The next day, the sun rose over King's Landing, its light spilling into streets and alleys, glinting off the rooftops of gray brick and red tile. A flock of white seabirds cried out as they flew over the magnificent dome of the Dragonpit.
In the Red Keep, Otto Hightower stood on a balcony, gazing out at the tranquil city. It was a beautiful scene, but his deep-set eyes and resolute face held a familiar hint of dissatisfaction. This could have been better, he thought.
He snorted coldly and turned back inside, picking up an unsealed letter from his desk. He already knew the contents: the Sea Snake, Corlys Velaryon, was seriously wounded, and the war in the Stepstones was in crisis. But he doubted the truth of it.
The Sea Snake is far-sighted, a veteran of a hundred battles, Otto mused, squinting as if to find the truth between the lines. There was no mention of Daemon. Is this a ploy to garner sympathy, to earn the crown's assistance? Whatever the case, he would never allow Viserys to drag the kingdom into that quagmire. Both the Sea Snake and Daemon were far too cunning to be trusted.
A knock came at the door. Grand Maester Mellos entered. "My Lord Hand, shall I send a raven to Oldtown?"
"No," Otto said, instead handing him a different, older letter. "Send this to Runestone. The king must be urged to return as soon as possible."
"As you wish." Mellos tucked the letter into his sleeve.
"I am going to see my grandson," Otto announced, pushing the door open.
After several years away from court, his network of informants had all but vanished. He had been forced to find new partners. One of them was Larys Strong, the second son of the Hand, Lyonel. Otto had instructed Larys to spread a rumor, half-truth and half-lie, designed to poison the well. Aemon Targaryen has usurped power in the Vale, styling himself the 'Bronze King.' Daemon has secretly started a war, proclaiming himself 'King of the Narrow Sea.' The rebellious father and son have joined forces, their eyes fixed on the Iron Throne. The goal was to discredit them both, to make the king fear his nephew and feel shame for his brother.
The Queen's Chambers.
Otto found his daughter, Alicent, gently rocking her youngest son, Daeron. She was enjoying a rare moment of peace, lounging softly on her recliner.
"Viserys is away at the tourney in Runestone," Alicent said wistfully. "I hope Aegon and the others are behaving themselves." It was the first time her children had been so far from home.
"Do not worry. Their father is with them," Otto said calmly.
Alicent sighed, unconvinced. Perhaps Aemon would be more attentive. The years of estrangement between father and daughter had thawed, and their conversations had grown easier.
"Has Viserys spoken to you?" Otto asked suddenly. "About naming Aegon his heir?"
"What?" Alicent was stunned.
"Aegon is the king's firstborn son. By all the laws of Gods and men, the kingdom should be his." Otto's tone was casual, as if discussing the weather.
A familiar headache began to throb in Alicent's temples. "Viserys has never said such a thing. He is adamant that Rhaenyra is his heir."
"There is no precedent for a queen upon the Iron Throne."
"..."
"If Rhaenyra succeeds, your own position will be perilous."
"..."
"Aegon is growing into a man. Do you truly believe he will kneel to his half-sister?"
Otto's words fell into the silence of the room. "Alicent, you must think of your children's future," he finished. He gently placed his sleeping grandson in his cradle and left, satisfied.
Alicent was left alone with her thoughts, her eyes flashing with stubbornness and sorrow. She was disappointed that her father's obsession with power remained unchanged, yet his insidious words had taken root in her heart.
Rhaenyra... The enmity between them had festered for years. The blacks and the greens were as incompatible as fire and water. Her only solace was that Rhaenyra's future husband was Aemon. With his protection, even after Viserys was gone, she and her children might be safe. But Aegon would lose his birthright.
Alicent clenched her hands, her nails digging into her palms until they bled. Her heart was in turmoil. She desperately needed someone to confide in.
Runestone.
Aemon stood before the bronze gates, seeing off the last of the caravans. News had arrived of the Sea Snake's injury. His aunt Rhaenys had immediately flown Meleys to the Stepstones. This set off a chain reaction. Laena, worried for her father, had followed on Vhagar. Viserys, concerned by the turbulent situation, had appointed Ser Steffon of the Kingsguard to escort Helaena back to King's Landing. Aemon and Rhaenyra had flown ahead on Syrax to ensure their swift and safe return.
