Smack! Smack! Smack!
At that moment, in the council chamber, Grand Maester Norren had already slapped himself more than a dozen times. His face was swollen like a pig's head; blood from the corners of his lips dripped onto the grey robe on his chest, staining it dark red.
"Enough," Aemond finally spoke.
Grand Maester Norren stopped, gasping, his whole body trembling.
Aemond looked at him, his eyes cold as winter water. "Grand Maester, do you know why I punished you?"
Grand Maester Norren lowered his head and dared not speak.
"Because you forgot your position," Aemond said. "You are the Grand Maester of the Red Keep. Your duty is to assist the king and advise the royal family. Not to watch the royal family's misfortune—not to gloat."
He paused, and his voice grew slightly colder. "A Targaryen dragon has been stolen. That is a shame for House Targaryen. As a minister before me, you do not think of how to recover the loss, but you laugh? What are you laughing at? Are you laughing at our misfortune?"
Grand Maester Norren fell to one knee with a thud. "Regent, forgive me! I... I was momentarily confused..."
"Momentarily confused?" Aemond sneered. "You are a man of the Citadel, educated from childhood. You should be rational and know how to advance and retreat."
Grand Maester Norren's body trembled even more violently.
Aemond stared at him, then spoke after a moment. "Grand Maester, you were sent by the Citadel. The Citadel and we Targaryens have always had good relations. I do not wish to spoil our relationship over some trivial matters. Do you understand?"
Grand Maester Norren nodded desperately. "I understand, I understand!"
"Good," Aemond ordered. "Rise."
Grand Maester Norren struggled to his feet, staggered back to his seat, bowed his head, and dared not raise it again.
The other ministers looked at each other, all seeing the deep fear in each other's eyes. The Regent's might—today he had killed this maester—showed them.
Aemond, seated in the high seat, glanced at everyone and said slowly, "Continue the meeting."
The Hand, Tyland, coughed lightly and took the lead. "Regent, there is news from the Riverlands."
"Speak."
"The new Lord of House Tully, Elmo Tully, has declared war," Tyland said. "He is prepared to lead the Riverlands army and march south to relieve the siege of Tumbleton."
Soft murmurs of discussion rose in the council chamber.
Tumbleton. The city was under siege by the royal army commanded by Galwyn Hightower and Ser William Darklyn. If the Riverlands army truly marched south and coordinated with the defenders of Tumbleton, the king's army would be in danger.
"How many men?" Aemond asked.
"The Riverlands houses muster about eight thousand men," Tyland said. "Combined with Tumbleton's original defenders, the total could exceed ten thousand."
"Where is Daemon?"
"Daemon..."
Aemond's brow furrowed.
"Yes," Tyland said in a deep voice. "According to intelligence, Daemon is still on Dragonstone."
And of course, Aemond knew that his uncle was now certainly worried about his two daughters... Baela and Rhaena.
The council chamber was quiet.
According to Aemond's previous expectations, Daemon should have taken the opportunity to attack the Hightower army and kill Daeron. But now, the Hightower army had rapidly reached Moonspire, and Daemon was still on Dragonstone. Now it was clear that the Tyroshi bastard Hugh Hammer had betrayed them. No wonder the Blacks were now somewhat timid.
Alicent looked at Aemond and wanted to say something, but fell silent. She wanted to ask about Aegon—where her eldest son was now, whether he was injured, and when he would return.
"Regent," said Lord Jasper Wylde, the Master of Laws. "Daemon has not moved, perhaps because he is afraid. Rhaenys is dead. The Blacks have only him left who can fight. He is alone—how dare he fight you?"
"Yes, yes, yes," Ser Erwin Redwyne, the Master of Ships, chimed in.
The others also nodded.
Aemond ignored them and looked at the Hand, Tyland.
"The Westerlands? Where is Lord Jason Lannister's army?"
Tyland's face stiffened for a moment.
"Lord Jason... he..."
"What?"
Tyland sighed and answered honestly. "Regent, my brother did not obey your orders to march to the Crag. He led his army from the Golden Tooth and prepared to go straight to Harrenhal."
Aemond's eyes narrowed.
Tyland steadied himself and continued. "As a lord of the realm, he has the right to decide how his army will fight."
The council chamber was quiet. All eyes were on Aemond, wondering how he would react.
Aemond was silent for a moment, then laughed softly.
"Lord Jason... interesting."
Or does he want to feed someone to the fish?
Aemond paused and continued. "Since Lord Jason wants to go to the Golden Tooth, let him go. As a vassal of the realm, he has fulfilled his duty to send troops. Moreover, he is a lord of the realm. I respect his decision."
Hand Tyland lowered his head and dared not speak again.
Aemond glanced at the silent crowd, and finally his gaze fell on Alicent.
"Mother, you are here today. Is something wrong?"
Alicent drew a deep breath and said, "I want to know His Grace's condition."
Aemond's expression softened slightly.
"His Grace is very well. His wounds are slowly healing, and Sunfyre is also recovering. In a while, I will send someone to bring him back."
"Where is he?"
Aemond shook his head. "Do not ask about that."
Alicent looked at him, her eyes slightly red. "I am his mother. I do not even know where my own son is?"
Aemond sighed, stood, walked to Alicent, bent down, and lowered his voice.
"You trust me. His Grace is safe in the place I have arranged. I will certainly let him come to you."
Alicent looked at Aemond, seeing a rare tenderness in his violet eyes. She nodded and said no more.
Aemond returned to his seat, the tenderness on his face vanishing, replaced by his usual indifference.
"Is there anything else?"
The Hand, Tyland, spoke again. "Regent, there is one more thing. There have been illegal gatherings in King's Landing recently."
"These illegal gatherings..." Aemond knew exactly what these gatherings were; he had been having them monitored all along.
"Yes," Tyland nodded. "Some people have gathered outside the city, imitating the Warrior's Sons that were once banned by the Crown, holding prayer meetings and sermons. There are quite a few people..."
Lord Jasper Wylde, the Master of Laws, immediately added, "Regent, these gatherings are formally activities to honor the Seven, but in truth... they may have ulterior motives."
"Why ulterior motives?" Aemond asked rhetorically.
Jasper lowered his voice. "I fear that someone may use these gatherings to spread rumors and incite the people."
Aemond was silent for a moment, then looked at Grand Maester Norren. "Grand Maester, do you know about this?"
Grand Maester Norren raised his head, his swollen face full of deference. "Regent, I... I am not certain..."
"Not certain?" Aemond sneered. "You are the Grand Maester of the Red Keep. You do not know what is happening in King's Landing?"
Grand Maester Norren was silent, not daring to speak further, afraid of offending the Regent. It was clear that the Regent was after him today...