The gates of the Kingspyre Tower groaned open.
Helaena, wearing an off-white skirt and a light purple waistcoat, came rushing out.
"Why is she here?" Aemon wondered, hesitating for a second. He had told Alicent to send Helaena to Dragonstone or Runestone to escape the political turmoil in the capital. Yet, here she was.
Ser Simon Strong whispered, "Princess Helaena arrived two days ago, my prince. She has been waiting for you."
"Did she cause you any trouble?" Aemon asked, a hint of guilt in his voice.
"Ah…" Ser Simon was at a loss for words, his eyes glancing up at the crumbling tower, from which black smoke still billowed. The tower was already dilapidated, but the smoke was a new addition, courtesy of the pale blue dragon that had taken up residence on its peak.
Aemon could only sigh. Dreamfyre lived in Harrenhal long before House Strong was anything more than a minor house in the Riverlands.
Inside the tower was the legendary Hall of a Hundred Hearths. It was so named because its sheer size could accommodate a hundred fires. But that was a time long past. Now, the hall's walls were crumbling, and many sections had been melted into grotesque, slag-like shapes by Balerion's dragonfire, casting a desolate and bleak atmosphere over the once-great hall.
"Harrenhal is too vast for our family to repair. Forgive our humble hospitality," Ser Simon said frankly.
"It is no matter," Aemon said, looking around. This was his second visit to the gargantuan castle. The first had been during the Great Council of 101 AC. His great-grandfather, Jaehaerys, had held him, a newborn, in his arms while sitting on the throne in this very hall, listening as the maesters announced his uncle Viserys as the heir to the Iron Throne. He had been one of twenty-two candidates then. Of course, no one was going to vote for a suckling babe.
"It is almost noon, and I have ordered a meal. Please, do not mind the simple fare," Ser Simon said, gesturing with an outstretched hand.
Naturally, no one would be so impolite as to complain. Halfway to the hall, Aemon stopped Helaena. "What brings you here?"
"I have nowhere else to go," she said with stark honesty.
"Dragonstone and Runestone would both welcome you," Aemon said, rubbing her head with a helpless fondness. Her words were strangely heartbreaking.
Helaena's eyes were clear as she softly replied, "I want to be where there are many people."
To be more blunt: I want to be where my family is.
Aemon was left speechless. Both princesses, both facing the prospect of a forced marriage at the age of twelve, yet Helaena's and Rhaenyra's circumstances were vastly different. Rhaenyra was the favored heir to the Iron Throne. Helaena's portion of affection was shared among her siblings. Her status as a princess and dragonrider made her a valuable prize, and one perceived as guileless at that. The little girl needed more than just protection; she needed a shield.
Soon, the welcoming meal began. Aemon and his party took their seats, occupying half of the large round table. They were joined by many members of the host family, House Strong: Ser Simon, his two sons, his three grandsons, and the Hand of the King's own sons, Harwin Strong and Larys "Clubfoot" Strong.
Harwin had lost his former boisterous spirit. He offered a curt formality and quickly excused himself from the table.
"I apologize," Simon Strong said in defense of his great-nephew. "He still cannot forgive himself for his mistakes."
Aemon offered a polite smile. Harwin's was a case of unrequited love turned to bitter resentment. Stripped of his command of the City Watch for his heinous accusations and sent home in disgrace, it was no surprise he lacked the spirit to entertain guests.
Rhaenyra said nothing, simply forking a piece of venison pie onto Aemon's plate. Jaehaerys and the twins were perched at the table, three pairs of curious eyes watching the proceedings. They could smell the rich aroma of the feast.
"Let us eat," Ser Simon said, calling for the meal to begin.
The food was adequate but simple: several venison pies, a salad of fresh greens, a portion of bean and barley porridge for each person, and common fare like sausages and cheese. It wasn't bad, by any means, but for a house that had produced the Hand of the King, it felt like a significant downgrade. Most second-tier noble houses ate far better than this. Aemon observed them carefully, concluding that House Strong seemed to be in financial distress.
"My prince, I am glad to see you at Harrenhal," the inconspicuous Larys suddenly spoke. He had been discovered as a spy in the Red Keep, and only his father's pleas for mercy had spared him from severe punishment. He was dismissed from his post as Master of Whisperers and sent back to Harrenhal to live in quiet disgrace.
Aemon asked bluntly, "Did your brother not seek revenge on you?" It had been Harwin's drunken rant, reported by one of Larys's agents, that had led to his downfall.
"That was a nightmare," Larys said, his expression unfazed. He even managed a small, twisted laugh.
"Good luck to you," Aemon said, pondering if the man before him could still be of use.
Several days later, on the shores of the Gods Eye.
The vast lake rippled gently, its shores stretching as far as the eye could see. The only sound was the wind stirring the water. Aemon walked along the bank, unable to resist skipping a stone across the surface. The Gods Eye was indeed the largest lake in Westeros; it was practically an inland sea.
As he was enjoying the breeze, he heard the sound of footsteps behind him—one light, one heavy. He turned to see Larys leaning on his cane.
