House Arrest (Part 1)

Night, the tenth day of house arrest.

Ever since the day he returned riding Vhagar, leaving the people of King's Landing in a state of panic and awe, the city had been empty of its usual bustle.

Following that came the punishment from His Majesty Viserys: house arrest.

The duration was indefinite, depending entirely on the King's mood.

The room was built of pale red stone, with a massive arched window on the north wall fitted with thick, leaded glass.

Aemond stood on the balcony of the high tower of Maegor's Hold, pulling back the curtains to look down at King's Landing under the veil of night.

Thousands of lights flickered in the darkness, lively yet distant.

The pale scar on his left cheek had already scabbed over.

The excessive blood loss left his complexion still deathly pale.

His gaze swept across the city outside the window. King's Landing, the capital of the Seven Kingdoms, was now a city housing nearly four hundred thousand people.

The city was roughly square, sprawling for dozens of miles, enclosed by high walls and seven massive gates. Three hills—Aegon's High Hill (where the Red Keep stood), Visenya's Hill, and Rhaenys's Hill (where the Dragonpit was located)—supported the silhouette of the city.

From such a height, the slums of Flea Bottom were clearly visible, the crowded shacks twisting like a labyrinth. The stench of refuse and stagnant water hung over that place year-round.

And the Red Keep, where he resided, stood atop Aegon's High Hill, overlooking the city and the pitch-black Blackwater Bay.

This massive fortress, built of pale red stone, possessed several towers, and Maegor's Hold, where he was kept, was a fortress within a fortress.

Guarded by twelve-foot-thick walls and a dry, spike-filled moat, it was the royal residence and, at this moment, his cage.

Outside the door came the rhythmic, heavy footsteps of the Kingsguard.

The Kingsguard, Ser Cole and Ser Alec, were acting under the King's orders; they were both his jailers and his protectors.

Then, another sound arose: slow, dragging footsteps, distinct from the clanking armor of the Kingsguard.

After a light knock, an aged and respectful voice spoke:

"Prince Aemond, are you available? It is Meuros."

"Enter."

The door opened, and Archmaester Meuros walked in, trembling slightly. He was advanced in years, the long chain of the Citadel hanging around his neck. Several attendants followed behind him carrying trays—this was the Prince's dinner.

"His Majesty... and the Queen, have been concerned about your injuries," Meuros said deferentially.

The attendants placed the trays on the oak table: wine from the Reach, a bowl of cherries, a small jar of glistening caviar, carefully prepared venison, and a covered silver bowl that emitted the faint, distinct metallic scent of fresh blood.

This was a restorative meal prepared according to the Archmaester's understanding, intended to replenish the blood and vitality the Prince had lost.

And that blood is deer blood, as the Prince requested.

Also... Meuros laboriously pulled several thick, leather-bound tomes from his wide sleeves and placed them on the table with a dull thud.

"These are what you requested, regarding dragonkind. Dragonkind Considerations, Valyrian Family Tree, and partial transcripts of Known Dragon Genealogy."

"Some of the content is... rather obscure, Your Highness."

As a scholar, he felt a pang of heartache for these books; he had spent quite a few gold dragons to acquire them from the Eastern Continent.

Aemond nodded, his gaze sweeping over the tray before finally landing on the tomes. "Your efforts are appreciated, Archmaester."

He walked to the table, ignoring the tonics for the moment, and instead speared a piece of hot, roasted venison that a servant had just brought in, chewing it slowly.

The elderly Meuros waved for the servants to withdraw, remaining in the room himself to observe the young Prince eating.

He had already heard of the Prince's deeds on Tidepool Island.

He hailed from the Citadel in Oldtown, the territory of House Hightower, where the main cathedral of the Seven Gods was also located.

The relationships between House Hightower, the Faith, and the Citadel were deeply intertwined, granting them control over the culture and faith of Westeros.

This was one of the reasons why Viserys had chosen Alicent Hightower as his second Queen.

The room was filled only with the faint crackling of firewood in the hearth and the sound of Aemond chewing.

Meuros felt a flicker of anxiety. Within the Targaryen family, there had been no shortage of members who had strayed from tradition or even descended into madness over the last century. The most famous among them were Maegor the Cruel, the former Prince Daemon, and... now, Aemond.

As an Archmaester sent by the Citadel to serve the King, it was their duty to observe the Targaryen royal family and diligently instruct the Targaryen heirs, doing their best to prevent the emergence of another "Maegor."

