The Small Council Chamber.
Inside the meeting hall, Aemond looked down at the old man's corpse, then raised his head, his gaze calmly sweeping over everyone present.
"Lord Lyman was advanced in years," Aemond stated.
"He was careless in his step and suffered a fall on the stairs of the Red Keep, striking his head upon the stone. Regrettably, we were unable to save him."
He turned to the pale Grand Maester Orwyle.
"Is that not so, Grand Maester?"
Orwyle trembled, standing up so abruptly he nearly toppled his chair.
He stumbled around the table to kneel by the corpse, his hands shaking so violently he could barely check for a pulse that obviously wasn't there.
He looked up, sweat beading on his forehead, meeting Aemond's gaze.
"Yes... " Yes, Your Grace," Orwyle stammered, his voice thin and reedy.
"Lord Lyman... he was frail. A tragic accident. The injury to the skull is... consistent with a fall against a hard surface."
Aemond nodded, his expression unreadable.
"A pity. The Crown will bear the cost of his funeral." He gestured to Hal.
"Take him to the Silent Sisters. Handle it with dignity."
Hal grunted, hoisting the limp body of the Master of Coin over his shoulder like a sack of grain, dripping blood onto the Myrish carpet as he exited the room.
The door closed with a heavy thud.
Aemond turned his head slowly toward the head of the table.
"Mother? Are you unwell?"
Alicent sat frozen, her face ashen, her hands gripping the armrests until her knuckles turned white. She looked at the blood, then at the empty chair, and finally at her son.
She saw the monster he had become, but she also saw the necessity he represented.
She took a shuddering breath, forcing the nausea down.
"I am... fine," she whispered, her voice trembling but audible.
"Proceed, Aemond. The business of the Realm must continue."
"Thank you, Mother."
Aemond turned back to the Hand.
"Lord Tyland, where were we? Ah, the conscription of the vassal navies. Do you have any further doubts?"
Tyland Lannister shook his head and said gravely, "None, Your Grace. The West will fulfill its obligations. The Lannisport fleet will depart for Oldtown once assembly is complete."
"And the Iron Islands?" Aemond asked.
"Will the Greyjoys be obedient?"
"The Iron Islands..." Tyland pondered.
"Your Grace, as you know, those reavers have no sense of honor. To make them fulfill their duties... well..."
"Well, what?"
"They have always been ambitious. If we promise them a portion of High Tide's maritime trade rights after the war, and permit the Ironborn to keep whatever spoils they take in the raiding... they will be tempted."
"Then promise it," Aemond said without hesitation.
"As long as it gets their longships into the water. We can renegotiate when the time comes to fulfill those promises after the war."
Aemond had a specific way of dealing with treacherous vassals who bartered for their loyalty: use them, deceive them, and once they are no longer useful, strike them down like dogs.
Tyland nodded. "Understood."
"Next." Aemond turned his gaze to Larys Strong.
"Lord Larys, there is a task for you."
"I await your command, Your Grace." Larys stood and offered a slight bow.
"Send men to Tyrosh, not official messengers, but your own people. Contact the Velaryon sailors currently stationed there. Tell them that their families remain on Driftmark, and soon, Driftmark will be under the Crown's control. If Princess Rhaenyra persists in her treason, the families of these sailors will be treated as kin of traitors."
Aemond paused. "But also tell them: should they choose to abandon the rebels and return to the King's peace, their families will remain untouched. If they bring their warships back with them, the Crown will reward them handsomely."
Larys's eyes brightened.
"Brilliant, Your Grace. If ten thousand sailors realize their families are in our hands, their morale will surely crumble. Even if they don't turn cloak immediately, they will be hesitant and fearful in battle."
"It is more than that," Aemond continued.
"If Rhaenyra is truly driven to madness by her grief and recalls her entire army from Tyrosh for revenge... so much the better."
He looked at Hal.
The Captain of the Guard pulled a parchment map from his tunic and spread it across the table, a detailed nautical chart of Blackwater Bay and the Narrow Sea.
