The violent scene that had just unfolded plunged the entire great hall into deathly silence. Everyone present understood that what had happened today had already become a deadlock with no way out.
At that moment of stalemate, an aged, steady, yet commanding female voice suddenly rang out.
"Your Grace."
Rhaenys Targaryen, the "Queen Who Never Was," stepped forward at a measured pace from the rear of the Black faction.
She was no longer young. The years had carved their marks into the black-and-white strands of her hair and the fine lines at the corners of her eyes. She wore a solemn gown of deep crimson, a color she had always favored.
She was the wife of Corlys Velaryon, the "Sea Snake," and the rightful princess who, at the Great Council years ago, had been stripped of her inheritance by the male-preference law of succession.
Her very presence was a silent challenge to the cousin seated upon the Iron Throne.
"Perhaps," she said, coming to a halt, her calm gaze sweeping across Viserys on the throne, his face ashen as death, then passing over the restrained Aemond, before finally returning to the king, "we might try… another way."
Her voice was not loud, yet it compelled both the Black and the Green factions to listen closely.
"Let both sides take a step back."
"Rhaenys, speak," Viserys said, with the urgency of a drowning man clutching at driftwood.
He was in desperate need of any proposal that could break the deadlock before him.
Rhaenys gave a slight nod and spoke each word with clarity. "To continue arguing tonight over who is right and who is wrong would be like tearing at a wound already laid bare to the bone—it would only make our blood flow deeper."
"Therefore," she paused briefly, "we—the House Velaryon—and I, speaking on behalf of Rhaenyra, can hereby pledge that we will pursue no further accountability regarding the right or wrong of this matter itself."
Her gaze shifted to Aemond, who was being restrained by the Kingsguard, passing over the wound on his left cheek. "Including the ownership of Vhagar."
At this point, Rhaenys let out a soft sigh.
"Consider this my compensation."
As those words fell, a faint ripple spread through the hall.
Many wore expressions of confusion. Had House Velaryon truly chosen to relinquish both the pursuit of accountability and the contest over the dragon so easily? And what, exactly, did this "compensation" mean?
Seated upon the throne, Viserys's eyes flickered with a trace of complicated emotion.
He understood the meaning behind that "compensation." It pointed back to another old grievance, decades past, over the taking of a dragon.
In those years, after the death of the two brothers' mother, Alyssa Targaryen, the great dragon she left behind—the "Red Queen," Meleys—should by right have been inherited first by the brothers themselves.
Yet at the time, their thirteen-year-old cousin, Rhaenys Targaryen, had secretly slipped into the dragonpit and tamed Meleys.
The young Viserys and Daemon had once angrily accused her of theft.
But in the end, under the judgment of the Conciliator, Jaehaerys, the dispute was brought to an end.
Now, times had changed, and the roles were reversed.
The years and the cycle of cause and effect contained within left those who knew the truth with mingled and bitter feelings.
As for Daemon, standing among the Blacks, his mood was even more complicated: the dragon left behind by his mother Alyssa had been taken, and now the dragons left to his daughters by his late wife had been taken as well.
But Daemon remained silent all the same. As long as Aemond lived, Vhagar would, in all likelihood, never belong to his daughters.
The proposal his cousin Rhaenys had quietly discussed with him just moments ago might be the better course—using the matter of young Jace to leave the Greens unable to refuse, and with no way left to oppose that other issue…
Daemon cast a glance toward Rhaenyra at the center of the hall. If his brother Viserys had agreed back then to his proposal to wed him to his daughter Rhaenyra, perhaps none of this mess would ever have happened…
"Dragons acknowledge only their own riders," Rhaenys continued, a trace of wistfulness in her voice. "Since Vhagar has already made its choice, then it belongs to Prince Aemond. On this point, we have nothing more to say."
"Accordingly, we will also pursue no further accountability regarding the prince's unauthorized act of dragon-taming."
Listening to these concessions, Viserys felt no relief. Instead, the weight in his heart only grew heavier.
The more that was given, the heavier the price that would inevitably be demanded.
Sure enough, Rhaenys slowly raised her right hand and held up two fingers, her gaze firm and brooking no rebuttal.
"But, Your Grace," her voice suddenly turned grave, "a rift must be mended. Tonight, a child has already shed blood and lost his sight."
"We require two compensations. Not many—but they must be granted."
Viserys closed his eyes, his throat bobbing with difficulty. "…Speak plainly, Rhaenys."
He knew the moment of payment had arrived.
"First," Rhaenys said clearly, "for true reconciliation, and for peace in the decades to come."
"I have just discussed this with Prince Daemon. The betrothal between Jacaerys and Baela is to be annulled."
Viserys fell into silence, and even Otto—who had remained steady throughout—showed a change in his expression.
