The moment Aemond said those words, the entire hall exploded into an uproar.
"What?!"
"Strip him of his lands?!"
"How can that be allowed?!"
The scraping of chairs, boots pounding against stone, and sharp intakes of breath blended into a single cacophony.
The lords of the Westerlands all rose to their feet as well, disbelief written across their faces as they stared at the Prince Regent.
Lord Lefford's expression changed.
He had expected Aemond to punish Lord Reyne. Perhaps a massive fine. Perhaps imprisonment in the dungeons.
But he had never expected this...
Confiscation of his lands.
Complete confiscation.
From a lord to a commoner.
Castamere—the city of silver mines, gold mines, and unimaginable wealth—would now belong to House Targaryen.
That meant House Reyne, a family that had stood in the Westerlands for over a thousand years, a family even older than the Lannisters, would become commoners overnight.
This was humiliation.
This was destruction.
This was the complete ruin of a noble house.
And Lord Reyne's face went from pale white to iron gray.
He shot to his feet and pointed a trembling finger at Aemond.
"You!"
"You can't do this!"
Aemond looked at him, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly.
"Oh?"
"My word doesn't count?"
Reyne's eyes turned red.
He forgot his fear.
Forgot pleading for mercy.
Forgot who stood before him.
All he knew was that this Prince Regent was destroying his family.
Destroying the legacy passed down through generations.
Destroying the future of his descendants.
"You!" Reyne roared in fury. "You kinslayer! You murdered your own aunt!"
"And you still have the nerve to sit here and judge me?!"
The hall fell deathly silent.
Hall moved.
He had been standing beside Aemond the entire time, but the instant Reyne uttered the word kinslayer, he lunged forward like a hunting leopard.
His first punch smashed into Reyne's face.
A dull thud echoed through the hall as blood and teeth flew together.
The second punch struck his temple, plunging Reyne's vision into darkness.
The third crashed into the bridge of his nose, sending blood spraying out like a fountain.
Then Hall stopped.
He stepped back.
Reyne collapsed onto the floor.
His face was covered in blood. His nose was broken. His lips were split. One eye had swollen shut.
Hall looked down at him coldly and said to the guards nearby, "Strip him."
"He's no longer a noble."
The knights stepped forward and hauled Reyne off the ground.
His cloak was torn away.
His coat was ripped off.
His belt was yanked free.
The gems set into it scattered across the floor.
Clad in nothing but a white shirt, he stood in the center of the hall, drenched in blood and utterly disgraced.
Reyne finally broke.
Struggling wildly, he screamed at the top of his lungs.
"Aemond! You kinslayer!"
"You're making enemies of the entire Seven Kingdoms!"
"You've broken the rules between House Targaryen and the lords of the realm!"
"For over a hundred years, no king has treated his bannermen like this!"
"You'll regret this!"
"Everyone will become your enemy!"
"You'll die a miserable death!"
Then the knights slapped him across the face again and again until he finally fell silent.
Aemond, meanwhile, remained completely unmoved.
Seated in his chair, he watched Reyne struggle like a dead dog being dragged across the ground.
Then he spoke, his voice calm.
"Reyne withdrew his forces without authorization and nearly ruined the entire campaign."
"Now he has openly defied his liege lord and hurled insults at him."
"What is his crime?"
Beside him, his attendant Alyn answered loudly, "He should be sentenced to death by beheading."
The hall fell silent once more.
The lords of the Westerlands exchanged uneasy glances.
Alyn continued.
"But Reyne has already been stripped of his noble status."
"He no longer qualifies for execution by beheading."
"He should be executed as a commoner."
Aemond nodded.
"Then hang him."
"Hang him from the walls of Harrenhal until nothing remains but bones."
"Let it serve as a warning to the Seven Kingdoms."
Reyne's eyes bulged.
Hanging?
Only commoners were hanged.
He was a Reyne.
Lord of Castamere.
The Red Lion.
The second most powerful man in the Westerlands.
And he was going to be hanged?
Like a thief?
Like a murderer?
He struggled even harder, so violently that two knights could barely restrain him.
"You can't do this! You can't!"
"My family has served the Iron Throne for generations!"
"You can't do this to me!"
Aemond looked at him.
There was no pity in his eyes.
Nor was there the slightest hesitation.
"Take him away."
