Planning

King's Landing, inside the study of House Hightower's villa, candlelight flickered across Otto Hightower's face, casting shifting shadows.

"Do you have any idea what you've done, Aemond?" Otto's voice was tight with suppressed fury.

"House Velaryon and the Triarchy!"

"These are the most vital allies I could secure for us across the Narrow Sea!"

"Their influence on the Eastern Continent... does it mean nothing to you?"

Aemond lounged lazily in the high-backed chair across from him, idly flicking at the candle flame with his fingertips.

"I see it very clearly, Grandfather," he replied calmly.

"Clearly?" Otto nearly slammed his hands on the table. "Clearly enough that you refused them to their face, without leaving an inch of room!"

"Corlys Velaryon was right there in the hall—Lysandro's most trusted brother, the key to this marriage alliance!"

"You made him lose face, humiliated the entire House Velaryon!"

"Aemond, this isn't a child's tantrum—this is politics!"

"You nearly cost us that ally, and might have pushed them straight to the other side!"

"Rest assured." Aemond looked up at Otto, who was still going on. "I'll offer them my apologies, and they'll thank me for it."

"Thank you?" Otto laughed bitterly in his rage. "Thank you for publicly insulting their sincerity?"

"Thank you for contemptuously refusing a marriage to their legitimate daughter?"

"Aemond, your arrogance ends here!"

"Now, I want you to go out immediately and apologize to Corlys Velaryon."

"At least make a show of mending things! We can say you're young and not yet considering marriage, but you treasure the friendship between both sides."

"No need, Lord Hand."

The voice came from outside the study door, unhurried and composed.

Otto spun around. Corlys Velaryon entered through the doorway, still wearing his formal audience robes.

His silver hair flowed like cold moonlight, his blue eyes clear as ice in the candlelight.

The suppressed fury from the meeting was gone from his face, replaced by a look of scrutiny.

"Lord Corlys..." Otto Hightower faltered for a moment.

Corlys gave Otto a slight nod, then fixed his gaze on Aemond. "His Highness the Prince's forthrightness is truly impressive."

He paused. "I am quite curious, Your Highness—where does this 'gratitude' you speak of come from?"

"Why should House Velaryon, and the Triarchy as a whole, thank you for a rejected marriage alliance?"

Aemond rose to his feet, planting his hands on the table as he looked at him. "Lord Corlys, what was the original purpose behind the founding of the Triarchy?"

Corlys blinked, then answered gravely, "To resist our common enemy, Valyria."

"To drive its greedy claws out of the Disputed Lands and defend our Free Cities."

"Did you succeed?"

"We repelled its fiercest assaults and pinned it to a corner of the Disputed Lands," Corlys replied cautiously.

He shifted his tone. "But what does this have to do with Your Highness's refusal of the marriage, and this so-called gratitude?"

"The connection is this," Aemond said slowly, each word crisp and clear.

"If I said I would personally ride Vhagar, coordinating with the Triarchy's armies, to sweep Valyria's forces cleanly and completely out of the Disputed Lands... would that apology carry enough weight?"

"You help me deal with the Velaryon navy."

"And I'll help you eliminate Valyria's land-based threat."

The chamber fell into dead silence.

Otto sucked in a sharp breath, his pupils contracting.

Corlys Velaryon stood frozen, his breath seeming to stop.

He stared hard at Aemond, as if trying to see through the prince before him.

He had Vhagar—the oldest and largest dragon still alive, enough to turn the tide of war and reshape the regional landscape.

The old tales of the Targaryen ancestor, the Conqueror Aegon, riding the Black Dread into the Century of Blood were still vivid in memory.

If Aemond Targaryen truly joined the battle with Vhagar...

Corlys's heart raced. This was an immeasurable military asset.

The relationship between the Targaryens (the Greens) and the Triarchy would transcend ordinary ties, rising into a tight military alliance.

It would be enough to root out the festering threat in the Disputed Lands.

After a long moment, Corlys slowly exhaled a hot breath and said with excitement, "Your Highness... do you mean it?"

