The Great Hall, Red Keep.
Inside the banquet hall, the air was thick with tension and the scent of roasted meats.
In the murals hanging on the walls were the past Targaryen Kings: Aegon the Conqueror and his two wives, Aenys I, Maegor I, and Jaehaerys I.
They looked down with painted eyes upon their fractured descendants.
Candle flames flickered restlessly on silver candelabras, while the long table was draped in deep red velvet.
Viserys I sat at the head of the table in a high-backed chair specially padded for his aching back.
His black brocade robe hung loosely on his increasingly gaunt frame.
To the King's left sat the Greens.
Queen Alicent sat upright, her sea-green gown accentuating her neck, long and swan-like.
She seemed to have no appetite, only occasionally poking at the food on her plate with a fork.
Beside her, Aegon was buried in a piece of beef drenched in sauce, his silver hair falling and nearly covering his eyes. He drank more than he ate.
Aemond sat below Aegon, dressed in ink black, his silver hair tied tightly behind his head.
The candlelight cast sharp shadows on his young profile. He sat half-turned, the food before him untouched.
Helaena was beside him, eating silently in small bites, her eyes distant.
Otto Hightower sat at the end of the left side, quietly observing everyone.
Ser Criston Cole and Rickard Thorne stood guard at the door in their white cloaks.
To the King's right sat the Blacks.
Rhaenyra was dressed in dark red, symbolizing her status as the Heir Apparent.
Her silver-gold hair was styled in an intricate bun, and her pregnancy was clearly visible.
From time to time, she smiled and whispered to her father.
Daemon Targaryen leaned lazily against the back of his chair, swirling the wine glass in his hand, his violet gaze always fixed on Aemond.
Rhaenyra's three sons sat in order.
Jacaerys sat below his mother, wearing a black eye patch over his left eye.
His remaining right eye glanced at Aemond from time to time with resentment.
Lucerys and Joffrey sat close to their elder brother, holding their breath.
Maidservants shuttled back and forth, serving dishes.
Viserys's gaze slowly swept across the long table.
"Lately... I have heard some rumors."
He looked at Otto. The Hand immediately put down his knife and fork and nodded slightly.
"Your Grace, it is merely some disgruntled nobles discussing family trifles... I have already ordered people to keep watch; I will never let these trivial noises disturb the peace of everyone in King's Landing."
"Rumors are born from rifts," Viserys shook his head.
"We are the blood of the dragon. We are Targaryens. The last sparks of Old Valyria."
His gaze heavily passed over the face of each of his children.
"Dragons may contend, they may bite, but they must not kill each other. If there are disagreements, they should be resolved in this hall, witnessed by family, with wisdom rather than impulse. Instead of letting the Seven Kingdoms see us as a laughingstock."
Rhaenyra immediately leaned forward, her hands folded over her belly in a submissive posture.
"Your Grace is right. It is precisely because rumors are hurtful that I, your daughter, implore you to announce Jacaerys's rights before everyone tomorrow."
"He is my eldest son, the legitimate heir to the Iron Throne, and your own blood."
She looked at her one-eyed son, a soft maternal light in her eyes.
"If he could receive your personal acknowledgment as the heir to the Iron Throne, many pointless suspicions would naturally subside."
The long hall fell into a dead silence.
Queen Alicent's face was tense. Otto looked down at the swaying reflection in his cup.
Aegon's movement of cutting meat did not pause for a second.
Aemond calmly watched the group of Blacks.
On the side of the Blacks, Daemon slowly sipped his wine, Jacaerys straightened his back, and Lucerys and Joffrey held their breath.
Viserys I fell silent.
He looked at his daughter, then at Jacaerys, his gaze lingering for a moment on that black eye patch.
The hair of those three children was an ordinary brown under the candlelight, and their eyes were a common brownish-hazel. He had never personally confirmed Jacaerys's specific right of succession to the Iron Throne for this very reason.
"Succession..." he finally spoke, his voice dry.
"Let me consider it further."
A flash of gloom passed through Rhaenyra's eyes, but she immediately showed a smile.
"Your Grace considers things thoroughly. I was too impatient."
"However," she looked at Helaena across from her, then turned back to the King, "Jace will be eleven next month. Regarding the marriage between him and Helaena, I was thinking that when he turns thirteen, we should hold an engagement ceremony for them."
"This alliance might make the family bonds even stronger."
Alicent's face instantly turned pale.
She looked at Viserys, her mouth slightly open, her throat moving, but she couldn't make a sound.
Viserys seemed relieved. In a few years, if Jacaerys married Helaena, it wouldn't be out of the question to confirm the right of succession then.
He looked at Helaena, who always kept her eyes downcast, then at the silent Jacaerys, and nodded slowly.
"The matter of the engagement will be discussed when Jacaerys is thirteen. If at that time... everything is suitable, I shall grant it."
"Thank you, Father!" Rhaenyra's smile bloomed; she glanced at the pale Queen across from her.
Meanwhile, Helaena kept her head down, looking somewhat at a loss.
