Chapter 4

Days had crept by since Aemond's escape, and Queen Rhaenyra's anxiety only deepened. She sat before a table, her gaze fixed on the window overlooking the gullet, a cup of wine in hand to steady her fraying nerves. The sight of King's Landing in the distance seemed to mock her unrest. Her thoughts churned with the many facets of war, each more troubling than the last. Suddenly, the chamber door creaked open, and Jacaerys—Jace to those who knew him well—entered. He bore a tense, almost frustrated air.

At her son's entrance, Rhaenyra's lips curled into a brief smile, momentarily banishing her worry. Jace stood at a respectful distance, his posture rigid and formal.

"What is it you need, Jace?" Rhaenyra inquired, her curiosity piqued.

"I do not understand our course of action, mother," he replied. "King's Landing lies unguarded. We could seize the throne with ease."

The queen sighed, setting her cup down. "There is a new threat, Jace. You are aware of this."

"One man?" Jace scoffed. "What is one man against our dragons?"

"He is not merely a man," Rhaenyra countered. "Have you not heard Princess Rhaenys's accounts?"

"Yes, mother," Jace conceded. "But still, what is one man—giant though he may be—against many dragons?"

"Vhagar perished because of him," Rhaenyra pointed out. "Do you believe Syrax, Meleys, Vermax, and Caraxes could withstand him? Even if we combined our strength, Vhagar would claim at least one of us, perhaps more. I will not risk it."

"Then we must bolster our ranks," Jace insisted. "Vermithor and Silverwing are riderless. So is father's Seasmoke. There are also the wild dragons."

Rhaenyra frowned. "Are you suggesting Rhaena should delve into the Dragonmont alone? She cannot claim them all."

"I am not speaking of Rhaena, mother," Jace clarified. "Dragonstone harbors many bastards with Targaryen blood. Let them tame the dragons, promise them riches and titles."

"No." Rhaenyra's refusal was immediate, as she poured herself another cup of wine, turning away from Jace.

"No?" Jace echoed, taken aback. "Why?"

"The last time I trusted common folk with power, Aemond escaped death," Rhaenyra stated. "I will not make that mistake again."

Jace scoffed in frustration. "And what are we to do? You live in constant fear of this man. He is an outlier; you cannot judge all smallfolk by him. Your soldiers are all smallfolk—do you think they will betray you as he did?"

"Yes, if given dragons to ride," Rhaenyra said.

"So you will rot here while our enemies grow stronger? Even though we have them at a disadvantage?" Jace clenched his fists. "What of Luke? Will you let—"

"I have already lost him," Rhaenyra snapped, her gaze sharp on Jace. "I cannot lose you too."

Jace calmed at her words. "Then if you do not want to lose me, let the smallfolk take the dragons and let them fight in my stead."

Rhaenyra swallowed hard, her eyes dropping to the floor. "Fine," she said. "But if any who succeed show even a hint of treachery, execute them."

Jace paused but then nodded. "Thank you, your grace."

Rhaenyra smiled faintly and watched as Jace left, leaving her alone with her thoughts once more.

***

In the council chamber, Aemond stood before a sprawling map of the Seven Kingdoms, while his mother, Alicent, sat, her face a tapestry of frustration and barely restrained anger. Her child, however, was a portrait of unsettling calm.

"You would strip me of my place on the Small Council?" Alicent's voice quivered with indignation. "You are angry, Aemond. Blinded by your losses. Do not let it consume you."

"I am calmer than ever, Mother," the prince replied, his tone steady. "These past days have been... illuminating. Your services on the Small Council are no longer required. Maelor is king; you are neither queen nor queen dowager. This is wartime. Your counsel would only... hinder us."

"Hinder?" Alicent echoed, shaking her head. "I am here to temper your impulses, to prevent wanton bloodshed."

"Our definitions of wanton bloodshed differ greatly," Aemond sighed. "This war is your doing, Mother. You conspired with Father's council to usurp Rhaenyra, yet you lay the blame at my feet. I am here to correct your mistakes."

"I did not—" Alicent's fist clenched in fury. "I see now that my advice falls on deaf ears. But heed this: Do not trust your patron. He is no noble, merely common-born that came out of nowhere."

"Does his presence unsettle you?" Aemond asked.

"Unsettle?" Alicent's laugh was sharp and bitter. "He slaughtered our army, brought us to this precipice, and you question my concerns?"

"Or perhaps you harbor a personal vendetta because he killed a certain man."

Alicent fell silent. "I am your mother. You will not—"

The door to the council chamber creaked open, and in walked Willam, his head shaven clean, exuding an air of unexpected nobility. Alicent's glare intensified as she turned to Aemond.

"My lady," Willam greeted, his voice polite but somehow edged with insolence. He then faced Aemond. "You summoned me, my prince?"

"What is this?" Alicent questioned.

Aemond paused. "You are dismissed, mother."

Alicent closed her eyes, and sighed. She finally stood up. She looked tired, her worry seemed to be at the edge. It was then that she simply walked away from the place, leaving Aemond and Willam alone.

"Do you want my time here to be hell, my prince?" asked Willam, raising his brow. "I do not wish to draw the ire of Lady Alicent."

"She already despises you." Aemond stated. "She could not despise you more."

"True enough." Willam hummed. "What is it that you need from me?"

