Game of Thrones: The King of Bronze and Fire

The gathering grew more relaxed as introductions concluded.

The noblewomen chatted amongst themselves, sharing gossip and commentary.

Rhaenyra, however, stood awkwardly on the periphery, completely ignored. There wasn't a single opening for her to join the conversation.

Aemon's gaze flitted over the heraldry embroidered on the noblewomen's dresses. Every single one bore the sigils of houses loyal to Oldtown or the Reach.

The most talkative of the group was an elderly lady from House Redwyne. She set the tone with her latest morsel of scandal:

"Word is that Lord Swann's ship passed near the Stepstones when Lady Joanna was abducted."

Alicent's brow furrowed in shock. "What will become of Lady Joanna?"

Such a fate was dire for any noblewoman. Even if rescued, her reputation would be ruined.

Clutching her small lapdog, the elderly woman replied nonchalantly, "If the rumors are to be believed, she'll be sold to a brothel in the Free Cities."

The group fell silent for a moment, each understanding that such rumors often held a kernel of truth.

Aemon, utterly uninterested, leaned back in his seat and yawned.

"Pardon my intrusion," a new voice interjected.

All eyes turned toward the figure hobbling toward them on a twisted leg.

Larys Strong leaned on his cane, his manner unassuming. "Ladies, I'm afraid the gods didn't bless me with a body fit for hunting. Might I sit with you instead?"

Alicent's kind nature took over. "Of course. Please, join us."

She gestured to an open seat and introduced him warmly, "This is Larys Strong, the younger son of Lord Lyonel Strong, our esteemed Master of Laws."

Even at this stage in her life, Alicent's tone was generous and respectful, her choice of words deliberately dignified.

Larys nodded in gratitude, his demeanor humble as he took his seat. Though physically unimposing, his well-groomed appearance was carefully cultivated to avoid drawing undue attention.

Aemon stole a few glances at him, his curiosity piqued.

"This guy's trouble," he mused, already weighing the pros and cons of eliminating him preemptively.

As though sensing Aemon's thoughts, Larys shivered. His narrow shoulders hunched further as he cast a cautious look around the group.

Naturally, Aemon gave nothing away.

A corpulent noblewoman's voice broke the tension, resuming the conversation:

"My husband says the Stepstones can never truly be tamed…"

Before she could elaborate, a stir at the tent's entrance interrupted her.

All eyes turned toward the figure framed by the opening—silver-gold hair shimmering in the light.

"Hmm?" Aemon perked up, sitting straighter in his seat.

Surrounded by a group of eager young nobles, another silver-haired girl entered the pavilion.

"Laena!"

Rhaenyra's face lit up as she leaped to her feet, rushing toward the newcomer like she'd found a long-lost confidante.

Aemon, meanwhile, blinked in surprise, his gaze fixed on the strikingly beautiful young woman who had just arrived.

Laena Velaryon's silver-gold curls tumbled down to her waist, her snow-white skin glowing against her elegant figure.

Though she looked only slightly older than Rhaenyra, her demeanor was mature and composed, with the poise of someone who had already begun to blossom into womanhood.

"Shouldn't she be on Driftmark?" Aemon muttered, still staring.

Laena Velaryon, daughter of the Sea Snake, Corlys Velaryon, and the Queen Who Never Was, Rhaenys Targaryen, was not only of royal Valyrian blood but also a dragonrider.

At the tender age of 12, she had claimed Vhagar, the largest and oldest dragon alive.

Five years had passed since then, and now she stood before them as a fully fledged dragonrider.

"Rhaenyra," Laena greeted warmly, taking her friend's hand in hers. "It's been so long."

"What brings you here? Surely not the hunt?" Rhaenyra asked, bewildered but delighted.

The two girls' presence immediately drew attention.

Even from the main table, King Viserys glanced toward Laena, his expression shifting between surprise and unease. For a moment, he ignored the minister speaking to him, though he quickly regained his composure.

Back in the ladies' circle, Laena's arrival finally gave Rhaenyra a chance to sit. One of the noblewomen graciously offered her seat, making room for the two Valyrian girls to sit together.

"You don't need to mind me," Laena said with a polite smile, her voice rich with a natural magnetism. "I'm only here because my ship took longer than expected to arrive."

Her poise and beauty left many of the noblewomen feeling self-conscious, their conversation stumbling as they exchanged uncertain glances.

Laena's presence was impossible to ignore.

With the Stepstones War raging, her arrival at the royal hunt carried significant political implications. It was a subtle message about the relationship between the Crown and House Velaryon.

Inevitably, the conversation shifted toward the war.

Aemon leaned forward, watching Laena closely. She'd mentioned traveling by ship, which meant she hadn't flown here on Vhagar.

"Hello, Aemon," Laena said suddenly, her tone light and friendly. She waved to him like an affectionate older sister.

Caught off guard, Aemon stammered, shrinking back slightly. "H-Hello!"

Best not to mess with this one, he decided.

Her presence radiated competence and strength—qualities that demanded respect.

Fortunately, the Velaryons had always treated him kindly, likely due to his name, chosen by King Jaehaerys in memory of a fallen heir.

As the group settled back into conversation, one of the older noblewomen near Alicent veered the discussion in a dangerous direction.

"What are your thoughts on the Stepstones, Princess Rhaenyra?" she asked pointedly.

Rhaenyra froze, caught off guard. "Oh, I don't know much about it. I've never been to the Stepstones."

Her response was honest, spoken with goodwill.

The old woman's expression sharpened. "But isn't your beloved uncle the mastermind behind this war?"

Aemon's expression darkened. His gaze flicked toward Alicent, who remained silent but visibly tense.

The woman's jab at Daemon was a transparent attempt to trap Rhaenyra.

Sensing the shift in atmosphere, Rhaenyra tried to deflect. "I wouldn't know. I haven't spoken to my uncle in years."

"And that's because he lost his place as heir to the throne—because of you," the woman pressed, her tone growing bolder.

It was no longer a casual question but a direct challenge to Rhaenyra's claim as heir.

Sensing the tension rising, Alicent attempted to interject. "Daemon brought this upon himself—"

Crash!

A glass goblet flew across the room, shattering at the old woman's feet.

She screamed, leaping from her chair in shock.

"You old hag! Mind your own business!"

The room turned to see Aemon standing on his chair, his small face twisted in fury.

"Aemon!" Alicent gasped, frozen in disbelief.

Undeterred, Aemon grabbed a full goblet of wine and hurled it. It missed by a hair, splashing wine and shards of glass all over the woman's dress.

His expression darkened further. "If you're so fond of running your mouth, how many soldiers do you have in your family's army?!"

The old woman trembled, her face pale with fright. "What are you doing? This is the king's pavilion!"

Aemon jumped down, smashing a bottle against the table and wielding the jagged edge like a weapon. "My father isn't here to defend himself, but I am!"

The boy's small form radiated fiery determination, and the tension in the room exploded into chaos.