Game of Thrones: The King of Bronze and Fire

By the time dusk fell, the white carriage slowly rolled through the gates of the Red Keep.

Thud!

Rhaenyra gracefully hopped off the carriage, turning with open arms and a playful smile. "Come, I'll catch you."

They'd spent the entire day together, and her previously cloudy mood had turned sunny.

"Are you sure?"

Aemon stood hesitantly on the edge of the carriage, his eyes full of doubt.

"Just jump," Rhaenyra said nonchalantly. "I'll catch you, don't worry."

Aemon gave the ground a quick glance, carefully judging the height before nodding with serious determination. "Alright, here I come!"

He closed his eyes and tipped forward.

Rhaenyra confidently reached out her arms, fully prepared to catch her little brother's weight.

Thud!

An unexpected burden knocked the wind out of her. She staggered backward, barely saved from falling by Ser Steffon Darklyn, who stepped in to steady her just in time.

"That was close," Aemon muttered, patting his chest to calm himself.

Rhaenyra hadn't fared much better. Her lips twitched as she rubbed her waist, silently cursing the deceptively dense little boy.

They both stood there for a moment, sharing a look of mutual relief.

"…Let's go," Rhaenyra finally sighed, reaching out her hand again.

"Heh-heh, we're gonna get scolded for this," Aemon said with a mischievous grin, happily taking her hand.

Despite the incident, he felt triumphant—he'd had a great day, filled with both gains and bonding.

Hand in hand, the tall, elegant Rhaenyra and the small, cherubic Aemon walked through the Red Keep's halls. They made an eye-catching pair, their matching silver hair shimmering in the dim light.

Passing nobles and courtiers paused to admire the sight, offering polite greetings.

Aemon skipped along happily, glancing up at Rhaenyra's smiling face with a spark of mischief.

"What are you looking at?" she asked, still basking in the pleasant glow of the day.

Oh, just planning my next move to win you over, Aemon thought, suppressing a sly smile. Out loud, he declared, "Rhaenyra, you and I are the best team in the world!"

The words struck a chord. Rhaenyra paused, a faint, thoughtful look crossing her face as she regarded her little brother.

"Alright, let's hurry or we'll miss dinner," Aemon added quickly, running ahead before she could respond.

He knew exactly what he was doing.

Rhaenyra, for all her strength and pride, was a lonely girl who craved love and acceptance. Aemon planned to use this window of vulnerability to firmly embed himself as her confidant and ally.

It was a long-term strategy. When the Blacks and Greens eventually emerged as rival factions in the years to come, Aemon would be positioned to maneuver between the two, quietly biding his time until he could truly shine.

Unbeknownst to the siblings, their return to the Red Keep had not gone unnoticed.

Maegor's Holdfast – The King's Chambers

From the balcony, Alicent Hightower watched Aemon and Rhaenyra walking hand in hand, their figures bathed in the dim glow of dusk.

She had been waiting all day for his return.

Her expression darkened as her grip on the balcony tightened, her neatly manicured nails digging into her palms until small droplets of blood welled up.

Perhaps she hadn't even realized it herself, but seeing Aemon and Rhaenyra so close together stirred an ugly, buried jealousy within her.

Creak.

The door to the chamber opened, and King Viserys entered with a cheerful demeanor. "Rhaenyra and Aemon are back. We should head down for the evening meal."

He paused, confused when his wife didn't immediately respond.

"I know," Alicent said abruptly, spinning on her heels. She moved so quickly it was like a gust of wind.

Viserys watched her with a puzzled frown.

That Night

After dinner, Aemon returned to his chambers, patting his full belly with satisfaction. Today had been a success on every front.

During the meal, the topic of the dragonpit and Dreamfyre had naturally come up.

Upon hearing that Aemon had tried to bond with the fierce Mother Dragon, Viserys had gone through a range of emotions—first amusement, then mild disappointment, and finally a consoling chuckle.

"You're still young," he'd said kindly. "There are other dragons on Dragonstone. Once you're a little older, you can try again."

Viserys was a contradictory man—fearful of the dragons' power, yet reliant on it.

He refused to let Rhaenyra indulge too much in dragon-riding, yet he still hoped the Targaryen sons would grow up to become dragonlords.

Aemon couldn't help but roll his eyes internally at the king's "beyond reason" outlook.

Rhaenyra, meanwhile, had hoped to return to her chambers and relax after the long day, but her plans were interrupted.

"Father, what is it?" she asked as Viserys summoned her aside.

"I have something important to discuss," he said with a gentle smile.

Puzzled, Rhaenyra followed her father through the winding corridors of the Red Keep, eventually descending into the underground crypts.

There, the great altar was aglow with the flickering light of countless white candles, casting shadows on the massive black skull of Balerion the Black Dread.

Rhaenyra frowned in confusion.

The last time they had stood here together, her father had apologized for Queen Aemma's death and officially named her as his heir.

Viserys gazed at the enormous dragon skull, his voice wistful. "You seemed so happy today, Rhaenyra. As your father, that gladdens my heart."

Rhaenyra nodded warily, sensing a weighty conversation ahead.

"You're nearly of age to marry," Viserys continued, turning to look at her with a serious expression. "Have you considered any suitors?"

Rhaenyra's face fell immediately. "No!"

"Good," Viserys said with obvious relief, exhaling. He had feared she might bring home some unsuitable knight or, worse, one of the Kingsguard—rumors of her affection for Ser Criston Cole had not gone unnoticed.

"Father, speak plainly. What are you really getting at?" Rhaenyra demanded, her tone sharp with suspicion.

Viserys hesitated before finally broaching the subject. "You and Aemon seem to get along like true siblings. What would you think if I kept him here in King's Landing?"

"Father!" Rhaenyra's voice rose, her eyes flashing with anger.

"Calm yourself," Viserys said, holding up a hand. "Aemon is a good boy. He's also Daemon's son, and he could be a valuable ally to you."

"So what?" she asked coldly, already guessing where this was headed.

Viserys softened his tone, as though trying to placate her. "If you treat him well—if you lower your guard and embrace him—he will surely repay your kindness."

Rhaenyra fell silent, her fists clenching at her sides as she bit back her retort.

She understood exactly what her father meant.

She regarded Aemon as a mischievous little brother—nothing more. Yet her father, ever the schemer, seemed willing to use even a child to secure power and loyalty.

That chubby little boy, with his cherubic face and innocent grin… Was she supposed to see him as a political tool?

Viserys, mistaking her silence for compliance, patted her shoulder gently. "That's all for now. The royal hunt begins tomorrow morning. Get some rest."

With that, he turned and left her standing alone in the candlelit crypt.

Rhaenyra remained rooted to the spot, her silver lashes lowered as conflicting emotions warred within her.

She didn't want to be controlled, nor did she wish to control others.

And yet, it seemed like everyone and everything around her was pushing her to make a choice—to join the fight over the "cake" that everyone so desperately craved.

Suddenly, she felt a prickle at the back of her neck—a sense of being watched.

"Who's there!?"

She snapped her head up, glaring into the shadows beyond the altar.

A figure emerged from the darkness—a stooped old man in maester's robes.

Maester Mellos coughed softly, his expression unreadable as he turned and shuffled away into the shadows.

Rhaenyra's brows knitted together, her fists tightening further.

What exactly is going on here?