"Are you certain?" Aemon sat up straight. The ruthless hand of parental matchmaking had finally fallen upon the clear-eyed Helaena.
Lord Lyonel nodded silently.
Aemon pondered for a moment and asked curiously, "Who are the candidates?"
It wasn't that he looked down on the noblemen of Westeros. In marriage, there were three main considerations: birth, talent, and character. For commoners, character was the first priority. For nobles, the order was reversed. But for royal marriages, character was paramount, followed by birth, and then talent. As long as a man's character was acceptable and his family was powerful enough, it was not out of the question to marry a man of lesser talent. The only real worry was that the man would prove untrustworthy.
His aunt Rhaenys was not the first Targaryen princess to marry outside the family, but she was by far the most successful. Aside from his less-than-noble ambition for the Iron Throne, the Sea Snake, Corlys Velaryon, possessed exceptionally high birth, talent, and moral integrity.
Were there similar men in Westeros today? Yes, a few. There were several old lions in the Reach and the Stormlands, and some promising young wolves in the Riverlands and the North. For example, Cregan Stark, now eleven years old, was only a year younger than Helaena. The young lord's birth, talent, and character were impeccable. A single "Hour of the Wolf" would one day secure the Blacks' ultimate victory, erasing the century-long shame of his ancestor, the King Who Knelt, and reminding the south of the ferocity of the northern direwolves. After achieving victory, he would not covet the power of the Hand and would resign to return to the North. When his people were struck by a severe winter, he would personally borrow from the Iron Bank to help them survive. He would also live a long life, earning him the moniker "the Old Man of the North."
Aemon held great respect for a man who evolved from a promising youth into a legendary figure in his old age.
But then again, how desperate would House Targaryen have to be to marry a daughter into the North? If Helaena's dragon, Dreamfyre, were taken to the North, her fire would likely freeze over. She'd never lay another egg. And Aemon had another, smaller concern. Cregan was an excellent man in all respects, but much like Daemon, he seemed cursed when it came to wives. He would marry three times, and not one of his wives would meet a peaceful end. If Helaena married him, she would have to endure the bitter cold of the North while also being subject to this curse. She might not even survive to the point in time when the Dance of the Dragons was supposed to happen in his original world.
"Name them," Aemon said, his eyes shining. "I've probably beaten most of the famous lords on the continent. I can help you vet the candidates."
Hearing this, Viserys's mouth twitched. He hadn't seen it when the boy was young, but now he realized his nephew was becoming more and more like Daemon. In the recent years of peace, many tourneys had been held across the Seven Kingdoms. Aemon would occasionally participate, specifically seeking out the strongest knights to duel. The outcome was always the same: a complete thrashing. This one-sided dominance terrified the lords who loved to compete. It could be said that half of Westeros now despised and feared Aemon, while the other half bore him a burning hatred. Beneath the glorious title of a powerful prince, a vast chorus of nobles resentfully cursed his name.
"Your Majesty," Lord Lyonel prompted tentatively.
"I will speak," Viserys said, calming himself. "The two candidates are Lord Thaddeus Rowan of Goldengrove, and Lord Ormund Hightower of Oldtown."
Bang!
Aemon slammed the table and shot to his feet.
"Calm yourself, my prince," Lyonel said, hastily moving to restrain him.
Ser Harrold narrowed his eyes and quietly grasped the hilt of his sword, wary of any sudden moves.
"Hightower, and now Rowan!?" Aemon was so agitated he almost laughed. "If I remember correctly, Thaddeus Rowan is only a year younger than you, uncle. Are you seeking a son-in-law or a brother-in-law?"
One had to admit, the Small Council was skilled at its work. Lord Thaddeus Rowan was one of the old guard Aemon knew well. In terms of character, he was known to be loyal, kind, and reliable. In terms of background, he was a leading lord of the Reach, on par with the Tyrells and Hightowers. In terms of talent, during the Dance, he would lead his troops in support of the Blacks and nearly defeat the Green forces of the Reach, a defeat only averted by the sudden appearance of Prince Daeron and his dragon, Tessarion. After the war, Thaddeus would serve as both Regent and Hand of the King. His abilities were impressive.
