Alicent POV
The Dowager Queen entered her firstborn's solar with a thoughtful expression adorning her features. The events of Aegon's coronation feast were interesting to say the least.
She was proud of his assertiveness. The Seven know how she despised Viserys' lack of spine throughout her marriage to the lackluster king.
But for better or worse her father was an able administrator. Few could claim as much experience in running the realm as he does. And a new monarch's first priority is a smooth transition of power.
Firing him, even in favor of an ideal replacement like Aemond needed justification. So she means to found out how much thought went into this political gambit.
Alicent sat gracefully. Aegon was refilling his glass of Arbor Gold, and she signaled him not to pour one for her. Her mind needn't be addled at the moment. He may indulge a little for now. He always did speak more freely when she didn't pester him about his preferences.
"What did you wish to speak about mother?" His tone was jovial but that can be easily feigned.
"I simply wished to go over a few candidates for your small council. From what I gathered, you prefer younger but no less adapt officials in positions of power. Is that it?"
Surely there's nothing wrong with that. Subtle prodding will do wonders.
"I'm certain my brother would find you comparing his political acumen to our grandfather's flattering. But I have no desire to sing him any praises. I just don't trust the old bugger. Pass me that scroll there, would you?" Aegon quickly dropped his act, skipped past the answer and tried to steer the conversation elsewhere.
Not bloody likely.
"Your grandfather has dedicated his life to see you seated on the Iron throne. If you can't trust him, if you don't have faith in own your family then who do you intend to believe in, your grace?"
She's tried endlessly to instill a sense of familial unity in her children. Their sire and half-sister's branch may not care for them, so they had to value each other.
Alicent thought her eldest had outgrown childish tantrums. He was a man with a kingdom depending on him. True allies were few and far between. Cautiousness was essential. Paranoia and lashing out at his kin not so much.
"I'll get it myself then." Aegon moved languidly to retrieve his aforementioned scroll. Not affected with her embellished criticism.
He skimmed the correspondence and apparently liked what he saw, for he deposited it and made to fetch ink, presumably to respond immediately.
Surely he wouldn't be that impudent. He still hasn't replied to her question, rhetorical as it may have sounded.
"I think the message can wait until after we've spoken Aegon. Those who you name to your inner circle will influence the decisions you make. The entirety of Westeros will be affected. So they must be competent and trustworthy, I agree. Why you claim your grandfather isn't the latter is what evades me."
The young king sighs as if being faced with some dilemma. Surely offering his reasoning couldn't be that taxing. Aegon's face is uncharacteristically solemn.
"He's a cunt."
"Aegon!" Such foul language is commonplace, but he certainly looks more discomforted for having used it when she makes her dislike clear. He doesn't this time though. He actually grows more assured, a long tirade on the tip of his tongue.
"A clever one I give him that. But he's also opportunistic to a fault. He sold you like you were nothing but cattle to a man who butchered his wife. How can you still trust him?"
This ... isn't what she had in mind.
Yes, she suspected the possibility of an emotional trigger behind such a drastic decision. And the public nature of the Hand's (forced) resignation was pleasing in her private thoughts. The Seven know she formed plans of coaxing his release from office for years.
But to be actually be the focal point of his departure.
She remembers how she initially longed for any kinship in her decade of isolation at the Red Keep. Trapped inside a castle and made to squeeze out heirs. That's what Rhaenyra inadvertently described her as. And she wasn't completely wrong.
Alicent was willing to seek solace even if within the arms of the man who set her path to her predicament.
Having been made aware of her desire to reinstate her father to his post, Larys made sure to accomplishing her wish. Only through the most brutal way imaginable.
Did she really replace one gilded cage for another? The king's wife. To the hand's daughter.
"I wouldn't change anything in the past. My sacrifices were my own. They gave me you. And your siblings. I can't ask for anything more." She smiled sadly watching her son's doubtful expression.
"Even so. I have no need for him in my court. He can fade to obscurity in Oldtown. His life purpose is done. Otto may take solace in that. Or he can jump off the Blackwater. His choice."
Detached resentment was what she picked on. Her father's parental failings are evidently intergenerational. Splendid.
Aegon one again dipped his feather in ink and resumed his earlier task. What important missive could he be concerned with so much? She should probably check his formulation. It's best to avoid any accidental affront to a high lord.
"Who are you addressing this to?" Her voice was inquisitive but not overtly so.
"Oh, it's nothing you need concern yourself with mother. The duties of a king never end." Her son quickly hid both the missive and his impromptu response in record time.
Was she meant to fall for that substandard lie?
Infuriating, but heartwarming. As always.
Without so much as a knock, someone entered the king's quarters.
"Are you there my dragon? It's time for your punishment." Baela was wearing a see-through silk dress and held a ... wip in her arms.
Alicent knew there was a antichamber that lead to her son's room. She hoped her good daughter wore other garnements and kept her 'weapon' hidden, before she accessed it. She wouldn't want her grandchildren, walking though the corridors, and traumatized with this scandalous scene.
She knows she will be.