To the Maesters, the Targaryens, who possessed dragons, were gods who stood above mortal men... but these gods could go mad.

In the current kingdom, the struggle between the Blacks and the Greens was growing increasingly intense... and the meetings within the Citadel were filled with worry over this.

As an Archmaester, his loyalty to the King was beyond question.

However, a significant portion of the Citadel and the Faith in Oldtown supported the Greens in taking control of the nation.

"Archmaester, there is no need to be so restrained." Aemond, who was eating, looked up and glanced at Meuros, who was standing there lost in thought.

Meuros snapped back to reality and slowly sat down opposite Aemond.

"It seems the Prince's complexion is better than when he first returned," he said, choosing his words carefully.

Aemond swallowed the venison and picked up the bowl of deer blood. The pungent scent rushed into his nostrils; without hesitation, he tilted his head back and drank several mouthfuls.

"But in my opinion, your medical skills are truly mediocre." He set down the silver bowl, a trace of dark red staining the corner of his mouth, and picked up a handkerchief from the table to wipe it away casually.

Meuros had not expected Aemond to be so blunt.

Aemond tilted his head, watching him. "How is my father's condition now?"

Meuros felt a jolt of alarm. "Your Highness, how did you come to know of this?"

The strange illness plaguing Viserys was known only to him and a few assistants. It was also something the King had strictly forbidden from being spread.

Aemond shook his head inwardly. In the original story, this Archmaester had been treating Viserys's leprosy-like, non-contagious ailment for four or five years with no improvement, and the King's body was only growing weaker.

Had it been anyone else, they would have long since punished these quack doctors; only Viserys had such a gentle temperament.

"The Red Keep has no secrets," Aemond said indifferently.

Meuros's graying eyebrows twitched. "His Majesty... is suffering from a rare and malignant disease."

"The symptoms... are that wounds are extremely difficult to heal, and they even fester and spread on their own."

"Some of his flesh has also begun to lose sensation..."

"How are you treating it?" Aemond pressed, his violet eyes appearing exceptionally focused in the candlelight.

"We primarily follow the ancient methods: bloodletting, to balance the humors believed to be excessive or corrupted within the body."

"Sometimes... for the parts that have already necrotized, we use specifically treated maggots to consume the rotting flesh and clean the wound." Meuros's voice lowered, as if mentioning this method were beneath his dignity.

"We also supplement this with some analgesic poppy milk and a diet to strengthen his constitution."

"So, your primary method is bloodletting?" Aemond asked.

"We have also tried some ointments and potions, but... the results have been minimal," Meuros replied cautiously.

So they were essentially using the King as a test subject. This leprosy-like condition compromised the body's immune system, and continuous bloodletting would only accelerate the death of Viserys.

Aemond did not wish for Viserys to die as miserably as he did in the original plot, even if this father was so biased.

As long as the King lived for one more day, the preparations of the Greens would be that much more thorough.

Although he possessed Vhagar, the Blacks controlled more dragons and had more people capable of riding them.

The Greens, from beginning to end, only had four dragonriders, excluding Helaena, whose temperament was too gentle and unsuited for war.

His elder brother Aegon's Sunfyre was a decent dragon, but it lacked experience.

His youngest brother, Daeron, was stationed in Oldtown under the care of House Hightower, and his "Blue Queen," Tessarion, was far too young.

The only combat strength the Greens could truly rely on was his own and Aegon's dragon...

Furthermore, in order to win this war, Rhaenyra was foolish enough to later allow Targaryen bastards to ride dragons.

In his view, this was a complete and utter betrayal of the Targaryen bloodline.

It was not that he looked down on bastards, but rather that these bastards were nothing more than strays by the roadside.

He understood well the principle that holding a sharp blade inevitably gives rise to the urge to kill.

Moreover, for these bastards who were originally like weeds, once they grasped a dragon, their humility would transform into ambition.

And, Rhaenyra ultimately suffered the consequences of her own actions.

Of course, it could not be denied that among the bastards, there were those who were loyal, but he would never entrust a dragon to a bastard of unknown origin.

The Blacks could afford to fail many times, but the Greens could not.

In the original work, after he and Daemon perished together at the Gods Eye Lake, the Greens completely lost any chance of victory.

If not for the fact that Rhaenyra went mad after becoming Queen, the Blacks would have won this war long ago.