The Red Keep, in the office of the Hand of the King
"Grandfather." Aemond flung open the door and entered.
At first glance, they all seemed key figures of the Green faction. Jasper Wylde, Master of Laws, twisted his beard and whispered to Otto Hightower.
Also present was Larys Strong, spymaster, whom Otto had come to trust soon after taking office. Around the Hand were a few courtiers in lavish attire.
All eyes turned to the prince, newly declared by the king and freed from house arrest.
He strode directly to the long table before Otto Hightower, piled high with documents, his gaze sweeping over faces—some startled, some carefully observing, some forcing quick smiles.
On the table lay a plate of candied fruit, glistening with sugar.
Aemond reached out as if no one else existed, plucked a sugared plum of deep, enticing red, and popped it into his mouth.
"Sweet enough to offset the slightly bitter air here, Grandfather," he said vaguely.
Otto Hightower frowned.
He released the quill that had left a sharp ink blot on the parchment.
He regarded his grandson, who was becoming ever more unpredictable.
Aemond met his gaze and smiled.
"Your Excellency?"
But in the end, Otto's furrowed brow softened helplessly.
He exhaled lightly and nodded.
This boy—clear, sharp, fully aware of himself—was genuine. There were no pretenses here.
"Ahem," Larys cleared his throat, closing a sealed letter in his hand. He stood with interest, giving the prince a respectful, measured glance before departing.
Otto leaned back in his chair, rubbing his brow, temporarily setting aside the exhaustion of statecraft.
He looked again at Aemond, once the gloomy, withdrawn second son, now bright and calculating.
He spoke slowly, gesturing toward the door.
"What do you make of them?"
Aemond leaned against the edge of the table, relaxed.
"The nobles? Don't fret over rank. People can change in an instant."
"As long as interests align, they remain our allies."
Otto's surprise gave way to a sharper, more focused scrutiny.
"Who taught you that?"
He did not remember teaching Aemond such cold, hard realism.
Alicent? No—she leaned more toward sentiment and morality.
Otto did not press further. Instead, he steered the topic to pressing matters.
"So, Aemond, what do you make of the Greens and the Black faction today… the situation?"
Aegon remained on Tide's Head, and Helaena's marriage had grown even more complicated.
His position was critical for the Green faction.
"Rhaenyra is on Dragonstone with many allies and her dragons," Otto said.
"We… she has suffered grievous losses."
He turned, looked at his grandson, and stood holding a lantern.
Good—he still counts himself a member of the Green faction.
"As long as she remains human, she will err."
Aemond returned to the table, drumming his fingers on the oak.
"Moreover… my dear sister. Perhaps you know her character better than I do."
"Hard, confident, spoiled."
Otto nodded at the point.
"She has many more dragons and dragonriders than we do."
"Your Vhagar is undoubtedly the strongest dragon alive, but she is old, Aemond."
"Can her speed, endurance, and the young dragons compete?"
"Vhagar is old," Aemond admitted.
"Her size and strength are unmatched."
"But no dragon dares meet her head-on and bite."
"Aegon remains on Tide's Head, and his noble attendants and companions—I will allow them to serve you."
"His resources will also be at your disposal."
Otto began to offer significant support.
"Moreover, I will arrange your meeting with the head of the Royal Harbor. Should you need anything, you may consult him."
Aemond nodded slightly, this time his smile more genuine.
Otto leaned forward slightly, his voice unusually grave.
"Remember, you are brothers by blood, and the future of the Green faction depends on you."
Aemond suddenly spoke, breaking the short silence.
"What will you do about Helaena's marriage?"
He asked directly.
Otto's brows furrowed once more, a clear sign of irritation.
He sighed.
"I need time. I will find a way."
Aemond studied his grandfather's concerned expression, then smirked.
He straightened.
"Why bother? Too much thinking makes hair fall out too quickly."
He approached the door, hand on the handle, and glanced back at Otto.
"It's simple—Helaena comes with me, doesn't she?"
Without waiting for a reply, he opened the door and walked out, leaving Otto Hightower alone in his chair, still shaken and unable to gather himself.
What game is this boy playing?
What shocking, lawless audacity is he planning?!
Aemond walked down the corridor with measured steps.
Behind him, at a distance, followed Ser Criston Cole, of the Kingsguard, in shining white armor and mantle.
After a short walk, Aemond spoke, his voice ringing clear in the empty corridor, without looking back.
"You hate Rhaenyra, don't you, Ser Cole?"
Cole's body stiffened at the question.
He had not expected the prince to speak so plainly in such a tense moment.
"She toyed with my feelings."
"She used my devotion and… my admiration."
"She trampled my dignity and defiled my white cloak."
His words grew passionate, but soon he restrained them.
"Of course, I am ashamed that I was too weak in the past, letting personal feelings cloud my duty."
"Now I know my life and loyalty belong only to the royal family, to the rightful side."
Aemond laughed softly, an echoing, inexplicable sound in the corridor.
"Master," he said, addressing Cole.
"Come, let us train with the swords."
Cole recovered slightly from his agitation.
"Yes, Your Grace," he answered quickly.
"I am not yet strong enough," Aemond continued, quickening his pace, revealing a trace of longing.
"I want to become stronger and faster."