Morning sunlight poured into the Red Keep
Sunlight poured through tall, open windows, slipping between columns and along polished stone floors, warming tapestries and catching on the edges of carved dragons. The light was soft, warming almost, as if the day itself wished to believe this was an ordinary morning.
It was not.
Amon walked at a steady and strong pace through the corridors, his steps measured to be neither rushed nor delayed. He wore dark clothes still edged in deep crimson, simpler than armor yet unmistakably his. The fabric moved easily with him, unrestrictive, as though made for travel rather than court.
Around him walked his brides.
They moved as a single procession, not in perfect formation, but in a way that suggested long familiarity, each aware of the others without looking, adjusting pace instinctively. Crimson veils hid their faces, silver hair spilling free beneath the fabric, catching the sun like threads of frost near winter.
The castle reacted.
Servants froze mid-step, hands tightening around trays or cloths. Some bowed hastily, nearly dropping what they carried. Others simply stood still, uncertain whether movement itself might be a mistake.
A few younger male servants stared too long.
One in particular lingered, eyes darting, curiosity overtaking good sense as he tried to glimpse shapes beneath the veils. His gaze slid where it should not have, imagination doing the rest.
Amon stopped.
He did not raise his voice. He did not gesture.
He simply turned his head.
Their eyes met.
The servant felt it immediately, a sudden pressure, like standing too close to a cliff's edge. His stomach dropped. Whatever fantasies had filled his mind dissolved into something colder and far more real.
He bowed clumsily, muttered an apology that barely formed words, and fled down a side corridor, face burning with shame.
The procession resumed.
No one else looked.
When they reached the main hall, the doors were already open.
Inside, the long table had been set for breakfast, formal but welcoming. Fresh bread, fruits, warm meats, and honeyed dishes meant to please without excess. Sunlight streamed in through high windows, illuminating those already present.
King Viserys stood at the head of the table.
He looked tired yet excited.
For seven years, he hadnt had dinner with nearly anyone other than his wife and children, and today his brother would be dining with him.
Queen Alicent stood beside him, immaculate in green. Her posture was flawless, hands folded to hide the destroyed figures, expression composed. Only the tightness around her eyes hinted that she had not slept well.
Aegon lounged back in his chair, trying and failing to appear uninterested. Helaena sat quietly, fingers laced together, gaze unfocused. Aemond stood close to his mother, chin lifted, his single eye watching everything with sharp intensity.
Otto Hightower was already seated, hands neatly folded, face calm and unreadable.
Several members of the Small Council lingered nearby, present more out of obligation than comfort.
The moment Amon entered the hall, all conversation ceased.
He crossed the room without acknowledging the silence and took his seat opposite Viserys.
Maera sat to his left, posture straight, presence heavy despite her stillness. Tina settled at his right, relaxed in a way that suggested a woman at peace. Beyond them, Nima, Ronara, Lily, and Tily took their places in that order, movements smooth and unremarkable.
They did not speak.
They did not look around.
They simply waited.
Viserys watched them.
He tried to see differences, anything that would make them easier to understand. He noted posture, spacing, and the subtle way they breathed. He searched for small tells, habits that might reassure him they were merely women playing at mystery.
Instead, he found discipline.
And something else.
Something he could not quite name.
Servants entered cautiously, carrying platters. Food was placed first before the king and his family, then before Amon and his brides. Steam curled upward, filling the air with comforting scents.
Still, the women did not eat.
They waited.
Amon reached for his food at last, movements unhurried and deliberate. He took a bite.
Only then did the others move.
They bowed their heads together.
No words were spoken aloud, yet the moment felt intentional, shared. Then they began to eat, quietly, neatly, without excess or haste.
The effect unsettled the room.
Viserys shifted in his chair, fingers tightening around his goblet.
"This is… a safe space," he said after a moment, forcing a smile that felt brittle to the usual ones he uses daily. "You need not keep yourselves hidden here."
Maera lifted her head.
Even through the veil, Viserys felt it... The weight of her attention was settling on him. It was not anger, nor contempt.
It was an evaluation.
Something old in him recoiled.
A chill crept along his spine, and for an instant, he remembered what it felt like to be a younger brother being constantly looked down upon by those who held the eldest as heir.
He looked away.
Silently, Viserys returned to his meal.
Alicent noticed.
Her gaze flicked from her husband to Maera, then to Amon. She felt a tightening in her chest that she did not like. These women did not behave as courtly ladies but instead like mild beasts.
Even the way they ate, even though from the look. It was sufficated and luxurious their was a underlinling hunger in each as they swallowed their meals without stopping.
Aegon watched with open curiosity, eyes lingering too little on the veils and too long on the figures of the women, while Aemond's gaze never left Amon. Helaena murmured something under her breath, fingers twitching faintly as she passively ate.
Otto observed it all.
He noted the order of seating. The ritual before eating. The servant who fled. The way Viserys had looked away.
Information is collected quietly.
Breakfast continued in near silence.
Cutlery scraped softly against plates. Goblets were lifted and set down. Outside, the city woke, unaware of how subtly the balance had shifted within these walls.
Amon ate calmly.
Patiently.
He said nothing.
He did not need to.
The table was silent, and so was he. He didn't need to make any faffle because of his nephew's disgusting looks, nor those of that servant.
Although he will remember them. He would make a problem arise because of it.