"Now, I would ask that Your Grace betroth Princess Helaena to my grandson, Jacaerys Velaryon."
"A marriage alliance is the best way to mend the wounds on both sides, and also the strongest bond by which to secure them."
Rhaenys turned her gaze toward Princess Helaena in the corner, pale and slender.
"No!!"
A shrill cry rang out.
Alicent looked like a doe struck through the heart by an arrow, her face drained of all color, leaving only raw defiance and eyes rimmed red.
"I will never agree!" Her whole body trembled as every word burst from her mouth. "I will never give my pure and unblemished Helaena in marriage to Rhaenyra's bastard—!"
"Never! You will not have it!"
She turned around and, as if clutching at the last straw, lunged toward her father. Both hands seized the sleeves of Otto's robes, her nails digging into the fabric.
Her eyes were filled with pleading.
"Father! Father, say something!"
"You cannot let them treat Helaena this way! Say something!"
Otto's expression turned grim.
Helaena could be married to any noble house—but she could never be joined in alliance to Rhaenyra's bastard son…
"Alicent! Mind your rank and your words!" The fury, frustration, and helplessness Viserys had bottled up all night finally found an outlet.
He shouted harshly at his wife, who looked on the verge of collapse. "Look at yourself!"
"Where is the dignity and bearing of a queen in this?"
"I am her mother! I gave birth to her! I raised her! I loved her for thirteen years!"
"I have every right to decide her future!" Alicent cried out to the king, her voice hoarse and broken.
"Viserys, you cannot… you cannot treat us like this…"
"Your Grace, this marriage alliance is one I will not accept," Otto said, speaking up.
"If the queen and the Hand persist in opposing this proposal for reconciliation…" Rhaenyra's cold voice cut in.
She had already risen from the floor, brushing the dust from her skirts, carrying that unmistakably lofty, superior bearing. "Then we may also choose a simpler path—returning to the first, the most primitive method."
"An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth."
"Ancient, and fair."
Otto looked at Rhaenys, the Sea Snake, Daemon, Rhaenyra, and the members of the Black faction. He understood all too clearly what they intended to do.
"Mmph." Aemond, his mouth gagged, let out a guttural roar. The restrained body suddenly erupted with astonishing strength, twisting and struggling violently.
So much so that the muscles in the arms of several strong Kingsguard bulged as they nearly lost their hold on him.
The Kingsguard were all taken aback by the power now surging from the prince's body.
"Hand, this is a matter of my household," Viserys said. For Otto, who had served him diligently and without complaint for many years, he still held a measure of regard.
But this time, Otto could not endure it. "Your Grace, Helaena also carries the blood of House Hightower."
Seeing Otto remain so resolute and unwilling to yield, Viserys said coldly, "I am the king. Is it possible that I cannot even decide my own daughter's marriage?"
"Or should all matters of my household henceforth be decided by you in my stead?"
Faced with the king's words that struck straight at the heart, Otto had no choice but to bow his head. "I would not dare, Your Grace. You have the right to decide your own household affairs."
Perhaps His Grace himself also understood what Helaena marrying Jacaerys would mean…
Once Helaena married Jacaerys, it would greatly strengthen the legitimacy of that bastard.
After all, Rhaenyra's three sons had long been questioned by the nobles of the Seven Kingdoms over their status as bastards.
This marriage alliance was a declaration to the nobles of the Seven Kingdoms that the Greens were bowing their heads to the Blacks.
It was also an acknowledgment by the Greens of Jacaerys's rightful status—rather than the rumored Strong bastard identity so often cast upon him.
This was precisely what Rhaenyra had always wanted…
Otto burned with fury inside. Viserys was clearly far too partial toward Rhaenyra.
Utterly exhausted, Viserys rubbed his throbbing temples.
The king no longer looked at his wife, who stood on the brink of collapse. Instead, his gaze fell directly upon the young princess who had been shrinking at the edge of the Green faction's ranks all this time.
"Helaena."
This daughter of his had always been quiet, like a shadow.
"Your father respects your wishes," he said gently. "What you truly want is what matters most."
"Tell your father—are you… willing to accept this betrothal?"
All eyes in the hall turned to Helaena Targaryen.
Helaena felt those gazes like red-hot needles, sending waves of pain through her.
She looked at her mother, being supported as she wept, staring at her.
She looked at her grandfather Otto, standing in silence.
At last, her gaze passed over everyone and fell upon Aemond on the floor, shaking his head at her.
She closed her eyes.
Her long lashes trembled like butterfly wings.
After a long moment, a thin yet clear reply followed: "I… am willing, Father."
Hearing her daughter forced into agreement, Alicent's expression grew ever more despairing.
"Very well," Viserys said, bringing the matter to a final decision.
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