The Black Cells, Red Keep.
Now, only the father and son remained in the cell.
Viserys staggered in, looking around at the stone walls, the bookshelves, the narrow wooden bed, the desk, and the marks Aemond had carved into the stone with a piece of charcoal to count the days.
"You seem to be doing quite well," the King finally spoke, sitting down opposite Aemond, in the very spot Mushroom had occupied just moments ago.
The heightened stool made him look slightly comical, but he didn't care in the least.
Aemond replied calmly.
"Thanks to Your Grace. With books to read, food to eat, and company... It's much better than what most prisoners have."
He knew in his heart that his father had come to test him.
If he answered poorly, it would mean exile.
Viserys stared at his son.
He tried to search that young face for anger, resentment, or at least a hint of grievance.
But he only saw a calmness like a deep pool.
The King spoke slowly. "It's been a month. Have you figured it out?"
"Figured what out, Your Grace?"
Viserys spoke with suppressed emotion.
"Your mistake."
"Drawing your sword in the Throne Room, crossing blades with Daemon, and defying my will in front of all the nobles. These were your mistakes."
Aemond watched his father quietly.
The firelight on the walls danced across his face, making those purple eyes shine like stars one moment and sink into shadow the next.
He asked softly in return.
"What mistake did I make?"
Viserys's brow furrowed tightly.
Aemond continued his statement.
"Ser Vaemond acted for his family. He defended the purity of the Velaryon bloodline with his life; though his method was extreme, his intention was beyond reproach."
"And I, by stopping Prince Daemon from killing in your presence and executing a traitor according to your command, also acted for the family."
He paused, looking directly into his father's eyes.
"To allow those brown-haired, brown-eyed children with Strong blood to sit upon the Iron Throne would be the true desecration of the Targaryen name."
"Our power comes from dragons, and the power of dragons comes from blood. A diluted bloodline, devoid of Targaryen features, is where decline begins. Bloodline alone is our foundation..."
Viserys raised a finger, pointing at Aemond.
"So you admit it? You admit you are targeting Rhaenyra and her children?"
Aemond shook his head.
"I am not targeting anyone; I am only targeting the error."
"If Rhaenyra did not have those three bastards, if her heirs flowed with pure Targaryen blood, I would never oppose her. I would be her most loyal supporter, just as I was meant to be."
He stood up, looking at Viserys.
"But those three Strong ones are the very source of chaos. Ser Vaemond proved this with his life."
"Today it is the succession crisis of Driftmark; tomorrow it will be the succession crisis of the Iron Throne."
"Your Grace, do you truly wish for the lords of the Seven Kingdoms to kneel to a Strong king after you pass? Do you believe these nobles will truly submit to a bastard?"
Viserys's breathing became heavy.
He wanted to argue, but Aemond's words were like needles, piercing the truth he had long evaded.
For a month, he had received countless ravens from the North, the Westerlands, the Reach, the Riverlands, the Vale, the Stormlands... the ancient Houses of every realm expressed their concerns about the bloodline of the Heir Apparent's children in more or less subtle terms.
The loyalty of the nobles was indeed wavering.
The King spoke with difficulty.
"Are you... Are you truly doing this for the family? Or for yourself?"
Aemond smiled.
"If it were for myself, I should be at Summerhall training an army and forging alliances right now. Not here, in a dungeon, reading books sent by the Grand Maester and listening to jokes told by a dwarf."
He looked into Viserys's eyes.
"I do not care who sits in that iron chair. What I care about is that the person sitting on it must be worthy of the Targaryen name."
Viserys was silent for a while.
His gaze swept over his son's face repeatedly, yet he still could not see through him.
Since the incident at Driftmark, he had never been able to see through his second son.
Viserys finally spoke.
"If your sister... or your brother... stood in your way, would you kick them aside?"
Aemond looked back frankly.
"Father, the Targaryen family is already standing on the edge of a cliff. You have seen it; the rift between the Greens and the Blacks deepens daily."
"The Greens will not accept Rhaenyra letting a bastard inherit the Iron Throne. Otto won't, the Hightowers won't, half of the Seven Kingdoms won't. And Rhaenyra and Daemon will never give up the Iron Throne."
