Inside the council chamber, Aemond lowered his head and glanced at the old man's corpse on the floor, then lifted his gaze and calmly swept his eyes across every person present.
"Lord Lyman was old," he said.
"He was careless while walking, slipped on the stairs of the Red Keep, and struck his head against the stone steps."
"Regrettably, we were unable to save him."
He looked toward the pale-faced Orwyle.
"That is how it happened, is it not, Grand Maester?"
Orwyle's entire body trembled. He stood up so abruptly that he nearly knocked over his chair.
Staggering around the table, he crouched beside Lyman's corpse. His fingers trembled as he checked for breath—there was clearly none.
He then felt for the carotid pulse before raising his head again. His face was deathly pale, but his voice was firm.
"Yes, Your Highness."
"Lord Lyman… was unsteady while walking, fell down the stairs, and suffered a severe head injury."
"We… we did everything we could to treat him, but the wounds were too grave. We truly had no way to save him."
"Very good." Aemond nodded.
"Lord Lyman served the realm for many years and labored greatly for the kingdom."
"His funeral must be grand, and the compensation generous."
"Send a close royal attendant to Honeyholt to offer condolences to his family."
He paused, then added: "Additionally, the position of Master of Coin cannot remain vacant."
"I nominate my subordinate Will to take the post. He has managed finances in Dragon's Roost for many years and is exceptionally capable."
"Mother, what do you think?"
All eyes turned toward Alicent.
The Queen Regent remained silent for a moment before giving a slight nod, tacitly approving Aemond's proposal.
A faint smile appeared on Aemond's face.
"Thank you, Mother."
He then turned to Tyland Lannister.
"Lord Tyland, where were we just now?"
"Oh, the matter of summoning the fleets of the bannermen. Do you still have any questions?"
Tyland shook his head and said solemnly: "No, Your Highness."
"The Westerlands will fulfill their obligations."
"The fleet of Lannisport will sail for Oldtown once it has finished assembling."
"And the Iron Islands?" Aemond asked. "Will the House Greyjoy obey?"
"The Iron Islands…" Tyland considered his words.
"Your Highness, as you know, these pirates have no sense of honor. If we wish them to fulfill their obligations as bannermen…"
"Unless…?"
"Unless what?"
"They have always harbored ambition."
"If we promise them that after the war they may receive part of the maritime trade rights of High Tide, and also allow the ironborn to keep the spoils they seize in their raids… they will be tempted."
"Then make that promise," Aemond said without hesitation. "So long as they bring their longships out."
"When the time comes to honor it after the war, we can renegotiate."
For rebellious vassals who dared to threaten their liege with demands tied to their own interests—
Aemond believed they should be exploited and deceived. Once they were no longer useful, they could be beaten to death like dogs.
Tyland nodded.
"Understood."
"Next." Aemond's gaze turned toward the master of intelligence, Larys Strong. "Lord Larys, there is something I need you to do."
"Your Highness, please give your command," Larys said as he rose and bowed slightly.
"Send people to Tyrosh—not official envoys, but your own men."
"Contact those Velaryon naval soldiers currently in Tyrosh."
"Tell them that their entire families are on Driftmark, and soon all of them will be under the kingdom's control."
"If Princess Rhaenyra insists on betraying the realm, then the families of these sailors will be treated as the relatives of traitors and dealt with accordingly."
Aemond paused.
"But at the same time, tell them that as long as they are willing to leave the rebels and return to the embrace of the kingdom, their families will not be implicated in any way."
"If they can bring their warships back with them, the kingdom will grant generous rewards as well."
Larys's eyes lit up. "Your Highness is wise."
"More than ten thousand naval troops—if they learn their families are in our hands, their morale will surely waver."
"Even if they do not dare defect immediately, they will hesitate and shrink back in battle."
"Not only that," Aemond continued.
"If Rhaenyra truly becomes so enraged that she loses her reason and recalls all her forces from Tyrosh to seek revenge… that would be even better."
He looked toward Hall.
The commander of the royal guards immediately took out a rolled parchment map from his robes and spread it across the table. It was a detailed sea chart of Blackwater Bay and the eastern waters of the Narrow Sea.
Aemond's finger came down on Driftmark and Dragonstone.
"We must act immediately." His finger traced along the coastlines of the two islands.
"Vhagar and Lothorne will be responsible for destroying the port of Driftmark and its coastal towns."
Aemond pointed toward Aegon. Aegon took a breath and stood up.
"Aegon will join this war with his Sunfyre alongside me."
"After that, the royal fleet will impose a blockade, and then the army will land."
He lifted his head and swept his gaze across everyone present.
"Next, remove all the wealth, grain, and weapons from Driftmark and Dragonstone that can be taken."
"Relocate all the smallfolk to Dragon's Roost and King's Landing."
"Anything that cannot be taken—burn it."
"Poison the wells. Burn the houses."
"If Rhaenyra is bent on revenge and abandons Tyrosh, returning with her army, what she will see is a wasteland—a hollow shell."
