Now, the dungeon held only the father and son.
Viserys stepped in unsteadily, his eyes scanning the cell—stone walls, shelves carved into the rock, wooden beds, tables, and the scratches Aemond had etched with his quill.
"You've done well." The king finally spoke, sitting across from Aemond, where the gnome still perched.
The raised stool made the little creature look slightly comical, but Aemond paid it no mind.
"Thank you for your blessings," Aemond replied calmly.
"There are books to read, food to eat, and company… far better than most prisoners have."
But all the king saw was the deep, unshakable calm in his son.
"What do you wish to understand, Your Grace?" Aemond asked.
"That you drew your sword in the throne room, faced Damon's blade, and defied my will before all the nobles."
He asked quietly, almost to himself, "What wrong have I done?"
Viserys frowned.
Aemond continued:
"Ser Vaemond—he acted for his family."
"He defended the purity of House Velaryon with his life, fiercely, and his intentions were flawless from the start."
"And I, who would not let Prince Damon kill before the emperor's eyes, executing traitors only at your command—all for the sake of family."
"If these children with chestnut hair, brown eyes, and diluted blood are allowed to sit on the Iron Throne, it is a true sacrilege against the Targaryens."
"Mixed blood, lacking any Targaryen trait—that is the beginning of decline."
"Blood alone… is our foundation."
Viserys raised a finger, pointing at Aemond. "So you confess?"
"I will never oppose her."
"I will be her most loyal supporter, as I ought to be."
He stood and looked Viserys in the eye.
"But these three strong-willed children… they are the source of catastrophe."
"Ser Vemond proved it with his life."
"Today, a succession crisis on Driftmark; tomorrow, a crisis for the Iron Throne."
"Your Grace… do you truly wish the nobles of the Seven Kingdoms to kneel before a strong king after your death?"
"Do you think these lords would obey their illegitimate sons?"
Viserys's breath grew heavy.
He wanted to argue, yet Aemond's words pierced like needles, striking at truths long avoided.
Since January, countless ravens had reached him—from the North, the West, the Riverlands, the Vale, the Stormlands… Ancient houses across the realms whispered concern about the lineage of the heirs in veiled words.
The loyalty of the nobility wavered indeed.
The king muttered with difficulty, "You… are you truly for the family? Or for yourself?"
Aemond smiled.
He looked into Viserys's eyes:
"I care not who sits on that iron chair. What matters is that whoever does is worthy of the Targaryen name."
Viserys was silent for a moment.
His gaze wandered over his son's face, yet he still could not see through him; after the incident on Driftmark, he had never truly seen this second son.
"If your sister… or your brother…"
"Blocks your path, will you turn them away?"
Aemond looked around calmly.
"Father, the Targaryens stand at the cliff's edge. The rift between the Greens and the Blacks deepens."
He lowered his voice slightly, speaking more clearly:
"I will not cast out either sister or brother. But if Rhaenyra cannot let go of her mistakes, I beg you to follow the resolution of the Great Council and act according to the male primogeniture system."
"Though the lords were dissatisfied then, they still accepted Rhaenyra, for she had no scandal with an illegitimate child; now, all is different."
"The Seven Kingdoms will never recognize a child of unknown parentage on the Iron Throne. Even if silent now, only the power of dragons would keep him in check."
"Unless you can purge the lords of the Seven Kingdoms entirely."
"But can you do that?"
"Why do these houses, surviving thousands of years, have so many descendants?"
"Long ago, there was me, there is you…"
"Even Maegor I, even if the Black Death was glorified, his warriors descended upon the land, slaying tens of thousands of rebels, and still they could not succeed."
"And we, the Targaryens… today, the population is meager."
"If one day a dragon is lost, only ruin and the destruction of the house await."
"As for Rhaenyra… if she insists on a side that would fracture the family, then yes, I will do what must be done. For the survival of the house, to keep its blood untainted, and to ensure the dragons endure."
Viserys felt lightheaded, reaching for the edge of the table.
Aemond spoke with such calm certainty, as though not prophesying but stating a fate already written.
And most terrifying of all—Viserys knew deep down that Aemond might be right.
The king lifted his moist eyes.
Perhaps Damon had said it cruelly, but it was reality: the best fate for the three children was the Wall or safety elsewhere. It was simply Rhaenyra…
He was troubled, unsure how to guide his daughter.
He looked at Aemond, his son who pulsed with youth yet carried a frighteningly old wisdom.
"Swear it," Viserys suddenly said.
"Swear you will not covet the Iron Throne, swear you will not fight for it."
Aemond did not hesitate.
"I swear by the name of the Targaryens, by the blood of the true dragon that flows in my veins."
"I, Aemond Targaryen, shall never be king of the Seven Kingdoms."
"I only wish for the Targaryens to rise great again, and for dragon-blood to endure."
"I wish to be the sword and shield of the house, the pillar that upholds the throne."
Yet in Aemond's heart remained unspoken words.
Not being king did not mean he could not choose who should sit upon it.
After all, the dance of the bloody dragon would begin, and someone would always be known for slaying kin and vying for the throne.
He would make Helena queen, a new light for the realm, and her heirs would firmly claim the Iron Throne.
And he, after the throne, would wield true power.
"Tomorrow."
The king rose, his steps heavy.
"You will be released and returned to your holdings."
"Afterward, you must not enter King's Landing without summons."
He approached the door without looking back:
"Remember your oath, Aemond."
Aemond sat alone for a while, then reached for the book Valyrian Bloodlines and Dragons on the table, flipping to the page he had studied earlier.
Between the pages lay a passage written in Ancient Valyrian, with a translation by the Great Scholar:
"Blood and fire share a common origin, and dragons are united with men."
"The day the wings of dragons cover the sky, the offspring of blood shall inherit the crown."
"Therefore, the Dragon King is bound by his blood."
"This is Valyria's eternal message."
He studied the text long, fingertips tracing the raised ink on the parchment.
Then he slowly closed the book.