Game of Thrones: The King of Bronze and Fire

As the sun dipped below the horizon, Aemon reached the golden sands of Dragonstone's beach, sprinting across the shimmering shore.

The salty sea breeze brushed against his face, bringing a cool, invigorating sensation.

"Keep up, my lords!" Aemon called out cheerfully over his shoulder.

He ran with unbridled excitement, his second visit to Dragonstone filling him with purpose.

In the distance, framed by rugged terrain, rose the towering mountain of his dreams—Dragonmont.

"Dragonmont is an active volcano. The dragons' lairs are all within its depths," Aemon explained with a grin, his voice alive with enthusiasm.

This was it. His goal was clear: to tame a dragon.

Behind him, the two Kingsguard knights, Arryk and Erryk, followed closely, hastily gathering branches along the way to fashion torches.

The night was closing in fast, and even on Dragonstone, vigilance was paramount.

As the sun set, darkness crept over the island.

Aemon led the group around jagged cliffs and barren lands, his pace unrelenting.

Finally, the terrain gave way to a desolate expanse of rugged earth—a stark prelude to Dragonmont.

"Who goes there? Stop at once!"

A booming voice cut through the night as flickering torchlight illuminated a group approaching from the direction of the castle.

Aemon turned to see a patrol heading toward them:

An elder dragonkeeper with two younger assistants, their hands gripping sturdy bamboo poles.Five guards clad in armor, red cloaks draped over their shoulders.

At their forefront was a tall, broad-shouldered knight with a severe face. His commanding tone made it clear he had no patience for intruders.

"Your Grace," Erryk said, his voice low. "What are your orders?"

"Remain calm," Aemon replied, his voice steady.

Dragonstone, the ancestral seat of House Targaryen, housed both dragons and those sworn to protect them. Encounters like this were to be expected.

The patrol closed the distance quickly.

The elder dragonkeeper stepped forward, his eyes narrowing with suspicion as he addressed Aemon in High Valyrian. "Who are you, and what business do you have on Dragonmont at this hour?"

"Why bother asking? Detain them first!" the tall knight barked, his rough tone making it clear he had no intention of negotiation.

The Cargyll brothers drew their swords, their polished blades catching the faint moonlight.

Aemon raised a hand, signaling for calm.

"I am Aemon Targaryen, son of Daemon, and the Dragon Prince as decreed by the King," he declared in flawless High Valyrian, his voice firm and unyielding.

The elder dragonkeeper's expression shifted. Recognizing the silver-gold hair and regal bearing, he quickly bowed with respect. "Prince Aemon, forgive our rudeness in not welcoming you properly."

He pulled the younger dragonkeepers down with him into a low bow.

Even the sharp-eyed knight seemed to falter, quickly adjusting his tone.

"Your Grace," the knight said, lowering his head. "I am Ser Alfred of Dragonstone. Please accept my sincerest welcome to this sacred isle."

Aemon frowned slightly, racking his brain. The name rang a faint bell—wasn't this man a traitor during the Dance of the Dragons?

The one who helped facilitate Rhaenyra's downfall?

"Your Grace, how should we proceed?" Arryk's sharp instincts had him gripping his sword tightly, awaiting Aemon's decision.

"I've come to tame a dragon," Aemon declared boldly, switching to the Common Tongue so all present could understand.

The elder dragonkeeper's face paled. "Your Grace, the night is perilous. It would be far safer to rest and attempt this endeavor at dawn. We can guide you to a young dragon—"

"No," Aemon interrupted, his voice resolute. "I seek a great dragon."

The elder's alarm was evident as the torchlight illuminated Aemon's youthful features, still carrying the softness of childhood.

This was no time for recklessness, and yet the prince was adamant.

Meanwhile, Ser Alfred's eyes gleamed with cunning as he processed the situation.

Daemon's son? What a golden opportunity.

Everyone knew of the fractured relationship between the King and his brother.

Daemon had not even returned to Dragonstone after his victories at the Stepstones, instead distancing himself entirely.

Alfred's mind raced. Could this stealthy arrival indicate secret rebellion?

At the very least, Aemon's covert visit suggested the King might not approve of his dragon-seeking expedition.

If he stopped the boy now, Alfred reasoned, he could claim to have acted in the royal family's best interest—no matter the outcome.

"Your Grace," Alfred said, stepping forward with feigned sincerity. "Wouldn't it be wiser to rest at the castle for the night? The dangers of Dragonmont are no trifling matter."

Aemon scowled, his patience wearing thin. "Thank you, but I must decline."

The prince turned away, signaling his knights to follow as he headed toward Dragonmont.

"Wait!"

Alfred's charade crumbled as he moved to block Aemon's path.

Swords flashed in the moonlight as the Cargyll brothers stepped forward, their blades ready to hold the group at bay.

"What is the meaning of this?" Aemon demanded, his voice cold.

Alfred stiffened but maintained his stance. "Your Grace, I cannot, in good conscience, allow you to endanger yourself. Return to the castle—"

Aemon cut him off with an authoritative command: "Knights, keep them here."

Arryk and Erryk didn't hesitate. Each seized an arm of their would-be captors, holding them firmly in place.

Aemon wasted no time, breaking into a sprint toward Dragonmont.

Under the pale moonlight.

Aemon ran with steady breaths, the cool air and adrenaline coursing through him.

Behind him, faint shouts echoed as Alfred and his men struggled to break free.

But the boy was undeterred.

"Can't let you catch me," Aemon muttered to himself, a grin tugging at his lips.

The chase only fueled his determination, a thrilling game under the night sky.

Finally, he reached the foot of Dragonmont.

Looking back, he saw the figures in the distance, momentarily held at bay.

"Perfect timing," he murmured.

The terrain turned steep and treacherous as he began climbing toward the mountain's smoking vents.

Among the mist-shrouded caves lay his true destination—the lairs of Dragonstone's great, untamed dragons.

Two in particular came to mind.

"They should be here," Aemon whispered, his gaze fixed on the steaming maw of a cave halfway up the slope.

His heart raced with anticipation.

Tonight, he would stake his claim.