Justice

Seeing the Queen had left, Otto Hightower knew he was on his own.

He took a step forward, his voice regaining the calm and strength of a Hand, and said, "Your Majesty! The marriage alliance is something Princess Helaena is willing to agree to."

"But this second condition, that Prince Aegon remain on Driftmark as a squire."

"Forgive my bluntness, but it is too harsh, akin to house arrest! It is absolutely unacceptable!"

This book is first published on t w k a n . c o m

Rhaenys seemed to have expected this.

She slowly raised her right hand, fingers together, her posture solemn and reverent, as if taking an oath in a holy temple:

"I, Rhaenys Targaryen, by the true dragon blood that flows within me, and by the honor of my husband Corlys Velaryon and his house, unstained for centuries, do swear."

Her voice echoed through the hall.

"During his time on Driftmark, Prince Aegon Targaryen will be treated as our own son."

"He will receive the best tutelage, learning seamanship, statecraft, and the ways of knighthood, enjoying the same respect and care as Jacaerys and Lucerys."

"The Velaryons will never, nor would they deign to, harm him in any way, or allow him to suffer undue hardship or injury."

She lowered her hand, her gaze burning, "If I break this oath, may the Seven Gods forsake me, despise me, and cast my soul into the Seven Hells to be eternally consumed by fire!"

The oath was so weighty that even the suspicious Green nobles were moved.

Rhaenys softened her tone and continued, "Moreover, the period is merely two years."

"Upon its completion, we will return Prince Aegon to King's Landing, unharmed and unblemished, back to Your Majesty and the Queen."

"By then, he will be a more mature, wiser, and more understanding prince."

She paused for a moment, her gaze sweeping over Otto, whose face was ashen, and Viserys, who looked near death, and delivered her final blow:

"Your Majesty, a divided council, a kingdom at war... the consequences of which Your Majesty understands better than anyone."

"Will the peace that the late King maintained his entire life be shattered in our generation?"

A long, heart-stopping silence ensued.

All eyes focused on the King.

Finally, Viserys closed his eyes, swallowing the bitter truth.

A faint word escaped his chapped lips:

"...Agreed."

Seeing her father still sided with her, Rhaenyra breathed a sigh of relief.

She knew they had won.

Although they hadn't achieved their initial goal.

But forcing the Greens to marry out their princess strengthened Little Jace's legitimacy, something she had always worried about for her three children.

And then there was the Green heir, Aegon...

Even though Aemond had gained Vhagar, the Greens had paid a terrible price.

She had exploited her father's guilt towards her and her deceased mother, Emma.

But the fruits of victory were soaked in the blood and tears of her closest kin; tasting them brought only bitterness and salt, no joy whatsoever.

"You... all of you..."

Viserys suddenly opened his eyes again, his gaze unfocused as he swept over the dense crowd below.

His trembling fingers weakly pointed to familiar and unfamiliar faces, his children, his blood relatives, his trusted officials...

"My children... my own flesh and blood... the officials I relied upon..."

His voice was hoarse, like a worn-out bellows:

"You have turned my home into a beast pit..."

"You have turned your children's blood into a commodity to be traded..."

He began to pant violently, his chest heaving, his face flushed with a sickly red hue. "I don't want to choose... I love everyone..."

"Like before, even if it was just a semblance of harmony..."

"Stop it... please, I beg you... stop it..."

This belated, weak lament of a failed father spoke volumes of his struggle, his compromise, and his helplessness.

No one in the hall responded, but even the most hard-hearted felt a sense of sorrow.

Viserys's gaze, finally, involuntarily, passed over his second son, Aemond, who sat alone on the floor, looking somewhat lost, with no one to restrain him.

This son... the fierceness he had shown today, his eloquence, his defense of his mother, even the madness at the end that risked self-destruction...

Suddenly, an utterly absurd, impossible, yet strangely clear thought flashed through Viserys's chaotic mind.

Alicent... and Daemon...?

No! Impossible! Viserys shook his head, dispelling the delusion.

But Aemond's disposition had changed drastically today, possessing a sternness and decisiveness beyond his years...

He was so unlike the sullen, reclusive son in his memory, nor like himself.

Afterward, the King stopped looking at anyone. He pushed away the Kingsguard who tried to help him up and stumbled down the dais like a sleepwalker.

"Your Majesty..." the nobles bowed, their voices laced with complex emotions – respect, pity, perhaps even contempt.

"Disperse... all of you, disperse..." The voice, ethereal as a ghost's sigh, finally vanished behind the door.

Princess Rhaenyra was the first to turn and leave, followed by the Blacks, the atmosphere heavy.

They had traded an eye for a marriage alliance and a valuable hostage.

Lord Hand Otto Hightower cast a complicated glance at his eldest grandson, Aegon, who was still shaken and muttering complaints.

Stupid, cowardly, useless... he judged coldly in his heart.

Immediately, he shifted his gaze to his second son, Aemond, who sat on the ground not far away, his suppressions removed, a terrifying cold light rekindling in his eyes.

