Game of Thrones: The Bronze and Fire Lord

Many people were in a heavy mood that day.

Alicent was anxious, hoping that Aemon wasn't truly angry.

Of all the people she knew, he was the only friend she had left.

Rhaenyra, on the other hand, was seething, disgusted by Lord Jason's arrogant proposal.

She hated that she had not been born a boy. Perhaps then her father and the others would have had confidence in her.

Instead of treating her like a burden, a piece of fat meat that everyone wanted to bite into.

Viserys, undoubtedly, was the most frustrated. He had spent the entire afternoon guzzling wine, convinced everyone was laughing at him and humiliating him behind his back.

In this royal hunting trip organized by the Crown, all the royal family members were in low spirits—

With one exception.

Royal Forest, a clearing.

"Don't run, big bunny, stop right there!"

Aemon's cheeks were flushed with excitement. His small hands held the bow tightly as he chased a fleeing hare.

The hare, terrified, bolted through the underbrush at an incredible speed.

Whoosh!

Aemon released his arrow. It brushed past the hare's tail, barely missing.

Startled, the hare bolted in a different direction.

"Stop! Don't run!"

Like a little hunter, Aemon loosed a second arrow.

Whoosh!

It zipped over the hare's head and landed just ahead of it.

Eyes wide with fear, the hare darted even faster.

Thunk!

The third arrow followed swiftly behind and struck true, piercing the hare's fur and embedding into its belly.

Still holding the bowstring taut, Aemon cheered, "Yes! I hit it!"

He bent his wooden bow properly and hurried over with short, eager legs to pick up the hare.

To his surprise, it was quite heavy.

"Your Highness, did you really hunt this?"

Ser Steve approached, visibly surprised.

Aemon placed his hands on his hips and grinned proudly. "Of course! Am I awesome or what?"

That smug little face couldn't have looked more pleased.

Three shots in a row—he was a natural!

Ser Steve took the dying hare and handed Aemon a handful of red berries, praising him, "Yes, Your Highness is gifted indeed. Looks like you inherited Lady Rhea's skills."

"It's just average," Aemon replied, waving his hand modestly.

But his chin tilted high and his pale little neck stretched proudly.

He hadn't expected to be so talented.

Ser Steve didn't dare tease him. Instead, he silently acknowledged the prince's aptitude.

"Let's go for another walk," Aemon said after popping a berry into his mouth, scanning his surroundings.

Like a little hamster hoarding food, he munched while already thinking about the next thing.

Ser Steve didn't object and prepared to take the prince back toward the main group.

"Squeak!"

Suddenly, a rustle came from the nearby bushes.

Aemon's eyes lit up and he walked over to investigate.

A golden-nosed rat poked its head out, wiggled its rear, and twisted its way into the shrubs.

"What treasure did you bring me this time?"

Aemon squatted down and stretched out his little hand.

"Squeak."

The golden-nosed rat's eyes sparkled as it climbed onto his palm and up to his shoulder.

Aemon rubbed its fur and found a strand of soft white hair in his hand.

"Huh? What's this?"

He studied it—it looked like animal hair.

"Squeak!"

The clever little rat tugged at Aemon's silver-gold hair with one paw, while the other pointed in a direction.

Aemon seemed to understand. "You mean, over there?"

"Squeak."

The golden-nosed rat nodded rapidly, almost like a child.

Ser Steve observed and remarked, "Your Highness, your little mouse is truly extraordinary."

"He's very obedient. Even brings me food sometimes."

Aemon chuckled. "Let's go take a look."

Ser Steve offered no objections and led the white horse across the clearing.

Soon, they reached a stream.

"Squeak."

The golden-nosed rat jumped down and ran over to a pile of fresh droppings, sniffing eagerly.

Ser Steve went to inspect and noticed more of that same soft white hair. He looked surprised. "This doesn't look like horse hair—more like deer."

As a Kingsguard, he was trained in such observations.

Aemon's mind leapt to a possibility. He whispered, "Can you track it?"

He remembered the stories—there really were white deer in the Royal Forest.

A creature of good omen, a symbol of kingship—surely it had some kind of magical blessing.

Ser Steve looked around and shook his head. "No. Even though the dung is fresh, there are no tracks."

"Oh," Aemon murmured, taking it all in.

Ser Steve, not being foolish, scooped the prince back onto the horse and warned, "It's getting late, Your Highness. Not safe to linger."

Aemon didn't protest. He tied the hare to his waist with a piece of straw rope.

No real reason—he just wanted to show it off.

Dusk.

Aemon returned to camp, bow in hand and hare at his side, glowing with pride from his hunt.

The morning's beating incident had been suppressed, and few people knew about it.

Seeing the cute silver-gold-haired boy carrying a wild rabbit, many would smile and ask which adult had caught it.

Each time, Aemon would raise his chin and proudly declare, "I hunted it myself!"

Ser Steve had gone to tend to the horse, leaving the little prince to flaunt his catch alone.

Aemon made a half-circle around camp before returning to the royal tent.

Just as he reached the entrance, someone stopped him.

"Wait a moment, Your Highness. Might I ask for a brief conversation?"

Larys Strong leaned on his crutch and bowed with a gentle smile.

He appeared to have been waiting there deliberately.

Aemon was instantly on alert, arms crossed, speaking arrogantly, "What do you want?"

This guy didn't look like a good person.

In the entire Dance of the Dragons, he might not have been as cunning as Corlys or Otto, but he was certainly the most ruthless of them all.

He'd kill his own father without blinking.

Larys gave a soft cough and said mysteriously, "While the king was away hunting, some rather interesting things occurred."

As he spoke, he hobbled a few steps, exaggerating his limp and posture of weakness.

Aemon wasn't buying it. "Just say it."

There was no running from someone like this.

No need to be subtle—go straight to the point.

A lady famous for flipping tables in a later era once said: "Wisdom isn't strength. Power is."

Larys gazed at the eight-year-old in front of him, and for a moment, felt a subtle pressure from the child. He said:

"From what I've heard, it concerns the princess's marriage."

His tone grew gentler, even kindly.

Aemon rolled his eyes and said directly, "Did Rhaenyra and my uncle have another fight?"

Rhaenyra's marriage was a headache. Low-quality suitors flocked to her.

It would be weirder not to have a fight.

"No. Lady Laena invited the princess on an outing," Larys corrected.

"So?" Aemon pressed, uninterested in idle chatter.

Larys leaned in lower and whispered, "It seems Lord Otto and Lord Jason angered the king. A foolish move."

"Is Uncle planning something?"

Aemon didn't bother hiding his awareness.

Larys answered vaguely, "The king is kind and polite. Who's to say?"

He wasn't wrong. The little prince in front of him was a strong candidate.

Quick-witted and sharp, with a powerful family background—and a keen mind.

At present, he was a dark horse.

The Hand was too eager, constantly testing the king's limits.

The queen and princess lacked political instinct and remained pawns in others' hands.

This little prince from the Vale… might just be the stepping stone Larys needed.

Aemon scrutinized him, and behind the humble kindness, he saw ruthless calculation and careful restraint.

"Your Highness," Larys said, having made up his mind, "I know many interesting stories."

He bowed again. "Would you grant me a favor and allow a man with poor legs to sit and talk somewhere more comfortable?"

Aemon gave him a crafty look and replied, "Lead the way."

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