Aemond POV
Time stood still in the middle of the ballroom. It was a single moment that lasted an eternity. No sounds were heard. No movement was felt. Everything just stopped.
Aemond thought the trail of blood almost looked enchanting. Slowly but surely it spread across the tiles, falling into the cracks and magnifying the chilliness in the air.
Macabre beauty at its zenith.
"Daemion! Daemion!"
The scream tore him apart from his trance. Lady Aurora run crying to her husband's side trying to press her hands to his bleeding neck.
Clever girl.
Poor girl.
Suddenly it seemed as if the spell cast on the crowd was broken as well. At once, many highborn left in fear and shouting attempting to flee the scene of the abhorrent crime.
"Maesters! Hurry! Do I have to force you to do your job!"
His mother apparently got her bearings as well. She jumped in the fray next to the dying man and issued orders to the physicians to help him.
In a rare occasion of fortune, the acolytes and their superiors were quick to pass through. The king needed a swarm of attendants whenever he left his room. So they could do away with sending for the servants to deliver the message.
If they dally any longer, Daemion would surely die.
Aemond looked properly at the would be murderer. Daemon stood proudly with a grin. No qualms about refusing his culpability or even justifying it.
Good. He can have justice for himself.
With a quick withdrawal, he pulled his blade, planning at slicing in his uncle's direction.
How he longed for this moment. Craved it more than sustenance. More than air itself.
But Vaemond Velaryon beat him to it.
"You kinslayer scum! Does your depravity ever end?"
The second son of Driftmark never cut an imposing figure. His elder brother Corlys always monopolized the spotlight. By virtue of birth, height and charisma.
But it wouldn't shame Aemond to admit his respect for him massively grew when he tried to lounge at Daemon with nothing more than a pocket knife.
The Merling king must've favored him and his cause for he actually struck true.
With a too quick motion he thrust his weapon at his uncle, slashing his nose and underneath his right eye when Daemon stepped back.
"Stop this! Seize the prince! At once!"
His grandfather's voice rang in his ears. All the guards tried to cut through. Unlike the maesters who were by his sire's side, the Red Cloaks and five of the Kinsguard were stationed along the exits. The nobles kept them occupied. Running like headless chickens.
But Ser Vaemond seemingly found no problem with confronting Daemon on his own. He preferred it in fact. Obsessed with vengeance to forgo his own safety and well-being.
"Aemond! Break off the fight. The guards aren't here yet."
His mother's tone was urgent and reprimanding. But he ignored her and the subsequent cries of recriminations.
This is family business.
"Your son liked to run his mouth just the same. Perhaps i should take your tongue as a souvenir. Rest assured you two will be reunited in your watery halls."
Taunting. Sneering. Mocking. Everything about his uncle screamed ignorant impulsive child stuck in an aging body.
Who will relieve him of the burden of living.
"If it means you die here, I'll join the Gods a happy man."
Daemon swiped the blood clean from his face and tightened his grip on Dark Sister.
Well that can't do. He admires Vaemond's valor but his death accomplishes nothing. His father would turn a blind eye - his only eye - to anything that Daemon or Rhaenyra do. And then claim it was done in the name of peace and family unity.
It's a good thing his sire is in his quarters most of the day. They had to wheel him here to his second daughter's wedding after some persuasion. The Tower of the Dragon Conclave was evidently more important. If it was his half-sister, Viserys would come running even while suffering mind-numbing pain.
Aemond swiftly comes to the Velaryon's aid. It wasn't asked or anything. Vaemond's not so pleased face tells him that. Daemon's self-assured posture reflects his pettiness even further.
The Rogue prince is desperate for some attention. Either Vaemond resorting again to physical blows or Aemond trying his luck. Just talking to him would make him feel validated and the center of their universe one more.
"Forgive me, Ser Vaemond. Daemon will be taken into custody. I assure you he will not escape his fate this time." He looks at the kneeling maesters doing their best to stabilize Daemion's condition and the young man's father picks up on his intentions.
"We must focus on saving your son's life now. But Prince Daemon will be punished. A trial will be held, as the law requires. By attacking him, you're giving him what he wants." His mother stands up and delivers her heartfelt speech, driven by her conviction to make Vaemond lower his arm.
"Come now Vaemond. You'll really let these people goad you. Your son challenged my honor so I responded in kind. Won't you even try and restore what Daemion lost?"
The utter hypocrisy of his statement was mad. But his soft tone. As if merely teasing. And not actively antagonizing the father of one of his very possible victims.
Did grandmother Alyssa drop him on the head when he was a child. That has to be it. No sane man could ever be so insufferable.
Next to him Vaemond clenched his teeth so hard, the one-eyed prince feared they would crack from its force. Aemond raised his sword threateningly, hoping his uncle won't attack but equally desiring a cause for shedding his blood.
"Little nephew. How about you? Come and test your steal against someone other than court sycophants and squire boys. Don't worry, I won't strike from your blind side." His uncle laughed at his own jive and twirled his valyrian blade with a lack of interest. Feigning an opening exists to trap Aemond in his web.
What an abysmal form of manipulation. Whoever taught him traps or praised him for his own should be hung and gelded. Better yet blood eagled right alongside him.
"I guess little Luke took more than just your eye at Driftmark. He ripped out your balls, too."
A violent red rage eclipsed all sensation. This is the man responsible for most of the death and tragedy of his future past. And he stands here gloating about Aemond's most vivid nightmare. A joke for his amusement.
No one's laughing now. But he can draw a smile on his uncle's face after he pulls out his lungs from the other side.
Sweet laughter would spread and run free.
"Aemond. Stop."
It's Aegon and Daeron that try to stop him. They have been trying to prevent his long-awaited meeting with Daemon and Vaemond from recommitting the same folly. He didn't even notice them pulling his arms. Aegon's a weak man but he couldn't be actually weightless.
"This isn't the way. There will be a hearing. He'll be sentenced for his wrong doings."
Good old Daeron. So idealistic. He should leave his dreams and grow up. Like Aemond was forced to.
He brushes his siblings too easily. They still hold on on like parasitic leeches.
"Stop this ridiculousness. You're a master swordsman. We get that. You needn't prove it against a man in his late forties."
He thinks this is about his pride. Fuck his pride. This is for justice. Protection. Peace of mind.
For Helaena.
The guards finally push through with so few guests left. Daemon is surrounded but looks too carefree. Too aware that in Viesrys' embrace he is untouchable.
It's too bad for him that his mother is royal regent. And the court with all its staff and soldiers are firmly within their control.
"Take his grace to his quarters. This has been a long and stressful night. Arrest prince Daemon."
Ser Darklyn, who stayed fixed to the king's side moved at the Queen's behest. Two acolytes helped him move the ailing man. His father uttered some noise of complaint beneath his breath.
None noticed or cared to.
Daemon's expression soured. Rhaenyra who was at the king's table protested her father's removal and her husband being now at the mercy of Green swords.
The balance of power shifted massively since the night he claimed Vhagar. No longer were his family begging for scraps of the king's affection. Desperate for his armor of safety just to survive and living off the barest of what remains.
His word meant very little now. And the favored couple will now content themselves with existing in the shadow.
What is the saying.
Revenge is a dish best served cold.
He's a dragon-rider so that saying may be ill-fitting. But Cregan and Ned might enjoy playing with their new prisoner. And he won't deny them their fun.
A good end to a nearly disastrously conclusion.