Chapter 33: Hatchling Politics - 112 AC 

In the tranquil twilight, just after the conclusion of the tourneys, Queen Alicent Hightower strolls leisurely through the dim corridors, her sole company the occasional flicker of candlelight affixed to the walls. Having recently departed from the king's chamber, though finding it bereft of his presence, she now endeavors to locate her husband. The Kingsguard's words lead her to believe the king currently occupies the great hall of the castle, attending to a private matter.

Before long, she arrives at the grand entrance to the hall, now flanked by two vigilant Kingsguards. From within, the queen discerns tumultuous voices, brimming with fury, piquing her curiosity. Poised before the threshold, she prepares to enter, but before she can act, the door swings open of its own accord, and Prince Daemon Targaryen emerges.

The prince strides through the portal, halting directly before the queen. His countenance betrays his ire, his gaze piercing, though he refrains from further action. With a wry chuckle, he passes her by, disappearing into the castle's shadows.

Alicent endeavors to dismiss the prince's presence, proceeding into the great hall. Within, she finds her husband, the king, positioned before House Celtigar's seat, visage flushed with anger, breath labored from impassioned outbursts directed at his brother not a minute before. As the door closes, the king turns his attention towards the newcomer.

Upon noticing Alicent, the king's demeanor softens slightly as he descends the steps to stand beside her. "Alicent," he murmurs, "what brings you here?"

"I sought you, husband," the queen responds softly, her touch gentle upon his cheek. "You were absent from your chambers. What happened with Daemon?"

"I administered punishment," the king replies icily, concealing his tumultuous emotions regarding his brother. "His transgressions against our family have become intolerable. Though I have defended him tirelessly, he persists in dishonoring us. It is time to take decisive action."

Alicent sighs in resignation, granting him space as she directs her gaze to the hall's adornments, prompting the king's curiosity.

"Why have you sought me, Alicent?" he inquired. "Could it not have waited until my return to my chamber?"

Alicent disregards the latter query, proceeding directly to the matter at hand. "The egg you gave to the Celtigars has hatched."

The king pondered for a moment before speaking, "Indeed. I believe I should extend my congratulations come the morrow. I must admit, I had not anticipated such swift hatching, if hatching were to occur at all. Perhaps Ser Clement's triumph over my... devious brother has garnered him the favor of the gods."

Alicent graced the king with a bitter smile. "I, too, harbored doubts about the hatching."

Raising his brow, the king detected a hint of displeasure in her demeanor. "What is on your mind, Alicent? You consented to the arrangement Lyonel and I made, even suggesting I pledge Aemond to Ser Clement's daughter over Aegon."

"It is not the arrangement that troubles me, husband," Alicent replied calmly, her gaze drifting towards Clement's portrait. "It is your disparate treatment of the Celtigars compared to our own offspring."

Perplexed, the king inquired, "I fail to grasp your meaning."

"You have three children by my side—Aegon, Helaena, and now Aemond," the queen elaborated. "Yet, you deny them dragon eggs for their cradles, while readily bestowing one upon a foreign house. I cannot comprehend why you neglect our children, and to some extent, me as well."

"Neglect? I have not neglected you in any manner," Viserys retorted, growing irritated by the challenge to his decision. "The egg I bestowed upon the Celtigars symbolizes the bond forged between Targaryens and their newly empowered house, the very same gesture that Jaehaerys did with the Velaryons when my cousin's marriage to Corlys Velaryon was blessed with offspring. Our sons and daughter can simply approach the dragon pit and tame one of the young dragons—or the older ones, if they are bold enough. Surely, you understand this?"

"And yet—"

"What? Will you again draw comparisons to Rhaenyra?" Viserys interjected, his patience waning. "I did not give Rhaenyra an egg. She tamed her dragon independently. Even Jaehaerys did not give my father nor his brothers and sisters dragon eggs. Let us not dwell on this matter further, Alicent."

