Game of Thrones: The Bronze and Fire Lord

It wasn't until dusk that the white carriage slowly rolled through the gates of the Red Keep.

Bang!

Rhaenyra jumped down lightly, turned around, and spread her arms with a bright smile.

"Come on, I'll catch you."

After a full day of play, her mood had turned from cloudy to sunny.

"You sure about that?"

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

"Come," Rhaenyra said casually.

I can totally catch a little thing like you.

Aemon looked at the height from the ground and considered seriously.

"Alright then, I'm coming."

With that, he closed his eyes and leaned forward—falling straight down.

Rhaenyra was full of confidence, arms open wide, ready to catch that round little belly.

Then came the weight she hadn't anticipated.

Plop!

Big and small tumbled together—if not for Ser Steve, who had been watching closely, they might have ended up in the mud.

"That was close," Aemon muttered, patting his chest in relief.

Rhaenyra is useless!

She said she'd catch him, but she almost sent him flying.

Rhaenyra's mouth twitched, her slender waist aching as she pressed a hand to her back.

That kid is heavy.

Brother and sister, both a little shaken, exchanged a look of mutual understanding.

"..."

Rhaenyra could only sigh and reached out a hand. "Let's go."

"Hehe, you're gonna get scolded when we get back," Aemon grinned, grabbing her soft little hand like it was second nature.

Today had been a good day—both gains in career and friendship.

One tall and graceful, the other small and adorable—the siblings walked hand in hand, a sight that drew the attention of every courtier and noble they passed. All bowed or greeted them with smiles.

Aemon bounced along, glancing sideways at Rhaenyra's satisfied expression. He rolled his eyes playfully.

"What are you looking at?" Rhaenyra asked, still caught in her cheerful mood, having forgotten her troubles.

Of course, she didn't know—he was thinking about how best to fool her.

Aemon grinned and announced gleefully, "Rhaenyra, we're the best in the world."

Rhaenyra's heart fluttered at the words. Her beautiful eyes rippled with emotion.

"Well then, don't be late for dinner," she said.

But Aemon had already turned and sprinted off with a mischievous laugh.

Alicent was his good friend—his future in the Greens was secured.

Rhaenyra looked strong, but deep down she was fragile and starved for affection. Her father's coldness and the court's long-standing criticism had worn her down.

This window of time was precious. He had to build an unbreakable bond now, while she was still vulnerable.

In the coming decade, once the Black and Green factions took form, he could ride the tide, develop in the shadows, and shock the world when the time was right.

But none of them realized—they were being watched the whole time.

. . .

Maegor's Holdfast – The King's Chambers

Alicent stood on the edge of the balcony, watching through the glass as the two figures—one large, one small—played together below.

She had waited all day.

Her eyes darkened slightly. She bit her red lips, her hands pressing against her flat belly. Without realizing it, her fingers clenched so hard that blood began to seep from her nails.

Maybe even she hadn't noticed—seeing Aemon and Rhaenyra so close stirred something bitter inside her.

Creak—

The door opened. Viserys walked in, smiling. "Rhaenyra and the others are back. We should go down for dinner."

But the young queen in green didn't respond.

Viserys frowned and was just about to speak—

"I know," Alicent said, lowering her head.

She turned around as swiftly as a gust of wind.

Viserys stood there, baffled.

That night, after dinner, everyone returned to their chambers.

Aemon patted his round belly and ran happily back to his room.

He'd collected quite a haul today—time to enjoy it all.

Dinner hadn't been particularly eventful, but the Dragonpit and Dreamfyre had inevitably come up.

When Viserys learned that his nephew had tried to claim the "mother dragon" Dreamfyre, his attitude shifted from initial pride to regret that it hadn't worked out. In the end, he simply offered cheerful encouragement:

"You're still young. There are more dragons on Dragonstone. You can try again when you're older."

To be fair, Viserys was a contradictory man.

On one hand, he feared the destructive power of dragons. On the other, he depended on them to rule.

His worldview was... peculiar.

He disliked Rhaenyra's obsession with dragons, yet he wanted all male heirs to become dragonriders.

It was just like naming her his heir while refusing to give her any real power.

Perhaps that's why he was so desperate to find her a strong and dependable partner—to make up for what she lacked.

The night deepened.

Aemon went to bed satisfied. The others drifted off one by one.

Rhaenyra, exhausted from the day, was ready to return to her chamber for a long, hot bath—only to be stopped by her father.

"Father? Is something wrong?"

Holding up her long silver-gold hair, Rhaenyra shifted slightly under her silken gown.

Viserys hesitated, then smiled awkwardly. "I have something important to discuss with you."

"One moment."

Rhaenyra followed him, curious.

Today had been a good day.

Even though no one cared about her during Aegon's naming ceremony, and all the nobles had fawned over her baby brother—who still grabbed his food with his fists—Aemon had managed to cheer her up.

Especially the part about releasing Dreamfyre—it had filled the silent corners of her heart with warmth and pride.

Her father had even been unusually kind, showing no anger about their reckless behavior.

It must be something good, she thought, hopeful.

Viserys led her through the torch-lit halls to the crypt beneath the Red Keep.

A circle of white candles flickered around a massive altar, illuminating the black skull of Balerion.

Rhaenyra glanced around, confused.

The last time they'd come here was when he had apologized for Emma's death and officially named her heir.

Viserys stared at the skull with a heavy heart.

"Rhaenyra, you were happy today. As your father, I'm glad to see that."

Rhaenyra nodded quietly, sensing something serious was coming.

"You're of age to marry. Is there any young man you've taken a liking to?"

His tone was firm.

Rhaenyra's face changed slightly.

"No!"

"Good," Viserys said, visibly relieved.

He'd been worried she might secretly bring home some fair-haired boy.

There were already rumors about her favoring Ser Criston Cole...

"Father, if you have something to say, just say it," Rhaenyra snapped, her tone sharp.

Viserys gave a sheepish smile and asked:

"You and Aemon get along so well... what would you say if I let him stay here in King's Landing?"

"Father!"

Rhaenyra wasn't stupid. She immediately guessed what he was implying.

"Don't be upset," Viserys said, raising a hand. "Aemon is a good boy—and he's Daemon's son. He could become a great ally for you."

"And?" she said coldly.

"If you're willing to be gentle with him... treat him kindly..."

Viserys tried to phrase it delicately:

"Then he'll surely repay you with loyalty."

Rhaenyra suddenly fell silent.

She understood—and was fighting the urge to argue.

To her, Aemon was like a younger cousin, a neighbor's child—a good companion. But not someone she'd ever considered that way.

He was still a chubby little kid, with cheeks like soft-boiled eggs when he smiled.

Her father, however, would do anything to secure power.

Seeing her fall quiet, Viserys sighed and said, "Let's leave it at that. The royal hunt is scheduled for tomorrow. Get some rest."

He turned and left.

Rhaenyra remained behind, eyes downcast.

She didn't want to suppress others—but she didn't want to be suppressed either.

Yet everything around her was pushing her to make a choice, to become just another ravenous hound fighting for the scraps of power.

Suddenly, she felt a gaze on her.

"Who's there?!"

She snapped her head up, looking toward the shadows behind the altar.

"Ahem."

Grand Maester Mellos stood there. Caught, he cleared his throat twice and walked away without a word.

Rhaenyra frowned, disbelief flashing in her eyes.

Her pink fists slowly clenched tight.

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