Game of Thrones: The King of Bronze and Fire

Late at night, three figures sneaked back into the Red Keep.

One returned the cart, while the other two ran back to Maegor's Holdfast together.

Inside the chamber.

Aemon yanked off his patched hat and exhaled deeply.

Finally, they were back.

"It's late. You should go back to your own room and rest," he said, loosening his collar. He wanted nothing more than to catch up on sleep.

To his surprise, a pair of arms suddenly wrapped around him from behind, pulling him into a tight embrace.

Aemon froze, glancing up to see Rhaenyra's slightly flushed face.

"Thank you, Aemon," she said softly, her voice laden with emotion.

"What are you thanking me for?" Aemon asked, turning his head away.

"Just… thank you."

Rhaenyra rested her chin on his shoulder, gently rubbing her cheek against his.

Aemon made a noise of protest and squirmed in her grasp. "Go back to bed already."

Rhaenyra giggled mischievously, releasing him momentarily to change out of her worn-out peasant garb into her familiar beige dress. Then, without a hint of shame, she climbed into his bed.

Aemon: ?

"Come on, time to rest," she said cheerfully, poking her head out from under the blanket and motioning him over.

Aemon sighed, resigned. He changed into his sleepwear and climbed into bed, muttering to himself. What was there to fear? He was only eight years old.

"Hmm, tonight, I'm holding onto you while I sleep," Rhaenyra declared with a sly smile, wrapping her arms tightly around him.

Clearly, the events of the night had taken a toll on her. She needed a soft, warm pillow to comfort her shaken soul.

Aemon rolled his eyes but eventually nestled against her, resting his head on the fragrant softness unique to girls.

Just as he was beginning to feel drowsy, a drop of something wet landed on his cheek.

Aemon opened his eyes, only to find Rhaenyra biting her lip, silent tears spilling down her face.

"Is your tooth aching?"

"…!"

Aemon had no words. He turned over and snuggled into her embrace, reluctantly patting her back.

Rhaenyra, overwhelmed by her emotions, pulled him closer, burying her face into his neck and quietly sobbing.

"It's not your fault; you're just not very smart," Aemon murmured.

"Waaaah…"

Rhaenyra cried harder at that.

Aemon pursed his lips. He should've kept his mouth shut.

The flickering candlelight danced on the walls as the room fell into a calm stillness.

Holding her head gently, Aemon stared at the dragon-shaped stone carving sitting on his table.

It was the gift from his uncle Viserys—a token of hope that he might mend the rift between brothers.

"As if that's possible," Aemon thought, rubbing his cheek against Rhaenyra's smooth one.

A faint, sweet scent filled his nostrils, sticky yet strangely comforting.

The events of the night had taught him a simple truth: reliance on others was a fragile crutch.

Beneath the surface, everyone harbored their own goals and ambitions.

It was like a chaotic army fording a river, every person scrambling for their own crossing.

With a soft headbutt against Rhaenyra's shoulder, Aemon spoke, "Rhaenyra, prepare a ship for me in the morning."

"What? Where are you going?" she asked, pulling back, her swollen eyes wide with concern.

Aemon looked into her red-rimmed gaze and said flatly, "I'm going to find a dragon and ride it."

Rhaenyra was momentarily stunned, not expecting such resolve from the young boy.

Aemon tilted his head slightly, a gesture of determination.

Daemon's stance was clear—he'd remain on the sidelines and refuse to get involved.

As his son, Aemon couldn't interfere with his father's choices.

But the looming Driftmark trip would undoubtedly test the Targaryen family's standing.

For an eight-year-old prince, safeguarding the crown's prestige was the only politically correct path.

Should the royal family's dignity falter, his title as prince would lose its luster, complicating his future endeavors in the Vale.

"Dragons are dangerous," Rhaenyra warned, swallowing nervously.

Aemon's eyes gleamed with mischief. "Aren't you a big, scary dragon yourself?"

"Aemon, I'm being serious," Rhaenyra scolded, her voice rising.

"I am too," he replied calmly.

Rhaenyra choked on her words, unable to refute him.

Though he was just a boy, Aemon exuded a reliability she couldn't ignore.

After a moment, Rhaenyra sighed in defeat. "The royal ship departs the day after tomorrow. If you leave at dawn, you might make it."

"Good," Aemon said, settling back onto the bed. "Now sleep."

Rhaenyra watched him for a moment, then lay back down, resting her head against his small but steady shoulder.

Aemon shifted uncomfortably, realizing how clingy she'd become.

Her smooth, pale leg snaked out from under her dress, draping over him along with the blanket.

Aemon felt utterly overwhelmed.

Before he could protest, her light snores filled the room.

She was fast asleep.

That night, for the first time in a while, Rhaenyra slept soundly.

In her heart, she knew one thing for certain: Aemon was the only one who truly cared for her.

At dawn, on a secluded beach.

A small boat was launched, splashing as it hit the waves.

Two black-cloaked figures climbed aboard, gripping the oars.

"Thank you, my lords," Aemon said politely as he settled into the boat.

Ser Arryk and Ser Erryk Cargyll exchanged a glance, responding in unison, "It's an honor to serve you, my prince."

Aemon smiled, pulling his black hood tighter.

The boat had been arranged by Rhaenyra, while the Cargyll brothers had been borrowed from Alicent's service.

His destination: Dragonstone.

The journey was meticulously planned to avoid attracting attention.

A grand departure would signal open allegiance to the crown, inviting scrutiny from both the Velaryons and Daemon.

In contrast, a quiet trip would speak volumes in subtler terms.

If he succeeded in taming a dragon, his presence at Driftmark would carry an unspoken yet undeniable weight.

The less said beforehand, the better.

The boat bobbed on the waves, carried by the tide as the brothers rowed.

Aemon lay back on the wooden boards, conserving his strength.

The hours slipped by, and soon, the sun dipped low on the horizon.

"My prince, we've arrived," Ser Erryk called softly.

Aemon blinked awake, rubbing his eyes before sitting up.

The sight before him stole his breath.

There it was—Dragonstone.

The jagged silhouette of the island loomed against the fiery backdrop of the setting sun, an imposing fortress surrounded by crashing waves.

Aemon's lips curled into a determined smile.

"Dragonstone," he murmured. "I've arrived."