"I swear it by the blood of Targaryen." Aemond's smile faded. "But this does not represent the Seven Kingdoms—only my personal action."

A sharp gleam flickered in Otto's eyes as he rapidly weighed the pros and cons in his mind.

If this promise could secure the Triarchy's unwavering support, its value would far exceed a mere marriage alliance.

"This apology..." Corlys shook his head, then nodded solemnly. "No, this promise, Prince Aemond."

"House Velaryon, and the lords of the Triarchy whom I can represent, will forever remember this great favor."

"Good." Aemond inclined his head slightly. "As for the specifics, perhaps one day I will visit Lys in person."

Corlys smiled and bowed. "The gates of Lys are always open to you, Your Highness."

"I will also convey Your Highness's intentions to my brother at once."

Their eyes met, and a silent understanding was reached.

Corlys knew he must bring this news back with all speed.

He bowed again, turned, and left.

The chamber fell back into silence.

After a long moment, Otto slowly sank back into his chair, his gaze complex as he reappraised his grandson before him. "You know Valyria is the fishbone stuck in their throats."

Aemond gave no clear answer. "Tangible military aid and shared interests—these are stronger bonds."

"Besides, the initiative is in our hands."

"But." Otto rubbed his temples. "Getting involved in the wars of the Eastern Continent, even if it's your personal action, will invite endless criticism."

"His Majesty..."

"Father will accept it." Aemond cut him off, his tone resolute. "Just as he will eventually compromise with Daemon."

"He can always find a reason to convince himself."

Otto was silent for a moment, then suddenly looked up. "Then what is the real reason you refused the Velaryon marriage?"

Aemond met his gaze.

The candle flame danced in the depths of his violet eyes, burning with that near-obsessive blaze.

"I remember telling you, Grandfather." His voice was soft, but every word struck like a nail. "Helaena will come with me."

Otto's body stiffened. Of course he remembered that near-declaration; he had dismissed it as a youth's wild talk.

But now, meeting Aemond's eyes, he understood—it was no jest.

"You... love Helaena?" Otto asked hoarsely.

"Yes." Aemond admitted openly. "And her heart belongs to me."

He paused, his voice turning cold. "So I will never let her marry Jacaerys Velaryon, that bastard carrying Strong's blood..."

"This betrothal must also be annulled."

"What do you intend to do?" Otto felt a headache coming on. "Open defiance? That will enrage His Majesty and make the Blacks hate us even more!"

"Simple." Aemond rose. "Make this betrothal lose its foundation before the engagement."

Otto looked up at him directly. "Have you lost your mind?!"

Aemond turned back, a cold smile on his lips. "I can do it."

Otto's breath quickened, his mind racing. If handled properly...

This could completely shatter the Blacks' plan to legitimize Jacaerys through marriage.

"You want to take Helaena...?" Otto lowered his voice.

"Aemond, you're putting the entire Greens on the fire!"

Aemond was unmoved. "His Majesty... he will rage, he will grieve, but in the end, he will compromise with me."

"Because he cannot bear the pain of losing both his children at once."

He spoke with clear-eyed awareness. "That is the kind of man His Majesty is, Grandfather."

"You know him better than I do—he is weak, he values family above all else."

Otto fell into a long silence.

"When do you plan to act?" Otto finally spoke, his voice hoarse.

"No rush, it's still early." Aemond paced back to the table. "Before the engagement..."

He paused, his gaze falling back on Otto's face.

"After that happens, Grandfather, I need you to steady Father and keep a close watch on every move the Blacks make."

Otto nodded heavily, then suddenly asked:

"By doing this, you are personally tearing apart the last thread of peace with the Blacks."

Aemond let out a low laugh.

"Why be so hypocritical, Grandfather."

"As long as the Greens have not extinguished their desire for the Iron Throne, war will come in the end."

"The only difference is whether it's like boiling a frog in warm water, or erupting suddenly after Father's death..."

He turned, his violet eyes blazing terrifyingly in the flickering candlelight:

"Or like this—tearing off all the masks, letting the hatred between both sides burn hotter and more thoroughly."

"I choose the latter."