Chapter 11
Chapter 11: Divide to Conquer
The halls of the Red Keep were thick with tension. The air was heavy with the weight of unspoken grievances and festering resentments. Aegon leaned against a stone column in one of the shadowy corridors. A sly smirk tugged at his lips as his younger brother, Aemond, approached. The burn scars on Aemond’s face and neck gleamed faintly in the torchlight. It was a permanent reminder of the incident—or, as Aegon preferred to call it, the failure.
“Still skulking about without a dragon, little brother?” Aegon said, his voice dripping with derision. “Even Helaena, the halfwit, managed to claim Dreamfyre. What’s your excuse, hmm? Waiting for the gods to pity you?”
Aemond’s jaw tightened, his hands balling into fists. He tried to step past Aegon, but his older brother blocked his path.
“And what’s this?” Aegon gestured theatrically to the faint scars that ran along Aemond’s cheek and jaw. “The great dragon hunter, burned by the very creature he hoped to claim. How poetic. Maybe the dragons know you’re as useless as everyone else does.”
“Oh, come now. Don’t be so sensitive.” Aegon stepped closer, his tone mockingly sympathetic. “I mean, even Helaena managed to claim Dreamfyre, and she barely knows what day it is most of the time. But you? Still empty-handed, unless you count those lovely scars. Do they still hurt?”
Aemond clenched his fists, the familiar sting of humiliation burning behind his eyes. “You’re drunk,” he muttered.
Aegon laughed, the sound sharp and cruel. “Drunk? Perhaps. But not wrong.”
Aemond bristled, his voice low and venomous. “Careful, Aegon.”
“Careful of what?” Aegon laughed, a cold, bitter sound. “You? Oh, don’t make me laugh harder. The last time you tried to prove yourself, you nearly killed Lucerys. Remember that? Tripped the little whelp right off the ledge of the steps, short though they were. Would’ve been a tragedy for you if you hadn’t pushed the blame on Daeron. But then, Daeron’s got a dragon, doesn’t he? He’s earned his place, unlike you.”
The mention of Lucerys hit like a blow. It had been a moment of impulsive cruelty, one that Aegon never let him forget.
“That wasn’t—”
“Oh, don’t lie to yourself,” Aegon cut him off, leaning closer. “You wanted the little bastard dead. Thought maybe his dragon would choose you if he wasn’t around. How pathetic.”
Aemond lunged then, his fists aiming for Aegon’s smirking face, but Aegon sidestepped easily, laughing.
“Look at you! A scarred freak with no dragon, no prospects, and no mother to coddle you anymore. Do you think she will protect you when you’re nothing but an embarrassment to her? She might pretend you’re her favorite, but let’s be honest—what good are you now? Even Father doesn’t care. Have you noticed? He barely looks at you.”
Before Aemond could reply, a soft voice interrupted. “Stop it.”
Helaena had appeared at the end of the corridor, her delicate features pinched with distress. She clutched a small embroidery hoop in her hands, the thread trembling slightly as she stepped closer.
Aegon turned to her, his mockery shifting to a tone of condescension. “Ah, our dear sister. Come to save poor Aemond, have you? How noble. Tell me, Helaena, do you even know what we’re talking about, or is your little head too full of bugs?”
Helaena flinched but didn’t reply.
“Leave her out of this,” Aemond snapped, stepping in front of Helaena protectively.
Aegon’s smirk faltered for a moment before he waved a hand dismissively. “Fine, fine. Protect our halfwit sister if it makes you feel better. You’re good at protecting people, aren’t you? Oh, wait—that’s right. You’re not.”
The tension broke only when Ser Criston Cole appeared, his boots echoing against the stone floor. His dark eyes took in the scene with a flicker of disapproval.
“Enough,” he said, his voice firm. “Prince Aegon, return to your chambers. Now.”
Aegon raised his hands in mock surrender. “Of course, Ser Criston. I was only having a bit of fun.” He cast one last smirk at Aemond before sauntering away.
When the hall was silent again, Criston turned to Aemond, his expression softening. “Are you all right, my prince?”
“I’m fine,” Aemond muttered, his jaw tight. He turned and stalked away without another word, Helaena trailing behind him.
*********************
Later that evening, Viserys sat in his private chambers, his face clouded with thought. Alicent stood across from him, her hands folded primly in front of her.
“They’re boys,” she said, her tone dismissive. “Brothers fight. It’s nothing more than that.”
“Brothers fight,” Viserys repeated, his voice tinged with weariness. “But what I heard today was far more than that, Alicent. Aegon’s cruelty is unbecoming of a prince.”
