Harrenhal, the godswood.
The godswood of Harrenhal was small, but particularly deep. Ancient trees shaded the sky, their branches intertwined; even at noon, only a few rays of sunlight could filter through the gaps in the leaves, casting mottled light and shadow on the ground. The whole forest was filled with a damp, musty smell, mixed with the scent of earth and rotting leaves. Occasionally the wind blew, and the branches swayed and rustled, as if someone were whispering.
Aemond stood alone before the heart tree. This ancient weirwood had a trunk so thick that it would take four or five men to encircle it. Its bark was pale as bone, and carved upon it was a face, deep and ancient, as if it could see through men's hearts.
Aemond reached out and touched the face of the heart tree. The bark was cold, with an indescribable texture. His fingers traced the deep eye sockets, the flowing blood and tears, and finally stopped on the trunk.
Suddenly, his hand froze.
The surrounding scene began to warp. The godswood vanished. Harrenhal vanished.
Then he saw water.
A vast lake, dark and bottomless.
Above the lake, two dragons fought.
One was Vhagar. She was so large that her spread wings covered the sky. She glowed with blood-red light in the setting sun. Golden flames burned in her eyes, dragonfire brewing in her mouth.
The other was Caraxes. The Blood Wyrm, Daemon's dragon. He was much smaller than Vhagar, but more agile and fierce. In the sky, the two dragons bit at each other, dragonfire intertwining, blood spraying.
In the sky, on Vhagar's back, two men fought.
One was Daemon. In his hand, he held the Valyrian steel sword Dark Sister.
The other was himself. Aemond saw himself sitting on Vhagar's back, holding a sword. But he had no time to think about that.
Then he saw himself thrust the sword, piercing Daemon's chest.
Daemon's sword fell.
He lowered his head and looked at the sword in his chest, then raised his head to look at Aemond. He reached out and firmly grasped Aemond's hand. The hand was extremely strong, like iron pincers, impossible to break free.
Daemon's lips moved; his voice came from a distance, like a whisper on the wind.
"I've been waiting for you for a long time..."
At the same moment, the two dragons fell together. Vhagar and Caraxes tangled and plunged from the heights.
The wind whistled in his ears, and the lake grew closer and closer...
Crash!
A huge splash erupted and swallowed everything around.
At that moment, Aemond opened his eyes.
He was still in the godswood, still standing before the heart tree.
An hallucination?
He drew a deep breath and suppressed the beating of his heart. That moment felt like something deeper—as if fate itself were watching him.
On the heart tree, a raven perched on a branch, its head tilted, looking at him. Those black eyes were like two small pieces of obsidian.
"Playing ghost," Aemond said coldly to the raven.
The raven did not fly away, but let out a hoarse caw.
Then a voice came. The voice was old and low, as if coming from a distance. It seemed to sound from the depths of his own heart:
"The Prince That Was Promised..."
Aemond's eyes narrowed.
The Prince That Was Promised.
He knew the prophecy. The secret passed down through House Targaryen, from Aegon the Conqueror's dream—about the prince who would be born from the dragonlord's line and lead Westeros against the coming darkness.
The raven flapped its wings and flew away. The old voice also vanished, as if it had never existed.
Aemond stood motionless, looking at the weeping face on the heart tree, silent for a long time.
The Prince That Was Promised...
At that moment, footsteps sounded. Aemond turned and saw Hal Bellere approaching quickly. He was covered in dust, evidently just brought back from Tumbleton, summoned by the Regent.
"Regent," Hal inclined his head in greeting.
Aemond nodded, walked out of the godswood, and returned to the sunlight.
"How is Tumbleton?"
Hal fell into step beside him. "Lord Mooton has surrendered."
Aemond's pace did not stop. "Surrendered?"
"Yes," Hal said. "Our army besieged the city for a month; the city's provisions were exhausted. Lord Mooton tried to break out, but we drove him back. Last night, he sent an envoy, ready to surrender unconditionally."
Aemond walked to the castle wall and looked down at the nearby lake, Gods Eye. The lake was dark and bottomless, exactly as he had seen in his hallucination.
"Then let Mooton commit merit," Aemond said lightly.
Hal confirmed, "My lord, what do you mean..."
"Put his family's forces into death camps," Aemond said. "Send someone to tell him that the Iron Throne must personally see him commit merit. Otherwise—confiscation of lands."
Hal drew a deep breath and nodded. "Yes."
Aemond turned and looked at him. "These losers... I am using this war to eliminate these disobedient lords. The Riverlands like this, the Vale like this, the North like this."
Hal was silent for a moment, then said cautiously, "My lord, those noble lords stripped of their lands will surely harbor resentment. Those families have histories of thousands of years..."
"Thousands of years?" Aemond sneered. "What does thousands of years matter?"
He looked at Hal; his violet eyes shone with cold light. "I have my own plans for dealing with these men. You need not worry."
Hal lowered his head. "Yes."
Aemond looked at him and suddenly asked, "What do you think of Tumbleton?"
Hal's heart tightened.
Tumbleton?
It was an important castle in the Riverlands; though small, its location was crucial. This piece of land directly bordered the northern part of the Crownlands. If he could acquire Tumbleton...
He drew a deep breath, suppressed the excitement in his heart, and said cautiously, "My lord, Tumbleton is indeed good. But the nobles stripped of their lands..."
"What piece of land do you like? Speak," Aemond interrupted him and patted him on the shoulder. "You are my trusted man."
Hal was stunned for a moment, then knelt heavily. "Thank you, my lord! I... I swear loyalty to my lord."
Aemond nodded and gestured for him to rise.
"Have all been brought?"
Hal stood and quickly replied, "Over a thousand men from the Boys' Army have already been brought. They are still behind and will arrive at Harrenhal tomorrow."
"Very well," Aemond smiled. "I have sent men to watch the Lannister army."
Hal looked at him, waiting for more.
Aemond walked to the wall, looked at the lake in the distance, and said slowly, "As soon as they meet with misfortune, you will act immediately."
Hal was stunned. "Meet with misfortune? My lord means..."
"That lion may die," Aemond said lightly.