Family Dinner, Part Two

At that moment, everyone's eyes were fixed on the cup Aemond had raised.

Aemond wore that inscrutable smile as he spoke slowly.

"Come now, my dear nephews."

He turned toward the three children and recited their names one by one.

"Jacaerys, Lucerys, Joffrey."

His violet eye swept over the three boys' faces, flushed red with anger.

"I drink to you."

He raised his cup and turned to Jacaerys.

"May the Seven bless my nephews. May each of you be clever, handsome..."

His gaze lingered on Lucerys for a moment.

"...strong."

He spoke that final word slowly and clearly.

"Aemond!"

"What exactly are you trying to do?"

The King had already risen to his feet.

"His Majesty," Aemond turned to his father, looking calm and innocent, "I was merely..."

"Blessing them."

"As their uncle, should I not wish for my nephews to possess..."

"Such admirable qualities?"

"That is also my most sincere wish."

Viserys was left speechless for a moment.

He glanced at Queen Alicent beside him, signaling for her to stop him.

Alicent looked at her son and called softly, "Aemond..."

She knew this son of hers too well—he used the most polite words to drive the sharpest blades.

Every sentence precisely targeted the most vulnerable weakness of Rhaenyra's children.

Rhaenyra glared darkly at Aemond, the hand beneath the table trembling slightly.

Daemon noticed and gently pressed down on her arm.

"Don't get angry."

"That's exactly what he wants."

"Aemond," Queen Alicent ordered, "enough. Sit down."

Aemond acted as though he had not heard.

"I drink to you."

He continued, raising his cup.

"To these three... 'strong' boys."

He drained the wine in his cup in a single gulp.

"Say that again if you dare!"

Across from him, Jacaerys shot to his feet, his chair scraping harshly across the floor.

His intact right eye locked onto Aemond as though it were about to spit fire.

Aemond set down his empty cup and tilted his head.

"What? Is it not a good thing for your uncle to celebrate you?"

"Or is it that..."

"You do not think yourselves... worthy of the word 'strong'?"

"You fucking—!"

Jacaerys was completely ignited.

Like an enraged young lion, he rounded the long table and lunged at Aemond.

His fist cut through the air, flying straight at Aemond's face.

Aemond had been prepared. He easily stepped aside.

"Today is a family dinner."

Aemond looked at him coldly, his expression filled with icy mockery.

"I don't want to lay a hand on you, nephew."

"Lest anyone say I'm bullying you."

Jacaerys threw another punch, this time aimed at Aemond's abdomen.

But Aemond was faster.

He caught the youth's incoming wrist firmly, his five fingers tightening like an iron clamp.

Jacaerys grunted in pain as it shot through his wrist bone, but he clenched his teeth stubbornly and refused to cry out.

Almost at the same time, Lucerys moved as well.

"Enough, Lucerys," Aegon said, stopping him.

"There's no need."

"Let me go!" Lucerys struggled, his eyes reddening. "He insulted us! You heard him!"

"It was only a blessing." Aegon sighed, casting his younger brother a complicated look.

"It's a family dinner. His Majesty is watching."

Just as Lucerys broke free, Aegon casually extended a foot.

"Ah!"

Lucerys tripped and pitched forward, crashing solidly onto the floor with a dull thud.

Seeing both his brothers suffer, Joffrey charged recklessly toward Aemond from behind.

A seven-year-old's tackle had no technique to it, but Aemond did not even turn around.

He casually pushed back with his free left hand, his palm landing squarely on Joffrey's chest.

The force was precisely controlled—enough to make the child lose his balance and fall back onto the floor, but not enough to hurt him.

"Make them stop! Stop them all!"

King Viserys's furious roar exploded through the banquet hall.

The attendants beside him hurried forward to support the king, only for him to shove them away.

Ser Criston Cole and Ser Ricard Thorne had already rushed over.

Ricard restrained the enraged Jacaerys, while Cole positioned himself in front of Aemond.

The other guards poured in through the doors as well, separating Lucerys—who was still trying to get up and wrestle with Aegon—from Joffrey, who was sprawled on the floor.

The scene descended into chaos.

Plates and silver goblets clattered to the ground, chairs toppled over, and wine splashed across the fine carpet.

Queen Alicent hurried to Aemond's side, seized his arm, and demanded in a low voice.

