Defilement

The Name Day Feast in the Godswood was shrouded in silence.

The Heart Tree stood thick and sturdy, its Weirwood-carved face seeming to smile and weep at once in the shifting sunlight.

The long table was covered with white velvet, and gilded silverware sparkled in the sun.

The seat of honor stood empty.

The king had not come.

Viserys was still displeased with Aemond for talking back to him at the Small Council meeting last time.

Aemond cut the beef on his plate. Today he wore a plain, ink-black tunic, and his silver hair was bound neatly at the back of his head.

When Grand Maester Meuros presented the king's Name Day gift on his behalf—

a sapphire-encrusted dagger with the word "Restraint" inscribed on its blade—Aemond rose to his feet.

"Thank you for the king's gift," he replied calmly, his voice betraying no emotion.

The feast proceeded slowly amid a tacit, awkward restraint.

Then Helaena suddenly stopped picking at her food and raised her head. Her purple eyes fixed on Aemond as she said softly:

"I hate cheese. And red things."

"Helaena?" Queen Alicent turned to her, a flicker of confusion in her eyes.

The handmaiden beside her asked cautiously, "Princess, do you mean...?"

"Then have it all taken away," Aemond interjected.

His gaze met Helaena's. She was watching him quietly.

Could it be... that she had sensed something?

The handmaidens quickly removed the silver platters of red berries and various cheeses from the table.

Garvin Hightower raised his cup at just the right moment, smiling with his usual easy charm. "A toast to my young and valiant nephew."

Aemond raised his own cup in response and drained it in one go.

Meanwhile, Alicent surveyed the long table.

The king's empty seat. Her father, Otto, negotiating in the Stepstones. Her eldest son, Aegon, left on Tidepool Island...

A familiar emptiness and ache welled up in her heart.

She gave the handmaiden beside her a slight nod.

The handmaiden carried the unadorned dark gray wooden box over to Aemond.

"Your grandfather sent this," Alicent said gently.

Aemond took the box and lifted the lid.

A ring lay on the velvet.

Its iron surface was dull, rough, and unpolished, with only a line of Valyrian inscription on the face, its grooves cut deep and sharp.

"This belonged to Queen Visenya. She gave it to her son, Maegor," Alicent said softly.

She began to tell the story...

And how, in the end, Visenya's line was extinguished completely upon that iron throne.

She offered no lecture, gave no warning.

"Dragonflame can burn away anything," she said, her emerald eyes fixed on her son. "But it cannot master the human heart."

The Godswood fell utterly silent.

Aemond picked up the ring.

Then he raised his eyes. His purple gaze was clear as it met his mother's tense, watchful expression.

"So," he said calmly, "you think I'm like Maegor?"

The question was direct and plain.

Alicent looked at her son, at the composure in his eyes that did not belong to someone his age.

In the end, she simply nodded, slowly.

Sometimes, admitting the truth took more courage than lying.

Aemond smiled.

He picked up the dull Valyrian steel ring and slipped it onto the index finger of his right hand.

The metal slid over his knuckle, cool to the touch, and settled snugly at the base of his finger.

"Mother," he said, shaking his head.

"Queen Visenya had only one son, so she had no choice."

He continued, "Maegor was too foolish to leave himself any way out."

He rose to his feet, his figure standing in the sunlight.

"I'm different."

He lowered his head slightly, looking at the ring on his finger.

"I'm not Maegor, and I'm not Daemon."

He paused, then smiled.

"I am Aemond Targaryen."

He repeated himself.

"Aemond Targaryen."

At last, he raised his hand and gazed at the ring on his finger, reciting its maxim in Valyrian.

"Blood of fire, child of the true dragon."

When he finished, he did not look back at his mother, whose expression was conflicted. He turned and left.

The corridor outside the sickroom at High Tide.

Vaemond Velaryon stood before the door to his elder brother Corlys's room.

Behind him, more than a dozen Velaryon cadet members stood in tense silence.

There were captains with real authority, relatives who managed the harbor, and hot-blooded young kinsmen.

They clustered around this uncle of the family.

Footsteps from approaching visitors broke the oppressive silence nearby.

Rhaenyra Targaryen emerged from the shadows of the corridor, her dark mourning gown wrapped around her slightly fuller figure.

It showed the signs of the new life she and Daemon had conceived.

Her silver-gold hair was pinned up in a perfectly neat bun.

Her three sons followed close behind: Jacaerys wore a black patch over his right eye, Lucerys stayed close to his brother, and little Joffrey clutched his mother's skirts.

Daemon Targaryen walked at the rear, dressed in plain black and wearing Dark Sister at his waist.

"Uncle Vaemond." Rhaenyra stopped before the sickroom and spoke amiably. "The lord needs quiet."

"Please take your kinsmen and leave. This isn't the time for us to quarrel."

Vaemond's face turned livid. He glared at Rhaenyra, and when his gaze swept over the three children behind her, he could no longer hide his disgust.

"Quiet?" he said, suppressing his anger. "My dear niece—oh, forgive me. Perhaps I should address you as Your Highness the Crown Princess?"

"After all, my poor nephew Laenor has only just been given a sea burial, the funeral veils are still hanging on the door, and now I hear you can't wait to enter a marriage alliance with this..."

He pointed at Daemon. "...with this prince?"

Vaemond stepped closer. "Then take these children away, too."

"The bloodline of Tidepool Island must not be defiled. The halls of House Velaryon have no place for bastards of uncertain parentage."

