"Pretty words!"
A voice cut through the silence, scattering King Viserys's thoughts.
The Sea Snake's staff tapped against the stone floor with a dull, authoritative thud.
"Prince Aemond, you twist facts with clever sophistry," Corlys Velaryon said. His grey-blue eyes, cold and precise as a viper's, fixed on the boy.
"The truth is, you claimed Vhagar without leave. In doing so, you robbed Baela and Rhaena, your uncle's daughters, of their right to claim their late mother's dragon."
"The truth is, they were entirely within their rights to demand an explanation. And the truth is, when the quarrel had begun to cool, you, Prince Aemond, struck again over a slight against your mother."
Each "truth" fell like an icy nail, meant to pin Aemond to the pillar of blame.
Corlys didn't care who had drawn the knife; he meant to lay the root cause and the guilt squarely upon Aemond.
Aemond's throat tightened. The old man… he couldn't deny the first two points.
Those were the mess his earlier self had left him. The frustration of being unable to argue back scorched his reason.
"He insulted my mother!" Aemond spun around, violet fire burning in his eyes as he bored into Lucerys.
"What son could stay silent while his mother is slandered?"
Lucerys flinched but squeaked out a defense.
"Y-you called us Strongs first!"
He spat the forbidden name.
Strong.
The word stabbed into the hall like a poisoned needle.
Noble eyes turned furtive; whispers rose like steam. It struck the realm's most sensitive, most hushed rumor.
Corlys did not let Aemond steer the tale.
"Jealousy, resentment, long-nursed grudges, Prince Aemond," he said evenly.
"We have every reason to believe this was no impulse, but a deed fueled by motive, perhaps even intent."
He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a dangerous register.
"For instance: in the scuffle, you shoved Lucerys, who held the dagger, and deftly tripped Jacaerys, making it all look like a tragic accident."
His words prickled Aemond like daggers at his back.
"Motive?" Aemond gave a soft laugh, shaking his head. His violet gaze swept Corlys, then Rhaenyra and Daemon.
"Lord Corlys, if I meant foul play and truly sought Jacaerys's death, would I choose Driftmark? Your own stronghold, where Velaryons stand thick as walls? Before a hall full of witnesses?"
He stepped forward, raising his voice.
"If I possessed the deep cunning you claim, I would pick a darker hour, a lonelier place, and see to it I walked away clean! Not stand here accused and on trial!"
His stare settled on Rhaenyra.
"Besides, what gain is there for me, for any of us, in harming Jacaerys? To gift the Seven Kingdoms a spectacle of Targaryens butchering Targaryens? To break our father the King with grief? To drive Hightower and Velaryon to open feud and push the realm toward ruin?"
He drew a shuddering breath; the half-healed cut on his left cheek beaded with fresh blood.
"If I truly sought advancement, my lord, I would court alliances, show my worth, not bear the reek of kinslaying and become every arrow's target, dragging myself, my mother, and all our House toward doom!"
His voice rang final as a verdict, echoing through the hall.
"I am twelve, Lord Corlys. I am not yet fool enough to craft so clumsy, self-ruining a plot!"
Queen Alicent's nails bit deep into her palms; blood seeped unseen.
She looked to her father, Otto, in silent plea. But the Hand stood mute, weighing odds.
Prince Aegon's mouth hung open; he stared at his brother as if at a stranger.
'When had this sullen boy, his favorite butt of jokes, grown such a razor tongue?'
Princess Helaena's violet eyes, filled with dread, watched the wolves circle her brother.
'Seven, keep him safe…'
"A twelve-year-old who rides Vhagar is no fool," Prince Daemon scoffed into the hush.
Arms folded, head cocked, he studied Aemond.
"You are hungry, boy. You would prove yourself, show the world you deserve Vhagar more than any of Rhaenyra's brood, or perhaps," he drawled, a cold smile curving his lips, "something else entirely?"
The unfinished thought hung like a blade above them all.
Princess Rhaenyra's gaze sharpened; for the first time, she truly measured this half-brother and feared his mettle.
"Enough!"
King Viserys slammed the arm of his throne; his crown tilted askew.
"I did not come to hear you trade charges and schemes!" His voice cracked and trembled.
"One grandson lies yonder, an eye torn out, life hanging! Another of my children stands accused of plotting to slay his own blood!"
He looked from face to face. "This is my family, my Targaryen blood, and you… you…"
Bent double, he coughed until his breath failed; the Kingsguard rushed to steady him.
When the spasm passed, he lifted his head, eyes fixed on Aemond in sorrow and bewilderment.
"Aemond… you mounted Vhagar. Without leave, yes or no?"
Aemond met the stare.
"Yes."
"Why?" The King sounded weary, broken.
"Why now? Why this way?"
Aemond raised his head; his gaze was bright, unflinching.
"Because the dragon chose me, Father."
Soft yet clear, his voice carried through the hall.
"I went to her in the storm. She spat no flame, gave no warning roar. She lowered her head to me. The eldest, proudest dragon alive. I climbed her back; she did not cast me off."
He spoke now with near fervor.
"Dragons know the blood of Old Valyria. Vhagar once bore Lady Laena Velaryon, but Lady Laena has gone to the Seven. Now Vhagar has chosen me. It is her will, and mine."
"She was my mother's dragon!"
Behind Prince Daemon, Baela burst out, voice shaking.
