Game of Thrones: The King of Bronze and Fire

The sun was setting, casting the Red Keep in hues of amber and gold.

Aemon climbed the long stairway of Maegor's Holdfast, his boots tapping lightly on the stone steps.

"Prince Aemon."

"Greetings, Your Grace."

A procession of minor lords and courtiers bowed respectfully as they passed him.

Aemon nodded in acknowledgment but kept walking, his mind preoccupied. The day had been exhausting—guiding laborers on the new farmland and overseeing the fertilizer preparation had left him worn out.

Suddenly, the air around him shifted. The conversations faded into silence.

Aemon looked up to see King Viserys flanked by his entourage of advisors.

After a brief pause, Aemon bowed. "Uncle."

Viserys's expression was unreadable, his gaze flickering briefly toward his nephew before turning away.

"Let's continue," the king said to his advisors. "Where should the royal tour begin?"

"From the Crownlands," answered Grand Maester Mellos. "Then we proceed through the Riverlands, the Vale…"

Aemon knew better than to linger. His uncle was clearly displeased.

As he passed by, Viserys suddenly spoke.

"Alicent mentioned you're planning to build a castle and establish a new town?"

Aemon stopped in his tracks, glancing over his shoulder.

Viserys's tone was casual, but his words carried an undertone of irritation.

"I'll have three hundred craftsmen from the Red Keep sent to assist you. But you'll pay their wages yourself."

Aemon's lips curled into a small smile. "Thank you, Uncle."

Viserys watched him walk away, turning to Mellos with a frustrated sigh.

"Look at him! Not a single word beyond 'thank you.'"

Mellos kept his gaze lowered, not daring to comment as sweat beaded on his forehead.

In the Godswood, the leaves of the weirwood tree fluttered in the breeze, their red hue stark against the pale white bark.

Aemon wandered through the castle grounds, searching for Rhaenyra. He hadn't seen her all day.

Finally, he found her.

Under the ancient weirwood, she sat alone on the red-leafed carpet, her knees drawn to her chest. The tree's carved face, forever locked in a sorrowful expression, loomed above her.

"Crying over your troubles in secret?"

Aemon approached with a teasing smile.

Rhaenyra lifted her head, her silver hair catching the fading sunlight. Her expression was calm, but her eyes betrayed her inner turmoil.

"Just sitting quietly," she said softly. "Thinking about all the embarrassing things I've done."

"Did I disturb you?"

Aemon sat beside her, their shoulders brushing.

He was in a good mood. His recruitment efforts for the new settlement had been successful, and Viserys's unexpected support was a welcome bonus.

Rhaenyra shook her head. "No."

Leaning her head on his shoulder, she sighed contentedly.

Aemon glanced sideways at her but made no move to pull away.

They'd always been close—so close that, as children, Rhaenyra often dragged him into her bed for snuggles during cold nights.

"Thank you," she murmured.

"For what?"

"For everything."

Aemon chuckled. "I don't know what you're thanking me for."

"Of course you don't."

Rhaenyra huffed, her cheeks puffing slightly in mock annoyance.

"You haven't changed at all," she muttered. "You've always been a stubborn bear."

Aemon smirked but said nothing.

Rhaenyra's voice softened as she continued. "Alicent is important to you, isn't she? Yet, despite that, you've always helped me—both openly and secretly."

Aemon blinked in surprise.

So, she had noticed.

Rhaenyra sat up straight, her eyes locking onto his.

"Aemon, the Vale is isolated and backward. Stay here in King's Landing. Stay with me."

She reached out, clasping his hands in hers.

Her meaning was clear.

Aemon's heart skipped a beat.

For a long moment, he said nothing.

Then, with a heavy sigh, he shook his head.

"The Vale is my foundation," he said quietly. "Would you give up Dragonstone or your claim to the Iron Throne?"

His dreams were deeply rooted. He wanted to prevent the Dance of the Dragons, build his own city, and continue flying with Vermithor.

The thought of abandoning everything he had worked toward was unthinkable.

"I knew you wouldn't agree."