"My prince, they are all gone now," Johanna said softly.
Aemon nodded. With the tournament over, the great lords were returning to their own lands. Jeyne Arryn of the Eyrie had been the first to depart, riding as if fleeing a flood. The second sons and landless knights, however, remained, hoping for an opportunity for advancement. The population of the city had swelled, and merchants from Gulltown and the rest of the Vale were flocking to the newly bustling town.
Aemon returned to his study and considered the recent turn of events. The Sea Snake is seriously injured. This meant the war in the Stepstones was going badly; their forces were likely on the verge of collapse. What are Daemon and Laenor doing? Something felt wrong.
And then there was Otto Hightower's return to King's Landing. If you let the old fox hide his teeth, he starts to believe he's a sheep.
"I must write to Alicent," Aemon decided. "Warn her not to listen to her father's poison." He could already predict Otto's moves. The hearts of those who played the game of thrones were always black.
"And the Vale," Aemon touched his chin, a predatory gleam in his eye. His uncle had not objected to his plans, which was a tacit approval to unify the Vale under his rule. So, what was he waiting for? "Let Lady Jeyne return to the Eyrie in peace first," Aemon grinned. It would be poor sport to strike the moment she left his protection.
He held his chin, unraveling the strange threads. The Sea Snake and Daemon should not be so easily defeated. There had to be more to the story. And his uncle Viserys, always so indecisive. It was concerning.
I feel like I'm missing something, Aemon frowned. It's too quiet. A coup in the Vale was imminent, the Stepstones were in chaos, yet there was a strange lack of news, like the calm before a storm. Someone is planning a major move. It could be one person, or a group of them.
"This won't do. I must strike first," Aemon stood up. He would secure his title as Prince of the Vale now, before his enemies could act.
A few days later, in King's Landing, Viserys returned from the Dragonpit and urgently convened the Small Council.
"What is the situation in the Stepstones? Has the Triarchy united against us?" he asked anxiously.
"No, Your Grace. Lys is still mired in its own internal conflicts," Lyonel Strong reported. "Our intelligence states that Lord Corlys was seriously wounded in battle with Tyroshi mercenaries."
"Where is Daemon? Was he not with Caraxes?" Viserys demanded.
"There is no news of Prince Daemon, Your Grace. His whereabouts are unknown," Lyonel said grimly.
Otto stood. "We should have taken precautions earlier, Your Majesty."
"Precautions against what?"
"Daemon is a rogue element," Otto said seriously. "The kingdom must guard against him colluding with foreign powers and bringing the war to our shores."
"Then close the ports and put the fleet on high alert," Viserys decided after a long pause.
"As I have said, we should seize the initiative," Tyland Lannister spoke up. "Force the armies of the Triarchy to withdraw from the Stepstones and let them continue their own squabbles."
Silence met his proposal. Tyland looked around, seeing no support, and sat down with a wry smile.
"Lord Tyland's opinion has merit," Otto said, breaking the quiet. "The crown cannot simply wait for disaster. We should at least send an envoy to observe the situation."
"And who would go?" Viserys asked.
Everyone fell silent again.
"I will go!" Rhaenyra pushed her chair back and stood.
"Rhaenyra, sit down," Viserys said, surprised.
"Father, the situation is out of control," she said, her voice ringing with courage. "Instead of endless talk, someone should go and see the truth of things for themselves."
"You are a little girl," Viserys dismissed her. "You think too simply."
Rhaenyra's eyes brightened with defiance. "Father, I am a dragonrider," she said seriously. "The only dragonrider in this family currently in the capital!"
Viserys was speechless. He shot a desperate look at Ser Harrold Westerling, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, signaling him to remove his daughter.
"Princess, please," Ser Harrold said, stepping forward.
Rhaenyra glared at her father's weakness, then stormed out of the chamber. The Vale was Aemon's battlefield, and he was conquering it. Why must the crown always be so timid? A show of Targaryen strength was all that was needed to deter the Triarchy. But in her father's eyes, his world ended at the shores of the Seven Kingdoms.
Fuming, Rhaenyra returned to her chambers. She changed out of her fine gown and into a simple, hooded traveler's cloak. After a word to her handmaiden, she slipped out of the Red Keep through a secret passage and made her way to an inconspicuous stone building off the Street of Silk.
