The Great Hall, Red Keep.
At this moment, everyone's eyes were on the wine cup Aemond held high.
With an inscrutable smile on his face, Aemond spoke slowly:
"Come, my dear nephews."
He turned to the three children, calling out their names one by one:
"Jacaerys, Lucerys, Joffrey."
Those violet eyes swept over the three boys' faces, which were flushed with anger and embarrassment.
"I offer a toast to you."
He raised his cup and turned toward Jacaerys.
"May the Seven bless my nephews. May each of you be wise, handsome..."
His gaze lingered on Lucerys for a moment, a predatory glint in his eye.
"...and Strong."
He spoke the last word slowly and clearly, letting it hang in the air like an executioner's axe.
"Aemond!" The King had already stood up, his face red.
"What exactly do you think you are doing?"
"Your Grace," Aemond turned to his father, his expression calm and innocent,
"I am merely... blessing them. As an uncle, should I not wish for my nephews... to possess such fine qualities? This is also my most sincere wish."
Viserys was momentarily speechless. He glanced at Queen Alicent beside him, signaling her to stop it.
Alicent looked at her son and called out softly, "Aemond..."
She knew this son too well, using the most polite words to thrust the sharpest blade.
Every word was precisely aimed at the most vulnerable weakness of Rhaenyra's children.
Rhaenyra watched Aemond gloomily, her hand beneath the table trembling slightly.
Daemon noticed and gently pressed down on her arm.
"Don't lose your temper," he whispered.
"That is exactly what he wants."
"Aemond," Queen Alicent said in a commanding tone, "enough. Sit down."
Aemond acted as if he hadn't heard.
"I toast to you."
He continued, raising his wine cup.
"To these three... 'Strong' boys."
He drained the wine in his cup in one gulp.
"Say that again if you have the guts!"
Opposite him, Jacaerys suddenly stood, his chair scraping harshly across the floor.
His one good right eye glared at Aemond as if it were about to spit fire.
Aemond put down the empty cup and tilted his head.
"What? Is it not a good thing for your uncle to celebrate you? Or is it... that you do not feel you... deserve the word Strong?"
"You motherf, !"
Jacaerys was completely ignited.
Like an enraged lion cub, he rounded the long table and lunged at Aemond.
His fist flew through the air, aimed straight at the other's face.
Aemond was prepared. He easily stepped aside to dodge the clumsy blow.
"Today is a family banquet," Aemond looked at him coldly, with icy mockery.
"I do not wish to lay a hand on you, nephew. Lest people say I am bullying you."
Jacaerys threw another punch, this time aiming for Aemond's abdomen.
But Aemond was faster.
He firmly caught the youth's swinging wrist, his fingers tightening like iron pincers.
Jacaerys let out a muffled groan from the pain in his wrist, but he stubbornly gritted his teeth, refusing to cry out.
Almost at the same time, Lucerys moved as well.
"Enough, Lucerys," Aegon stopped him, grabbing his shoulder.
"There's no need."
"Let go of me!" Lucerys struggled, his eyes turning red.
"He insulted us! You heard him!"
"It was just a blessing." Aegon sighed, looking at his younger brother with a complex gaze.
"Today is a family banquet; His Grace is watching."
Just as Lucerys broke free, Aegon's foot seemingly inadvertently stretched forward.
"Ah!"
Lucerys tripped and fell forward, slamming hard onto the floor with a dull thud.
Seeing both his brothers suffer, Joffrey charged toward Aemond's back regardless of the consequences.
A seven-year-old's charge was naturally without technique, and Aemond didn't even turn around.
He casually pushed back with his empty left hand, pressing it right against Joffrey's chest.
The force was precisely controlled, enough to make the child lose his balance and fall back onto the ground without getting hurt.
"Make them stop! All of you, stop!"
King Viserys's roar exploded in the banquet hall.
The attendants beside him hurried forward to support the King, but he pushed them away.
Ser Criston Cole and Ser Rickard Thorne had already rushed over.
Rickard blocked the furious Jacaerys, while Cole stood in front of Aemond.
