Aemon had dismantled the Hightowers' power, even stripping them of their ancient seat. Yet, he had left them a sliver of hope. This was all part of his plan. The Reach was now effectively divided into three competing powers: the weakened Tyrells of Highgarden, the newly elevated Rowans of Goldengrove, and the diminished Hightowers of Oldtown.
The Tyrells were struggling, and for now, the Rowans were supreme. But the Hightowers would not perish so easily, nor did Aemon wish them to. The masterminds of the green faction, Lord Hightower and his son Mund, were dead, and Otto had been expelled from the council. Even with a new lord, the Hightowers would remain loyal subjects of the Targaryens.
The candidate had already been chosen: Gwayne Hightower.
Otto's son, Alicent's brother. Gwayne was ambitious and idealistic—if a bit of a fool—but he would not be manipulated by his father. He was Aegon's uncle, and while Aegon had seized the Hightower and its former vassals, Gwayne would not estrange himself from his nephew for the sake of a disgraced father.
There was another benefit. Otto's network of influence had to be purged, and that included the City Watch of King's Landing. The Gold Cloaks currently numbered five thousand men. Gwayne served as a commander, and it was time for that to end.
"Prince Regent, your handling of this is unfair!" a lord suddenly declared.
He had reddish-brown hair and a pair of prominent, festive-looking ears. The crest on his chest was a red fox wreathed in flowers: House Florent of Brightwater Keep, a noble family claiming direct descent from Garth Greenhand.
"What is unfair?" Aemon asked, his face cold.
Lord Florent stepped forward, his large ears seeming to quiver with indignation. "Prince Aegon burned Lord Garlen, yet instead of being punished, he is rewarded with a great castle. Is this not placing personal interest above justice?"
"Then who do you propose should be given the Hightower?" Aemon countered.
"Well..." Lord Florent choked for a moment. It was, indeed, a difficult question.
Aemon's eyes flashed with cold fire. "Should it be given to the Tyrells? To Lord Thaddeus or Lord Donnel, who led the assault? Or perhaps to you, my lord, who did nothing but hide in Brightwater Keep, offering vocal support but not a single sword?"
The words struck Lord Florent like a physical blow. His face flushed with shame, and he stammered, unable to reply. The Florents had a long and storied tradition of taking no initiative, refusing no orders, and accepting no responsibility. They were as cunning as the foxes on their banner. With Oldtown and Highgarden at war, many lords of the Reach had hoped both houses would bleed each other dry, forcing the King to name a new Lord Paramount. Aemon's decision had shattered that fantasy.
"Step down, Florent!" Lord Thaddeus roared. "The fate of the Hightower is of no concern to you. Do not waste the Prince Regent's time!"
"Prince," another man stepped forward. It was Lord Costayne of the Three Towers, a staunch royalist and supporter of the blacks. "We do not even know where Prince Aegon is, or if he is safe."
"I will find Aegon," Aemon stated simply. "And Aemond will be with me."
At this, the lords of the Reach fell silent. If Aegon was guilty of causing this trouble, what of Aemond, who had supported Highgarden and forced Aegon and Sunfyre to retreat? Was Aemond's action meritorious? And for whom? For the Tyrells? Certainly not. In the grand scheme, Aegon could not be held entirely to blame. After all, the royal family could not be seen to be wrong—at least not publicly. With one brother's demerits canceling out the other's merits, the nobles had nothing more to say.
The sooner Aegon is exiled to Oldtown, the sooner peace will be restored to King's Landing, Aemon thought. He'd been asked to clean up a mess. His uncle and Alicent shouldn't complain whether he used silk or sandpaper to do it. The result was the same.
Night fell, and the Hightower grew quiet.
Creek.
The door to the lord's chamber opened, and Gwayne Hightower walked in, his head bowed.
Aemon sat in the master's chair and glanced up. "What is it?"
"Uh..." Gwayne stammered awkwardly. "I believe you wished to... see me?"
Aemon was unimpressed. "Pour him a glass of wine, Helaena."
"Of course," Helaena said, rising from her seat by the fireplace. She wore soft pink slippers and gracefully poured a glass of wine for her uncle.
"Thank you," Gwayne said, taking a large gulp.
"Speak," Aemon gestured. Wine gives courage to cowards.
Gwayne steeled himself, unbuckled the Valyrian steel sword at his waist, and knelt on one knee. "Prince Regent, I, Gwayne of House Hightower, pledge my fealty to you."
Silence. Aemon did not speak, merely studying him. Gwayne kept his head bowed, holding the ancestral sword, Vigilance, high as he awaited his fate.
After a long moment, the old chair creaked as its occupant stood. Gwayne looked up quickly.
"Have you thought this through?" Aemon confirmed.