"His Grace promised Rhaena and me the first chance! You took her without asking!"
"Baela." Daemon steadied his daughter, eyes never leaving Aemond, cold as winter steel.
"So you admit you stole my daughters' birthright?"
"I stole nothing!" Aemond's voice cracked, his features twisting with emotion.
"Dragons are not chairs! Not necklaces! Not toys you can sit on or flaunt around your neck! They are the source of the Targaryen family's strength! Living blood and fire!"
He raised his hand and pointed at Lucerys.
"And you! Your anger isn't about some stolen chance! It's jealousy! It's fear! Because you can't accept that the lonely 'pig-riding' uncle you bullied since childhood won Vhagar's favor! While you don't even dare go near her!"
Aemond looked at the hesitating boy.
"Lucerys, tell me, when you drew that blade sharp enough to kill, did it ever cross your mind that I am your uncle? Your own blood?!"
Lord Corlys shut his eyes and sighed inwardly; the boy had steered it back again.
If Aemond kept his teeth sunk into the fact that Lucerys had drawn first, he could shove part of the blame back onto him.
Aemond's chest heaved; the blood on his face stood out starkly, but his eyes blazed.
"I did call them Bastards! I admit it! And I've apologized! I apologized for naming them Bastards!"
He turned to the Black children and barked, naming each one.
"Lucerys Velaryon! Joffrey Velaryon! Rhaena Targaryen! Baela Targaryen! Before the Seven and the King, swear by your hearts: did I apologize on the spot, or are you calling me a liar?"
Silence.
Then, reluctantly, they nodded.
Pressing on, his voice cracking with intensity:
"I wanted to end this stupid fight! Let the adults decide Vhagar's rider! But you, Lucerys! You! After I said sorry and tried to calm things down, you spewed the filthiest insults at my mother! You let it spiral out of control! And I, through every second, even at my angriest, never meant to harm any kin of mine, truly! Never wanted to take an eye or a life!"
Lucerys went white as parchment. He staggered back, mouth open, no voice left.
Guilt and terror over wounding his brother swallowed him whole.
The hall was stone-silent, save for the crackling torches and stifled breaths.
"Enough…"
Princess Rhaenyra whispered, her eyes shut tight.
She could bear no more of this bloody tug-of-war built on Jace's tragedy.
When her eyes opened, she looked to her father on the throne, tears sliding down her cheeks.
"Father, by now I no longer care… who started it."
The words stunned everyone.
She walked to the center and stopped three paces from Aemond.
Both bore the Targaryen silver hair and purple eyes, yet a glacier-deep chasm yawned between them.
"Aemond," she said softly, ice beneath the calm.
"You hate me. You hate my children. You think I stole the respect owed to your mother. Think my very existence blocks you and Aegon from the inheritance you deserve… That, perhaps, I can understand."
She paused; more tears fell, unchecked.
"Maybe fate, maybe a string of cruel coincidences, your folly and theirs, an accident."
Her voice snapped like a whip.
"But when it happened, the spark was yours! You were there! You took part the whole way, from claiming that dragon, to words, to blades, to horror, and it cost my firstborn Jacaerys an eye forever! No argument can change that outcome."
She drew a ragged breath, exhausted.
"Lucerys bears his share of blame, yes! But so do you, Aemond Targaryen, you will not escape it!"
With every gaze fixed on her, Rhaenyra Targaryen, proclaimed Heir to the Iron Throne, slowly, resolutely, dropped to both knees before her royal father.
"Father," she said, eyes burning through tears.
"I do not demand an eye for an eye. I do not ask you to punish Aemond. I ask for only one thing. Justice."
King Viserys seemed to age years at the sight of his daughter kneeling. He struggled forward, hand out.
"Rhaenyra… rise… my daughter, stand… What justice do you seek?"
Back straight, tears streaming, her voice rang through the hushed hall.
"I ask you, in the name of King and Kingdom, to proclaim Jacaerys Velaryon, your grandson, my son, the undisputed first heir to the Iron Throne! Let his place come before Aegon and Aemond! Swear before the Seven and the Realm that no wound, no rumor, will ever shake his right! Issue a royal decree to every corner of the Seven Kingdoms!"
She offered her bargain, calm and clear.
"Grant this, and I, Rhaenyra Targaryen, accept tonight as a tragic accident. Aemond shall face no punishment; Vhagar's choice stands. Let the matter end here."
An uproar exploded.
Gasps, shouts, and frantic whispers burst forth like a dam breaking.
Queen Alicent turned white, swaying, nearly fainting as she was held up by her ladies.
Hand Otto's eyes shrank to pinpricks, his composure finally cracking.
The Greens around him erupted in protest.
Lord Corlys's mouth twitched into the faintest smile, then stilled.
Prince Daemon watched Rhaenyra with open admiration.
She had learned: tears and hurt could be soft weapons or hard coins.
Jace's eye was lost; nothing could change that. Better to secure his claim.
The fight had shifted from who blinded whom to the cold Iron Throne itself.
Aemond stood alone in the storm's eye.
He stared at his wavering father on the throne, then at the sister who knelt in retreat yet advanced with every word.
A bitter absurdity welled in him. Such naked, ruthless favor, so cruel, so sure.
He knew, with terrifying clarity, that he would never gamble on Rhaenyra or Jacaerys sparing him once they wore the crown.
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