"Jacaerys training bastards to ride dragons… that is shaking the very foundation of House Targaryen."
Viserys paused for a moment, watching his son's back as he turned away.
"But, Aemond… promise me one thing."
"Say it."
"Do not spill the blood of your kin again." Tears ran down Viserys's face, murky and clouded, slipping over his wrinkled skin and falling onto the brocade covers.
Aemond walked back to the bedside and wiped his father's tears away with his hand.
"Father," Aemond said, "I promise you—so long as they do not make the first move."
Viserys seized Aemond's hand, gripping it tightly.
Those dim purple eyes fixed on his son without blinking.
"Aemond… my son…" The king's voice trembled.
"I do not know… what will become of House Targaryen…"
"I do not know whether you will… whether you will truly become a second Maegor…"
"But I know… I can no longer stop you…"
He coughed again, more violently this time, his whole body shaking.
Alicent brought a cup of water, but he pushed it away, clutching Aemond's collar and using the last of his strength to drag his son closer.
Their faces were nearly touching—youth and decay, cold and warmth, whole and broken.
"The realm… I leave to you… to Aegon…" Viserys said weakly.
"You must support him… do not let him… become another Aenys…"
Aenys I—the weak and indecisive king who left behind a fractured inheritance.
"I promise you."
"And… one more thing…" Viserys's hand trembled, his nails digging into Aemond's collar. "Promise me… if… if it truly comes to the end…"
"Spare Rhaenyra… she is your sister…"
"Daemon is your uncle…"
"Blood and fire… of one source…"
Aemond fell silent. Then he nodded.
"If it is possible, I will."
It was not a promise.
Viserys knew it. Aemond knew it.
But he needed such comfort—needed to believe his children would not destroy one another utterly.
Viserys let go, as though satisfied.
He released his grip and fell back onto the bed, as if all his strength had been spent.
His breathing gradually steadied, his eyes half-closed.
Alicent wiped her tears and said softly, "Your Grace, you should rest…"
"Alicent." Viserys suddenly opened his eyes. A flicker of clarity passed through them.
The queen quickly leaned in, her face almost touching his. "I am here, Your Grace."
Viserys looked at her for a long time.
The woman he had married for more than twenty years. The woman who had borne him six children. The woman he had once loved, who had become part of his life.
"All these years…" Viserys's voice was faint, like a sigh. "You have suffered much."
Alicent's tears welled again, falling onto the king's hand. "No… Your Grace… it was I…"
"I did not do enough. If not for me… if not for Otto…"
"You did well." Viserys raised a trembling hand and touched the queen's cheek.
"You gave me good children… Aegon, Aemond, Daeron, Helaena…"
"And Ysera and Jaehaerys. They are all good children…"
"They were only born into the wrong time."
He paused, pain flashing deep in his eyes. "If… if I had not married you…"
"Perhaps… perhaps things would not have come to this…"
"Your Grace, say no more." Alicent shook her head, weeping, pressing his hand against her face. "It is fate… the will of the Seven…"
"We are only mortals. Mortals make mistakes…"
Viserys smiled bitterly through tears. "The Seven above?"
"All I ever wanted… was for our family to be together…"
"For the house to be united…"
"Like when we were young—Daemon, Rhaenyra's mother, and I… those were good days…"
"Alas… I am a weak man. Indecisive… pushed all my life."
"Pushed by the lords, by the Hand, by my own kin…"
At last he looked once more at Aemond by the bed. His eyes held something complex—pride, fear, concern… and a trace of relief.
"I will see it done," Viserys said.
"I will make those lords… hold their tongues."
"And restore order… to the realm…"
"Your Grace…" Queen Alicent let out a breath. She knew this was her husband's concession—and his acceptance.
Aemond knelt on one knee at the bedside, bowing his head. "Thank you, Father, for granting this."
Viserys seemed content. He closed his eyes, his breathing long and even.
Alicent thought he had fallen asleep. She tucked the covers around him gently and turned to Aemond. "Let him rest. You should also—"
She did not finish.
Viserys's eyes snapped open. His body convulsed violently!
He clawed at his throat, as though an unseen hand were strangling him. His face flushed red—then turned a dreadful purple-black.
"Your Grace!" Alicent stared in disbelief.
Aemond rushed forward, supporting his father.
Viserys seized his son's arm, his nails digging deep, almost drawing blood.
His eyes bulged wide, filled with unspeakable agony—and something else.
Then he opened his mouth and vomited a mouthful of black blood.
Not bright red—pitch black, like ink—splattering across Aemond's face.
Warm. Reeking faintly of the Stranger.
Aemond froze.
The blood ran down his face as he stared blankly at his father. Viserys was still convulsing, more black blood seeping from his lips.
"Guards… guards!" Aemond finally roared.
"Guards!"
The door burst open.
Ser Criston Cole was the first inside, hand on his sword, followed by two white-cloaked Kingsguard.
Then came Tella with the maidservants, carrying basins, towels, and water—they had been waiting outside.