Other guards quickly poured in through the doors, separating Lucerys, who still wanted to get up and brawl with Aegon, from Joffrey, who was crying on the floor.
The scene was a mess. Plates and silver goblets clattered to the floor, chairs were overturned, and wine spilled onto the exquisite carpet like blood.
Queen Alicent walked quickly to Aemond's side, grabbed his arm, and questioned him in a low voice.
"Why? Why did you have to say those things in front of them!?"
Aemond looked at his mother.
"Mother. I was merely expressing... my affection for them."
He looked up, his gaze passing over Ser Cole's shoulder to land on Jacaerys, who was still glaring at him while being held back by Rickard.
"But it seems my nephews are not very proud... of their own family?"
"Aemond Targaryen!"
Rhaenyra had already stood up, one hand on the table to steady herself and the other protecting her lower abdomen.
Daemon stood beside her, one hand resting lightly on her lower back to support her.
"Heir Apparent," Alicent turned, shielding Aemond behind her.
"Aemond was only sincerely blessing your children."
Her green eyes met Rhaenyra's.
"Is there anything wrong with his words? Wise, handsome... which of those is not a wonderful wish? Moreover, Jacaerys struck first. Everyone saw it."
"Blessing?" Rhaenyra laughed in anger.
"With those words? With that look?"
She took a step forward, and Daemon's hand immediately moved from her back to her arm.
"Don't pretend you don't know what it means!"
Daemon moved.
He rounded the table with unhurried steps, his silver hair glinting coldly under the candlelight.
Finally, he stopped five paces away from Aemond.
"My dear nephew," Daemon spoke, "your eloquence... is truly impressive."
"Do you know? In Dorne, there is a snake called the Black Whistler. Its teeth are very venomous, and its bite is very painful. But they always die the earliest. Because they are too conspicuous, and everyone wants to... before they cause trouble... cut off their heads."
A cold light flashed in Daemon's violet eyes.
Aemond met Daemon's gaze without a hint of fear on his face.
He even gently pushed aside his mother, who was blocking him, and took two steps forward.
Only three paces remained between them.
The same silver hair and violet eyes, the same straight spines; they stood in confrontation like two sides of a mirror.
"Thank you for the reminder, Uncle," Aemond replied calmly.
"However, I have also heard another story from the Vale."
"An eagle lived too long and thought it could still hunt as it did in its youth. But when it dove from the heights, it found its talons were dull, and its wings were heavy."
He paused, looking at Daemon.
"In the end, it fell to its death on the ground and was picked clean by wild dogs."
Daemon's eyes narrowed slightly. His hand on Dark Sister had been restrained all along.
Beside Aemond, Ser Criston Cole watched Daemon's every move, his hand already tight on his sword hilt.
"Interesting," Daemon finally spoke again.
"But Aemond," Daemon said coldly, "a sword that is too sharp easily cuts its owner. Especially... when it has just been forged."
"You are quite right," Aemond said.
"But I will be the one wielding the sword. How it is used... Ultimately, it is I who decides."
Daemon's pupils suddenly contracted. He stared at Aemond for several seconds.
Then, he suddenly began to chuckle. It gradually grew into a laugh with a hint of appreciation.
"Good. Very good." Daemon nodded and took a few steps back.
He stopped looking at Aemond and turned back to Rhaenyra's side.
"Let us go," he said to his wife.
Rhaenyra wanted to say more, but Daemon had already taken her arm and turned her away.
Aemond stood where he was, watching the party of the Blacks depart.
King Viserys watched everything that had happened, clutching his chest.
"The Seven above... Look at you all. Look at what you have all become!"
He had hoped to use the family banquet to reconcile the family.
But Aemond, Rhaenyra, and those three children seemed naturally incompatible.
His gaze finally landed on Aemond, with an incredibly complex expression.
There was hope, anger, and disappointment, but also a sliver of dread that he was unwilling to admit even to himself.
This son, whom he had always tried to understand but could never control.
Every time he wanted to place great hopes in Aemond, the boy would always do something to infuriate him.
Viserys finally let out a sigh.
"That is enough for today. All of you... Go back to your rooms."
-----
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