Justice 1

The hall of Storm's End had never been so crowded, nor so deathly silent.

The huge fireplace crackled against the wall, stretching and distorting the shadows.

The air was thick with damp sea wind, the smell of ointments, and suppressed breaths.

King Viserys I sat high in the seat of honor, his face sallow.

The old man wore a deep red velvet robe and a crown of Valyrian steel, but his body stooped slightly beneath the robe. His left hand gripped the armrest so tightly his knuckles had gone white.

The Kingsguard stood on either side, like statues carved from stone.

Below the dais, the factions were already clearly divided.

On the left, Princess Rhaenyra stood at the front.

She had changed out of her bloodstained nightgown and now wore a black dress. Her silver hair was bound tightly at the back of her head. The tear tracks on her face had dried, leaving only coldness behind.

The princess's purple eyes seemed frozen over, yet deep within them burned a fierce fire.

Prince Daemon Targaryen stood beside her in a black-and-red leather jacket, one hand resting casually on the hilt of Dark Sister. His gaze swept across the hall as he awaited the play about to begin.

Corlys Velaryon stood slightly behind them, his staff touching the ground, his frame straight as a mast, his gray-blue eyes fixed on the king.

And there was Corlys's wife, Rhaenys Targaryen, known to the world as the Uncrowned Queen.

The older woman kept scanning their side of the hall. After everything that had happened today, where had her son, Laenor Velaryon, gone? He was Princess Rhaenyra's husband and, in name, the father of Jae, whose eye had been stabbed out.

She was consumed by anxiety. Where had her son Laenor run off to this time?

The thought of him dallying with someone made Rhaenys deeply uncomfortable.

The older woman glanced at Rhaenyra, then at Daemon standing beside her.

She disliked her daughter-in-law in name, Rhaenyra—a woman who did as she pleased and trampled on tradition.

She had put three pairs of horns on her eldest son Laenor.

Her grandchildren, Jacaerys, Lucerys, and Joffrey, had all been fathered by Rhaenyra's lover, the knight who served as her sworn shield, Ser Harwin Strong, known as "Breakbones."

Why? Wasn't it obvious? Her son had silver hair and blue eyes, while Rhaenyra had silver hair and purple eyes.

But all three grandsons had brown hair, brown eyes, and snub noses—features that clearly belonged to neither the Targaryens nor the Velaryons.

Though she loved the three boys, and her husband Corlys didn't care whether they were bastards, either.

She still hated Daemon and Rhaenyra from the bottom of her heart.

Daemon Targaryen, her youngest cousin, had married her daughter Laena. She had never agreed to the match.

But her daughter Laena had fallen in love with Daemon. Like a moth to a flame, the two had secretly betrothed themselves, then eloped on dragonback and fled to the Eastern Continent.

In the end, for her daughter's sake and in the hope of bringing her back to her side, she had had to hold her nose and agree to the marriage.

Not long ago, Laena had gone into labor again, only to give birth to a deformed boy who died shortly after.

Grieving and weak, Laena had contracted childbed fever. Even Daemon, despite bringing a maester skilled in medicine, could do nothing to save her. Three days later, her daughter was dead.

Before she died, Laena had tried to get out of bed and ride her dragon Vhagar one last time, but she had collapsed on the stairs and never woken again.

And now, at his daughter's funeral, that bastard Daemon had secretly been sleeping with his own niece, Princess Rhaenyra, Rhaenys's daughter-in-law. (The Targaryens had always practiced marrying within the family.)

Meanwhile, her son Laenor, who preferred men, turned a blind eye to it all. Now that something so serious had happened, no one knew where he had gone off to.

Her husband, the Sea Snake, kept silent about all of it, too.

Seven above! What was all this?

Rhaenys shook her head sadly. She could only feel that her family had been terribly wronged.

Cousin King Viserys and his brother Daemon had brought them nothing but misery.

At last, Rhaenys turned and looked at her grandsons and granddaughters.

Behind her, Lucerys, Joffrey, Rhaenyra, and Baela stood together.

The children had changed into clean clothes, but there was no hiding the bruises and fear on their faces.

Lucerys was pale as a ghost, keeping his head down and avoiding everyone's gaze.

Meanwhile, on the right stood Queen Alicent and her faction.

The queen wore a dark green velvet gown, the color of House Hightower, and a pearl circlet held back her brown hair. Her chin was raised as she struggled to maintain her regal dignity, but her trembling body betrayed her.

Her father, Lord Hand Otto Hightower, stood a step away at her side, his hands folded in his sleeves, his expression composed. Only the keen light in his eyes gave him away.

Aegon and Helaena stood a little farther back.

Aegon impatiently rubbed his still-sore cheek.

Helaena, meanwhile, lowered her head and twisted the hem of her skirt. From time to time, she looked up anxiously at Aemond, standing in the middle of the hall.

The center of the hall had been cleared, like an arena.

And Aemond stood alone at the heart of the storm.

His face had been treated with ointment. The wound beneath his left eye had stopped bleeding, but the swelling had yet to subside, leaving his face somewhat asymmetrical.

His wet silver hair had been hastily dried, though a few strands still clung to his forehead.

He wore only a simple linen shirt and leather breeches, the cleanest clothes they had been able to find in a hurry.

His father, the king, had ordered him to stand barefoot on the cold stone floor.

But Aemond held his back straight, meeting every gaze turned toward him without flinching.