At that moment, Aemond gently squeezed her hand under the table. Helaena looked at her brother, and Aemond nodded slightly to her.
Just then, Aemond put down the silver table knife in his hand.
Clink.
The knife fell onto the porcelain plate with a crisp sound, piercing the quiet.
Aemond looked up, his gaze sweeping over Rhaenyra and her sons.
"Only birds that cannot build their own nests always want to occupy the branches of others."
"Like the cuckoo, which likes to lay its eggs elsewhere, letting other birds raise its chicks."
Aemond's gaze finally landed on Jacaerys's face, speaking word by word.
"And when these chicks grow up, they even push the real eggs out of the nest to shatter them."
"Be silent," Viserys said, suppressing his anger.
Meeting his father's gaze, Aemond waved his hand, his face showing no emotion.
He picked up his wine glass and drained the deep red liquid within.
Across the table, Daemon chuckled. He swirled his wine glass, his gaze like a hook.
"My nephew, your teeth are quite sharp. However..." he paused deliberately, drawing everyone's attention, "I heard something even more interesting. They say you can ride two dragons at once? Vhagar, and the hatchling that crawled out of that dead egg?"
Hearing this, Rhaenyra and her sons all changed color.
Jacaerys's single eye widened suddenly, while Lucerys and Joffrey stared at Aemond in disbelief.
Aemond met Daemon's gaze calmly, even refilling his own wine and raising his glass in a toast.
"This is a gift of the Targaryen bloodline, Uncle. Only pure power will favor a pure bloodline."
He changed the subject and said nonchalantly, "And foul blood will only stain pure blood."
"What do you mean!" One-eyed Jacaerys slammed the table and stood up.
"Heh, I'm just speaking casually. Did someone take it seriously?" Aemond smiled.
"Or is it... that a fake is, after all, a fake?"
"You!" Jacaerys's anger almost burst from his chest.
"Quiet, Aemond! Today is a family banquet!" Viserys scolded sternly.
Aemond lowered his head, yet showed no remorse.
"Your Grace, I wasn't targeting anyone. It's just that some people... care a lot?"
This was practically cursing someone to their face.
Daemon waved his hand, signaling Jacaerys to sit down.
The smile on his face faded, and a sharp light flashed in his violet eyes.
"It's good to be young and have spirit. However... be careful not to let your wings grow too fast, or they might break in the wind."
"Thank you for the advice, Uncle." Aemond nodded with a smile.
The atmosphere had dropped to the freezing point.
The attendants stepped forward tremblingly to change the plates.
A young maidservant came over carrying a huge silver platter, on which was a suckling pig roasted to a golden crisp with an apple in its mouth.
She carefully placed the silver platter in the empty space in front of Aemond and bowed, intending to retreat.
Just then.
Lucerys looked at the roasted suckling pig, then glanced at Aemond.
He thought of something and couldn't help but let out a very soft snicker.
The sound was very faint, but in the dead silence, it was like a stone thrown into water.
Aemond acted as if he hadn't heard.
He calmly picked up the sharp carving knife the maid had left by the plate.
The blade was long and narrow, glinting coldly.
Instead of cutting the ribs or leg meat, he moved his wrist steadily, the blade precisely entering the joint of the suckling pig's neck.
Squelch.
The slight sound of skin and flesh separating was infinitely magnified in the silence.
With a few clean and efficient cuts, the whole, shiny, golden-brown roasted pig's head was separated from the body.
Aemond picked up the pig's head directly with his hand and turned to Lucerys.
He wore a calm smile on his face, his voice clear, ensuring every corner of the long hall could hear:
"Here, Lucerys."
With a light flick of his wrist, the pig's head traced a short arc in the air.
Thud!
With a dull sound, it landed steadily in the empty plate in front of Lucerys.
The pig's head lay tilted, its scorched mouth grinning comically, the apple in its mouth seemingly mocking silently.
Aemond put down the knife, unhurriedly picked up a handkerchief to wipe his fingers, and smiled.
"Eat more. As your uncle, I wish for you... to grow up Strong quickly."
Strong.
In an instant, all sound vanished.
Viserys froze in his seat, his hand still pressed against his chest.
Alicent covered her mouth tightly, her eyes wide. The last bit of the polite smile on Hand Otto's face completely disappeared.
The color drained from Rhaenyra's face.
Daemon slowly put down his wine glass, his violet eyes narrowing dangerously as he watched Aemond.
Cold fury surged in Jacaerys's single eye, while Joffrey shrank close to his brother in fear.
Lucerys stared at the pig's head right in front of him on the plate; being young, rage rose violently in his chest.
The maidservants and servants stood frozen in place, even holding their breath.
Only the candle flames were still flickering restlessly, clearly reflecting the shock, anger, and fear on everyone's faces.
Then, Aemond stood up. He picked up the fresh wine that the trembling attendant had just poured, raising his glass to Lucerys.
"I offer a toast," he said, his smile sharp as a dagger.
"To my three... Strong... nephews."
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