Seeing that the queen had already left the hall, Otto Hightower understood clearly that he could rely only on himself now.
He stepped forward, his voice regaining the steadiness and force of the Hand of the King, and said, "Your Grace! The matter of the marriage alliance is something Princess Helaena herself is willing to accept."
"But this second condition—keeping Prince Aegon at Driftmark as a squire—"
"Please forgive my bluntness, but it is far too harsh, tantamount to house arrest. It is absolutely unacceptable!"
Rhaenys seemed to have anticipated this long ago.
She slowly raised her right hand and brought it together, her posture solemn and grave, as though swearing an oath within a sept.
"I, Rhaenys Targaryen, swear by the true dragon's blood flowing in my veins, and by the honor of my husband, Corlys Velaryon, and of his house, an honor untainted for hundreds of years."
Her voice echoed through the great hall.
"During his time on Driftmark, Prince Aegon Targaryen will be treated by us as our own son."
"He will receive the finest instruction, learning seamanship, governance, and the knightly path, and he will enjoy the same respect and care as Jacaerys and Lucerys."
"The House Velaryon will never, nor would it ever deign to, harm him in any form, or allow him to suffer any undeserved grievance or injury."
She lowered her hand, her gaze blazing.
"If I should violate this oath, may the Seven abandon me, despise me, and condemn my soul after death to fall forever into the Seven Hells, to endure the burning of purifying fire without end!"
So weighty was the oath that even the skeptical lords of the Greens were moved by it.
Rhaenys eased her tone slightly and continued, "Moreover, it is only a term of two years."
"When that term is complete, we will return Prince Aegon safely and unharmed, without the loss of a single hair, to King's Landing—back to Your Grace and the queen."
"By then, he will be a more mature prince, wiser and better able to discern right from wrong."
She paused, her gaze sweeping over Otto, whose face had turned ashen, and Viserys, weary to the point of collapse, before delivering the final blow: "Your Grace, a divided Small Council, a kingdom riven by internal strife… the consequences of such a thing, Your Grace understands better than anyone."
"Must the peace the former king spent his life maintaining be shattered in our generation?"
A long silence followed, so heavy it seemed to make hearts stop.
All eyes were fixed upon the king.
At last, Viserys closed his eyes and swallowed the bitter fruit.
A single, weightless word was forced from between his cracked lips:
"…Approved."
Seeing that her father's heart still inclined toward her, Rhaenyra let out a breath.
She knew that they had won.
Though they had not achieved their original aim.
Still, forcing the Greens to marry out a princess strengthened little Jace's legitimacy—something she had always worried about for her three children.
And there was also the Greens' heir, Aegon…
Though Aemond had gained Vhagar, the Greens had paid a grievous price.
She had made use of her father's guilt toward her and toward her late mother, Aemma.
Yet the fruits of victory were soaked in the blood and tears of her closest kin; upon the tongue, they held only bitterness and the taste of iron, without the slightest trace of joy.
"You… all of you…"
Viserys suddenly opened his eyes again, his unfocused gaze sweeping over the dark mass of people below.
His trembling fingers weakly pointed at one face after another, familiar or unfamiliar—his children, his blood kin, his chief lords…
"My children… my own flesh and blood… the lords upon whom I rely…"
His voice was hoarse, like a worn-out bellows: "You have turned my house into a fighting pit…"
"You have turned the blood of children into bargaining chips to be traded…"
He began to gasp violently, his chest heaving, a sickly flush rising to his face. "I do not want to choose… I love you all…"
"As before, even if it were only a surface peace…"
"Stop it… I beg you… stop it…"
This belated, feeble wail—the lament of a failed father—laid bare all his struggle, his compromises, and his helplessness.
No one in the hall answered. Yet even the most hard-hearted felt a certain desolation at that moment.
Viserys's gaze finally drifted, against his will, to his second son, Aemond, now no longer restrained, sitting alone on the floor, looking somewhat dazed and lost.
This son… the hardness he had shown today, his sharp wit, his defense of his mother, even the final madness of being willing to destroy himself…
Suddenly, an utterly absurd, utterly impossible, yet unnervingly clear thought flashed through Viserys's chaotic mind, beyond his control.
Alicent… and Daemon…?
No! Impossible! Viserys shook his head, driving the fancy away.
Yet Aemond's drastic change in temperament today—bearing a cold resolve and decisiveness that did not belong to one of his years—
It was utterly unlike the gloomy, withdrawn son he remembered—and unlike himself as well.
After that, the king looked at no one. He brushed aside the Kingsguard who tried to step forward to support him and, like a sleepwalker, staggered down from the high dais.
"Your Grace…" The nobles bowed one after another, their voices carrying mixed emotions—respect, pity, and perhaps even a hint of disdain.
"Disperse… all of you, disperse…" That drifting voice, like the sigh of a wandering ghost, finally vanished beyond the doors.
Rhaenyra was the first to turn and leave. The members of the Blacks followed their princess out, the air heavy with solemnity.
They had traded one eye for a marriage alliance and an important hostage.
Otto cast a complicated glance at his eldest grandson, Aegon, who was still shaken, muttering complaints under his breath.
Foolish, weak, unfit for great purpose… Otto judged him coldly in his heart.
