Time flies, three months have passed.
Early July.
King's Landing. The weather is fine.
A large ship from Gulltown arrives at Mudgate, and a group of little guys with silver hair and purple eyes happily jumps onto the dock.
Not long after, they arrive at the Red Keep.
"You are finally back."
Viserys greeted him with complaints, especially dissatisfied with his nephew who was leading the group.
They said they would go to the Vale to relax, but they never came back.
"It can't be helped, the Vale is so good."
Aemon said with a half-joking tone.
"Yes, King's Landing stinks, but the air in the Vale is fragrant."
The eldest son Jaehaerys played along.
This made Viserys furious, and he threatened: "No matter how good the Vale is, you will have to inherit the Iron Throne from your mother in the future."
"Ah!"
Jaehaerys's face fell.
Viserys was even more dissatisfied.
When did the Iron Throne become so unpopular? He was so angry that he didn't hug his little grandson, but turned to look at the children he had given birth to.
His gaze fell on Aemond, and he said seriously, "I admit, I was mistaken before. You've grown up to be a man like Aegon."
Aemond opened his mouth, but ultimately fell silent.
With older sisters and older brothers above him, and a clever and lovable younger brother below him, he was always treated coldly, caught in the middle.
Faced with his father's praise, he felt at a loss.
Viserys waited a long time for his second son to respond, then seemed to realize something and praised him more sincerely, "I truly couldn't believe anyone could tame a wild, unrestrained dragon. You're worthy of being my son."
Then, he called over the silent Aemond and put his arm around his thin shoulders.
His second son had indeed grown, almost reaching his chin.
He was a little thinner, though, and his personality was a little duller.
"Father."
Aemond, feeling a rare sense of fatherly love, rested his head on his father's chest with a touch of attachment.
Viserys, feeling guilty, gently stroked his head.
It was a heartwarming scene of fatherly love and filial piety.
However,
"It's just a wild dragon, and an ugly one at that. Nothing special."
Jealousy took over, Aegon forcefully pushed his unsuspecting younger brother aside.
Aemond glared, his eyes darkening.
"Aegon!"
Viserys, who had nearly been bumped, spoke even faster than Aemond.
"What's wrong?"
Aegon's arrogance subsided at the shouting.
Viserys's face shifted, clearly furious.
From a single glance, he could see the depths of the brothers' problem.
It wasn't a simple struggle for favor; it was a deep-seated rift of resentment.
For the sake of the other children, Viserys took two deep breaths, speaking softly, "Don't let me see you looking down on your brother again, and don't disrespect a dragon."
"Yes,"
Aegon said, not daring to challenge him, and reluctantly lowered his head.
Seeing his expression, Viserys lost interest and ordered a welcome banquet.
He turned away.
Aegon and Aemond locked eyes, snorting coldly at each other.
Afternoon.
The sun was warm, and the godswood of the Red Keep was lush with flowers and grass.
Aemon was about to take a nap when Rhaenyra yanked him out of bed to attend the council.
This council was no ordinary one. A Grand Maester was missing, and the Queen was added.
"Grand Maester Meros has grown old and frail. He fell down the stairs last night and has been bedridden,"
Viserys said with a heavy expression.
The other ministers sighed or sympathized, expressing regret for Meros's fate.
"Is the old dog dying?"
Aemon was different, wondering if it was true.
Then Viserys pointed out the key issue of the council: "I'm afraid Meros won't be able to return to the council, but the kingdom cannot do without the valuable advice of a Grand Maester."
"What are your ideas?"
Translated: Recommend me a young and promising Grand Maester to replace the frail Meros.
Since the king had spoken so, silence on the part of the ministers would be disrespectful.
Lyonel Strong coughed lightly and said, "The Citadel always recommends the position of Grand Maester. We could send a raven to the Citadel."
"Good idea,"
Viserys nodded, and then stopped talking.
The conflict between the royal family and the Citadel had dragged on for years.
Furthermore, none of the Citadel's maesters could heal the wound he'd sustained from the Iron Throne. Instead, the emerald ring his nephew had given him helped alleviate it.
This left him deeply disappointed with the Citadel and with a wariness he'd never felt before.
He wouldn't accept a random Grand Maester from the Citadel. What if he was poisoned?
His demeanor immediately caught the attention of the ministers.
Otto, with his hands on the table, agreed, "The Citadel's best maesters are all serving the crown. Why not choose one from the Red Keep? They'll be more familiar to everyone."
"Oh, any recommendations?"
Viserys tilted his head, his curiosity evident.
Otto was about to speak.
"I recommend Maester Gladys of Dragonstone. He's a loyal and knowledgeable old man,"
Tyland Lannister unexpectedly interrupted, naming a Black Party stalwart.
Aemon's eyes were filled with surprise.
When had Tyland been won over?
Rhaenyra lifted her snow-white swan neck and nodded casually at Tyland.
That proud little look was so interesting.
"Maester Gladys is indeed a good choice, but he's probably older than Meros. How many more years can he hold on?"
Alicent suddenly spoke up, objecting with reason and logic.
"What do you think?"
Viserys glanced at her.
Alicent was polite, saying, "I'm just suggesting something. The real decision lies with His Majesty and the ministers."
