Inside the study of the Hand's Tower in the Red Keep.
"Grandfather."
Aemond pushed the door open and walked in.
At a glance, they were indeed all core figures of the Greens. Jasper Wylde, the Master of Laws, was stroking his beard as he spoke in a low voice with Otto. Nearby stood Larys Strong, the newly appointed Master of Whisperers, the "Clubfoot," who had gained Otto's trust not long after taking office. Several other courtiers, dressed in splendid attire, were also gathered around the Hand.
Aemond's arrival was like a stone dropped into still water.
Everyone turned to look at the prince who had just been publicly released from house arrest by the king.
He walked straight toward the long table before Otto, its surface piled high with documents, his gaze sweeping across faces that showed surprise, scrutiny, or smiles hastily put in place.
In the end, his eyes settled on a plate of candied fruit dusted with sugar glaze.
As if no one else were present, he reached out, pinched up a candied plum with an inviting sheen, and tossed it into his mouth.
"Mmm. Sweet to the point of cloying—just right to go with the slightly bitter air in here, Grandfather," he commented indistinctly.
Otto frowned.
He loosened his grip on the exquisite quill in his hand, leaving a small, jarring blot of ink on the parchment. He lifted his head and looked at his increasingly unpredictable grandson.
In a public setting—even if that public was limited to the Greens—such casual displays of familial intimacy were not in keeping with his usual caution.
Aemond met his gaze and broke into a smile. "My lord Hand?"
Otto glared at him for a moment, as if trying to bring him into line with a look.
But in the end, his tightly knit brows still relaxed in helpless resignation.
He let out a light sigh and nodded.
The boy knew where to draw the line in forms of address. At least that gave him a bit of face.
Enough. In the end, there were no true outsiders here.
"Ahem." Larys, the Master of Whisperers, cleared his throat, closed the secret letter in his hand, and rose with tact.
"My lord Hand, regarding Driftmark… ah, I will go verify the details once more."
The Master of Laws, Jasper Wylde, immediately followed up, "Yes, my lord. I must also go inspect King's Landing."
The other courtiers, like stalks of grain stirred by a gust of wind, bowed one after another, offering their leave as they filed out. Before going, each of them cast Aemond a respectful yet complicated glance.
Soon, only the grandfather and grandson remained in the study.
Otto leaned back against the chair, rubbed his brow, and set aside the fatigue brought on by affairs of state for the moment.
He looked Aemond over again—this second son who had once been gloomy and withdrawn, but now seemed to be showing a keen edge.
He spoke slowly, pointing toward the door.
"What do you make of them?"
Aemond reached for another piece of candied fruit, this time an apricot preserve.
He leaned against the edge of the table, his posture relaxed. "Them?"
He chewed as he spoke. "Nobles—there's no need to take their stances too seriously. People change at any time."
"As long as interests align, they are our allies."
Otto's surprise shifted into scrutiny. "Who taught you such things?"
He did not recall ever instilling in Aemond such… realism, even a certain cold-blooded pragmatism.
Alicent? No. She tended more toward emotion and morality.
A brilliant smile bloomed across Aemond's face. "If I said I was naturally gifted, would you believe it?"
He shrugged, his tone as light as if he were telling a joke.
Otto did not press the matter.
He steered the conversation toward something more urgent. "Then tell me, Aemond—how do you view the current… situation between the Greens and the Blacks?"
Aegon had been left on Driftmark, and Helaena's marriage alliance was an even greater problem.
Now, in King's Landing, the Greens' only true pillar seemed to be the prince standing before him—the one who rode Vhagar.
His stance was of vital importance to the Greens.
Aemond did not answer at once. He walked to the window, looking down at the winding steps of the Red Keep and the distant outline of the city, and spoke coolly.
"They are strong."
"Rhaenyra holds Dragonstone, commands many allies, and has dragons in abundance."
"We… have indeed suffered a great disadvantage."
He turned back to face his grandfather, standing against the light.
"But we have not lost yet, have we?"
Otto caught that clearly spoken "we."
Good. He still regarded himself as part of the Greens.
"As long as she is human, she will make mistakes," Aemond continued, walking back to the table, his fingers tapping against the oak.
"And my dear sister… her temperament—you may understand it better than I do."
