The intense scene that had just unfolded left the entire hall in a deathly silence.
Everyone present realized that tonight's matter had become a Gordian knot, impossible to untie without cutting.
In this moment of stalemate, an old, steady, yet majestic female voice rang out.
"Your Grace."
Princess Rhaenys Targaryen, "The Queen Who Never Was," stepped slowly out from the rear of the Blacks' camp.
She was no longer young; time had etched its marks into her salt-and-pepper hair and the fine lines at the corners of her eyes.
She wore a solemn, deep red gown, the color of House Targaryen and of blood.
She was the wife of Corlys Velaryon, the Sea Snake, but more importantly, she was the legitimate heir who had been stripped of her birthright at the Great Council years ago.
Her very presence was a silent interrogation of her cousin on the throne.
"Perhaps," she said, standing still.
Her gaze calmly swept over Viserys, who looked ashen on the throne, then over the restrained Aemond, before finally landing back on the King.
"We can try... another way."
Her voice was not loud, but it drew the Blacks and the Greens to listen intently.
"Let both sides take a step back."
"Rhaenys, speak," Viserys said, with the urgency of a drowning man grasping at driftwood.
He desperately needed a solution to break the deadlock.
Rhaenys nodded slightly and spoke clearly, word by word.
"To continue dwelling on who is right or wrong tonight is like tearing at a wound that already shows bone; it will only make our blood flow deeper. Therefore," she paused, "we, House Velaryon, and I, representing Rhaenyra, can promise here to no longer pursue any accountability regarding the incident itself."
She turned her gaze to Aemond, who was still pinned by the Kingsguard, and glanced over the scar on his face.
"Including the ownership of Vhagar."
At this point, Rhaenys sighed.
"Consider this my compensation."
A ripple of unease spread through the hall. Many faces showed confusion.
Had Velaryon so easily given up the struggle for the largest dragon in the world?
And what exactly did she mean by "compensation"?
In his seat, King Viserys's eyes flashed with a complex expression.
He understood. It was an old grudge from decades ago regarding a stolen dragon.
After the death of their mother, Alyssa Targaryen, her dragon, Meleys the Red Queen, should have been inherited by her sons, Viserys or Daemon.
But a thirteen-year-old Rhaenys had sneaked into the Dragonpit and claimed Meleys first.
At the time, young Viserys and Daemon had angrily accused her of theft.
Ultimately, the Old King Jaehaerys ruled that a dragon chooses its rider, ending the dispute.
Now, the roles were reversed. The weight of the years and the cycle of karma left those who knew the story with mixed emotions.
Prince Daemon, standing among the Blacks, felt conflicted.
His mother's dragon had been stolen then; now, his late wife's dragon, meant for his daughters, had been stolen too.
But he remained silent. Rhaenys had discussed this plan with him.
If they couldn't kill Aemond or take the dragon back, they had to extract a price the Greens couldn't refuse.
"A dragon only recognizes its own rider," Rhaenys continued, a hint of melancholy in her tone.
"Since Vhagar has made her choice, she belongs to Prince Aemond. We have nothing more to say on that. We will no longer pursue his unauthorized taming."
As Viserys listened, his heart grew heavier. He knew the nature of negotiations: the more that is given, the more that will inevitably be demanded.
Sure enough, Rhaenys slowly raised her right hand, holding up two fingers. Her eyes filled with indisputable determination.
"But, Your Grace," her voice dropped an octave, "the rift needs to be mended. Tonight, children have bled and lost their sight. We require two compensations. Not many, but they must be granted."
Viserys closed his eyes, his Adam's apple bobbing.
"...Speak plainly, Rhaenys."
"First," Rhaenys said clearly, "for the sake of true reconciliation and for the peace of the coming decades, I have discussed this with Prince Daemon: we shall dissolve the betrothal between Jacaerys and Baela."
Viserys fell silent. The expression of the always-steady Otto Hightower shifted sharply.
"Now, I would like to ask Your Grace to betroth Princess Helaena to my grandson, Jacaerys Velaryon."
