"Jacaerys training bastards to ride dragons... that strikes at the very foundations of House Targaryen."
Viserys was silent a moment, looking at his son's silhouette as he turned back.
"But, Aemond... promise me one thing."
"Speak."
"Do not stain your hands with more kinslayer's blood." Viserys's tears flowed, clouded drops running down his lined face to fall upon the brocade bedclothes.
Aemond returned to the bedside. He wiped his father's tears away with his own hand.
"Father," Aemond said, "I promise you—so long as they do not strike first."
Viserys grasped Aemond's hand tightly. Those dim violet eyes fixed upon his son.
"Aemond... my son..." The king's voice trembled. "I do not know... what awaits House Targaryen. I do not know whether you... will become a second Maegor. But I know... I can no longer stop you."
He began to cough again, more violently now, his whole body shaking. Alicent brought a cup of water, but he pushed it aside, seizing Aemond by the collar and using the last of his strength to pull his son close.
Two faces nearly touched—young and old, cold and warm, whole and ravaged.
"The realm... it falls to you now... to pass to Aegon..." Viserys whispered. "You must help him... do not let him... become a second Aenys..."
Aenys the First—the weak, incompetent king who left chaos in his wake.
"I promise you."
Viserys's hands shook, his nails digging into Aemond's collar. "Promise me... that in the end... should all truly come to the worst... leave Rhaenyra a way to live. She is your sister... Daemon is your uncle... blood of one blood, fire of one fire..."
Aemond was silent. Then he nodded.
"When I can, I will."
It was not a promise.
Viserys knew it. Aemond knew it too.
But he needed this comfort. He needed to believe his children would not slaughter one another.
Viserys relaxed his grip, seeming satisfied. He released his hold and sank back into the bed, as if all strength had left him. His breathing slowly steadied, his eyes half-closed.
Alicent wiped her tears and said softly, "Your Grace, you should rest..."
"Alicent." Viserys suddenly opened his eyes. A flash of clarity flickered there.
The queen bent quickly, her face nearly touching his. "I am here, Your Grace."
Viserys looked at her a long time. This woman he had been married to for over twenty years, who had borne him six children, whom he had loved, who had become part of his life.
"All these years..." Viserys's voice was very soft, light as a sigh. "Thank you for all you have done."
Alicent's tears spilled over again, falling upon the king's hand. "No... Your Grace... it was I... I did not do enough. If not for me, if not for Otto..."
"You did well," Viserys said, reaching up to stroke the queen's cheek with trembling fingers. "You gave me good children... Aegon, Aemond, Daeron, Helaena... and Jaehaera and Jaehaerys—both good children. It was only... the times."
He paused, and a deep pain flickered in his eyes. "If... if I had not married you... perhaps... perhaps it would not have come to this..."
"Your Grace, do not say that." Alicent shook her head, weeping, pressing her husband's hand to her face. "It was fate... all arranged by the Seven. We are but mortals. Mortals make mistakes..."
Viserys smiled bitterly, tears in his eyes. "The Seven Above? I only wanted to be a good father... a family at peace... as it was when I was young, with Daemon, with Rhaenyra's mother... how happy we were then... But I was weak. Indecisive. My whole life, I have been pushed. Pushed by the lords, pushed by my Hands, pushed by my family..."
He cast one last look at Aemond by the bedside, a complex expression flickering in his eyes—pride, fear, worry, and a trace of relief.
"I will see to it," Viserys said. "Let the lords be silenced. Let the realm... restore order."
Queen Alicent breathed a sigh of relief. She knew this was her husband's concession, his acknowledgment.
Aemond knelt before the bed, bowing his head in salute. "Thank you, Father."
Viserys seemed content. He closed his eyes, his breathing growing long and even. Alicent thought he slept, carefully tucking the blankets around him. She turned to Aemond and said, "Let him rest. You should go too—"
The words died in her throat.
Viserys's eyes flew open. His body convulsed violently! He clutched at his throat as if an invisible hand were strangling him. His face flushed red, then turned a terrible purple-black!
"Your Grace!" Alicent stared in disbelief.
Aemond lunged forward to support his father. Viserys seized his son's arm, his nails digging in so deep they drew blood. His eyes were wide, bulging, filled with indescribable agony and...
Then he opened his mouth, and black blood poured forth.
Not bright red—black as ink, splattering across Aemond's face. Warm, with a strange, unfamiliar scent.
Aemond went still.
The blood ran down his cheeks. He stared blankly at his father. Viserys was still convulsing, more black blood streaming from the corners of his mouth.
"Maester! Call the maester!" Aemond finally roared. "Now!"
The door burst open.
Criston Cole was first through, the Lord Commander's hand on his sword hilt, two Kingsguard in white cloaks behind him. Then came Talya with the handmaidens, carrying silver basins, towels, and water, waiting at the threshold to be summoned.
