The study in the Red Keep was silent as an abyss, save for the soft scratching of a quill across parchment, fine and steady, like the overture to a tapestry of power.
Aegon wore plain black clothes, his silver hair loosely tied behind his head. He wore neither his signature Valyrian steel armor nor any ornament proclaiming his rank.
Yet even dressed so simply, his upright posture and lowered profile radiated a quiet, chilling majesty that weighed upon the heart.
He bent over the long table, his pen steady as the ink spread. He was not reviewing affairs of state, but drafting an entirely new order of power. Every stroke was assured, without a trace of impatience.
"The authority of the old Liege Lords shall be divided into three."
He murmured to himself, his voice as level as though stating an established fact: "Military protectors, civil governors, honorary titles. Three separate powers, each checking the others, all answering directly to the king."
The framework taking shape beneath his pen was already an iron law capable of shaking a thousand years of Westerosi tradition.
In his eyes, the forthcoming Great Council was merely the ceremony through which this order would be proclaimed to the world.
Bang-
The study door was pushed open from outside with none of the usual restraint. Hurried, slightly disordered footsteps abruptly shattered the room's stillness.
Margaery Tyrell appeared in the doorway.
Dust stained the hem of her pale green dress, leaving it disheveled. She was slightly breathless, her chest rising and falling from her hurried pace. Her usually graceful, composed face now held only urgency, and even a barely perceptible hint of alarm.
Her eyes fixed on Aegon behind the long table, brimming with an urgency that threatened to spill over:
Her gaze locked firmly on the