Unexpected Incident (Part 2)

The King stumbled over, supported by the Kingsguard, his complexion sallow as a yellow goat, his breathing heavy and ragged.

His wife, Queen Alicent, followed closely behind, her green dress immaculate.

The moment the Queen's gaze touched the scene, her breath hitched. The bloodstains on Aemond's face, the dagger in Jacaerys's eye—the Queen raised a hand to cover her mouth, locking her horror behind her palm.

"Seven Gods above..." Viserys looked at the scene before him, his body swaying. "This... what is this..."

"Your Majesty!" Rhaenyra, holding her unconscious eldest son, turned her head, tears carving tracks down her face. "Look! Look at what your precious son has done!"

"He tried to murder my eldest son! He drove a dagger through his eye!"

"No, that's not how it happened!" Alicent rushed forward, shielding Aemond with her body from those accusing stares.

"Look at Aemond's face!"

"He is wounded too! This must have been an accident!"

"An accident?" Daemon's cold sneer echoed against the Stone Wall. "Your Grace, how many coincidences do you think it takes for a dagger to find its way perfectly into a child's eye socket?"

"When children play, anything can happen!" Alicent's voice sharpened.

"They must have started it!"

"They slashed Aemond's face! Your Majesty, look!"

"It was Lucerys who drew the dagger; he wounded his own brother by mistake," Aemond repeated calmly, his violet eyes devoid of ripples.

"You're lying! I didn't!" Lucerys shouted immediately.

"It was you."

"I also saw Aemond stab Jacaerys," the other children chimed in, one after another.

Chaos flooded the Dragonpit like a tide.

"Enough!" Viserys's roar tore through the clamor.

The King's gaze shifted painfully between his blood-covered second son and his dying eldest grandson.

His kingdom, the peace he had painstakingly maintained, and his family, already as fragile as thin ice, shattered completely in this moment.

"First... save the children," he finally spoke weakly. "Maester! Where is the Maester!"

The accompanying Maester and his assistants rushed forward, all of them gasping in unison when they saw the severity of the wounds.

They padded the area around the dagger with cloth and carefully lifted Jacaerys.

The unconscious youth no longer screamed, emitting only intermittent moans, his body twitching from time to time.

With every convulsion, Rhaenyra's face turned a shade paler.

After Jacaerys was carried away, only a pool of dark, nearly black blood remained on the Stone Ground, along with a few drops of a more transparent, viscous liquid.

The Dragonpit fell into a deathly silence.

Every gaze was pinned on Aemond.

Alicent tried to shield her son more tightly, but Aemond gently pushed his Mother's arm away and stepped forward.

He stared at the pool of blood, meeting Rhaenyra's hollow, hateful eyes, then Daemon's playful scrutiny, before finally landing on the face of his father, Viserys, which was a tapestry of grief, rage, and profound helplessness.

"Father, it wasn't me." Aemond's voice was clear and firm. "It was Lucerys..."

"Five children have all pointed to you! And you still dare to quibble!" Viserys, brooking no argument, struck him across the face.

"Would five children unite to frame you?"

"You are the oldest one here!"

"Smack!"

Aemond did not dodge or evade, a trickle of blood seeping from the corner of his mouth.

"You would rather believe them... than your own flesh and blood?" He raised his head, looking his father straight in the eye.

Viserys looked into the fire burning in his defiant son's eyes.

In that instant, doubt slithered into his heart like a viper. Could he truly have been framed?

"Your Majesty! Would you rather trust these outsiders than your own flesh and blood?" Queen Alicent's face ignited with fury as she watched him strike her own son.

"Queen, I suggest you watch your tongue. I am the King's eldest daughter," Rhaenyra retorted coldly.

"My sons also carry the blood of the Targaryen, and they hold the right of succession to the Iron Throne."

"I am the King's own brother; are my daughters also outsiders in the Queen's eyes?" Prince Daemon's tone was indifferent. "Besides, five children have all spoken with one voice to accuse Aemond, Your Majesty."

Aemond knew clearly that on the scales of Viserys's heart, he had never even amounted to a tenth of his eldest sister, Rhaenyra.

He turned his head, his violet eyes sweeping over Lucerys with resentment. The youth lowered his head, not daring to meet his gaze.

The other children who had lied also averted their eyes one after another.

"Smack!"

Another slap landed.

Viserys was incensed by the hatred in Aemond's eyes that refused to be extinguished.

"At a time like this, you still dare to threaten them!"

"Aemond! Don't do this..." Alicent knelt down, clutching her son tightly. "Your Majesty, if you must strike someone, strike me!" The Queen looked up, her face streaming with tears.

"You... you..." Viserys looked at the pleading Queen, his raised hand frozen in mid-air. Already frail, the King could not withstand the repeated shocks; his body went limp, and he nearly fainted.

"Your Majesty!" The Kingsguard rushed forward in a panic.

Rhaenyra shot Aemond one last hateful glare, but she had no time to spare; Jae's life hung in the balance, and she had to reach him immediately.

Daemon watched Aemond, who remained standing with a straight back despite being held tightly by his mother. He raised a hand and lightly tapped his own cheek, revealing an undisguised provocation.

He admired the boy's grit, but unfortunately...

He would always stand on Rhaenyra's side.

They were destined to never walk the same path.

And this time, he had to use this incident to make the Greens pay the price.

Daemon led the children away.

Just then, heavy, rhythmic footsteps echoed from the other end of the corridor—the sound of leather boots and a metal scepter striking the stone ground in turns, beat by beat, like hammer blows against a heart.

A tall, imposing figure appeared at the entrance of the Dragonpit, blocking a portion of the flickering torchlight.

Lord Corlys Velaryon had arrived.

