King's Landing, Small Council Chamber.
The afternoon sunlight filtered through the stained-glass windows, casting fractured patterns of light and shadow across the long table.
Aemond Targaryen sat at the head of the table, leaning casually against the high-backed chair.
One hand rested on the armrest, while the other lay flat upon the table, his fingers tapping the wood in a slow, rhythmic cadence.
Behind him stood Hal Belyrin, clad in black armor, an expressionless sentinel.
Seated along the flanks of the long table were the heavyweights of the Small Council.
Lord Tyland Lannister, the Hand of the King, had just returned from the Westerlands, travel-worn yet meticulously maintaining the characteristic elegance of a Lannister.
Lord Rosby, the Master of Laws, and Lord Erwyn, the Master of Ships, both sat with solemn expressions, their heads respectfully lowered.
The Master of Coin, Will Simmons, a confidant of Aemond, was young and shrewd, a faint, calculating smile perpetually playing on his lips.
And then there was Grand Maester Noren, dressed in his heavy grey robes, seated at the far end of the table.
As for the Master of Whisperers, Larys Strong had already been dispatched by the Prince Regent to Rook's Rest to welcome the Hightower army marching north.
Queen Mother Alicent was also present.
Seated to Aemond's right, she wore a deep blue gown, her hair swept up in an immaculate high bun.
Her face bore the unmistakable traces of exhaustion and sorrow.
Since the death of Viserys I, she had remained mostly sequestered within Maegor's Holdfast, rarely emerging.
This was her first time attending a Small Council meeting in days.
Although she had previously been rebuked by her son, Prince Aemond, and warned not to interfere in state affairs, the Queen Mother felt compelled to attend for the sake of her eldest son, Aegon.
Aemond did not stop her; after all, Alicent was his mother. Moreover, on that fateful night at High Tide, she had stood by him from start to finish.
Aemond was aware of certain darker undercurrents, but as long as Alicent didn't overstep her bounds too far...
"Lords, speak," Aemond began. His voice was not loud, but the chamber fell silent instantly.
"You are all aware of what happened in Tyrosh?"
Tyland Lannister nodded.
"Yes, Lord Regent. The news has spread throughout King's Landing. A fire has started in the Blacks' rear; the bastards have rebelled. That man Hugh has declared himself King of Tyrosh and has seized Prince Lucerys and Daemon's two daughters."
Aemond's voice remained perfectly flat, as if discussing a trivial matter.
"What do you all think?"
The chamber was silent for a heartbeat, followed by a ripple of low laughter. Several ministers wore expressions of smug schadenfreude.
Lord Erwyn, the Master of Ships, couldn't even suppress a chuckle.
"Lord Regent, this is wonderful news. The rebels are splitting and killing each other. For us, it is, "
He stopped mid-sentence, the words dying in his throat as Aemond's purple eye swept over him.
The gaze was dead and cold, causing Erwyn's laughter to vanish instantly. Aemond ignored him, turning his attention instead to Grand Maester Noren at the far end of the table.
"Grand Maester," he said softly.
Grand Maester Noren looked up, his face quickly adopting a mask of perfect respect.
"What are the Lord Regent's instructions?"
"Everyone was laughing just now," Aemond noted.
"I saw you laughing, too. You seemed quite happy?"
"I am curious. Tell me, what is so funny about this?"
Noren's smile froze, but he quickly adjusted his expression, answering solemnly.
"Lord Regent, it is a good thing. The rebellion of the Blacks' bastards and their internal chaos is for us, "
"A good thing?" Aemond interrupted, his tone chillingly flat.
"You are telling me this is a good thing?"
Grand Maester Noren swallowed hard, forcing himself to continue.
"Yes, Lord Regent. With Hugh's rebellion, the Blacks are occupied with their own troubles. We can take the opportunity to, "
"To do what?" Aemond interrupted again.
"To take the opportunity to be happy? To take the opportunity to celebrate?"
He stood up, bracing his hands on the table and leaning forward slightly as his single purple eye locked onto Noren.
