Game of Thrones: The Bronze and Fire Lord

The next day.

In the early morning, the weather was slightly cool—typical of early spring.

A painted white carriage rumbled along the compacted dirt road. The Kingsguard on white horses led the way, while the royal guards followed behind.

A cloud of dust billowed across the long road.

"Haah~ I'm so sleepy."

Aemon rested his head on a pair of soft, springy long legs, rubbing at his tired eyes with his small hands, dark circles already forming beneath them.

Alicent lowered her head, pinched his chubby cheeks, and laughed, "Even without your precious mat, you still can't sleep?"

Inside the spacious carriage, Aemon lay sprawled across the queen's legs.

Several people filled the carriage.

Viserys sat toward the back, his face filled with contentment at the sight of his family traveling together.

Alicent and Aemon sat on the left-hand bench, with the former squeezed up against the plump maid cradling little Aegon.

Opposite them, Rhaenyra was present, as expected.

The silver-haired girl had remained silent, head bowed against her chest since the moment she entered the carriage.

The two other nurses, good at reading the room, kept quiet as well.

Viserys was in a cheerful mood and joked, "Aemon broke into the dragon's lair yesterday—perhaps he wore himself out."

"Haha."

Alicent chuckled and kept kneading Aemon's fair cheeks.

Aemon didn't seem to mind. He shifted sideways, nestling his little head against the silk skirt to find a more comfortable spot.

It was hard to believe, but he had actually dreamed last night.

He had hugged four dragon eggs, fallen asleep with pillows and mats made of Ula grass, full of longing.

Then, he dreamt of a vast forest.

Under a great tree, he had dug up piles of gold with a pickaxe.

In the end, there was so much gold that he couldn't carry it all—he only managed to grab the important pieces, including a crown.

"Could it be... I'm meant to be king?" Aemon sniffed the faint fragrance beside him, musing to himself.

But he had no such intention!

The Iron Throne might be majestic, but few who sat upon it ever met a good end.

He had Runestone in the Vale behind him and the blood of the Targaryen dragon kings within him.

Wouldn't it be better to step in at the right moment to end the Dance of the Dragons, then live a relaxed life in Runestone as a free prince?

A prince didn't need to deal with politics or work nine-to-five.

It was far easier than being a king, constantly scheming and managing state affairs.

Aemon, lost in thought, reached out to touch Alicent's legs again.

"Aemon!"

Alicent laughed helplessly and pinched his cheeks harder.

Aemon smiled shyly.

He wasn't sure what had happened lately, but Alicent had suddenly become indulgent—clinging to him and refusing to let him go.

The wheels bumped over potholes, jostling the carriage.

Aemon couldn't sleep anymore and noticed the girl across from him still looking gloomy, so he took the initiative to ask, "Rhaenyra, why didn't you ride your dragon?"

At that, Rhaenyra raised her eyes, her tone icy: "Someone didn't want to see me riding one."

The meaning was vague, but Aemon understood.

He sat up from Alicent's lap and glanced at his uncle Viserys, whose smile had turned stiff.

Aemon quickly looked away and pretended to be clueless.

Rhaenyra boldly rolled her eyes at her father.

Was he forbidding her from riding dragons for her own good—or because he feared she would become too powerful?

Who could say?

…

Near noon, the group reached the royal hunting camp.

Creak—!

The white carriage came to a stop, and everyone disembarked in turn.

The camp was already filled with nobles from all across the realm, who erupted into cheers and applause at the sight of the king and his family.

Especially the nobles from Oldtown, who shouted loudly, "Long live baby Aegon!"

"So blatant?"

Aemon was stunned, then glanced back into the carriage.

Rhaenyra still had her head down, refusing to get up as if she were trying to escape.

"Aemon, don't fall behind."

Alicent called to him from the front, already surrounded by nobles.

"Coming!"

Aemon responded, then clumsily climbed back into the carriage and dragged Rhaenyra out with him.

Startled, Rhaenyra exclaimed, "Aemon, what are you doing?"

You can't force a cow to drink water.

Aemon frowned, replying righteously, "What are you afraid of? Let them shout all they want. We're not cowards!"

In truth, the shouting didn't matter much.

This royal hunt was held under the pretense of celebrating Aegon's naming day—he was the main character today. It made sense for his mother's kin to cheer for him.

"I just feel... a little uncomfortable," Rhaenyra murmured.

"No!"

Aemon stood firm, face serious. "You can lose a battle, but you can't lose face. Plenty of nobles still support you."

Since Aegon's birth, the court had already begun to split into two factions—though not yet known as Black and Green. For now, it was the Princess's party and the Queen's (or Oldtown) faction.

This royal hunt only further boosted Oldtown's momentum. If Rhaenyra—the spiritual figurehead of her side—cowered now, who would follow her in the future?

"Aemon…"

Rhaenyra glanced around at the surrounding nobles, visibly torn.

Aemon remained unfazed and pressed on, "Come on. Be cheerful. Don't lose face."

Though he had a good relationship with Alicent, he could only offer her a silent apology.

He was a Targaryen—and would always be one.

In the entire history of the Dance of the Dragons, not a single figure from the Oldtown faction had turned out to be good.

If Aegon were the same age as him, even if he was just a foolish boy who liked playing around, Aemon might have helped—for Alicent's sake.

But Aegon was too young.

Helping Alicent now meant helping the Hightower line gain power—and seize the Targaryen legacy.

By comparison—

Rhaenyra, though foolish and flawed in the original tale and ultimately destined to lose badly, was now simply a naïve, confused girl—struggling under pressure.

With a few wake-up calls and the right psychological support, she might still have a future.

After much pulling and coaxing, Rhaenyra resigned herself.

…

The two of them held their heads high and walked through the noble-filled camp.

Naturally, they drew attention.

A pair of striking Targaryen siblings—silver hair and violet eyes—they were dazzling wherever they went, stealing the spotlight with ease.

Rhaenyra was used to the attention, being a princess.

But Aemon, who had just given that rousing "don't lose face" speech, was now being swarmed by noblewomen and young ladies teasing him.

"So embarrassing!"

Aemon inwardly cringed, but outwardly kept a straight face like a noble pine tree.

Soon, they arrived at the largest, most luxurious royal tent.

Two three-headed red dragon banners fluttered in the breeze, and many nobles bowed their heads respectfully as they entered in groups.

"Onward!"

Aemon slapped his warm face and summoned his confidence.

The tent was splendid—gauze curtains dancing in the wind, solid wood tables and chairs neatly arranged.

"Aemon, over here."

Alicent sat in a circle of noble ladies, patting the empty seat beside her.

Aemon looked serious and reminded Rhaenyra one last time, "Remember—carry the spirit of a dragonrider."

"Alright, alright, you've said it enough," Rhaenyra replied, eyes full of helplessness, though the gloom in her heart seemed to ease.

Satisfied, Aemon nodded, released her hand, and strode toward the small circle.

"You're late."

Alicent smiled lightly, reached out, and pulled Aemon into the seat beside her.

Their legs touched—though the chair was still spacious enough.

Aemon: …

Alicent ignored Rhaenyra, even though she had entered the tent with him, and began introducing Aemon to the noblewomen around her, who were quick with praise.

From the moment the two siblings had entered hand-in-hand, she had noticed—and couldn't help but feel a twinge of jealousy in her heart.

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