“Aegon is spirited,” Alicent replied. “And Aemond… well, Aemond provokes him as much as anyone. It’s natural for there to be tension among siblings.”
Viserys shook his head. “This is not just tension. Aegon mocked his brother for something beyond his control. He ridiculed Helaena as well. Is that your idea of spirited?”
Alicent’s lips thinned. “What would you have me do, husband? They are young. They will grow out of it.”
Viserys sighed, leaning back in his chair. “I hope you’re right. But I fear this animosity will only fester. And if it does, it will bring ruin upon this family.”
Alicent said nothing, her silence speaking volumes.
***************************
The council chamber in Dragonstone was dimly lit, its stone walls casting long shadows in the flickering light of the torches. Rhaenyra sat at the head of the table, her silver hair spilling over her shoulders like molten moonlight. Beside her was Laenor, his face stony, grief etched into every hard line of his jaw. Daemon lounged in his chair, one hand idly drumming against the table, his sharp gaze assessing every movement in the room. Around the table, the next generation of their house—Jacaerys, Lucerys, Baela, and Rhaena—listened attentively, their youthful faces marked by determination and a readiness for action.
“We’ve lost too much already,” Laenor began, his voice low but simmering with barely-contained fury. “And for what? So that she”—he spat the word like venom—“can parade her children as the future of the realm? Alicent stole someone we loved, and now, I want to take everything from her. Everything.”
Rhaenyra’s eyes burned with the same fire, her fingers gripping the armrest of her chair. “Then we start with her tools of power,” she said sharply. “Her children. They’re her shields, her swords. She wields them against us, but we can make her see that even they can be taken from her.”
“Daeron’s already gone,” Daemon remarked casually, as though they were discussing a piece on a cyvasse board. “At least temporarily. That was a blow she won’t recover from anytime soon.”
Lucerys leaned forward, a smirk tugging at his lips. “It might be more permanent than she thinks,” he said with a mischievous glint in his eye.
All eyes turned to him. Rhaenyra’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean by that, Lucerys?”
He shrugged, trying to suppress his amusement but failing. “Let’s just say Daeron may be starting to see the light, thanks to the… gift I sent him.”
Daemon’s laughter rang out, dry and sardonic. “You sly little dragon. What exactly did you send the boy?”
Lucerys waved him off. “Nothing harmful, just something to open his eyes. Daeron’s clever enough to make his own decisions. I think he’ll lean our way soon enough.”
Rhaenyra considered this for a moment, her lips pressed into a thin line. “Aemond, then. He’s next.”
Daemon leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled. “Send him north. Winterfell’s cold enough to cool his heels, and the boy’s no real dragon. He’ll have that temper cooled by the wolves.”
“Let him freeze,” Laenor added darkly.
Rhaenyra’s expression softened slightly. “Helaena will be more difficult. She’s… not like the others. I don’t want her hurt.”
Lucerys’ smirk returned, this time tinged with hesitation. “I have an idea,” he said, “but you’re not going to like it.”
Rhaenyra’s sharp gaze pinned him in place. “What is it?”
He hesitated, then glanced around the room. “We’ll come back to it. There’s still Aegon.”
Jacaerys, silent until now, leaned forward, his voice steady. “What do we do about him?”
Baela crossed her arms. “Killing him would be too obvious.
Everyone would know it was us.”
Laenor scoffed. “Fine, she can keep her precious Aegon… for now.”
Lucerys tilted his head, a calculating look in his eyes. “But what if we make him so unbearable, so despised, that even the queen won’t want him anymore?”
Daemon chuckled. “That would take some doing. What’s your plan, little one?”
Lucerys’ voice took on a confident edge, his experiences as Draco bleeding into his demeanor. “Expose him. Every disgusting, debauched thing he’s ever done. Let the common folk see him for what he really is—a drunken, spoiled wastrel. Then, we give them a hero to rally behind.”
Rhaena frowned. “A hero?”
Lucerys nodded, his enthusiasm growing. “Mother. You. We show them what real leadership looks like. Programs, charities, actions that directly benefit them. When we visit King’s Landing, we don’t just sit in the Red Keep—we go to the streets. We prove to them that you’re the queen they deserve, not Aegon.”
He leaned back, his mind racing. “And we use stories, plays, songs… spread them high and low throughout the realm. They wanted to destroy your reputation. Let’s use their strategy against them on a larger scale.”
Baela smirked. “Turn him into the villain of his own story?”
“Exactly,” Lucerys replied. “Aegon’s every flaw will be known. By the time we’re done, the common folk will call for his blood themselves. And when they do, we’ll be there to guide them to the right side.”
