Game of Thrones: The King of Bronze and Fire

In front of a stone brothel, Aemon and Rhaenyra stood hand in hand, hesitating at the entrance.

"Are you really sure about this?" Aemon asked for confirmation.

Rhaenyra's expression was firm as she nodded. "We're already here."

Aemon: …

What a brilliant reason. She really needed some sense knocked into her.

Ser Criston Cole, however, looked visibly uneasy. "Princess, this isn't a place you should be visiting."

"Daemon is inside," Rhaenyra replied, undeterred.

"But Daemon is a man, and you're not the same!" Criston insisted nervously.

"I may be a girl, but I'm the heir to the Iron Throne. I'm not lesser than him," Rhaenyra shot back confidently.

"But you are a girl! If the king finds out, he'll have me hanged!"

Criston was so flustered he began gesticulating wildly, his words coming out in a rush.

Aemon silently watched, a sliver of sympathy creeping into his heart.

Criston was clearly nearing a breaking point.

"Enough, Criston!" Rhaenyra barked, cutting him off. "If you don't want to come with me, then stay here and wait."

With that, she grabbed Aemon's hand and dragged him inside.

Aemon felt himself breaking too.

The brothel was a whole new world.

Pushing past the curtain at the entrance, they found themselves in a brightly lit, richly perfumed interior.

Men and women mingled freely, each attending to their own business.

Everywhere one looked, someone was holding or being held, the atmosphere charged with unrestrained indulgence.

It was a sensory overload for Aemon, his young mind overwhelmed by the sheer audacity of it all.

He held his breath, his wide eyes darting around, struggling to process the sights and sounds.

Two lifetimes, and yet he had never seen anything like this.

"Don't look!"

Rhaenyra, her face flushed red, quickly covered his eyes with her hands.

"Close your eyes too," Aemon retorted, his small hand moving even faster, covering her entire face in an attempt to shield her.

This was absolute chaos!

They were going to get eye infections from witnessing all this!

The pair, dressed in plain, rough clothing, stood there—one covering the other's eyes and vice versa—blocking the doorway like an odd sculpture.

Their peculiar behavior drew amused chuckles and murmurs from those around them.

Who brought a kid to a brothel? And worse, who brought a girl?

After a moment, Aemon sighed, unable to endure the raucous sounds any longer. "Let's move upstairs."

Rhaenyra froze for a second.

"Idiot! The person you're looking for is upstairs," Aemon said as he yanked her hand away and began pulling her toward the staircase.

Rhaenyra's face burned hotter, and her forehead practically steamed from embarrassment.

As Aemon led the way, her palm, slick with nervous sweat, gripped his hand tightly, fingers interlocked as if clinging to a lifeline.

On the second floor, they found Daemon's room without much trouble.

It was a semi-open chamber with intricately patterned window screens.

A dozen scantily clad women leaned against the windowsills, exchanging playful banter and catcalls.

The timing of their arrival couldn't have been better—or worse.

Daemon's session had just ended.

The women scattered with giggles, leaving behind a semblance of quiet.

Knock, knock!

Aemon wasted no time, rapping firmly on the door.

Internally, he whispered a quick apology to his father.

Father and son meeting in a brothel—it didn't get more absurd than this.

But Aemon desperately wanted to leave.

Catching his father in the act wasn't exactly how he'd envisioned this encounter.

"Come in!"

Daemon's voice, somewhat hoarse and displeased, called from within.

Aemon pushed the door open and stepped inside.

Seeing the small figure enter, Daemon nearly fell off his chair.

"Aemon?"

Seated on a balcony, draped in nothing but a fur blanket, Daemon hurriedly adjusted himself, covering what needed to be covered.

"Sorry, Father," Aemon said casually as he walked toward the bed, which reeked of debauchery.

A woman lay sprawled across it, clearly spent.

Without missing a beat, Aemon fished two gold coins from his pocket and tossed them onto her face.

"Step out for a moment," he said, turning his head away.

Daemon's brain short-circuited.

His son... paying his tab?

This was next-level filial piety.

The woman, unbothered, pocketed the money with a grin and tottered out, leaving the room with renewed energy.

Soon, only the three of them remained.

"Uncle," Rhaenyra mumbled, her face buried in her hands, behaving more like a quail than the Iron Throne's heir.

Daemon shot her a sharp glance, his brows furrowing.

One unexpected guest was enough; now there were two?

Had his brother dropped dead?

"Why are you two here?"

Daemon asked as he stood, retrieving his clothes with visible irritation.

"I have something important to discuss with you," Rhaenyra replied, fidgeting nervously.

Not trusting herself, she pulled Aemon in front of her, resting her hands on his shoulders as if using him as a shield.

Her regret was palpable.

Daemon, busy dressing, had little patience for their antics.

"You better have a good reason for this," he muttered darkly.

He was convinced Viserys had failed spectacularly as a father.

Bringing an eight-year-old to a brothel? How ridiculous.

Aemon: …

This wasn't his idea!

Meanwhile, Rhaenyra, desperate to salvage the situation, blurted out her request.

"Uncle, I want you to come to the Driftmark celebration with us as part of the royal delegation."

"No."

Daemon's rejection was swift and absolute.

"But why not?"

Rhaenyra's voice trembled.

Daemon glanced at her coldly.

"Because the day your mother died and your father exiled me, our paths diverged forever."

Aemon clicked his tongue. That was some loaded bitterness.

"But that was so long ago! Father no longer holds a grudge against you. We all miss you," Rhaenyra pleaded.

Her lack of understanding was clear. She saw only the surface of the family feud, blind to the deep mistrust and power struggles beneath.

Daemon picked up his sword, signaling the end of their conversation.

"I don't care what you say. Viserys is nothing but a coward. You've only scratched the surface of his weakness," he said with a sneer before storming out.

He paused only to glare at Aemon.

"If I catch you in a brothel again, I'll break your legs."

Aemon nodded furiously. He'd had enough of this nightmarish scenario.

As Daemon left, he roughly shoved past Rhaenyra, leaving her to stumble against the wall.

"Why?"

Her voice cracked as she clutched her aching shoulder, tears welling in her eyes.

Aemon remained silent, his patience wearing thin.

Daemon and Viserys were locked in a stubborn battle of pride and ego, neither willing to yield.

Sighing, Aemon reached out to tug on Rhaenyra's hand.

"Let's go."

He knew there was no changing Daemon's mind now.

Rhaenyra stood frozen, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Realizing she was too distraught to follow, Aemon shrugged and left the room alone.

A few moments later, Rhaenyra, left alone and frightened, called out.

"Aemon?"

Her voice echoed unanswered.

Her fear mounting, she stood up, wiping her tears.

"Aemon, let's go back."

Stepping outside, she hesitated at the chaos of the brothel, where raucous laughter and drunken revelry surrounded her.

It was a place she did not belong, and every step forward felt like a struggle.

Just as panic began to set in, a silver-haired head peeked through the doorway.

"This way," Aemon called, his voice steady.

He even whistled playfully before turning to walk away.

Overwhelmed with relief, Rhaenyra hurried to catch up.

"Wait for me, Aemon!"