Larris approached, a subtle smile on his face.
"You were looking for me?"
Aemon grinned. "I've switched my scepter. I find I can walk with more vigor now."
"If I had a sound body, I would be the first to trade it for such troubles," Larris replied dryly, his smile never wavering.
His Royal Highness's peculiar sense of humor hasn't faded with age, he thought.
Aemon was oblivious to Larris's thoughts, which would have only amused him. The prince had spent half his life as a soldier, yet he returned with the spirit of a boy.
"I hear the king wishes for you to remain in King's Landing and join the Small Council," Larris asked casually.
Aemon simply stared at him before retorting, "And I hear you paid a visit to Queen Alicent this morning."
Larris's expression flickered. How could he possibly know? His serious tone implied he knew every detail of his movements.
"Don't be alarmed," Aemon said, his smile widening. "I hear everything."
Larris was instantly on high alert. "From whom, Your Highness?"
"A little spider," Aemon replied vaguely.
He was deliberately casting a line, hoping the 'Clubfoot' would take the bait. Aemon had no desire to be confined to King's Landing, let alone be strong-armed by the council into accepting the position of Hand. Larris, with his hidden talents and unique position, was the perfect tool. And now, he had delivered himself right to Aemon's door.
"As far as I am aware, there are no spiders in the Red Keep," Larris pondered aloud.
"That is because you are not standing high enough to see into all its dark corners," Aemon hinted.
The information had come from the White Worm. She had planted countless "little spiders" throughout the Red Keep, informants who once sold secrets for coin but now monitored the court for Princess Rhaenyra. The news of Larris entering the queen's chambers had reached Aemon almost immediately.
A shadow of unease fell over Larris. He was a clever man, but perhaps that was his failing. He had presumed he was the paramount collector of secrets within the Red Keep, never imagining another player was watching from the shadows. He had grown careless.
"Now then, what was it you wanted to see me about?" Aemon asked, steering the conversation back on course.
Larris gave him a long, searching look, understanding now that their previous exchange had been a clear demonstration of power. Aemon had already surmised the purpose of his visit.
"Prince, forgive my presumptuousness," Larris began, his eyes darting around as he lowered his voice. "The situation in the Stepstones is volatile. The king is in dire need of a reliable source of intelligence. I offer myself for the position of Master of Whisperers."
With so much subterfuge on the council, it was better to be direct.
"Done," Aemon said without hesitation.
"I realize the request is impudent—" Larris began to say, accustomed to refusal.
"I said yes," Aemon repeated firmly.
"Ah." Larris was momentarily stunned. He agreed that easily?
Aemon then asked bluntly, "I can put your name forward. What will you give me in return?"
King's Landing was hardly worth staying in, filled as it was with those unfriendly to him. Larris was a mad dog he could unleash to clear his path, which might finally give him the freedom to choose his own fate.
"You mean..." Larris lowered his head in thought. The blacks and the greens were still dormant, and securing the protection of Aemon and his allies in the Vale was a prudent move. Larris judged Aemon by his own ambitious standards; a man like that would never be content as a subordinate and would one day make a play for the Iron Throne.
"Have you given it some thought?" Aemon asked with a faint smile.
"I will require your guidance to find the proper targets," Larris said humbly.
"I wish to ease Lord Lyonel's burdens," Aemon began, feigning melancholy, "but my methods are not always gentle."
"My father has always been shackled by his honor," Larris sympathized. "He takes the rules far too seriously."
"I need the voices of opposition silenced so I might pass through this sensitive period in peace," Aemon chuckled.
"And if the Hand's eldest son were to make a misstep," Larris added with a laugh of his own, "it would certainly compromise his ability to offer fair and selfless counsel."
The two had reached an understanding.
That night, Rhaenyra returned from the Street of Silk to find Aemon looking pleased with himself.
"The Small Council refuses to name Mysaria as Master of Whisperers, but we can continue to press the issue," she said stubbornly.
"And who would support her for no reason?" Aemon's eyes glinted with mischief.
"You have a plan," Rhaenyra stated, seeing right through him.
"I have a suggestion," Aemon said, pretending to mull it over. "I sense many prying eyes in the Red Keep. Mysaria is skilled in that arena."
One mountain cannot abide two tigers. The two of them would let the 'Clubfoot' and the White Worm fight it out, like crickets in a jar.
"Who?" Rhaenyra's expression sharpened. No one wished to live under constant surveillance.
Aemon answered, enunciating each word clearly: "The Hand's second son, Larris Strong."
The next day, King's Landing bustled at dawn as noble lords from across the realm flocked into the city, all making their way toward the Red Keep.
The good news: the betrothal ceremony of Prince Aemon and Princess Rhaenyra.
The bad news: the ceremony had been postponed for three days and moved to Dragonstone.
Inside the Red Keep, Aemon had slipped away to hide in the Queen's chambers. The ceremony was meant to be held today, but a sudden letter had arrived from the Eyrie announcing that his mother, Lady Rhea, would be in attendance. They had no choice but to postpone. As it happened, this gave the council more time to deliberate his position, and his two "crickets" more time to exert their influence.
"Cousin, is your dragon very big?" a small voice asked.
Aemon, who had been lounging on a couch, rolled over to see a young Aemond looking at him with a childish face. The Red Keep was chaotic today, and as queen, Alicent was busy entertaining the noble ladies. He, the prince who was meant to be preparing for his betrothal, was instead tasked with babysitting.
