Maegor's Holdfast, Aemond's Chambers.
Night had fallen, and Aemond's chambers were bathed in candlelight. Helaena sat by the table, her silver hair shimmering softly in the glow.
She was sewing an almost-finished cloak, a Gold Three-Headed Dragon on a black field, her stitches fine and meticulous.
It was intended for Aemond tomorrow.
Though the Crown employed the Realm's finest tailors, she insisted on crafting something for her husband with her own hands.
The door opened. Aegon entered, leaning on a cane. His face was pale, and though he had changed into casual clothes, he looked withered and weary.
Ser Criston Cole of the Kingsguard stood watch outside, gently closing the door behind him.
"Brother," Helaena said, setting down her needlework and rising for a slight curtsy.
Aemond looked up from his desk and teased, "Your Grace? Why aren't you resting yet?"
"Don't give me that," Aegon muttered, limping over to sit in the chair opposite Aemond.
"There are no outsiders here."
Helaena tactfully gathered her sewing basket.
"I'm going to Mother's room to check on the twins," she said softly, before exiting the room.
Once the door closed, the two brothers locked eyes. Aegon was the first to look away, staring instead at the flickering candle on the table.
"I heard about Claw Isle."
"They refuse to submit to us?"
"Yes."
"Then... many people will die, won't they?"
"They will," Aemond replied coldly.
"I will handle it personally."
Aegon fell silent. After a long while, he asked, "Will we... will we win?"
"Yes," Aemond answered without a hint of hesitation.
"How can you be so certain?"
"Because we must win."
Aemond stood up and walked behind Aegon, placing his hands on his brother's shoulders. The weight was heavy, a physical manifestation of pressure.
"If we lose, we all die."
"Mother, Helaena, Daeron, Jaehaerys, Jaehaera... and your daughter, little Jaehaera..." Aemond listed them grimly.
"All of them would die miserable deaths."
Aegon gave a bitter smile.
"I don't believe it. Rhaenyra and Daemon might be enemies, but we share the same blood."
Aemond's expression grew complex. He knew the original story.
In that timeline, the Greens lost. They lost everything. Even the Blacks won only a pyrrhic victory.
In that world, Aemond and Daemon perished together at the Gods Eye; Alicent was imprisoned until death; a crippled Aegon II was poisoned; Helaena threw herself from a window; and Daeron was burned in his sleep.
The children of the Green faction were brutally murdered, leaving only Aegon's young daughter, Jaehaera, who was forced into a political marriage with Aegon III before dying an "accidental" death.
The Green bloodline ended there.
And from the reign of "Dragonbane" Aegon III, the dragons, and the Targaryen dynasty, began their long decline.
"The war has already begun," Aemond said flatly.
"Hatred will only deepen. Our supporters, the Hightowers, the Lannisters, they will push us until it is life or death. Likewise, the Starks and Arryns behind Rhaenyra will force her to root us out entirely."
Aegon closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
"I understand. So... what can I do?"
"Heal your leg," Aemond said.
"Then fly again. Sunfyre needs you. The war needs you. You may not be a good King, but you must be a Targaryen Dragonrider."
"What if... what if I'm afraid?" Aegon's voice trembled.
"At Dragonstone, I nearly died. Lately, I have nightmares every night of being swallowed by dragonfire. I feel like a coward."
Aemond looked at him for a long time before looking down at him.
"Then think of Dragonstone. Think of the moment you rode Sunfyre into Grey Ghost to save me. You weren't afraid then; why be afraid now?"
"Then... I didn't have time to think," Aegon shook his head.
"Now that I have time to think, I'm terrified."
"Then don't think so much." Aemond patted his shoulder.
"Fly up, breathe fire, kill."
Aemond spoke as if it were a trifle, but Aegon knew better. To him, dragon warfare was a living hell.
He had been excited at first, but now, the hindsight was paralyzing. He had seen it at Dragonstone: a dragonrider's body is no different from a mortal's.
They can be pierced by arrows and charred by flame. He didn't have Aemond's skills, the ability to be blasted by dragonfire and survive.
Gods, he thought, my brother is a monster.
"I'll try," Aegon finally said.
----
The City Walls.
"Yes," the adjutant hesitated.
"My Lord... the coronation is tomorrow? The King has only just passed..."
Ser Harrold stopped in his tracks and turned. The look in his eyes silenced the adjutant immediately.
"The King is dead; the Seven Kingdoms cannot be without a Monarch," Harrold said coldly.
"Furthermore, Prince Aegon is the successor designated by the late King Viserys I. A coronation is only natural. Do you understand?"
"Understood, sir."
Harrold said no more and climbed the battlements. The night wind was cold, carrying the salt-and-blood scent of the Blackwater.
He looked toward the Hill of Visenya.
That was where the Prince would be crowned tomorrow.
Workers were laboring through the night to hang the Green flags, the Gold Three-Headed Dragon on black.
It was rushed. Far too rushed. But Harrold knew they were racing against time.
If Prince Aegon did not take the Throne first, Princess Rhaenyra would crown herself on Dragonstone.
Suddenly, the sound of hooves echoed below the walls. Harrold looked down to see a cavalry troop bearing the Green banners.
Roughly two hundred men, dressed in ornate armor of white with black-and-gold dragon motifs, their helmets plumed.
This was the newly formed Praetorian Guard, composed of the sons of Southern Lords who supported the Greens.
"Open the gates!" shouted the commander, Gwayne Hightower, at the Red Keep's entrance.
Harrold signaled. The portcullis rose slowly, and the knights of the Guard filed in.
The ring of horseshoes on stone was piercingly loud in the silent dawn. These guards were here to ensure the coronation went smoothly.
They would escort Prince Aegon to the Great Hall on Visenya's Hill to ensure he took his seat upon the Iron Throne.
-----
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