But the age difference was immense. And if Aemon remembered correctly, this lord was also unlucky with his wives; all three of them died tragically. Aemon was furious, unwilling to see Helaena, whom he had watched grow up, married off to an old man.
Viserys grew even more agitated at his nephew's taunts. Bang! He slammed the table and shouted, "What nonsense is this? Lord Thaddeus is devoted to the realm. How dare you humiliate him so?"
Seeing this, Aemon took a deep breath to calm himself. House Rowan controlled the entire northern Reach. Their power was formidable, and they were the first line of defense against any invasion from the Westerlands. Any king on the Iron Throne had to treat them with respect.
"Lord Thaddeus's wife died of childbed fever, leaving him with only a second son, still in swaddling clothes. He needs someone to care for the child," Lyonel whispered.
Aemon, thinking he'd calmed down, erupted again. "His eldest son is old enough to have fathered Helaena himself! This is a joke."
"This is how marriage alliances are made! It is for the good of the family!" Viserys said angrily.
Aemon's eyes widened. "Then what do you think of your aunt, and my grandmother, Daenerys Targaryen?"
Viserys was stunned. Daenerys Targaryen was the fourth daughter of the Old King, Jaehaerys I. She was petite and sweet, shy and gentle. After a number of courtships, including one with Lord Royce Blackwood, she was forced to marry Rodrik Arryn, the aged Lord of the Eyrie. He was four years older than her own father, the King. Fate was cruel. Daenerys married at seventeen and died at eighteen.
The marriage was considered a political success. Her letters home recounted how kind old Rodrik had been to her, and she had left behind a daughter who would eventually marry back into the royal family, tying the Targaryens and Arryns firmly together.
"Why aren't you speaking?" Aemon leaned forward and shouted. "Answer me!" He didn't care if the marriage had been a success. The Vale was his Vale. The Eyrie was his Eyrie. From the day he rode his dragon to the top of the Giant's Lance, the Vale had ceased to belong to the Arryns. It belonged to the Targaryens—his Targaryens. On the spire of the Maiden's Tower in the Eyrie, the crescent-and-falcon banner had been lowered, and his own had been raised.
Viserys's body shuddered, his face turning pale. He said patiently, "Besides Lord Thaddeus, there is also Lord Ormund Hightower, the Lord of Oldtown."
"Let me state my opinion first," Aemon said, ignoring the change of subject. "House Rowan is a pillar of the realm, but the age difference between Lord Thaddeus and Helaena is too great. I object to this choice." He paused, his voice turning to ice. "As for the choice of a Hightower, I don't even need to guess who proposed it."
"Alas," Lord Lyonel lowered his head and sighed deeply. He had known this marriage proposal would cause a stir. While young girls marrying elderly nobles was not unheard of, this was a different time. The royal family's position was now stable, with over twenty dragons. When dignity was necessary, it must not be sacrificed. King Viserys might not care for it, but the next queen, Princess Rhaenyra, certainly would. And if she didn't, Prince Aemon would. Everyone in the Seven Kingdoms knew that once Rhaenyra ascended the throne, Aemon would be the power behind it. Even the next heir, Prince Jaehaerys, was of his blood. Aemon Targaryen's influence was impossible to ignore.
The four-person royal council concluded with a sigh.
Seeing his uncle's complex expression, his hesitation to answer, Aemon reached out, took the stone globe from the table, and slammed it onto a nearby stand. He stood up and left without another word.
He didn't care about the struggle between the Blacks and Greens, nor did he object to the Greens using this marriage to strengthen their power. The Targaryens were strong. But if they were going to treat a princess of the blood as a commodity to be traded to an old man in a marriage doomed to misery, then...
"Uncle, don't blame me for rebelling against you."
Viserys slumped in his chair, lost in thought as he stared at the spinning globe. Aemon had left without speaking the words, but as Viserys watched the stone ball wobble on its stand, he could almost hear his nephew's thoughts.
Aemon had accepted this period of waiting before Rhaenyra's ascension—this "garbage time." He was willing to make sacrifices, to improve the royal family's standing in every way. But if others were going to use this time to create a mess that Rhaenyra would have to clean up, then he would not stand for it.
Very well. This garbage time would have to end early.
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