Marriage

Baelon was inspecting his three small factories, unaware that he had stirred waves in the once-calm waters of the Red Keep.

The sun reached its zenith. King's Landing was hot and stifling in summer.

It was as though a thick woolen blanket covered the entire city. Viserys wore only a light Myrish silk nightshirt.

Holding several maps, he directed the stonemasons as they carved a map table of King's Landing.

Hearing Otto's report, Viserys smiled proudly.

"Look how beloved he is."

"From the moment he was born, I knew this day would come."

"The people do indeed love Prince Baelon," Otto agreed.

He glanced at Alicent in the armchair.

Alicent's fingers tightened on the pages.

She gently closed the book and praised him with a gracious smile. "They work for the prince, and the prince continually bestows favors upon them."

Viserys's smile grew wider and wider.

At that inopportune moment, Alicent thought of Rhaenyra.

To please both fathers, she ought to praise Baelon.

But whenever people at court praised Baelon, she could not help comparing them.

Comparing what the siblings, Rhaenyra and Baelon, possessed.

Rhaenyra, my dear friend.

Could you do as your brother does?

Open the treasury and squander gold recklessly, all to buy a moment's cheers.

Alicent swallowed. As though spurred on by justice, she spoke. "Rhaenyra was once praised as the 'Light of the Realm,' too."

At her words, Viserys and Otto both turned toward Alicent.

Alicent held her breath, unconsciously picking at her fingers, yet in that slight pain, she tasted a trace of satisfaction.

Seven, look!

She was like a knight, bravely confronting the king and her father for friendship, against injustice!

I will not tell Rhaenyra about this. She need not know.

At that thought, a hint of sweetness even rose in the depths of Alicent's throat. As though struck by some glory, her breathing quickened.

"Yes, Rhaenyra!" Alicent had reminded Viserys.

He said, "For the past six months, ravens have brought an endless stream of letters from across the Seven Kingdoms asking for Rhaenyra's hand. I truly don't know what to do."

Alicent's smile stiffened slightly.

Viserys held a stone sept ornament, saying nothing.

Alicent was about to speak when she met Otto's sharp gaze.

Like tender spring grass meeting the winter snows of the North, her courage vanished in an instant.

Alicent closed her mouth.

Otto lowered his eyes, his gaze settling on the magnificent Myrish carpet.

As Hand of the King, he had long since keenly noticed that Viserys had changed.

Since Prince Baelon's birth, something seemed to be gradually awakening within this mild-natured, peace-loving king.

Viserys finally made up his mind.

His eyes kept shifting, his tone wavering. "Otto, what do you think of the Lannisters?"

"A marriage between Rhaenyra and Jason Lannister?"

Otto said, "The Lannisters are the lords paramount of the Westerlands, and Casterly Rock possesses gold mines. I think it is a very good choice."

"But I fear Princess Rhaenyra will not think so."

Viserys spoke hesitantly. "Baelon could sacrifice his own marriage. I believe I can do the same."

"So can Rhaenyra."

Otto raised an eyebrow. Over these six years, he had already experienced the king's stubbornness on the matter of choosing a queen.

But that stubbornness was wavering by the day.

Now, for instance.

"Yes, Your Grace," Otto said calmly. "Sometimes people must submit to tradition and duty. No one is exempt, not even you, as king of the Seven Kingdoms."

"Have you already spoken with Princess Rhaenyra?"

Viserys shook his head. "Rhaenyra refuses to discuss this with me."

He hesitated, on the verge of speaking.

Finally, Viserys revealed, "I believe it is time for Baelon to attend the Small Council."

"We shall have a new cupbearer."

Otto agreed. "Lord Corlys will surely be pleased."

Lost in his thoughts, Viserys waved a hand, signaling for Otto and Alicent to leave.

Otto and Alicent entered the dim corridors of the Red Keep, one behind the other.

The short flight of steps leading to the Tower of the Hand was cold and dim even in the summer heat.

As soon as they returned to the room, Otto placed both hands on Alicent's shoulders and said affectionately, "Our opportunity has come, my daughter."

"Are there no other nobles asking for my hand?" Alicent asked quietly. "Father."

Otto frowned. "Alicent, I am merely a second son. Unlike my elder brother, I cannot inherit lands sufficient to pass down to my descendants."

"Even at the court of the Red Keep, I am nothing but rootless duckweed."

Alicent hurriedly said, "But people say your hold over the Iron Throne..."

"Alicent!" Otto frowned impatiently.

His hold over the Iron Throne?!

Since Viserys was easily swayed, he had to accept one thing.

If he could easily influence Viserys, others could easily do so as well!

Whenever Viserys wished, he could strip him of his position as Hand of the King, drive him away, and ensure he could never return to the Red Keep.

Yet he would be powerless, unable to resist.

Who would resist on his behalf?!

No one.

"Once you become queen, Hightower blood will be firmly rooted deep within the Red Keep."

"I will no longer be rootless duckweed."

"Alicent, my daughter, only you can do this."

Otto looked tenderly at Alicent, full of encouragement and expectation.

Alicent lowered her head.

Otto's lips curved upward, his gaze falling to Alicent's belly.

The council chamber

Viserys gently stroked the scar two palm-lengths long on his forearm, waiting for the Kingsguard to summon the Master of Laws.

A blade on the Iron Throne had cut him there.

Its point had pierced the fine silk and torn his flesh, blood immediately welling out.

The wound had soon festered, oozing filthy fluid.

Every day, he had drunk milk of the poppy to dull the pain, allowed leeches to suck the pus from his wound, and endured the maesters searing the painful spot with iron.

Time and again, he had hoped the maesters could concoct some miraculously effective herbal remedy.

But the herbs had done nothing, nor had the maesters' treatments.

Without milk of the poppy, the pain had tormented him to exhaustion, denying him even a moment's peace.

After drinking milk of the poppy, he had been groggy, unable to attend to affairs of state.

But Baelon had obtained a way to free him from this in a dream.

He had asked him to endure the pain for a time and had the maesters scrape away his blackened, yellowing, rotting flesh.

He had boiled water, added salt, and rinsed the wound.

Finally, he had spread honey over the wound and wrapped it in linen soaked in the holy spirit of alcohol.

Day after day, he had rinsed it and changed the linen.

After more than ten days, he had felt an itch. A month and a half later, a huge, thick sausage of flesh had risen on his arm.

Tap, tap, tap-

Steady, measured footsteps approached from the distance.

Viserys came back to himself. "You're here."

"Your Grace." Lyonel bowed.

Viserys rested his clasped hands on the tabletop. He opened his mouth, then hesitated.