Aemond's eye turned back to the map in front of him. "Truth be told, I am confused on how I should use you in this dire situation. On one hand, you are needed here, to deter and to defend against Rhaenyra. On the other hand, our only spear is you."

"What of the armies? Are they not your spears as well?" questioned Willam.

"For fighting against men? Yes." Aemond hummed. "But we are not expecting men alone."

"Rhaenyra and all her dragons are in Dragonstone."

"Exactly, which is why we need you here." Aemond said. "If only she and her dragons were in the Vale, I could move you much more easily. Now tell me, in order for me to understand you more, I need to know, what are you?"

"I am a man." Willam answered. "As you are."

"No man can become a towering behemoth," Aemond countered.

"Indeed," Willam smiled, a secretive glint in his eyes. "I call those forms Titans. It is quite simple. You Targaryens have your dragons; I have become one with mine."

"So you can transform at will?" Aemond's brow furrowed.

"Yes."

"Even when shackled?"

"Yes."

Aemond drummed his fingers on the table. "Even into that colossal Titan?"

"You already know the answer."

Aemond sighed, the weight of his suspicions pressing on him. "I thought as much. Since the dungeon, I've known. I've seen three forms—are there others, useful ones in this situation?"

"What is it that you need?"

"One of your titans is fast, but not as fast as dragons. And you cannot cross the sea as well." Aemond stated. 

"I see." Willam hummed. "You are asking for a flying titan?"

"Can you turn to one?"

Willam sighed, looking down to the map. "Where would you want to send me?"

Aemond took a piece at the side of the map, and placed it on a specific place, near King's Landing.

"Driftmark?"

"Be quick." Aemond hummed. "I assume that you can change from one titan to another easily?"

"But why there?"

"The gullet has been blockaded by the Velaryon fleet. Merchants have been protesting, and all kinds of goods are in shortage. The good news is that the Triarchy has agreed that they will support us against Rhaenyra, and will set sail to Dragonstone soon. But they will gather their fleet for a long time, so I want you to decimate Driftmark so Lord Corlys will be caught even more unprepared for the attack."

"Why not Dragonstone?"

"I do not want to destroy Dragonstone." said Aemond. "That place is my ancestor's home, even if it is currently occupied by our enemy. It will not be an effective point to attack. Daemon made sure Dragonstone watches the sky every hour just like here in King's Landing, most likely they will have time to escape regardless whether you successfully destroy the fortress or not. Let the fleet take care of the fortress."

Willam was silent. Then he smiled. "Very well then. However, Driftmark is but a distance away from that dragon-filled island. If one of the riders arrives, what shall I do?"

"You already know the answer."

Willam smirked. "Then I shall see to it. When do I begin?"

"When the Triarchy fleet has set sail." Aemond said. "At the turn of the year. By that time, we must hope that Dragonstone has not been alerted of the fleet, thus the Seasnake will focus his fleet on the reparations, and the fleet will strike them where they are at their weakest."

Aemond stood up straight, sighing deeply. "One night. Strike Spicetown and Hull. When the Triarchy fleet arrives, the Velaryons will be no more, and the Gullet is ours."

***

At the turning of night, Alicent sat quietly in the Queen Dowager's chamber, her gaze lingering on her remaining grandchildren—Jaehaera, and the child-king Maelor. Queen Helaena, seated near them, was lost in the monotony of knitting, her eyes fixed vacantly on the needles, her hands moving as if by instinct. It was a somber tableau, the children silent, Maelor especially so, retreating even from his mother's presence.

It was then that Aemond entered, the chamber door opened by one of the Kingsguard. Alicent glanced at him momentarily, then looked away, feigning indifference to his arrival.

"What is it you want?" Alicent asked flatly.

Aemond strode to the window, gazing out at the moon and stars. "I wish for you all to leave King's Landing. This place is no longer safe. You must go to Oldtown, to grandfather."

Alicent chuckled bitterly. "First you exile me from the council, now you exile me from the keep?"

"It is for your safety. You know this as well as I do," Aemond replied. "Dragonstone is but a flight away, not to mention the monster we're hosting—"

"That you're hosting," Alicent corrected. "The journey itself is a risk."

"Not if it's on the back of Dreamfyre."

"You expect me and the children to ride a dragon?" Alicent shook her head. "Your demands grow more outrageous by the day, Aemond."

"Then Storm's End," Aemond suggested. "I will send a raven to Oldtown so Daeron can bolster our forces here."

"What are you planning that requires us to be moved?" Alicent questioned.

"Must I have a reason?" Aemond retorted. "King's Landing is unsafe. We lost Jaehaerys here too easily—"

"I do not wish to go," Helaena interrupted. "I do not know Oldtown, nor Storm's End."

"Helaena—"

"Why do you fight so hard?" Helaena asked, letting the knitting needles fall to her lap. She stared at Aemond with an intensity that belied her usual quiet. "It is futile. We lose, always. The song ends before it begins."

The room fell into a heavy silence. Aemond looked to his mother but found no answer in her eyes. He sighed. "If you choose not to go, so be it. But mother, I will still call for Daeron."

Alicent's gaze sharpened. "Do as you wish. I thought my counsel no longer mattered to you."

Aemond hummed, turning to leave. "Very well. Sulk here in your chambers if you must. You can thank me later, when the war is won."