Within Queen Alicent's bedchamber, the air was thick with the mingled scent of herbs and blood.
At this moment, she reclined half-upright against a pile of raised cushions, her face pale, save for her green eyes, which flared suddenly with light as her family filed in one after another.
Viserys sat at her bedside. Half his face was covered by a golden mask.
Since half a year past, the illness had eaten into his features, rotting his flesh, and in the end it could not be stayed.
Though his body had grown weaker by the day, the King had forced himself to keep his strength today, keeping vigil beside the Queen, frail from childbirth.
But an hour ago, Alicent had borne him a pair of children.
The boy was named Jaehaerys, in memory of the former King.
The girl was called Ysera, taking the name of the Queen's mother.
Hearing the footsteps, Viserys turned his head, his gaze falling upon his eldest son, Aegon.
Aegon bowed calmly in salute, and at his side Alyn Rogare inclined her head with equal grace.
The King felt a weight upon his heart. He had not yet told Alicent that news—
A few days ago, a raven came from Storm's End: the three brothers Jacaerys had formally renounced their claim to the Iron Throne and entered House Velaryon; Rhaenyra had declared young Aegon her heir.
The Hand, Otto, had advised delaying the telling of the Queen, lest it affect her labor.
"Mother."
Aemond stepped forward first, dropping to one knee at the bedside and taking Alicent's hand.
"You have endured much."
The Queen's eyes filled at once. For two years, she had touched her second son only through the words of his letters, and seen his face only in her dreams.
"Aemond… you have finally returned."
"I have returned," he answered softly.
The King watched the scene, his expression troubled.
At this moment, Rhaenyra and Daemon also entered the chamber, while Jacaerys and his two brothers waited outside the door. The Princess raised a flawless smile upon her face and stepped forward.
"Alicent," she said gently, "my congratulations. I have just seen the children—they are both fair."
"Jaehaerys's hair is very like his father's, and Ysera's eyes are the very same as yours."
Alicent and Rhaenyra's gazes met.
All that had gone unspoken between them, all that had once passed between them, flowed in silence within that look.
"Thank you for coming, Rhaenyra," Alicent said at last. "I hear you too have only lately given birth… are you well?"
"Well enough." Rhaenyra's smile remained flawless. "Little Viserys is strong, and so is his brother, little Aegon. Both bear the purest marks of House Targaryen—silver hair, violet eyes, the lines of Valyria."
Alicent watched her in silence.
Leaning against the doorway, Daemon let out a soft laugh, breaking the delicate balance in the air.
"How warm, this family reunion," he drawled. "Let me think—when was the last time the whole of House Targaryen stood so neatly gathered? Ah, yes. Before that night on Driftmark."
The words fell like a block of ice into hot oil.
"Daemon." Viserys cast him a warning glance. "Mind the occasion. Alicent needs her rest."
"What did I say that was wrong?" Daemon spread his hands with a light laugh. "I merely marvel at how swiftly time flies. Look—those children from Driftmark are all grown now."
"That is enough."
This time it was Rhaenyra who spoke.
She turned to Alicent, her expression gentle once more. "Rest well. We shall come again another day."
Alicent inclined her head in courtesy.
By now, she no longer held any illusion of reconciliation with Rhaenyra.
...
By tradition, on the night a royal child is born, the members of the royal house dine together in the small banquet hall of Maegor's Holdfast.
On either side of the long table, the seats were clearly divided.
The King sat alone at the head. Queen Alicent, weakened from childbirth, was unable to attend.
At his left hand sat the Greens: Aegon, Alyn Rogare, Aemond, Helaena, and Daeron;
At his right sat the Blacks: Rhaenyra, Daemon, Jacaerys, Lucerys, and Joffrey.
The serving maids silently presented dish after dish.
Viserys looked around at the silent company, cleared his throat, and tried to break the suffocating stillness. His gaze settled at last upon the youngest, Daeron—this child had ever been gentle and the least likely to stir dispute.
