Within the fifth level of the Red Keep's dungeons, no daylight could be seen—only the torches along the stone walls flickering.
Those imprisoned in the Red Keep's dungeons were all nobles who had committed offenses, or the sons and daughters of nobles…
Time here was not measured by sunrise and sunset.
This level was overseen by a member of the Kingsguard, along with dozens of guards, stationed before the doors of the dark, confined cells.
Inside one such cell, Aemond picked up a wooden sword, set his stance, and, following Ser Cole's former instruction, swung it—fast, then slow.
This was something he had requested of the guards. Even confined within a cell, he insisted on training daily.
The King had not objected.
His cell was far more spacious than the others. Rough stone walls had been carved with recesses for holding books.
Dozens of volumes were placed there, all delivered by Grand Maester Mellos at the King's command: "The Lineage of House Targaryen," "The Fall and Legacy of Valyria," "Tracing the Blood of the Andals," "On the Knowledge of Dragons"… and at the very bottom, a few knightly romances—likely included for fear that the young prince might grow too lonely.
Spread open upon the table was "Valyrian Bloodlines and the Bond with Dragons."
His silver hair was simply tied at the back of his head. A month of dungeon life had made his face leaner, its contours sharp as if carved by a blade.
Only those violet eyes remained bright beneath the torchlight along the walls.
Clang, clang, clang.
Immediately after, a figure struggled to open the heavy door and stepped inside.
It was a dwarf. On his tray were a roasted chicken leg, white bread, and several spoonfuls of mashed peas.
"Your supper, Prince! Served with King's Landing's freshest rumors and its stalest jokes!"
Mushroom, the court dwarf of the Red Keep, his body under four feet tall, was wrapped in multicolored patchwork garments. The small bells on the brim of his cap jingled as he moved.
With practiced ease, he laid out his own plate and cutlery—his routine preparation to taste the food for Aemond.
Since Aemond's imprisonment, King Viserys had made arrangements: Mushroom would dine with him each day, both to test for poison and to keep him company.
The King's original words were that he did not wish his son to meet with misfortune in the dungeons, nor to go mad from loneliness.
Mushroom placed the two plates upon the small wooden table, arranged everything swiftly and neatly, then climbed onto a raised stool.
It had been specially made so that he could reach the tabletop.
He first took a sip of wine, then cut a small piece of chicken from Aemond's plate, chewing exaggeratedly, widening his eyes, and then swallowing.
After a moment, he spread his arms and theatrically announced: "See! Not dead! Your food is perfectly safe, esteemed prisoner prince!"
Aemond sheathed his sword and walked over, taking a seat at the table.
He drank a sip of wine before speaking. "What news is there outside today?"
"Oh, there's plenty of news!" Mushroom gestured animatedly with both hands.
"Over at Driftmark, Lady Rhaenys has finally made a public statement—the Velaryon house will not fracture over groundless accusations."
"However, many members of House Velaryon have already gathered at High Tide, waiting for Lord Corlys to declare his position…"
Aemond listened in silence, cutting the chicken on his plate.
Mushroom continued with a grin: "And there's more. Miss Alyn Rogare of the Rogare family of Lys—the one betrothed in marriage to Prince Aegon—has arrived in King's Landing."
"She has silver hair and blue eyes, quite beautiful!"
"The Rogare family even had a golden dragon statue forged, as large as a carriage. The entire city rushed to the harbor to watch the spectacle."
"The Queen is most pleased and has rewarded many gold coins. Now the smallfolk of King's Landing are praising Prince Aegon and Miss Alyn as a match made by the gods."
"And Dragonstone?" Aemond asked.
Mushroom's smile paused for a brief instant before quickly returning. "The Princess… a few days ago, the child in her womb was born."
"Prince Daemon named him Aegon."
Aemond smiled faintly. "Then does House Targaryen now have two Aegons?"
Mushroom clicked his tongue but did not dare respond.
The name "Aegon" came from Aegon the Conqueror. The weight of that name was understood by all.
Aemond asked no further questions and continued eating.
He knew far more than this. Through the occasional notes that reached him, he knew that a month ago Daemon had proposed to the King that he be exiled.
He knew his mother, Alicent, went daily to the sept within the Red Keep to pray for him. He knew Helaena had begun dreaming again. He knew Aegon was entangling himself with those maidservants…
"Oh, right, right!" Mushroom suddenly remembered something and pulled a neatly folded silk handkerchief from within his garments. "Princess Helaena asked me to bring this to you yesterday."
Aemond took it.
In one corner of the pale blue silk handkerchief were delicately embroidered silver-thread flowers—Helaena's handiwork—along with a line of slender script:
[I miss you very much. Remember, do not defy Father…]
Aemond stared at that line of writing for a long while. Had she foreseen something again?
He lifted his gaze. "Did she say anything else?"
Mushroom shook his head. "No more. That's all."
The two continued eating in silence.
Mushroom tried to liven the mood.
He began recounting the day's stock of jokes: a vulgar one about a Dornishman and a camel, a comical tale about a maester's chain tangling into knots, and a satirical bit about a bastard walking into a tavern.
But halfway through, he choked on his own words and coughed awkwardly.
He recalled the recent scene in the throne room—the argument about bastards.
"Not funny. That one's not funny," Mushroom said hurriedly, stuffing a piece of bread into his mouth.
Aemond, however, slightly lifted the corner of his lips. "Why not finish it?"
"Uh, because…"
Aemond set down his knife and fork, folded his hands upon the table, and looked at the dwarf with a calm gaze.
"You have done well this past month. You have relieved much of my boredom."
Mushroom stared blankly at the prince.
"I hear you have younger brothers and sisters in King's Landing?"
The dwarf nodded.
"I will have someone arrange respectable positions for them, as repayment."
Gratitude spread across Mushroom's face.
For a month now, as the King's fool, he had known well how to please those above him, how to provide them the emotional satisfaction they desired.
Yet this prince had always been unreadable to him. When those violet eyes looked upon him, it was like the gaze of a predator—calm and cruel.
Instinct told him not to provoke such a man, for one could never guess what he might do the next moment.
At that instant, Mushroom suddenly fell silent.
Not by choice, but as though a hand had seized his throat.
He turned toward the cell door—the small viewing hatch set into the heavy iron door, usually shut, now stood slightly ajar.
An eye was pressed against it.
Aemond noticed as well.
He leaned back in his chair, lifted his wine cup, and took another sip. The common wine, though sour and astringent, sharpened the mind.
From beyond the iron door came the sound of a key sliding into the lock, metal grinding and turning, followed by the dull weighty thud of the door being pulled open.
The cell door swung inward.
Viserys stood outside.
The King wore a heavy black cloak, yet it did not conceal the faint tremor of his body—whether from the dungeon's chill or the erosion of his illness. His left hand remained wrapped in bandages.
He did not enter at once, but simply looked at his son within the cell.
Mushroom had already slipped down from his stool and prostrated himself upon the floor, his forehead pressed against the cold stone.
"Leave," Viserys said.
Mushroom, as though granted a pardon, nearly crawled as he scrambled out through the doorway.
The guards shut the door once more.
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