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Chapter 9 - Judgment by Dawn

The sun had barely risen over Driftmark when the chill of the night's chaos still lingered in High Tide's halls. The great stone corridors, once echoing only with the slow rhythm of tides and distant gulls, now thrummed with whispered rumors, furtive glances, and shifting allegiances.

Aegon moved through the castle's ancient passageways with the careful tread of one stepping into a new role—not just a prince marked by tragedy but a leader sharpening knives of mind and tongue. The council's verdict had made no one happy, but it had silenced open violence for now, channeling rage into political maneuvering.

In the royal solar, Queen Alicent sat by a window, her hands clenched in her lap. Her eyes burned with fierce calculation, reflecting a darkness deeper than grief. When Aegon entered, she did not immediately look up.

"You've done well," she said at last, voice low and uncertain as though testing her own words.

Aegon met her gaze, steady. "I did what must be done. If not me, then who?"

She nodded slowly but then added, "Your father... he is too weak now. You will have to carry more."

"I will," Aegon replied quietly. "But this is only the beginning. The families have been cracked, and every shadow now hides a knife."

Alicent's lips twitched into a shadow of a smile. "You've always had more fire than him."

He knew that was no compliment. Viserys's infirmity had been a problem long before this tragedy.

Later that morning, Aegon summoned his family. While the world outside whispered and plotted, he spoke plainly.

"We cannot wait for our enemies to fracture us," he declared. "We must act carefully, decisively. Restoring order means building alliances — with lords forgotten by court, with knights hungry for honor beyond old grudges."

Ser Criston Cole bowed with respect but said nothing; others exchanged looks that hinted at unease but also hope.

Aegon pressed on, outlining small but effective reforms: increased trade escort to the North, better supplies for the Crown forces, promises to those who proved loyal.

"Modern minds see value in every hand and coin," he said under his breath, invoking lessons from another life that had shaped him.

Meanwhile, word of the council's blunt truths spread rapidly among the nobles. Many whispered of Aegon's deft negotiation amid crisis, praising how he managed to curb Alicent's appetite for blind vengeance, and how his carefully veiled insinuations planted doubt over Rhaenyra's family in a way harsher than any sword.

Rhaenyra, however, was not idle. In the shadowed halls behind the throne, her whispered counsel with Daemon grew sharp and bitter. Her icy glare followed every move Aegon made, prepared to strike at weakness.

The Usurper Queen rode hard on alliances forged in fire and shadow; she would not be outmaneuvered by a younger brother no matter how clever.

Aegon sensed it all—the tightening grip of watchful eyes, the careful plotting behind polite bows—and yet, he welcomed the danger.

The gray light of dawn filtered weakly through the narrow windows of Driftmark's council chamber, turning the air cold and brittle like frost. The walls, ancient and soaked with centuries of history, absorbed the weight of silence that hung heavier than the chill.

Within the high stone hall, the council gathered, the most powerful lords of Driftmark alongside the royal family, their expressions taut and watchful. King Viserys sat on his carved throne, his body bent with exhaustion but his gaze still sharp enough to demand attention. Near him, Alicent's face was pale but fierce, her hands folded tightly in her lap. Aemond—bandaged, one eye hidden beneath dark cloth—sat rigid and quiet, tension radiating from the youngest prince.

Opposite, in regal defiance, stood Rhaenyra, her sons close beside her, as poised and guarded as the tides beyond the walls. Daemon lingered near her shoulder, silent but vigilant; his sharp eyes missed nothing.

Across the chamber, Aegon stood with purpose, the weight of last night's chaos settling more solidly on his shoulders. He surveyed the room carefully — searching, weighing, already planning ten moves ahead.

With a weary breath, Viserys raised a trembling hand. "Speak plainly," he commanded. "Let the truth be told, so justice may follow."

Lord Corlys Velaryon, voice gravelly from years spent commanding fleets and men, was the first to speak. "The night's violence has stained us all. But we will not see these halls become a den of vengeance." His gaze swept the princes and lords. "Now is the time to lay bare the causes. Speak honestly."

