The Next Day
The Throne Room, The Red Keep.
Aemond fixed his gaze once more upon the representatives, the silence in the hall heavy and suffocating following his order to detain them.
"Lord Will," he said, "you asked me what would happen if you insisted on seeing the King. Now, I shall give you my answer."
He took a single step forward. The guards' swords rose an inch higher in unison, a wall of steel closing in.
"I would be forced to conclude that you are not envoys."
"What?" Benjicot Blackwood blurted out, his voice trembling with fury.
"Prince, have you lost your mind? We are the formal representatives dispatched by the Wardens of the Realms!"
Aemond cut him off. "I told you the King is ill, yet you insist on storming his bedchamber? What is that, if not an attempt on his life? By law, I could execute you where you stand."
Medrick Manderly finally erupted.
"By what law? Which law in the Seven Kingdoms states that a vassal seeking an audience with the King is an assassin? Aemond Targaryen, this is a baseless fabrication!"
Aemond blinked slowly, looking at the men before him.
"My law. Here, in King's Landing, in the Throne Room, what I say is the rule."
A collective cold breath escaped the representatives as they stared at the overbearing Prince.
"Do you wish to test it?" Aemond asked.
"To see if your bones are harder than my steel?"
Medrick shook with rage, nearly lunging forward, but his attendants held him back with a death-grip. In the midst of this, Sebaston Estermont of the Stormlands spoke up.
Wiping sweat from his brow, he spoke with a fawning tone, desperate to distance himself from the others.
"Your... Your Grace, the Stormlands mean no such thing. Boremund, no, Lord Borros, sent me only to express concern for His Majesty. Since he requires rest, we... we fully understand. As for Driftmark... House Velaryon brought that upon themselves. Rebels deserve punishment."
This blatant sycophancy was so naked that even his own squires looked away in embarrassment.
But Sebaston didn't care; he had his instructions from Borros.
The Stormlands were about to change hands, and there was no need to offend the future power for the sake of a dying old man.
Aemond nodded at him. "Lord Sebaston is wise. The Iron Throne will remember the loyalty of the Stormlands."
Then he turned to the other three.
Will Royce's hands were shaking from suppressed fury.
"Prince Aemond, do you realize what you are doing?"
"No," Aemond corrected him.
"I am telling all of Westeros that those loyal to the Iron Throne are rewarded, and those who commit treason are punished. Is that not the heart of the feudal contract? The liege protects, and the vassal serves. It is quite fair."
He stepped toward the edge of the dais, looking down at them.
"Now, I give you a choice. First: in three days, the King will receive you, though he is in a stupor and barely conscious. This is your only chance to see him. Second: Leave now with the Small Council's formal reply and return to your lands."
He paused, his voice carrying a dark promise.
"Tell your Lords that if they remain loyal to the Throne and Prince Aegon, their lands and titles remain untouched. I will even share the spoils of Driftmark with the loyalists."
He lowered his voice, the temperature in the room seeming to drop.
"But if anyone tries to play both sides... then Cleon Velaryon and Robert Quince are your examples. One committed suicide after negotiations; the other I beheaded with my own hand. Choose your path."
Silence reigned.
Finally, Will Royce spoke, each word articulated with precision.
He knew they were effectively captives in the Tower of the Hand regardless of the choice, but he would not give Aemond the satisfaction of seeing him break.
"I still... look forward to meeting His Majesty in three days. Prince Aemond, permit us to withdraw. There is nothing more to be said today."
He offered a bow so shallow it was barely a nod, then signaled for Medrick and Benjicot to follow.
They left the hall under heavy guard, followed by a scurrying Sebaston Estermont, who was peeled away toward the guest wing.
As the doors closed, Tyland Lannister broke the silence.
"Your Grace... your methods were exceptionally heavy-handed today."
"Was it effective?" Aemond asked.
"In the short term," Tyland replied.
"They are cowed. But the seeds of distrust have been sown. The North, the Vale, and the Riverlands will never trust you after today."
"They were never going to trust us. I only require their obedience. If they refuse..." Aemond glanced at Tyland.
"Better a known enemy than a false friend, Lord Hand."
Aemond dismissed the Council. As the room cleared, only he and his mother remained. Alicent finally looked up, her face stained with tears.
"They will question us," she lamented.
"The whole of Westeros will question us. Why must you be so rigid? We could have talked."
"Let them question," Aemond said, walking behind the Throne to place his hands on her shoulders.
"We are the legitimate power, Mother. Besides, I have been looking for an excuse to settle scores with them. If they rise against us, I shall have every reason to strip them of their lands. The Crownlands are too small, the Vale is a fortress of plains, and the Riverlands are rich with trade. I wouldn't mind adding them to our personal holdings."
Alicent's tears fell faster.
"But... your father... he loves you. You are his son..."
"He is also Rhaenyra's father," Aemond said coldly, looking at the iron mountain of swords.
"It is time His Majesty knew the truth. All of it."
"You are going to see him tonight?" Alicent asked.
"To force him to take a side?"
"Not force," Aemond said, walking toward the exit.
"I am going to make him face reality. And then, he must choose."
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