House Arrest

"Prince?" Meuros looked at the absent-minded Aemond.

"Have you ever considered stopping the bloodletting?" Aemond asked after coming back to himself.

"Bloodletting can cure many illnesses, Your Highness." Challenged, Meuros stood his ground.

"Grand Maester, his majesty's health has been worsening by the day. Could it be because of the bloodletting you insist on? Try my method and see how it works." Aemond looked at him.

The archmaester still wanted to argue, but Aemond coldly cut him off. "I suggest you give it a try."

"Otherwise, I imagine Lord Hand Otto will also take a close interest in the king's condition."

He raised a brow. "Five or six years of treatment, and the king's health has only gotten worse?"

Faced with the prince's threat, Meuros fell silent.

His grandfather, Otto Hightower, naturally did not wish to see His Majesty Viserys die.

The Greens had only just established their footing in King's Landing, and their preparations were far from complete.

And the longer the king lived, the more time the rumors unfavorable to Rhaenyra would have to ferment among the nobles of the Seven Kingdoms.

Many nobles had already been deeply dissatisfied with Viserys's decision to overturn the male-preference succession established by the Great Council and insist on naming Rhaenyra his heir.

They were also dissatisfied that three bastards who so obviously bore Stron's features sought to inherit the throne.

It was only because of the Blacks behind Princess Rhaenyra, the Black nobles who remained loyal to her, and the dragons they possessed...

That the Faith, The Citadel, and some of the nobles had suppressed their dissatisfaction, not daring to openly question Rhaenyra.

In the original story, Viserys's death had also forced the insufficiently prepared Greens into war with the Blacks too early.

What Aemond needed to do was use Viserys's extended lifespan to win over more allies.

As for his elder brother Aegon? That useless fool...

If he truly wanted to avoid this civil war, he should accept the current situation, arrange a marriage between Helaena and Jacaerys, and stay out of it himself. Without him, the Greens naturally would not be able to oppose the Blacks.

But Aemond would never accept Helaena marrying Jacaerys.

Nor would he gamble his own life on the mercy of Rhaenyra or Jacaerys after either of them became king.

But once he made this move, reconciliation between the Blacks and Greens would become impossible.

In his eyes, this war was already unavoidable.

"Archmaester, have you considered it?" Aemond looked at him.

Meuros's clouded eyes studied Aemond.

After a moment of silence, he said, "I will... try your method, Prince."

Seeing him agree, Aemond continued, "Also, keep His Majesty away from the Iron Throne, or at the very least, place cushions on it.

"Most of the wounds on His Majesty's body that refuse to heal came from the Iron Throne, didn't they?"

To him, that Iron Throne was nothing less than a Tetanus Throne.

His ancestor, Aegon the Conqueror, had forged it from thousands of enemy swords melted together with Dragonflame. Its purpose had been to remind future Targaryen descendants that royal power was like walking on thin ice, and that they had to govern diligently.

The intention had been good, but for later kings, it was nothing but torture.

"This... may damage His Majesty's dignity." Meuros hesitated.

"Tell my father: which is more important, his life or his dignity?" Aemond countered.

Meuros nodded and rose to leave.

He would try the prince's method. After all, five or six years of bloodletting had shown no results...

His Majesty's health had indeed been deteriorating. If it continued, he would not live much longer.

"One more thing, Archmaester." Aemond stopped him.

Meuros turned back.

Aemond said, "Try using strong liquor from The North to clean the wounds. Stop using maggots."

Meuros bowed once more, then shakily withdrew from the room and carefully closed the door behind him.

After Meuros left, Aemond sat at the desk and opened the heavy tomes.

He first opened Valyrian Dragonrider. The ancient Valyrian script spoke of the resonance between bloodlines and dragons, contests of will, and dominion over the skies.

The candlelight flickered, and time quietly slipped away amid the rustle of turning pages.

After an unknown amount of time, a faint sound came from outside the door again.