"Grand Maester, I ask you: who is Hugh?"
Noren faltered.
"He is... a bastard..."
"And what does he currently hold in his hands?"
"He... he has Prince Lucerys and the two Princesses..."
"Incorrect." Aemond shook his head.
Cold sweat began to bead on Noren's forehead.
"And... and..."
"And dragons," Aemond spoke for him.
"By controlling that bastard girl Sara, he controls those two dragons. Silverwing and Vermithor. Two dragons have now fallen into the hands of a shameless bastard. And you tell me this is a 'good thing'?"
The chamber fell into a deathly silence.
The ministers who had been chuckling moments ago now kept their heads bowed, barely daring to draw breath.
Grand Maester Noren's face turned ghastly white. He wanted to protest, to point out that the other ministers had laughed too. Why was he being singled out?
Aemond sat back down, leaning against the chair as his fingers resumed their rhythmic tapping on the wood.
Tap, tap.
Tap, tap.
In the stifling quiet, each sound felt like a hammer blow to Noren's heart.
"Grand Maester." Aemond raised a single finger, pointing at him. Noren looked up in dread.
"You laughed just now. You seemed very happy."
Hearing the Regent's relentless interrogation, Noren's face lost whatever color remained.
"I told you to laugh," Aemond said softly.
"Now, show me that laugh again."
Noren sat there stiffly, paralyzed by indecision.
"Laugh," Aemond prompted.
Noren managed to squeeze out a trembling smile, an expression that looked far worse than weeping.
"Not sincere enough," Aemond said.
"Laugh again."
Noren stretched his lips once more, looking utterly wretched.
"Still not enough," Aemond shook his head.
"Grand Maester, do you truly feel that bastards stealing Targaryen dragons is a matter worthy of joy?"
Noren finally broke under the pressure.
"Lord Regent, I... I did not mean it that way..."
"Then what did you mean?"
"I... I only thought that an internal rebellion among the Blacks was advantageous to us..."
"Advantageous?" Aemond sneered.
"Two dragons falling into the hands of an unpredictable enemy, and you tell me it's advantageous?"
Noren had no answer. Aemond stared at him in heavy silence for a long moment, then spoke slowly: "Slap yourself."
Noren was stunned. "Lord Regent, this..."
"Strike."
Noren gritted his teeth, raised a trembling hand, and gave his own cheek a light tap.
"Not loud enough," Aemond said casually.
Noren's face flushed a deep, humiliated red.
He looked around at the other ministers; every single one of them had turned their heads away, outright refusing to look at him.
The Grand Maester then looked pleadingly to Queen Mother Alicent, desperately hoping she would offer a few words in his defense.
But the Queen Mother was staring at him coldly, her gaze filled with undisguised loathing.
Knowing he was entirely alone, the Grand Maester took a deep breath, raised his hand, and delivered a sharp, stinging slap to his own face.
Smack!
The crisp sound echoed exceptionally loud within the quiet chamber.
"Continue."
Noren gritted his teeth and delivered another slap.
Smack!
"Continue."
Smack!
Smack!
Smack!
Slap after agonizing slap, Noren's face grew redder and began to swell, while a trickle of blood seeped from the corner of his mouth.
His neatly combed hair fell into disarray, leaving the proud Maester looking utterly pathetic.
Around the table, some ministers felt a dark surge of schadenfreude while others remained stoically expressionless, yet not a single one dared to make a sound to stop it.
Alicent watched the humiliating scene unfold, feeling an indefinable sense of vindictive satisfaction.
It was this Grand Maester Noren and Septon Owen who had foolishly encouraged Aegon to lead the army in person.
They had insisted he should personally take the field to boost morale, falsely claiming it was a "great opportunity to establish prestige."
And the result? Her eldest son, Aegon, was critically injured, his dragon Sunfyre was near death, and they were still hiding in some wretched cave to recover.
It had come to the point where even she, his own mother, did not know exactly where her son was hidden.
Thinking of this, Alicent's eyes grew misty with unshed tears, but she quickly blinked them away, fiercely regaining control of her emotions.