Rhaenyra's eldest, Jacaerys Velaryon, stepped forward. His voice was strong but edged with grief. "The fight began over words—cruel ones. Insults that cut harder than swords. My brothers were called bastards, denied their birthright."

Lucerys's eyes flickered. "I carried a blade," he admitted, "but only in defense—"

"Enough," Viserys said, voice weary but firm.

Aegon's gaze fixed on Rhaenyra, then shifted to her sons. "Words," he said quietly, "do more than wound Pride. They fracture families, make shadows where the light should be. But when steel is drawn, we face realities that cannot be ignored."

He swept his eyes across the room: "Lucerys fought as a frightened boy—but behind that fear is the poison that has leaked into our house. There is more here than childhood squabble."

Corlys nodded slowly. "Indeed. We stand not just to judge wounds on flesh, but wounds in trust."

Aemond shifted slightly, tightening his jaw but remaining silent.

Viserys tapped the table, bringing all eyes back. "Prince Aemond…"

The youngest prince lifted his bandaged head, strength beneath stoicism. "I defended myself. They came for me." His voice was quiet, bitter with pain.

Alicent's eyes glistened but held steel. "Our sons bore wounds that will not easily heal. The fault lies with those who bore blades."

Aegon lowered his voice. "And the blame lies with those whose whispers feed shadows and sow doubt."

He let the quiet settle before speaking again, voice sharp and measured:

"Rumors of illegitimacy are a blade sharper than any steel. They cut at the roots of loyalty and fuel these conflicts. It falls to us to root out such poison."

He looked pointedly at Rhaenyra and Daemon, his tone unmistakable though measured. "Where fathers are absent or silent, questions grow, and power fills the void."

Rhaenyra's eyes narrowed, her composure flickering for a moment but her voice remained cold: "My sons' right is not challenged by whispered doubts. It is proven by blood and law."

Aegon inclined his head slightly, conceding the formality. "For now. But in the halls and shadows, truth is often the first casualty. We can pretend otherwise no longer."

Viserys raised his hand again, voice weary but commanding: "Enough. The council will proceed with caution and fairness."

He turned to Maester Kelvyn. "What of Aemond's injury?"

"The flesh will heal," the maester replied gravely, "but the loss of an eye is permanent."

A chorus of gasps broke the chamber's fragile calm.

Alicent's voice rose, sharp as a blade: "There must be recompense—if not by eye for eye, then by justice swift and certain."

Aegon stepped forward, cutting quickly through the rising tide of anger.

"Justice without restraint is nothing but revenge. Justice must protect the realm and the house, not deepen its wounds."

Viserys raised himself:

"Enough. I have made my decision"

"All those involved will swear fealty anew, and the question of bloodlines and birthrights is hereby closed by my word."

A sharp murmur spread—some courtiers masked surprise with stoic nods, others whispered resigned curses behind delicate hands.

Aegon's jaw twitched, face pale but fists clenched tight beneath the table.

Viserys's gaze swept over the room one final time.

"Let no man or woman question this crown's decision. The realm must stand united."

He wavered, even as his words rang final.

Outside the council, in the corridors and the town beyond Driftmark, the verdict was met with unease and fury.

Lords who favored the Greens whispered bitterly of injustice denied. "Favor traded over truth," they said. "The crown blind to the fault beneath its own feet."

Common folk, maesters, even minor lords sensed the shadows behind the king's words: a verdict dictated by blood and courtly favor, not by fairness.

"The Greens rise not with the crown's blessing, but on the back of the kingdom's anger," one whispered.

Meanwhile, the Blacks celebrated their formal triumph with guarded optimism. It was not the end, but a dangerous victory—one sure to strengthen their grip on power through the king's favor.

Inside the keep, Aegon retreated quietly to a shadowed chamber. His eyes burned with unspent fury and cold calculation.

The verdict was a bitter blow—but not a final one.

"The realm sees this for what it is," he murmured to Helaena, who sat quietly nearby.

"Injustice breeds resistance. And we have not lost yet."

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