Game of Thrones: The Bronze and Fire Lord

"So what? Should Aemon's achievements be attributed to Daemon?"

Viserys said angrily.

Alicent frowned even deeper and replied seriously, "Aemon is Aemon, Daemon is Daemon. They cannot be conflated."

No one had the right to take credit away from the boy.

Seeing his wife's stern expression, Viserys explained, "Because those two arrogant fools started the war, they're dissatisfied with my decision."

"If I send reinforcements to Daemon and the Sea Snake Corlys now, what will I look like as king?"

Disobeying his orders, openly challenging his rule.

You're about to lose, and now you want him to clean up your mess?

Hah.

Alicent set down the letter and gently advised, "Perhaps people will say the king is magnanimous and loves his brother."

"No—they'll only laugh at my weakness."

Viserys sneered bitterly.

"And what do you believe in more?" Alicent asked.

The question stunned Viserys. His temples throbbed. He muttered in frustration, "I feel like I'm cursed to never please anyone."

He tried to be kind to everyone, always smiling.

But no one respected his decisions. Everyone harbored their own motives.

Alicent watched quietly, and when her husband had calmed slightly, she spoke again, "Put it another way. Which is better for the realm's stability? Letting the Crabfeeder grow stronger—or eliminating him?"

She still remembered that noblewoman who had been kidnapped.

Running wasn't a solution. Only struggle could resolve this.

Viserys fell silent.

He had his reasons.

With Daemon and Corlys tied up in the Stepstones, the Iron Throne faced no direct threats.

That had been his thought from the moment Corlys suggested launching an attack on the Stepstones.

The Velaryon family's fortune came from maritime trade.

The pirates of the Triarchy were wreaking havoc, and Driftmark was the first to suffer.

Why else would Corlys risk waging war alone just to claim the Stepstones?

Koranael's arrival bore subtle signs of being arranged by her cousin, Rhaenys.

From the information in the letter, it wasn't Corlys who was in trouble, but Daemon.

Driftmark was a great house—with losses, perhaps, but their foundation remained intact.

Daemon, on the other hand, had no fief—he was like duckweed without roots.

His army was made up of hired sellswords.

Now that those mercenaries saw defeat coming, they retreated. Daemon was isolated and helpless, no longer qualified to stand as Corlys's equal.

Weymond's plea for help was likely orchestrated by Corlys.

Its purpose: isolate Daemon and drag the royal family into the conflict.

Once the war was won, the crown would gain glory, the Velaryons would reap the spoils—

—and Daemon would be left with nothing.

"That foolish boy… the situation is dire."

Viserys frowned, quietly making a decision.

He knew he lacked his cousin Rhaenys's vision and courage. But that didn't mean he would sit back and watch his brother suffer.

Daemon needed a helping hand.

Alicent didn't push further. Instead, she suddenly asked, "So, what reward will you give Aemon?"

That was the crux of the matter.

"What do you think?" Viserys asked, snapping out of his thoughts, wanting to hear his wife's opinion.

"You are the king. Whatever reward you choose is significant—as long as no one dares to say you're being stingy," Alicent replied lightly.

"Hah! You're such a smooth talker."

Viserys pointed at her and laughed.

It was no secret in court that Alicent had a good relationship with her nephew.

Before his grandfather Jaehaerys died, he had specifically told Viserys to take care of them both.

Marrying Alicent had been part of honoring that advice.

Grandfather's judgment must've been better than his own.

Alicent smiled faintly and didn't deny it.

Viserys thought for a moment, then spoke cautiously. "The boy wants a title, but he has no fief and is still young."

"Yes, there doesn't seem to be any precedent in the royal family."

Alicent replied calmly.

Viserys narrowed his eyes, wondering if she'd discussed this with Aemon. Then he clenched his jaw and said, "Then give him a princely title—and the right to choose an unclaimed land as his future fief, or add a title to Runestone when he inherits it."

Might as well reward him generously now.

The title of prince was prestigious, but not meaningless.

For example, "Prince of Dragonstone"—the heir to the Iron Throne—was a princely title with a designated fief.

Aemon would inherit Runestone, take root in the Vale, and expand his line.

A prince's title was fitting.

"Truly?" Alicent blinked in surprise. She hadn't expected her often hesitant husband to agree so quickly.

"Of course."

Viserys chuckled mischievously. "My son becomes a prince. When Daemon returns triumphant, it'll be the perfect moment to humble him a bit."

His younger brother was often called the "Prince of the City" but had never been granted an official title.

Time to pull a prank on him—see how it feels to raise such a clever son.

Alicent's smile widened in satisfaction. A weight lifted from her heart.

The next morning.

The throne room was packed.

Ser Harrold Westerling, commander of the Kingsguard, stood below the Iron Throne and announced:

"In the name of Viserys I of House Targaryen, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Ruler of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm."

"It is hereby proclaimed that Aemon Targaryen shall henceforth bear the title of Prince of the Dragon, and is designated heir to Runestone City."

Upon the Iron Throne—

Viserys wore his crown, holding the ancestral sword Blackfyre, as he looked down at his young nephew.

Aemon stood proudly in black, the badge of three red dragons gleaming on his chest. He turned and smiled.

To either side, noble lords from across the realm watched in awe.

They had come for the royal hunt, never expecting to witness the investiture of a new prince.

Clap clap clap!

Thunderous applause erupted.

Aemon grinned and bowed deeply to the crowd.

The dragon badge on his chest seemed to flutter—its three red dragons ready to take flight.

Prince of the Dragon.

A title without a fief.

The first of its kind in the history of the realm.

Aemon couldn't help but chuckle inwardly. He was pleased.

Every beginning is hard. As long as the reason was sound, it was the first step that mattered.

Saving someone with a "deer's mouth"? Hardly enough merit to become a prince.

Who cared if Alicent had helped behind the scenes?

And Uncle Viserys, full of guilt, had given him everything at once.

At that moment, Lady Rhea stepped forward from the crowd.

With measured courtesy, she asked to take her son back to Runestone so he could become familiar with his future domain.

Aemon, standing at her side, nodded.

One good turn deserves another.

Since his uncle had made him a prince, he should take the initiative to leave King's Landing.

Avoid letting tension build between the two sides.

As expected, Viserys feigned reluctance but approved his nephew's departure—under the pretense that he would return soon.

The ceremony ended.

Red Keep, Godswood.

"Yo yo..."

The white deer lay under the heart tree, crimson leaves drifting across its belly.

Aemon, now dressed in dragonriding gear, placed his left foot into the stirrup and clumsily climbed onto the deer's back.

The white deer was two meters tall at the shoulder—taller than the eight-year-old even while lying down.

As he struggled up, Aemon chuckled, "Climbing a deer is already hard... climbing a dragon must be like scaling a mountain."

Not to mention Dreamfyre in the dragonpit.

Imagine Vhagar—her mountain-like body... even with a saddle rope, it would take minutes to mount.

If enemies attacked quickly, a dragonrider would have no time to respond.

"Aemon, you're here."

Just as he thought of that terrifying old dragon, her rider appeared.

Aemon turned around.

Rhaenyra approached, carrying a cage veiled in black cloth, walking side by side with Laena.

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