Correction
Tera -> Tyra
— —
The Red Keep, Maegor's Holdfast.
King's Landing was far warmer than the North, but it was also more stifling.
Deep within the Red Keep, steam rose from a medicinal bath scented with chamomile, lavender, and mint, herbs meant to soothe the nerves and accelerate the healing of the body.
Aemond Targaryen lay back against the edge of the pool, eyes closed.
The door creaked open. The footsteps were light; he recognized them as Tyra, Helaena's handmaiden and his most trusted spy within the palace.
"Your Grace," Tyra whispered.
"Speak," Aemond replied, not opening his eyes.
Tyra knelt by the pool and began her report. Her voice was steady and methodical, a result of Aemond's training.
He detested ambiguity; he wanted clarity.
"Lord Larys Strong and several Crownland Lords have been frequently visiting Prince Aegon's chambers. Ser Criston Cole has also begun to draw closer to the Prince."
"So, my brother has finally realized he needs a guard and followers of his own?" Aemond mused.
"And the Hand, Tyland Lannister?"
"Lord Tyland keeps his distance. He seems unwilling to participate in the internal maneuvering," Tyra answered.
Aemond opened his eye.
"He is a clever man. The Lannisters support the Greens because we control the Realm and offer trade privileges. He won't gamble unless the winner is certain."
Tyra hesitated. "There is also... Princess Aelyn."
Aemond turned his head, his violet gaze fixing on her.
"Give me details."
"The Princess has been frequently receiving envoys from House Rogare of Lys. Furthermore, she recently had a secret meeting with messengers from House Hightower. Our eyes in the Sept of Baelor saw them."
Aemond let out a sharp laugh that echoed off the stone walls.
"Aelyn Rogare is not simple. Her family is besieged in Lys, yet she is tirelessly building a faction for Aegon in King's Landing. Is she trying to secure her husband's seat, or paving the way for her unborn son?"
Tyra lowered her head until it nearly touched the floor.
"Your Grace... the Princess is due to give birth within the month. Accidents happen during labor. If something were to occur..."
Aemond turned sharply, his voice dropping to a terrifying whisper.
"Tyra. How long have you served Helaena and me?"
"Three... three years, Your Grace."
"Three years, and you still do not know me. Do you think I am a natural-born butcher? Aelyn is Aegon's wife and a Princess of the blood. She has not conspired against me openly. She is merely trying to protect her child and her husband. I admire that courage. Watch them, but do not move against her. Do not solve every problem with a blade; it leaves too many ghosts."
"Understood, Your Grace," Tyra said, her voice trembling.
"One more thing: the relocation from Driftmark is a third complete. Fifteen thousand people have been moved to Rook's Rest."
"Too slow," Aemond frowned.
"Tell Will to increase the pressure. If they refuse to move, let the Velaryon turncoats handle the 'convincing.' Also, reward the captains who defected from Tyrosh today. Give them gold, and have their families write to their kin in the Black fleet. Tell them that if they return, they will be pardoned and rewarded."
As Tyra prepared to leave, she hesitated.
"Your Grace... it is about Hal, Will, and Carter. They... they won't stop pestering me."
Aemond broke into a genuine, rare laugh.
"Those three are still chasing you? You are twenty-eight, Tyra, the perfect age. If you have a preference for one of them, or someone else entirely, do not let status stop you. That is your privilege as my officer."
After Tyra left, the hall returned to silence until a new presence entered.
He smelled the scent of wild herbs mixed with something ancient.
Alys Rivers.
The bastard of Harrenhal, the witch-woman, glided into the room like a ghost in her black veils.
She knelt behind him, her hands beginning to massage his shoulders.
"You said I have two souls within me," Aemond whispered.
"Yes," Alys said softly.
"The soul of the boy you were is full of resentment, jealousy, and madness. He only fades when you achieve what he could not. But your souls are merging. With every step, your dragon-blood grows more refined. You are becoming the essence of a True Dragon."
Aemond opened his eyes.
"The essence?"
Alys chuckled, a sound like dry leaves.
"Pride, madness, greed, possessiveness... these are flaws in men, but they are the essence of a dragon. Your blood will make the great beasts bow. You will be more than a rider; you will be the Father of Dragons. Your children will inherit a glory that surpasses even Old Valyria."
She leaned down, her warm breath hitting his ear.
"I wish to carry that blood, Your Grace. I wish to bear your child."
Aemond turned and looked into her deep, dark eyes.
She was hauntingly beautiful and deathly dangerous.
"Leave," he commanded.
The witch hesitated, then rose and vanished as silently as she had arrived.
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