother, especially, seemed distant, her face lined with the weight of it all. I knew she had endured much, shaped by my grandfather's endless machinations, but now was not the time to dwell on past grievances.

"Rhaenys remains in the Red Keep," I stated, breaking the silence. Otto looked at me with a mix of curiosity and calculation. "I will speak with her again. If we can bring her to our side, Driftmark will follow. That would be a significant blow to my sister."

Otto nodded, but I could tell his mind was already turning over the possibilities. My mother, on the other hand, seemed pained, her eyes flickering with some inner turmoil. Her moments of distraction had become more frequent since the coronation, and while I understood her weariness, I could not afford to let it influence my decisions. Not now, when so much was at stake.

Still, I knew that securing Rhaenys's loyalty would not be easy. She was proud, and her loyalty to her family was fierce. But I had to try. She was a seasoned player in the game, and her support could turn the tide in our favor.

With that in mind, I let my thoughts shift to the darker suggestions that had been whispered earlier. I straightened, letting the gravity of my words sink into the room before speaking in the direction of Otto. "Also, there will be no more talk of assassination," I declared, my tone leaving no room for argument. My gaze fixed on grandfather, daring him to challenge me. "I am a Targaryen King, not a cutthroat. If Rhaenyra does not surrender and falls, it will be by the sword, not by the dagger."

The silence that followed was heavy, and I could see the tension in Otto's face as he weighed his response. But when he spoke, his voice was measured, careful. "Very clear, Your Grace."

"Good," I replied, satisfied that the matter was settled. I would not allow our cause to be tainted by dishonorable actions. Not while I still had the power to prevent it.

Then I turned my attention to the final piece of today's plan. "You shall personally make a trip to the Reach in these following days." I ordered, watching for any sign of resistance.

"The Reach?" My mother stirred, her interest piqued, and I nodded.

"Yes," I continued, my tone sharp and decisive. "Grandfather, you hold sway over many of the Reach lords. It is only fitting that you go and secure their loyalty in person."

Otto's face tightened, his expression unreadable. For a moment, it seemed as if he had swallowed something bitter, and I had to suppress the urge to smirk. He was not accustomed to being sent on errands, but this was no mere task. It was a test,— a test of his commitment to our cause, and of his willingness to serve me as his king.

"Of course, Your Grace," he finally conceded, though I could see the reluctance in his eyes. He would do as I commanded, but he did not like being made to do it.

"Then you have your orders," I said, my voice carrying the weight of finality. "Make sure they are carried out."

Otto nodded, his acceptance tinged with a hint of resignation. He was a man who was used to playing the game from behind the scenes, pulling the strings as he saw fit. But now, the roles were shifting, and he would have to play by my rules.

As I turned to leave, I paused, offering my mother a slightly warmer look. "We will not lose this war, Mother,— not before it even begins."

She returned my gaze, a mixture of hope and fear in her eyes, but she said nothing. There was nothing more to be said.

With that, I strode toward the exit, eager to leave the council chamber and the burdens it represented behind. The road ahead would be difficult,— of that, I had no doubt. I was on the verge of a civil war, a war that would test every ounce of my resolve. But I would lead House Targaryen with honor, wielding both sword and strategy as a true king should.

Even if that strategy meant using the knowledge I had of my sister's future moves against her. I would do what was necessary to protect my throne, my family, and the realm.

A new chapter of my life was beginning, one that would change me forever. But I was ready. Ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead, and to prove that I was more than just a king in name,— I was a king in truth.

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| Author's Ending Note: I had a few troubles on what military strategies to implement on the greens side, and decided to go with the most fun ones. I hope you guys will like them. Also, please point out any mistakes I may make, I am not perfect and I will surely need you guys helping me everytime I fail at something. Cheers! |