"Forceful. Arrogant. Spoiled."
"We need only wait patiently. They will expose their own flaws."
Otto, however, pointed out the crux of the matter.
"They possess far more dragons and dragonriders than we do."
"Your Vhagar is indeed the strongest living dragon, but she is very old, Aemond."
"Can her speed and endurance still contend with younger dragons?"
"Vhagar is old," Aemond acknowledged.
"But her experience is something those young dragons cannot compare to."
"Her size and strength still stand above all others."
"Though she is ancient and somewhat slow."
"No dragon dares to charge her head-on or grapple with her fangs."
"So long as our tactics are sound, and we avoid being surrounded by multiple dragons, Vhagar's teeth and dragonfire can still decide the battle in a single exchange."
This assessment of draconic combat power made Otto nod once more.
"Aegon has been left on Driftmark. His noble attendants and companions—I will have them instead serve you."
"His resources will also be transferred to you."
Otto began to offer tangible support.
"Furthermore, I will arrange for you to meet the family's chief steward in King's Landing."
"If you need anything at all, you can go to him."
Aemond gave a slight nod. This time, his smile was a touch more sincere.
"Thank you for your regard and trust, Grandfather."
Otto paused, leaned forward slightly, and his tone became notably solemn.
"Aemond, I am supporting you in this way because I hope you can become the firmest shield and sword for your brother Aegon's future rule."
"You must remember: you are brothers bound by blood. The future of the Greens rests upon you."
Aemond hesitated almost not at all, his expression earnest.
"Of course. Aegon is my beloved kin—my brother…"
Otto leaned back in his chair, and a rare look of faint ease appeared on his face for the first time in days.
Aemond's change and his performance truly exceeded his expectations.
Just then, Aemond suddenly spoke, breaking the brief silence.
"As for Helaena's marriage alliance—how do you intend to handle it?"
He asked with striking directness.
Otto's brows knit again. It truly was a tremendous vexation.
He let out a sigh.
"I need time. I will find a way."
Aemond looked at his grandfather's anxious profile as he fell into thought, and suddenly gave a soft laugh.
Aemond straightened.
"Why make it so troublesome? Think too much, and your hair falls out faster."
He walked toward the door, his hand resting on the latch, and glanced back at Otto.
"It's simple. Helaena comes with me. Would that not do?"
With that, he did not wait for Otto's reaction. He pulled the door open and strode straight out, leaving Otto stiff in his chair, unable to recover for a long while.
Comes with me? What did he mean?
What, exactly, was the boy planning?
What mad, lawless, world-shaking thing was he planning now?!
A wave of headache washed over Otto. The small measure of satisfaction and expectation he had just felt toward Aemond was instantly diluted by a vast uncertainty and a creeping sense of unease.
The boy was a sharp blade—but a blade that did not seem entirely obedient…
...
In the corridor, Aemond walked with steady steps.
Behind him, clad in snow-white armor and a white cloak, Ser Criston Cole of the Kingsguard kept his distance, following close behind.
After they had gone some way, Aemond suddenly spoke. His voice rang clearly through the empty corridor. He did not turn back.
"You hate Rhaenyra, do you not, Ser Cole?"
At the question, Cole's body stiffened for an instant.
He had not expected the prince to raise this subject so abruptly—nor in such a setting.
He was silent for several seconds, each word seeming to be forced out between clenched teeth.
"Yes, my prince."
"I hate that whore."
"She toyed with my feelings."
"She exploited my loyalty and… my affection."
"She trampled my honor and defiled my white cloak."
His words grew increasingly heated, but he soon forced himself to rein them in.
"Of course, the man I was then was too weak, allowing private feelings to cloud my duty. That is my shame."
"Now I am awake. My life and loyalty belong only to the royal house, to the rightful side."
"Heh…"
Aemond let out a faint, ambiguous chuckle that echoed softly down the corridor.
Some things lost their meaning once laid bare. Leaving that twisted hatred intact might be more useful.
"Master," Aemond said, changing the form of address.
"Come train with the sword with me."
The sudden turn pulled Cole slightly back from his surging emotions.
He answered at once, "Yes, my prince."
"I do not think I am strong enough yet," Aemond continued, his pace quickening, a note of hunger seeping into his stride.
"I want to become stronger. Faster."
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