They all saw it: Prince Aemond's face drenched in blood, the King convulsing violently in his bed. Black blood staining the brocade bedclothes, the silk sheets.
Queen Alicent sank to the floor, covering her face as incoherent sobs escaped her.
"Summon the Grand Maester!" Aemond roared, blood still streaming down his face. "Fetch Orwyle! Quickly!"
The silver basin in Talya's hands crashed to the floor, water splashing across the stones. She stammered, "Your... Your Grace... Grand Maester Orwyle left the Red Keep this afternoon. He said he was going to the Guildhall for some books from the Citadel. He has not yet returned..."
The blood on Aemond's face still dripped. He raised his hands; his sleeves were stained red. He looked at his father. Viserys had stopped convulsing, his eyes staring blankly at the ceiling, his chest still rising faintly.
A slow poison? But this was an acute attack. Someone had increased the dosage, or switched to a stronger toxin.
Aemond turned to Criston Cole. "Take men. Find Orwyle."
"Yes!" Cole did not hesitate, wheeling away with his men.
Aemond turned next to Talya, the handmaiden who had served Helaena for years, now trembling with emotion.
"The Red Keep is under martial law. Go to Ser William Darklyn. His men are to seal every city gate at once. No one is to enter or leave. Any who try are to be seized and held."
He paused, then added, "Pay special attention to the quarters of the Four Kingdoms' representatives. If they attempt to flee, arrest them, but do them no harm. I will question them myself."
Talya nodded quickly, rose, and ran out.
Only Aemond remained in the chamber, with his dying father and his shattered mother.
Alicent crawled toward the bed, wailing. "Viserys... Viserys..."
Viserys's lips moved.
Alicent bent close, her ear nearly touching his mouth.
"Ali... Alicent..." The king's voice was barely audible, each word bubbling with blood. "Forgive me... Forgive me for all I have done... Forgive me for not being able... to protect everyone..."
"I forgive you, I forgive you..." Alicent clutched her husband's hand, sobbing. "Please... do not leave me... Stay with me... watch the children grow..."
Viserys's hand stirred faintly, as if to touch his wife's face, but fell halfway. His eyes turned at last to Aemond, his lips forming silent words.
Aemond read the shape of them.
Promise me...
Then Viserys Targaryen, the First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, Patriarch of House Targaryen, drew his final breath.
His eyes did not close. He stared at the ceiling.
As he had throughout his life: watching his family tear itself apart, helpless to change anything.
Alicent's cries became a keening wail. She threw herself upon her husband's body, her whole frame shaking. Twenty years of marriage—every grievance, every hidden wound, all of it transmuted in that moment into pure loss.
Aemond reached out and closed Viserys's eyes.
He touched the blood on his face, half-dried now, sticky and strange.
Galwyn Hightower, Captain of the Red Keep garrison, arrived at that moment. When the uncle saw the scene within the chamber, his face went pale.
Aemond looked at him.
"Ser Galwyn. The King is dead. The Red Keep garrison is now replaced by my own guards. Summon the Small Council. They are to assemble in the council chamber within the hour."
Galwyn looked at Alicent, who sat slumped at the bedside, his eyes flickering with grief.
Aemond paused, then continued. "Have the City Watch coordinate with my guards. Curfew throughout the city. Anyone who ignores warnings and remains on the streets—noble or common—is to be killed on sight. Rebels are to be slain without mercy."
"Yes, Your Grace." Galwyn hesitated. "Your Grace... your face..."
"It is nothing." Aemond walked to the basin, bent, and plunged his face into the cold water.
The blood swirled away, staining the water red.
When he raised his head, he saw in the mirror a pale, cold face. Water dripped from the ends of his hair. His eye held no emotion—no grief, no rage, no hatred—only an almost inhuman calm.
He dried his face with a towel, returned to the bedside, and looked at his father's body. He looked a long time.
Then he knelt, took his father's cooling hand, lowered his head, and pressed his brow to the back of it.
A son bidding farewell to his father for the last time.
He rose.
"Search the city. Find Orwyle."
Galwyn nodded, bowed, and withdrew. The door closed softly.
Aemond stood in the chamber. His mother's weeping faded behind him. Viserys's body lay upon the bed, growing cold.
He went to his mother.
Alicent had stopped crying now. She simply stared blankly at her husband's body, her eyes empty.
"He is gone," she murmured. "He is truly gone..."
"I know."
"This is only the beginning, Mother. Tonight, you will preside over the Small Council as Queen Regent."
Alicent raised her head, looking at her son with tear-streaked eyes.
"Will you... avenge your father?"
Aemond was silent a moment. Then he said, "I will make all who have harmed us pay. A hundredfold. A thousandfold. Whoever they may be. Wherever they hide."
If this was truly Orwyle's doing... It seemed there were those who wished to push this war more eagerly than even he had thought.
The Citadel? The Faith?
Was Hightower involved?