At night, through the corridors of the Red Keep, Prince Aemond walked ahead, followed by Prince Aegon and Prince Daeron.
Servants carried two unhatched dragon eggs in their hands, carefully trailing behind the princes.
The torchlight reflected off the eggshells, casting an eerie, flickering glow.
One was gray, the other white, both resting quietly on a black velvet cushion.
These two dragon eggs came from the Dreamfyre in the lair of the dragon, the obedient mate of Princess Helaena.
Aemond had reclaimed them, and, according to Targaryen tradition, intended to present them to his newborn brother, Jaehaerys, and his sister, Jaehaera.
Aemond wore black-and-red armor, carrying with him the unmistakable scent of sulfur from the dragon's lair.
At every stretch of the corridor, guards stood at attention, and sentries were posted at every corner.
Their faces were tense: today the king lay in a coma, the Hand had been removed, the queen lay before the infirmary bed, and now no one in the Red Keep could assume command, not even for a moment.
Aemond gestured with his hand.
A guard quickly stepped forward and bowed.
"Your Grace."
Aemond did not stop or look back.
"Have Captain Ryss come to me in the Hand's chambers."
"Yes, Your Grace."
The order was given without hesitation.
A sense of awkwardness hung over the Hand's chambers.
Otto Hightower was tidying papers on the desk. His movements were deliberate, each document carefully rolled before being placed into an open wooden box.
His son, Gwayne Hightower, assisted him.
The door swung open.
Aemond entered, followed by Aegon and Daeron.
Otto raised his head, and his hand froze mid-motion.
"Today's scene," Aemond said, glancing at Otto, "is… truly grotesque."
He approached the desk and looked over the sorted documents—financial accounts, family records, and correspondence.
Otto placed a paper in his hand and sighed.
"I did not expect… His Grace to hold on to it, nor that he would awaken."
Aemond smiled.
"You should not have done it for my sake."
"When the moment became critical, Your Grace spoke but a few words… and you flinched?"
Otto remained silent.
Aemond let out a sharp, almost angry laugh.
"You let the council slip from the Red Keep so easily?"
Otto stayed silent for a long moment.
Only the crackling of the fireplace filled the room.
"So," he finally spoke, "what are you planning to do now?"
Aemond straightened, resting his hands on the edge of the desk, leaning forward.
"Darren will follow you back to the old city."
"And grandfather, you…"
He met Otto's gaze.
"I want you to inform Lord Hightower and begin preparations immediately.
Do not wait for the guards to muster—call the vassals and begin forming a true army. The larger, the better."
Otto's pupils narrowed slightly.
"Aemond, do you understand what you're saying? Raising an army without the king's consent…"
"Now? You would start preparing for war?"
"His Grace is in a coma," Aemond interrupted. "We must always be ready."
"Furthermore, begin preparations now. Twenty thousand? Thirty thousand?"
"With Hightower's strength, it is possible."
Otto's expression shifted.
Aemond continued,
"Go and tell Lord Hightower that whether my brother Aegon ascends the Iron Throne will depend on Hightower's resolve."
Prince Aegon, frozen, pointed at himself.
"Me?"
Aemond did not look at him, only at Otto.
Otto paused, then finally nodded.
"I… I will offer it to Lord Hightower."
"This is no offer," Aemond said indifferently.
"It must be done. If a reason is needed, simply say I commanded it. If that is insufficient…"
He stepped toward Aegon, placing a hand on the boy's shoulder, and Aegon visibly trembled.
"Just tell them this means the future king."
There was no room for negotiation.
Otto looked at Aemond, who allowed no refusal, and slowly nodded.
"Understood."
At that moment, there was a knock at the door.
"Enter."
The door opened, and Captain of the Red Keep, Ser Ryss, stepped inside.
The man, with a fleshy face, looked nervous.
"Your Grace," he bowed, "you summoned me."
Aemond turned and studied him for several seconds.
"Captain Ryss," he said softly, "all these years, serving the royal family… diligent work."
Ryss straightened, briefly stunned.
"It is an honor to serve Your Grace."
"It truly is an honor," Aemond nodded.
"The royal family will not treat loyal servants poorly."
"I will see that someone grants you a thousand gold dragons, and that you may purchase a fine estate from the king as a knight, with a few additional lands."
"You are no longer young; it is time to rest in peace of mind."
The air in the room went still.
Ryss paused, understanding he was being dismissed, and said with effort,
"Your Grace… I am loyal to Your Grace! I obey the king's commands! Today, in the Throne Room, I—"
"You hesitated," Aemond cut him off mercilessly.
He stepped forward, stopping directly before Ryss, the two nearly eye to eye.
"I command you to retire."
"Now, step down."
Ryss opened his mouth to speak, but when he met Aemond's violet eyes—cold and deep, as if leaving no place for words—all his words stuck in his throat.
Finally, he lowered his head, shoulders slumping.
"I obey, Your Grace."
He turned and retreated, his back slightly unsteady.
As the door closed, Otto exhaled.
"It is not solely his fault… it is mine as well."
Aemond said coldly,
"Loyalty is not absolute—it is absolute disloyalty when absent."
Then he looked at Galvin Hightower.
"Uncle, how would you like to be Captain of the Red Keep's guard?"
Galvin Hightower's eyes widened as he looked to his father.
Otto nodded slightly.
"I am ready to serve the royal family."
"Very well," Aemond patted his uncle on the shoulder.
"I will offer it to Your Grace."
Aemond said nothing more, turning toward the door. He paused briefly at the threshold, without looking back:
"Grandfather, the ship sails tomorrow morning. You must leave King's Landing at once."
Having said this, he pushed the door open and departed.
Prince Aegon and Prince Daeron exchanged a glance, then followed him.
Only Otto and Galvin remained.
Galvin looked at his weary father.
"Father…"
Otto did not reply. He approached the window, opened it, letting the cool night breeze brush his face, and murmured,
"And now…"
"No one can hold him back."
Otto Hightower closed his eyes, turned his back to Galvin, and slowly said,
"Gwayne, from now on, you answer only to Aemond."
"All others, myself included, are irrelevant."
Gwayne hesitated for a moment, then nodded, listening to his father.
He already understood the situation: even if Prince Aegon inherits the Iron Throne in the future, Aemond would likely wield it with far greater freedom.