Aemond raised his head. Before he could respond, the door was gently pushed open a crack. A lock of silver hair poked through first, followed by Helaena's beautiful, pale face.

Her violet eyes glimmered in the dim light. In her hands, she carefully held a small porcelain dish covered with a piece of white linen.

"Aemond?" she called softly. "I... may I come in?"

"Mother... Mother asked me to bring you something to eat."

Aemond set down his book and smiled at her. "Of course, Helaena. Come in."

Helaena slipped inside and leaned against the closed door, as though she had just completed some arduous task.

She wore a soft pale-blue nightgown, her silver hair spilling around her like moonlight. Barefoot, she had clearly snuck out of her own bedchamber.

"Mother made these herself." She walked to the table, set down a porcelain plate, and lifted the linen cloth.

Two tiny, delicate golden lemon cakes came into view, giving off a fresh, sweet-and-tart scent.

"They're... they used to be your favorite."

"She said you were wounded and lost blood, and now you've been shut in here. You must be feeling miserable inside. Something sweet might make you feel better."

Helaena's voice grew softer and softer until it was nearly inaudible.

Aemond stared at the two cakes, and some distant, hazy fragment buried deep in his memories stirred awake.

"You remember?" Aemond's voice softened.

Helaena pointed at herself. "Me?"

She seemed to have remembered as well—the lonely, silent younger brother everyone had overlooked, and how she had secretly brought him cake.

"Aemond, it was what I should have done," she said quietly.

"Thank you." Aemond smiled.

"Mother... she's hurting too." Helaena sat in the chair opposite him. "For me, for Aegon, and even more so for you."

"These past few days, she hasn't slept well at all. It's just... she can't show it in front of others."

"I know." Aemond picked up a cake and took a bite. The sweet tartness melted over his tongue, and its soft texture brought a fleeting comfort. "You're hurting too, aren't you?"

"Because of that... betrothal."

Helaena's body trembled almost imperceptibly. She lowered her head, her silver hair concealing the side of her face. "I... I said I was willing. If... if it could settle this dispute."

She raised her head, tears glimmering in her eyes, yet she forced out the faintest smile. "And the future... perhaps... perhaps it won't be so bad. I'm prepared."

"But I won't accept it." Aemond's voice abruptly deepened.

"Helaena, I swear upon my blood that I will never let you marry Jacaerys."

Helaena's breath caught. A faint blush rose in her cheeks, whether because of his words or because she remembered their previous touch.

"Aemond... don't, don't say things like that."

"Father has already agreed. It's dangerous."

"Dangerous?" Aemond looked at her.

He set down the half-eaten cake and gazed into her eyes across the table. "You don't need to sacrifice yourself for anyone."

"But..."

"No buts." Aemond cut her off. "Helaena, I have a way."

Helaena looked at the nearly obsessive fire burning in his eyes. It frightened her, yet strangely, it also made her feel safe.

This younger brother had become unfamiliar—unyielding, forceful, full of aggression.

But at least he was the only one who would speak so plainly, so recklessly, of protecting her.

"You... you need to be careful too." In the end, she only said softly. She reached out, hesitated for a moment, then gently placed her hand over his on the table.

Her fingertips were cold and faintly trembling. "Your wound... take proper care of it. Don't be like you were in the hall on Tidepool Island."

Aemond felt the fleeting chill against the back of his hand. "Mm," he answered briefly.

Then Helaena withdrew her hand like a startled fawn and rose to her feet. "I... I should go back."

"It wouldn't be good if I were discovered."

She reached the door, then looked back at him once more, her gaze complicated. "The cakes... finish them. They're Mother's heartfelt gift."

"I will." Aemond nodded.

Helaena silently pulled open the door, her figure blending into the dim stone corridor before disappearing from sight.

He picked up the remaining lemon cake and slowly finished it.

That sweetness lingered in his mouth for a long time.