Rhaenyra's voice was calm, as if she'd already known his answer.

She tilted her head, her eyes glinting with determination.

"Aemon, about what I said earlier… Have you given it any serious thought?"

She leaned in closer.

"My father has chosen you as a potential consort for me. Would you accept?"

Another direct hit.

Aemon froze, caught off guard once again.

He didn't know how to respond.

It wasn't as though he disliked Rhaenyra. In fact, he was quite fond of her.

She was a bit of a reckless fool at times, but her kindness toward him had always been genuine.

"No need to answer," Rhaenyra said, her tone light but resolute. "I'll find out myself."

With that, she swung one leg over and settled herself on his lap, straddling him.

Grabbing his face, she forced him to look directly into her violet eyes.

Aemon's heart pounded in his chest.

He was trapped, unable to look away.

Seconds stretched into an eternity.

Unlike her usual playful demeanor, Rhaenyra's gaze was intense.

"Eyes don't lie, Aemon."

Her lips curved into a triumphant smile as she studied his face.

The glint in her eyes sparkled with joy.

"Got you," she whispered, laughing softly.

Aemon's expression soured. "Mind your manners."

Rhaenyra's laughter rang out, carefree and full of delight.

He rolled his eyes. "Anyone would look at you if you grabbed their face."

Deep down, though, he couldn't deny it.

Rhaenyra was stunning.

Her beauty surpassed most women in the Seven Kingdoms. Her high cheekbones, perfectly shaped nose, and full lips exuded an undeniable charm.

Even Queen Alicent and Laena Velaryon couldn't compare.

And her lips…

Aemon gulped.

Something was wrong.

Why was he thinking about her lips?

"You're sweating," Rhaenyra teased, her fingers lightly tracing his jawline.

Aemon averted his gaze, guilt creeping in.

"I've done something terrible," he muttered to himself.

The line between friendship and something more had blurred.

Rhaenyra's grin widened.

"Here's your reward," she said, reaching behind her to loosen the ties of her dress.

"Wait—"

Before Aemon could protest, she leaned forward, pressing herself against him.

A sweet, creamy scent filled his senses.

Outside the Godswood, Ser Criston Cole stood guard, his posture rigid.

When he glanced back at the weirwood tree, his heart sank.

Seeing the scene unfolding beneath the ancient branches, he took a step forward—then stopped himself.

It wasn't his place to intervene.

His duty was to protect the princess, not interrupt her affairs.

Turning away, he muttered under his breath, "This won't end well."

In the Queen's Chambers, Alicent Hightower stood by a window, gazing down at the Godswood.

Her fingers clutched the glass pane, knuckles white.

Her lips trembled with rage as she watched the pair beneath the weirwood.

Rhaenyra straddled Aemon, her arms wrapped around his neck.

Alicent's eyes burned with jealousy and hatred.

"Rhaenyra…"

Her voice was low, trembling with suppressed fury.

She bit down hard on her lower lip, drawing blood.

In her mind, Rhaenyra was a predator—a wolf stealing her lamb.

Her children.

Bang!

Alicent's fist slammed against the window.

The loud noise startled everyone in the room.

Little Helaena, sitting quietly on the floor, burst into tears.

"Shh, shh…" Alicent rushed to her daughter's side, scooping her up and cradling her gently.

Behind her, Prince Aegon glanced up briefly before returning to his toys.

Little Aemond moved to sit beside his crying sister, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

Together, they sat like two little bundles of comfort.

Alicent's gaze softened as she looked at them.

Her heart ached with love and fierce protectiveness.

Then, an idea took root in her mind.

Rhaenyra might have Aemon's attention now…

But she had her own children to think about.

Knock, knock.

A sudden knock on the door pulled her from her thoughts.

"Lady Alicent," Viserys called from outside. "Is everything alright?"

Garwyn Hightower stood beside him, rubbing his sore neck.

Alicent drew the curtains closed, shrouding the room in shadows.

"Everything is fine," she said softly, cradling Helaena.

Her mind, however, was far from at ease.