"Why?"

"Why did you have to say those things in front of them!?"

Aemond looked at his mother.

"Mother."

"I merely expressed... my affection for them."

He raised his head, his gaze passing over Ser Cole's shoulder and settling on Jacaerys, who was firmly held back by Ricard yet still glaring furiously at him.

"But it seems my nephews are not very proud..."

"...of their own family?"

"Aemond Targaryen!"

Rhaenyra had risen to her feet, one hand braced on the table to steady herself and the other protecting her lower belly.

Daemon stood at her side, one hand lightly supporting her lower back.

"Your Highness the Crown Princess," Alicent said, turning around and shielding Aemond behind her. "Aemond was merely sincerely blessing your children."

Her green eyes met Rhaenyra's directly. "What was wrong with his words?"

"Intelligent, handsome... which of those are not fine wishes?"

The queen's gaze swept over Lucerys and Joffrey, whom the guards had helped up.

"Besides, Jacaerys struck first. Everyone saw it."

"Blessing?" Rhaenyra laughed bitterly in anger.

"Those words? That look in his eyes?"

She stepped forward, and Daemon's hand immediately moved from behind her waist to her arm.

"Don't pretend you don't know what that means!"

Daemon moved.

He walked around the table, his steps unhurried, his silver hair glinting coldly beneath the candlelight.

In the end, he stopped five paces away from Aemond.

"My dear nephew," Daemon began, "your way with words... is truly impressive."

"You know, in Dorne, there is a kind of snake called the black whistle. Its fangs are venomous, and its bite hurts terribly."

"But they always die first."

"Because they are too conspicuous. Everyone wants to, before they cause trouble..."

A cold glint flashed through Daemon's purple eyes.

"...cut off their heads."

Aemond met Daemon's gaze without the slightest trace of fear on his face.

He even gently pushed aside his mother, who stood in front of him, and took two steps forward.

Only three paces remained between them.

The same silver hair and purple eyes, the same straight backs—they stood facing one another like two sides of a mirror.

"Thank you for the reminder, Uncle," Aemond replied calmly, his tone polite. "But I have also heard another story from the Vale."

"A gray eagle lives too long and believes it can still hunt as it did in its youth."

"Only when it dives down from the sky does it realize that its talons have dulled and its wings have grown heavy."

He paused and looked at Daemon.

"In the end, it falls to its death and is picked clean by wild dogs."

Daemon's eyes narrowed slightly.

The hand resting on Dark Sister had been restrained the entire time.

Beside Aemond, Ser Criston Cole watched Daemon's every movement closely, his hand already gripping the hilt of his sword.

"Interesting," Daemon finally said again.

"But, Aemond," Daemon said coldly, "a blade that is too sharp is liable to cut its wielder."

His gaze swept over Aemond's young face.

"Especially... when it has only just been sharpened."

"You are right," Aemond said.

"But I will be the one holding the sword."

"As for how it is used..."

Aemond stared directly into Daemon's eyes and spoke each word distinctly.

"In the end, I will have the final say."

Daemon's pupils suddenly contracted. He stared at Aemond for several seconds.

Then he suddenly chuckled. The laughter gradually opened up, carrying a hint of appreciation.

"Good. Very good." Daemon nodded and took several steps back.

He no longer looked at Aemond, turning instead to return to Rhaenyra's side.

"Let's go," he said to his wife.

Rhaenyra still wanted to say something, but Daemon had already put an arm around her and turned away.

Aemond remained where he was, watching the Blacks depart.

King Viserys watched everything that had happened.

"Seven above..."

"Look at all of you."

"Look at what you have all become!"

He had wanted to use the family dinner to bring the family back together.

But Aemond, Rhaenyra, and those three children seemed destined to be at odds.

At last, his gaze fell upon Aemond, his expression incomparably complicated.

There was hope, anger, disappointment—and also a trace of apprehension that even he himself refused to acknowledge.

This son of his, this son he had always tried to understand but had never been able to control.

Whenever he wanted to place great hopes on Aemond, the boy would always do something that enraged him.

Again and again... over and over...

If he had not been his own son, Viserys would have wanted to chop him down himself.

In the end, Viserys sighed.

"This ends here today."

"Everyone... go back to your own rooms."