Game of Thrones: The King of Bronze and Fire

The Red Keep, Banquet Hall.

Lord Tyland had just been reprimanded by the king and retreated in disgrace, leaving the banquet to proceed.

"Lord Lyonel, it's been a while since we've spoken," King Viserys said, forcing a smile as he summoned the even-tempered Master of Laws.

Across the table laden with cakes and pastries, Lyonel Strong was engaged in conversation with other courtiers. Hearing his name called, he turned in surprise.

"Your Grace," Lyonel responded respectfully, moving to bow before the king.

Lyonel Strong was known for his wisdom. In his youth, he had studied at the Citadel in Oldtown, earning six links of a maester's chain. Now older, his once muscular physique had softened with age, giving him a kindly, rotund appearance.

Viserys appraised the loyal minister, hesitating before finally saying, "Rhaenyra has disappeared again. Ser Criston Cole tells me she took young Aemon to the dragonpit."

"Aemon's noble blood makes his closeness to the princess a good thing," Lyonel said earnestly, finding nothing amiss.

Still, from the king's troubled expression, it was clear there was more on his mind.

Indeed, Viserys shook his head with a sigh. "I adore Aemon, but Rhaenyra harbors such resentment toward me. She won't even listen to my advice."

His tone was heavy with sadness.

"What assistance can I provide, Your Grace?" Lyonel asked, raising an eyebrow.

The rift between the king and his daughter was common knowledge in court, but even as a trusted minister, his ability to intervene in royal family matters was limited.

Not everyone was as adept at intrigue as Otto Hightower, who had maneuvered his daughter into the role of queen.

Viserys hesitated, then spoke gravely, "Rhaenyra will soon come of age. Who do you believe would best support her?"

Lyonel was stunned into silence, his mind racing to process the implications of the king's words.

This was no ordinary question.

The mention of Aemon, followed by concerns over Rhaenyra's marriage, spoke volumes. Moreover, the choice of the word "support" suggested that Viserys had no intention of displacing Rhaenyra as heir.

This subtle phrasing implied that rumors of Prince Aegon's potential claim to the throne were unfounded.

In that instant, Lyonel also realized something else: Otto Hightower, the Hand of the King and Aegon's maternal grandfather, was no longer on Viserys's trusted list.

"The king is testing me," Lyonel thought with a sinking feeling. Seeing Viserys growing impatient, he quickly replied, "Your Grace, as per the deliberations of the Small Council, Ser Laenor Velaryon remains the most suitable candidate."

It was a safe, measured response, leaving room for further discussion.

Viserys frowned, dissatisfied. "Perhaps there is someone better."

Lyonel chose his words carefully, continuing, "Ser Laenor Velaryon, heir to the richest family in the realm, hails from the ancient Valyrian bloodline and shares Targaryen heritage. He is beyond reproach."

Despite the reasoned argument, the king's expression darkened.

Draining his cup of wine in frustration, Viserys's voice sharpened. "Since the Great Council of 101, when my name was called as heir, and my refusal to wed Laena Velaryon, I have felt the covetous gaze of the Velaryons upon the Iron Throne."

Ever since the death of his father, Lord Corlys Velaryon had been his greatest adversary.

Lyonel remained silent, seeing no reason to counter this admission. Finally, he sighed and said cautiously, "Your Grace, if you truly wish to hear my honest advice…"

"Of course," Viserys interrupted, leaning forward intently.

If he didn't want the truth, he wouldn't have asked Lyonel, whose family's seat at Harrenhal monitored both the Riverlands and the Vale. The Strongs were loyal to the crown, trusted for generations.

Lyonel took a deep breath and spoke firmly, "The Small Council recommended Ser Laenor precisely because your refusal to wed Lady Laena caused Lord Corlys to resign as Master of Ships. Corlys Velaryon, as an ally, is far preferable to Corlys Velaryon as an enemy."

The bluntness of his words left no room for misinterpretation. Reconciliation through marriage would be far less costly than allowing tensions to escalate.

Viserys scowled, his mood souring further. "And if I were to reject this proposal?"

"Then Lord Corlys will not yield easily," Lyonel replied matter-of-factly. "Without a tie to the Iron Throne, his demands will only grow."

"Who can refuse the needs of the realm?" Viserys retorted angrily. "Is this meant as a threat?"

"Certainly not, Your Grace," Lyonel soothed.

Viserys's anger boiled over, yet he forced himself to laugh bitterly. "I will not marry off my daughter, nor will I stoop to groveling."

If Corlys Velaryon wouldn't relent, then neither would he.

Understanding the king's resolve, Lyonel sighed. "Prince Aemon's noble lineage aside, the Stepstones remain in crisis. Lord Corlys commands half the realm's fleet."

The stronger fist wins, Lyonel thought but did not say aloud.

Viserys clenched his goblet tightly before finally easing back, muttering, "It doesn't matter. Corlys has already bled heavily in this war. His strength is waning."

Daemon was also fighting on the Stepstones, and Viserys had received a plea for aid.

"Then…" Lyonel began, sensing the king had already formed his plans.

Suddenly, a loud scream pierced the air from outside the hall.

"What's happening?" Viserys straightened, his confusion mirrored by those around him.

"Screeee!!"

A piercing dragon's roar echoed like thunder across the Red Keep.

Viserys's eyes widened in shock as he rushed out of the hall.

Looking up, he saw the clear blue sky and billowing white clouds above.

"Screee!!"

A pale blue dragon soared overhead, its wings spread wide as it glided gracefully through the air, like a butterfly newly freed.

"Seven Hells!" Lyonel exclaimed, his jaw dropping in awe.

Viserys was even more stunned. Stepping forward, he squinted at the dragon's back, searching in vain for a rider.

Rhaenyra and Aemon had gone to the dragonpit together. If Dreamfyre had not been tamed, how could she now be flying free?

No one could offer him an answer.

"Screeee!!"

Under the watchful eyes of the entire Red Keep, the pale blue dragon circled the city three times, drawing gasps and shouts of alarm from onlookers.

Finally, its wings folding gracefully, Dreamfyre glided low over the Silk Street and returned to the dragonpit's domed roof.

The Dragonpit.

Aemon craned his neck, his pale face lit with a delighted grin. Dreamfyre's flight filled him with joy.

Dragons belonged in the sky, not in chains.

When caged too long, dragons weakened, and their ability to lay eggs diminished—a loss borne by House Targaryen itself.

"Screee!!"

A sudden roar nearby interrupted his thoughts.

"Hmm?" Aemon turned, startled, and spotted Rhaenyra emerging gracefully from the dragonpit.

She wasn't alone.

"Screee!!"

At her side walked a magnificent amber-yellow dragon, its powerful form adorned with curved horns and a stately presence.

Aemon's eyes sparkled with excitement. "Rhaenyra, can I pet him?"

Before she could answer, he was already scampering over on his stubby legs, eager to get closer.