Kapitel 7: -7-
Ser Vaemond of House Velaryon strode forth, his stately bearing commanding the attention of the gathered court. Halting before the royal family, he addressed the Queen, whose countenance betrayed a marked disinterest.
"My Queen," he intoned, bowing deeply. "My Lord Hand. The storied legacy of our noble House stretches back to the days of old Valyria. For as long as House Targaryen has ruled the skies, House Velaryon has held dominion over the seas. When the Doom fell upon our ancestral homeland, our houses became the last of their kind in this new land. Our forebears came hither, knowing that should they fail, it would spell the end of their bloodlines and their very name."
Vaemond's voice rang with conviction as he continued, "I have dedicated my entire life to safeguarding my brother's seat on Driftmark. I am Lord Corlys' closest kin, his own blood. The true, unimpeachable blood of House Velaryon flows through my veins."
At this, Princess Rhaenyra cut in, her tone laced with mocking mirth. "As it does in my children, the offspring of Laenor Velaryon."
"If you cared so truly for your House's legacy, Ser Vaemond, you would not be so bold as to supplant its rightful heir," Rhaenyra declared. "Now, you speak only for yourself and your own ambition."
"You will grant Ser Vaemond the courtesy of hearing his petition," Queen Alicent interjected, rising to her full stature.
"What do you know of Velaryon blood, Princess?" Vaemond challenged, his eyes fixed unwaveringly on Rhaenyra. "I could spill my veins before you, and you would still not recognize it."
Vaemond turned his attention once more to Alicent and Otto. "This is a matter of blood, not ambition. I place the continuation and survival of my House and my line above all else. I humbly present myself before you as my brother's rightful successor, the Lord of Driftmark and the Lord of the Tides."
"Thank you, Ser Vaemond," Otto dismissed him. "Princess Rhaenyra, you may now speak for your son, Lucerys Velaryon."
Rhaenyra nodded and stepped forward, her regal bearing commanding the room. "If I am to grace this farce with any answer, I shall begin by reminding the court-"
Rhaenyra's words were cut short as the grand doors to the hall were thrust open, and the court gasped in shock as King Viserys himself, hunched and weakened by age, began to hobble forward with the aid of his cane.
"King Viserys of House Targaryen!" the announcer's voice rang out. "The first of his name! King of the Andals and the Rhoynar, and the First Men! Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm!"
Vaemond, Alicent, and Otto exchanged nervous glances, knowing their cause was now lost.
As Viserys struggled to ascend the steps, his crown tumbled from his head with a resounding clatter. Daemon stepped forward, reverently retrieving the crown and gently replacing it upon his brother's head, supporting the King's frail steps.
"I must admit my confusion," Viserys panted, his single visible eye sweeping the court. "I do not understand why petitions are being heard over a settled succession. The one present who might offer keener insight to Lord Corlys' wishes is the Princess Rhaenys."
"Indeed, Your Grace," Rhaenys said, stepping past Vaemond with a subtle, triumphant smile. "It was ever my husband's will that Driftmark pass to Ser Laenor's true-born son, Lucerys Velaryon. His mind never wavered, nor did my support of him. In fact, the Princess Rhaenyra has just informed me of her desire to marry her son Luke to Lord Corlys' granddaughter, Rhaena - a proposal to which I wholeheartedly agree."
Rhaenyra's smug satisfaction was evident as she looked to her son, whose expression held both shock and delight, now assured of his rightful claim. "Well then, the matter is settled," Viserys declared. "Again, I hereby reaffirm Prince Lucerys of House Velaryon as heir to Driftmark, the Driftwood Throne, and the next Lord of the Tides."
Rhaenys inclined her head in acknowledgment, then turned to link arms with her granddaughter, their expressions radiating triumph. All seemed well until Vaemond once more opened his mouth to speak.
"You break law and centuries of tradition to install your daughter as heir, yet you dare tell me who deserves to inherit the name Velaryon," Vaemond spat, his words dripping with venom.
Daemon's fingers twitched, the handle of Darksister calling to him, his desire to put the blade to use evident.
"Allow it?" Viserys quoted, his voice laced with anger. "Do not forget yourself, Vaemond."
"That is no true Velaryon!" Vaemond cried, spinning to point an accusatory finger at the young Lucerys. "And certainly no nephew of mine!"
Rhaenyra moved to usher her children away, the tension in the hall palpable. "You have said enough," she demanded of Vaemond.
"Lucerys is my true-born grandson," Viserys argued, his tone brooking no dissent. "And you are no more than the second son of Driftmark."
"You may run your House as you see fit," Vaemond countered, "but you will not decide the future of mine."
He continued, his voice rising in fury, "My House survived the Doom, and a thousand tribulations besides. And the gods be damned, I will not see it ended on the account of this-" Vaemond paused, his venomous gaze fixed upon the young Lucerys.
"Say it," Daemon suddenly urged, taking a menacing step forward, the edge of Darksister glinting in the light.
"Her children," Vaemond spat, "are bastards!" The court gasped in horror at his words.
Viserys sat upright, a furious scowl etching his aged features. "And she is a whore," Vaemond declared, his voice dripping with malice.
"I will have your tongue for that," Viserys croaked, his blade drawn.
The sickening sound of steel slicing flesh echoed through the hall, and Vaemond's severed head tumbled to the floor, his tongue still attached to the lifeless body. Daemon stepped back, casually leaning the tip of Darksister against the ground, his hands resting upon the pommel.
Aelora cried out in fright, her hand instinctively grasping Jacaerys' arm as he swiftly embraced her, shielding her from the grisly sight. Aemond recoiled, his single eye widening in shock, while Aegon flinched, stepping back with a nauseated expression.
Daemon looked to his king with an air of nonchalance. "He can keep his tongue."
"Disarm him!" Otto commanded, but Daemon simply raised a hand in surrender, sheathing his sword. "No need," he said, stepping back to his place beside Rhaenyra, the tension in the hall palpable.
The disturbance was broken by the sound of Viserys collapsing back into his throne, his weak groans filling the air as Alicent rushed to his side, calling for the maesters.
Wöchentlicher Energiestatus
-- Power-
Rangliste 
-- Power-
Stein