King's Landing, the Red Keep, the godswood.
The sun illuminated the gardens of the Red Keep, casting particularly bright light on the flowers and plants. Aemond stood on a clearing in the garden, holding a longbow in his hand. The bow was white with a luster like ivory, but upon closer inspection, strange dark patterns could be seen within the gleam. The bow stave was about four feet long; when the string was lightly drawn, it emitted a humming sound. This was a treasure from House Targaryen's collection—a bow made from the keel of a dragon. According to legend, a Targaryen ancestor had personally shot this bow to kill a young rival, but of course, that was only a legend.
Aemond took an arrow from the quiver, nocked it, and drew the bow. The bow was so stiff that ordinary men could not draw it, but he pulled it with ease. His gaze was fixed on the target a hundred paces away, which bore a painted figure of a man.
Whoosh!
The arrow flew through the air and struck the bullseye.
Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!
Nine arrows in succession, each hitting the bullseye. Ten arrows clustered neatly in the target, forming a perfect circle.
"Excellent!" Lord Monstead Hightower clapped from the side. "The Regent's archery is divine! There is no second in all the Seven Kingdoms!"
Aemond put down the bow, glanced at him, and smiled slightly.
"Archery is merely a skill," he said. "One draw, one release—that is all."
He took another arrow, nocked it, and suddenly looked up at the sky. An eagle was circling overhead.
Aemond's eyes narrowed.
Whoosh!
The arrow shot into the sky, swift as light. The eagle was struck before it could react and fell straight from the sky. It landed in an open space of the Red Keep nearby, twitched twice, and lay still.
Alyn quickly ran to retrieve the Regent's quarry. All were silent. Lord Monstead's smile froze on his face. He looked at the dead eagle, then at Aemond, and a deep chill ran through his heart. Hitting the bullseye at a hundred paces was already difficult, but to shoot a flying eagle out of the sky...
Then Alyn returned with the dead eagle.
Aemond handed the bow to Alyn beside him, walked to the eagle, and looked at it. The sun shone on him, his long silver hair gently fluttering in the wind, his violet eyes reflecting the shadow of the dead eagle.
"This is like the Vale," Aemond suddenly spoke.
Lord Monstead was stunned. "What does the Regent mean..."
Aemond looked up at him. "Those who do not submit in the Vale should be like this eagle."
Lord Monstead immediately understood, nodded quickly, and said, "The Regent is right! Then Lady Jeyne, supporting the pretender Rhaenyra and daring to fight the Crown with force—she is simply seeking death!"
Aemond smiled coldly. "The knights of the Vale are well-trained, but unfortunately, they are loyal to the false queen."
Beside him, Alyn quickly handed over a white cloth for him to wipe his hands.
"What of the Riverlands?" Lord Monstead asked cautiously.
Aemond wiped his hands and tossed the white cloth to Alyn. "A bunch of fence-sitters. When the army is subdued, none of those traitors will escape."
"The North..."
"The North?" Aemond interrupted; a mocking smile appeared at the corner of his lips. "Those so-called First Men are ultimately savages. Though they are troublesome, they have already raised their army in rebellion. I hear they even massacred more than a dozen villages, slaughtering civilians in the Westerlands. What do you think the proud Lord Lannister will do? Will he give up?"
Lord Monstead frowned. "Regent, speaking of Lord Jason, I was just about to report to you. According to the latest intelligence, he did not go to the Crag as you ordered, but..."
"I know," Aemond said contemptuously.
Lord Monstead fell silent.
Aemond looked up at the sky. Lothron was circling overhead, letting out bursts of low roars; the dragon's rumble echoed through the godswood.
"He wants to die—then let him die," Aemond said.
Lord Monstead's heart skipped a beat. "What does the Regent mean..."
"I have already ordered him," Aemond's voice was calm. "It is his freedom to choose which path Lannister wants to take. If Lannister wants to be a lion, let him. But a true dragon does not care what a lion thinks..."
Lord Monstead was silent for a moment, then cautiously asked, "But, Regent, if Lord Jason is truly defeated by the northerners, the western army..."
"Then let them lose," Aemond interrupted. "If they lose, they will know who can truly save them. If they lose, they will be honest and obedient."
Then Aemond brushed the dust from himself and walked to the other side of the garden. Lord Monstead followed, his heart in turmoil. He had originally thought the Regent would be very angry and order Lord Jason to be punished. But he did not. He simply waited—waited for the Lannisters to strike their heads and draw blood, then obediently return to beg him. Moreover, he was deeply convinced that since the Regent was so confident, it meant that he was now the one the Blacks could hardly compete with. It seemed that after Rhaenys's death, the Blacks no longer posed a worthy challenge to Aemond in dragon battles.
