Sunlight streamed through the high stained glass windows onto those who had come to pay homage in the throne room.
The Iron Throne rose high, forged from thousands of swords surrendered by enemies, symbolizing the supreme authority of Aegon the Conqueror. The blades pointed upward, the tips sharp. Aemond Targaryen sat calmly upon the Iron Throne.
He wore black velvet breeches, a crimson robe bearing the three-headed dragon sigil, and his long silver hair fell over his shoulders, gilded by the golden light streaming through the high windows. Blackfyre lay across his lap; his fingers tapped lightly on the blade, producing a clear, ringing sound.
Behind him stood Alyn Waters, his new squire. This thirteen-year-old bastard of House Velaryon wore a brand-new black uniform. He stood straight-backed, his face serious beyond his years.
In the center of the throne room, a group of people had assembled.
At their head was Lord Monstead Hightower, dressed in a magnificent dark blue robe with a white tower embroidered on the collar. Flanking him was Prince Daeron Targaryen, a thirteen-year-old boy in a black-and-red robe similar to Aemond's, his silver hair neatly combed. Further back stood Otto Hightower, dressed in a simple grey robe, his head bowed, his expression unreadable. And Lady Maggie, who held ten-month-old Lord Leonor in her arms—pale, her eyes flickering—along with a group of cadet branches and vassals of House Tyrell, as well as representatives of the Reach houses.
Alyn drew a deep breath and announced loudly: "Regent of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Regent of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm—Regent Aemond Targaryen!" His voice echoed through the throne room, with a hint of youthful clarity but also the grandeur of one trying to play the part.
All bowed their heads simultaneously.
Aemond's gaze swept over the crowd and finally settled on Daeron. He smiled. This smile was different from his usual mockery—it was a genuine smile with a trace of warmth.
"Daeron," he said, his voice not loud but especially clear in the quiet throne room. "How long has it been since we last met? You've grown a bit again."
Daeron raised his head, looked at him, and smiled too. "Brother."
Alyn frowned and was about to open his mouth to chide—how could Prince Daeron be so disrespectful? But Aemond raised his hand and waved gently. Alyn immediately fell silent.
"Mother misses you very much," Aemond said. "Helaena misses you too."
Daeron looked at Aemond—at that handsome face, at those violet eyes—and a complex emotion rose in his heart. How long had it been since they last met? The last time they met, his brother had still been a youth, but he had not had the... the aura that now made people unable to look directly at him. Now he sat on the Iron Throne, his whole body seeming to merge with the throne forged of swords. Wherever the Regent's gaze passed, all lowered their heads, not daring to look at him.
"Brother," Daeron said softly, "I don't know you anymore."
Aemond smiled and did not answer.
In the crowd, Otto Hightower raised his head and stared at his grandson on the Iron Throne, his expression complex.
Aemond's gaze moved from Daeron and fell upon Monstead Hightower.
"Lord Monstead."
Monstead quickly stepped forward and bowed. "Regent."
"The Iron Throne is grateful," Aemond said. "I am grateful that House Hightower chose to remain loyal to the Iron Throne in this time of crisis."
Monstead raised his head with a sincere expression. "The Regent is too kind. House Hightower has been loyal for generations and will never allow anyone to tarnish that loyalty. Rhaenyra, that pretender, poisoned the late king, instigated civil war—she deserves death! Hightower is ready to fight for the rightful succession!"
Aemond nodded, a faint smile on his face. Monstead breathed a sigh of relief. Before coming, Uncle Otto had told him much about Aemond. He had been somewhat wary, but now it seemed Aemond was quite courteous with him.
Then Aemond's eyes looked at Lady Maggie in the crowd.
Lady Maggie held Lord Leonor, her head bowed, trembling slightly.
"Lady Maggie."
Maggie raised her head and forced a smile. "Regent..."
"I heard," Aemond's voice remained calm, "that Tyrell has had issues with the Crown?"
