Family Dinner (I)

Night, in the Red Keep's banquet hall.

The tapestries hanging on the walls depicted the Conqueror Aegon and his two wives, Aenys I, Maegor the Cruel, Jaehaerys I—Targaryen kings of old.

Candle flames flickered uneasily atop silver candelabras, while the long table was draped in deep crimson velvet.

Viserys I sat in the high-backed chair at the head of the table, specially padded for him. His black brocade robe hung loosely from his increasingly gaunt frame.

To the King's left sat the Greens.

Queen Alicent sat upright, her sea-green gown making her neck seem long and swanlike.

She appeared to have no appetite, only occasionally nudging the food on her plate with her fork.

Beside her, Aegon was bent over a sauce-covered piece of beef, his silver hair hanging down and nearly concealing his eyes.

Aemond sat below Aegon, dressed entirely in black, his silver hair tightly bound behind his head. Candlelight cast sharp shadows across his youthful profile. He sat half-turned in his chair, the food before him completely untouched.

Helaena sat beside him, silently taking small bites.

Lord Hand Otto Hightower occupied the last seat on the left, quietly studying everyone present.

The two Kingsguard, Criston Cole and Rickard Thorne, stood guard by the door.

To the King's right sat the Blacks. Rhaenyra wore dark red, the color marking her as Crown Princess, her silver-gold hair arranged in an elaborate updo. Her swollen belly was already plainly visible.

From time to time, she smiled and spoke softly with her father, Viserys.

Daemon Targaryen lounged lazily against the back of his chair, turning the wine cup in his hand, his gaze fixed on Aemond throughout.

Rhaenyra's three sons sat in order beside her.

Jacaerys sat below his mother, a black eyepatch covering his left eye. His remaining right eye occasionally flicked toward Aemond, filled with resentment. Lucerys and Joffrey sat close beside their elder brother, holding their breath.

Servants moved back and forth, bringing dish after dish.

Viserys's gaze slowly swept across the long table.

"Lately... I have heard some rumors."

He looked toward Otto. The Hand immediately set down his knife and fork and dipped his head slightly. "His Majesty, it is merely some dissatisfied nobles gossiping about family matters..."

"I have ordered men to keep watch. These trivial noises will never be allowed to disturb the peace of everyone in King's Landing."

"Rumors arise from cracks." Viserys shook his head.

"We are Dragonkind. We are Targaryens."

"The last spark of Old Valyria."

His heavy gaze passed over every one of his children's faces.

"Dragons may contend. They may tear and bite at one another. But they must not slaughter their own."

"If there are disagreements, they should be resolved here, in this hall, before the family, with wisdom rather than impulse."

"Not by making us the laughingstock of the Seven Kingdoms."

Rhaenyra immediately leaned forward, her hands folded over her belly, her posture respectful. "His Majesty is right. It is precisely because rumors wound that your daughter more earnestly asks you to declare Jacaerys's rights before everyone tomorrow."

"He is my eldest son, the lawful heir to the Iron Throne, and your blood as well."

She looked toward her one-eyed son, maternal tenderness shining in her eyes.

"If you personally acknowledge him as heir to the Iron Throne, much needless suspicion will naturally subside."

The great hall fell silent.

Queen Alicent's face tightened. Otto lowered his head, staring at his wavering reflection in his cup.

Aegon did not pause in cutting his meat.

Aemond calmly watched the Blacks.

On the Blacks' side, Daemon slowly sipped his wine. Jacaerys straightened his back, while Lucerys and Joffrey held their breath.

Viserys I fell silent.

He looked at his daughter, then at Jacaerys. His gaze lingered for a moment on the black eyepatch.

The three boys' hair was an ordinary brown beneath the candlelight, their eyes a common hazel brown.

He had never personally confirmed Jacaerys's right to inherit the Iron Throne, and this was precisely why.

"The succession..." he finally said, his voice dry. "Let me consider it further."

A shadow flickered through Rhaenyra's eyes before she smiled again. "His Majesty is thoughtful. I was too hasty."

"However," she said, looking across at Helaena before turning back to the King, "Jae will turn eleven next month."

"As for his marriage to Helaena, I was thinking that once he reaches thirteen, we could hold their betrothal ceremony."

"This union may strengthen the bonds of our family."

Alicent's face instantly went pale.

She looked at Viserys, her lips parting as her throat worked, yet no sound came out.

Viserys seemed to relax. A few years from now, if Jacaerys married Helaena, confirming his inheritance then would not be impossible.

He looked at Helaena, who had kept her eyes lowered the entire time, then at the silent Jacaerys, and slowly nodded.

"We will discuss the engagement again when Jacaerys is thirteen. If, by then... all circumstances are suitable, I will permit it."

"Thank you, Father!" Rhaenyra's smile bloomed as she glanced at the pale-faced Queen across from her.

Helaena kept her head lowered, somewhat at a loss.

At that moment, Aemond gently took her hand beneath the table. Helaena looked at her brother, and Aemond gave her a slight nod.