Aemond's finger traced the coastlines of Driftmark and Dragonstone.
"We must act immediately. Vhagar and Morghul will destroy the ports and coastal towns of Driftmark. Aegon will join me with Sunfyre. Afterward, the Royal Navy will establish a blockade, followed by a land invasion."
"We will strip Driftmark and Dragonstone of every bit of wealth, grain, and weaponry that can be moved. We will relocate the entire civilian population to Rook's Rest and King's Landing. What we cannot take, we burn. Poison the wells, raze the houses. If Rhaenyra brings her great host back for revenge, she will find only scorched earth and an empty shell."
A sharp intake of breath echoed in the room. This was the most brutal, absolute strategy possible.
It meant that even if the Blacks retook the islands, they would be unable to sustain an army there for years.
"In doing so," Aemond's voice was terrifyingly calm, "Rhaenyra's powerful navy becomes a rootless weed. No land, no people, no supply base."
Larys Strong nodded slowly. "And if she truly recalls her forces from Tyrosh, the newly conquered city will inevitably revolt. Rhaenyra will be trapped between two enemies."
"Precisely," Aemond said.
"Our goal is not to rush into a pitched battle, but to consolidate our rear, fracture her strength, and force her into a catastrophic decision."
He moved his finger to the "Gullet" on the map.
"One more thing. Contact Braavos."
"Braavos?" Tyland frowned.
"They have always maintained neutrality."
"Braavos has always feared Volantis's ambition to rebuild the Valyrian Freehold," Aemond replied coolly.
"Now that the Blacks and Volantis are expanding together in the East, it poses a severe threat to Braavos. From that perspective, they have a reason to support us. We need their naval strength to break any potential blockade of the Gullet."
Larys bowed deeply. "I will personally arrange the most reliable messenger. They will depart within three days."
Finally, Aemond looked at the Master of Laws, Jasper Wylde.
"Lord Jasper, issue an ultimatum in the names of the King and the Queen Regent to all the vassals of Dragonstone, House Celtigar, House Sunglass, House Bar Emmon, and the rest. Command them to come to King's Landing immediately to reaffirm that their oath to the Iron Throne supersedes their oath to the Lord of Dragonstone. Tell them this is their final chance. Follow Rhaenyra, and their lands will be forfeited when the war is won."
Aemond surveyed the room. Everyone watched him, waiting for a final word.
This sixteen-year-old boy had killed three nephews and executed a minister in a single night and morning.
"Then," Aemond concluded, "if there are no other questions, go and prepare."
The meeting ended.
The ministers rose in silence and departed, none casting a second glance at the spot where Lord Lyman had died.
Hal called for guards to wrap the corpse in a blanket and carry it out, while handmaidens rushed in with buckets and mops to scrub the blood from the floor.
After a while, the scent of copper was gone. Only Queen Alicent remained in her seat.
Aemond walked to her and knelt, taking her hand. "Mother, I know you do not understand why I have done this."
Alicent, who had been silent for so long, finally spoke.
"We could have negotiated... we could have compromised... Why must you be a kinslayer? Aemond, why must it be this way?"
"Because the time for negotiation and compromise has ended," Aemond said, tightening his grip on her hand.
"They made the first move, Mother. I have only responded."
"But you killed them... all three..."
"If I did not kill them, they would have killed us. Do you think Jacaerys stole those dragons just to have them back? No. He intended to arm the Blacks so they could burn the Red Keep, burn you, burn Helaena, and burn Baelon and Daena. I saw the look in his eyes. He hated me enough to pay any price to kill me. I did not want war, but they refused to die simply..."
Alicent remained silent, eventually conceding that if war was inevitable, they must be ready. She finally nodded.
"I will support your decision, Aemond. Do what you must."
Aemond lowered his head. "Thank you, Mother."
He added, "Father is gravely ill. He should be kept away from the outside world so he can rest and recover."
Alicent hesitated, then said slowly, "Do not worry. Viserys will not know. I will not tell him, and I will ensure no one else does either."
Aemond stood, offered a deep bow, and departed.
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