When Vaemond Velaryon pushed open the heavy door to the Hand's Tower study, he and Otto Hightower had just concluded a secret meeting that had lasted all afternoon.
He turned and nodded to the Hand inside the study. "Thank you for your time and... understanding, Lord Hand."
"House Velaryon will remember this kindness."
Just as he was about to leave, he stopped in his tracks.
Outside the door.
Silver hair, black clothes. He watched him calmly.
Aemond Targaryen.
Vaemond's expression froze for a moment. Then he bowed slightly, observing all due courtesy. "Prince Aemond."
Aemond nodded, returning the courtesy.
"Was it worth it?" Aemond suddenly asked.
"Making a scene before the court, making it known to the whole world, and willingly putting your neck beneath the axe?"
Vaemond was momentarily taken aback. He had imagined countless kinds of obstruction, threats, or inducements he might face in the Red Keep.
But he had never expected a question so... blunt, coming from a Green prince—a boy who should have belonged to the opposing faction.
His blue eyes met those deep purple ones. Beneath their seemingly calm surface, he thought he glimpsed something—a sense of kinship.
A smile appeared on his face, and he answered proudly:
"It's about bloodline, Your Grace."
"It is the keel of a ship, and its anchor."
"If House Velaryon cannot even defend the purity of its bloodline, what future does it have but a sunken ship?"
"If His Majesty believes defending that purity is a crime, if the Iron Throne believes it can douse the flames of truth..."
"Then let my blood flow beneath the Iron Throne in the Red Keep."
Aemond watched him quietly. His face showed nothing: no approval, no pity, no opposition.
At last, he gave a slight nod and stepped aside, clearing the way to the stairs.
Vaemond said nothing more. He set off down the spiral staircase, his steps heavy but unusually resolute.
Only then did Aemond turn and enter the Hand's study.
Otto Hightower stood before the vast arched window, his back to the door as he gazed at the lights coming on in the Red Keep's courtyard below.
At the sound of the door, he slowly turned. When he saw who had entered, dark ripples stirred in his deep green eyes.
"You heard everything?" Otto asked.
Aemond walked straight to the broad desk and stated a cold fact.
"He's looking for his own death." The boy raised his head, his purple eyes bright in the stronger light of the room, clear yet complex.
"Or rather, he came to King's Landing to die."
Otto silently returned to the high-backed chair behind the desk and sat down. He didn't argue. Vaemond's intentions had been as plain as a drawn sword in his words that afternoon.
Aemond fixed his gaze on Otto. "What are the lords of the Seven Kingdoms doing right now?"
"They aren't waiting for a ruling on Tidepool Island's family affairs."
He stepped closer and lowered his voice.
"They're watching to see whether House Targaryen will look the other way—or even give its tacit approval—as those children openly usurp House Velaryon's legitimate rights, passed down through a thousand years of tradition."
"And what they're holding their breath for most is what comes next, once the royal family has allowed this precedent..."
Otto raised his eyes and stared at Aemond. "What are you trying to say, Aemond?"
"Or what do you intend to do?"
Aemond smiled, the corners of his mouth lifting.
"Those Strongs?" He shook his head gently.
"I have never considered them family, and I never will."
"The places they occupy, their very breath, the things they covet..."
"As long as they live, they are an insult to House Targaryen."
Otto's breath caught slightly as he looked at Aemond. His gaze held pure, undisguised murderous intent.
The study fell silent.
After a long while, Otto nodded heavily.
"Wasn't Vaemond asking for death?" Aemond paced to the window.
"His idea is quite clever: trade an old man's life for Rhaenyra's name as Crown Prince to be forever stained with blood that can never be washed away."
"Force my indecisive father, seated on the Iron Throne and surrounded by all his courtiers, to expose the festering sore he most wants to hide with his own hands."
Aemond turned his head, his profile cut in hard lines against the light outside the window.
"Some words are like arrows. Once loosed, they can never be taken back."
"Some things are like a castle on the verge of collapse. Once the first stone shifts, everything after it comes crashing down."
He spoke with admiration.
"The old man has a ruthless streak."
"He wants every lord from Dorne to the Wall to see clearly that our noble Crown Prince dares to toy with the bloodlines of her own vassals, using her bastards to inherit..."
"To put it bluntly."
"What is she?"
"What is she made of?"
"She treats the thousands of years of pride and law of House Targaryen and House Velaryon as toys she can paint over however she pleases, to suit her own desires."
"Far too greedy..."
Aemond's smile deepened, but a cold light gleamed in his eyes.
"If one day the history of House Targaryen is written by those who come after us..."
"And the history books say that Viserys I and his daughter Rhaenyra began the precedent of bastards inheriting the royal line and their vassals' titles..."
He shook his head gently.
"Then their names will no longer be those of a king and Crown Prince, but the most shameful footnote in the history of House Targaryen."
"This is the most complete betrayal and desecration of the very source of our bloodline!"
"Aemond!" Otto barked.
"Watch what you say!"
"His Majesty has already settled the question of those three children's parentage!"
"If you dare breathe even a word of such treasonous accusations in public—"
"I'm stating an ironclad fact, Grandfather." The smile vanished from Aemond's face, leaving behind the usual cold, utterly emotionless expression.
He didn't even take a half-step back at Otto's rebuke, merely returning the old man's gaze calmly.
"Evidence? Do we need it? Silver hair and purple eyes against brown hair and brown eyes—that's the most naked proof there is!"
Everyone in Westeros knows it. No one dares to do what Vaemond is doing and stake his life on tearing away the veil!
He turned and headed for the door.
"Don't worry. I'm not foolish enough to go to my death just yet."
He stopped at the door and turned halfway around.
"But lying low doesn't mean forgetting."
"I swear by the Blood of the Dragon."
"I will not let these Strongs defile House Targaryen."
"These bastards who have usurped high positions will one day pay the proper price for their stolen status."
"I promise..."
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