Game of Thrones: The Bronze and Fire Lord

It was past noon, and the sun was shining brightly.

As soon as Aemon walked out of the Queen's chamber, he was summoned to the throne hall by the White Knight.

Creak!

Two White Knights opened the massive doors, revealing a solemn hall.

The black stone floor bore the weight of the years, and dragon-carved stone pillars stood tall and imposing.

The Iron Throne, entirely black and towering amid a jungle of swords, dominated the space.

Aemon looked around—both familiar and strange.

The last time he had been here, it was his great-grandfather who had carried him inside.

"Aemon, come here."

Viserys stood beneath the Iron Throne and waved to him with a smile.

The suggestions of his two trusted ministers had been decent, but not quite to his liking.

It was better to ask the boy directly.

Aemon wiped the mischief off his face, stepped forward, and said, "You should be sitting on it."

"Oh, really?"

Viserys smiled and sighed. "Everyone yearns for it, but they have no idea how hard it is to sit there."

Aemon nodded. "Wearing the crown means both power and responsibility."

"You have some insights," Viserys said, surprised—not questioning, just surprised by the look in his nephew's eyes.

Such a simple truth, yet Daemon and Rhaenyra couldn't seem to grasp it.

Aemon was clearly hiding his capabilities.

As he met his uncle's expectant gaze, he gently took his left hand and said, "You've worked hard... and gotten hurt."

Viserys flinched and quickly pulled back his gloved hand.

Since taking the throne, he had often been cut by the jagged blades embedded in the chair.

His back was marred by festering wounds, and the little and ring fingers of his left hand had been amputated.

Even drinking heavily each day couldn't dull the pain.

But no physical pain could overshadow the emotional jolt.

Aemon had only been back in King's Landing for three days, yet he had already perceived everything.

Clearly, he understood the price of power.

"You called me here—do you have something to announce?"

Aemon's eyes were wide and innocent as he changed the subject.

It was enough to show he wasn't foolish.

Time to ask for some favors.

Viserys paused for a moment, then laughed. "Yes, you're a clever little one."

Damn Daemon—what kind of ridiculous luck did he have?

Was he really worthy of fathering such a son?

Did he even know how to raise him?!

Upon hearing that, Aemon instantly switched to a flattering expression: "Uncle, I saved Rhaenyra and the Lord of the West~"

His expression said it all—he couldn't wait to be rewarded.

Viserys chuckled and asked, "That was a great feat. What reward do you want?"

"No reward. Saving Rhaenyra was what I ought to do."

Aemon thumped his chest firmly.

Though the white stag hadn't meant to harm anyone, it had knocked down a Lannister. Naturally, the story needed some embellishment.

"Do you truly think that way?" Viserys asked, smiling.

"Of course!" Aemon said without hesitation.

Viserys nodded slightly, deliberately dragging things out for a moment, then finally laughed under Aemon's eager gaze. "Go ahead, speak. Your king is not stingy and does not mistreat those who serve him."

Saying one doesn't want a reward for saving Rhaenyra?

Then why would anyone help next time? What about Jason Lannister, who had nearly lost his life?

"Hehe, then I'll say it!"

Aemon said cheerfully, with no shame at all.

Viserys encouraged him with his eyes.

Don't be afraid to ask—as long as you're obedient, it's fine.

Aemon's eyes twinkled as he put on a pitiful expression: "My mother is Lady of Runestone, but the name there is still Royce, and I don't even have a fief of my own."

"Believe me, you'll inherit your mother's fief."

Viserys replied solemnly.

Lady Rhea had only one son. His nephew would undoubtedly become the future lord of Runestone.

No one could change that.

"But they don't recognize me, and my father doesn't care about me either. I'm just a weak, pitiful, and helpless little prince."

As he spoke, his large eyes blinked, welling up with tears.

Viserys was at a loss, feeling awkward under his nephew's gaze.

Daemon really was a scoundrel—he hadn't returned to the Vale in years.

Lady Rhea was cold, too—more interested in riding and hunting than anything else.

It truly would be difficult for his nephew to inherit Runestone alone.

Viserys hesitated. "But you're too young, and there isn't any unclaimed, fertile land in the Vale suitable for a grant."

In his view, Runestone was the obvious answer.

That marriage had been arranged by Grandmother Alysanne, all for Daemon's benefit.

"I don't need a fief."

Sensing the perfect moment, Aemon went straight to the point. "But I do need a title—something that no one would dare to ignore."

Runestone would one day be his, of course.

But with his mother still in control, he had no real authority.

He urgently needed a title—symbolic, if not practical.

Viserys's eyes gleamed. He more or less understood what his nephew was after.

A title in name only could still be dangerous.

"Anything else?" Viserys asked again.

He needed to carefully consider the first reward.

"I can ask for another one?"

Aemon asked, clearly surprised.

Viserys chuckled. "Tell me. As long as it's not too difficult, I'll grant it."

"Okay!"

Aemon thought for a moment, then said seriously, "I want to be allowed to tame a dragon—whenever I choose to."

"That's a right you should have."

Viserys waved it off.

"That's all. It's enough."

Aemon smiled shyly.

Taming a dragon wasn't easy. What if he made a tiny mistake and ended up getting burned?

Viserys felt helpless but secretly relieved.

At least Aemon wasn't making outrageous demands.

He nodded. "Taming a dragon is no issue—but you need to grow a bit more. You can't even climb on one yet."

. . .

That night, in the King's chambers.

Viserys changed into a red nightgown and sat in front of the fireplace, sipping his wine.

Alicent sat across from him.

They had just spent some time chatting about Rhaenyra's marriage.

Viserys was quite excited as he spoke: "Aemon is a good boy. Hard to believe Daemon could have a son like that. The gods are truly unfair!"

"Damn Daemon, that bastard of a brother!"

Alicent smiled and commented, "But Rhaenyra doesn't seem to care—about any of the young nobles at the hunt or even Lord Jason, who's lying injured in bed."

She knew the Lannisters had once been among the marriage candidates.

But they had failed before they even got a chance.

"Her wishes don't matter in this!"

Viserys scowled, clearly irritated. "She's old enough now. She needs a great lord—one who will honor and love her."

Alicent's smile remained as calm as ever. "I believe she'll get married—but she must think it was her own choice."

Anyone could be chosen.

As long as they didn't harm Aemon, nothing else mattered.

Viserys rolled his eyes, set down his empty glass, and rubbed his aching head.

What could be more troublesome than a daughter who refused to obey?

The breeze from his movement stirred a sheet of paper on the table.

Alicent glanced at it, surprised to see that it was related to the war. "What's this?"

"A plea for help from the Stepstones."

Viserys didn't even look at it—nor did he care to.

Laena was still in King's Landing, urging him to send troops in support.

But there didn't seem to be any real threat—only a request on behalf of her cousin Rhaenys.

With his permission, Alicent picked up the letter and skimmed it, frowning. "Why not send reinforcements? Aemon's father is there, and he's just earned merit."

The letter said that the war effort was faltering and the soldiers had lost their will to fight.

All the mercenaries under Daemon had already deserted.

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