"Then you should have remained silent,"
Rhaenyra demanded, intervening. "As Queen, your duty is to care for the princes and princesses. Who asked you to come to the council?"
"Viserys was unwell some time ago, and I served him as an observer."
Alicent had already prepared an excuse.
Rhaenyra immediately looked at her father.
Viserys, somewhat embarrassed, avoided his daughter's gaze and said, "Alicent is worried about me. And as Queen, I won't reveal the contents of the council."
As one grows older, one's health deteriorates.
Especially with the children gone, loneliness can take its toll on one's life.
Having Alicent by his side can soothe that inner void.
Rhaenyra was furious, but she couldn't challenge her father's authority.
By this point in the council, the basic situation was clear.
Aemon stroked his chin, his jaw agape.
This meeting seemed to be about the successor to the Grand Maester, but in reality, it was the first head-to-head clash between the Black and Green factions.
Why?
Aemon suddenly understood.
Aemond had tamed the wild dragon Sheepstealer, a full-grown dragon.
Add to that Aegon's Sunfyre and Helena's Dreamfyre.
The Greens now had a nearly century-old adult dragon, a midlife dragon over half a century old, and a young dragon of the new generation.
It was a magnificent lineup.
They were already qualified to fight Rhaenyra.
"You're so anxious,"
Aemon sneered, looking at his fidgeting uncle.
Viserys, sandwiched between his wife and daughter, looked a little embarrassed, but offered a flattering smile.
He had expected a conflict, but he hadn't expected it to come so soon.
The struggle between his wife and daughter was different from all the political games he had played before.
He had been a participant, his political enemies being the Sea Snake, his brother Daemon, and the selfish Otto.
But now, he had withdrawn from it.
The people he was fighting against had become his closest relatives.
Facing the expectant eyes of both sides, he was truly unprepared.
At that moment, Otto intervened, saying, "Your Majesty, I think Maester Alfondor of the Red Keep is an excellent choice."
Rhaenyra leaped to her feet, about to retort.
"Don't be impatient,"
Aemon said softly, holding her hand.
Rhaenyra stared at Otto and Alicent for a moment, calming her anger before slowly returning to her seat.
Aemon squeezed her hand, maintaining a smile.
That's the way it should be.
A crown prince should have the magnanimity of a crown prince. Losing his temper with a chamberlain, even arguing publicly, was nothing.
He held a strong hand; he had to learn to hold his composure.
"Hmph,"
Rhaenyra snorted.
Aemon had three dragons, Laena had Vhagar, the largest and oldest in the world, and she had her Syrax. That's five dragons between the three of them, not to mention Aunt Rhaenys and Laenor as external support.
The Greens were just starting to make a name for themselves; what could they possibly do against them?
As Rhaenyra sat down, Otto's expression changed, and he silently straightened.
He intended to provoke Rhaenyra's wrath, causing her to lash out at the Court Council, thereby weakening her authority.
While it might not inflict actual harm, it could subtly influence people's hearts.
After all, who would appreciate a shrew who throws a tantrum?
However, Aemon's presence kept Rhaenyra firmly in check, thwarting his plans.
At this point, the matter was doomed to fail.
Both sides recommended each other, neither convinced.
Hand of the King Lyonel Strong remained neutral, observing the debate with a grim expression and a silent response.
Aemon, a Black and half-Green, observed the proceedings from a third-party perspective.
Overwhelmed by sheer power, he didn't feel the same irritation that Rhaenyra felt when her authority was challenged.
Consider it a way to spice up the ordinary.
The only one present who clearly expressed dissatisfaction was the Master of Coin, Lyman Beesbury.
As the old man Lyman listened to both sides complaining that Gladys was old and Alfondor wasn't young either, he muttered indignantly, "What's wrong with an old man? He has the wisdom of age."
After the meeting,
Otto straightened his clothes and left with the king. He remained unmoved by Rhaenyra's cold stare.
He had never given up his ambition.
His grandson Aegon was the eldest son of the kingdom, with an unshakable right of succession.
It was the king's willfulness that allowed a woman to inherit the Iron Throne.
He corrected this mistake for the good of the kingdom.
On the other hand, the Green Party had been silent for so long; it was time for them to show their strength.
The king's three sons were on his side: Aegon, Helena, and Aemond all had dragons.
Even if he couldn't change the king's mind and place Aegon on the Iron Throne, with the support of his three dragons and Oldtown Hightower, he could attract the loyalty of a large number of princes and ministers, gaining a higher position at court.
Power is strength!
Aemon ignored all this and headed for the dragonpit after the meeting.
In the dim hall, Jaehaerys and his two sisters were each training their own dragonlets.
"Hurry!"
The young dragon, Sunfyre, was ferocious and pounced on the stiffened sheep, tearing them apart with big mouthfuls.
Jaehaerys cheered with joy and gave orders to the dragonlets.
Baela and Rhaena were no less impressive, their respective dragonlets, Moondancer and Dawn, participating in this "hunt."
"Well done, don't lose face."
Aemon clapped his hands with a smile and sat by the side, watching the dragonlets share the sheep.
Power is only power, dragons are strength.
Just as an old rose said in later generations:
The nobles of Westeros are just a group of sheep, and the Targaryens with dragons are the real dragons.
How could a true dragon care about sheep?
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