The hateful, scrutinizing, pitying, calculating gazes...

King Viserys drew a deep breath. In the deathly silence, it sounded like a sigh. "Tonight... a tragedy took place on Tidepool Island."

His pained gaze passed over Rhaenyra, then fell on Aemond. "My blood... my children... have hurt one another."

"May the Seven have mercy."

He paused, as if gathering his strength. "Jacaerys... my eldest grandson... he..."

"He lost an eye, Father." Rhaenyra's voice cut in, cold and clear, each word landing with the force of hailstones.

"He may be blind for the rest of his life. And the dagger that pierced his eye..."

"Your Majesty!" Queen Alicent hurried forward. "Aemond was injured too! Look at his face!"

"This was a fight! An accident!"

"All the children were involved! You can't blame only my son!"

"Involved?" Prince Daemon chuckled, his laughter devoid of warmth.

"Your Grace, getting into a fight and stabbing someone's eye with a dagger are two different things."

"Just as attending a feast and murdering someone with poisoned wine are entirely different."

"Prince Daemon is right." Lord Corlys struck his staff against the floor. "Your Majesty, every child who was there, including my grandchildren, identified Prince Aemond as the one who attacked with the knife."

"Are the testimony of five children not enough to establish what happened?"

"Someone taught them to lie!" Alicent turned to the children behind Rhaenyra, her gaze blazing as she fixed it on Lucerys.

"Lucerys!"

"Look me in the eye!"

"Do you dare swear before the Seven and the king?"

"Say that you saw Aemond stab the dagger into your brother's eye!"

"Swear it on your mother's name!"

Already burdened with guilt, Lucerys began to tremble all over, his lips quivering.

Seeing Lucerys's reaction, Alicent became even more certain that her son Aemond had told the truth and hadn't deceived her.

But even if Aemond had lied, Alicent would still stand by her son. It was a mother's instinct to protect her child...

Aemond looked at his mother, roaring like a lioness defending her cub and casting aside every shred of decorum. His heart held nothing but gratitude.

Rhaenyra put a hand on her younger son's trembling shoulder, her gaze meeting Alicent's across the hall.

"Enough!" Viserys raised his voice from his seat, only to be seized by a fit of racking coughs.

"Cough, cough..."

He bent over, coughing until his face turned purple. The Kingsguard beside him hurriedly offered him a handkerchief.

It was already stained crimson.

When the king's coughing had eased, the hall fell silent again, broken only by the crackling torches.

The king raised his head, his eyes full of weariness and pain. "Aemond. You say... you didn't do it."

"But the other children say you did."

"Whom should I believe?"

Aemond stepped forward from the middle of the hall.

The cold stone floor sent a chill from his bare feet straight to his head, making him all the more clear and composed.

"Father," he said, his voice still clear with youth, yet remarkably steady.

"I never touched that dagger."

"Lucerys drew it first."

"In the middle of the fight, he lost his balance."

"And Jacaerys happened to stumble into him."

"Lucerys was holding the dagger and stabbed his own brother."

"Liar!" Lucerys sprang up and shrieked, tears welling in his eyes.

"I didn't stab him!"

"The truth is, you shoved me!"

"Then you tripped my brother! He accidentally fell onto my dagger!"

"This was all your fault!"

His words had barely left his mouth when an uproar swept through the hall.

Aemond's lips curved slightly. As expected, that brainless fool had exposed himself.

Admitting the dagger was his proves I wasn't the one who used it to stab Jacaerys in the eye, doesn't it?

Alicent and Otto's expressions changed.

On the other side, Rhaenyra remained expressionless, while Daemon and Corlys looked grim.

Lucerys also realized he had said the wrong thing and looked flustered and helpless.

"Then why was there no blood on your hands?" Aemond suddenly asked.

"Lucerys."

"You say you held the dagger, but stabbing out an eye would surely have splattered blood."

"Why are your hands perfectly clean now?"

Every gaze in the hall focused on Lucerys's hands.

The child instinctively pulled them behind his back.

Daemon narrowed his eyes and looked at his nephew again.

The Sea Snake's brow twitched almost imperceptibly.

"I... I wiped it off myself..." Lucerys stammered.

"When? How did you wipe it off?" Aemond pressed him, step by step. "Or," he turned to Daemon, "did someone wipe it off for you?"

Realizing Aemond was fishing for information, Prince Daemon's smile vanished. He cut in at once. "Boy, what are you implying?"

"Uncle, I'm pointing out the suspicious details." Aemond refused to back down. "Whose dagger was it?"

"What was engraved on it? Who gave it to him?"

"Why would a ten-year-old bring a knife with him to the Dragonpit?"

"It's my dagger!" Lucerys shouted. "Grandfather Corlys gave it to me for my Name Day!"

"It has the Seahorse Sigil on it! I brought it because... because I like it!"

"So," Aemond turned to the king, "Father, a Velaryon dagger was in the hands of a Velaryon child, and it injured the Velaryon heir."

"And I, a Targaryen, was unarmed and injured, yet I'm being called the culprit."

"Father, where is the logic? Where is the justice?"

From that moment on, Aemond had seized the initiative.

He knew that the more he tried to prove his innocence, the more easily he would sink into the quagmire of trying to prove a negative.

The key to breaking the deadlock was to question the others.

Now, Aemond would never accept being saddled with the charge of attempted kinslaying.

Even if it meant an eye for an eye.

He would never accept that charge...