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King's Landing, House Hightower's Manse.
In the private study, candlelight cast flickering, nervous shadows across Otto Hightower's face.
"Do you have any idea what you've done, Aemond?" Otto asked, his voice tight with suppressed rage.
"The Rogar family and the Triarchy! They are the most important allies I could find for us across the Narrow Sea! Their influence in the Eastern Continent... is it so insignificant in your eyes?"
Aemond leaned back languidly in the high-backed chair opposite him, his fingertips idly playing with the candle's flame.
"I see it very clearly, Grandfather," he replied calmly.
"Clearly?" Otto nearly slammed his hand on the table as he rose.
"Clearly, and yet you rejected them to their face! Without leaving any room for negotiation! Correy Rogar is right there in the hall. He is Lysandro's brother and the key to this alliance! You made him lose face and brought shame upon the entire Rogar family!"
Otto paced, his composure cracking.
"Aemond, this isn't a child throwing a tantrum; this is politics! You nearly cost us this ally, and you might even push them to the Blacks!"
"Rest assured," Aemond said, looking up at the ranting Hand.
"I will offer them an apology, and they will end up thanking me."
"Thanking you?" Otto laughed in sheer disbelief.
"Thanking you for publicly insulting their sincerity? Thanking you for contemptuously refusing a marriage with their daughter? Aemond, your arrogance must end here!"
"Now, I want you to go out immediately and apologize to Correy Rogar. At least salvage things on the surface! We can say you are young and haven't considered marriage yet, but that you cherish the friendship, "
"That won't be necessary, Lord Hand."
A voice came from outside the door, calm and unhurried.
Otto turned abruptly.
Correy Rogar entered the study, still dressed in the finery he wore during the audience.
His silver hair flowed like cold moonlight, and his blue eyes were as clear as ice under the candlelight.
The suppressed anger from the council meeting was gone from his face, replaced by a look of sharp scrutiny.
"Lord Correy..." Otto was momentarily at a loss for words.
Correy gave Otto a slight nod before turning his gaze back to Aemond.
"The Prince's bluntness is truly impressive."
He paused. "I am quite curious, Your Highness, where does this 'gratitude' you spoke of come from? Why should House Rogar, or even the Triarchy, be grateful to you for a rejected marriage?"
Aemond stood up, leaning his hands on the table as he looked at the Lysene envoy.
"Lord Correy, for what reason was the Triarchy originally formed?"
Correy was slightly taken aback, then said solemnly,
"To resist our common enemy, Volantis. To drive its greedy tentacles out of the Disputed Lands and defend the Free Cities."
"Did you succeed?"
"We thwarted their offensives and suppressed them into a corner of the Disputed Lands," Correy answered cautiously.
He shifted his weight.
"But what does that have to do with Your Highness's refusal of the marriage, or your so-called gratitude?"
"The connection is this," Aemond said slowly, every word crystal clear.
"If I were to say that I am willing to personally mount Vhagar and cooperate with the Triarchy's armies to thoroughly sweep the forces of Volantis out of the Disputed Lands... would that apology carry enough weight?"
He leaned closer.
"You help us deal with the Velaryon navy. And I will help you eliminate the land-based threat of Volantis."
The secret room fell into a sudden, deathly silence.
Otto drew in a sharp breath, his pupils shrinking.
Correy Rogar froze. He stared fixedly at Aemond, calculating.
Vhagar.
The oldest and largest living dragon. A beast capable of turning the tide of war and reshaping geopolitics single-handedly.
The memory of Aegon the Conqueror riding the Black Dread into the Century of Blood was still vivid in the histories of Essos.
If Aemond Targaryen truly joined the war with Vhagar...
Correy's heart raced. This was an incalculable military boon.
The relationship between the Green Targaryens and the Triarchy would transcend a normal alliance and evolve into a tight military pact.
After a long while, Correy slowly exhaled and said, his voice trembling with excitement, "Your Highness... are you serious?"
"I swear it by the blood of the Targaryens." Aemond's smile faded.