Without awaiting a reply, Viserys departed the great hall, striding through the corridor with the Kingsguard trailing behind him. Left alone in the room, the queen sighed deeply, closing her eyes in contemplation.

======

As dawn comes the day after the official end of the tourney at Claw Isle, the lords and ladies have begun their preparation on leaving the grounds, with servants piling up crates at the training yard of Crab's Return, temporarily halting the activities that are usually happening around the area. Clement had woken up from his rest, his hand and chest wrapped up with clean bandages, and he stood just near the window of one of the chambers of the castle's tower, and accompanying him, the Sea Snake himself, not with his wife this time, only alone. They were besides the nursery, where in their location, they could hear small noises of screeches coming from the next room from the hatchling that is currently being fed by the Dragonkeepers with cooked steak, and while doing so, retrieving Rhaena from the cradle, as she had been laying there ever since the dragon hatched, and stayed overnight with the hatchling to strengthen the bond between the babe and the beast.

"I should extend my congratulations." said Corlys rather casually, picking a piece of grape from a tray nearby. "I remembered when Laenor hatched his egg. Though it was not as quick as this."

Clement hummed, a thoughtful expression on his face as he looked towards the vast sky through the window. 

He then asked his good-father a question, "What did you feel that day?"

"How I feel is irrelevant." Corlys answered, plucking up a couple more pieces of grape and placing it on his palm. 

"Really?" Clement chuckled, finding a bit of irony in the answer. "Isn't it anything but irrelevant? You didn't think of seeing your perspective changes on how your standing in the realm soars up? Or you didn't think that you are close to standing equally to the Targaryens, good-father?"

"That is treasonous to think, lad. We are sworn to the king, not the king himself." Corlys maintained a composed expression, walking closer to the window that Clement is currently standing near. "Is that what you are thinking at this moment?"

"No." Clement shook his head.

Corlys merely chuckled. The old man offered the pieces of grape that he had plucked to Clement, with the man merely looking at Corlys's palm, before taking a piece, consuming it instantly.

"Is that so?" Corlys said, smiling. "The history books will now write the Celtigars as fellow dragon riders with my house and the Targaryens."

"Indeed." Clement nodded. "But while history only remembers names, dragons only listen to blood."

Suddenly, the both of them could hear a screech coming from the distant sky, and saw a dragon flying away. Both of them were too familiar with the dragon, it was Daemon's, and currently, the blood wyrm is flying eastward, which Clement found odd. Though, Corlys just laughed at the sight, and turned back towards the tray that is full of food in the corner.

"You didn't hear?" Corlys exclaimed. "The king banished Daemon last night."

"I was addled in milk of the poppy all night." Clement defended himself.

"Yes. your injury was the king's last straw, as I understand." Corlys continued. "As I told you before, his grace's relationship with Daemon has been strained. But now, I see that my reasoning on how it happened is wrong."

"You know what he wants now, good-father." Clement said. "You took it from him. Your son might be in danger, in the present, or in the future."

"My son could take care of himself." Corlys dismissed the notion. "Though, the reason I asked an audience with you right now is to request something, concerning Laenor."

Clement turned to Corlys, raising his brow. "What do you ask of me?"

"The king and I had discussed that the wedding is to be held at the end of next year, with the celebration continuing through the start of a new year." Corlys continued. "I want you to knight Laenor, before the vows are to be exchanged."

Clement was confused. "Why me?"

"The king suggested it." Corlys admitted. "A symbol of the close ties between the three Valyrian houses of the blackwater bay."

"Symbolisms and spectacles…" Clement sighed. "Why not my uncle? He is much older than me."

"Tell me, lad. When the lords of the realm think of the newly empowered House Celtigar, do they think of your uncle, Ser Gormond? Or do they think of your father, Lord Bartimos of Claw Isle?" Corlys approached Clement slowly. "Or do they think of you? Ser Clement Celtigar, conqueror of the Stepstones, youngest man to be knighted, Wielder of the Pincer?"

Clement shook his head in amusement. "Light words coming from the Sea Snake himself."