Rhaenys turned her gaze toward the pale, slender girl in the corner.
"Marriage is the best way to heal the wounds of both sides and the toughest bond to consolidate peace."
"No!!"
A piercing scream rang out.
Queen Alicent looked like a doe pierced through the heart.
Her face was deathly pale, her eyes bloodshot with resentment.
"I will never agree!" She trembled, every word bursting through clenched teeth.
"I will never marry my pure and flawless Helaena to Rhaenyra's bastard...!"
She caught herself, but the unfinished word hung heavy in the air.
"Never! Don't even think about it!"
She turned and lunged at her father, clutching Otto Hightower's sleeves as if grasping at a final straw. Her nails dug into the velvet.
"Father! Father, say something! You can't let them do this to Helaena! Say something!"
Otto's expression was grim. Helaena could marry any noble, but to wed her to Rhaenyra's son... it would legitimize the boy's claim and tie the Greens' hands.
"Alicent! Mind your status and your words!"
Viserys's accumulated anger and powerlessness finally found a vent. He shouted sternly at his staggering wife.
"Look at you now! Where is the grace and decorum of a Queen!"
"I am her mother! I gave birth to her! I raised her! I have loved her for thirteen years!" Alicent cried back, her voice hoarse and broken.
"Viserys, you can't... You can't do this to us..."
"Your Grace, I will not accept this marriage alliance," Otto spoke up, his voice cold.
"If the Queen and the Hand insist on opposing this proposal for reconciliation..." Rhaenyra's voice cut in, sharp as a blade.
She had risen from the ground, brushing the dust off her skirt. She stood tall, looking down at them with regal disdain.
"Then, we can keep it very simple. We return to the most basic, primitive method. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. Ancient and fair."
Otto looked at the united front of the Blacks, Rhaenys, Corlys, Daemon, and Rhaenyra.
He knew exactly what they were doing. They were cornering the King.
"Mmph!"
Aemond, gagged and pinned to the floor, let out a furious roar.
His body erupted with startling strength, his muscles bulging as he twisted violently.
The Kingsguard struggled to hold him down, surprised by the sheer force of his resistance.
"Hand, this is my family matter," Viserys said.
"Your Grace, Helaena also carries the blood of House Hightower," Otto countered, refusing to back down easily.
Viserys's eyes narrowed. "Am I, the King, unable to even decide my own daughter's marriage? Or are you saying that from now on, I should let you decide all my family matters for me?"
Faced with the King's piercing question, Otto had to bow his head.
"I wouldn't dare. Your Grace has the right."
Otto seethed inwardly. Viserys was partial to Rhaenyra, blind to the political implications.
Marrying Helaena to Jacaerys would signal to the entire realm that the Greens accepted the boy's legitimacy.
It would silence the rumors about his parentage, the Greens' strongest weapon.
Viserys rubbed his throbbing temples, exhausted.
The King looked away from his collapsing wife and turned directly to the young princess, shrinking into the shadows.
"Helaena."
His daughter was always as quiet as a ghost.
"Your father respects your wishes," he said, his voice softening with a hint of warmth.
"Your own heart's desire is most important. Tell your father, are you... willing to accept this betrothal?"
The eyes of everyone present fell upon Helaena Targaryen.
To her, the gazes felt like red-hot needles.
She looked at her mother, who was weeping and shaking her head, begging her silently to refuse.
She looked at her grandfather, Otto, who stood silently, his eyes hard.
Finally, her gaze passed over everyone and landed on Aemond.
He was pinned to the floor, struggling, shaking his head violently at her.
'Don't do it, ' his eyes screamed.
She closed her eyes. Her long eyelashes trembled like butterfly wings.
If she refused, the conflict would continue. Aemond might lose an eye or his life. Her mother would continue to suffer.
After a long silence, a weak but clear answer came.
"I... am willing, Father."
Queen Alicent let out a sob of pure despair.
"Very well," Viserys said, quickly settling the matter before anyone could object further.
"It is decided."
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