"Your Highness," a woman with a seductive figure, dressed in white silk, greeted her from a chair in her study. It was Mysaria.
"Has anything happened?" Rhaenyra asked, taking a seat.
"A rumor has sprung from the Red Keep," Mysaria said, her voice a low purr. "That Prince Aemon and Prince Daemon, father and son, are in rebellion together to overthrow the king."
"Has it been stopped?"
"Rumors stop for the wise, Your Highness, not for the common man," Mysaria shook her head. "It seems to have been started by the Lord Hand. He has agents in the Keep, and my own people dare not act rashly."
"Otto," Rhaenyra almost laughed with rage. "My father certainly knows how to choose his friends." She looked at Mysaria. "Can you do anything?"
"The rumor itself? I am sorry, but no," Mysaria said thoughtfully. "But Prince Aemon does intend to rule the Vale, does he not? Why not lean into it? Let him take the Vale. Once he bends the knee and reaffirms his allegiance, the rumor of rebellion dies on its own."
Rhaenyra nodded silently. She was the Princess of Dragonstone, heir to the Iron Throne—a grand title with little real influence. "Can you find the rats in the Red Keep?" she asked suddenly.
Mysaria paused. "I will try."
The Eyrie.
After a long journey, Jeyne Arryn finally returned to the Maiden's Tower, dragging her exhausted body behind her. "Jeynesif, prepare a bath for me," she called out.
"Yes, my lady," her handmaiden's voice came from outside.
Jeyne sighed, leaning against the headboard of her bed. Half the Vale was now loyal to Aemon Targaryen. The other half was a fractured mess of lords who could not be united. The king must have sanctioned this, she thought bitterly. He had acquiesced to his nephew's coup to expand Targaryen power. And because Aemon had the blood of the First Men through his Royce mother, he could even be considered a son of the Vale. It was a blatant conspiracy she was powerless to stop.
"My lady, the water is ready."
Jeyne pushed herself up and walked to the bathing chamber. She knew the rise of Runestone had angered many of the Vale lords, but they were divided. Unless she was willing to plunge the Vale into a bloody civil war, the situation would remain a stalemate. And war was something the king would never permit.
Hold on, Jeyne resolved, sinking into the hot, rose-scented water. The motto of House Arryn was "As High as Honor." If Aemon Targaryen had the courage to come for her, the Eyrie would never surrender.
"Hold on to what?" a teasing male voice echoed in the chamber.
"Who!?" Jeyne's eyes flew open, her heart seizing with terror.
"Me." Aemon stood leaning against the open wooden door, his arms crossed over his chest.
"Ah!" Jeyne screamed.
"Shh, don't shout," Aemon said, moving swiftly to her side. He clamped a hand over her mouth. Her handmaiden, Jeynesif, appeared in the doorway, her eyes wide with disbelief. "Your Highness?" They had just left Runestone. How could he be here?
"Guard the door," Aemon ordered quietly. "Don't let the guards find me."
"Yes," Jeynesif said, looking helplessly at her lady.
"Traitor!" Jeyne hissed through gritted teeth once Aemon removed his hand.
"I won't hurt you. I came to talk," Aemon said, stepping closer.
"Like this?" Jeyne snapped, clutching the sides of the tub. Her fair skin was visible beneath the floating rose petals.
Aemon glanced at her, then tossed a large bath towel over her shoulders. "You broke into the Eyrie. What is your purpose?" Jeyne asked, pulling the towel tightly around herself.
"To take your place," Aemon said honestly.
"Dream on!" she spat, her eyes blazing. "There are no cowards in House Arryn. If you want war, you shall have it!"
Aemon tapped his fingers on the edge of the tub. "Get out, or kill me!" Jeyne trembled, trying to suppress her fear.
"I remember a story," Aemon said conversationally. "Do you wish to hear it?" Jeyne just glared. "During the Conquest," he continued, "the last Storm King, Argilac the Arrogant, died in battle. His only daughter was betrayed by her own garrison and delivered, naked and in chains, to the camp of Orys Baratheon."
Jeyne's pupils shrank. Every student of history knew the tale. Orys married the princess Argenna Durrandon and in doing so inherited her father's castle, sigil, and lands, becoming the first Lord of Storm's End.
"I do not wish to start a meaningless war that will kill thousands of innocent people," Aemon said, his voice now solemn and hard. "But I will rule the Vale."
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