Corlys didn't bother replying, and kept looking at Clement for an answer.

Seeing this, Clement merely looked away towards the window. "I won't knight him easily, good-father. If you want me to knight him, I will make him a knight by name and by skill. Or at least, I will try to."

"I am sure Laenor will appreciate your tutelage." Corlys hummed. "He has seldom trained in the ways of combat and would rather choose to spend his time—"

The man stopped himself from speaking any further, and released a long breath. "Then I take it that you accept my request?"

Clement nodded. "I will see to it."

Corlys smiled. "Then I extend my thanks as well."

The two then stood silently in the chamber, with Clement watching the scene of busy servants below and Corlys feasting upon the grapes and other fruits on the tray. Only the wind sometimes disrupted their activities, gushing rather strongly due to the height of where they are at the moment. Suddenly however, Clement remembered something, and turned to the Sea Snake once more.

"Say, good-father," he spoke. "Would you happen to know where my father is at the moment?"

Corlys merely chuckled at the question, seemingly finding amusement at the thought of it, before answering, "At the great hall."

Clement raised his brow. "On what business?"

"After the news of the egg hatching spreads like forest fire, your father once more becomes a…" Corlys took a moment to find a word. "Desirable bachelor of the realm."

======

At the same time as Clement's conversation with Corlys, Bartimos is currently sitting atop his seat at the great hall, with another chair placed beside him, for his brother. The lord of the isle looked quite annoyed, with him choosing to lean against his seat and rested his head on his palm, making sure to always sigh loudly for all men to hear.

In front of him were the head of a knightly house, specifically of House Hogg, named Amory Hogg, and beside him was a girl, nearing fifteen in age, standing shyly, head looking down.

"Forgive me, Ser Amory, but I am not looking for a wife at the moment." Bartimos spoke as calmly as possible so as to not offend them. "And for that offer, I must refuse."

Amory tried to convince the man in front of him. "Lord Bartimos, is my daughter not suit—"

"Please, ser." It was Gormond that cut him off, and with his words one of the household knights walked towards Amory in order to guide them outside the hall. "Our knight will escort you to your chamber."

Seeing the menacing look of the guard, the head of the house seemed to back down begrudgingly, nodding as he held his daughter's hand, and escorted away towards the exit of the hall.

"All of them are marriage offers," said Bartimos in annoyance. "You said that all the lords that asked me for an audience wanted to discuss something important."

"A lot of them did say it was an important matter. For them anyway." Gormond sighed. "But perhaps it is time for you to take another wife. It has been years since Alys's passing. So far, you have rejected House Massey, House Stokeworth, House Sunglass, House Crabb, and now Hogg. If I had to choose from those list, House Crabb would be an interesting match, we could have a stronger claim on Crackclaw Point and—"

"Brother." Bartimos stopped his brother from further rambling. "Reject all the lords that want to offer their daughters. Clement already had two sons, the succession is not going to be shaken anytime soon."

"Jaehaerys had children aplenty. And yet his succession is still a mess." Gormond didn't protest further and just stood up, walking towards the door and towards the line outside of it to converse with the remaining lords.

Bartimos just sat at his seat, massaging his forehead softly while closing his eyes. And soon enough, the door opened once more, but, besides Gormond, there was another person besides him, it was the Hand of the King, Lord Lyonel Strong.

"Lord Hand." Bartimos greeted in surprise. "What brings yourself to this… debacle?"

Lyonel merely chuckled. "Forgive me, Lord Bartimos, it seemed that you were busy on other matters when I came."

"Oh please, I should thank you for your interference." Bartimos sighed. "What matter do you wish to discuss with me?"

"Ah, yes." Lyonel cleared his throat as he walked closer to Bartimos's seat. "I wish to offer you something that might be of interest. Based on recent events, the king had sought me on ways to further strengthen the bonds between the Valyrian houses, and one way is to give you, Lord Bartimos, a seat on the small council of the king. Particularly the seat of Master of Coin."