"Aegon says your dragon is named Vermithor, and that he's the biggest, fiercest dragon in the world," Aemond said, his gaze timid as he looked up at his older cousin.
Aemon shook his head. "Vermithor is massive, but the largest and oldest dragon is Vhagar."
Aemond's eyes lit up, and he looked as if he wanted to ask more, but he seemed to shrink back under his cousin's stern gaze. After a long moment of hesitation, he simply said, "Oh." He immediately felt a pang of shame for his own cowardice.
"Vhagar's first rider was Queen Visenya. Her second was our grandfather, Baelon the Brave," Aemon explained, sitting up. "The old girl is ill-tempered, but she is a founder of our dynasty."
"She must be incredible," Aemond said, flattered by the attention.
"Indeed. Not just anyone can earn Vhagar's respect," Aemon chuckled.
Aemond nodded vigorously, imagining that the most powerful dragons must also be the most ferocious.
"Would you like to visit the Dragonpit and see them?" Aemon asked.
"No, I mean, Aegon..." Aemond's face flushed red as he stammered, unable to find the right words.
"Rhaenyra is quite busy these days," Aemon said with a wave of his hand. "Go find Aegon and Helaena. I'll take you all to the Dragonpit."
The three little ones had all seen Vermithor before. The moment the boy opened his mouth, Aemon knew what he truly wanted.
"Alright!" Aemond exclaimed, his face breaking into a wide grin. He ran off excitedly to find his siblings, unaware he was merely the one brave enough to ask.
Aemon watched him go, amused. Alicent was a good woman, but it was a shame she was not a Targaryen. Her children longed to connect with the dragons, and she was powerless to help them. It seemed that he, the supposed "core" of the greens, would have to put in the effort.
By midday, Aemon was walking back to the gates of the Red Keep with a dozing Helaena in his arms. Aegon and Aemond circled his legs, each clutching a dragon egg.
Aegon held a brownish-yellow egg, the result of a tantrum he'd thrown in the Dragonpit, demanding to exchange the egg from his cradle for a new one. Golden dragons were prettier, he had declared. The old Dragonkeeper had placated him by swapping it for one of a similar color.
Aemond carried a green-scaled egg. It was the one from his cradle, normally kept warm in the Dragonpit, but today he had brought it out to show off.
"Cousin, when you and sister get married, can you take us to Dragonstone?" Aemond asked eagerly. He desperately wanted to ride a dragon and fly.
"Whoever behaves will get a ride on Vermithor."
"Take me! And I promise not to let my dragon eat Helaena!" Aegon blurted out.
Aemon stopped dead. "What did you just say?"
Before Aegon could sense the danger, Aemon's foot swung out and kicked his plump little bottom. Recalling the terror of being disciplined as a toddler, Aegon's face went pale, and he fell silent.
With Aegon no longer chattering, the atmosphere grew more pleasant. Aemond trailed behind like a loyal page, clearly admiring his tall, handsome cousin. He peppered him with questions, nine out of ten about dragons, always circling back to the hope of getting a chance to ride one.
"Mmm," Helaena hummed in her sleep, her small head resting on Aemon's broad shoulder. He felt like he was holding a warm bundle—fragrant, soft, and precious. Though not yet a man himself, he played the part of the nanny perfectly.
"Your Highness!" a Kingsguard called, rushing toward them.
"What is it?" Aemon asked, turning slightly to cover the little girl's ear.
"His Majesty summons you. There is an urgent report from the Stepstones."
The Sea Serpent had taken Tyrosh and declared himself its "Archon." For a time, the news sent shockwaves across both sides of the Narrow Sea. Aemon was only mildly surprised when he heard, a slow curve forming on his lips.
The nine Free Cities were each ruled differently, their leaders holding various titles, such as the Sealord of Braavos or the Prince of Pentos. Tyrosh's system was more authoritarian, its ruler known as the Archon. No one could challenge the Archon's power except for the council of magisters who had aligned with the Triarchy. With the Sea Serpent's recent conquests, only a few of those magisters remained, leaving him as the undisputed master of Tyrosh.
Bang!
Viserys slammed his fist on the table. "The Sea Serpent's ambition has always been a sickness! This is treason of the highest order, an act condemned by all!"
"By becoming the Archon of Tyrosh, the Sea Serpent has slipped from the kingdom's control," Lord Lyonel said grimly. "For now, we must mobilize the royal fleet to guard against a counterattack from the displaced magisters."
The former rulers of Tyrosh still controlled a powerful navy in the Stepstones. Deprived of their city and supplies, they would surely turn to plundering the coasts of Westeros.
At the mention of sending troops, Viserys fell silent once more, lowering his head to weigh the consequences.
"If King's Landing does not send its ships, the Vale will," Aemon stated, knowing precisely what the king wanted to hear. While the situation was chaotic, it was the perfect time to fish in troubled waters.
Knock!
A sharp rap came from the chamber door. Ser Criston Cole announced solemnly, "Your Majesty, envoys from Braavos and Pentos have arrived and request an audience."
Knock!
At the same moment, Ser Arryk Cargyll stepped forward. "Your Majesty, a delegation of magisters from Essos has also arrived. They wish to discuss matters of great importance."
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