Lady Maggie quickly knelt, holding the child, and replied solemnly, "No... Regent! Absolutely not!"
"Truly?" Aemond said. "Then why did you repeatedly refuse the Iron Throne's invitations?"
Lady Maggie opened her mouth to explain but could not find the words. What could she say? Say that they did not want to get involved in this war? Say that they wanted to remain neutral? Say that they were afraid of backing the wrong side?
"Regent," she thought desperately, "it's just... just that my child is still young, the journey is tiring, and I was very afraid..."
"What were you afraid of?" Aemond interrupted.
Lady Maggie was stunned.
Aemond looked at her, was silent for a moment, and then smiled. The smile was gentle, but Lady Maggie only felt a chill run down her spine.
"Now that I am here," Aemond said, "I will not press this matter further."
Lady Maggie breathed a sigh of relief and was about to thank him when Aemond spoke again.
"Let me see the child."
Lady Maggie's heart lurched again.
Alyn approached her, bowed slightly, and extended his hands. "My lady."
Lady Maggie looked at him, at those blue eyes. She did not want to give up the child, but she had no choice. She slowly handed the child over.
Alyn took the child, held him carefully, and walked toward the Iron Throne. Aemond reached out and took the one-year-old child. Lord Leonor opened his large blue eyes and looked curiously at the silver-haired stranger before him. He did not cry or fuss, just babbled a few times, then reached for Aemond's hair.
Aemond looked at him, a smile playing on his lips.
"Lady Maggie," he said, a hint of playfulness in his voice, "I want to take Leonor as my foster son. What do you think?"
Lady Maggie's face went pale again.
Foster son? Was that not taking him as a hostage?
"This... this..." she stammered, unable to speak.
"What?" Aemond's voice grew slightly colder.
Lady Maggie still hesitated. Lord Monstead beside her said, "My lady, this is wonderful!"
Lady Maggie looked at the lord, at the fawning smile on his face, and felt a wave of despair in her heart.
Lady Maggie lowered her head, gritted her teeth, and said, "My son becoming the Regent's foster son is... a blessing for House Tyrell."
Aemond nodded and smiled.
"In that case," he said, "Leonor will live in King's Landing for a few years. I like this child."
As soon as the words were spoken, a commotion arose in the crowd. Several cadet branches of House Tyrell exchanged glances, all with displeased expressions. A middle-aged man of House Tyrell could not hold back; he stepped forward and was about to speak.
Aemond's gaze slid over them.
The look was very light, but the middle-aged man's words immediately stuck in his throat; he could not utter a single word.
Aemond stood.
"What?" he asked. "Do you have an opinion?"
The middle-aged man was silent.
Aemond did not wait for an answer, but turned to the Tyrells, his voice rising slightly. "Everything Tyrell has now was given by the Targaryens."
His gaze swept over them, and they lowered their heads, not daring to look at him.
"Warden of the Reach, Lord of Highgarden—who gave that?"
No one spoke.
Lady Maggie drew a deep breath, raised her head, and said slowly, "The Regent is right. Tyrell swore loyalty to the Targaryens until death."
Aemond looked at her with the child in his arms, and the corners of his lips lifted slightly. "Which Targaryen?"
Lady Maggie's heart trembled.
She gritted her teeth and made a decision.
"We are loyal to Aegon the Second. The pretender Rhaenyra forged the testament, tried to usurp the throne, and has now instigated civil war. Tyrell will never stand with her."
Aemond looked at her, was silent for a moment, and then laughed.
"Very well."
He applauded.
The applause echoed through the throne room.
Lord Monstead was the first to react and quickly applauded. Then the Hightower men, then the representatives of the Tyrell cadet branches. The applause grew louder and more united, and finally merged into one.
Aemond stopped, and the applause ceased.
"Lady Maggie," he said, "I wanted to see Tyrell's position."