Just then, Aemond set down the silver dining knife in his hand.

The knife fell onto the porcelain plate with a clear ding that sounded especially piercing.

Aemond raised his head, his gaze passing over Rhaenyra and her sons.

"Only birds incapable of building their own nests are always thinking of taking someone else's branches."

"For example, cuckoos like to lay their eggs elsewhere and let other birds raise their chicks."

Aemond's gaze finally settled on Jacaerys's face, each word deliberate. "And when those chicks grow up, they will even push the real eggs from the nest and smash them."

"Enough." Viserys suppressed his anger.

Meeting his father's gaze, Aemond waved a hand, his face utterly calm.

He lifted his wine cup and drained the dark red liquid in a single swallow.

Across the table, Daemon gave a low laugh. He swirled his wine, his eyes hooked like claws. "My nephew, your teeth are certainly sharp."

"But..." He deliberately paused, drawing everyone's attention to him. "I heard something even more interesting."

"They say you can command two dragons at once? Vhagar, and the hatchling that crawled out of that dead egg?"

At those words, Rhaenyra and her sons all changed expression.

Jacaerys's one eye flew wide open, while Lucerys and Joffrey stared at Aemond in disbelief.

Aemond calmly met Daemon's gaze. He even refilled his own cup and raised it in salute. "It is a gift of Targaryen blood, Uncle."

"Only pure power favors pure blood."

Then his tone shifted, and he said lightly, "Impure blood, on the other hand, can only taint what is pure."

"What do you mean by that?!" Jacaerys sprang to his feet, slamming the table.

"Heh, I was only speaking casually. Did someone take it seriously?"

Aemond smiled. "Or is it that... a counterfeit is still a counterfeit?"

"You!" Jacaerys's rage nearly burst from his chest.

"Silence, Aemond! This is a family dinner!" Viserys rebuked him sharply.

Aemond lowered his head, without the slightest remorse. "His Majesty, I was never targeting anyone."

"It is simply that some people care very deeply?"

That was practically an insult hurled straight at their faces.

Daemon waved a hand, signaling Jacaerys to sit. The smile faded from his face, and a sharp glint flashed through his violet eyes.

"Youth is wonderful. It has spirit."

"But... be careful your wings do not grow too quickly and break in the wind."

"Thank you for your advice, Uncle." Aemond smiled and nodded.

The atmosphere had fallen to freezing point.

The servants nervously stepped forward to replace the plates.

A young maid approached carrying a huge silver platter. On it lay a whole roasted suckling pig, golden and crisp, an apple in its mouth, its glistening fat shining beneath the candlelight.

She carefully placed the platter in the empty space before Aemond and lowered her head, preparing to leave.

Just then.

Lucerys looked at the roasted suckling pig, then glanced at Aemond. Thinking of something, he could not help letting out a very quiet snicker.

The sound was soft, but in the dead silence, it was like a stone dropped into water.

Aemond seemed not to hear it.

He calmly picked up the sharp carving knife the maid had left beside the platter for cutting the suckling pig. Its narrow blade gleamed coldly.

He did not cut into the ribs or leg meat. Instead, with a steady wrist, he moved the blade and precisely sliced into the joint at the pig's neck.

"Slice."

The faint sound of flesh separating was infinitely magnified in the silence.

After several clean, decisive cuts, the whole pig's head—golden-brown, glossy with oil—separated from its body.

Aemond picked up the pig's head with his bare hand and turned toward Lucerys.

A calm smile appeared on his face. His voice was clear, ensuring every corner of the hall could hear it.

"Here, Lucerys."

With a flick of his wrist, the pig's head traced a brief arc through the air.

Thud!

It landed squarely on the empty plate before Lucerys.

The pig's head lay crookedly on its side, its charred mouth stretched into a ridiculous grin, the apple clenched between its teeth seeming to mock him in silence.

Aemond set down his knife, leisurely picked up a napkin to wipe his fingers, and smiled.

"Eat more. As your uncle, I wish you... a swift and strong growth."

"Strong..."

("Strong" sounded the same as "Stron.")

In an instant, every sound vanished.

Viserys froze in his seat, one hand still pressed to his chest.

Alicent clamped a hand over her mouth, her eyes wide with shock.

The last trace of a forced smile vanished completely from Lord Hand Otto's face.

The color drained from Rhaenyra's face. Daemon slowly set down his winecup, his violet eyes narrowing as he watched Aemond.

Cold fury churned in Jacaerys's one eye, while Joffrey shrank closer to his brother in fright.

Lucerys stared at the pig's head lying within arm's reach on his plate. Though young, rage surged violently in his chest.

The maids and servants stood frozen in place, scarcely daring to breathe.

Only the candle flames continued to flicker uneasily, illuminating the shock, fury, and fear on every face with perfect clarity.

Then Aemond rose to his feet, took the freshly poured wine from the trembling attendant beside him, and raised his cup to Lucerys.