His scales had finally tipped after tonight.

Aegon would remain on Driftmark, the Blacks' stronghold.

Otto was certain that with the cunning of the "Sea Snake" Corlys and the pride of "Uncrowned Queen" Rhaenys, they would not be foolish enough to harm Aegon.

But on the contrary, what he feared most was that they might very well give Aegon a life of decadent indulgence: the most delicious delicacies, the finest wines, the most alluring women, the most flattering words...

To use all forms of pleasure to gently, thoroughly, corrupt this eldest grandson, who already had a weak will.

Two years later, when a man softened by wine, women, wealth, and status, his ambition dulled, returning to King's Landing with no skills other than seeking pleasure and boasting...

With such an Aegon, how could he contend with his sister Rhaenyra for the Iron Throne?

And Aemond...

As Lord Hand Otto turned to leave, a sharp glint flashed in his eyes.

This second grandson, whom he had never paid much attention to, even neglecting him somewhat due to his reclusive and gloomy nature...

This child was too much like a young Prince Daemon.

Perhaps... the future hope of House Hightower and the Greens should no longer be placed on this eldest son.

Perhaps, from now on, pouring resources into nurturing and guiding Aemond, and having him assist a spoiled Aegon in the future to contend for the Iron Throne...

would be a choice more aligned with the long-term interests of House Hightower.

The crowd in the hall had gradually dispersed.

At this moment, a slender, fair hand, its fingertips trembling slightly from nervousness and the cold, reached out towards Aemond, who still sat on the ground, lost in his thoughts.

Aemond slowly raised his head. His silver hair was somewhat disheveled, and his pale left cheek bore a scar, but deep within his purple eyes, flames seemed to burn quietly.

It was Helaena. She had returned at some point, standing alone before him, trying to force a comforting smile onto her face, but it was more heart-wrenching than tears.

"Helaena," Aemond said hoarsely, "You don't have to... go this far for me."

"We are family," Helaena said softly, yet with unusual clarity and firmness. "I... I don't want to see you lose your eye..."

She paused, as if gathering courage, and continued, "If it can resolve all these disputes."

"I am willing."

To protect this brother who had changed so drastically overnight, who felt like a stranger yet tugged at her heart.

Even if it meant a forced marriage, she was willing to give up her future life.

Aemond fell silent.

His gaze complexly fell upon her outstretched, slightly trembling hand.

After a long while, he slowly extended his own hand and grasped her cool, small hand.

His palm was burning hot, carrying residual warmth and an unquenched ferocity.

However, just as Helaena thought he was about to stand, he suddenly pulled her wrist down with a gentle tug!

"Ah!" Helaena cried out in a short gasp, caught off guard. She instantly lost her balance and fell forward, landing squarely in Aemond's still slender, yet incredibly taut embrace.

The brief contact.

Time seemed to freeze. Through their thin clothes, they could clearly feel each other's rapidly accelerating heartbeats and the vastly different temperatures radiating from their bodies.

Their eyes met, inches apart.

"Helaena, I won't accept it..." Aemond voiced his true feelings.

Helaena's pale cheeks flushed with a breathtaking crimson at a visible speed, spreading to her earlobes and delicate neck.

Her mind went blank, her purple eyes filled with bewilderment, panic, and disbelief.

Immediately after, there was a soft "snap."

Not a painful blow, but more like an instinctive reaction of shock.

She raised her hand and gently slapped Aemond's right cheek. There was no wound there, so it wouldn't hurt him too much.

Helaena flinched as if burned, breaking free and stumbling back two or three steps before steadying herself.

She clutched the hand with which she had just struck Aemond, her fingertips trembling slightly.

Her beautiful violet eyes were glistening with moisture, a mixture of panic, shame, confusion, and a flicker of emotion she herself hadn't noticed.

"You... you were a bit... too much, Aemond..." she stammered, her voice barely a whisper.

Aemond, so unfamiliar, dangerous, and aggressive, made her feel utterly lost.

She dared not linger for another moment, frantically pulling up her skirt. Like a startled fawn, she turned and fled the vast, cold hall, her long silver hair trailing behind her in a hasty arc.

Aemond remained seated on the ground, slowly raising a hand to cover his right cheek, the one that had just been struck.

The brief daze and fleeting confusion in his eyes were dispelled by the hall's cold wind.

His gaze rapidly shifted, replaced by a deeper, fiercer, and more resolute flame.

"I haven't lost yet..." he murmured, his voice hoarse.

Aegon had served his purpose, remaining here at a cost, while he would return to King's Landing.

Without Aegon, Hightower's resources would shift more towards him, and he would be the sole prince by his father Viserys's side.

But he would never accept Helaena marrying that Jacaerys.

He staggered to his feet, his body weak, but his back was ramrod straight.

He had Vhagar.

That ancient, colossal dragon, possessing destructive power.

One more time, the Dance of the Blood Dragons...

It wouldn't be so bad.