"But I…" Aegon turned to look at Aemond, then at his father. "I do not understand these matters."
"You will learn," Viserys said. "Alyn will help you. I will have the Hand of the King assist you. Aemond will support you as well."
"Now you must shoulder your duty, my son."
Aegon still wished to say something, but Alyn had already stepped forward and lightly touched his arm.
Aegon turned back and saw in his wife's eyes a look that was almost pleading—be silent, accept it, do not be a fool now.
"…Yes, Father." In the end, Aegon lowered his head.
Viserys nodded, as though an immense weight had been lifted from his shoulders.
He turned to Aemond, wishing to see the reaction of his second son.
Aemond looked at his father.
There was no emotion in his eyes—no anger, no jealousy, no disappointment, not even surprise.
"Aemond," the King said, "you will assist your brother, will you not?"
"Of course, Father," Aemond replied.
"Family. Duty. Honor."
"This is my duty."
"Good… good."
Weariness came over Viserys like a rising tide. He waved a hand. "House Rogare has sent gifts… bring them forth."
The attendants carried in two heavy wooden chests.
When the chests were opened, silver light spilled out. Within lay two suits of Qohorik mithril-forged armor, exquisite as works of art.
Aemond rose to inspect them.
He ran his hand over the surface of the armor, tapped the breastplate to test its hardness, and worked the hinges at the joints.
"Fine armor," Aemond judged.
"If you like it, take a set," Viserys said. "The other is for Aegon—though you may have little use for it."
Aegon walked over and casually patted the cuirass. "It is handsome enough. Still, I shall have no need of it. I will not be riding in the tourney."
Behind Aegon, Alyn watched him make a fool of himself.
The nobles of the Seven Kingdoms prize valor.
When the heir to a kingdom bears the air of courage, the lords admire him all the more and follow more readily.
Even if your skill at arms is lacking, once you step onto the tourney field, the knight across from you, seeing your rank, will show restraint.
Viserys merely smiled. "As you wish, Aegon."
As he spoke, the King placed Jaehaerys into Alyn's arms and made a gesture.
Ser Criston Cole, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, stepped forward holding a long ebony casket.
He knelt on one knee before the King and opened the lid.
Inside lay a greatsword.
The dark rippling patterns of Valyrian steel flowed beneath the sunlight. The four-foot blade was broad and heavy, a standard two-handed war sword.
"Blackfyre…" Aemond murmured, excitement stirring in his eyes—the heat of a warrior beholding a divine blade.
Viserys looked at the sword, his expression complex.
Then he lifted his head and turned to Aegon.
"Aegon," the King said, "this sword… I bestow it upon you now."
All eyes fell upon Aegon.
He looked at Blackfyre—the legendary blade that symbolized conquest, kingship, and the blood of House Targaryen.
And what rose in his mind was: that thing looks heavy. A few swings and his arms would be sore.
And it was a two-handed sword…
The last time he had trained with a two-handed blade had been four years ago; he had nearly cut his own foot.
"Father…" He swallowed. "It is too precious."
He glanced back at Aemond, and his mind misfired: "Aemond's swordsmanship is far better than mine. He likes this sort of—"
Silence fell.
The color drained from Alyn's face in an instant.
Alicent stared at her foolish eldest son in astonishment.
Viserys, too, widened his right eye at Aegon.
Aemond was momentarily stunned as well, but since Aegon had said as much, the chance would come but once…
Then he moved.
He stepped forward and lifted Blackfyre from the casket with both hands.
The motion was so smooth it seemed the sword had always belonged to him.
Being Valyrian steel, the blade was light; Aemond took it in a single firm grip.
He turned to Aegon, a sincere smile appearing on his face.
"My thanks for my brother's esteem and favor. I am grateful for such generosity."
He turned to Viserys, bowed his head, and presented the sword with both hands. "Father, if you deem me unworthy to bear Blackfyre—"
"I can return it at once."
Aegon stood with his mouth open, his mind utterly blank. Not… I… I was only being polite!
You are truly taking it!?
He wished to speak, but his throat was dry, and not a single word would come.
Viserys watched the scene, his heart churning like a storm-tossed sea.
Blackfyre—the blade with which Aegon the Conqueror had subdued the Seven Kingdoms, the symbol of royal succession—had changed hands so lightly.
"Since Aegon has given it to you…" Viserys said, mastering himself, "then keep it. Wield it well… and serve the family."
"Thank you, Father. I shall not fail this sword." Aemond performed a proper sword salute, then took Blackfyre and walked into the godswood to practice.
Alyn bit through her lower lip, the taste of blood spreading in her mouth.
She looked at her husband—Aegon, still bewildered, not yet fully aware of the foolish thing he had done—and disappointment, and despair, rose within her.
Alyn murmured softly, "A weak elder brother, and a younger brother holding the king's sword he yielded…"
"It is just like that time, is it not…"
Alicent turned to look at Alyn. Hearing her words, her eyes filled with horror.
Viserys heard as well.
His clouded right eye turned toward Alyn, then toward Aemond and Aegon, and then to Blackfyre.
That time?
Then he remembered—Aenys I, frail and sickly, indecisive, manipulated by the Faith and the lords.
After Aenys I, threatened by the Faith and by mobs, died in fear and distress, Maegor, returning from exile, slew his nephew Aegon and seized the Iron Throne from his brother's line…
So that was what Alyn meant.
A chill crept up Viserys's spine.
"I am weary," the King said at last, his voice utterly spent. "Take me back to my chambers."
Alicent hurriedly signaled the attendants.
The wheelchair was pushed out of the godswood, rolling over fallen leaves with a soft rustling sound.
At last Aegon came to his senses and rushed before Aemond, who was practicing with the sword, his face flushed red.
"You… why did you truly take it? I was only being polite!"
"That is the King's sword. It ought to be mine—"
"It was given to me by you, with your own hand," Aemond interrupted calmly.
"But if you wish it, I can return it to you now."
Aegon looked into Aemond's cold violet eye and choked on his words.
He did not dare offend Aemond. Though… still…
In the end, he could only sigh in frustration, the words left unspoken.
Alyn stepped forward and seized her husband's arm. "Enough, Aegon. Back to your chambers."
She dragged Aegon away and, before leaving, cast Aemond a glance.
Aemond paid it no mind. He lowered his head and looked at Blackfyre, his fingers brushing over the dragon's head upon the hilt.
"Did you do it on purpose just now?" Helaena's voice sounded from beside him.
"He gave me the chance."
Helaena looked at Aemond with worry in her eyes. Aemond turned to her with a smile and said, "Do not be troubled. He is my brother, in the end. I will do nothing to him."
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