Plotting

In the study of House Hightower's townhouse in King's Landing, candlelight cast Otto Hightower's face in shifting shadow.

"Do you know what you've done, Aemond?" Otto's anger simmered beneath his words.

"House Velaryon and the Triarchy!"

"They're the most important allies I could find for us across the Narrow Sea!"

"Their influence in the Eastern Continent... does it mean so little to you?"

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

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

"Clearly?" Otto nearly slammed his hand on the table. "And you still rejected them to their faces! You left them no room to save face!"

"Corlys Velaryon is right there in the hall. He's Lysandro's most trusted brother, and the key to this marriage alliance!"

"You humiliated him and brought shame upon the whole House Velaryon!"

"Aemond, this isn't a child throwing a tantrum. This is politics!"

"You nearly made us lose this ally. You might even have driven them into the other camp!"

"Don't worry." Aemond looked up at Otto, who was still ranting. "I'll apologize to them, and they'll thank me."

"Thank you?" Otto laughed in fury. "Thank you for publicly insulting their sincerity?"

"Thank you for coldly rejecting a marriage to their eldest daughter?"

"Aemond, your arrogance has gone far enough!"

"Now, I want you to go out there at once and apologize to Corlys Velaryon."

"At least make a show of smoothing things over! We can say you're too young to have considered marriage, but that you value the friendship between our houses."

"No need, Lord Hand."

The voice came from outside the study, calm and composed.

Otto turned abruptly. Corlys Velaryon entered through the doorway, still dressed in the formal clothes he'd worn for the audience.

His silver hair fell like cold moonlight, and his blue eyes gleamed like ice in the candlelight.

The restrained anger he'd shown at the meeting was gone. In its place was a keen, measuring gaze.

"Lord Corlys..." Lord Hand Otto was momentarily at a loss for words.

Corlys gave Otto a slight nod, then turned his gaze back to Aemond. "The Prince's candor is certainly memorable."

He paused. "I'm very curious, Your Highness. What did you mean when you said we would be grateful?"

"Why should House Velaryon, let alone the Triarchy, thank you for a rejected marriage proposal?"

Aemond rose and braced his hands on the table as he looked at him. "Lord Corlys, why was the Triarchy formed in the first place?"

Corlys was taken aback, then answered solemnly. "To defend against our common enemy, Valyria."

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

"Did you succeed?"

"We repelled its fiercest assaults and hemmed it into one corner of the Disputed Lands," Corlys answered cautiously.

Then he changed tack. "But what does that have to do with Your Highness refusing the marriage, or with the gratitude you claim we'll feel?"

"It has everything to do with it," Aemond said slowly, each word crystal clear.

"If I said I was willing to ride Vhagar myself and join the Triarchy's forces in driving Valyria's power completely out of the Disputed Lands... would that be apology enough?"

"You help us deal with the Velaryon fleet."

"In return, I'll help you eliminate Valyria's threat on land."

The study fell silent.

Otto sucked in a sharp breath, his pupils shrinking.

Corlys Velaryon stood frozen, as if his breathing had stopped.

He stared hard at Aemond, as though trying to see through the Prince before him.

He had Vhagar—the oldest and largest living dragon, powerful enough to turn the tide of war and reshape the balance of power in the region.

The story of Aegon the Conqueror, an ancestor of House Targaryen, riding Balerion the Black Dread into the Century of Blood was still vivid in memory.

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

Corlys was thrilled. It was an incalculable military advantage.

The relationship between the Targaryens (the Greens) and the Triarchy would go beyond ordinary ties and become a close military alliance.

That would be enough to eliminate the Disputed Lands' greatest threat.

After a long moment, Corlys slowly breathed out, his voice filled with excitement. "Your Highness... do you mean it?"

"I swear it by Targaryen blood." Aemond's smile faded. "But this doesn't commit the Seven Kingdoms. It's my personal undertaking alone."

A sharp light glinted in Otto's eyes as he rapidly weighed the pros and cons.

If this promise could win the Triarchy's unwavering support, it was worth far more than a marriage alliance.

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

"House Velaryon, and the lords of the Triarchy I can speak for, will remember this kindness."

"Very well." Aemond nodded slightly. "Perhaps one day, I'll visit Lys in person to discuss the details."

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

"I'll also report Your Highness's offer to my brother at once."

Their gazes met, and an unspoken understanding passed between them.

Corlys knew he had to take this news back as quickly as possible.

He bowed once more and left.

Silence returned to the study.

Only after a long while did Otto slowly sink back into his chair, studying his grandson with a complicated expression. "You know Valyria is a thorn in their side."

Aemond made no comment. "Practical military support and shared interests make for a stronger bond."

"Besides, we hold the initiative."

"But," Otto said, rubbing his temples, "involving yourself in a war on the Eastern Continent, even in a personal capacity, will draw countless critics."

"What about His Majesty...?"

"Father will accept it," Aemond cut him off, his tone certain. "Just as he'll eventually yield to Daemon."

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

Otto fell silent for a moment, then suddenly looked up. "Then what was the real reason you rejected the Velaryons' proposal?"

Aemond met his gaze.

The candle flame danced in the depths of his purple eyes, kindling a near-obsessive blaze.

"I believe I told you, Grandfather." His voice was soft, but every word landed like a nail. "Helaena will leave with me."

Otto stiffened. Of course he remembered those words, which had sounded almost like a declaration. He'd assumed they were just a boy's nonsense.

But now, looking into Aemond's eyes, he understood that they were no jest.

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

"Yes." Aemond admitted it without reservation. "And she loves me, too."

He paused, his voice suddenly turning cold. "So I'll never let her marry Jacaerys Velaryon, that bastard with Stron blood..."

"This betrothal must be called off, too."

"How do you plan to do that?" Otto felt a headache coming on. "Defy him openly? That would enrage His Majesty and make the Blacks hate us even more!"

"It's simple." Aemond rose. "We make sure this betrothal has no foundation before it ever happens."

Otto looked up at him in disbelief. "Have you gone mad?!"

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

Otto's breathing quickened as his thoughts raced. If they handled this carefully...

It could completely shatter the Blacks' plan to use the marriage alliance to legitimize Jacaerys.

"You mean to take Helaena with you...?" Otto lowered his voice.

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

Aemond remained unmoved. "His Majesty... he'll be furious, and heartbroken, but in the end he'll yield to me."

"Because he can't bear the pain of losing two children at once."

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

"You know him better than I do. He's weak, and he values family above all else."

Otto fell into a long silence.

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

"There's no rush. There's still time." Aemond paced back to the table. "Before the betrothal..."

He paused, his gaze settling once more on Otto's face.

"After that happens, Grandfather, I'll need you to keep Father steady and watch the Blacks' every move for me."

Otto nodded heavily, then suddenly asked:

"If you do this, you'll personally destroy the last chance of peace between us and the Blacks."

Aemond let out a low laugh.

"Why pretend, Grandfather?"

"As long as the Greens still covet the Iron Throne, we'll end up at war eventually."

"The only question is whether we let it happen slowly, or whether it erupts the moment Father dies..."

He turned around, his purple eyes blazing in the dancing candlelight.

"Or we can tear away every disguise now and let both sides' hatred burn hotter and more completely."

"I choose the latter."