---
On the other side of the garden, Queen Mother Alicent was sitting with Helaena and Lady Maggie, chatting. Helaena's belly was already large; she sat in a soft chair, a gentle smile on her face. Alicent sat beside her, holding her hand and whispering something. Lady Maggie held Leonor in her arms and sat on the other side, a respectful smile on her face, but anxiety always lurking in her eyes.
Aemond approached. Helaena looked up, saw him, and smiled.
"Are you busy?"
Aemond nodded, sat down beside her, and gently touched her belly. Her stomach was round, hiding two small lives inside.
"How are you today?" he asked.
"Very well," Helaena said. "I feel that these two little ones are very healthy."
Aemond looked at her with a warm smile.
Alicent looked at him, seeing the warmth between him and Helaena, and mixed emotions rose in her heart. This son had now become the pillar of the entire family.
"Aemond," she said softly, "have you thought of names for the children?"
Aemond thought for a moment. "If it's a boy and a girl, the boy will be Aegon, the girl Visenya. If they are all boys..." He paused and looked at Helaena.
Helaena smiled. "If they're all girls, you can choose."
Aemond smiled too. "...Forget it, we'll discuss it then."
Lady Maggie sat to the side, watching this scene with downcast eyes, her heart full of mixed feelings. This Regent, who had killed his own kin, was ruthless, but before his wife, he seemed like a different person. Perhaps this was his other side—capable of gentleness, capable of cruelty, capable of love, capable of killing. Such a man was the most terrifying.
---
King's Landing, Flea Bottom.
The sky was gradually darkening.
The streets of Flea Bottom were littered with garbage and sewage, emitting a sharp stench. Beggars huddled in corners, prostitutes stood in doorways looking for customers, and thieves slipped through the crowd. This was the dirtiest, most chaotic place in King's Landing, and also a gathering place for the poor.
But today, in a large house in the Street of Harlots, a crowd had gathered around a simple wooden platform on which stood an old man. The old man wore a tattered robe, his hair and beard disheveled, his face covered in wrinkles, but his amber eyes were remarkably bright.
He was the "Shepherd."
No one knew his real name, no one knew where he came from. They only knew that a year ago, he had suddenly appeared in Flea Bottom and begun preaching in the streets, claiming to speak on behalf of the Seven. What he said was somewhat mad, but somehow, it always touched the hearts of these poor people.
"Brothers and sisters!" The Shepherd's voice was hoarse but powerful. "Do you know? The Seven are watching us! They have seen our suffering, seen our hunger, seen our tears!"
Low sobs rose from the crowd.
"What of those in the Red Keep?" the Shepherd continued. "What of the Targaryens? Do they care about us? No! They float in the sky forever! They are always high! The fireworks of the world do not feed them!"
A thin man shouted, "They don't give us food!"
"Yes!" The Shepherd pointed at the man. "These Targaryens are invaders! They are not First Men! Not Andals! Not Rhoynar! They are outsiders! Valyrians! These Targaryens! They do not follow the rules of the Seven! Slaughter! Kinslaying! Chaos...! Riding dragons! Above all! They think they are gods! Always so high! They are predators! Just like their magical dragons! They don't care about us ants..."
In the crowd, a man in a black robe watched all this quietly. Kermit. He had wrapped himself in a black cloak, showing only a pair of eyes. He watched the mad old man on the stage, the fanatical crowd in the hall, and a complex emotion rose in his heart.
This Shepherd had some skill. He could cast these poor people into a trance; some of his words were mad, but some... touched people's hearts. Now King's Landing was beginning to starve. And hunger was the best fuel. With enough fuel, no matter how calm a person was, they would become mad.
Kermit quietly slipped out of the crowd and entered a dark alley. In the alley stood several men, all his subordinates.
"My lord," one of the men whispered, "this old man is becoming more and more excessive. Shall we..."
Kermit shook his head. "No. Just let them continue."
His subordinates looked at him in confusion. "But, my lord, if they truly cause trouble..."
"That doesn't matter," Kermit said.
The subordinates were stunned.
"Just make them feel they have a chance to win..."
He said no more. Kermit sighed and turned to walk into the darkness. He thought of those fanatical faces, those poor people shouting slogans, that mad old man. He could not help shaking his head, looking at those already ready.
The Regent wants more than just a purge... But a massacre...
---
In the distance, from a window in the church tower overlooking Flea Bottom, High Septon Owen stood, looking toward the hovel.
"Your Holiness," a monk beside him asked cautiously, "this Shepherd... is he not going too far? This man distorts the teachings of the Seven! He is mad—should we not..."
High Septon Owen smiled faintly and interrupted. "Too far? The farther, the better."
The monk looked at him in confusion.
High Septon Owen looked at the fires in the distance and murmured, "Only a madman can fight a madman."