All of them saw the same sight—Prince Aemond drenched in blood, the king writhing on the bed.
Black blood stained the brocade covers and silk sheets.
Queen Alicent collapsed to the floor, covering her face, her sobs broken and incoherent.
"Fetch the Grand Maester!" Aemond shouted, blood still dripping from his face.
"Bring me Orwyle! Now!"
The silver basin slipped from Tella's hands with a clang, water spilling across the floor. Trembling, she said, "Y-Your Highness… Grand Maester Orwyle…"
"He left the Red Keep this afternoon… said he was going to the city hall to collect some books from the Citadel… he has not returned…"
Blood continued to drip from Aemond's face.
He raised his hand—his sleeve was soaked as well.
He looked at his father. Viserys had stopped convulsing, his eyes fixed on the ceiling, his chest still faintly rising.
A slow poison?
But this was an acute onset.
Someone had increased the dosage—or changed to something stronger.
Aemond turned to Ser Criston Cole. "Take men. Find Orwyle."
"Yes, Your Highness." Cole did not hesitate. He turned and strode out.
Aemond looked at Tella next—the maid who had long served Helaena was shaking as though her soul had left her body.
"Lock down the Red Keep."
"Go now. Inform Ser Willem Darklyn—his men are to seal every gate at once."
"No one enters or leaves. Any who defy it—kill them."
He paused, then added, "Pay close attention to the envoys of the Four Regions."
"If they attempt to leave, detain them—but do not harm them."
"I will question them myself."
Tella nodded frantically, scrambling to her feet and running out.
The room was left with Aemond, his dying father, and his broken mother.
Alicent crawled to the bed, sobbing uncontrollably.
"Viserys… Viserys…" she called again and again.
Viserys's lips moved.
Alicent hurriedly leaned close, pressing her ear near.
"A… Alicent…" The king's voice was barely audible, each word laced with blood. "Forgive… forgive me…"
"Forgive all that I have done…"
"Forgive me… for failing to protect them all…"
"I forgive you, I forgive you…" Alicent clasped his hand, crying.
"Please… do not go… stay with me… stay with our children…"
Viserys's hand twitched weakly, as if to touch her face—but it fell halfway, lifeless.
His eyes turned once more to Aemond, his lips moving.
Aemond understood.
"Promise… me…"
Then Viserys Targaryen the First—King of the Seven Kingdoms, Lord of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Protector of the Realm, head of House Targaryen—breathed his last.
His eyes did not close, staring at the ceiling.
As he had all his life—watching his house fracture, powerless to change it.
Alicent's cries turned into a wrenching wail.
She collapsed over her husband's body, shaking violently, twenty years of love and resentment dissolving into pure loss.
Aemond reached out and closed Viserys's eyes.
He touched the blood on his face—half-dried, sticky, reeking.
Ser Gwayne Hightower, commander of the Red Keep's guards, had just arrived.
The man—his uncle—saw the scene and his face changed at once.
Aemond looked at him, his gaze complicated.
"Ser Gwayne."
"The king is dead."
"All guards in the Red Keep are to be replaced—my men will take their posts."
He turned, blood still faintly smeared across his face, his purple eyes glinting strangely in the dim light.
"The small council will convene in one hour."
"And the Queen Dowager…" Gwayne glanced at Alicent, collapsed by the bed, pity in his eyes.
Aemond was silent for a moment, then said: "The Kingsguard will assist my men in enforcing a citywide curfew."
"Anyone found in the streets—lord or commoner—will be seized."
"Those who resist—kill them."
"Yes, Your Highness." Gwayne hesitated. "Your face…"
"No need." Aemond stepped to the basin, bent down, and plunged his face into the cold water.
Blood spread through the water, staining it red.
When he lifted his head, the mirror showed a pale, cold face.
Water dripped from his hair. There was no emotion in his eyes—no grief, no anger, not even hatred.
Only a near inhuman calm.
He dried his face and returned to the bedside, looking at his father's corpse for a long time.
Then he knelt on one knee, took his father's cold hand, bowed his head, and pressed his forehead against it.
A son's final farewell.
Then he turned, his voice cold: "Search the entire city."
"Find Orwyle."
Gwayne nodded and withdrew, closing the door softly.
In the room, Aemond stood still. Behind him, his mother's cries gradually faded.
Viserys's body lay on the bed, growing cold.
He walked to his mother.
Alicent no longer cried—she simply stared blankly at her husband's corpse.
"He's gone…" she murmured. "He's truly gone…"
"I know."
"This is only the beginning, Mother."
"Tonight, you will preside over the small council—as Queen Dowager."
Alicent looked up, tears clouding her eyes.
"Will you… avenge your father?"
Aemond was silent for a moment, then said: "I will make every man who has harmed us…"
"Pay a hundredfold. A thousandfold."
"No matter who he is."
"No matter where he hides."
If it truly was Orwyle…
Then perhaps… there were those even more eager than he to hasten this war…
The Citadel? The Faith?
Had House Hightower taken part?
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