Game of Thrones: The King of Bronze and Fire

The commotion had barely subsided when the Kingsguard arrived in haste.

Aemon, quick-witted as ever, raised his voice to shout:

"My father fights for the realm, waging war in the Stepstones to rescue the innocent from abduction! If anyone disagrees, come find me in the Vale at Runestone!"

Even amidst his mischief, Aemon knew to protect his reputation.

Pointing at the cowering noblewomen, he continued with biting logic:

"House Redwyne of the Arbor doesn't engage in trade? Doesn't have fleets to counter the Stepstones?

If you can't serve the kingdom, you have no right to gossip behind people's backs!"

Though his reasoning was sound, the sharp contrast between his righteous speech and his cherubic face made the scene almost comical.

But it didn't matter; being on the moral high ground was enough.

With the women sufficiently rebuked and left flustered, Aemon knew the story would soon spread across the realm, turning the incident into a courtly anecdote.

Alicent, meanwhile, stood frozen, overwhelmed by the chaos.

"Hmph, time to make my exit."

Aemon tossed his head with a theatrical air and darted out of the royal tent before anyone could react.

He knew better than to stick around for the fallout—someone else would clean up his mess.

Inside the tent, the aftermath was a mix of shock and disarray.

Viserys observed the scene with a bewildered expression, his mind struggling to process the absurdity of it all. A group of noblewomen, reduced to wailing and flailing on the ground by an eight-year-old?

"Your Grace," Lyonel Strong whispered discreetly, recounting the incident in detail.

Upon hearing the full story, Viserys forced a strained smile, signaling Ser Harrold Westerling, the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, to intervene.

Harrold quickly stepped in to diffuse the situation. The injured noblewoman was whisked away by the maesters, leaving the tent in uneasy silence.

Viserys shook his head, half-amused. "Like father, like son," he thought.

Aemon's boldness, bordering on recklessness, was unmistakably inherited from Daemon.

Yet Viserys found no anger in himself. After all, how could he fault a boy who had stood up for family and defended his cousin, Rhaenyra?

Outside the tent, Aemon had no time to waste.

He nearly ran straight into Ser Steffon Darklyn, one of the Kingsguard knights patrolling the camp.

Aemon's face lit up. "Ser Steffon! Perfect timing. I need your help!"

Caught off guard but ever dutiful, Ser Steffon approached with a respectful bow. "What do you require, my prince?"

"Mother's busy with the hunt. Take me for a ride through the Kingswood!"

Aemon didn't wait for a response, practically dragging the knight toward the stables.

Despite Ser Steffon's hesitant expression, he had no choice but to comply. Moments later, he had secured a fine white horse and lifted Aemon onto the saddle.

"Hold on tightly, Your Highness," Steffon advised, and with that, they were off, galloping into the dense forest.

The Kingswood was a serene escape from the chaos of court life.

Tall trees loomed overhead, their branches creating a canopy that filtered the sunlight into soft beams. The distant chatter of birds provided a peaceful backdrop, interrupted only by the rhythmic clatter of the horse's hooves.

As they rode, Ser Steffon's curiosity got the better of him. "Your Highness, why the urgency to leave the camp?"

Aemon glanced back with a mischievous grin. "Oh, nothing much. Just a minor disagreement back there."

When pressed further, he casually explained the incident, leaving Ser Steffon pale and nearly slipping off his horse.

"Prince Aemon!" the knight exclaimed, half in shock and half in exasperation. "Do you realize how difficult this will make things for both the queen and the princess?"

Aemon dismissed the concern with a wave. "Don't worry, Ser Steffon. Everything will work out."

But in truth, Aemon had orchestrated the scene deliberately.

Half of his motivation was personal—the old crones had insulted his father, Daemon. The other half was strategic. The confrontation had been meant to provoke Rhaenyra into standing her ground and asserting herself.

"We're in the right. Why back down?"

However, the outcome had been messier than anticipated.

Rhaenyra's initial hesitance to confront the noblewomen had highlighted a larger problem: her lack of political allies and experience.

"Odd," Aemon mused, furrowing his brow. "It's clear those old ladies were Alicent's allies, yet they were clumsy in their scheming."

He replayed the incident in his mind, noting Alicent's visible discomfort. "She didn't plan this. It must have been her father, Otto Hightower."

This realization painted a clearer picture of court politics.

After spending three days in King's Landing, Aemon had begun to piece together the key power factions:

The Crown Loyalists – Those who remained loyal to King Viserys. This group was small but included figures like Lord Lyonel Strong, who had been handpicked by the king.

The Oldtown Faction – Led by Otto Hightower, this faction sought to elevate Alicent's son, Prince Aegon, as heir. Otto's influence was bolstered by allies like Grand Maester Mellos.

The Neutral Camp – Figures like Tyland Lannister and Lyman Beesbury, who remained aloof, either due to personal interest or lack of loyalty to either side.

The Oldtown faction was undoubtedly the most powerful. With Otto as Hand of the King and Alicent as queen, their reach extended deeply into court affairs.

The Crown Loyalists, though far weaker, found a steadfast ally in Lord Lyonel Strong. However, their influence paled in comparison to Otto's calculated moves.

And then there was Rhaenyra's so-called "Princess's Party," which was less a cohesive faction and more an extension of Viserys's waning authority.

Meanwhile, Alicent's so-called "Queen's Party" was similarly hollow. It wasn't her party at all but merely a subset of the Oldtown faction, with Alicent acting as a figurehead rather than a true leader.

"Two mascots," Aemon thought ruefully, referring to both Alicent and Rhaenyra. "Neither of them is in control of their own destiny. They're just tools in their fathers' games."

Aemon sighed, his young face uncharacteristically somber.

His initial plan to align himself with both women and ride out the political storm seemed increasingly futile.

"Neither of them can be relied on. If I want to survive and thrive, I'll have to chart my own course."

The realization steeled his resolve.

He turned his focus back to the forest ahead, allowing his mind to leap to another thought:

"If Otto Hightower is going to be dismissed soon, as the histories suggest, then Lyonel Strong will become Hand of the King."

This shift would be a temporary victory for Viserys and Rhaenyra. But as Aemon knew, it would also sow the seeds of future disaster.

Without Otto's manipulative restraint, Rhaenyra would grow unchecked, and Alicent's quiet resentment would fester into something far more dangerous.

"This is the beginning of the chaos," Aemon thought grimly. "When black and green finally collide."

For now, though, he would bide his time, observing and adapting.

With that thought, he urged his horse forward, ready to see what the forest had to offer.