Nights in King's Landing are far warmer than in the North, but far more oppressive.
Deep within the Red Keep, steam filled the bath chamber. Petals and herbs floated on the water's surface—chamomile, lavender, and mint, meant to soothe the nerves and heal. Aemond Targaryen lay back against the edge of the bath, eyes closed.
The bathhouse door opened quietly, footsteps soft. But he recognized them—Talya, Helaena's handmaiden, one of the eyes he had placed within the Red Keep, a trusted agent through secret paths.
"Your Grace." Talya's voice was low and respectful.
"Speak." Aemond kept his eyes closed, resting.
Talya knelt by the bath and began her report. Her voice was soft and organized—the result of Aemond's training. Aemond despised vague information; he demanded brevity and clarity.
"Lord Larys, the Master of Whisperers, and several court nobles have been frequently visiting Prince Aegon's chambers recently. Ser Criston Cole, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, has also begun to draw closer to Prince Aegon."
"My brother has finally realized he needs guards and men of his own?" Aemond observed.
"And the Hand, Lord Tyland?"
"Lord Tyland Lannister has kept his distance. He appears unwilling to involve himself," Talya replied.
Aemond opened his eyes. "He's a clever man. The Lannisters support the Greens because we control the realm and grant them trading privileges and tax relief."
Talya hesitated. "And... Princess Helaena."
Aemond turned his head, his one eye fixing on her. "Details."
"Recently, the Princess has frequently received a Rhoynish envoy from Dorne."
Aemond was silent a moment. The petals on the water swayed gently with his breathing.
"Helaena." He spoke the name without emotion. "My sister-wife. She receives a Dornish envoy? For what purpose?"
"She speaks with him at length, Your Grace. About dragons. About... dreams. The man is some manner of scholar, it seems. He tells her tales of the Rhoynar, of their water magic and their wars with Valyria."
Aemond's lips curved slightly. "She always did love her stories." He closed his eye again. "Let her be. So long as he brings no harm, she may have her diversions. Watch them nonetheless."
"Yes, Your Grace."
Talya bit her lip, her voice dropping further. "Your Grace, Princess Helaena... recently met secretly with an emissary of House Hightower. The meeting was very discreet, but our eyes in the city's shrines observed it."
Aemond's lips curled into a smile. "Hightower?" An emissary of House Hightower arrives in King's Landing and instead of meeting the Queen Regent, goes first to a pregnant princess...
He laughed, the sound echoing in the empty bathhouse. "Helaena. She is not so simple after all. The Hightowers are her mother's kin. Perhaps she seeks counsel. Or perhaps she seeks something else. Watch her more closely."
Talya knelt lower, her forehead nearly touching the floor. Her voice trembled slightly. "Your Grace, the birth draws near for Princess Helaena. There are always risks in childbed. If something should happen..."
Aemond's head turned sharply, his violet eye fixed upon her. "Talya." His voice was very soft, but it made the handmaiden tremble. "How long have you served me and Helaena?"
"Three... three years, Your Grace."
"Three years." Aemond said slowly. "And you still do not understand me."
Aemond rose from the bath, water streaming from him, and looked down at her.
"What do you take me for? A man born to be a kinslayer?"
Talya dared not answer.
"Helaena is my sister. My wife. The mother of my children. She carries my blood in her veins and my child in her womb. She has not conspired against me. She has not raised a hand against me. She merely seeks to protect herself, to protect our children, to protect... herself. I admire that courage. She knows her place."
Talya looked up, confusion in her eyes. "But, Your Grace, if she truly means to do something..."
"She can do nothing," Aemond said, sinking back into the bath. "Unless Aegon means to do something with her... Just watch them. Do not blindly kill to solve a problem. Though it is the most effective way, the consequences are endless..."
Aemond had never regretted killing the three Strong boys and provoking this war. Even now, some lords of the Seven Kingdoms secretly called him kinslayer—he cared nothing for it.
"The rule I wish to establish is built on fear, but also on order. Let men fear me, but trust me."
The handmaiden bowed her head deeply. "I understand, Your Grace. Forgive my foolishness."
Aemond waved a hand. "Rise. Your knees pain you from kneeling so long?"
Talya stood; her legs did indeed tingle.
"One more thing," Talya remembered. "The relocation of the smallfolk from High Tide is one-third complete. About fifteen thousand people. The first group has arrived at Moonspire."
"Too slow." Aemond frowned. "High Tide is too close to Dragonstone. When the bitch counterattacks, that's where she'll strike first. Tell Will that more men are to be sent, funds to be freed up, speed up the progress. I will not leave... Then arrange the execution of surrendered Velaryon troops."
"Yes." Talya made a mental note. "Also, this afternoon, two Velaryon warships from Tyrosh surrendered in Blackwater Bay. The captain brought over two hundred sailors. They declared their willingness to swear fealty to the Greens, on condition that their detained families be returned and their property restored."