A collective gasp sounded in the council chamber.
Scorched earth.
This was the most brutal and most thorough strategy.
It meant leaving no margin at all. It meant that even if the Black faction were to recapture these two islands, for many years they would be unable to restore life there, unable to support the supply of an army.
"In that case," Aemond's voice was frighteningly calm.
"The powerful fleet under Princess Rhaenyra will become like duckweed without roots."
"With no land, no population, and no supply base."
Larys slowly nodded.
"And if she truly recalls her entire army from Tyrosh, then Tyrosh—which she has only just occupied—will inevitably rebel."
"At that time, Rhaenyra will be attacked from both sides, unable either to advance or retreat."
"Exactly," Aemond said.
"So what we must do now is not rush into war with her, but consolidate our rear, divide her strength, and force her into making the wrong decisions."
He paused, lifting his finger from the map before looking toward Larys.
"There is one more matter. Send people to contact Braavos."
"Braavos?" The Hand of the King, Tyland Lannister, frowned.
"Will they be willing?"
"You must know that Braavos has always maintained neutrality."
Aemond replied calmly.
"Braavos has always feared Volantis's ambition to rebuild the Valyrian Empire."
"Now that the Blacks and Volantis are expanding together on the eastern continent, it will pose a serious threat to Braavos."
"From that perspective, they have reason to support us."
"And there is something else."
Aemond's finger came down on the location marked the Gullet on the map.
It was the narrow sea passage between Driftmark and Dragonstone, controlling the main maritime route out of King's Landing.
"If the Blacks manage to stabilize Tyrosh, they will be able to regain control of Dragonstone and Driftmark. When that happens, they will seize the throat of King's Landing's sea route."
"At that time, our maritime trade will be completely cut off, and King's Landing will become a city of hunger."
"We need Braavos's naval power to break such a blockade."
Larys bowed deeply.
"I will personally arrange the most reliable envoys. They will depart within three days."
Aemond finally turned his gaze to the Master of Laws, Jasper Wylde.
"Lord Jasper, there is one more matter. In the name of the king and the Queen Regent, issue an ultimatum to all the vassals of Dragonstone—the houses Celtigar, Sunglass, Bar Emmon, and the others."
"Require them to come immediately to King's Landing and to the Red Keep to reaffirm that their oath to the Iron Throne stands above their oath to the lord of Dragonstone."
"Tell them that this is their final chance to choose."
"If they continue to follow Rhaenyra, once war begins they will be treated as traitors, and after the war their family lands will all be confiscated."
The Master of Laws rose and bowed.
"Yes, Your Highness."
Aemond swept his gaze across the entire council chamber.
Everyone was looking at him, waiting for his final command.
This sixteen-year-old youth had, in a single night, killed three nephews and publicly executed a member of the Small Council in the council chamber.
"Then," Aemond finally said, "if there are no other questions, go and make your preparations."
The meeting ended.
The ministers rose one after another and silently departed.
No one spared even a second glance at the corpse of Lyman lying on the floor.
Hall had already summoned guards. They wrapped the body in a blanket and carried it away.
Maids entered with buckets of water and rags, quickly washing the blood from the floor.
After a while, the council chamber no longer carried the smell of blood, as though nothing had happened.
Only Alicent still sat in her chair.
She looked at her son—the son she had borne, raised, and once believed she understood.
Aemond walked to her and knelt on one knee, taking her hand.
"Mother," he said softly. "I know you do not understand why I did this."
Alicent, who had been silent the entire time, finally spoke.
"We could negotiate, we could compromise… why must you commit kinslaying?"
"Aemond, why must it be this way?"
"Because the time for negotiation and compromise has already ended," Aemond said calmly, tightening his grip on his mother's hand.
"They struck first, Mother."
"I merely responded."
"But you killed them… all three of them…"
"If I had not killed them, they would have killed us."
"Why do you think Jacaerys stole the dragon?"
"Do you think it was simply for his own dragon?"
"No. It was to arm the Blacks—to one day ride a dragon and burn the Red Keep, burn you, burn Helaena, burn Jaehaerys and Ysera with dragonfire."
"I have seen the way he looks at me. He hates me—hates me enough to pay any price to kill me."
"I do not want war either, but they refuse to die…"
Alicent remained silent for a long time. In the end, she accepted it in her heart: if war was inevitable, then they would prepare for war.
At last, Alicent nodded and said, "Aemond, I will support your decision. Do whatever you wish to do."
Aemond lowered his head in gratitude.
"Thank you, Mother."
But then he suddenly said, "Mother, Father is already gravely ill. He should be isolated from outside affairs so that someone may properly care for him and allow him to recover."
Alicent hesitated for a moment. Looking at the son before her, she slowly replied: "Rest assured. Viserys will not know. I will not tell him, and no one else will tell him either."
Aemond stood up, released her hand, and stepped back.
He bowed deeply to her, then turned and left.
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