"Daeron," the King said, his voice somewhat dry, "how fare your studies in Oldtown? Maester Menaed wrote that your High Valyrian has grown quite fluent, and that you have even begun reading the ancient texts."
Daeron set down his silver spoon and straightened in his seat.
"Yes, Father. I am reading The Fall of the Freehold. Maester Menaed says that to understand the present of House Targaryen, one must first understand the past of Valyria." He paused briefly. "In addition, I am studying Valyrian poetry."
"Poetry?" Aegon snorted from beside him, his silver spoon lightly striking the rim of his bowl. "What use is that? Better to learn the tasting of wine, or—"
He suddenly felt a gaze from his side. Turning his head, he met Alyn Rogare's eyes and swallowed the latter half of the words—how to please a maiden—before they left his tongue.
Alyn dabbed gracefully at the corner of her mouth. In the Common Tongue touched by a Lyseni accent, she spoke softly: "Poetry is the essence of a civilization, Aegon. A fine poem may endure a thousand years."
"Did you hear that, Prince Aegon?" Daemon toyed with his wine cup and spoke lazily. "Even your betrothed thinks you should read more."
The air in the hall froze at once.
Mocked by his uncle, Aegon felt a flicker of anger, yet he restrained himself.
Alyn's expression stiffened for a moment, but she quickly recovered her smile. "Your Highness jests."
Daemon said nothing further, yet his gaze lingered upon Aemond, who ate in silence.
At that moment, the King spoke again.
"Rhaenyra, regarding Jacaerys and the others entering House Velaryon… I am already aware."
The entire long table fell silent at once.
Rhaenyra set down her utensils and lifted her eyes to meet her father's gaze.
"Yes, Father. It was a decision made jointly by Lord Corlys and myself."
"Jacaerys, Lucerys, and Joffrey shall become the lawful heirs of House Velaryon and enjoy all the rights of Driftmark."
"And my heir shall be little Aegon and little Viserys—he is of pure Targaryen blood, silver-haired and violet-eyed, beyond dispute."
She paused slightly, her gaze passing over the Greens before returning to the King's face.
"In this way, the dispute over succession will cease to exist. The Seven Kingdoms shall return to stability. It may be called… a situation where both sides win."
"Both sides win?"
Aemond repeated softly, still without raising his head, cutting the roast chicken upon his plate with measured ease.
"Let me think… my sister wins, House Velaryon wins, the King wins?"
He set down his knife and fork and lifted his eyes toward Daemon at Rhaenyra's side.
"Everyone is winning, are they not?"
"Aemond!" Viserys looked at his son, whose tone carried mockery beneath civility.
But Aemond continued, his voice calm.
"Yet that is not the point of this evening. The point is…"
He turned to Rhaenyra and offered a courteous smile.
"Since Jacaerys is now a Velaryon, then the betrothal Father arranged in years past… does it still stand?"
All eyes fell suddenly upon Helaena.
Rhaenyra glanced at Helaena, then turned to the King, her voice gentle yet firm.
"That is also what I wished to seek Your Grace's guidance upon. The betrothal was made by you personally, at a time when Jacaerys was still a Targaryen."
"Though he has changed his name, his blood has not. The betrothal… ought properly to continue."
She paused briefly, adding, "It would further strengthen the alliance between the two houses."
Viserys fell into silence.
After a long while, the King spoke slowly. "The betrothal… was indeed made by me. Then let it stand as it was said before."
"Mother will not agree."
Aemond's voice cut across the King's words.
The hall sank into deathly stillness.
Daemon arched a brow, watching the scene with keen interest.
"Aemond," Viserys's tone grew stern, "this is not for your mother, nor for you, to decide."
"I am the King. Helaena's future is mine to determine."
"Aemond, do you have further objection?"
Aemond smiled and shook his head.
"Your Grace, I have no objection."
With that, he pushed back his chair and turned to leave the hall.
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