"However, this does not represent the Seven Kingdoms; it is my personal act alone."
A sharp light flashed in Otto's eyes. He quickly weighed the pros and cons.
If this promise could secure the unwavering support of the Triarchy, its value far exceeded a single marriage alliance.
"This apology..." Correy shook his head, then nodded solemnly.
"No, this promise, Prince Aemond. House Rogar, and the Magisters of the Triarchy, shall surely remember this great kindness."
"Very well." Aemond nodded slightly.
"As for the specific details, perhaps one day in the future, I will visit Lys in person."
With a genuine smile, Correy bowed low.
"The gates of Lys will always be open to you, Your Highness. I will report your intentions to my brother immediately."
In the exchange of glances, a silent understanding was reached.
Correy knew he had to bring this news back across the Narrow Sea as quickly as possible.
He bowed once more and turned to leave.
The room returned to silence.
Only after a long time did Otto slowly sit back in his chair, looking at his grandson with a complex gaze.
"You knew that Volantis was a thorn in their side."
Aemond remained noncommittal.
"Tangible military assistance and shared interests make for a much stronger bond than a wedding cloak. Besides, the initiative is in our hands."
"However," Otto said, rubbing his temples, "getting involved in the wars of the Eastern Continent... it will draw criticism. And His Majesty..."
"Father will accept it," Aemond interrupted, his tone certain.
"Just as he eventually compromises with Daemon. He can always find a reason to convince himself."
Otto was silent for a moment, then suddenly looked up.
"So, what is the real reason you refused the Rogar marriage?"
Aemond met his gaze. The candle flame flickered deep within his purple eyes, igniting a near-obsessive fire.
"I remember telling you, Grandfather," his voice was soft, but every word was like a driven nail.
"Helaena will come with me."
Otto's body stiffened. He remembered that declaration, but he had dismissed it as the nonsense of a youth.
Now, looking into Aemond's eyes, he realized it was no joke.
"You... you love Helaena?" Otto asked dryly.
"Yes," Aemond admitted frankly.
"And her heart belongs to me."
He paused, his voice suddenly turning cold.
"Therefore, I will never let her marry Jacaerys Velaryon, that Strong bastard. This betrothal must be nullified."
"What do you intend to do?" Otto felt a headache coming on.
"Openly defy it? That would enrage His Majesty and make the Blacks view us as mortal enemies!"
"It's simple." Aemond stood up.
"Make it so this betrothal loses its foundation before the engagement even happens."
Otto looked up directly at him.
"Are you mad?!"
Aemond looked back, a cold smile on his lips.
"I can do it."
Otto's breathing quickened. If handled correctly... this could completely shatter the Blacks' scheme to legitimize Jacaerys.
"You want to take Helaena and...?" Otto lowered his voice.
"Aemond, you are putting the entire Green faction on the roasting fire!"
Aemond remained unmoved.
"His Majesty... he will be furious, he will be heartbroken, but in the end, he will compromise with me. Because he cannot bear the pain of losing two children at once."
He spoke with ruthless clarity.
"His Majesty is that kind of person, Grandfather. You know him better than I do. He is weak; he values familial bonds above all else."
Otto fell into a long silence.
"When do you plan to act?" Otto finally spoke, his voice hoarse.
"No rush, there's still time," Aemond paced back to the table.
"Before the engagement ceremony."
He paused, his gaze falling back on Otto's face.
"After that happens, Grandfather, I need you to steady my father and keep a close eye on every move the Blacks make."
Otto nodded heavily, then suddenly asked:
"By doing this, you are personally tearing away the last shred of possibility for peace with Rhaenyra."
Aemond gave a low laugh.
"Why be so hypocritical, Grandfather? As long as the Greens thirst for the Iron Throne, war is inevitable. The only difference is whether it's a slow boil or a sudden explosion after Father's death."
He turned around, his purple eyes glowing terrifyingly bright in the dancing candlelight.
"I choose to tear off the mask now. Let the hatred burn hotter and more thoroughly. I prefer the fire."
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