Jacaerys's Adam's apple bobbed, but he raised his head and explained, "My lord, the blood of our grandfather, the Sea Snake, flows in our veins. We are Velaryons, too."

"The Sea Snake's blood?!" Vaemond staggered back at the words, as if the declaration had burned him. He turned to the kinsmen behind him and spread his arms, speaking with agitation. "Listen to that! What a stirring declaration!"

"But it doesn't change the truth! Bastards! All three of you! Every one of you is a bastard!"

"Vaemond!" Rhaenyra's voice suddenly rose. She stepped forward, shielding her sons behind her.

"I warn you, watch your words!"

"My sons are the legitimate children of Laenor Velaryon and me!"

"Their right of succession was personally confirmed by my father, King Viserys I!"

"Their place in the succession to the Iron Throne, and their rightful claim to Tidepool Island, are not open to question by anyone! Least of all you!"

"The Iron Throne?!" Vaemond looked as though he had just heard the most absurd joke in the world. His chest heaved as he turned to the kinsmen.

"Did you all hear that? Our Crown Princess intends to use the Iron Throne to settle House Velaryon's family affairs!"

"But I'm telling you, Rhaenyra!" He turned back, his eyes burning with an almost maniacal determination.

"I have no say in the disputes over the Iron Throne!"

"But Tidepool Island! The Velaryon fleet!"

"Every inch of land beneath the Seahorse banner, every warship, every sailor—I, Vaemond Velaryon, will never stand by and watch them fall into the hands of bastards of uncertain blood!"

"You shameless whore! You gave birth to a whole litter of bastards!"

"And now you want to use their filthy blood to defile the legacy my brother spent his life fighting to build?"

"The glory of House Velaryon will be destroyed by you, you wanton woman!"

The instant the words left his mouth,

Daemon's hand had already moved toward his sword hilt when Vaemond uttered the first filthy insult.

Now, he moved.

He simply lowered his gaze to the hand resting on his sword hilt and spoke softly:

"Ser Vaemond," he addressed him with the utmost formality.

"For those words you just spoke...I will personally, slowly, pull your tongue out of that shit-spewing mouth of yours, bit by bit..."

"Clang!"

More than a dozen cadet members behind Vaemond drew their swords almost simultaneously!

The guards who had been stationed at the sickroom door and both ends of the corridor now rested their hands on their sword hilts, exchanging uncertain looks, their faces full of panic and helplessness.

On one side stood Princess Rhaenyra; on the other, Ser Vaemond, a man of high standing among his kin with many powerful relatives behind him...which way should their swords point?

The air was taut as a drawn bowstring. Bloodshed seemed imminent.

"Creak."

The wooden sickroom door opened just then.

Rhaenys Targaryen stepped out. She wore a red gown, and her face was haggard.

Her gaze swept over the armed, hostile crowd before finally settling on Vaemond.

"Rhaenyra, Daemon," she said, her eyes still fixed on Vaemond. "Take the children and leave. Now."

"Rhaenys, he..." Rhaenyra protested.

"I said, now!" Rhaenys said sternly.

Rhaenyra's chest heaved violently. At last, she shot Vaemond a furious glare, shielded her three sons, and turned to hurry away.

Before turning, Daemon gave Vaemond one last look, his eyes cold and murderous.

Only when their footsteps had completely faded did Rhaenys slowly let out a breath and look toward Vaemond and the kinsmen behind him, still glaring with swords in hand.

"Vaemond," she said hoarsely, her voice weary and earnest. "I understand your anger. I know many in the family are worried about the bloodline. But things are far more complicated than they seem."

"Laenor has just died, and Corlys is unconscious. Tidepool Island cannot withstand internal strife. Give me some time. When Corlys wakes, he'll explain..."

"Explain?" Vaemond cut her off roughly, his eyes unwavering.

"Will an explanation only let those bastards sink deeper roots in High Tide?"

He waved an arm, his voice ringing through the corridor, resolute and desperate. "I won't wait any longer! I'll summon every kinsman who still has their wits about them, and we'll go to King's Landing together!"

"We'll stand before the Iron Throne, in front of all the lords, and ask King Viserys to judge the matter!"

Rhaenys's expression darkened at once. "Vaemond! You're mad!"

"To publicly question the Crown Princess and challenge the legitimacy recognized by the king is treason! You'll be dragged to the executioner's block!"

"Treason? Execution?" Vaemond looked as if he had heard the greatest joke in the world. He threw back his head and let out a hoarse, anguished laugh.

"So what?! Rhaenys! My good sister! I would rather be burned to ashes by Dragonflame than live to see the glory of House Velaryon stolen and defiled by those bastards of uncertain parentage!"

He peered through the gap in the door at Corlys, unconscious inside. "I must answer to our Velaryon ancestors who lie beneath the sea!"

He drew a deep breath. His final words sounded like both a vow and a curse:

"If King Viserys I means to execute an old man for treason because he fought to defend his family's bloodline..."

"Then let him kill me! I'll give my blood, my life, so that everyone in the Seven Kingdoms can see that Rhaenyra Targaryen is a shameless wanton!"

"She gave birth to bastards! She violated her marriage vows! She has no shame!"

"And she tried to defile the bloodline of House Velaryon, her own sworn vassal!"

"And I, Vaemond Velaryon, will die with honor beneath the Seahorse sigil!"

Having said this, he no longer looked at Rhaenys, who was swaying on her feet, and turned away.

"Let's go!"