Night. The tenth day of house arrest.
Since returning aboard Vhagar, Aemond had witnessed the horror and emptiness of King's Landing's streets.
Immediately after, King Viserys I Targaryen had placed him under house arrest.
The duration was uncertain—entirely at the king's whim.
The room was built of pale red stone bricks, with a vast arched window overlooking the northern wall, thick with leaded glass.
Excessive blood loss left his face ghostly pale.
His violet eyes scanned the city outside. King's Landing, the capital of the Seven Kingdoms, now held nearly 400,000 souls.
From this height, the slums of Flea Bottom sprawled like a twisted labyrinth, alive with the stench of filth and stagnant water year-round.
The massive Red Keep loomed before him, several towers piercing the sky, and Maegor's Holdfast, where he resided, was a fortress within a fortress.
Outside, the regular, heavy footsteps of the City Watch echoed.
The king's guards, Ser Cole and Ser Alec, obeyed orders to watch over him and ensure his safety.
Then came another set of footsteps—slow, deliberate, unlike the clinking armor of the Iron Guard.
A gentle knock, followed by an old, respectful voice:
"Enter."
The door opened, revealing Grand Maester Merros, trembling slightly. He was old, a long chain of links hung about his neck, and behind him followed several servants bearing trays of food for the prince.
The servants placed the tray on the oak table: wine from the vineyards of the Arbor, a bowl of cherries, a small jar of shimmering caviar, carefully roasted venison, and a silver bowl with a lid, reeking faintly of fresh blood.
It was a dietary supplement, prepared according to the Grand Maester's understanding, to replenish the prince's lost vitality. The blood was venison, as requested by the prince himself.
Merros then, with effort, drew from his wide sleeves several hefty, leather-bound tomes, fastened with straps, and placed them on the table with a dull thud.
"These are the books you requested—volumes on dragons: partial manuscripts of A Compendium of Dragons, Genealogy of Valyrian Lineages, and Famed Dragon Lineages."
"Some of it… is rather obscure, Your Grace," he admitted, a faint regret in his voice, having spent much gold dragons acquiring them on the Eastern Continent.
He had heard of the prince's exploits on Crow's Nest Island.
He came from the old city of the Citadel, the territory of House Hightower, where the Great Sept of the Seven also stood.
Relations between House Hightower, the Faith of the Seven, and the Citadel were closely bound, shaping Westerosi culture and belief.
This was one reason Viserys had wished to marry Alicent Hightower as his second queen.
Grand Maesters sent by the Citadel to serve the king were tasked with observing the royal family and carefully training Targaryen heirs to avoid another "Meaghar incident," if possible.
Today, the struggle between the Black and Green factions had grown fierce, and the assembly within the Citadel was concerned as well.
Merros came to his senses and slowly seated himself across from Aemond.
"The prince's skin seems somewhat better than when he first returned," he said cautiously.
"But, in my opinion, your medical practices are… rather unrefined."
He set down the silver bowl, the corners of his mouth stained dark red, and took a napkin to wipe as he wished.
Merros had not expected Aemond to be so direct.
Aemond inclined his head and asked, "How is my father now?"
Merros was shocked. "Your Grace… how did you know?"
The king's strange illness was known only to him and a few aides. Rumors were strictly forbidden outside the Red Keep.
Aemond shook his head subtly. In the original tale, Viserys' strange disease, akin to leprosy but non-contagious, had lasted four to five years with no improvement; his health worsened steadily.
"There are no secrets in the Red Keep," Aemond said lightly.
Merros' pale brows knitted. "Your Grace… it is a rare disease.
Its nature… the wound heals poorly, festers, and spreads.
Some flesh and skin have begun to decay…"
"How is it treated?" Aemond asked, his violet eyes fixed in the candlelight.
"Occasionally… for necrotic parts, specially prepared larvae are applied, which consume the dead tissue and cleanse the wound," Merros said, his voice lowering as if mentioning the practice was improper.
Though his elder brother Aegon had a fine dragon, he lacked experience.
His younger brother Darren, raised in the old city by House Hightower, had a dragon, Blue Queen Tezirian, too young to wield in battle.
The true martial might of the Green faction rested with Aemond and Aegon's dragon.
Furthermore, to win this war, Rhaenyra had foolishly allowed illegitimate Targaryen children to ride dragons.
In Aemond's eyes, it was a betrayal of Targaryen blood.
He did not look down on bastards, yet they were weeds at the roadside.
He knew the truth: with a sharp blade and murderous intent, they rose from the start.
Moreover, these bastards, humble at first, became ambitious once they mastered a dragon.
The Black faction might fail many times, but the Green would not.
If not for Rhaenyra's madness after ascending the throne, the Black faction would have long since won this war.