Fire and Blood

Chapter 134: Filler Arc ― Aemond and Aeonar Targaryen

Harrenhal ― Kingspyre Tower...

Prince Aemond stood before the mirror in the lord's bedchamber, his expression reflecting deep contemplation. As he continued to stare at his reflection, a sense of bitterness washed over him. His frown deepened as he examined the healed wound along the seventh intercostal space of his ribcage, a scar that permanently marred him. Tracing the black, vein-like patterns left by the manticore venom, a reminder of the fierce battle with his nephew, Prince Jaehaerys, that had taken him out of commission for so long. The memory of the fight replayed in his mind: the clash of swords, the exchange of words, and the searing pain as the blade coated with poison pierced his flesh. Aemond had underestimated Jaehaerys and paid the price for it. He saw not just the physical scars of battle but the mental ones as well. The fact that his own nephew had bested him after years of their duels ending in a stalemate gnawed at him. He felt humiliated.

« Greed, vanity, pride, corruption, revenge... and the sole desire to seize power. That... is why you lost, Aemond. This fight... is over. »

By all accounts, the manticore venom that coated one of Jaehaerys's concealed wrist blades should have killed him. However, he survived. The healing process had been long and arduous, with healers tending to his wound day and night, applying poultices and potions to purge the poison from his body and promote healing. But it was due to the magic of Alys Rivers, the alleged witch queen and sorceress. She had miraculously nursed Aemond back to health.

But gratitude was the furthest from his mind right now.

"They will all pay for this," Aemond was seething with anger, the news of the Stormlands' and Westerlands' respective surrender to the Blacks fueling his fury. Borros Baratheon was slain at the hands of Kermit Tully at the Second Battle of the Kingsroad, House Lannister's submission to Aemma Targaryen, Criston Cole killed by King Aeonar, and the devastating blow to the Caltrops with their central leadership being captured - it was a lot to take in. With almost no standing army left and no more allies to call upon, gossip was beginning to spread that the war was more than likely to be declared over within the fortnight. Yet the painful reminder that he was tricked into attacking Harrenhal and left the Caltrops vulnerable was still fresh. "My brother, my uncle, my nephews... all who sided with them will burn for this humiliation."

"Y-Your Grace," one of the few remaining soldiers piped up, "with enemies coming in from the north, south, east, and west, we no longer have the means or numbers to challenge the Young Dragon's armies. Perhaps... we should sue for peace?"

"The Young Dragon has already made his intentions explicitly clear. There will be no peace until his vengeance is satiated. Although I do regret that business with Daeron after losing my temper that day, Aeonar was waiting for the excuse he needed to get rid of me." Aemond stood up, putting on his trenchcoat. "I'll not give him that satisfaction. So no, any foolishly idealistic hopes for peace aren't going to happen anytime soon. The longer we wait, the more chance he will prevail. Take what strength we have and send out a scouting party."

"But Your Grace... if we do that, we have any more men left to man the garrison―"

"Send. Out. A fucking scouting party and report back by first light. Or my dragon will be the least of your worries."

The soldier's hesitance was palpable, his reluctance almost overshadowed by Aemond's frenzied insistence on dispatching a scouting party. The notion of searching for potential attackers approaching Harrenhal from the northern banks of the Gods Eye seemed futile, especially with Vhagar stationed to defend the area against threats from various directions. One might speculate whether this was a strategic maneuver to uncover an alternative escape route-perhaps a desperate bid to flee across the Narrow Sea and embrace a life of perpetual exile. However, such a tactic appeared inconsistent with Aemond's character. His desire to express his frustrations was evident. Yet, he remained preoccupied with the notion of Aeonar, Jaehaerys, and Daemon as worthy opponents, each of whom had their sights set on him: Aeonar had dispatched Lykirī Mēre assassins, Daemon had also sent his own assassins, and Jaehaerys had engaged him in combat on two occasions, first at Rook's Rest and then at Harrenhal. Aemond found a particular amusement in this situation; it possessed an almost romantic quality for him, serving as an unexpected form of flattery. Despite the soldier's hesitance, Aemond's determination to uncover any potential threats remained unwavering, his mind consumed by the need to stay one step ahead of his enemies. Sensing the gravity of the situation, the soldier reluctantly acquiesced to Aemond's demands, knowing that the consequences of ignoring his orders could be dire. And so, the scouting party was dispatched, their mission clear: to search for any signs of impending danger and report back to Aemond with haste. As they set out on their mission, the soldier couldn't shake the unease lingering in the air, a foreboding sense of impending conflict that seemed to hang over Harrenhal like a dark cloud.