He had not come in haste; he was dressed in full attire, his deep blue velvet coat embroidered with the silver seahorse sigil, his white hair meticulously groomed.

Every wrinkle on his face looked as if it had been etched by sea winds, his expression as cold and firm as a reef.

Corlys did not immediately look at his departing grandchildren, nor did he look at the retreating Jacaerys.

Although whispers circulated among the nobility of the Seven Kingdoms that Rhaenyra's three sons were actually Strong bastards, Jacaerys remained his eldest grandson in name, the bond connecting the Velaryons to the Iron Throne.

His sharp, hawk-like grey-blue eyes first swept over the shocking bloodstains and slime on the ground.

Corlys's gaze met Daemon's briefly as the latter was about to leave.

Between the two men, some understandings required no words.

They were both Blacks, the most steadfast supporters of Princess Rhaenyra.

The playful smirk on Daemon's lips deepened, while Corlys's face remained as unfathomable as the sea before a storm.

The Kingsguard had just helped the unsteady King to his feet, and Queen Alicent was still weeping; the scene was in total chaos.

Yet, Corlys's steady voice cut through like a blade:

"Your Majesty."

Viserys looked at him in agony. "Corlys... you have seen it all..."

"I have seen the irreparable harm suffered by the heir to House Velaryon."

Corlys's voice was not loud, yet it caused the Dragonpit to fall into instant silence. "I also see that the perpetrator is still standing here."

Alicent jerked her head up. "Lord Corlys! This was an accident! It was a scuffle between children... Lucerys injured his brother Jacaerys by mistake."

"Your Grace," Corlys bowed slightly, his manners impeccable, yet his tone brooked no argument. "When a weapon is driven into a prince's eye socket, it transcends the realm of childish squabbles."

"This is an atrocity. It is a grave violation against the future of the realm, against Driftmark, and against the King's own blood."

He took a slow step forward, his staff tapping lightly against the ground. "Princess Rhaenyra is my daughter-in-law, and Jacaerys Velaryon is my eldest grandson."

"He carries the blood of Targaryen and Velaryon in his veins, and he bears the name of the tides."

"To harm him is a direct provocation against Driftmark, against the entire Velaryon fleet, and against the Kingdom Navy."

"Your Majesty," he turned to the swaying Viserys, "this incident occurred on Driftmark, under the roof of House Velaryon."

"As the Lord of this place, and as the head of the aggrieved family, I now demand—and must participate in—a full investigation and a fair trial regarding this matter."

"The honor of House Velaryon, and indeed the stability of the realm, depend on it."

He did not explicitly state that he wanted Aemond to pay with his life or suffer punishment, but the words "fair trial" carried the weight of a thousand stones.

Queen Alicent's face turned as pale as paper.

As a daughter of House Hightower, she knew all too well that this tragedy had escalated from a domestic conflict into a political storm between the two most powerful vassal houses beneath the Iron Throne.

Even if her son Aemond was telling the truth, every other child present claimed that Aemond was the one who did it.

In terms of witnesses, her side had already lost from the start...

Aemond, held in his mother's arms, understood the implication.

He watched the old man known as the Sea Snake with cold composure.

This old man had not come to mourn; he had come to harvest.

He wanted to trade this single eye for something more—a firmer alliance, more favorable promises, and a greater say in the future of the throne.

After Corlys finished speaking, he bowed once more to the King, as if what he had just said were merely a statement of duty.

Then, without another glance at Aemond or Alicent, he turned and walked steadily in the direction Rhaenyra had left.

After he departed, King Viserys finally collapsed, overwhelmed by the sheer weight of his grief, his fury, and the naked political coercion.

"Your Majesty!" The exclamation rang out once more.

Inside the Dragonpit, only Alicent, her handmaiden, and Aemond remained.

The Queen held her son tightly, feeling not just his trembling, but a sense of despair as if falling into an abyss.

Aemond allowed his Mother to hold him, memories churning in his mind. In the original history, it was he who lost an eye, an event that had traded for his Mother's blade-wielding madness and the Greens' even firmer support.

The Blacks, in turn, had departed gracefully, having agreed not to pursue the matter of him claiming Vhagar as compensation.

In all of this, the favoritism his father, Viserys, held for Rhaenyra had played a decisive role.

But now, it was Jacaerys who had lost an eye.

What had been traded for was an irreconcilable, life-or-death hatred with his eldest sister, Rhaenyra.

This would provide House Velaryon with the perfect pretext to launch an attack.

And he, Aemond Targaryen, only twelve years of age, was to be nailed to the pillar of shame for attempted kinslaying, his reputation ruined throughout the Seven Kingdoms.

Alicent turned, cupping his face in her hands. Her fingers were ice-cold and trembling slightly.

"Does it hurt, my child... what have they done to you..." Her voice was fractured, tears pooling in her eyes.

Aemond did not answer.

He looked at his Mother's fearful, anxious face and sighed silently in his heart.

Just how many seeds of disaster had his father, Viserys—who always sought to mend everything—sown for House Targaryen?

Bestowing dragons upon the Velaryons had nourished their ambition.

Coveting Alicent's youth and marrying his daughter's close friend had driven former confidantes toward a rupture.

It had also allowed House Hightower to glimpse a crack leading to the Iron Throne.

The Great Council years ago had already established the principle of male-preference primogeniture; Viserys himself had ascended the throne by virtue of it.

Yet now, the King insisted on naming his eldest daughter, Rhaenyra, as his heir, running directly counter to the Great Council's resolution.

It had planted the spark for a future civil war.

Every act of goodwill and compromise from Viserys was pushing the entire Targaryen dynasty toward the abyss.

And this time, his father's favoritism had remained unchanged.