Reyne was dragged out.
His curses grew fainter and fainter until they finally disappeared beyond the hall.
Silence settled over the chamber.
The lords of the Westerlands sat in their seats. Some lowered their heads. Others stared at the table before them.
No one spoke.
No one moved.
Lord Lefford sat there, his fingers gripping the armrests so tightly that his knuckles whitened. He hated Reyne. He had hated him enough to want to kill him himself.
Yet watching him dragged away like a dog stirred a strange feeling inside him.
It wasn't sympathy.
It was fear.
A thousand-year-old house... gone just like that?
A lord... hanged just like that?
His lands were gone.
His title was gone.
His house was gone.
Lefford raised his head and looked at Aemond.
The young Prince Regent sat in his chair, one hand resting on Blackfyre, his face completely expressionless.
What exactly was this Prince Regent trying to do?
"Prince Regent," Lefford finally said, rising to his feet, his voice hoarse.
"Reyne is guilty, without question. But stripping him of his lands and reducing him to a commoner..."
"Isn't the punishment too severe? House Reyne has stood for over a thousand years..."
Aemond looked at him but said nothing.
The other lords rose as well.
"Yes, Prince Regent."
"Reyne deserves punishment, but not this."
"There are still laws and customs to consider..."
"Lord Reyne may be guilty, Your Grace, but while you may execute him, his family is innocent..."
More and more voices joined in.
They were pleading on Reyne's behalf.
But every man in that hall knew the truth.
They were pleading for themselves.
Today, Reyne's lands had been confiscated.
Would theirs be next tomorrow?
Today, Reyne had been hanged.
Would they be next tomorrow?
Aemond listened to them all without a trace of emotion.
Only after everyone had finished speaking did he finally open his mouth.
"Are you done?"
The hall fell silent.
Aemond rose to his feet. His silver hair gleamed with a cold sheen beneath the morning sunlight.
"You speak of rules," he said softly.
"What are rules?"
No one answered.
His voice grew colder.
"The rules you're talking about... are they that no matter how great the crime, as long as a house is old enough and rich enough, it can escape punishment?"
The hall remained silent.
Aemond smiled faintly and continued.
"Half of Castamere's wealth will be distributed among the soldiers of the Westerlands who fought at the Battle of the Gods Eye."
"The remaining half will be absorbed into the royal treasury."
A wave of sharp breaths echoed through the hall.
The wealth of Castamere was beyond imagination.
House Reyne had spent more than a thousand years building its fortune in the Westerlands. Only House Lannister possessed greater wealth.
Lord Lefford stood in silence, staring at Prince Regent Aemond.
He had killed Reyne.
Taken his lands.
Seized his wealth.
And now he was using that wealth to buy the loyalty of the remaining lords.
At that moment, Aemond had already risen and walked to the castle window.
Outside, on the walls of Harrenhal, Reyne was being hanged.
The rope tightened around his neck.
His body was pushed from the platform.
A dull thud followed.
His corpse swayed in the morning wind like a rag doll.
"You think I've broken the rules?" Aemond suddenly asked without turning around, his gaze fixed on the hanged Reyne.
No one dared answer.
He pulled back the curtain and turned to face them.
Sunlight streamed in from the side window, dividing every face in the hall into light and shadow.
"What rules?"
He smiled.
The smile was faint.
Cold.
"The strong make the rules."
"The weak obey them."
Still smiling, he continued, "The old age is over."
"I will establish a new order."
His gaze swept across the faces of every lord present.
Each of them lowered their heads, unable to meet his eyes.
"Reyne is an example."
"I will not tolerate a rotten apple that poisons the rest."
Lord Lefford looked up at Aemond.
The young Prince Regent stood before the window, backlit by the sun, his expression impossible to read.
But his eyes were bright.
Glowing in the darkness.
Then Lefford saw something.
Those eyes.
Within those violet irises, another set of pupils appeared.
One violet.
One red.
Two pupils layered atop each other like mirrors reflecting one another.
Lefford's breathing stopped.
The other lords saw it as well.
A wave of startled gasps spread through the hall.
Aemond's silver hair drifted in the breeze blowing through the window behind him.
Those strange double pupils stared at the assembled lords as he spoke in a cold, indifferent voice.
"Listen carefully."
"I am the true dragon..."
"You are not..."