Game of Thrones: The King of Bronze and Fire

The white carriage came to a halt atop a steep hill, revealing a towering domed structure ahead.

Bang!

Aemon leaped down from the carriage before he could even glance at his cards, pausing to marvel at the sight. "Wow, it's so big!"

It was much larger than he had imagined—larger than most noble castles and almost resembling a squat mountain.

"Hurry up. I'll take you inside," Rhaenyra called out, her mood visibly lightened from earlier.

"Coming!" Aemon quickly followed.

In all of King's Landing, the Dragonpit was second only to the Red Keep in grandeur.

As Aemon climbed the stairs, he tried to gauge the pit's size.

It stretched far beyond what his eyes could see, spanning at least nine hectares by his estimation.

"Well, it has to be this big to house dragons," Aemon thought with a nod.

Still, he didn't hold much affection for the structure. To him, it felt like an unnecessary shackle on creatures that were meant to dominate the skies and the earth.

Boom!

The massive bronze doors of the Dragonpit creaked open as they approached, revealing a group of handlers clad in coarse gray robes, each holding bamboo rods.

"Princess, Prince," the elder dragonkeeper greeted them in polished High Valyrian, bowing low.

Dragonkeepers—caretakers responsible for the dragons housed in the pit—were typically individuals with Valyrian bloodlines, rigorously trained from a young age to be fiercely loyal to the crown.

"I've brought him here to familiarize himself with the Dragonpit," Rhaenyra said with a polite nod, replying in the same language.

The elder dragonkeeper studied the young prince intently before nodding. "It is only proper for a royal male to see the dragons early."

Rhaenyra's expression faltered for a moment before she forced a smile and led the way inside.

Aemon noticed her shift in mood and thanked the elder keeper in crisp High Valyrian. "Thank you for your care."

Without waiting for a response, he hurried after his cousin.

The interior of the Dragonpit was dimly lit, the near-sealed dome illuminated only by torches mounted on the walls.

As Rhaenyra walked ahead, her voice echoed faintly in the vast space. "Do you want to see Syrax first, or Dreamfyre?"

Aemon scurried to keep up with her long strides, his short legs moving as fast as they could.

It wasn't hard to see that the elder keeper's comment about "royal males" had stung her. Rhaenyra was holding back her frustration, but it was clear she was upset.

"I'll look at the dragon eggs first," Aemon replied, hoping to steer the conversation in a different direction.

"Wait here. I'll have the keepers bring them out," Rhaenyra said, her tone flat as she walked through the oval-shaped central hall with the familiarity of someone moving through their own bedroom.

Despite her apparent mood, Aemon couldn't help but admire her poise. She carried herself with the dignity befitting a princess, her outfit accentuating her regal presence.

Unlike the elaborate gowns typically worn to celebrations, Rhaenyra had opted for a practical black ensemble with a distinct Targaryen flair.

Her fitted trousers emphasized her long legs, while a simple yet elegant outer tunic cinched at the waist hinted at her graceful figure.

Aemon's gaze wandered to the details of her attire—a gold-embroidered dragon motif at her neckline, a delicate ruby-studded necklace resting against her pale neck.

"She's loaded. A true rich girl," Aemon thought with a pang of envy.

His cousin's hands and neck sparkled with exquisite jewelry, while his own arms were bare save for the chubby creases of his baby fat.

Bang! Bang!

Before long, the dragonkeepers returned, carrying several furnace-like incubation vessels that they arranged in neat rows in the hall.

The elder dragonkeeper stepped forward, his voice low and solemn. "Prince, these are all the dragon eggs currently stored in the pit."

"Thank you," Aemon said, his eyes lighting up as he eagerly moved toward the vessels.

Sixteen incubation furnaces were arranged in a four-by-four grid, and Aemon wasted no time.

Rhaenyra frowned at his excitement, her delicate brows knitting together. "Don't you already have a dragon egg?"

"Yes, but mine hasn't hatched yet. I want to see how these compare," Aemon replied with a bright smile, lifting the lid of one of the furnaces.

Click!

A cloud of dense white steam billowed out, the red-hot coals inside crackling as they warmed a serene green dragon egg nestled within.

Ignoring the astonished gasps around him, Aemon reached out and touched the egg directly.

"Detected a magical object. +3 Magic Essence obtained."

"Stop! Aemon, you'll burn yourself!" Rhaenyra exclaimed, rushing to pull his hand away.

She turned his palm over, expecting burns, but was stunned to find his skin completely unharmed, save for a light layer of soot.

"Blessed by the gods!" the elder dragonkeeper muttered, his eyes wide with awe.

While Targaryens were known to tolerate heat, it was typically limited to things like candle flames or hot water. To directly handle a dragon egg heated by coals was unprecedented.

"I'm fine, Rhaenyra," Aemon said innocently, shaking his cousin's hand in reassurance.

Rhaenyra was visibly shaken. "You're... different, Aemon."

"Not really," Aemon replied, his gaze flickering with subtle unease.

He had long known that his Targaryen bloodline carried two unique traits: dreamwalking and heat resistance.

While the former mainly brought cryptic, often nonsensical dreams that disrupted his sleep, the latter had proven far more practical.

Ever since activating the Bloodline section of his magic panel, he'd noticed his heat tolerance had increased further, though he now felt uncomfortably sensitive to the cold.

"Father would be shocked to see this," Rhaenyra murmured, her tone tinged with melancholy.

"Probably not," Aemon muttered, trying to cheer her up.

Yet, as he cracked a joke or two about his father, he couldn't help but focus on his real goal.

"Detected a magical object. +3 Magic Essence obtained... +3, +3, +3..."

Each egg rewarded him with three points of magic essence, and by the time he finished inspecting all sixteen, the notifications had rung out repeatedly.

Aemon stepped back, pulling up his panel.

Including his own black dragon egg, his essence count had now reached a satisfying 198.

"Jackpot," he thought gleefully.

King's Landing was truly a goldmine for magic essence.

The idea of sneaking a few eggs out crossed his mind, but the intense scrutiny of the dragonkeepers quickly quashed that notion.

"Time to see the dragons," he said, taking Rhaenyra's hand.

"Syrax or Dreamfyre?" she asked again.

Aemon pondered briefly. "Dreamfyre."

Rhaenyra nodded, unsurprised, and led the way.

"We'll accompany you," the elder keeper said gravely, signaling several younger keepers to join them.

Dreamfyre was the eldest and largest dragon in the pit, her temper having grown increasingly volatile during her decades of captivity.

Aemon, however, bounced along excitedly, entirely unbothered by the keepers' evident caution.

As they approached, he quietly pulled up his magic panel to check his cards:

[Constitution +1]: "Safely enhance your physical resilience."

[Sticky Fingers]: "A chance to make what's theirs yours."

[Golden-Nosed Mouse]: "A small rodent with extraordinary smell and hearing."

A grin spread across his face. This trip was shaping up to be quite the adventure.