Aemond considered for a moment, then said, "Each man is to be rewarded an additional five gold dragons. The two captains, one hundred gold dragons each. Also, arrange for the detained family members to write letters, urging their kin in Tyrosh to surrender. So long as they are willing to return and be reinstated, there will be no further punishment for treason, their families will not be implicated, and the Crown will grant rewards."
Talya nodded admiringly. "Your Grace is wise."
The report ended. She should have withdrawn, but she hesitated, not leaving.
Aemond noticed something unusual. "Is there something else?"
The handmaiden's face colored slightly—she had seen storms in the court these past years, yet now she showed a maiden's shyness.
"Your Grace, it concerns... Hal, Will, Carter, and the others."
Aemond was momentarily taken aback, then understood. A rare, genuine smile appeared on his face.
"Those three are still pestering you?"
Talya lowered her head. "They... lately they keep finding various reasons to meet with me."
Aemond laughed. The sound echoed in the bathhouse.
"They are persistent." He laughed enough, then shook his head. "Talya, you are nearly thirty this year, yes?"
"Twenty-eight, Your Grace," Talya whispered. "Seven or eight years older than them... At my age, I am nearly an old maid."
"Old maid?" Aemond disagreed. "The perfect age. Helaena often sighs for you, saying you are such a good person, why can you not meet the right one? Now you have three at once—are you not spoiled for choice?"
Talya's face grew redder. "It is not being spoiled for choice, it is... it is not suitable. They are all your right-hand men, young and promising, and in the future they will surely marry noble ladies. Who am I? A handmaiden, born a commoner..."
"Who says that?" Aemond interrupted her. "You, Talya, received your surname from Helaena herself. You are Helaena's handmaiden, my head of intelligence. You are a woman of the royal household. Your status is in no way inferior to any noble lady. If you have no interest in them, I will arrange a suitable marriage for you. Some loyal knight or promising officer. But if there is one you like, do not hold back because of age or birth—that is a privilege I grant you."
Talya's eyes grew moist. "Thank you, Your Grace."
"Go." Aemond waved his hand.
The bathhouse grew quiet again, and Aemond sank into thought. Though the battle at Dragonstone was won, the cost was acceptable. The main gain was Grey Ghost. Grey Ghost drank his blood, growing ever more submissive and dependent on him. But Aemond could not feel Grey Ghost's emotions or thoughts. Though he could command him to do things, not being able to sense him made control rather difficult. And he, from beginning to end, could only sense the emotions of Vhagar and Lothron—his two dragons understanding his own feelings. One man, two dragons, hearts linked, nothing more.
Aemond murmured to himself, watching the scars on his palms heal—they had been left from cutting his hand to feed the dragons, and the power in his blood made scars impossible to keep. The power of blood. He could hatch dragon eggs with blood, use blood to heal wounded dragons, and even dragonflame could not harm him. And dragons drew closer to him because of his blood.
"Your Grace?"
A soft voice came from behind. Aemond did not turn; he sensed a peculiar herbal scent, mixed with some kind of floral fragrance.
Alys Rivers.
The bastard of Harrenhal, witch's daughter. She wore a long black gauze dress and had silently entered the bathhouse like a ghost. Her long black hair fell like a waterfall, her pale skin almost translucent in the candlelight, her dark brown eyes with a hint of red fixed directly on Aemond's back.
"Your Grace." Alys knelt behind him, gently placing her hands on his shoulders and beginning to massage.
Aemond closed his eyes and let her move.
"You said I have two souls," he murmured.
"Yes," Alys said. "The soul of a child, full of grievance, jealousy, anger, madness, possessiveness. You do what he cannot. He is pleased, and will finally vanish completely... He can influence you, and the more you suppress him, the closer you come to madness."
Aemond had known this in his heart for some time.
Her hand moved to his temple and pressed gently.
"Your souls are merging. Each time you merge a little, your dragon blood becomes purer. Your blood is changing. You already possess the essence of a true dragon."
Aemond opened his eyes and asked, "Essence?"
Alys smiled softly. "Pride, madness, irritability, greed, possessiveness... These are traits that in mortal eyes are flaws. They are the essence of a true dragon. So your blood makes dragons surrender and draw near—the blood of a true dragon... Your heirs will inherit your blood, and this glorious era will return again."
She leaned in and whispered in his ear, her warm breath filled with the scent of herbs.
"You will surpass all your ancestors, even the Dragon Lords of ancient Valyria. Become the true Father of Dragons..."
Aemond did not move, and asked calmly, "What is it you truly want, Alys?"
The woman hesitated, her voice growing softer and more yearning.
"I dream of being with child. By your blood, Your Grace."
Aemond turned, his violet eye fixed directly upon her.
Alys knelt, the hem of her black gauze dress spreading around her like a blooming black rose, her dark brown eyes flecked with red meeting his without flinching. She was breathtakingly beautiful, and dangerous to a heart-pounding degree.
"Withdraw."
The witch was momentarily stunned, then rose and quietly retreated, as silently as she had come.