"Pardon?" Bartimos was confused. "What of Lord Beesbury, Lord Hand?"

"Lord Beesbury is a man of three and sixty years old. I had inquired with him on the matter and he has agreed that if you truly want to replace him, he is ready to depart. He has plans on readying his heir for his rule over Honeyholt." Lyonel continued. "Of course, if you're willing."

Bartimos hummed, in thought. "Lord Lyonel, you must understand that what you are offering is rather sudden. Moreover you gave me a choice on the matter as well… you speak of Valyrian houses, what of House Velaryon?"

"After my audience with you, I am indeed going to Lord Corlys to offer him the position of Master of Ships." Lyonel said. "It is in no rush, Lord Bartimos. I come to merely offer, not to drag you to the capital."

"Then I offer my thanks, Lord Hand, but for now I must refrain from answering." Bartimos answered. 

"The crown will wait for your answer." Lyonel nodded. "I shall take my leave, then."

With a sudden turn, Lyonel exited the great hall, leaving the Celtigar brothers alone. The two looked at each other, unsure on how to take the news, but then, Gormond sighed deeply.

"It seems the king loves to give us curses disguised as blessings." said the knight. "I didn't think he would do this. The king's obsession with Valyria is known, but not to this extent."

"How would he dismiss Ser Tyland?" Bartimos commented. "Is he going to scorn the Lannisters so easily?"

"We'll soon see, brother." Gormond calmly sat back on his seat beside Bartimos. "And your answer?"

"I don't know. The future of House Targaryen is uncertain." Said the lord. "Joining the council might bring me to my end…"

======

Under the cloak of night, Viserys finds himself encircled by Maesters attending to his wounds, which though superficial at first glance, appear to be spreading, much to the concern of Grand Maester Mellos. Seated, with perspiration glistening on his brow, the king endures the pain stoically as the Maesters labor to staunch the wounds.

Suddenly, Lord Lyonel strides in, promptly positioning himself before the king. At the sight of him, Viserys raises his hand slightly, causing the Maesters to halt in their efforts.

"Enough," the king rasps. "Grant me a moment's respite."

At his words, the Maesters, including Mellos, bow respectfully before swiftly retreating, leaving the king and his Hand alone. The king regards Lyonel, inquiring about pressing matters.

"Is it done?" the king queries.

"I have approached them both, Your Grace," Lyonel affirms. "Yet, they presently withhold their responses."

Viserys sighs wearily at the news. "Have they shown any inclination, at least?"

"I cannot say," Lyonel replies. "Though, I discern a hint of their thoughts."

Viserys furrows his brow. "Explain."

"Lord Bartimos is engrossed in establishing his new domain, Your Grace," Lyonel elaborates. "And for the position of Master of Ships, it is currently held by the Lannisters, Lord Corlys may harbor reservations about reclaiming it to avoid offending them."

"The allocation of council seats lies within my purview. They have no cause for animosity," Viserys asserts.

Lyonel offers a wry smile. "The intricacies are seldom so straightforward, Your Grace."

"You speak true, as ever," Viserys murmurs, gently rubbing his temple. "Am I proceeding correctly, Lyonel? Or do my actions court further discord?"

"The Celtigars ascend swiftly, my king. Meanwhile, the crown's ties with the Velaryons teeter on uncertainty," Lyonel observes. "Though some may deem your decisions drastic, securing steadfast allies demands sacrifices."

Viserys chuckles, tinged with self-awareness. "Yet, you recognize that my choices are not solely dictated by reason?"

Lyonel's smile softens. "I lack the perspective of Valyria, Your Grace, to comprehend the sentiments of old."

Viserys exhales wearily, rising from his seat. "My decisions are not born of sentiment, Lyonel. They are guided by a different force entirely."

With that, the king strides away, seeking solace in a cup of wine before turning to Lyonel once more. "Summon the Maesters to attend to me once again."

"As you command, Your Grace," Lyonel acquiesces with a nod.