Rhaenyra watched him intently, her mind piecing together the strategy. She reached out and placed a hand on his. “We’ll do it your way,” she said, her voice quiet but resolute. “But we tread carefully. This is not a game, Lucerys. This is war.”
Lucerys nodded, his confidence unshaken. “And we’ll win it, Mother. For all of us.”
The room fell into a tense silence, the weight of their shared purpose settling over them like a storm about to break. They would take Alicent’s world apart piece by piece, and when it crumbled, the crown would be theirs.
****************************************
Late in the evening, as the last remnants of sunlight faded from the windows of the Red Keep, King Viserys sat across from his Hand, Lyonel Strong. The flickering candlelight cast shadows across Viserys’s face, highlighting the lines of worry etched into his brow. The weight of his recent dreams and the discord among his children sat heavily upon him, and he knew the time had come to address the future of his realm with the only advisor he trusted implicitly.
“Lyonel,” Viserys began, his tone solemn, “first, allow me to again offer my deepest condolences. The loss of your son… it weighs on me still. Harwin was a good man, and his loyalty to this crown was unshakable.”
Lyonel inclined his head respectfully. “Thank you, Your Grace. Harwin’s absence is felt deeply, but I remain committed to serving you and the realm.”
Viserys nodded, taking a steadying breath before continuing. “It is precisely the welfare of the realm that I wish to discuss tonight. I fear… I fear that when I am gone, there may be no peace for my family or for this kingdom.”
Lyonel’s eyes sharpened, sensing the gravity of what the king was about to say. He leaned forward slightly, hands clasped in front of him, ready to listen.
“I have seen what I once thought to be dreams… premonitions, perhaps,” Viserys admitted, his voice low, as if confessing a terrible secret. “I see my son, Aegon, upon the throne, surrounded by blood and shadow. I see him and Aemond… destroying Rhaenyra and her sons to claim the crown for themselves.”
Lyonel’s expression remained steady, though a flash of concern crossed his eyes. “Your Grace, visions are often difficult to interpret. But if you fear there may be truth to these dreams, then it may be prudent to strengthen Rhaenyra’s position now, before any ambitions can take root.”
“Indeed,” Viserys agreed, nodding. “I fear Aegon is ill-suited for rule. His temperament is… undisciplined. And Aemond, while perhaps more steadfast, has his own cruelty. Neither possess the qualities I once dreamed for my heir.” He sighed deeply, fingers tapping restlessly on the table. “Rhaenyra is strong, determined. I chose her for a reason, but the realm is rife with dissent.”
Lyonel took a deep breath, considering his next words carefully. “If it is your wish, Your Grace, to ensure Rhaenyra’s unchallenged succession, we must leave no room for doubt. Perhaps an ironclad will, one that names her as your lawful heir beyond any question, would be wise.”
Viserys nodded, a spark of resolve kindling in his eyes. “Yes, exactly. A document that removes Alicent’s children from the line of succession. Unless…” He paused, searching Lyonel’s face as if seeking confirmation. “Unless they were to align themselves with Rhaenyra’s children through marriage. This way, there would be a bond uniting the two sides. The line would remain strong and undivided.”
Lyonel raised an eyebrow, contemplating the suggestion. “A marriage pact could indeed forge a lasting alliance, but it would require full cooperation from both sides. And the Lannisters… the Hightowers… they may view this as an attempt to weaken their influence.”
Viserys’s gaze hardened. “If they truly serve the realm, then they will see this as a way to prevent bloodshed. I will not have my children tearing each other apart for a crown that should bring them unity.”
Lyonel nodded, understanding the king’s determination. “Then we must act swiftly, Your Grace, and ensure this will is upheld with every safeguard. I will see to it that the necessary documents are prepared. And I suggest we gather a trusted few to witness this will and swear to uphold it. Loyalty will be critical.”
“Indeed.” Viserys’s voice softened, a shadow of weariness clouding his gaze. “If only all my children could see what is at stake. They are all my blood, Lyonel, and yet… it pains me to see how ambition blinds them.”
Lyonel, ever the steadfast Hand, offered a reassuring look. “Your Grace, you are doing all you can to protect the realm and your legacy. You have given much to secure peace; let your actions here speak for generations to come.”
With a final nod, Viserys reached out to clasp Lyonel’s hand in a rare moment of warmth. “Thank you, Lyonel. Your loyalty and wisdom have been invaluable to me.”
The king watched as Lyonel rose and bowed, departing with a quiet, determined step. Alone again, Viserys let out a long, exhausted sigh. He could only hope that his plans would hold, that the will he would leave behind could safeguard the realm against the division brewing within his own family.