"The root of all this is those three Strong ones who should never have existed."
He lowered his voice slightly, arguing even more clearly.
"I will not kick aside my sister or brother. But if Rhaenyra cannot let go of her error, then I implore you to follow the resolution of the Great Council of 101 and proceed according to male primogeniture."
"The nobles may have had their dissatisfactions back then, but they accepted Rhaenyra because she was untainted by scandal. Now, everything has changed."
"The Seven Kingdoms will never acknowledge children of unknown origin sitting on the Iron Throne. Even if they are silent now, it is only out of fear of dragons."
"If the source of the trouble isn't removed, the future of the Targaryens..."
Aemond's voice was grim.
"'If the Royal Family is the first to trample on the rules, others will follow suit. Once the rules break down, the legitimacy of Targaryen rule will vanish.'"
"Unless you can slaughter all the nobles of the Seven Kingdoms. But can you do that?"
"These families have spanned a thousand years; how numerous are their descendants? They are already intertwined, you in me and I in you..."
"Even Maegor I, despite having the Black Dread, being praised as a warrior incarnate, and slaughtering tens of thousands of rebels, could not achieve it."
"And we Targaryens... are few in number now. Without dragons, we simply cannot rule the Seven Kingdoms. If one day the dragons go extinct, what awaits us is only the downfall of our nation and the extinction of our clan."
He paused briefly, the jumping firelight reflected in his purple eyes.
"As for Rhaenyra... if she insists on standing on the side that will destroy the family, then yes, I will do what I must."
"For the survival of the family, to keep the bloodline from being tainted, and to ensure the dragons do not go extinct."
Viserys felt a wave of dizziness and reached out to steady himself against the table.
Aemond spoke so frankly, so certainly, as if what he stated was not a prophecy but a destiny already written.
And the most terrifying thing was that deep down, Viserys knew Aemond might be right.
The King raised his moist eyes.
Perhaps what Daemon said was cruel, but it was reality; the best destination for those three children might be the Wall.
But Rhaenyra... he was distraught, not knowing how to convince his daughter.
He looked at Aemond, looking at this son who was heart-stoppingly young yet terrifyingly mature.
"Swear it," Viserys suddenly said.
"Swear that you will not covet the Iron Throne. Swear that you will not do it for the crown."
Aemond did not hesitate.
He raised his right hand and pressed it to his chest.
"I swear in the name of Targaryen, by the true dragon blood flowing within me."
"I, Aemond Targaryen, shall never become the King of the Seven Kingdoms."
"I only wish for the Targaryen family to be great again, and for the dragon blood to continue forever. I am willing to be the sword and shield of the family, the pillar that supports the Throne."
The oath echoed in the dungeon, sinking into the stone walls.
Viserys stared at him intently, at those purple eyes, searching for a trace of a lie, for a flicker of dishonesty.
But he only saw sincerity.
Yet in the depths of Aemond's heart, there were words left unsaid.
'I will not become King, but that does not mean I cannot choose who sits on the Throne.'
'The Dance of the Dragons will eventually erupt, and someone must bear the infamy of kinslaying and usurping. He would not be the King, but his descendants would sit firmly upon the Iron Throne.'
'And he would stand behind the Throne, wielding the true power.'
After a long time, Viserys finally nodded.
"Tomorrow."
The King pushed himself up, his steps somewhat heavy.
"You will be released and return to your fief. Henceforth, you are not to enter King's Landing again without being summoned."
He walked to the door and did not look back.
"Remember your oath, Aemond. Remember everything you said today."
The cell door closed once more.
Aemond sat quietly for a moment, then reached out and picked up the book on the table, Dragonkin, turning to the page he had been reading.
Between the pages was a passage written in High Valyrian, with the Grand Maester's translated notes beside it:
"Blood and fire share the same source; dragon and man are one."
"When dragon wings shroud the sky, the bloodline's reign begins."
"But if the blood thins, the bond shall break. Thus, the dragon king is bound by blood."
"This is the eternal decree of Valyria."
He stared at the text for a long time, his fingertips lightly brushing over the raised ink on the parchment.
Then, he slowly closed the book.
-----
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