When Otto Hightower entered the room, Aemond was just laying Visenya in the cradle beside the table. Aemond turned and looked at his grandfather.
"Regent." Otto bowed slightly. His movements were perfectly proper—a skill honed over more than twenty years as Hand of the King: always to show absolute courtesy.
Aemond smiled. "No formality, Grandfather," Aemond's tone was much softer than when he had spoken with Monstead earlier. "There are no outsiders here."
Otto straightened and looked at his grandson. A complex expression flickered in his eyes. He remembered how Aemond had been as a child: thin, silent, constantly bullied by Aegon and Jacaerys. But since High Tide, Aemond had repeatedly revised his own judgment. Aemond possessed all the traits of a Targaryen. It was a kind of clarity of mind mixed with madness... He knew exactly what he was doing, and he did not care what others thought of him.
Now this seventeen-year-old dragonlord sat the Iron Throne, controlling all of King's Landing and the nobility of the entire South. Even Viserys the First, the nominal king, had not wielded the power Aemond now held. He needed to convince the southern aristocrats that he could win this war. Otto, once the most powerful man in the Seven Kingdoms, now had to bow slightly to meet his grandson's eyes.
Life was truly unpredictable.
"Sit," Aemond said, pointing to the chair opposite him.
Otto sat. The firelight played over his aged face, making the wrinkles seem even deeper, as he silently waited for Aemond to speak.
"Grandfather," Aemond leaned back in his chair and smiled at him. "How would you like to be Hand of the King again?"
Otto's fingers tightened slightly. He was silent for a moment.
"What of Tyland?" he asked.
Tyland Lannister was the current Hand of the King, the younger brother of Jason Lannister.
"Lord Jason is dead," Aemond said flatly. "I have sent Tyland to take control of the Westerlands. The Westerlands are now ruled by young Lord Loren Lannister, and Lady Johanna needs someone to help her. Tyland is a Lannister, so it is only fitting that he return and assist."
Otto's brow furrowed slightly.
"And," Aemond continued, "Lord Loren and Lady Johanna will soon come to King's Landing to pledge fealty to the Iron Throne. At that time, he will be responsible for organizing affairs in the West."
Otto understood the implication. Tyland Lannister had been transferred. This vacancy was what Aemond had offered him.
"So you are keeping both lords in King's Landing?" Otto asked slowly. "Are you not afraid of what these nobles will think?"
Aemond smiled and said, "The Westerlands stand firmly on our side. After the war, there will be rewards. As for Tyrell..." He paused, then his smile grew more meaningful. "Just a disobedient servant."
Otto froze for a moment, then looked intently at Aemond.
Tyrell, the Lord of the Reach—ruler of the richest region in the Seven Kingdoms.
"Tyrell," Aemond said calmly, as if speaking of something trivial, "we Targaryens can give them the lordship of the Reach. Naturally, we can take it back."
He paused. "Besides, don't you think the Reach is too large?"
Otto's pupils contracted slightly.
"The Crownlands," Aemond continued. "In the future, they will be incorporated into the Crownlands—just like the Riverlands and the Vale."
Otto was astonished. The Reach, the Vale, and the Riverlands—together, these regions comprised nearly a third of Westeros.
"You..." Otto's voice was somewhat hoarse. "Do you understand what you are saying?"
"In the future, the Tullys of the Riverlands will be defeated, but great houses like Blackwood and Bracken will remain. The Arryns and Royces of the Vale will not sit idly by and watch their territories annexed into the Crownlands. As for the Reach..."
"Grandfather," Aemond interrupted. "The head of House Tully died at Gods Eye Lake. I killed Elmo Tully with one stroke of my sword. The Riverlands have no leader now."
Aemond stood and walked to the window. Sunlight fell on him, casting a long shadow.
"House Arryn of the Vale," he continued, "Jeyne Arryn is a staunch supporter of Rhaenyra. I will deal with them..."
Otto was silent for a long time.
"You will offend many people this way," he said worriedly.
Aemond turned, looked at him, his violet eyes gleaming slightly in the sun, and said contemptuously, "Why should I care what those losers think? In my hands, the Targaryens will become strong again. I do not need the Seven Kingdoms..."
He paused.
"I want to rebuild the empire."
The room was so quiet that only the crackling of the fire could be heard.
Otto looked at his grandson, his heart filled with complex emotions. He remembered the Targaryen words: Fire and Blood are one. Aemond wanted more than just the Seven Kingdoms. He wanted to create an empire. An empire surpassing in size and power the empire of Aegon the Conqueror—an empire that would make the whole world tremble.
Otto should have been afraid. And he was afraid. But at the same time, he felt a kind of... excitement. This was House Hightower. This was Oldtown's beacon. They were one of the oldest and proudest families in the Seven Kingdoms. If Aemond truly could restore the empire, then House Hightower...
"Will you help me, Grandfather?"
Aemond approached him, reached out, and grasped his shoulder. Those violet eyes were fixed on him.
"What of Aegon..." Otto paused before speaking. "What would you do with him?"
Aemond smiled.
"He is my brother. I will not harm him. I will return the kingdom to him."
Otto drew a deep breath. He understood the implication. He slowly and solemnly nodded.
"I am ready to serve the Regent."
Aemond removed his hand from his shoulder and smiled.
"Good."
Otto stood, ready to leave. His gaze involuntarily slid to Visenya in the cradle. The girl slept soundly; there were no abnormalities on her face, save for a small patch of scales on her neck that glinted slightly in the sun. Otto looked no further and turned to leave.
The door closed behind him.
Aemond stood before the table, watching his grandfather's figure disappear. Some things needed someone to bear them. It was fitting for Hightower to take the blame for him. Breaking the ties between the most devout families of the Seven Kingdoms and the Faith was a wise move. House Hightower were the guardians of Oldtown. If they became enemies of the Faith, the Faith's appeal would be greatly diminished. Those pious lords who had originally followed Hightower would also find themselves in a dilemma: loyalty or faith.