The entire table erupted into applause, not just Helaena and Jace, but nearly everyone.
Rhaenyra looked genuinely moved, a warm smile lighting up her face as she clapped.
I even caught what I thought was pride on Alicent’s face.
Daemon offered a half-hearted clap, more out of obligation than enthusiasm.
The King, however, was clearly in pain while Aemond sat brooding, twirling his cup with a distant expression.
Still, most seemed to have genuinely enjoyed the song.
“It was wonderful, brother. Truly,” Rhaenyra said as I returned to my seat and handed the lute back to its owner.
“The song is a gift I shall cherish forever.”
“Thank you, sister,” I replied, quickly downing a cup of wine to soothe my throat.
“Guards!” I called out suddenly.
The room fell quiet again as all eyes turned to me.
A group of guards entered, led by Ser Harrold Westerling and Ser Criston Cole.
“It seems the King is in pain,” I said.
“Call for the maesters and help him to his chambers.”
My words seemed to snap everyone out of their haze.
Only then did they truly notice how much Viserys was suffering.
‘Weird,’ I thought.
‘He’s the fucking king and they somehow missed it.’
The guards carefully helped Viserys into a palanquin.
He left groaning in pain, mumbling half-formed words under his breath while the rest of us watched in uneasy silence.
Once he was gone, a strange, heavy quiet settled over the chamber.
Conversation died down, and most of us turned our attention back to the food.
“Quite the singer you are, nephew,” Daemon said, pulling his chalice away from his lips.
His eyes slid over to me with lazy interest, like I’d finally become entertaining enough to toy with.
“I’m sure if you performed in the streets of Flea Bottom, you’d make a killing.”
It was an insult dressed up as a compliment.
So I responded in kind.
I smiled brightly.
“Truly, uncle? You should take me there yourself. I heard you used to be the lord of Flea Bottom for a while.”
Daemon set his cup down with a loud thud, his hand tightening around it.
Rhaenyra immediately placed her hand over his, pressing firmly.
The tension in his shoulders eased slightly, and he slouched back into his chair.
“You have a silver tongue, nephew,” Daemon said, a dangerous grin spreading across his face.
“We shall see in the morn if you are half as good with your sword as you are with your tongue.”
I simply shrugged, meeting his gaze without flinching.
“Forgive me, uncle, but my strength does not lie with the sword.” A small smile tugged at my lips.
“I much prefer a flanged mace. We’ll see how good I am with that.”
Daemon raised his cup, a mad, delighted glint shining in his eyes.
I lifted mine in return.
“On the morrow it is.”
“No.”
Both Daemon and I turned toward Alicent.
She blinked, looking almost surprised that the word had slipped out of her mouth.
“I only meant… Daeron must be tired from his long travels,” she added quickly, her voice softer now.
“He will not be at his best tomorrow. He needs proper rest.”
Daemon let out a low chuckle, taking a slow sip from his chalice and rolling his eyes.
Otto exhaled a heavy sigh, as though his daughter’s sudden display of maternal concern was more troublesome than helpful.
“A fair concern, my Queen,” I replied, offering her a gentle smile.
“But it was I who made the journey, and I feel fine.
A single night’s rest will be more than enough.
Besides,” I glanced at Daemon with a smirk, “I’m sure my uncle isn’t planning to kill me in the training yard with blunt swords and wooden maces.”
Daemon’s lips curved into a dangerous smile.
“Surely not.”
The words left his mouth easily, but the way he said them made it clear he could if he felt like it.
Suddenly, a loud bang echoed from the end of the table.
We all flinched.
Every head turned toward Aemond.
He had shot up from his seat, fingers clenched so tightly around his chalice that his knuckles had gone white.
“A final tribute,” Aemond said, his single eye unblinking as it swept across the table.
There was a mad ferocity behind it that made the air feel heavier.
“To the health of my nephews, Jace, Luke, and Joffrey.” He raised his cup, deliberately echoing Jacaerys’s earlier toast.
“Each of them handsome, wise, and…”
Here it comes.
“…Strong.”
He said the word with vicious relish.
“Aemond,” Alicent called out weakly.
Jace’s hands tightened into fists while Luke glared daggers at his uncle.
The tension in the room snapped like a bowstring.
“Let us drain our cups to these three Strong boys,” Aemond finished.
Aegon eagerly raised his cup with a delighted grin while I just shook my head.
Luke brought this on himself, in a way.
The boys used to mock Aemond mercilessly, dressing up a pig as a dragon and calling it his mount.
Now, every time pork appeared on the table, Luke laughed in his face.
It was almost like the kid had a death wish.
“I dare you to say that again!” Jace roared, fury and shame burning in his voice. Find the original chapter at g.com.
“Why?” Aemond replied, his face a mask of cold innocence.
“I only meant it as a compliment. Do you not think yourselves Strong?”
Jace stormed forward and threw the first punch.
Aemond’s head snapped back, but he straightened with a smirk, now he had justification.
Instead of striking back immediately, he shoved Jace hard, sending him crashing to the floor.
Both Alicent and Rhaenyra screamed for them to stop, but the two ‘men’ (man-children, really) were too deep in their petty brawl.
Lucerys rushed in to help his brother, but Aegon was faster.
He slammed Luke’s head down onto the table, right where my chalice had been moments earlier.
I yanked it out of the way just in time.
Bitch, do not drag me into your bullshit.
Jace grunted, struggling to get up as guards swarmed in, pulling the boys apart.
You could clearly see where their loyalties lay.
Alicent rushed to Aemond, grabbing his arm and pulling him back.
“Why would you say such a thing in front of everyone?” she hissed.
“I was merely expressing how proud I am of our family, Mother,” he answered calmly.
“Though it seems my nephews aren’t quite as proud of theirs.”
Jace and Luke broke free from the guards and charged again, only to be stopped by Daemon stepping calmly into their path.
“Wait… wait.”
Daemon stepped forward smoothly, turning with a fluid motion to lock eyes with Aemond.
He looked at his nephew the way one might regard a particularly troublesome, petulant child, equal parts amusement and mild disappointment.
Maybe he wasn’t entirely wrong.
“Enough,” Rhaenyra commanded, her voice leaving no room for argument.
“Get back to your rooms. Now.”
The two boys stormed out, footsteps heavy with livid anger.
Once Jace and Luke had stormed out, Daemon stared at Aemond for a long moment, as if burning his nephew’s face into memory.
The silence was thick.
Aemond tried to hold his ground, but I saw him swallow hard, his jaw tight.
Daemon let out a dry, humorless chuckle, then turned and left without another word, leaving only Rhaenyra behind.
Alicent approached her old friend, gently pulling Rhaenyra into her arms.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“For all of this.”
I rose slowly from my seat, picking up my chalice as I made my way toward the door.
As I passed Aemond, I reached out and gave his shoulder a light pat.
“Well played, brother,” I whispered.
“Well played.”
He shot me a sharp glare, but I just kept walking.
Peace out, bitches.