Then his gaze shifted to a short distance away, to the second son, Aemond, the restraints upon him removed, seated on the floor as his eyes gathered once more that frightening, icy gleam.
The scales in Otto's heart finally tipped after this night.
Aegon was to remain on Driftmark, in the hands of the Blacks.
Otto was certain that with the Sea Snake Corlys's seasoned cunning and the pride of the Queen Who Never Was, Rhaenys, they would never be so foolish as to harm Aegon.
But precisely for that reason, what he feared most was the opposite: that they would very likely grant Aegon a life of unbridled luxury—the finest delicacies, the richest wines, the most alluring women, the sweetest flattery…
Using every indulgence to gently, utterly corrode this eldest grandson whose will was weak to begin with.
Two years later, when a man whose bones had been softened by wine and lust, whose resolve had been ground dull, a wastrel good for nothing beyond indulgence and empty boasting, returned to King's Landing…
What would such an Aegon have left with which to contend with his sister Rhaenyra for the Iron Throne?
And Aemond…
At the instant the Hand Otto Hightower turned to leave, a sharp glint flashed in his eyes.
This second grandson—one he had never paid much heed to, even somewhat neglecting him because of his withdrawn and brooding nature…
This child was far too much like Prince Daemon in his youth.
Perhaps… the future hopes of House Hightower, and of the Greens, should no longer rest upon this eldest son.
Perhaps, from this moment on, it would better serve Hightower's long-term interests to invest resources in shaping and guiding Aemond—so that in the future, he might support the ruined Aegon in the struggle for the Iron Throne…
…
The crowd within the great hall gradually dispersed.
At that moment, a slender, pale hand—its fingertips trembling slightly from tension and cold—reached out before Aemond, who still sat upon the floor, lost in his own thoughts.
Aemond slowly lifted his head. His silver hair was somewhat disheveled, his pale left cheek marked by wounds, yet deep within those violet eyes, it was as though a fire burned quietly.
It was Helaena.
At some point she had returned, standing alone before him, her face forcing an expression meant to comfort—yet more heartbreaking than tears.
"Helaena," Aemond said hoarsely, "you need not… go to such lengths for me."
"We are family," Helaena replied softly, yet with unusual clarity and resolve. "I… I do not wish to see you lose an eye…"
She paused, as though gathering her courage, then continued, "If it can put an end to all of these disputes."
"I am willing."
To protect this brother who had changed so abruptly overnight—strange to her now, yet painfully dear to her heart.
Even if it meant being forced into a marriage alliance, she was willing to hand over her future life.
Aemond fell silent.
His gaze settled with complexity upon the hand she had extended, trembling slightly.
After a long moment, he slowly reached out and took that small, faintly cool hand.
His palm was scorching hot, carrying the lingering heat and unrested ferocity.
Yet just as Helaena thought he was about to rise, his wrist suddenly sank, and he gave a gentle tug.
"Ah!" Caught completely off guard, Helaena let out a short cry. In an instant she lost her balance and pitched forward, falling squarely into Aemond's still-slender yet taut embrace.
An instant of closeness.
Time seemed to freeze. Through the thin layers of clothing, they could clearly feel each other's suddenly racing heartbeats, and the utterly different warmth radiating from the other's body.
Their eyes met, inches apart.
"Helaena, I will not accept it…" Aemond spoke his heart.
Helaena's pale cheeks flushed at a visible speed with a breathtaking crimson, spreading all the way to the roots of her ears and down her slender neck.
Her mind went blank, her violet eyes filled with confusion, panic, and disbelief.
Then came a light sound—smack.
Not a blow, more like an instinctive reaction born of shock and fright.
She raised her hand and lightly struck Aemond on the right cheek—where there was no wound—so that he would not be in too much pain.
Helaena pulled free as if scalded, stumbling back two or three steps before she managed to steady herself.
She clutched the hand with which she had just struck Aemond, her fingertips trembling slightly.
In her beautiful violet eyes, moisture gathered, mingled with panic, shame, indignation, helplessness—and a faint flutter of emotion she herself had not yet perceived.
"You… you went a bit… too far, Aemond…" Her words came out disjointed, her voice as thin as a mosquito's hum.
Aemond—strange, dangerous, brimming with aggression—left her at a loss.
She did not dare linger even for an instant longer. In a flurry, she gathered her skirts and, like a startled fawn, turned and hurriedly fled the vast, cold hall, her silver hair trailing behind her in a streak of panic.
Aemond remained seated on the floor. Slowly, he raised a hand to cover his right cheek where he had been struck.
The brief daze and momentary confusion in his eyes were chilled awake by the cold wind in the hall.
They were swiftly replaced by a fire deeper, fiercer, and far more resolute.
"I have not lost yet…" he murmured hoarsely.
Aegon had served his purpose, remaining here as the price, while he himself would return to King's Landing.
With Aegon absent, more of House Hightower's resources would tilt toward him, and he would be the only prince at his father Viserys's side.
But he would never accept Helaena being wed to that Jacaerys.
He swayed as he rose to his feet, his body somewhat weak, yet his spine held straight.
He had Vhagar.
That ancient, colossal dragon, possessed of power enough to lay waste.
To do it once more—to let the blood-dragon dance in frenzy…
That was not impossible.
'If they push me to the limit, I will make sure to kill them all, even if it costs me my life.'
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