"A fine day, isn't it?" Aemon said casually.
Larys remained silent for a moment, then said with a hint of nostalgia, "And yet, these are dark days for the kingdom."
"Oh? Why is that?" Aemon asked, crossing his arms with a knowing smile. This club-footed fox never missed an opportunity to scheme his way back into power.
Larys said, "It seems a great injustice that you were exiled to the Riverlands by the king."
"Does it?" Aemon feigned puzzlement.
Larys nodded. "Certain lords on the Small Council abuse their power for personal gain. They hope to place their own blood on the Iron Throne and will stop at nothing to achieve it."
Aemon was impressed. Even in exile, Larys was remarkably well-informed. "King's Landing is a rat's nest," Aemon cursed.
Larys smiled bitterly, understanding the double meaning of the insult but also sensing an opportunity. "Prince, I believe you need an ally."
"You cannot help me," Aemon shook his head.
Larys's expression shifted. "Then what are your instructions?" he asked tentatively. "Whatever they may be, I can fulfill them."
"There is one thing," Aemon said, seeing the hook was set. "Aegon and Aemond are traveling to the Reach. They are two young men just starting out in the world and will need someone to guide them."
"What are the details?" Larys asked, his interest piqued.
"My uncle believes the Reach is important," Aemon replied bluntly. "He wishes to use marriage to secure their loyalty. I, however, believe direct royal influence is more effective than marriage."
Larys was astonished, his mind immediately going to how the Vale had changed hands. Was Aemon targeting the famously wealthy Reach next?
An hour later, Larys was gone, riding in a carriage onto the Goldroad, heading toward the Reach. Aemon watched him go, feeling a sense of satisfaction. He had just acquired a very useful agent, saving himself a great deal of trouble. He had indeed set his sights on the Reach. However, unlike what Larys assumed, he had no intention of conquering it as he had the Vale.
The Reach was the largest of the Seven Kingdoms after the North, boasting the most fertile lands and a pleasant climate. It also had the most powerful and numerous nobility. The great houses—Tyrell of Highgarden, Hightower of Oldtown, and Rowan of Goldengrove—all possessed considerable power. Conquest by force was unwise, and marriage offered only temporary stability.
Aemon believed that since House Tyrell could not effectively rule the entirety of the Reach, it would be better to cede some of their power to the crown, strengthening royal control over the region. It just so happened that his uncle wanted to arrange marriages between the royal family and the lords of the Reach. The Hightowers, in particular, were always seeking to gain an advantage, even considering their heir, Ormund Hightower, as a potential match for Helaena.
So, Aemon would add fuel to the fire. He would send Aegon and Aemond to drive a wedge into the Reach, strengthening House Hightower's influence like a nail hammered into a board. Let's see how House Tyrell, the Lords Paramount, react when the Hightowers truly become a rival power, Aemon thought. Will the roses of Highgarden, always so mild, simply yield? That will depend on whether I give them the room to do so.
The Reach. Oldtown, the Hightower.
"Hoo!"
Two enormous dragons, one gold and one bronze, soared above the city. The gusts from their wings whipped up waves in the Honeywine below before they descended slowly before the great tower.
"Aegon! Aemond! My dear nephews!"
The tower's gates had been thrown open, and a tall, handsome young man with blond hair and blue eyes came forward with a hearty laugh.
"Uncle Ormund," Aegon and Aemond dismounted their dragons and offered a greeting.
"Come, come inside!" Ormund Hightower embraced his two nephews and happily led them in.
"Is Lord Hobart not here?" Aemond asked, shifting uncomfortably under the hand on his shoulder. Ormund was young, having just turned eighteen, close in age to the two princes themselves.
When asked about his father, Ormund's smile faded slightly. "My father has grown old and keeps to his chambers more these days."
Aegon took no notice, simply assuming his great-uncle's age made climbing the tower's many stairs difficult. But Aemond couldn't help but frown. As princes of the blood, Lord Hobart should have come out to greet them personally. By blood, he was their mother's uncle, not a grandfather. It was a slight. Still, Ormund was welcoming, so there was no need to find fault.
"Hurry up! I think this is my first time seeing the Hightower," Aegon said, rushing up the steps. This was the first time either brother had visited Oldtown. They had only heard their grandfather Otto and their mother talk about how wonderful it was, how much cleaner it was than King's Landing, and how the people were studious and peaceful.
Seeing it now, Aemond was impressed. The harbor was bustling with ships, and the city's cobblestone streets were interspersed with gardens and fountains, exuding a sense of ancient tranquility.
"It doesn't seem much cleaner than King's Landing, though," Aegon observed, looking at the waters of the Honeywine outside the tower, which were still dotted with refuse.
Aemond nodded slightly. He, too, preferred the raw grandeur of King's Landing. Though Runestone and Myr were pleasant enough in their own way.
The two brothers ascended the tower and entered the main hall. Lord Hobart and his wife were waiting at the entrance to receive them.
"Praise the Seven! The two princes have arrived at last."
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