"Yes, Prince," Gwayne said loudly. He had. Better for him to lead the family than some distant cousin. From Oldtown, he could better care for his sister and her children. As for his father... his father was wrong. His misguided ambitions had led to the deaths of his uncle and cousin. The family could have been passed down in peace. The crown could be passed down in peace. The terrible consequences his father had warned Alicent of were nothing but the worst sort of fearful imaginings. It was time for someone to put a stop to it.
"Very well. I accept your fealty." Aemon took Vigilance with one hand and placed the flat of the blade on Gwayne's shoulder. A soft chime echoed in his mind.
'Discovered an item imbued with magical power. Gained +10 magical essence.'
Aemon nodded silently and completed the oath according to tradition. Gwayne returned the vow, and the pact was sealed. Aemon's lips curled into a smile as he generously helped him to his feet.
Lord Otto, Aemon thought, your children have now forsaken you. How will you cope? To kill a man is one thing, but to break his heart is another. This would hurt Otto more than any blade.
Gwayne departed with a promise from the Prince Regent: after Aegon was found, a royal letter would be sent, naming Gwayne the new Lord of Oldtown.
Not long after, there was another polite knock at the door. "Come in."
Larys Strong entered, leaning on his cane. "Prince, I am pleased to find you still awake. Perhaps we can talk through the night." He was bolder than usual, a slight smile on his face as if inviting praise.
"Sit," Aemon offered.
Larys limped to the chair opposite him, his eyes catching the second wine glass on the table. His expression shifted slightly, realizing someone had beaten him to it.
"What is it?" Aemon asked.
"Ahem," Larys coughed, shaking his head. "Nothing, just thinking."
Aemon was blunt. "You and Aegon get along well. I am considering making you the Steward of the Hightower. What say you?"
Aegon and Larys Clubfoot had a strange bond. With the Reach now divided, it was only natural for the royal family to install its own people. The next target would be Dorne, and a despicable villain like Larys could certainly put his talents to use against the Dornish. I will use this tool one last time.
"Steward?" Larys was taken aback. He had assumed that, at the very least, he would be returning to King's Landing. What was the point of leaving him in Oldtown?
"Aegon wrote to me. He said he is fond of you," Aemon lied smoothly.
"But..." Larys began, feeling anxious. If he'd known this would happen, he wouldn't have manipulated Aegon so thoroughly.
"Do not worry," Aemon soothed. "There will be a place for you in the future. I recognize your talents, Larys. You have your father's mind for strategy. You deserve a position where you can realize your ambitions." The subtext was clear: Your father is old. It's time for you to step up.
Larys jumped to his feet, overwhelmed. "Yes, Prince!"
After a few more pleasantries, Aemon sent the elated Larys away. He left in such a hurry he forgot his cane.
Bang! The door closed.
"You deceived them," Helaena said suddenly from her corner, her tone surprisingly precocious.
"Deceived whom?" Aemon asked curiously.
Helaena put down her ball of string and began counting on her fingers. "Mother, Uncle Gwayne, Lord Thaddeus, Larys..." She rattled off the names like a list.
"And how did I deceive them?" Aemon asked, crossing his legs with interest. He had never really had a heart-to-heart with Helaena before.
Helaena looked puzzled. "I don't know. But they were all very happy to be deceived by you."
"That's not deception," Aemon couldn't help but laugh.
"It's not?"
He nodded. "Everyone has selfish desires, Helaena. I simply say what they wish to hear, and in return, they do what I wish them to do."
He had made promises. Alicent wanted her children to choose their own paths, so he had arranged it. However, Aegon and Aemond would remain in the Reach, spearheading the eventual conquest of Dorne. Gwayne wanted to protect his family, so Aemon accepted his loyalty; the price was Otto's utter isolation. Larys wanted power, so Aemon gave him a chance to wield it. But if he tried any tricks, Aemon would not hesitate to take his head. How could any of that be called cheating?
Aemon smiled and reached out to pinch Helaena's cheek. "I am a good man, little one. Don't you go slandering me," he teased.
Helaena yelped as the pinch broke her train of thought, her purple eyes misting over. Aemon let go, and her soft, youthful cheek bounced back, a red mark appearing over her faint freckles. She covered her face and turned away. His arguments were confusing, and he was not kind at all.
"Go to your room. Don't disturb me," Aemon said, patting the back of her head before grabbing a blanket to lie down by the fireplace. Helaena quickly scurried back to her bedroom.
Aemon sneered softly. He sympathized with Helaena's future in the original timeline and did not want her to suffer the same fate. She was an obedient child, unlike Aegon, who was spoiled rotten. And Aemond, judging by his recent actions, was too deeply influenced by his older brother. Helaena was the only reliable dragon rider left among Alicent's children. She had to be educated properly.
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