Lady Maggie drew a deep breath and looked serious. "I will immediately inform the bannermen to muster the army as soon as possible to fight for the Iron Throne."
She sighed inwardly. She had no choice. She and her son were in King's Landing, in Aemond's hands. If she was disobedient, if she took refuge with Rhaenyra... the Reach houses eyeing Tyrell—Florent, Hightower, and others—would attack immediately. The Greens would not sit idly by and watch a pro-Black Tyrell emerge in the South. Now she could only side with the Greens. At least she could keep her son.
Aemond nodded and waved his hand. "Go. Lord Monstead and Daeron will stay."
Lady Maggie breathed a sigh of relief, took the child, and followed the crowd out of the throne room.
The doors of the throne room slowly closed.
In the vast hall, only Aemond, Daeron, and Alyn remained by the Iron Throne.
Aemond returned to the Iron Throne and sat, looking at his brother.
Daeron also looked at him with complex eyes.
"Lord Monstead," Aemond looked at Monstead again.
Monstead quickly stepped forward. "What does the Regent command?"
Aemond looked at him and slowly asked, "What do you think about protecting the position of Warden of the Reach?"
Monstead was stunned.
Warden of the Reach?
He had never expected Aemond to directly offer such a price.
"Regent, this..." his voice trembled slightly.
"You don't want it?" Aemond asked.
"Yes! Yes!" Monstead quickly bowed.
"This is the Targaryens' reward for House Hightower's loyalty," Aemond continued.
Monstead's face flushed, and he bowed deeply, his voice trembling with excitement. "Regent, rest assured."
Aemond nodded. "I will witness your loyalty."
Then Lord Monstead spoke a few more words of allegiance and silently left the throne room.
The door closed again.
Only the two brothers remained in the throne room, with Alyn standing in the corner.
Aemond looked at Daeron and was silent for a moment.
"Daeron. In truth, I hoped you would become Warden of the Reach, or even a prince..."
Daeron was stunned.
"In the future, you will replace Hightower. How?" Aemond continued.
Daeron's face changed. "Brother, you..."
"Hightower is powerful," Aemond interrupted calmly. "One must be vigilant."
Daeron's eyes widened; he looked at him in disbelief. "You consider Hightower an enemy too?"
"Not now," Aemond said. "In the future, perhaps."
"They are our mother's people!" Daeron raised his voice. "They are my mother's family!"
"I know," Aemond said.
"Then why do you..."
"Because they are inherently ambitious," Aemond interrupted, his violet eyes fixed directly on him.
Daeron was silent for a long time.
Then he spoke slowly. "Brother, why are you doing this?"
Aemond looked at him and did not answer.
"I thought," Daeron said, "you were only dealing with the Blacks. I thought the war would end and everything would settle down. But I did not expect you to consider our mother's family as enemies."
Aemond stood and looked at him.
"My goal is to restore Targaryen authority over the Seven Kingdoms. No difficulty will stop me from restoring Targaryen glory."
Daeron looked at him.
"Maegor also thought to restore noble authority. You should know that when those nobles are pushed to their limits, their spines can harden. That is something Maegor did not accomplish. Why do you think you can?"
Aemond smiled and looked at him.
At that moment, Daeron saw what burned in his eyes.
"Maegor did not," Aemond said, his voice low but each word driving into Daeron's heart like a nail. "But I can."
He descended, walked to Daeron, lowered his head, and looked his brother directly in the eyes with his violet eyes.
"Daeron, do you know what it was like for me the first time I killed someone?"
Daeron was silent.
Aemond continued. "With a sword in hand, facing a man. Swinging the sword and cutting his neck. Then the sword got stuck..."
His voice was calm, but Daeron felt a tingling on his scalp.
He paused; a smile appeared at the corner of his lips.
"Later I understood—the reason the sword wouldn't cut the bone was nothing else but that your sword wasn't sharp enough."
He reached out and patted Daeron on the shoulder.
"Do you understand?"