"Oh your grace!" Baela jumped in suprise at seeing the dowager queen seated with Aegon at her side. The latter had lowered his head to the table and groned loudly in frustration.
Right. This is awkward. How does this keep happening?
"I should probably excuse myself. Your grace. My Queen." Alicent glided to the exit, swiftly but no less regaly.
Just as the door was closed she heared the Velaryon consort yell at her husband not warning her of their guest. She mentioned already sending word of her plans for the night hours ago.
So that was the content of the mysterious letter.
The duties of a king. How humorous.
***
Aemond POV
"Do I bore you, my prince?"
Aemond Targaryen, dragonrider of Vhagar turned to his companion Aliandra Martell, the princess of Dorne. They were strolling through the serene gardens of the Red Keep. The fragrant blooms and gentle breeze almost the perfect setting for a romantic courtship.
He would be lying if he said he didn't find Aliandra desirable. He's seen his fair share of beautiful women. But she's radiant in a way that's unusual and exotic. And it wasn't that he found her a boring conversationalist either.
But his mind was preoccupied with other thoughts. The second largest dragon in the world had been claimed by someone with dubious intentions.
Yet other more powerful forces were at play. Dragonriders were needed in abundance. The more the merrier.
He knows that's not exactly Helaena's wording. But that's what he felt her request meant. He also can understand her worries of Vermithor going into a bloody warpath if his bonded was killed. Unlike his nephews' mounts who were young drakes, completely at the mercy of the Queen of Dragons, the Bronze Fury was nearly her equal.
His mother told him to let the matter on hold for the moment and concentrate on strengthening their alliance with the Dornish.
So here he is. And his efforts of charming their potential ally are going less than ideal.
Aegon would attribute his failings as him being a hopeless green boy tongue-tied at the sight of a beautiful woman.
He would sooner die than hear his smug offer of advice.
As they walked side by side, their footsteps echoing on the cobblestone path, Aemond finally broke the silence. "Forgive me princess Aliandra, my quietness isn't out of lack of interest, I assure you. I simply don't wish to say the wrong thing and offend you."
That should help his case. Maidens like their suitor to appear genuine and trying to be a perfectionist in acquiring their affections.
Aliandra's eye dimmed in disappointment.
Mayhaps not.
"I don't think it's a secret that should our betrothal be formalized, it won't be a love match that joins us. I have no need for sweet honeyed words, prince Aemond. The truth will suffice."
The truth.
What is the truth?
The Others are marching. Heralding death and calamity untold since time immemorial. Travelers from a no longer existing reality have landed here. And one of their number has just claimed a powerful weapon that threatens the current Targaryens' hold on the throne.
He can't just spew that to someone he only just met. Not even a subject of the Crown, but a foreign sovereign. She'd think him both mad and hostile.
"I confess ... the burdens of handship sit heavily on my shoulders. Even now, I think of the Realm's needs, blinding me to my own. If you're still amiable to a union, I'd like to continue our talk, my princess." He felt his explanation was adequate. He omitted certain things. But the rest was the truth. As much a he can reveal.
Aliandra's eyes sparkled with a mixture of contemplation and intrigue. He felt she believed him. She paused for a moment, choosing her words carefully.
"Prince Aemond. The alliance between House Targaryen and House Martell could be a powerful force, uniting the flames of dragons with the might of Dorne. And while I stand by my earlier statement, I don't intend our marriage to be wholly transactional either."
Aemond nodded thoughtfully, his silver hair catching the sunlight. "I understand your concerns. I seek a union built on mutual respect and shared vision, not just political expediency. I believe that we can forge a future that benefits both our houses."
The highborn lady's gaze softened as she intertwined their arms perhaps too tightly. But Ser Lorent wasn't too far behind, and to his knowledge, the Dornish are more touch positive than their northern neighbors. He couldn't presume anything more at this stage.
"Your words ring true. House Martell has always valued independence and the strength of our people. If we were to proceed with a betrothal, it must be a partnership that respects the unique identity of Dorne and its aspirations. Can you promise me that, prince Aemond?"
Aemond's expression grew earnest, his violet eye reflecting determination. "You have my word, Aliandra, that I will honor the heritage of House Martell and the culture of Dorne."
"There's also another matter that needs reviewing."
He didn't focus too much on the reason her voice dropped in volume and grew in intensity. It must be his imagination.
"And what may that be?"
"How adept are you in pleasing a woman?"
Fucking hell.
He knows they were more laxed concerning such questions in her homeland. But one simply doesn't ask these things. Unless you're begging for court notoriety.
He resisted getting any signs of being flustered. "I'm willing to let you find out for yourself, princess."
"Oh my. Confident are we?" Her eyes were a deep captivating violet, thanks to her Dayne mother. And he could drown in them. A sweet death.
But first he needs to scour the library for those accursed books Aegon ranted about ages ago. It was humiliating even debasing himself to such levels. But one must compromise.
At least he's committed to this marriage. You can't say he isn't.
"If isn't an outrageous demand, may I meet her? The legendary Queen of Dragons."
Oh yes. He's committed.